CHAPTER 7
The Flight
Elaina scrunched up her nose as she dumped the herbs on the table in a leafy, aromatic pile. Bluecress and laurlac were sweet and tangy and made everything smell like springtime. Naturally, it was the thick, muddy smell of the glovebloom that permeated everything. She had left the actual sprigs outside to keep the smell under control, but it still managed to engulf the whole room. It she hadn’t needed it to keep the rats away from the woodpile she would never have gone near it, much less picked it.
She gave her satchel a tentative sniff and nearly choked. This is going to reek of glovebloom for a week, no matter how I air it out, she thought with a frown out the window at the offending plant. Leaving the pile on the table to air out a bit, she started to dry the still-wet dishes—Landon cooked and Hetarth washed, so it was her job.
The smell of glovebloom thickened the air even from outside. Just as she was about to ask Hetarth if there was a way to kill the stench with the pillars, Landon burst into the house so quickly he barely avoided being hit by the door as it rebounded off the wall and slammed shut.
Not sparing a glance for the startled occupants, he strode across the room, yanked his saddlebags out from under his clothes in the corner and began shoving everything he could reach into the pouches. He didn’t even comment on the smell.
For a long moment, Elaina and Hetarth just stared at him. What on Arith has gotten into him? Did one of us say something—? Landon swung his head around and scowled when he saw her standing there.
“Pack!” he barked, “Pack, people! We have no time!”
Elaina set the wooden cup she’d been drying down on the table while she watched him feverishly demonstrate what he ordered. Landon always kept his things in a meticulously neat stack, clothes folded, bags packed, and everything kept out of the way. He was throwing things into the saddlebag in total disarray.
Something has clearly unhinged him. She glanced at the door, which was now swinging slowly open with a reproachful creak. He nearly unhinged that as well.
“Time for what?” She asked, settling one hand on her hip.
“To pack!” he exclaimed again, “before they get here!” With that he swiped the dried cup off the table, crammed his socks into it and squashed it into one bag.
“Who?” Hetarth wondered at last.
“The agents. They are in Tar Haviel—just arrived from Conde’tair. The true spirits only know how long they’ll take to get here.” Landon said tersely, rolling up his blanket. Elaina saw Hetarth’s tan face pale markedly. He left off darning old socks at once.
“Pack, Elaina. Get your clothes and some pots and pans for cooking. I’ll get mine and the food.” He said steadily, rising from his chair and hobbling swiftly into his room.
“I’ll get the food, you get the pans,” Landon corrected with a sidelong glance at Hetarth’s retreating back. “It will last longer that way.” he finished significantly. Elaina couldn’t argue with that. Food had a tendency to disappear when Hetarth was around.
“What agents?” she called from her room, heaping things on the bed, “and what do they do that we have to run from them? Surely there are not too many for us to handle!” she exclaimed, poking her head back into the main room. She was imagining a courageous stand at the little house, combined with the memory of those trees she had turned into enormous torches.
Clearly, neither of the men had any heroics in mind. Landon was tying napkins around the bread and cheese, and Hetarth scuttled by with the Book of the Broken. He wrapped it in clothes as he went, stuffed the lot into a bag, then crammed that into a cauldron.
“There were four.” Landon reported to Hetarth unhappily.
“True spirits! Did they have an Orb with them—a round stone just small enough to hold in one hand?” Hetarth called as he lumbered through the house.
“Couldn’t tell.” Landon shouted back.
Hetarth growled a curse Elaina had never heard before. “We cannot let them catch us. We leave now.” The Guardian declared, grabbing the soup tureen around the middle with one arm and marching out the door as fast as he could with his crutch.
“Come on, Elaina! No time to be neat—MOVE!” Landon called, kicking the door open to follow Hetarth into the sun. Bewildered and frustrated, Elaina shoved everything she could into her satchel and hurried after them. Everything I have is going to reek of glovebloom!
None of them spoke as they jogged down the leafy paths deeper into the Wilds. Hetarth and Landon checked over their shoulders so often that Elaina began doing it too, though she had no idea what they were looking for. At last, Hetarth held up his hand for them to stop. The shadows in the wood were getting longer, but she had no idea how far they’d gone. Panting for breath, she asked in a harsh whisper,
"Now will you tell me what we're running from?"
"Agents," Landon repeated, "They come after people for the Empire: casters, leaders, anyone the Drethlords choose. Some end up in Hurndrith, and some are just never seen again. I couldn't tell you which are better off." He explained glumly, hands on knees while he fought for air.
"They are just the people we don't want to meet." Hetarth added, leaning against a tree trunk. "The Drethlords do not send the powerless or inexperienced. I guarantee those four men are great swordsmen and protected against the pillars. You don't yet have the skill to maneuver around whatever webs may be protecting them, and I don't have the strength, and while we tried they would cut us all to dog meat. And they may have weapons we don't know of."
Suddenly, Elaina found she didn't mind that she had packed only one clean pair of stockings in the rush, or that she was going to smell of herbs.
"So where do we go now?" she asked. He sighed.
"I wish we had longer, but I guess we'll just have to come back and have you swear in Tarquendale another time, is all." Hetarth murmured absently. He seemed to realize the others did not understand, because he went on, "Tarquendale is south of here, or what is left of it is," he began, "but they will look there if they suspect us to be what we are," Hetarth massaged his injured leg with his fingertips. "North is better. There is no large city to draw news to them, and it gets them farther from Hurndrith and into the wilderness, out of their element." He didn't look particularly happy about it, either.
"And our final destination?" Landon ventured.
"Anywhere they can't find us. If the Wilds of Hasile don't do it, I suspect the Mountains of the Guard could provide an excellent place to hide until they lose us—hopefully permanently. They must have some means of following us though, or they would not have come to Tar Haviel. We’ll have to be careful."
Landon let out a long breath.
"You could go home, you know." Elaina offered quietly. "They aren't after you. It would be a poor payment to your family if they never heard from you again."
"My family would understand this," said Landon stoutly, "but they would not understand if I were to tuck tail and run, leaving the two of you to be hunted." he declared.
"Don't get all offended. It isn't as if we are your average girl and her uncle," Elaina groused, "and you wouldn't look so good at one hundred plus."
"It's good to know you're with us, Landon." Hetarth broke in, "but we need to keep moving." Tapping his lip, he glanced at the solid walls of overgrown shrubs and vines that filled the gaps beneath the trees.
"That way." He pointed directly into the vegetation with his cane.
"We'll leave a trail a league wide cutting through that! We should stick to the path, forks will confuse them." Landon objected. Elaina nodded her agreement. Every cut branch and vine will point the way to our hunters like a flaming arrow. A child of three could follow a trail like that in the dead of night. It is the perfect way to get caught.
"Who said anything about cutting?" said Hetarth slyly. He gestured to the plants almost lovingly. Delicate tendrils of vine uncoiled from the woody branches they ensnared, which bent slowly away from each other. Elaina tried to focus in on the webs he was casting,
but there was too much movement—it was dizzying. A narrow path formed through the brambles, branches arching gracefully over their heads.
"Oh. That works too, I guess." She admitted. Landon grinned and made a theatrical bow, inviting Hetarth to lead the way deeper into the Wilds.
To Elaina's surprise, Hetarth insisted she practice her casting that night, as always.
"What shall I do?" she asked, somewhat defeated. They had walked all day and now just when she thought she was done there was more.
"Anything you like, only no burning—we do not need the smoke." Hetarth warned. "I want to watch the way you cast."
Self-conscious, Elaina began running through the exercises she had mastered, slowly at first and then faster as she gained confidence. A weary smile moved Hetarth’s lips. If I’m tired, he must be exhausted, she thought, suddenly ashamed of herself. Every step was twice as hard for him as it was for her, but he hadn’t complained. She pushed herself to go faster, smoother, cleaner. If he can climb mountain paths with a crutch, I can cast just as well tonight as any other. Earth, Fire, Air, and Water, then pulling them together for heat, light, mist, and steam.
When the last of the simple webs were done, she began struggling through the more difficult ones, like growing plants with Air, Water, and Earth, or reflecting light to hide her face with Air, Water, and Fire. The web was complex. Making it look real was hard enough — motion made the whole thing borderline impossible.
The Illusion over her eyes was okay, but with the whole face, anything from turning her head to speaking gave her away in an instant. Plus, there was no way to check her work—Hetarth had to explain what he saw. Illusion would not reflect. After a series of frustratingly unsuccessful attempts, she took a break to ask Hetarth something that had been troubling her.
"What would happen if I turned one of the webs inside out?" She asked, releasing the fine strands of the Light and Air to watch him consider her question.
"It is a tricky business." He admitted, "More difficult even than getting a solid grasp of Illusion — air and light are fleeting, but still they have a connection. It is possible to invert the connection in a way, hard as it is. Even when it is possible, the Oaths forbid inverted webs of a certain size. I’d thank you not to try any time soon, we’re fugitives, after all.” He smiled kindly at her and she nodded her agreement. As if I would try something that makes Illusion look easy!
“Even those who were capable of such finesse need to attach the form to something concrete—a jewel or bauble, usually—to keep themselves properly focused." He went on.
"Where does the power come from? Is it the Creator’s, stored up and waiting to be used, or just what is in the jewel?" she pressed.
"The power comes from the sources that touch it, which is of course quite dangerous. The nature of our power prevents any person from drawing too much, or beginning what you cannot finish, but inverted webs have none of the same protection. If you touch a form you can start but can’t complete, you’ll die." He said. “That’s why they were required to be small.”
"Truth!" she exclaimed, "Why, then you could be killed by touching any little thing that was infused with an inverted web, if it were too large."
"Yes, it is a strange business, as I said, and a dangerous one. The great thinkers supposed the bypass of the limits was due to the fact that the maker of an inverted web was not actually doing anything, yet, just laying out a pathway for the power of another to travel. It really isn’t casting at all . . ." Here he trailed off, suddenly very still.
"Hetarth?" she asked anxiously. "Are you well?" He didn't respond to her question.
"That's it." He murmured in a mystified tone, "That is how they did it! An inverted web too massive to complete, instant death for all who touched it." Hetarth pushed himself upright to limp around awkwardly, too excited to sit still.
"The Gift, it was called in Asemal, from the Stranger from over the Sea—Arith is over the sea to them. It must have been a Guardian.” He said definitively. What in the name of the True spirits? Elaina wondered, watching him jerk his leg behind him while he paced.
“But who? Who would intentionally make something unfinishable, even to the Naedar?" he growled to himself, stroking the salt-and-pepper beard that was coming in. "It would have to be massive to kill all of us." he pondered aloud, then paused.
“Salfiron." It was a whisper, but both Elaina and Landon heard him clearly. Landon was whittling a small lion from a stick, but had left off when Hetarth stood up and now watched as intently as she did.
"It isn't actually casting, so it is not blocked by oath—they made Salfiron and swear he’d never cast again, but inverted webs don’t count because they’re not complete! No one has been strong enough to finish it, so it goes on, consuming every life force it encounters." He looked up, halting his lurching walk around their campsite.
"Salfiron was the Stranger, and this Orb of his was the Gift that destroyed the Creators in Asemal, then us in the Invasion." Hetarth finished in shocked understanding, sitting down hard.
Elaina went to him and took his arm. "What are you saying?" Her concern and curiosity warred in her voice. Was the hike too much for him? He’s talking nonsense!
"The Orb, that is how these little casters defeated us. The Drethlords invaded, and we were overconfident. All they had to do was touch us with an inverted web of creation or banishment too large for anyone to finish, and it was instant death. All of a Guardian’s power would be sucked into the impossible web, all of it. The perfect weapon against a Creator." Hetarth explained with a dumbfounded shake of his head.
“Who is Salfiron?”
“I told you of him once. He was fascinated by banishment—he wanted to know where things go when they are sent into non-being. He did horrible things in his research, but he was a Naedar, so few could oppose him. It caused an underground civil war amongst the Guardians at the beginning of the Age—the Lost Times. He was condemned, forced to swear never to cast again, and exiled. Apparently he went to Asemal. They tell stories of a Stranger that brought them a Gift that sparked an uprising against Wielders, their name for Creators—in their isles. The Stranger must have been Salfiron, and the Gift must be the Orb they used to destroy us in the Invasion, an inverted web arranged by Salfiron.”
"So all we have to do is keep them from touching you with this thing, and we're safe?" Landon asked hopefully.
"I doubt it will be that simple, but it is to our advantage to know the enemy's weapons." Hetarth agreed. For a few minutes more he was silent, considering. At last, Hetarth recovered himself.
"But that is not something we will need to worry on for a good long time, Truth protect us. More pressing is the matter of your clothing, Elaina." he said deliberately. She looked down at her belted tunic and soft linen trousers, her usual outfit. He wants to talk about my clothes?
"What about them?" she asked with narrowed eyes.
Hetarth sighed and glanced at Landon, who hastily turned back to his carving. Elaina smirked. One of them knows better than to tell a woman what to wear, she thought.
"You are fairly easy to recognize wearing that. Anyone who sees us would remember." Hetarth began carefully. At least he recognizes that he’s on thin ice.
"I thought the point was that we wouldn't see anyone out here." She replied archly, hands on her hips.
"I'm planning on the unplanned, Elaina. We have to do everything we can to stay out of Hurndrith, and that means staying out of sight and out of mind. Did you bring a dress?"
That was difficult to argue with. What am I supposed to say, I’d rather go to Hurndrith? That’s not funny when it’s possible. The thought was sobering, but not entirely mollifying. They don’t have to change—women always get the short end of the stick!
Scowling darkly, she marched over to her satchel and began yanking things out, muttering under her breath and shaking each item to try and relieve the stench of glovebloom. No one will remember my clothes, but they’ll never forget the glov
ebloom!
"This is it." She brandished a forest green dress with a square neckline and short sleeves at her uncle. "And it hasn't fit properly in years. Plus it reeks." Hetarth smiled at her indignation and gestured her over.
"What's the matter with the fit?" he asked, taking it from her and holding it out.
"It's too small, here and here." Elaina said bluntly, pointing to the bosom and hips. She was trying for nonchalance, but a blush spread across her cheeks anyway. Truth, where else wouldn’t it fit?! Landon pretended not to notice any of it, but Hetarth was unfazed. He murmured a few words and under his watchful gaze the fabric altered itself.
"That should be better." He said, handing it back to her. Elaina took it with a sniff and tossed it over a pine bough. She'd put it on in the morning—there was no need to sleep in the stinking thing.
The days were dreary. Even though the weather stayed fair and the scenery was exquisite, every day seemed a chore to Elaina. First off, her skirt was constricting—she missed leggings. Second, they ate the same things day in, day out: whatever edible roots and plants were around plus the odd rabbit or squirrel that Landon could hit with a slingshot. He was fairly good at it, but the thick canopy made the task ten times harder, so meat was a luxury and had to be split three ways besides. Most of the time Elaina got only a bite or two—she didn’t want equal shares with the men; they needed it more than she did and enjoyed it more besides.
She had left her bow behind long ago— it was too awkward to carry and keep the string and feathers dry. Battling the weather to keep in dry and ready to use had been a chore, but she missed it. Now there was only boredom and that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach when she thought about how long it had taken her to cure the wood and carve the handle.
Once she’d tried hunting with her power instead: finding prey by sensing Fire in their warmth, hunting with darts or nooses of Air. It was harder than she expected, and she didn’t have the heart to get better at it. It just didn’t seem fair.
She’d once seen a man from Jernal rope a sheep with a great long loop thrown through the air. He said they caught all manner of things with ropes, but as easy as it looked, it was near impossible to do. Hunting with ropes of Air was little better. Darts were easy—so much so it seemed unfair, but she still did it when it felt like her stomach was trying to gnaw on her backbone.
Trudging behind Landon, Elaina glanced at the straggly foliage around them, but there was no movement. She focused, looking for the bright halo of Fire, but found only the dim sparkle of plant life.
Elaina made a face at the nothingness and sighed. Landon checked back over his shoulder, his face thinner and harder than before, like a hillside where all the soil has been stripped away to expose the flint underneath.
They needed food. At this point, she was ready to use a spear of Air and take on something mammoth, then sit there for days and eat until she couldn’t move. That would be perfect—the exact opposite of what we do now: starving and marching.
The last time they had eaten something other than hardcap mushrooms and bluecress was two days before. Landon hit a rabbit with his slingshot—he was really not bad. Elaina had been too nauseous to eat.
A blush rose on her cold cheeks. She’d been famished, but couldn’t eat that rabbit, and Hetarth had guessed why. As soon as she mentioned nausea, he’d known. A hungry person shouldn’t be sick at the smell of food. It was guilt that made it impossible to eat.
Landon hadn’t hit the rabbit. She’d been watching with the pillars and saw the stone sail past. An impulse had struck, and before she could think it through, she acted. It was the first time she banished anything. The little rabbit dropped dead when its brain disappeared. It should have gone unnoticed, since the brain was not considered a delicacy anywhere save Newythe.
As soon as she banished it, she’d thrown up. The smells and sounds of the mountains seemed to beat at her senses. Her vision quivered and sparkled. Nausea rolled over her, and Elaina barely kept from falling down from the dry heaves that seized her stomach. When Landon mentioned that he couldn’t find the kill shot, then Elaina wouldn’t eat, Hetarth knew.
Somehow, banishing was utterly different than killing, even if the result was the same. When Landon came trotting back with the lifeless body, Elaina couldn’t barely stand to look at it.
“It’s strange,” Landon said, examining their dinner, “I can’t tell where I hit it.” he shrugged and smiled, happy to have something to eat. Elaina felt Hetarth’s eyes on her.
The struggle with the power to create and destroy isn’t like the power to manipulate. Isn’t a sudden flood that crashes down on you, it’s a slow rising tide that you don’t even notice until you’re underwater. He warned me, he told me not to become worse than my enemies.
For the first time, Elaina truly believed that she could be worse for Arith than the Drethlords, worse than anything. Truth, what would it do to me if I did that to something greater than a rabbit? Her knees trembled and her skin tried to shiver off her bones. Never. Never, never.
Darkness blanketed the mountains early, leaving them marching along in the gloom until they found a decent spot to camp. They had been out in the mountains for twenty two days, but this was the coldest night by far. The stars blinked coldly in the black sky. Clear nights were colder than cloudy ones.
They couldn’t light a fire, but Hetarth had a curious little web that turned the strips of rabbit meat Landon cut into strings of jerky with Fire that didn’t emit any light. Landon had long since stopped complaining that jerky wasn’t nearly as delicious as fresh-cooked meat dripping with juices that ran down your chin. He dug into his share with exhausted delight. Hetarth, too, ate with his usual relish. Elaina felt ill again just looking at the remains of the little rabbit.
“What’s this?” Hetarth growled, frowning at her, “Not eating?” Landon looked up, surprised—he had not noticed yet. When he saw Hetarth was right, his expression changed into one of concerned disbelief.
“I’m feeling a little ill.” Elaina explained. It didn’t smooth away the lines on her uncle’s forehead.
“Ill. At the sight of food.” He said unhappily. “There’s nothing right about that.” After a moment of contemplating her face, he saw the guilt there and made the connection. He’s figured it out. There’s only one reason I’d feel guilty enough about the rabbit to not eat it when we’re slowly starving to death. Rather than wait to be berated in front of Landon, Elaina said softly,
“I’ll never do it again.”
Hetarth nodded once, then went back to his meal in silence. Landon’s head swiveled between them, but when Hetarth stayed quiet and Elaina didn’t look up, he shrugged. With actual food in his stomach he was not overly curious.
They slept under the low-sweeping boughs of tall, heavy pine trees. By the trunk there was just enough room to sit up straight, and the needles on the outside brushed the ground, blocking the cold wind. Elaina tried the subtle web that would keep them warm without setting the whole thing ablaze, but after failing twice, she let it drop. Better to have cold hands and feet than to be a pile of charcoal.
“There’s no need to run through the rest of the forms tonight, Elaina,” Hetarth said at last. “Since you feel unwell and ate so little.”
A pang of guilt struck her again, but it was a relief not to have to begin the mess of webs she practiced each night. Elaina crawled a little ways around the trunk of the pine before flopping on her side. Landon went the other way, and Hetarth stayed just where he was—it was hard for him to crawl around with his leg.
Huddled under the branches, they all waited for sleep. Silence had come to cover much of their activity, as hunger and exhaustion squashed the desire to talk, and boredom stripped them of anything to say.
For as tired as she was, sleep hadn’t been coming easily. When she was standing, all she wanted to do was lay down, but when she did, all she could feel were the rocks under her ribs and the cold bite of the air and the emptiness in
her stomach.
As she lay looking at the branches above her, Elaina considered how far they’d come. They could no longer hear the wolves at night and hadn’t been able to for days. Hetarth said they stopped following at the edge of their territory. Elaina didn’t miss them. They were better hunters and would find any game first.
If she had to guess, she would have said they were directly north of the headwaters of Bryce Creek. It was a long way to walk and the mountains made it harder.
I cannot believe Hetarth has kept this up. How his leg must ache! I wish I knew how to Heal it. But Healing was terribly complex, a mix of the all the pillars in an intricate and incredibly delicate combination that varied depending on the injury. Any mistakes could quickly become fatal. For now, she stuck with bruises, sore muscles, and scrapes.
Hetarth never complained and neither did Landon, but there were dark circles under both their eyes, and the broad muscles of each were giving way to a leaner, hungrier look. Her own dress, which had been snug at the start of their journey, was now faded and overlarge.
We’ve come a long and hungry way. But I’ve come so far with the pillars, too. Before, even casting pure Air was troublesome, now it comes to me easy as breathing and so does Fire and Water. Then there’s Earth . . . she snorted softly to herself. At least I don’t shatter rocks with my touch anymore. It was still about four times as hard as using the other pillars. And of course, I have just begun to explore the power of a Creator.
When she covered their path behind them, she used Air to raise up footprints, and only the barest hint of Earth in repairing broken branches or growing back trampled grass, relying mostly on Air and Water.
They had once seen their followers at a great distance. Even with the spyglass Landon carried—a collapsible tube he said contained curved lenses that somehow made far away things seem quite near—they’d only been able to tell that there were still four men. In the endless wilderness, there was no telling where the agents were now or how close behind, but it was proof they had not given up. It was also proof they were not too concerned with keeping themselves hidden, which didn’t bode well. Elaina sighed. How long will they follow?
The answer that drifted to her in the darkness was colder than the night air. They’ll followed until someone is dead. The next morning, snow began to fall.
It snowed for three days, blanketing everything in a layer of white. Landon was happy to see it—he had only seen snow once before, in the Ochfels Revolt. His enthusiasm soon faded. In addition to being cold, the snow turned paths to slush in the sun and ice in the shade, which made the task of covering their footprints ten times more difficult.
He could tell it was wearing Elaina down. Between the extra casting and the cold she had a faint tinge of blue to her lips all the time. She hadn’t been a curvy girl when they started out, and now she was looking positively skinny. Hetarth was as burly as ever, but watching him struggle up the hills was enough to make a man flinch.
I don’t know how long we can go on this way. He thought dejectedly, but there is no other choice. If they stop, they die. Even if I could find a way out of the Wilds, if I leave them I lose my chance to free Arith forever. Must everything be so very difficult? He sighed and scanned the ground for the burrows of snow voles or the tracks of mountain fox.
If I didn’t need my boots, I swear I would gnaw on the leather and boil the soles into soup. His mutinous thoughts only spurred his stomach to grumble loudly. Beside him, Elaina heard. Her apologetic look made him smile half-heartedly as Hetarth led them into a narrow gorge. It was actually more of a gap between two cliffs, it was so small. He could have reached out and touched the stones on either side. He wasn’t sure if it made him feel safely hidden or terrifyingly trapped.
"Is there a way out of this?" Landon asked the path narrowed further. He tried to keep the doubt out of his voice, but it didn’t quite work. When he checked back over his shoulder though, Elaina didn’t seem to think his concern was misplaced.
He’d grown awfully suspicious since leaving Loth Daer, he knew. Elaina had spent the whole first week looking at him sideways as if he were a puzzle. She just couldn’t figure out why he wouldn’t take off his sword. Maybe now that she’s being hunted she understands. It was a grim thought and more than a little harsh. He was glad he hadn’t said it aloud. He didn’t want to see more hurt on Elaina’s gaunt face.
"This is the only entrance to the valley, we'll come out this way." Hetarth replied quietly as he picked through the boulders. His voice echoed softly in the canyon.
"Then why do we go in at all?" Elaina asked. She sounded more tired than alarmed, but Landon felt a thrill of unease wriggle up his spine. Truth, we are trapped! But anyone behind us can only come in one man at a time, if they find this niche. It’s eminently defensible. Is Hetarth setting us up for a final stand?
"You will see." Hetarth assured them. Elaina and Landon shared an incredulous look, but the calm in his voice eased Landon’s fears. He doesn’t sound like a man backed into a corner. Not yet, anyway.
As they walked, the steep walls around them abruptly fell away, revealing a deep bowl-shaped valley in the afternoon sun.
Landon wondered if Evermore could be any more lovely and inviting than this place. Silver birches crowded the foot of the mountains on the left, and the wind made them almost whisper. The trees thinned and disappeared toward the center of the valley, where a meadow crept all the way to the other side. The thin snow must have melted, leaving the last of the fall flowers visible in the grass. On the far side, the cliffs dropped into a crystal clear pool that reflected everything above it on its perfectly unruffled surface. In the stillness he could hear the cheerful sound of water trickling down the rocks into the pool.
"It's beautiful!" Elaina exclaimed. Landon couldn’t disagree. Any place without snow would have been wonderful, but this was like a dream.
"We'll stay here the night and be gone in the morning. The water comes from a hot spring, so it will be warm though it is no deeper than this." He held his hand to the bottom of his rib cage. "This would be a good time for that bath you've been bothering me about, Elaina. You go first—Landon and I will stay over here." Beaming, Elaina took off across the meadow, her laughter chasing itself off the mountainsides. Landon smiled. It had been weeks since he’d heard anyone laugh.
Landon followed Hetarth, angling away from the water to the stand of birch trees on the other side of the bowl. The birches had not yet lost their leaves, which were a happy yellow against the white of the slender branches. Hetarth created a fire and eased himself down beside it. Landon simply lay back under the elegant boughs and stared up through them at the steel-grey sky. It was warmer in the bowl and would be until the sun set. Until the temperature dropped, it was pleasant enough to leave his cloak untied.
Truth, a bath will be nice. He thought, rubbing his fingers against his palm. He hadn’t been actually clean in weeks, and shaving was out of the question. Mother probably wouldn’t know me if she saw me now, a ragged wayfarer with wild hair. The thought of jumping out at his sister Kari brought a smile to his lips. She’d squeal and fly out of his hands like a will o’ the wisp, her brown curls bobbing behind her.
Landon was lost in his daydreams while Hetarth drew more wood to the little fire with Air—he supposed this was a secluded enough place for both the light and the smoke. The pile of branches was crackling merrily when Elaina returned, all her clothes dripping wet and a broad grin on her face.
“Have fun?” He asked, eyeing her. “You know, some people wring out their clothes after they do laundry.” He noted. She only laughed. It must feel good to be clean. Landon thought enviously.
“It’s your turn,” she said cheerfully. Landon scrambled to his feet and unbuckled his sword belt.
“How’s the water?”
“Warm, it’s wonderful.”
He headed off at once, waving her off when she called after him that she’d left things over there to dry. She can come
get them when I’m done. When he got closer to the pool he yanked off his boots and splashed right in.
The water wasn’t hot enough to really warm him through, but at least it wasn’t so cold that he’d freeze. It was just fine for what he most wanted: to get clean. The bar of homemade soap he had snagged from the house in Tar Haviel was practically unused, but it was plenty harsh enough to make up the difference now. Landon scrubbed his scalp and skin hard enough to make each tingle and almost sting. Truth only knows when I’ll get this chance again, he thought grimly.
With that in mind, he fished a bit of polished silver that he used for a mirror out of its pocket in his belt and propped it up on a rock. Crouching a bit in the water, it was just the right height to shave by.
He retrieved his knife off his belt, thumbed the edge to be sure it was sharp enough, and set to work with enthusiasm. A few nicks were a very reasonable price to pay for not feeling like a bandit.
Landon returned just as evening fell in the valley—earlier than it had at home under the shadows of the mountains. As he walked up, content and relaxed, Elaina peered into the night behind him. It made his skin prickle, and he jerked his head around.
"Did you see that?" she asked, squinting into the twilight. "There was a little flash . . . there!" Elaina cried, pointing. Tiny gold lights flickered all around the meadow among the white birches. "Oh!" she breathed in surprise. Landon felt his alarm wane, but he looked to Hetarth for reassurance that this was not some malicious web come after them.
"Shh, don't frighten them. It's the Ata Sivamir—they're somewhat timid around humans. This is the largest colony outside of Newythe and Ronam. I thought you would like them." Hetarth explained, watching the yellow lights float around the valley. They would flare for a few seconds at a time before they went dark and flew on, only to rekindle a few spans away.
"What are they?" Landon asked, eyeing them curiously.
"Pixies, fairies, call them what you wish. We used to think it was the beetles lighting up, but as it turns out the glowing is the pixies talking to one another as they ride on the backs of the insects."
"Why would they want to ride a beetle?" Elaina asked, wrinkling her nose.
"It’s tiring to fly around, they are so very small. The beetles go faster—like a human riding a horse."
"You said they used to think it was the beetles lighting up. What changed everyone’s mind?" Landon asked. Hetarth grinned.
"Aleyse. She was . . . slightly less graceful than the others and a great deal more bold. She fell off after someone caught the beetle she was riding and proceeded to berate the bug-catcher, who only saw her lighting up like a little star—which is where the name came from."
Elaina grinned, thinking of the illustration in the Book of the confident and misfortune-prone pixie. She and Landon sat watching them until an hour after full dark while Hetarth bathed in the pool. When he returned with the clothes Elaina left out to dry, the Ata Sitari were finished for the night. The three of them stayed up a while longer, discussing their plans.
“We can’t risk staying the winter in Amanheld.” Landon proposed. Hetarth nodded his agreement. There were too many people, the towns were too settled. Outsiders stuck out like a sore thumb.
“I’d hate to winter in Cavilnor, though. I hear its better in the valleys of the mountains than up in the northern plains. The winds come out of the Barrens without anything to slow them.” Hetarth noted.
“So we stay in the mountains?” Elaina asked.
“It would be best to keep moving, but the cold may dissuade our hunters more than it bothers us.” Hetarth said by way of agreement.
“We’re going to need supplies if we mean to face the winter up here.” Landon pointed out. “So it’s either a village, a secluded farm, or Donlin.”
“There’s a better chance of agents in Donlin, but also a better chance of blending in.” Hetarth said with a frown.
“We’d never go without comment in a town or at a farmhouse. They may not even have what we need—assuming they open their doors to strangers at all.” Landon added.
“We’d best make for Donlin, then.” Hetarth decided. “We’ll try to blend in, get what we need, and get out as fast as we can. The winter will hide us in the Mountains of the Guard.”
It would be weeks before they got there, but Landon was pleased to finally have a solid plan. Between that and the bath, he was soon asleep.