ã€ŠMedicine and Poisonã€‹


 Prologue - The End of Eternity

    The woman heaved herself across the bank, dragging limp legs through the mud behind her. She reached the meeting place, thrust her back against the stump and closed her eyes. She panted, her breath slowing as the pain subsided. Clumps of earth matted her white hair. She looked down at rolls of skin hanging slackly off tired muscles, as though they belonged to someone else. I remember when this body was supple and strong, and all eternity lay before me to enjoy it. How quickly eternity passed. She listened for the old man, but only heard the soft rustling of young leaves, brushing together in the breeze. She drew a long breath, savouring the scent of fresh growth and fertile air. She remembered the first time she smelled the forest after rainfall. That Spring, she had fallen in love. Or, as her father put it, she had lost her mind.

    Her mind was returning though. The sobering nearness of death cleared the fog that had obscured these final years. She remembered that in a moment of wild, inspired hope she had planted a seed. Yet, in her confusion, she had neglected to watch it grow. Everything depended upon finding it.

    Suddenly, the old man was in front of her.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t hear you coming.¡± She reprimanded. He did not usually move so quietly. Not like the others of his kind who crept around, fearful and cautious of every shadow. She should have heard his footsteps from afar, snapping and thumping through the undergrowth. She would have liked to hear that.

    ¡°I¡¯m here, Your Majesty.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡±

    ¡°What should I call you, then?¡±

    She shook her head, and the shake became a shiver that rippled across her whole body, as though it were throwing off the title in disgust.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°Anything else, old man.¡±

    He remained silent. He stood too still. She looked up and saw that the soft currents of air, which buffeted the thinner branches back and forth, did not disturb a single hair of his beard. A mere apparition. She let out a long, deep groan that morphed into a wail of despair. How had he let this happen?

    ¡°He killed me,¡± admitted the old man, hanging his head in apology, ¡°My apprentice. We fought and he killed me.¡± He looked away, wiping his eyes as though tears could still fall from them. ¡°I was beastly to him. I can see that now.¡±

    ¡°Then you failed.¡±

    The man nodded.

    ¡°Then I failed, too.¡±

    ¡°We failed together.¡±

    He looked at her directly. He never did that before. She wondered where his body was and what was left of it. How long had this memory of a man lingered in the world, waiting for their meeting? On how many new moons had he arrived, only to find that she had forgotten or neglected it again?

    The woman closed her eyes, relishing the warm sun on her skin. She would never feel it again, when this was over. Had it all been worth it? Poor man, it¡¯s already over for him. She opened her eyes and looked at him kindlier. She had expected too much. After all, his mind had been rotting just like her own. The trunk spread its sickness to the branches. The old man glanced at the trail that she had dragged across the bank. Then he looked to the undulating, silver lake and back at her.

    ¡°Shall I go? What will happen now?¡± He asked in a trembling whisper. His fear, childlike and innocent, unnerved her. In life he had been a powerful man, and the powerful amongst them were seldom innocent. Death had stripped away his arrogance and rage, exposing a raw and vulnerable heart.

    ¡°Go.¡± She rasped, waving a hand. ¡°But I don¡¯t know what will happen.¡± Then she added, with a touch of bitterness, ¡°That¡¯s death, isn¡¯t it? None of you know what happens.¡±

    He turned to the lake and walked in. When the still water reached his waist he gasped and paused, as though to turn back and wave goodbye, but continued deeper.

    The water arrived at the shining top of his head and closed over it. No bubbles broke the surface.

    The woman was alone.

 Chapter 1 - The Outsider

    Oli cast his line and the raft wobbled beneath his knees. He reached into the throw, pulling back in time to right the little vessel before it tipped him into the river. He watched the silk thread unravel against dark trees on the far bank. It caught the sunlight briefly, a shining arc, before a gentle plop sounded from across the river. The line settled onto the surface and Oli sat back.

    He waited.

    If Oli was good at one thing, it was waiting. Fishing, too, if they could be considered different pursuits. Oli thought they could. Waiting for a fish was a special kind of waiting; it relaxed him in a focussed, intense way.

    As he waited, eyes scanning the breadth of the river for a hint of his prey¡¯s hunger, his ears picked up a foreign sound. From upriver came the drawl of Western accents. Traders! Hastily, he whipped back the line and pulled his raft into the thick reeds. They closed like a curtain in front of him and he peered through as a barge drifted round the bend. A man at the rear worked the pole, sweat pooling under his arms and on his back despite the cold. Oli was supposed to return immediately if he saw outsiders. Instead, he clung to the reeds and eavesdropped as the intruders passed.

    ¡°Mooring in the Republic is free now. And you can stay out of Dombarrow. There¡¯s a trading post upriver of the city. Just another day¡¯s journey and we could sell the lot for three times the Kingdom price.¡±

    The man working the pole talked in a louder voice than anyone who belonged in the forest would risk.

    ¡°Good idea,¡± A burly woman concurred, looking up from sorting dry leaves into cloth bags. ¡°We should pass Scursditch and spit at their harbourmaster on the way. I met a man who¡¯d been to the Republic. He brought silver back for grain. Silver! For selling grain!¡±

    ¡°Silver from the godless city?¡± The third Westerner, with short grey hair greased neatly back stood in the middle watching the others work. In an angry bark he declared, ¡°I¡¯d sooner dump the cargo for hoarders to pick over.¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t afford to be picky. Times are changing, anyhow. The tower stands and all that.¡±

    ¡°Oi! Who¡¯s that lurking in the shallows?¡±

    Oli nearly dropped his rod. The woman pointed and three pairs of eyes trained on his hiding place.

    ¡°Hey, boy! Come on out. I¡¯ve got a pouch of tobacco for half of those fish.¡±

    Oli looked down at his basket, poking out between the reeds, and pulled it belatedly back.

    ¡°Just a wee shy one from the Sevener clans. Leave him be.¡± The man with the pole said.

    ¡°Look at his basket though! That¡¯s devilish luck with nothing but a stick. How¡¯s he doing it? Reb, steer us closer. We¡¯ll trade him something. A bit of fresh fish would be a treat, and your nets aren¡¯t catching anything.¡±

    Oli rose slowly and held up his left hand with the thumb and second finger pressed into a circle.

    ¡°The Lost Daughter,¡± he mouthed silently.

    It was the sign his mother made if outsiders spotted them. The sign of the youngest of the seven gods; of dreams, death and childish play. She said it scared them. She would only shrug disinterestedly when he asked why, as though the fears of Westerners were an irrational mystery, useful to exploit but not worth exploring.

    ¡°We keep to the river till we reach Scursditch.¡± The older man declared, eyeing Oli with a mixture of fear and disdain. ¡°He¡¯s bad luck, this one. Savages are all bad luck. Push us on, Reb.¡±

    Then they were gone downstream, taking the last of their cargo to Scursditch, the only town in the forest and the only place where Westerners deigned, or dared, to mix with their distant cousins, the Seveners.

    Oli had accepted an offer of trade once, a long time ago. With trembling hands he¡¯d counted out a dozen herring and a great barbel as fat as his head. He¡¯d returned proudly with a bag of sugar. The other children had gone wild, and he had experienced for the first time that heady delight of popularity. It had not been worth it. His father had confined him to their home for half a moon and his mother had told him stories every night of careless children who brought curses to their families in innocent looking packages and had to watch them die of strange illnesses. ¡®We should fear outsiders as we fear ghouls and sleepers,¡¯ she had repeated to him over and over until he had plugged his ears and turned to face the wall.

    Some of the children got away with worse, Oli ruminated as he cast his line again. The twins, Koen and Kuno, could sneak away to spy on the townsfolk at Scursditch, even returning with pilfered cloth, and the adults and elders merely shrugged and exchanged smirks. And Ingo ¨C the infallible, perfect Ingo ¨C got away with clambering around near the hoarders¡¯ caves and coming back with scrapes all over his arms and legs.

    ¡°Nowhere is safe in wood or glen, but a fool sets foot beyond the treeline¡¯s end,¡± Elder Mildred would intone as she wagged her finger under his nose, then Ingo would produce a handful Terlos¡¯ soap and she¡¯d chuckle and ruffle his hair.

    Perhaps, mused Oli in a spirit of self-pity, they get away with it because of who their parents are. Yet his parents, too, held weight in the clan. He knew why the rules were stricter for him ¨C if he cared to admit it.

    Tension in the line snapped his attention to the present. His hands tightened on the rod, and he tugged back gently, gauging the strength of the pull. He drew the fish closer, hand over hand. Beneath the surface he could see it thrashing, struggling to escape. In a smooth movement he yanked up the rod, caught the fish in his left hand, thwacked it against the wood and snapped the head back. To complete the process, he placed his thumb against his first finger, making a teardrop and muttered,

    ¡°Farlean, her domain is swift water, her gift is cleanliness.¡±

    Then he appraised his catch. A sturgeon! Quickly, he checked her for eggs. He found none, but even so this was a fine prize. He gazed at the glittering body as the last twitches gave way to stillness, then he moved to stow it in his basket.

    ¡°I suppose you think that¡¯s clever.¡±

    Oli froze as he would if he had tripped over a sleeper root. He felt as though a jugful of winter river water had been poured down the back of his vest. There was no one else here besides him. The traders were gone, weren¡¯t they?

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not clever, it¡¯s cruel.¡±

    The arch tone drifted from the far bank. Oli¡¯s eyes, darting frantically back and forth, could not locate its source.

    ¡°Luring it over like that with the promise of food, and then turning on it,¡± the voice continued, in an accent that belonged to neither the forest nor the West. ¡°How would you like to swim against a hook, tearing a gash in your own flesh to survive?¡±

    At once, the speaker came into focus, and Oli wondered that he had not seen the man before. That dark patch in the buckthorn bushes wasn¡¯t a mass of dead leaves, still hiding Spring¡¯s new growth, but a patchwork fur cloak, pulled tightly around a slender, crouched frame. The gaunt, lightly bearded face of a young man peered out the top. His long, black hair merged into the shadows of the forest, just like his cloak in the undergrowth. His face was so pale against the leaves, though, that Oli could not believe he had missed it.

    Oli remained still, dead fish in one hand and rod in the other. He could muster a response from neither his body nor mouth.

    ¡°Well?¡± Demanded the stranger, apparently expecting an answer. Oli wasn¡¯t sure, but he thought the man looked surprised to find Oli staring at him. Angry, even. Affronted.

    Indignation cut through his fear. ¡°Well, what do you eat around here?¡± Oli retorted.

    He felt the pole shift in the riverbed and reached for it, without taking his eyes off the stranger.

    ¡°Nothing that thinks I¡¯m it¡¯s friend, that¡¯s for certain.¡±

    The man¡¯s cloak was made from pieces of hide stitched together. Oli recognised deer skin, some patches of rabbit and... was that a wolf¡¯s claw that hung on the left? Just a moment before, Oli thought the claw had been a patch of thorns. And was that a thin branch or a wicked looking, jagged spear that his right hand clasped? The melodic, arrogant voice did not match the wild figure in front of him and Oli distrusted his eyes almost as much as when the man had been hidden.

    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Oli asked in a hopeful tone. He really wanted to ask whether this man was going. The stranger pointed toward the mountains.

    ¡°What¡¯s the name of those peaks?¡±

    ¡°Name?¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    ¡°What do you call them?¡±

    Oli frowned and paused. The man pointed to where Ingo liked exploring, where the hoarders lived. ¡°Um... the mountains,¡± he replied doubtfully. What else would you call them? Were there other mountains? Did he want the name of each peak?

    For a moment the stranger made no expression, then a peal of laughter exploded from his thin lips. As it did so, his cloak fell open. The clothes underneath, though faded, displayed colours as varied as a late spring meadow. Red, yellow and even silver vied for space against a purple background on the man¡¯s skinny chest. The tailors of Scursditch sold nothing like that. Oli pushed on the pole, dislodging the raft and moving it back into the shallows.

    ¡°Stop. You wait there a moment.¡± He looked angry again. He stood and pointed a bony finger at Oli.

    Terrified, Oli pushed harder on the pole.

    ¡°Just answer a question.¡± The stranger slid down the bank as though he meant to leap across the dozen yards between them.

    ¡°What?!¡± Called Oli, pushing away so hard he almost lost balance.

    ¡°Is it where the Beyobacks live?¡± The stranger shouted. ¡°Answer me!¡±

    ¡°The what?¡± yelled Oli in return. A rock bumped beneath the raft. He could wade here but could not yet reach the mooring stump. The man shouted another question which Oli could not hear. Something about how Oli could see him. Water rippled up and splashed over the deck of the raft. Oli leapt down and began pulling it to shore until, glancing over his shoulder, he saw something he had never seen before.

    The thin man shrugged off his cloak and stepped into the water. He walked right into the deep, strong current and submerged himself. Oli had seen animals swim, but never a person. For a moment amazement got the better of his fear. He waited, half expecting to see the man carried away, but soon saw his form far below the surface. As it moved toward the centre the shadowy outline appeared to be crawling along the bed like a skilled climber scaling a cliff. The stranger crossed the deep bed of the river and suddenly shot upward, bursting out, half wading and half swimming so fast the water splashed over his head. Oli dropped the basket and mooring rope and fled into the forest. His heartbeat thumped in his eardrums and, as he ran, he heard the man yelling behind him.

    ¡°Answer me you little murderer! Don¡¯t you dare ignore me. Answer me! Come back! I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry, come back!¡±

    <hr>

    Oli felt as though he were wading through water, though he ran faster than ever. He usually walked carefully, deliberating over each step. His capacity for getting lost was infamous. He always tried to follow the paths, but they looked different to him every time. Long ago he had begged his father to stop putting up signs along the routes he used; the embarrassment of it was too much. Now he wished the little arrows were still there. Within a few dozen paces of fleeing, he began to doubt himself.

    Oli paused to look for something he recognised, standing with his back to a large trunk. He waited, listening between deep breaths. He heard no pursuit. He looked around, his head spinning, and saw the twin trunked oak, albeit from the wrong angle. Somewhat calmed, he continued at a jog. Soon the breeze carried distant noises of village life to him, and new preoccupations entered his mind. The mortal terror of an unknown man with unknown powers subsided and his chest tightened now as he thought of his parents¡¯ reaction when he confessed what had happened. He had lingered while outsiders passed. He had abandoned the raft!

    In his mind he began telling the story, embellishing the appearance of the stranger and exaggerating the danger. Surely, a person so wild and unusual could not have anything to do with the barge that passed earlier? Perhaps he should not mention the barge. As he fretted over what to say and how best to say it, he heard a cry from the village perimeter, beyond the wall of sharpened stakes.

    ¡°Oli¡¯s here! Oli¡¯s back!¡±

    His sister had seen him coming. She sounded relieved, as though she knew already what had happened.

    In an instant clansfolk surrounded him, shouting questions.

    ¡°What happened, where¡¯s Ingo?¡± Thilo, the shepherd yelled at him.

    ¡°Look, he¡¯s been running hard!¡± Called the hunter Torvald to someone behind him.

    ¡°They chased him too,¡± ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°Did Ingo get away?¡±

    Oli blinked and stumbled back. The crowd closed the space he¡¯d created. He opened and shut his mouth. The bodies felt like walls closing in on him. He glanced around, looking for somewhere to run. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, boy, answer!¡± Thilo insisted.

    His sister, Adalina, swept up behind him and clasped her hands in front of his chest. He felt her voice vibrate through his back.

    ¡°Be quiet! Back off!¡±

    Oli turned his head sideways against her stomach and smelled rosemary. The aroma, and the feel of her hands, seemed to warm him from the inside and his heart stopped pressing against his ribs.

    She leant round to look him in the eye, her black hair falling over his face.

    ¡°Where have you been, Oli?¡± She asked quietly. ¡°Have you seen Ingo? If you¡¯ve been to spy on the hoarders you can tell us, alright?¡± She asked the absurd question with a serious urgency. She must know he never risked spying on the hoarders, though other boys did. He couldn¡¯t even find his way there.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been to the river, that¡¯s all, but there was -¡± Oli began, but he was cut off before he could finish.

    ¡°The river!¡± Spat a tall, powerfully built man with braided brown hair. Everyone turned to hear him. ¡°And he returns out of breath with no fish. Excuse me, Ada, but when has Oli ever returned from the river without fish?¡±

    Heridan, Ingo¡¯s father, knelt in front of Oli and pushed his face so close that bristles of the huge man¡¯s plaited beard almost scraped his cheek.

    ¡°Listen, Oli, it¡¯s a rare boy who doesn¡¯t go looking for adventures by the mountains. We forbid it, but we know you all do it. So, speak up now and be honest. If you were there, if you know what happened to my Ingo, you tell us.¡±

    The faces of the assembled adults peered down expectantly. Heridan¡¯s breath warmed Oli¡¯s lips and he tried to sink deeper into his sister¡¯s arms.

    ¡°There was an outsider by the river,¡± Oli shut his eyes. ¡°A warrior with a crooked spear. He crawled across the bottom of the water. He chased me!¡±

    ¡°Oli,¡± whispered Adalina in his ear with a note of pleading, ¡°none of your tall tales now, understand? Ingo left this morning to find you by the river, but he got into trouble by the mountains after noon. Did you go to the caves with him, Oli? Did he meet you? He said he was going to meet you.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Oli could not remember the last time the older boy had wanted to play with him.

    ¡°Nonsense!¡± yelled Heridan, pushing himself up and spinning away, his cheeks beetroot. ¡°Luthold, Winilind! Beat the truth out of your son before I do. And fetch a spear, man.¡±

    ¡°Heridan, let me...¡± His sister began, but the warrior was gone, and his parents now jostled through the crowd towards him. Adalina ran after Ingo¡¯s father.

    One on either side, his mother and father yanked him by the arms into their roundhouse. Oli fell to the floor. His mother closed the door so fast that bits of earth fell from the wall. His father sat in front of him and looked him in the eye, one hand on his son¡¯s knee, the other twisting at the hair of his short, neat beard.

    ¡°Oli, where have you been? Did you meet Ingo in the woods today?¡±

    ¡°Dad, what¡¯s happening? Why is everyone asking if I¡¯ve seen Ingo?¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t meet you by the river?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Insisted Oli, ¡°When does Ingo ever look for me? He¡¯s older than Ada and he doesn¡¯t like me anyway.¡±

    His parents glanced at one another, then his mother spoke, her wide eyes watching him for a reaction, perhaps one that would give a game away.

    ¡°He disappeared. He went into the forest this morning by the Northern path. He told his father he was going to spend the day with you. But then at noon, Joturn heard him screaming near the mountains and no one can find him now. Oli, just yesterday you were asking everyone why Ingo should be allowed to visit the mountains.¡±

    ¡°Why are you sure something happened? He¡¯s always going there, and the hoarders never catch him!¡±

    ¡°Joturn knows his voice. Ingo is in trouble,¡± replied his father, ¡°Maybe he got too close this time.¡± Then Luthold frowned. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you bring any fish back, Oli? Where¡¯s the basket? And why did you come running?¡±

    Adalina entered and carefully closed the door.

    ¡°He says,¡± she sighed, ¡°that a magical warrior fish man attacked him.¡±

    ¡°I did not!¡± shouted Oli. They descended into bickering until Winilind thwacked a leather awning on the wall and they both fell silent. A man poked his head through the door, gave Luthold an intent look, and backed out.

    ¡°Whatever happened by the river, Oli, will have to wait. A party is going out to recover Ingo and I had better be in it.¡±

    His father went slowly to the rear of their home, to the far side by the bedding furs, and returned with a spear. Oli and Adalina watched in silence. It was a thing of beauty, their grandfather¡¯s old spear. One of a kind. As black as night with an engraving of Hurean¡¯s Star that glittered brighter than bronze. But they rarely saw it in their father¡¯s hands. Only in the depths of winter, when food was scarce and every adult went to hunt, did he go out with the spear. ¡®To keep up appearances.¡¯ He made no pretence of mastery, and no one expected him to bring in a kill. His mother rubbed Luthold¡¯s shoulder and looked at her feet.

    ¡°Be careful,¡± she said in a low voice.

    ¡°Be good while I¡¯m gone. If it was the hoarders... if we... just be good while I¡¯m gone.¡±

    He left and though Oli could not fathom what was happening, he was sure this was somehow his fault.

    <hr>

    Darkness fell and still the armed party did not return. Winilind lit a fire in the centre of the house. Oli and his sister watched smoke rise through the apex of the roof, into the night sky. Oli pushed a stick around in the dust with his toes. Adalina placed a hand on his leg, and he stilled it.

    ¡°It¡¯s not only father who¡¯s gone. Beresa is with them. Algar and Finn too. And Heridan, of course.¡±

    Oli shuddered. The thought of his father out in the dark with Heridan did not loosen the knot in his chest, however highly his sister thought of the man. He continued jabbing patterns into the ground and mumbled,

    ¡°They haven¡¯t really gone to fight the hoarders, have they?¡±

    Winilind placed a clay pot of water over the flames and sat down beside them. She smiled a broad, calm smile but Oli¡¯s eyes were drawn to her fingers, twisting the edge of her woollen jumper.

    ¡°All the best fighters have gone, Oli. If the hoarders have Ingo, they¡¯ll give him up. I heard about it happening before. They just kept the boy to scare him and handed him over for a sack of sheep¡¯s bones and some bits of metal.¡±

    ¡°Which boy?¡± Asked Oli.

    ¡°Um, it was before my time.¡±

    ¡°Elder Mildred says a hoarder killed three Hallin hunters when she was a girl. She says they mistook it for a deer through the bushes and threw a spear at it, and it slashed them all into strips with its-¡±

    ¡°Shush now, Oli,¡± his mother interrupted, ¡°Don¡¯t listen to Elder Mildred¡¯s stories. She¡¯s lived through a lot, but she remembers it poorly.¡±

    They sat in silence around the flames as Winilind mixed anise seeds and honey into the steaming water. The sweet aroma filled the house, warming it like a second fire. A soft wind brushed the thatched rooftops, but it carried no sounds of combat ¨C neither the shouts of men, nor the piercing roar of angry hoarders.

    Oli thought of the outsider. In his hurried telling of the encounter, imagination had mingled with memory and wrought a crueller expression on the man¡¯s face, a wilder look about his clothes. He tried now to recall the encounter as it really occurred. The look on his face before Oli fled came to mind. Imploring or demanding? Furious or desperate? Why would a wandering hunter wear such rich clothes under his cloak of hides, faded though they were? Did he rob someone? Or murder someone? He could be an exile, a criminal fled from a Western jail. He thought about the way the stranger swam. Like a river serpent, wriggling along the bed as fast as Oli could walk on land. He shivered. Adalina felt it and shifted closer, and his mother draped a fur blanket over them. He wanted to talk about the stranger again but thought better of it, not wanting to disturb the shared warmth of the moment.

    ¡°It¡¯s not far to the mountains. We¡¯d have heard something if they were fighting, Oli.¡±

    ¡°Depends who they were fighting,¡± Oli mumbled, ¡°Or what.¡±

 Chapter 2 - Search Parties

    Dawn broke and the inhabitants emerged from the cluster of roundhouses that formed their village. They traipsed across the dew to reinvigorate the central fire. Elder Mildred clucked about from one home to the next demanding any treats they had tucked away.

    ¡°Herbs, dried fruit, any eggs. Come on, winter¡¯s over and we¡¯ll make a feast to welcome them. Pieces of honeycomb? Don¡¯t hide ¡®em away.¡±

    Winilind passed Mildred a small wheel of cheese and kicked Oli¡¯s ankle to forestall his protest. She had been saving it for Maralon¡¯s Ascent in a fortnight¡¯s time, but Mildred was an elder, after all. One of only three among three hundred people.

    Despite sympathising with her son¡¯s chagrin, Winilind¡¯s mouth watered when the pots over the fire began bubbling and Oslef¡¯s nephew hauled out his uncle¡¯s big clay oven. Oslef, another of the elders, rarely cooked these days but his gift for conjuring magic out of even the simplest ingredients had never been forgotten.

    Families gathered near the watchtower or around the fire, whispering encouragement to one another and watching the preparations for what was becoming an impromptu feast day. Winilind overheard snippets of anecdotes about similar frights in the past as she wended her way through the groups to join those waiting by the tower.

    ¡°...When they pulled him down from the tree, he had enough honey for the supper of Descent! You remember don¡¯t you, Aimar?¡±

    ¡°...She never walked the same after they lifted the rocks off, but she learned her lesson about pilfering from hoarders!¡±

    ¡°...They¡¯re tough, Hallin children. They¡¯ve survived worse than brushing up against a ghoul circle...¡±

    The village had worked itself into an optimism so determined it bordered on delusional when Lien, atop the watchtower, gave a shout. Those who had been cooking, or making suggestions to the cooks, ran to the picket wall and peered past one another into the woods, each vying for the honour of being first to greet the victorious return party.

    The party returned slowly, walking in single file down a narrow path. None of them spoke as they passed the boundary, and few lifted their eyes from the ground to look at those waiting in the crowd. The clansfolk watching blinked and shook their heads, as though waking themselves for a second time that morning. Could so many have failed? Had the hoarders really killed a child?

    The delightful smells wafting from the fire now taunted rather than tantalised. Winilind knew this celebration had been foolish. If Elder Joturn had not been with the search party, he would have stamped the idea out. She looked for her husband in the crowd and, from the back of the line, Luthold peeled off and came to where she waited. Only when he stepped passed her to first greet the children did she notice that Ada and Oli had followed her out of the house. He prised them away and looked her in the eye.

    Winilind picked something more than exhaustion out of her husband¡¯s expression. A deep well of anger, rarely tapped, swelled close to the surface. And she read a warning in the lines of his forehead. She looked to Heridan, who had flung his sword beside the fire and seated himself, head in hands, on an upturned log. The blade was clean. None of the party were injured. As though sensing her gaze he raised his head and met it coldly, then stared at her son. Oli attempted what Winilind knew to be a sympathetic smile, but Heridan spat and turned sharply away. She ushered Oli quickly back to their roundhouse, coughing loudly when she heard someone mutter about his ¡®smirking.¡¯ She realised, as they crossed the threshold, how tightly she gripped his shoulder and relaxed her hand. She could hardly punish him when he had tried to be nice. What her son wanted to say, or show, always came out wrong.

    Once inside, Luthold sat with his back against the wall. His open, blistered hands rested by his side and the spear, prized heirloom of the family, lay discarded near the entrance. Adalina reached down for it, then hesitated and went to her father¡¯s side instead. Winilind dragged over a pail of water and the two of them began cleaning Luthold¡¯s cuts.

    ¡°Bramble and rock cuts.¡± Said Oli flatly.

    ¡°No fighting.¡± Despite his exhaustion, Luthold nodded appreciatively at his son¡¯s observation. ¡°Climbing. Lots of climbing. Futile, endless climbing, farther than was reasonable.¡± He closed his eyes and forcibly changed his tone. ¡°But if it were my son, I wouldn¡¯t have listened to reason either.¡±

    ¡°You would have,¡± said Winilind quietly. ¡°What happened? Did you find any tracks? Clothes? He cannot just have vanished.¡±

    ¡°We found tracks, but not his. Something happened out there, at base of the mountain where they pile up their pickings. The ground was churned up. It looked like at least ten people were there, walking all over the place, coming and going without using the paths. The only tracks we could follow were the hoarders. We followed those into the mountains. High up, into the caves.¡±

    Winilind gasped, forgetting the wet cloth in her hands.

    ¡°We didn¡¯t find them.¡±

    Luthold pushed the cloth gently over the bucket and she looked down at the ring of dark earth where it had dripped onto the ground.

    ¡°The hoarders, Win. We went into their home and didn¡¯t see a trace of them.¡±

    She looked up and saw his confused expression. He was trying to make sense of this as much as she was.

    ¡°You should not have gone inside the caves.¡± She chided in a low voice. ¡°You¡¯re lucky. Perhaps they were frightened ¨C because there were so many of you.¡±

    Luthold shook his head slowly.

    ¡°Maybe,¡± he mused, ¡°but you know how jealously they guard their territory. We kept going, deeper and deeper. He insisted. Every step I thought we¡¯d be ambushed. You wouldn¡¯t have heard us, if they¡¯d attacked us down there. The tunnels go on and on...¡±

    Luthold trailed off and shivered.

    ¡°You all just let him lead you along?¡± Winilind demanded. Her sympathy faded and anger grew that one man had led almost fifty people¡¯s loved ones on so foolish an expedition. How did Heridan always get his way? Did the other clansfolk think the size of his head made space for better thoughts?

    ¡°He would have gone alone if we hadn¡¯t kept him company. His son¡¯s missing, Win. We couldn¡¯t let him charge off by himself and start a war with them. Besides, I think some of them were glad of the excuse. I heard more whispers than I¡¯d have expected about getting one over on them, showing the hoarders who the forest belongs to.¡±

    Winilind shook her head and muttered, ¡°Hallin should know better. The forest belongs to no one.¡±

    Luthold coughed and attempted a smile. ¡°Anyway, Joturn stopped us when the torches burned half. By then even Heridan had to admit defeat and we¡¯re all back safely now.¡±

    For a moment they were silent. Winilind¡¯s thoughts turned to Ingo. If only the boy would just turn up. She glanced at her daughter, staring at the wall. Did she miss him? Was she worried? Not so long ago, Ingo never went anywhere without Ada. She almost said something to that effect but checked herself. It wasn¡¯t the time. Whatever happened next, their first thought had to be dislodging any idea that Oli was involved. They had to kill that notion before it grew into something ugly. The problem was, they had to know first that he truly wasn¡¯t. As though following her thoughts, Oli spoke up.

    ¡°You said there were people¡¯s tracks going into the forest. Were there any going to the river? Isn¡¯t that where Ingo said he was off to?¡±

    They all looked at Luthold, who breathed out slowly and stared into Oli¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°We need to talk about this stranger.¡± He said in a tone that warned each of them not to interrupt, ¡°But you need to understand something first. Heridan thinks you¡¯re lying. That¡¯s serious, Oli, because right now he¡¯s angry and scared. Do you understand?¡±

    Oli nodded. Winilind glanced at Adalina, who shifted and opened her mouth, then closed it with a frown.

    ¡°He thinks I know where Ingo is.¡± Stated Oli.

    ¡°He does.¡± Her husband loosened a bit, perhaps relieved to hear their son cooperating. ¡°He thinks you¡¯re hiding something to protect yourself, because you don¡¯t realise what¡¯s at stake.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not friends. He never comes to help me anymore. Why would he come today? And they all know I never go with him to spy on the hoarders.¡±

    ¡°I know, Oli. But Ingo told Heridan he was going to meet you today. It sounds believable. He wanted to talk about...to ask you about...¡±

    Luthold glanced briefly at Adalina, who finished the sentence for him and then looked away.

    ¡°He wanted to talk about me.¡±

    Luthold gave the slightest nod, and Oli turned his mouth up in mock disgust. Luthold continued. ¡°It¡¯d be different if you¡¯d returned with a basket of fish and said you hadn¡¯t seen him. But this story about a lone hunter attacking a child. Someone who can swim under the river... but somehow you got away?¡±

    ¡°Well, he didn¡¯t really attack me,¡± Admitted Oli sheepishly. ¡°He just looked like he might. He looked crazy!¡±

    Luthold nodded and asked in his gentlest voice,

    ¡°What else can you tell us?¡±

    ¡°I was fishing. Earlier a barge passed. The men on it spoke to me.¡± Oli paused, looking from his father to his mother. Neither Winilind nor her husband reprimanded him. They needed to hear the whole story. Oli leaned forward and continued.

    ¡°They asked to trade, but I made the sign of the Lost Daughter and they carried on. Then a bit later I pulled up a sturgeon and someone spoke to me. They spoke, but I couldn¡¯t see them. I looked at where the voice came from and then I saw someone right in front of me. Someone who¡¯d been there all along but looked different, like part of the bushes.¡±

    A short gasp escaped Winilind before she could master herself. She looked away from Oli and stared at the wall, hoping she had not put him off. He showed no sign of having noticed. She would rather have heard the story was made up and he knew where Ingo had gone after all than think about the shadow and memory she forced out of her mind.

    ¡°He told me I was cruel for catching fish, but his own coat was made of hides. He wanted to know what we called the mountains. I didn¡¯t understand. I told him we call them mountains too and he laughed at me. He had a spear, I think, but it looked wrong. I got scared then. I tried to get away. I tried to get to the bank, and he just walked right into the water and...¡±

    Oli began to cry.

    ¡°He¡¯s white as a cloud!¡± Winilind exclaimed and drew him inside her own cloak, caressing his soft brown hair and cupping his pointed chin in her hand. His body shivered beside hers.

    ¡°I think he really saw something.¡± Whispered Adalina.

    ¡°They¡¯ll take me for a fool if I bring this to the elders,¡± said Luthold, shaking his head. ¡°I must know more, Oli. What did he do in the water?¡±

    ¡°He swam like a snake, through the current, right to the other side. When he took his robe off, he had a colourful shirt on, better than anything from town. It had purple and silver on it. He looked about as old as Algar. And he kept asking about the mountains... He asked if that¡¯s where the... something-backs lived.¡±

    ¡°Beyobacks?¡± Asked Luthold, looking up, his eyes glinting with interest.

    Oli nodded vigorously.

    ¡°Beyobacks... purple shirt... young man.¡± Luthold repeated, as though chewing over words that tasted good. He looked at Winilind and announced with a smile of relief.

    ¡°He¡¯s a Westerner.¡±

    There was a hint of a question about his tone though. He needed her agreement to bury those thoughts, the same that had troubled her.

    ¡°A Westerner.¡± She agreed, convincing herself of the theory. ¡°Beyobacks is what the rich ones call the hoarders. They have a lot of silly notions about them, don¡¯t they? He was probably a young adventurer from a wealthy family.¡±

    As she spoke, Luthold nodded along, his own conviction evidently growing. The shadow of fear flitted away, and Winilind felt foolish for having entertained it at all. This made sense.

    ¡°Maybe there¡¯s a few of them. That would explain all the mixed-up tracks. A gaggle of clumsy Westerners traipsing through the forest. Of course, you said they ignored the paths!¡±

    ¡°Come to gawk at the savages of Saltleaf and their feral neighbours.¡± Added her husband. ¡°Perhaps Ingo got mixed up with them. Perhaps he got talking to them? Yes, I¡¯ll take this to the elders. Joturn will track them in no time.¡±

    Luthold squeezed Oli¡¯s shoulder as he rose, and Winilind began disentangling her son¡¯s gangly arms and legs from her body.

    ¡°What about appearing from thin air and swimming under water?¡± Adalina chimed in, stony faced. ¡°Do Westerners do that?¡±

    Winilind winced. Her daughter¡¯s words punctured the relief, but she did not allow any room for doubt. The implications were too great for a possibility so small. If something about this did not fit their theory, if some details reminded her of forbidden stories and buried memories, she pushed them aside. After all, her son had a vivid imagination, and there was no place in those stories for Western words or colourful shirts, or for people who did not follow the paths.

    <hr>

    Winilind listened while Luthold relayed Oli¡¯s story to Elder Oslef, and the embarrassed cooks shared out the extravagant meal. She could not read anything from Oslef¡¯s expression, save that he did not feel the same relief as she and Luthold had. She waited until as late as possible before she roused Luthold and watched him prepare to leave with the next search party. She watched him approach Elder Joturn by the fire and turned to her children.

    ¡°We need to clean and pack our winter clothes. There¡¯s talk of moving the village this year.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not going to move.¡± Adalina replied with tired certainty.

    ¡°If the gods invite us to, we will.¡±

    ¡°Pasha says the gods don¡¯t answer the oracle anymore,¡± quipped Oli, ¡°She says the elders have forgotten how to ask them -¡±

    ¡°Nonsense.¡± Winilind cut him off. ¡°Elder Oslef is reading this year. He read the stones last time we moved, before the river flooded the old village site. He read them years ago and brought us South of the ridge, right before the Sullin started raiding again. Oslef knows how to read the stones ¨C he knows how to get the gods¡¯ attention.¡±

    Her voice softened and she looked up from the basket of summer clothes that she had brought out to sort.

    ¡°It¡¯s exciting, moving the village. A fresh start. We¡¯ve lingered here too long. We need new paths to learn and new places to name.¡± Her voice turned wistful, and she spoke to herself as much as to her children. ¡°It could be this year, with Oslef reading.¡±

    ¡°Maybe it will be this year,¡± said Adalina, flashing her an emollient smile.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    ¡°Some of these need stitching,¡± Winilind threw a pile of clothes their way and Oli groaned as she produced needles and thread.

    ¡°Get to it.¡±

    She disappeared inside the hut and busied herself cutting and sorting some parchment Aimar had made. She worked and kept an ear tuned to her children¡¯s conversation. She hoped to catch Oli talking as he sometimes did with Ada, relaxed and unguarded. Perhaps they sensed her attention because they barely spoke at all as they worked the thread, fixing the lighter clothes for the months ahead.

    The time came for the next groups to depart, but Luthold returned to the house, entered and deposited the spear on the ground at the back. Winilind shot him a quizzical look. He ignored it and pulled the knife from inside his shirt, leaving that as well. She reached for his arm as he passed her, but he intercepted it, squeezed her hand gently and left without meeting her eyes. Joturn has always been cautious, she told herself, it is a good thing. But she remembered the elders¡¯ impassive looks when Luthold had relayed Oli¡¯s story. She prayed for her husband to make a swift return.

    ¡°Look!¡± Winilind heard Oli exclaim as Luthold walked away, ¡°Father is going with Elder Joturn and Torvald. Good job he¡¯s not with Heridan.¡±

    ¡°Heridan¡¯s ok,¡± Adalina responded, a hint of hurt in her voice. ¡°Elder Joturn should be getting some rest though.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s quite old you know, Oli. He should be looking after himself.¡± Her daughter¡¯s attempt at a mature tone brought a smile to Winilind¡¯s lips.

    ¡°Joturn¡¯s not old.¡± Oli replied

    ¡°He¡¯s older than grandfather was, when he died.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but he¡¯s not old old.¡±

    Winilind heard Adalina chuckle. She knew what Oli meant. Elder Joturn had the vitality of a cat.

    Before noon, Winlind found the summer clothes piled and folded by the doorway. She was about to step outside when she heard Oli whisper. She pressed herself against the wall beside the entrance and strained to hear.

    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Her son hissed at someone.

    ¡°You¡¯re in trouble, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    Winilind recognised the high voice. Pasha, the daughter of Otmer and Beresa, was the closest thing Oli had to a friend. A couple of years his senior, she had never quite been herself after a summer of sickness left her housebound. The two of them had bonded, in their odd way, shortly after. Oli called her the most annoying girl in the clan, but she was the only child he played with.

    Oli replied hesitantly. ¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡±

    ¡°I knew it! You saw what happened to Ingo, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    Winlind¡¯s body stiffened, and she shut her eyes. When Oli answered, though, relief flooded her.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about Ingo.¡± He insisted, adding ¡°And I¡¯m not in trouble!¡±

    She stepped outside and feigned surprise at the sight of her friend¡¯s daughter. Pasha was always a little wilder than you remembered her. The unkempt straw-coloured hair seemed to point in every direction and those black eyes darted around as she fidgeted and shuffled.

    ¡°Oh, hello there, Pasha. Why don¡¯t you play with Oli this afternoon? He¡¯s just finished his jobs.¡±

    The girl inched out from the side of the house, eyeing him suspiciously.

    ¡°You mean he¡¯s not in trouble? Everyone says he¡¯s in trouble.¡± She sounded disappointed.

    ¡°You¡¯d like to play with Pasha, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± Winlind addressed her son, who nodded. ¡°The two of you can play in the house.¡± Oli¡¯s face screwed up into a scowl and Pasha¡¯s erupted into a triumphant grin.

    ¡°I knew it!¡± She declared to Oli, ¡°You are in trouble.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not in trouble at all,¡± Adalina interjected, ¡°Mother, they can play in the fields, can¡¯t they?¡± In a lower voice she added, ¡°People will only be suspicious if he¡¯s cooped up in the house all day.¡±

    Winlind frowned. She wanted Oli where she could see him until Ingo was found but knew her daughter was right. Besides, it would leave her alone with Adalina. They needed a talk that was overdue. One they probably should have had before Ingo went missing.

    ¡°Alright, but-¡± she started. Instantly, Pasha scampered away toward the sheep paddock, taunting Oli to catch up with her.

    ¡°Stay out of the forest today!¡± She called after them as they both ran away.

    ¡°I will.¡± Oli yelled back as he disappeared.

    Winilind watched them race out of view and sat outside beside her daughter. Adalina picked up a folded shirt that Oli had stitched, inspected it closely and re-folded it. Winilind watched as she picked up another.

    ¡°Ada.¡± She said gently.

    ¡°What?¡± Came the sharp retort. Then she looked up with an apologetic smile and added, ¡°You could get some rest if you like, Mother. I¡¯ll let you know when Father returns.¡±

    ¡°Ada,¡± Winilind said, ¡°If Ingo...when Ingo turns up... are you two still...?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Adalina returned her attention to the mended clothes. ¡°I hope they find him soon and I hope he¡¯s ok. But no, we¡¯re not.¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡±

    For years her daughter and Heridan¡¯s prodigal son had been inseparable. She and Luthold had resigned themselves to becoming family with the thick-headed leader of the clan¡¯s warriors, a man who differed in interests and temperament as much from them as he did from his son. Despite their differences, their rivalry even, the match did not displease them. Ingo would make a fine son-in-law.

    Yet, from the night the clan accepted her as an adult, Adalina had refused to see him. Neither she nor Luthold had been able to learn what happened. When Adalina did not answer, she persisted.

    ¡°Was Ingo disappointing? Was he too shy? Was it embarrassing when you were alone? You know, it¡¯s often awkward in the beginning. With your father and I -¡±

    ¡°I know. You¡¯ve already told me more than I want to know. We didn¡¯t spend any time alone.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± Winlind was nonplussed. ¡°Didn¡¯t you want to be married?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want. I don¡¯t want...¡± Adalina mumbled and glanced in the direction Oli had run.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t want what?¡± Winilind leaned forward.

    Adalina put down the clothes and stared into the distance.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want what comes after. It''s my earliest memory, you know. Listening to Oli coming. I never heard anything like it since. I didn¡¯t think you would survive. Nobody thought you would survive. I only wanted to put it off, but he got upset and kept asking me why and what it meant. He thought I led him on for all those years. And now maybe I put it off forever.¡±

    Winlind shuddered at the memory her daughter had summoned. She recalled the sound of her own cries, heard as though being made by someone else, and the certainty she was losing both her own life and the child. She remembered holding Ada¡¯s hands afterwards, as the blood congealed around her and her vision faded and telling her that she must look after the child if it had survived. But she could not let her daughter live in fear of so unusual a birth. She moved round to look in Adalina¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°Oli¡¯s birth was not ordinary, Ada. Listen to me. You were there when Lien delivered. You helped Oslef to snip Beresa when Pasha¡¯s little brother came. Even that wasn¡¯t as bad, was it? Oli came out sideways and all tangled up. He got lost on the way out, the way he¡¯s got lost ever since. That''s not what it¡¯s like for every mother. I don¡¯t remember any birth being as hard as that.¡±

    ¡°What if it runs in the family?¡±

    ¡°If it ran in the family, it would have been the same for you. But go and ask Elder Mildred how your birthday went. I was on my feet the very same evening.¡±

    ¡°Is that true?¡±

    ¡°Ask Mildred. You know she¡¯ll turn anything into a horror story if she can.¡±

    They sat in silence for a while, and Winilind watched her daughter¡¯s face change to relief, and then back to anxiousness.

    ¡°He¡¯ll turn up, won¡¯t he?¡±

    Winilind smiled.

    ¡°He¡¯ll turn up. He¡¯s a smart boy. Whatever pickle he¡¯s got himself into, he¡¯ll get himself out of it. And when he does, you put these fears out of your mind.¡±

    <hr>

    Luthold followed behind Joturn and his nephew, Torvald, as they tracked Oli¡¯s footsteps under the grey morning sky, back from the village to the river. A little rain had fallen in the night, but the deep prints confirmed at least a part of his son¡¯s story. He had fled hard and fast back to the village. No doubt flustered; he had even deviated from the familiar path on his journey South. Fortunately, he had stumbled across a new one which even Joturn looked surprised to see.

    Luthold peered into the gloom around them and shuddered. The colourful shirt and the Western words he had shared with everyone. They¡¯d nodded to each other and tutted about outsiders and Heridan had looked hopeful.

    Fearful of leaving omissions, he had told the odder aspects of Oli¡¯s story to Oslef. Luthold was close to Oslef, and he had relayed the extra details with a whisper and a chuckle, as though to make a joke out of the things a child could imagine, but Oslef had stared at him coldly until he fell into an embarrassed silence.

    Later that morning, Joturn had announced he would lead the search to the river and then he told Luthold and Torvald in private to leave all weapons at home. Out here, with trees so close it seemed like twilight, the idea of clumsy western adventurers abducting forest-born children felt less credible. The darkness lent itself to the notion of more sinister threats. It did not help his nerves that Oli¡¯s story, the full version, had given the elders pause for thought. He did not know how much Joturn had told his nephew, and he did not ask him.

    Joturn broke Luthold¡¯s reverie, speaking as he measured the gap between prints with his spread hand. ¡°Someone scared your boy,¡± he muttered in his direction, ¡°he¡¯s rarely in such haste.¡±

    ¡°Hmph.¡± Torvald grunted in agreement.

    Luthold did not answer. He¡¯d heard worse taunts than that and something caught his eye on the edge of the path.

    ¡°Here,¡± he called, ¡°Are these boot prints? A man in pursuit?¡±

    Joturn closed the gap between them in a single leap and bent his face to the ground.

    ¡°It¡¯s a boot. Probably a man, running hard... and then it stops and then... it turns... off the path.¡± Joturn dissected the stranger¡¯s movements of a day ago, gently pushing undergrowth aside as he danced lightly from one print in the earth to another.

    ¡°Both come from the river,¡± added Torvald.

    ¡°And only one child.¡± Luthold pointed out.

    ¡°Only one child returning,¡± Joturn corrected. ¡°Going out, we see neither Oli nor Ingo. Could have been one or both. Light tracks, gone by now. We may find answers at the river... or more questions.¡±

    Luthold and Torvald set off down the path.

    ¡°Wait.¡± Called Joturn. They turned back and saw that he had not moved. The old hunter stood with his eyes closed, his face raised, and the wrinkles of his skin tightened in concentration. The only part of him that moved were the ends of his long hair that drifted in the breeze.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Torvald asked.

    ¡°Shh.¡± He held up a hand. They waited.

    ¡°Perhaps my ears are not what they used to be, but I can¡¯t hear the village from here.¡±

    The others closed their eyes and sought through the noises of the forest, the cracks and rustles and cawing of birds, for those strands of sound belonging to human beings; children shouting, pots banging, the sharp chop of axes.

    ¡°I hear nothing.¡± Said Torvald.

    ¡°Me neither,¡± added Luthold.

    Joturn shook his head slowly.

    ¡°Why break off such hot pursuit just here? He could not see the village, nor could he hear it. How did he know that Oli would soon arrive there? That is, unless he knows the forest very well.¡±

    Luthold swallowed and looked again into the thick darkness around them. As much to break the silence, perhaps, as anything, Torvald ventured ¡°He grew tired?¡±

    ¡°Pfft,¡± scoffed Joturn. ¡°To the river now.¡±

    <hr>

    Oli jogged around the perimeter fence to a gap at the far end of the fields. The Hallin didn¡¯t keep a lot of livestock, but what sheep they tended for wool and milk ambled around inside an enclosure on the South side of the village. He clambered through the small gap in the picket fence, against which the enclosure was bounded, and circled outside the village to where Pasha would be waiting.

    The outer ¡®fence¡¯ resembled a sort of stretched-out porcupine tail encircling the roundhouses. It was formed of stakes of varying length driven into the ground and angled outwards. The larger ones were supported by poles arrayed in the opposite direction. Climbing over them would be difficult but not impossible. A determined force would have to be deterred by spears as well, but the picket fence was not really meant to defend the village from other humans. Root sleepers, despite their strength and speed, would struggle to drag their bulbous bodies over the sharp points. And if they tried, the wood could be set alight.

    As Oli ran, he jumped over the supporting poles, challenging himself each time to edge closer to the sharp points and leap higher.

    A shout broke his concentration, and his foot caught on something. The fence whirled upside down and his body, a moment earlier free, now spun around a new fixed point; his ankle.

    A moment later, he heard a ripping sound and his body fell free. His stomach would have sunk if it knew which way was down. His hands, moving on instinct, found the ground before the crown of his head hit it. Nothing could save his pride though as he heard the giggles.

    Lifting his head, still dizzy, he saw Kuno and Koen, the twins. He must have jumped right past them. They stood behind him, beside one of the poles he had cleared.

    ¡°Oli¡¯s chasing his sweet-heart,¡± drawled Koen. Oli¡¯s face, already hot from running, could not redden anymore. Kuno took up the chant. ¡°Oliiis chasing his sweeeaat heeeeaaart.¡±

    ¡°Get lost,¡± hissed Oli, regretting his inability to compose a sharper insult. So much of childhood depended on that skill he lacked. He turned back and kept walking, his torn trouser leg flapping about his calf. The two younger boys followed, repeating the chant until a better idea struck Koen.

    ¡°He¡¯s leading her off into the woods,¡± he whispered to his brother, just loudly enough for Oli to overhear, ¡°I bet he¡¯s taking her where he took Ingo!¡±

    Oli kept walking, the heat rising into prickles on his skin. The twins repeated the accusation, louder and bolder. Oli could not run away from two boys three years his junior, nor did he dare turn to confront them. He could have insulted them, if he had the wits. Something whistled passed his ear and Kuno yelped, falling to the ground.

    ¡°Haha! Kuno looks like a dirty hoarder!¡± Pasha¡¯s voice rang from behind the fence.

    Kuno sat up and brushed the clump of earth off his head.

    ¡°Not fair, Pasha,¡± protested Koen, arms folded.

    ¡°Why, ¡®cos he¡¯s ugly?¡±

    Kuno¡¯s bottom lip trembled, and Oli shifted uneasily.

    ¡°It¡¯s ok, Kuno,¡± he mumbled, ¡°it¡¯s not your fault your face is all wrinkled and weird.¡±

    Pasha roared with laughter. Kuno¡¯s eyes opened wide, tears welling as he blew a long raspberry at them, and the two boys scuttled away. Pasha sat down, her back to the pole, and patted the ground beside her.

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t make fun of how Kuno looks, Pasha. Mum says it¡¯s not ok.¡±

    ¡°Ha! Says you! That was so funny. ¡®It¡¯s not your fault your face is all wrinkled and weird,¡¯¡± She imitated Oli, putting a cruel slant on the clumsy words he had meant to be conciliatory and fell about laughing again.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t... oh, never mind. He can¡¯t help that he got ill as a baby.¡±

    ¡°Well, look at his twin brother. He wasn¡¯t going to turn out handsome anyway. Not like Ingo... or you.¡± She winked and watched him with her inquisitorial eyes. Oli stared at a wisp of cloud, watching it dissipate and hoping her attention would do the same. For once, it did.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on, Oli?¡± She asked in a hushed tone, ¡°Everyone¡¯s saying you know what happened to Ingo.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know why. He always makes up excuses. He never came to meet me. But...¡±

    ¡°But you do know something, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Not about Ingo. Or maybe. It wasn¡¯t the hoarders. My Dad says half the stories about them are made up.¡±

    ¡°What about the other half?¡±

    Ignoring her, Oli continued. He was thinking out loud, articulating for the first time his thoughts about what happened without the pressure of grown-up ears straining to hear a version that appealed to their interests.

    ¡°The hoarders have always been there, and they¡¯ve never taken Ingo. But someone is in the forest who shouldn¡¯t be.¡±

    He looked at Pasha and saw the eager curiosity on her face flicker momentarily into doubt. Her big, black eyes scoured their surroundings and the nearby tree line, and she edged back deeper into the fence.

    ¡°Your monster. Mother says you made it up, but she won¡¯t let me go into the forest today.¡±

    ¡°It was a man, not a monster. But he appeared from nowhere. He crossed the bottom of the river. He had a cloak made of wolf hides and a twisted spear. My parents think it was a Western adventurer, but I know they¡¯re wrong. Even they know they¡¯re wrong.¡±

    She gulped and shivered. Oli knew he was scaring her, but it felt so good to talk that his words tumbled over each other. ¡°I think that man got Ingo. My Mum¡¯s gone to the river. What if he gets my Mum? He wanted to know about the mountains. I think he wanted to find the hoarders. I should have told him how to get there. Maybe he found Ingo and forced him to be a guide?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not lying.¡± Stated Pasha, regarding him intently and holding her cloak tight. ¡°But you told the grown-ups, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    Oli half nodded. ¡°I told my parents.¡±

    Pasha smiled and patted his leg. ¡°Well then, there¡¯s nothing else you can do. My dad says there¡¯s no one as clever as your dad, apart from Oslef, of course. Come on, let¡¯s play.¡±

    Oli heard the rattle as Pasha pulled out a pouch and emptied it on the ground. The wood and stone disks clicked together as they fell into a pile. Oli beamed and reached for the nearest stone.

    ¡°Ah, ah.¡± Pasha chided, ¡°you always win when you play the gods. I¡¯m trying your tricks today. Here, spirits.¡± She took the stones for herself and pushed the wooden disks across to him. Oli smirked. He had plenty of tricks for playing spirits, too. He arranged his pieces in order, stopping momentarily to admire the engravings. They were far better than those on his parents¡¯ set.

    ¡°A gift to my mother from Aimar,¡± said Pasha in a low voice. ¡°They¡¯re beautiful, aren¡¯t they? She gave them to me and said not to let dad see.¡±

    Oli was always drawn to the sleek abstractions of the gods¡¯ signs etched into stone pieces, but most people judged the maker¡¯s skill by how they carved the spirits. The spirits in this set were particularly arresting. The aspect of the Bear seemed to capture its size, despite being contained in an oak disk a thumb¡¯s width across. The Sleeper Queen stared malevolently at him, as though she would jump out and bite him if he looked too closely. The Sea Raven disk somehow contained the whole expanse of the sky and made Oli wonder what it must be like to soar so high above the world in any direction he pleased.

    ¡°Come on, your turn.¡± Pasha¡¯s voice drew him from the pictures. ¡°I played Hurean on the North stack.¡±

    ¡°Bear on the West.¡± Oli replied automatically as he placed the disk.

    ¡°Terlos on the South.¡±

    ¡°Too fast.¡± Oli commented under his breath as he claimed the East stack for the Sleeper Queen.

    ¡°You know you sound about forty years old when you play,¡± teased Pasha. ¡°Lost Daughter above Terlos.¡±

    ¡°Sea Raven above her.¡± Oli didn¡¯t care about her jibes when they were playing Sevenstones. He settled into the same calm that washed over him in the moment after he cast a line. Whenever he started playing, he just relaxed and knew he was going to win. He usually did.

    Pasha hesitated. She¡¯s already wasted a good attacking piece, thought Oli. She bit her tongue between her lips and swapped the stone in her hand for another, reaching for the South stack. Before Oli could see what she had played a shout went up from the village and his head snapped round. In the next moment, the sound of dropped tools, flapping doors and hurrying feet came through the fence. Oli¡¯s heart swelled in his chest. Fierce hope and a powerful dread whirled through his body, and he was grateful when he felt Pasha¡¯s sticky palm against his, tugging him toward the gap. Abandoning the game, they pushed themselves through. Oli saw that a crowd had already formed around the watchtower and Lien atop it was shouting and waving her arms for quiet.

    They dashed to the edge of the crowd, weaving their way between houses and bodies until they could hear.

    ¡°It¡¯s coming from near the mountains.¡± Lien yelled to the crowd, which erupted with questions. The tall shepherd, near whose sheep Oli and Pasha had just been playing, was leaning at a nauseating angle from atop the watchtower, holding on with one hand and shielding her eyes with the other as she scoured the treetops. With her back to the crowd she added, ¡°not the hoarders. Farther North. Much farther.¡±

    Oli looked round. ¡°What¡¯s near the mountains? What are they talking about¡± He asked Pasha, who shook her head and gestured at him to be quiet.

    ¡°Where?¡± A loud voice demanded. ¡°Where exactly?¡± Impatient men and women repeated the question.

    Suddenly, Pasha gasped and nudged him in the side, pointing up beyond the watchtower. Oli finally saw it. A great column of smoke rose in the distance, billowing into an unnatural cloud that hung in the clear sky above the forest. Had it come later in the year it could have been a clan leaving its old home in search of new paths. In early Spring, though, it could only be a sacking. He could not tell how near or far it was.

    Lien turned and even from a distance, Oli saw incredulity in her expression. She had stared long and hard without answering their questions, he realised, not because she could not see where it came from, but because she did not believe what her eyes showed her.

    ¡°It¡¯s coming from the Sullin Fort.¡± She announced. The onlookers fell silent. When a village was sacked, it was sacked by the Sullin for refusing payment. Sometimes villages managed to defend themselves, but nobody ever retaliated. Oli heard her ask in a trembling voice. ¡°Who would attack the Sullin? Who could?¡±

 Chapter 3 - Smoke Beyond the Watchtower

    Luthold followed behind Joturn and his nephew, Torvald, as they tracked Oli¡¯s footsteps under the grey morning sky, back from the village to the river. A little rain had fallen in the night, but the deep prints confirmed at least a part of his son¡¯s story. He had fled hard and fast back to the village. No doubt flustered; he had even deviated from the familiar path on his journey South. Fortunately, he had stumbled across a new one which even Joturn looked surprised to see.

    Luthold peered into the gloom around them and shuddered. The colourful shirt and the Western words he had shared with everyone. They¡¯d nodded to each other and tutted about outsiders and Heridan had looked hopeful.

    Fearful of leaving omissions, he had told the odder aspects of Oli¡¯s story to Oslef. Luthold was close to Oslef, and he had relayed the extra details with a whisper and a chuckle, as though to make a joke out of the things a child could imagine, but Oslef had stared at him coldly until he fell into an embarrassed silence.

    Later that morning, Joturn had announced he would lead the search to the river and then he told Luthold and Torvald in private to leave all weapons at home. Out here, with trees so close it seemed like twilight, the idea of clumsy western adventurers abducting forest-born children felt less credible. The darkness lent itself to the notion of more sinister threats. It did not help his nerves that Oli¡¯s story, the full version, had given the elders pause for thought. He did not know how much Joturn had told his nephew, and he did not ask him.

    Joturn broke Luthold¡¯s reverie, speaking as he measured the gap between prints with his spread hand. ¡°Someone scared your boy,¡± he muttered in his direction, ¡°he¡¯s rarely in such haste.¡±

    ¡°Hmph.¡± Torvald grunted in agreement.

    Luthold did not answer. He¡¯d heard worse taunts than that and something caught his eye on the edge of the path.

    ¡°Here,¡± he called, ¡°Are these boot prints? A man in pursuit?¡±

    Joturn closed the gap between them in a single leap and bent his face to the ground.

    ¡°It¡¯s a boot. Probably a man, running hard... and then it stops and then... it turns... off the path.¡± Joturn dissected the stranger¡¯s movements of a day ago, gently pushing undergrowth aside as he danced lightly from one print in the earth to another.

    ¡°Both come from the river,¡± added Torvald.

    ¡°And only one child.¡± Luthold pointed out.

    ¡°Only one child returning,¡± Joturn corrected. ¡°Going out, we see neither Oli nor Ingo. Could have been one or both. Light tracks, gone by now. We may find answers at the river... or more questions.¡±

    Luthold and Torvald set off down the path.

    ¡°Wait.¡± Called Joturn. They turned back and saw that he had not moved. The old hunter stood with his eyes closed, his face raised, and the wrinkles of his skin tightened in concentration. The only part of him that moved were the ends of his long hair that drifted in the breeze.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Torvald asked.

    ¡°Shh.¡± He held up a hand. They waited.

    ¡°Perhaps my ears are not what they used to be, but I can¡¯t hear the village from here.¡±

    The others closed their eyes and sought through the noises of the forest, the cracks and rustles and cawing of birds, for those strands of sound belonging to human beings; children shouting, pots banging, the sharp chop of axes.

    ¡°I hear nothing.¡± Said Torvald.

    ¡°Me neither,¡± added Luthold.

    Joturn shook his head slowly.

    ¡°Why break off such hot pursuit just here? He could not see the village, nor could he hear it. How did he know that Oli would soon arrive there? That is, unless he knows the forest very well.¡±

    Luthold swallowed and looked again into the thick darkness around them. As much to break the silence, perhaps, as anything, Torvald ventured ¡°He grew tired?¡±

    ¡°Pfft,¡± scoffed Joturn. ¡°To the river now.¡±

    <hr>

    Oli jogged around the perimeter fence to a gap at the far end of the fields. The Hallin didn¡¯t keep a lot of livestock, but what sheep they tended for wool and milk ambled around inside an enclosure on the South side of the village. He clambered through the small gap in the picket fence, against which the enclosure was bounded, and circled outside the village to where Pasha would be waiting.

    The outer ¡®fence¡¯ resembled a sort of stretched-out porcupine tail encircling the roundhouses. It was formed of stakes of varying length driven into the ground and angled outwards. The larger ones were supported by poles arrayed in the opposite direction. Climbing over them would be difficult but not impossible. A determined force would have to be deterred by spears as well, but the picket fence was not really meant to defend the village from other humans. Root sleepers, despite their strength and speed, would struggle to drag their bulbous bodies over the sharp points. And if they tried, the wood could be set alight.

    As Oli ran, he jumped over the supporting poles, challenging himself each time to edge closer to the sharp points and leap higher.

    A shout broke his concentration, and his foot caught on something. The fence whirled upside down and his body, a moment earlier free, now spun around a new fixed point; his ankle.

    A moment later, he heard a ripping sound and his body fell free. His stomach would have sunk if it knew which way was down. His hands, moving on instinct, found the ground before the crown of his head hit it. Nothing could save his pride though as he heard the giggles.

    Lifting his head, still dizzy, he saw Kuno and Koen, the twins. He must have jumped right past them. They stood behind him, beside one of the poles he had cleared.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Oli¡¯s chasing his sweet-heart,¡± drawled Koen. Oli¡¯s face, already hot from running, could not redden anymore. Kuno took up the chant. ¡°Oliiis chasing his sweeeaat heeeeaaart.¡±

    ¡°Get lost,¡± hissed Oli, regretting his inability to compose a sharper insult. So much of childhood depended on that skill he lacked. He turned back and kept walking, his torn trouser leg flapping about his calf. The two younger boys followed, repeating the chant until a better idea struck Koen.

    ¡°He¡¯s leading her off into the woods,¡± he whispered to his brother, just loudly enough for Oli to overhear, ¡°I bet he¡¯s taking her where he took Ingo!¡±

    Oli kept walking, the heat rising into prickles on his skin. The twins repeated the accusation, louder and bolder. Oli could not run away from two boys three years his junior, nor did he dare turn to confront them. He could have insulted them, if he had the wits. Something whistled passed his ear and Kuno yelped, falling to the ground.

    ¡°Haha! Kuno looks like a dirty hoarder!¡± Pasha¡¯s voice rang from behind the fence.

    Kuno sat up and brushed the clump of earth off his head.

    ¡°Not fair, Pasha,¡± protested Koen, arms folded.

    ¡°Why, ¡®cos he¡¯s ugly?¡±

    Kuno¡¯s bottom lip trembled, and Oli shifted uneasily.

    ¡°It¡¯s ok, Kuno,¡± he mumbled, ¡°it¡¯s not your fault your face is all wrinkled and weird.¡±

    Pasha roared with laughter. Kuno¡¯s eyes opened wide, tears welling as he blew a long raspberry at them, and the two boys scuttled away. Pasha sat down, her back to the pole, and patted the ground beside her.

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t make fun of how Kuno looks, Pasha. Mum says it¡¯s not ok.¡±

    ¡°Ha! Says you! That was so funny. ¡®It¡¯s not your fault your face is all wrinkled and weird,¡¯¡± She imitated Oli, putting a cruel slant on the clumsy words he had meant to be conciliatory and fell about laughing again.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t... oh, never mind. He can¡¯t help that he got ill as a baby.¡±

    ¡°Well, look at his twin brother. He wasn¡¯t going to turn out handsome anyway. Not like Ingo... or you.¡± She winked and watched him with her inquisitorial eyes. Oli stared at a wisp of cloud, watching it dissipate and hoping her attention would do the same. For once, it did.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on, Oli?¡± She asked in a hushed tone, ¡°Everyone¡¯s saying you know what happened to Ingo.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know why. He always makes up excuses. He never came to meet me. But...¡±

    ¡°But you do know something, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Not about Ingo. Or maybe. It wasn¡¯t the hoarders. My Dad says half the stories about them are made up.¡±

    ¡°What about the other half?¡±

    Ignoring her, Oli continued. He was thinking out loud, articulating for the first time his thoughts about what happened without the pressure of grown-up ears straining to hear a version that appealed to their interests.

    ¡°The hoarders have always been there, and they¡¯ve never taken Ingo. But someone is in the forest who shouldn¡¯t be.¡±

    He looked at Pasha and saw the eager curiosity on her face flicker momentarily into doubt. Her big, black eyes scoured their surroundings and the nearby tree line, and she edged back deeper into the fence.

    ¡°Your monster. Mother says you made it up, but she won¡¯t let me go into the forest today.¡±

    ¡°It was a man, not a monster. But he appeared from nowhere. He crossed the bottom of the river. He had a cloak made of wolf hides and a twisted spear. My parents think it was a Western adventurer, but I know they¡¯re wrong. Even they know they¡¯re wrong.¡±

    She gulped and shivered. Oli knew he was scaring her, but it felt so good to talk that his words tumbled over each other. ¡°I think that man got Ingo. My Mum¡¯s gone to the river. What if he gets my Mum? He wanted to know about the mountains. I think he wanted to find the hoarders. I should have told him how to get there. Maybe he found Ingo and forced him to be a guide?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not lying.¡± Stated Pasha, regarding him intently and holding her cloak tight. ¡°But you told the grown-ups, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    Oli half nodded. ¡°I told my parents.¡±

    Pasha smiled and patted his leg. ¡°Well then, there¡¯s nothing else you can do. My dad says there¡¯s no one as clever as your dad, apart from Oslef, of course. Come on, let¡¯s play.¡±

    Oli heard the rattle as Pasha pulled out a pouch and emptied it on the ground. The wood and stone disks clicked together as they fell into a pile. Oli beamed and reached for the nearest stone.

    ¡°Ah, ah.¡± Pasha chided, ¡°you always win when you play the gods. I¡¯m trying your tricks today. Here, spirits.¡± She took the stones for herself and pushed the wooden disks across to him. Oli smirked. He had plenty of tricks for playing spirits, too. He arranged his pieces in order, stopping momentarily to admire the engravings. They were far better than those on his parents¡¯ set.

    ¡°A gift to my mother from Aimar,¡± said Pasha in a low voice. ¡°They¡¯re beautiful, aren¡¯t they? She gave them to me and said not to let dad see.¡±

    Oli was always drawn to the sleek abstractions of the gods¡¯ signs etched into stone pieces, but most people judged the maker¡¯s skill by how they carved the spirits. The spirits in this set were particularly arresting. The aspect of the Bear seemed to capture its size, despite being contained in an oak disk a thumb¡¯s width across. The Sleeper Queen stared malevolently at him, as though she would jump out and bite him if he looked too closely. The Sea Raven disk somehow contained the whole expanse of the sky and made Oli wonder what it must be like to soar so high above the world in any direction he pleased.

    ¡°Come on, your turn.¡± Pasha¡¯s voice drew him from the pictures. ¡°I played Hurean on the North stack.¡±

    ¡°Bear on the West.¡± Oli replied automatically as he placed the disk.

    ¡°Terlos on the South.¡±

    ¡°Too fast.¡± Oli commented under his breath as he claimed the East stack for the Sleeper Queen.

    ¡°You know you sound about forty years old when you play,¡± teased Pasha. ¡°Lost Daughter above Terlos.¡±

    ¡°Sea Raven above her.¡± Oli didn¡¯t care about her jibes when they were playing Sevenstones. He settled into the same calm that washed over him in the moment after he cast a line. Whenever he started playing, he just relaxed and knew he was going to win. He usually did.

    Pasha hesitated. She¡¯s already wasted a good attacking piece, thought Oli. She bit her tongue between her lips and swapped the stone in her hand for another, reaching for the South stack. Before Oli could see what she had played a shout went up from the village and his head snapped round. In the next moment, the sound of dropped tools, flapping doors and hurrying feet came through the fence. Oli¡¯s heart swelled in his chest. Fierce hope and a powerful dread whirled through his body, and he was grateful when he felt Pasha¡¯s sticky palm against his, tugging him toward the gap. Abandoning the game, they pushed themselves through. Oli saw that a crowd had already formed around the watchtower and Lien atop it was shouting and waving her arms for quiet.

    They dashed to the edge of the crowd, weaving their way between houses and bodies until they could hear.

    ¡°It¡¯s coming from near the mountains.¡± Lien yelled to the crowd, which erupted with questions. The tall shepherd, near whose sheep Oli and Pasha had just been playing, was leaning at a nauseating angle from atop the watchtower, holding on with one hand and shielding her eyes with the other as she scoured the treetops. With her back to the crowd she added, ¡°not the hoarders. Farther North. Much farther.¡±

    Oli looked round. ¡°What¡¯s near the mountains? What are they talking about¡± He asked Pasha, who shook her head and gestured at him to be quiet.

    ¡°Where?¡± A loud voice demanded. ¡°Where exactly?¡± Impatient men and women repeated the question.

    Suddenly, Pasha gasped and nudged him in the side, pointing up beyond the watchtower. Oli finally saw it. A great column of smoke rose in the distance, billowing into an unnatural cloud that hung in the clear sky above the forest. Had it come later in the year it could have been a clan leaving its old home in search of new paths. In early Spring, though, it could only be a sacking. He could not tell how near or far it was.

    Lien turned and even from a distance, Oli saw incredulity in her expression. She had stared long and hard without answering their questions, he realised, not because she could not see where it came from, but because she did not believe what her eyes showed her.

    ¡°It¡¯s coming from the Sullin Fort.¡± She announced. The onlookers fell silent. When a village was sacked, it was sacked by the Sullin for refusing payment. Sometimes villages managed to defend themselves, but nobody ever retaliated. Oli heard her ask in a trembling voice. ¡°Who would attack the Sullin? Who could?¡±

 Chapter 4 - A New Threat in Saltleaf Forest

    The Hallin had little love for the belligerent clan that inhabited the mountain steppes. They could barely be considered true Seveners, since they openly courted the favour of Maralon ¨C the most warlike of the seven gods ¨C above the others. Only their refusal to accept priests, shared ancestry and a little fear ensured a continued acknowledgement, and annual payment, from the other clans. For every hunter in another clan, the Sullin had three warriors. Only Heridan, the greatest of their own warriors, spoke in their favour.

    ¡°Ingo will do his time with them as I did mine.¡± He would say to anyone who slighted the Sullin. ¡°Folk around here only ever talk them down. You all grumble about the winter gifts. We Hallin need to see that if it weren¡¯t for the Sullin, the forest would be ripe for conquest from anywhere.¡±

    Heridan was not here now, though, to speak on their behalf and Oli listened to one voice after another muse on their misfortune.

    ¡°They demanded too much from Scursditch last year. The mayor has brought the King¡¯s army from the West!¡± Someone suggested.

    ¡°Not likely,¡± replied Thilo, who had arrived to help his wife, Lien, down the last two ladder rungs and return their child to her. He puffed his chest out importantly, as though his proximity to Lien, who had shared the news, granted him more authority than he might ordinarily hold.

    ¡°Nothing short of war would bring the King¡¯s army here. They¡¯ve been attacked by hoarders! That¡¯s why they¡¯re all missing from the caves.¡±

    A few people nodded and Thilo looked pleased with himself until Aimar, the craftsman, called out,

    ¡°The hoarders can¡¯t make fire, so how could they burn the fort down?¡±

    The crowd murmured in agreement and turned their attention from Thilo to Aimar. Something jabbed into Oli¡¯s side. He looked down to see Pasha poking an elbow toward his ribs. He jumped aside and she stared at him with her eyebrows raised. He could not work out why.

    ¡°Go on,¡± she whispered, ¡°tell them!¡±

    ¡°No way!¡± Blood rose to his face. He looked around to see if anyone had heard her. ¡°Everyone will laugh at me! I already told my parents, and they think it''s just an adventurer. A Westerner.¡±

    ¡°That was before someone burned the Sullin fort! Besides, what if it was a Westerner?¡± She lowered her voice, ¡°It could have been a priest of Hurean who went insane. A priest could burn their fort down.¡±

    Oli could feel eyes turning to them. He dared not look up and meet their gaze. She had a point. This changed things. A priest would have Western clothes, and he could burn the whole forest if the stories were true. Did they go crazy, though? Could they? Priests were misguided, his father said, but not evil.

    He thought about the wild, black eyes of the stranger and his skin turned cool and clammy. Oli sidled away from her, but she followed. A terror seized him that she would shout, and some oaf of a grown-up would grab a hold of him and demand the truth again, only this time his sister would not come before he lost his cool and he would say something that would condemn him. He dodged between bodies without checking to whom they belonged. He entered the paddock and sprinted across it, skidding in the mud as he arrived at his family''s home.

    Oli burst through the door and found the room empty.

    He glanced outside. He could not see Pasha. He closed himself in and fell onto the hides where they slept. Why did no one believe him the first time? He thought about the taunts of Kuno and Koen. That was all he¡¯d hear from the other children, until Ingo returned. Pasha was right, he had to tell the rest of them the story. They might believe it this time. He got up to leave, tripped and fell. At his feet lay his grandfather¡¯s spear.

    He crouched above it and stared. His father had left without the spear. The thought repeated itself like a heavy thud inside his head, full of meaning that he could not fathom. Perhaps it was too heavy and slowed him down? That made no sense at all! His father had left with Joturn. Was Joturn unafraid? Or was he so fearful he wanted to appear harmless? Oli picked up the weapon. The adults said it was light for a spear, but it felt heavy in his hands. The shaft was smoother than any other he had seen and the sign of Hurean, Lord of Summer, was emblazoned halfway up in a yellow metal that his father claimed would never dull. As he turned it toward the light, the flame seemed to dance. Oli¡¯s grandfather, Gurithen, had brought it back from his travels in the West. He was the first Hallin man in living memory to disgrace his family by leaving the forest, but he had bequeathed to them a certain notoriety upon his return, along with several beautiful artifacts.

    Oli recalled the stranger¡¯s weapon, the opposite of this elegant, polished instrument. Twisted wood with so many points they resembled a claw. Such a weapon could not be thrown. It wasn¡¯t meant for hunting, Oli suddenly realised. A panic rose within him, and the room began to swim. He closed his eyes, then began to think as though he were playing a game of Sevenstones. His emotions clamoured like the noise of the clan on a busy day. He let them whirl around outside his head as he considered the available moves. He could tell the adults about the stranger. They were already nervous, though. They would panic, and he was sure he¡¯d say the wrong thing and they would all blame him again. He could keep silent and wait for his father¡¯s return. And what if his father did not return?

    Oli reached a decision. The clamour ceased and a calm spread through him. He would run to the river and warn his father about the smoke. He would escape any questions for now find him, bring him the weapon, and insist on helping to look for Ingo. Only that way would the blame be lifted. If he could return with Ingo, he might even be a hero. This is what a grown-up would do, he said to himself.

    He poked his head out of the roundhouse. He saw no sign of Pasha or anyone else. He hoisted the weapon and ran toward the river path.

    As he ran the familiar route, the smells of the village faded. The combined aroma of food, sheep and the lives of three hundred people became noticeable suddenly by its absence. In its place, he smelled only earth and air, heavy with fallen wood that had rotted over winter. Oli counted his steps and checked the signs. He passed the moot of the fallen birch and continued for thirty paces. He paused for a moment and checked for the oak with a hole in its trunk. As he looked around, he deliberately avoided that soft focus that made visible the forest paths on the edge of one¡¯s vision. He alone could not trust that. He saw paths where none existed and failed to see the very ones he was travelling on. The sight came naturally to every Sevener, but it always seemed to lead him astray. He saw the oak, set himself beside it and faced in the right direction. Before he started running again, he thought he heard something behind him. He glanced back and saw nothing, but he ran a little faster.

    As he neared the river, his confidence grew. He could do this for his father ¨C and for himself. He went to the river almost every day, so why shouldn¡¯t he go there today?

    He approached and lingered where the trees thinned out, just ahead of the bank. He could not see his father or Joturn, but there was no sign of a struggle here either. Had they picked up the stranger¡¯s trail and gone further after him? He edged into the open and looked up and down. He began to think hard, for the first time, about how much of the day had passed since his father had left. Then something caught his eye on the opposite bank.

    The raft! It had not been washed away after all. Someone had crossed the river and hauled it onto the far bank, but they had left the mooring rope fixed to the stake on this side. Oli examined the knot. He did not recognise the shape of it. He tugged at what appeared to be a loose end and the rope tightened its grip on the stake. Perhaps it was Joturn¡¯s work. They must have crossed to look at the other side, but where were they now?If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    He bent his back against the weight of the raft and heaved with all his strength. It dragged against the dirt, reluctantly at first and then faster. Soon he was pulling it easily across the water. He enjoyed a moment of triumph as it bumped against his ankles, before the sound of a cracking branch behind him sent his hands flailing on the ground for the spear.

    He turned and stumbled, waving the point in front of himself. If anyone dangerous had been there, it would have been sheer luck had he skewered them, but he was fortunate instead to have missed.

    ¡°Put it down Oli! What are you playing at?¡±

    Pasha stood a couple of yards away, staring at the spear tip with wide eyes. Sweat matted her ragged hair to her brow and cheeks. She looked exhausted and furious.

    ¡°What are you doing here Pasha? Go back!¡±

    ¡°What are you doing here? You go back.¡± She retorted, glowering at him with her black eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got to find my dad!¡± Oli cried, ¡°And Ingo. Everyone will hate me until I find Ingo.¡± His plan made less sense shouted out loud than it had done in the privacy of his own thoughts. He gripped the spear tighter and straightened his back.

    ¡°Oli,¡± she wailed, ¡°you¡¯re so stupid. What are you going to do? Kill a monster with a spear you can hardly carry?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m taking it to my dad.¡±

    ¡°Well he can¡¯t use it either!¡±

    ¡°Shut up! Go back and leave me alone you little pest!¡±

    Oli¡¯s throat burned and his cheeks suddenly felt wet as well as hot.

    ¡°Fine,¡± she shouted, ¡°Get yourself in even more trouble! Stupid boy.¡±

    They both stared at each other. In the village, each would have stomped away in opposite directions. Out here tall trees loomed up at their side and shadows clung to them, each one hiding the promise of danger. Oli wiped the tears from his cheek and sniffed.

    ¡°Sorry I called you a pest.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re still stupid,¡± she replied.

    ¡°I know.¡±

    Pasha giggled and went quiet. Then she spoke more gently.

    ¡°Come back, Oli. Your dad will be fine, he¡¯s with Elder Joturn. Ingo will turn up. Just come back. Please.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, Pasha.¡± Oli did not move. He would not allow himself to be towed back home by a girl, to the inevitable jeers of other boys when they learned what had happened. He would finish this.

    She frowned and backed away. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Her face bore a look of concern with just a hint of admiration. At least, Oli thought so.

    ¡°You¡¯re always saying sorry.¡± She stated, then looked around at the shadows and sprinted away down the path. Within seconds she was out of sight and soon the soft padding of her feet faded into silence.

    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± Oli muttered to the empty space where she had stood.

    Oli felt his aloneness keenly now. He felt as though he had woken from a dream. This was stupid. He looked across the water at the far bank and recalled the exact place in which the stranger had appeared. He squinted at the bushes. A thrill of fear passed through him, and he imagined for a moment that the figure of a man appeared there, but none did. He looked again at the raft that he had hauled over to his side.

    ¡°I¡¯ll cross over just to look there,¡± Oli told himself, ¡°And then cross back if I can¡¯t see them.¡±

    He knew he wouldn¡¯t see them, but crossing the river felt like it might satisfy his honour. He could say ¡®I looked for them on the other side of the river,¡¯ and maybe this little escapade would sound risky and impressive, rather than pathetic and foolish.

    He wedged the spear between two beams of the raft and pushed himself across. On the other side, he pulled it a little way up the bank before yanking the spear out and spinning around.

    There was nothing to see. After searching on the ground, he found a single set of footprints that vanished into the undergrowth. He poked around for a while on his hands and knees, unsure what he was looking for, and then stood up. Pasha was right, but at least he¡¯d tried. He turned back to the raft and a shock pulsed through him.

    A swell in the river was tugging it from the bank. Fearful of keeping his back turned to the forest, he had not pulled it far enough up. A slow, sickening squelch bubbled from the riverbed as the pole fell on its side and the raft began to move. He leapt at the vessel, reaching desperately for the rope as it snaked beyond his reach. He fell on his stomach and looked up, winded, as his only way of crossing the river floated placidly downstream. The raft reached the limit of the mooring rope and bobbed about in the current on the other side.

    For a moment, he froze. Then his breath returned in a jab of pain, and he thumped the ground in front of him. Why had he not brought the mooring rope with him from the other side? Why had he not pulled it up here properly?

    ¡°Pasha!¡± He shouted as loud as he could, ¡°Pasha, come back! I need the raft!¡±

    She did not return. She must already be out of hearing. Stupid. He fell silent and felt the silence of the forest close around him. He should not have made so much noise. He held the spear closely and glanced around the unfamiliar bank. His breathing sped up and he looked for somewhere to sit.

    Panting, he forced himself to think. He¡¯d heard Elder Joturn talk about a ford farther to the North, where a strong person could cross the river with no boat or rope. Perhaps a desperate person could do it as well. Perhaps his father had gone that way, and he¡¯d pass him coming back on the other side. In a moment he had gone from wanting to save his dad, to hoping that he would be there to save him. At least if he travelled along the river there would be no way of getting lost, no paths to deceive and confuse him. He slung the spear onto his shoulder where it was easier to carry, fought back a sob of frustration and set off.

    He picked his way along the bank, clinging to the river as though it were a safety rope in the middle of rapids. He thought about the conversation he had once overheard, trying to remember the details of the ford.

    ¡°It was up a way, near the mountains but not out the forest. The trees were thinner there.¡±  Joturn had recounted, throwing down a handful of rabbits and easing himself onto a stump.

    ¡°You must have passed the ghoul circle. Thank Hurean you made it before nightfall.¡± Someone had commented.

    ¡°Thank Hurean,¡± the elder had muttered, raising one finger to the sky. ¡°And thanks to my own father for the long legs he gave me.¡±

    Oli looked up, then down at his short shadow. Midday had not yet passed. He had time. He might make it to the crossing.

    <hr>

    One by one the search parties returned. Each gave the same report to the anxious crowd: they had found no sign of Ingo, but when they had reached a clearing or high ground and seen smoke rising in the North, they had hurried back. Winilind listened with only half her attention, watching the trees near the river path for her husband¡¯s return. She looked around for Oli and made a mental note to send Ada to check on him.

    Debate raged as to who could have done this.

    ¡°Never!¡± Elder Mildred kept repeating. ¡°They¡¯ve never been threatened by anyone!¡± Trepidation mingled with a dark joy in her voice, and Winlind thought she was not the only one who seemed a little pleased at what had befallen their neighbours. Winilind might have felt pleased too, if not for the fear which had nagged at her since Oli had told his story. When Elder Oslef spoke, he voiced her instincts.

    ¡°Not even the mayor of Scursditch would attempt it, though he¡¯d be justified in wanting to. Any force powerful enough to destroy the Sullin are unlikely to be our friends.¡±

    Winilind thought she saw movement at the river path and her eyes darted away from the hunched form of Elder Oslef. When she focussed there was nothing, though.

    A loud clang, like the gong of Scursditch clocktower reverberated from the forest¡¯s edge. The clan fell silent, then surged as one in the direction from where it came. Winilind pressed her face against the spikes of the fence and peered through.

    Heridan stood at the edge of the trees holding his sword high. Slowly, he brought it down to the object in his left hand and another bang jarred through the air. Winilind swallowed hard. What was he doing, and what was it that he held?

    Heridan stepped forward with his sword lowered. The object appeared to be a shield, though not one of wood and leather, as born by the forest clans. It shone in the sunlight, like polished armour. As he came forward, other figures emerged from the trees. First came a tall man bedecked in fur armour. With his braided blonde beard and bright eyes glinting in the light, he looked like a younger version of Heridan. Algar, who had gone with Heridan, followed behind the tall man. A woman appeared behind him and Winilind spotted more armed men emerging from the trees. Some of the clan had climbed through the fence for a better view. Winilind hauled herself up and looked over the top. Heridan began talking.

    ¡°You¡¯ve all seen it, haven¡¯t you?¡± He called to the silent crowd. ¡°You¡¯ve seen the smoke rising from the Sullin fort. I¡¯ll tell you who burned it to the ground, because I¡¯ve met the Sullin who escaped and brought them here for refuge.¡±

    Nobody moved or spoke. Winilind heard the sheep in the pasture behind them.

    Heridan raised the polished, metal shield high above his head and turned it slowly from right to left. Winilind heard the gasps of those who saw it first and then the urgent, whispered questions of the younger ones who did not understand. Then she saw for herself that sign of misfortune and calamity, so cursed that even its creators were thought to use it no more. The bright flame of Hurean, rising in a straight line toward heaven, sliced in two as though by a clean, sharp knife.

    ¡°Dombarrow licks its wounds no more. Soldiers have left the godless city. For the first time, they have left the borders of their Republic, their prison. And they march openly under this sign.¡±

 Chapter 5 (Oli) - The Tower of a Thousand Follies

    As Oli hurried along the bank the ground became ever less familiar. Rocks replaced tree roots and dust blew up around him. He strained to recall the rest of the conversation he had once overheard about the ford in the North. He¡¯d been young. It was a distant memory, in which the world was smaller and the grown-ups bigger. The ford that Joturn had found was lodged in his memory for a reason. It was in the early days of their current village location, when the clan were still exploring the new surroundings. There was some detail, some debate around the crossing that had caused him to take interest. He retraced the memory in his mind and the details came back to him.

    ¡°The crossing up North, was it hard?¡± Otmer asked.

    ¡°Easy,¡± Joturn replied. ¡°The water¡¯s fast, but shallow too. A strong child could get across it.¡±

    The other adults nodded appreciatively.

    Then Oli remembered what Joturn had added, as though to him it were an afterthought. He slipped down the side of a boulder as he recalled it.

    ¡°I could see the tower from the crossing. I thought at first it couldn¡¯t be real. I didn¡¯t know anyone could build something so tall. But it¡¯s there. It was the tower. We¡¯ve come a long way North.¡±

    ¡°Then it¡¯s a crossing we¡¯ll not use again,¡± Elder Oslef declared, before stalking away. Those were the days before Kassha died and Joturn replaced him as an elder. He did not argue but grunted in his enigmatic way and set to work skinning rabbits.

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen it,¡± Heridan announced, frowning at the receding form of Elder Oslef, ¡°When I was living with the Sullin I saw it all the time. It¡¯s an ugly thing, but it doesn¡¯t burn your eyes out. You should show us where that ford is, Joturn, in case we ever need it.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t the gods knock it down?¡± Ingo, Heridan¡¯s son, peeped out from behind his father to ask the question.

    It was a fair question, thought Oli. Every legend about the tower ended with its destruction, so why was it still there? Now he knew why he¡¯d remembered this conversation. It wasn¡¯t only for the reason they had never used the ford, but for the questions Ingo had asked, and the awkward answers the grown-ups had given.

    ¡°They did knock it down,¡± came the reply from Elder Mildred.

    ¡°Hurean smote it down three times. They built it again with the same stone. That¡¯s why it¡¯s black and you can only see it in the daytime. Maralon brought in hurricanes and tore it to its foundations. When the fools built it again, even Terlos made common cause with his younger brothers. He set aside his fight with Hurean and shook the whole godless city in a terrible quake. They say that even as far West as the Godsroof you could feel the ground tremble. For seven days he shook the city. Every time they rebuilt it the gods taught them a lesson.¡±

    ¡°So, why¡¯s it still there, did the gods get bored?¡±

    The provocative question came again from Ingo, whose lips curled into a smirk. Mildred¡¯s eyes, usually full of doting affection for the great warrior¡¯s prodigal son, lit up as she snapped back.

    ¡°Do you think the gods are so fickle? They left it alone because it spoke a truth, in the end. A tortured, twisted, blackened thing, like the hearts of the men who built it. Their own shame towers over them.¡±

    Oli would hear that reason again from his mother and father when he asked each of them separately the same question. It was one of those grown-up explanations that sounded rehearsed, like how Tion gets his sweets around the whole world in a single night before the feast of Terlos. It was an explanation that left something missing. It almost worked, but didn¡¯t quite fit, like last year¡¯s trousers hanging above his ankles.

    Suddenly Oli¡¯s memory of the story and the imaginary picture of the place he sought collided with reality. He stopped in his tracks. There ahead was a bend in the river. He inched toward it. The trees were spaced farther apart here, and he could see more of the sky through their tips. As he approached, he saw the tallest peaks of the mountains on his left, through which the river passed. To his right, the slightly lower homes of the hoarders stood. And in the middle of those two clusters of ragged points, the mountains dipped into a low pass. Straining his eyes, Oli thought he saw movement on it, but that was not what caught his attention.

    Rising behind the pass itself, into the heavy clouds which hung in the skies around it, was the tower.

    Oli had seen a tower before. He¡¯d seen the clocktower of Scursditch, opened by the mayor with so much pomp that even the forest clans had been enticed to send witnesses.

    This tower was not like the clocktower of Scursditch. With its base obscured behind the pass and its tip hiding in the clouds, it seemed to be without beginning or end. Tributary constructions, some leaning at sharp angles, coalesced at a point that held up the final spire. The dark frame shot upward into the bright sky like an inverted lightning bolt returning to its source. The Tower of a Thousand Follies. To the cursed people of Dombarrow it was their great triumph against the very gods of this world. To all others, it was a monument of arrogance and a herald of endless misfortune for the lost souls who lived in its shadow.

    Oli shuddered and stepped back. It was like Heridan said, though. It did not burn your eyes out to look at it. He retreated to his memory from that day long ago, smiling when he recalled his grandfather¡¯s part in it.

    Back home, Oli snuggled under the hides and clung to his grandfather¡¯s hand. Gurithen winked conspiratorially and whispered as he unrolled a parchment.

    ¡°I picked this up in the town of Anartha. You can find all kinds of writing there, from all over the world. But this was penned beneath the Godsroof by the King¡¯s own poet before his exile.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°What¡¯s it about?¡± Oli inquired eagerly. He loved these evenings when his parents and Ada stayed out later. He and grandfather only pretended to be asleep when they returned.

    ¡°That tower you asked me about. They say the poet Devarta went to live there, that he ended his days beyond the reach of the gods. Terrible, terrible.¡± Gurithen shook his head disapprovingly before looking again at the parchment in his hands, ¡°Shall I read it?¡±

    Oli nodded, and Gurithen read.

    Beneath Dombarrow¡¯s burdened skies,

    A thousand wicked follies rise,

    Which thrice the Lord of Heaven smote,

    Singeing stone as black as night,

    Twice in winds the Sea God wracked,

    Once even sullen Earth attacked,

    With tremors, quakes and roiling waves,

    Of land, of rock, of rubble shattered,

    Yet every time the fools built up,

    Ruins beneath, proud banner atop,

    And through its ruined heart they ran,

    Giant-bones of steel, wrought by hand,

    Tortured, twisted, tall and dark,

    It stands defiant, taunts from afar,

    Into Dombarrow¡¯s burdened skies,

    The Thousand Splendid Follies rise.

    ¡°The Thousand Splendid Follies.¡±

    Oli mouthed the last line of the poem and looked again, tracing the jagged lines that met and cut a path between earth and sky. Could folly become splendid, if a people persisted in it enough? There was something splendid about the tower, but also something wrong and out of place, like a tree full of fruit in the middle of winter. He would be happy not to come any closer. He wondered, briefly, how close his grandfather had come.

    He sat down and wiped his face, smearing dust and mud in with the sweat. I made it, he thought. Water bulged over the rocks here and, though it looked treacherously fast, the river did appear shallow enough to wade through. If he crossed now and kept up the pace, he could be home before nightfall. Whatever trouble he was in was nothing. He¡¯d take the punishment. He just wanted to see his parents and Ada. A fresh energy moved him, but he resolved this time to be careful. He needed his full strength to make the crossing. He crawled toward the edge of the river. He breathed deeply and looked at the fragments of his face that danced in the water before him. He plunged in and the reflection plunged up to meet him. He sucked in the cold, clean water, slaking his thirst and delighting in the icy feel of it on his skin.

    He raised his head and wiped the water from his eyes. Then his gaze fell on the far bank, on movement between the trees there. He saw them before they saw him. Outsiders.

    A column of men moved through the forest on the other side of the river, traveling toward the ford from the opposite direction. Oli scuttled behind a tree. He breathed in quick, shallow breaths. As they approached, though, their movements and appearance reassured him. They wore bright red tunics which stood out plainly among the trees. They tramped and stomped so loudly that a crow on Oli¡¯s side of the river took flight. Were they King¡¯s soldiers? If you could trust any outsiders, surely you could trust the King¡¯s own soldiers. They moved in a sort of formation, like you¡¯d expect. They reached the ford and stopped, and the man in front began talking to another behind him.

    Oli watched. Then he noticed Ingo. He had never felt so happy to lay eyes on that overpopular son of his father¡¯s rival. What luck! Ingo had been saved by the King¡¯s soldiers and he, Oli, would return with them and prove his own innocence. He could even lead the way back to the village from this ford. Oli put his first two fingers into a curved V, holding his others balled.

    ¡°Sindrah, who dwells in shadows.¡±

    He muttered his thanks to the god of fortune, forgetting that she was also the god of caution, and leapt out waving his arms.

    Ingo was the first of the group to spot him. Oli began to shout, and Ingo waved back.

    ¡°Ingo! Ingooo! Over here! Loo-¡±

    The words died in his throat.

    The column of men rapidly repositioned. They drew short, gleaming swords from their sides. Ingo¡¯s eyes met his and the sickening realisation dawned on Oli that Ingo was not waving to greet him but trying desperately to warn him off. Then Oli absorbed other details he had missed in his enthusiastic delight. The smattering of facial hair on Ingo¡¯s chin, of which he was rather proud, was hidden by mud that covered his face. His lower lip bulged into an ugly bruise. Ingo suddenly jerked back, and Oli realised with horror that someone had tugged on a rope around the older boy¡¯s wrists.

    ¡°Oli! Run! Run now!¡±

    The shout carried across the river between them, a shriek of fear on his behalf. The soldiers called crisp, clear orders to one another. Three ran downstream whilst others made for the ford. Oli froze, just as he had done when he first saw the stranger. Ingo yelled at him to move again, until the soldier holding his bonds slapped a hand over his mouth.

    Oli grabbed the spear from the ground. He caught movement and a flash of red in the corner of his eye. When he looked back before running, he saw the three soldiers who had gone downstream storming toward him on his own side. Where had they crossed so quickly? Those who had entered the ford were pushing through the fast water. As it washed around their legs, shining steel sparkled under the sunlight, around the edges of their red tunics.

    Oli ran hard, across the rocks he¡¯d just scrambled over a moment before. To his right, red shapes moved through the trees. He tried to look over his shoulder and lost his footing. When he leapt back up, three soldiers stood around him.

    ¡°What are you doing out here, little fellow? Friend of the other one? A friend of the priest, perhaps?¡±

    ¡°Come on now,¡± said another. ¡°Come with us.¡±

    The second to speak had grey hair and a big, broad face. He smiled and beckoned with his left hand. Even as he did so, the three of them closed in. The third soldier chuckled.

    ¡°We¡¯ll see if this one talks more.¡±

    Oli threw his spear. It took more strength than he knew he had and, as it sailed through the air, he felt a momentary satisfaction. It was a fine throw.

    The spear struck the beckoning soldier square in the chest. With a dull thud, it bounced off and fell into the dirt. The expression of surprise and fear turned into a mocking jeer. In a moment they were upon him. One held his arms while the others started to bind his legs.

    Then an ear-splitting howl surrounded them. Neither the scream of a man, nor quite the roar of a beast, it seemed to pass through the hard, hot bodies of the men who held him and into his head, where it bounced around inside as though looking for a way out. He gasped and staggered, suddenly aware of being free but unable to direct his movements. The three soldiers held their hands over their ears and one of them groaned loudly, then spluttered. Oli lifted a hand in front of his face. It seemed to double, then triple. The world melted before him, like an image in still water disrupted by a stone¡¯s throw, and he fell into the darkness of sleep.

 Chapter 6 (Ingo) - The Captive

    Ingo struggled to see much before they dragged him out of sight. He watched in horror as Adalina¡¯s odd little brother squandered what precious time he had. He cheered at the young boy¡¯s heroic throw and his heart was crushed when it failed even to prick the soldier it struck. He tore against his bonds and kicked at the man who held him. Then something moved that had not been there before. On the edge of his vision the leaves rushed, and a shrill scream rent the air. The soldiers who had grabbed Oli began to stumble and the boy staggered free, then fell to the ground. As the man holding his ropes pulled Ingo out of sight, others notched arrows into their short bows as they crashed through the trees toward the noise. What they intended to shoot at, he could not tell.

    Ingo¡¯s captor dragged him beyond hearing of the conflict to a small clearing they had passed earlier. He tied the rope around a trunk and bent over, panting. Ingo stopped pulling. He looked down at his wrists and saw raw, pink flesh beneath the bonds. The pain struck him suddenly. He shut his eyes tight and gasped, sinking to the ground as a wave of nausea overwhelmed him. He felt the soldier grab his arm. The pain intensified and he thought he would pass out, but then it subsided. The man had transferred the knot to his ankle. His hands were free. He looked up at the soldier, who sat down with his back against a trunk, staring at Ingo with a slight frown. The words ¡°thank you,¡± began forming in Ingo¡¯s mouth. He bit them back.

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± the soldier said, before taking a leather pouch from his belt and drinking.

    The rope soldier, as Ingo thought of him, was the largest of his captors. Though not as tall as Ingo¡¯s father, Heridan, he was easily as wide. He was fast, too, as Ingo had discovered on his first escape attempt, but appeared to tire quickly. He wondered why this man got the job of holding on to him. Was he no good at fighting? His scarred forearms suggested experience. His face was hairless, as were those of the other twenty soldiers. In the morning, he had watched them all pass tiny, slim blades carefully over their skin. They had polished their armour. They had added drops of fragrant oil to a bucket of water and washed their hands in it, and only then did they haul him to his feet and begin their march North.

    ¡°What are you staring it, boy?¡± Ingo looked away. ¡°Don¡¯t think about reaching for that knot. I¡¯m watching. You¡¯ll not take advantage of my kindness.¡±

    Ingo heard shouting and running. His captor leapt and drew his sword. It was a short thing, little more than a dagger compared to the one his father trained him on. The man¡¯s comrades joined him in the small clearing, and they quickly pointed their bows back into the trees. Ingo counted them in: fifteen... sixteen... seventeen... When the nineteenth soldier returned their leader announced ¡°That¡¯s it. That¡¯s all of us.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t Varun make it?¡± asked the rope soldier, looking round the anxious faces. Some shook their heads, others bowed them.

    ¡°We lost the boy to the priest,¡± one of the men spat and the leader, whom the others addressed as ¡®Captain,¡¯ bent down and looked at Ingo. His green eyes sparkled as he spoke.

    ¡°You knew that boy, didn¡¯t you? One of yours? I reckon your clan is right under our noses.¡±

    Ingo maintained his silence, as he had since they had taken him near the Southernmost foothills. How near he thought he¡¯d come to seeing a hoarder up close. That¡¯s one of their wagons, he had thought as he¡¯d crept closer. He should have gone to meet Oli, as he¡¯d planned and promised to. But he had lost his nerve. Risking his life near the mountains had seemed less frightening than hearing what Oli might have told him about Adalina¡¯s feelings. He thought again of that throw and the way the skinny little boy had fallen. His chest ached. He should have gone to see Oli for both their sakes. Had something come to his rescue, or had he and the soldier Varun both fallen to the same predator?

    ¡°Do you know the god-botherer, too? One of your priests, was it?¡± the captain asked him.

    Ingo fixed the man¡¯s gaze, pulled his shoulders back and broke his silence at last.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have priests in the forest.¡±

    He had promised himself never to speak with them, but he¡¯d be damned if they would drag him from one end of Saltleaf Forest to the other on a misunderstanding. If they thought that he could help them find a priest, they were even bigger fools than they seemed.

    ¡°Ah! So, he does speak. Well... who was it?¡±

    The captain leaned in, and Ingo smelled sweat and leather mingled with the floral odour of that oil they used for washing. The man grabbed Ingo¡¯s bare wrist and twisted. His eyes watered and his head swam. Despite his best efforts a low groan escaped his lips.

    ¡°I want to know what¡¯s creeping up on us in the night.¡± He twisted harder and pressed his forehead against Ingo¡¯s. ¡°And my patience is running out.¡±

    ¡°Captain.¡± It was the rope soldier. ¡°The Advocate-General will want this one. He won¡¯t want him looking too rough.¡± He spoke respectfully yet firmly. He¡¯s not afraid of the captain, thought Ingo.

    The captain released him and stood straight. He removed his shining helmet and rubbed the red marks it left on his forehead. Then he fixed the rope soldier with narrowed eyes:

    ¡°The Advocate-General won¡¯t see him at all, if that priest out there takes us down. He knows something.¡±

    ¡°If he does, he won¡¯t share it with us because we¡¯ve twisted his arm, and you know you can¡¯t do any more than that.¡± The soldier paused and then added, ¡°Captain.¡±

    The captain glowered and turned away to resume their march.

    Ingo stated again, ¡°We don¡¯t have priests in the forest.¡±

    The man paused for a moment and then continued.

    ¡°North,¡± he announced, pointing. ¡°This way, but we¡¯ll move Eastward too. We¡¯ll keep away from the river and come back West where the trees are thinner. Gavan, give me an angle.¡±

    ¡°You could turn twenty degrees East of North, Captain,¡± replied a young soldier, fumbling a circular device from his pocket before holding it steady and looking down on it. That¡¯d add an hour to the march, at a good pace. We should still make camp by nightfall.¡±

    The captain adjusted his direction and shouted, ¡°March!¡± The soldiers fell in behind him, and Ingo followed, hurrying to keep some slack in the rope and away from the prods of the soldier behind him.

    Though they marched without talking, it could not be called silence. Among the Hallin, the only time anyone made gentle fun of Ingo¡¯s father was when they heard him from afar. Elder Joturn would cock his ears and shout into the trees ¡°Hellllooooo there Heridannn!¡± and his father would either chuckle or chafe, depending on his mood. Yet his father moved like a lynx compared to these soldiers. They lifted their legs high in the air and brought their heavy boots down as though they wanted to bruise the earth beneath them. They moved as though they knew neither the first thing about hunting. Or being hunted.

    The column marched closer to the mountains this time, farther North than Ingo had ever ventured. He guessed they would soon pass into Sullin territory, and he hoped that fierce clan would descend upon the soldiers and cut them in pieces. Once, through a gap in the trees, he spied from a new angle the caves he had often stared up at. Seeing them ranged across the whole length of the snaking peaks made him shudder and pause, and he almost forgot he had been dragged here against his will. He realised now how extensive they were. Dark entrances dotted all over the arid rock with long, narrow ridges running between like treacherous pathways. He strained his eyes for a sign of the long, sleek figures he had once or twice spotted in the distance. He tried to imagine himself walking along one of those narrow strips of stone, the high winds buffeting against the sheer rockface and the long, unforgiving fall just one mistake away. He felt the rope pull tight and he jerked forward to avoid being pulled over. The rope soldier called back to him.

    ¡°Strange beasts up there. Not good to linger. We lost three of our company on the way South to them.¡±

    For the first time, Ingo felt a kinship with the ¡®strange beasts.¡¯ Although his own people had worse names for them, they now shared a common enemy. Besides, they were part of his world. Part of his childhood. These soldiers, with their bright tunics, shining armour and clumsy feet belonged to neither. Indeed, he already felt they marked the end of the latter.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    The sun fell behind the treetops and a honey-coloured glow played through the leaves. Without being ordered, the soldiers marched faster. Ingo felt their nerves, pulled taut like the strings of Aimar¡¯s fiddle, when he twisted them so tight you couldn¡¯t believe they would not snap. As night beckoned, his own hopes rose. He formed the first and second fingers of his left hand into a ¡®V¡¯ and whispered:

    ¡°Sindrah, whose domain is in shadow, your command is caution, your blessing fortune.¡±

    They stopped to drink, and the captain walked back to confer with the soldier Gavan. Ingo watched him pass. The captain studiously ignored him.

    ¡°You said we¡¯d make it by nightfall, Gavan. Now¡¯s the time to admit if you were wrong.¡±

    His show of calm authority was laced with a promise of anger.

    ¡°Nothing wrong in my calculations, Captain...¡± The assertion hung weakly in the air, unfinished.

    ¡°But?¡± The captain¡¯s body tensed up like a cat watching an intruder on the edge of its territory.

    ¡°But we shouldn¡¯t be this far from the pass.¡± Gavan swung his backpack round and pulled a thin stack of parchment from it, nearly dropping both as he did so. With hasty, trembling fingers he unfolded it, like a person unfolding a woven sheet. Ingo watched with amazement as the small, slim rectangle doubled in surface area, then doubled again and again until Gavan held one huge piece of white parchment. Ingo stood on his tiptoes and peered down, but from his angle could not see what was written on it. Gavan and the captain began running their forefingers over it and arguing.

    ¡°When we headed down here from the pass, you assured me the range went only thirty miles South.¡±

    ¡°Captain, that outline is from the institute records themselves. Only the inside of the forest is my drawing. But the measurements inside don¡¯t match the outside.¡±

    The captain slapped the side of Gavan¡¯s head and his helmet almost fell off. Ingo winced in sympathy at the vibration. When they first met, Gavan had smiled at him. He¡¯d rummaged in his pockets and produced a handful of grey-white powder mixed with crumbled stone and asked Ingo where he could find more of it. It was Terlos¡¯ soap rock. Ingo knew exactly where to find it, but his eyes had been on the rest of the soldiers, sidling round to cut off his escape, and he¡¯d backed away and run for it. Since the rope soldier caught him, he had not answered any of their questions.

    ¡°Is that what you call it when you screw up your drawings?¡± the captain shouted at Gavan, who now half crouched on the ground.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Captain,¡± mumbled Gavan, fixing his helmet. Then he looked away, tensing in anticipation of another blow before adding, ¡°I¡¯ll stand by my cartography.¡± He looked at the captain and a flash of pride escaped his demeanour of meek submission. ¡°When I visited the Shifting Dunes with the Advocate-General I predicted our return to the day.¡±

    The captain exhaled through gritted teeth. Then he offered a hand to Gavan, who took it and stood. He folded away the strange, thin parchment. The captain looked up into the darkening sky, then down at his feet. He placed an arm around Gavan¡¯s shoulder, who blanched at the gesture but did not pull away. Then he spoke loudly, addressing both Gavan and the rest of his men at the same time.

    ¡°We¡¯re a long way from home. I¡¯ve sailed as far East as the Westernmost Serpent Islands. I¡¯ve traded knowledge with men as dark as the Southerners are pale. I¡¯ve watched mammoths walk on ice as clear as glass over the sunken temple. But I¡¯ve never been as far from home as this, five days march from my own front door. Sleepers, spirits, sneaking hoarders... and a god-bothering priest. This is no place for free men like us, but it¡¯s where our duty lies. Keep your eyes open, keep your mouths shut and let¡¯s keep moving. I¡¯ll get you all home.¡±

    They resumed the march. Ingo mouthed the unfamiliar new word to himself as they walked. Car-tog-ra-phy. Cartography. He liked the shape of it around his tongue, but he could only guess at its meaning. Something to do with travelling and paths. He knew what mistake the soldiers had made, though. They were trying to cross the forest in a straight line. That wasn¡¯t how it grew.

    Before much longer, they admitted defeat. Even Ingo had no idea where the small clearing they stopped at was, or how far North they had travelled. He craned his neck to peer through the trees, but the unfamiliar contours of the mountains here meant nothing to him. The last time they had crossed a path, without any of the soldiers realising, was in the mid-morning. He eased himself to the floor, aware now of how his feet ached. He did not kick off his boots, though. He kept his eyes on the men, waiting for distraction. The rope soldier never stopped watching him. Some of the men began collecting wood.

    ¡°Not too far in,¡± warned the captain. ¡°Always in pairs, even for a piss.¡±

    Gavan took out his big sheet of parchment and pored over it in the last red rays of daylight, straining ever closer as the darkness enveloped whatever he was reading. Soldiers drew drinking pouches from their backpacks and passed round bits of dried meat rolled up in oily cloth. Reasoning that he would need his strength to escape, Ingo took some when they offered it. It tasted sweet at first, but then a heat formed in his mouth, and he felt like little needles pierced his tongue. Aware of eyes watching him, he forced it down, smiled and licked his lips. Beads of sweat formed under his fringe, and he accepted a water pouch from the rope soldier gratefully. Lots were drawn and the winners took thin blankets out of their packs. Somebody threw one toward Ingo. He took it without a word and pulled it over his legs. It felt smooth to touch, but soon the skin of his bare ankles began to itch, and he scratched them up and down before giving up and pulling the blanket further, so his legs poked out.

    The kindling caught and Ingo watched the sparks spin upward into the night sky. He thought of the fire in the Hallin village. He thought of the noise, the singing, being allowed a sip of wine from the jar, or sneaking one anyway before passing it round to an adult. He thought of Oli¡¯s sister, Adalina, smiling at him from the other side, her face framed by the flames. She did not merely reflect the glow but added to it as though with a light of her own. In his mind he saw her thick, curling black hair blend into the darkness. He thought of his father too and rubbed his eyes, grateful for the darkness that hid his sudden tears. Those not on watch laid down and someone began snoring. His rope handler passed the end to one of the watchmen and laid himself down a yard away.

    ¡°I need to go,¡± said Ingo in the darkness.

    ¡°Sorry, boy, you¡¯re not going anywhere yet.¡± He could not be sure, but the man really did sound sorry. The rope soldier had misunderstood his intent though.

    ¡°No,¡± he insisted, anger breaking through in his embarrassment, ¡°I need to go.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Damn it.¡± The big soldier heaved himself up and led Ingo to the edge of the clearing. He¡¯d already tried it on with this man. He knew he could not take him down. He knelt and began to dig a shallow hole with his hands, habitually speaking before removing the soil:

    ¡°Terlos, whose domain is Earth, forgive my intrusion.¡±

    When he had relieved and cleaned himself, he returned to his spot and pulled the blanket back over. The rope soldier waited for him to settle.

    ¡°Boy,¡± he whispered. Ingo turned and saw him propped up on one elbow. The light of the fire illuminated one side of the man¡¯s body, accentuating the neat, red scars that ran across his wide forearm. His red hair burned as brightly as the flames. He raised himself up further and spoke down to Ingo. ¡°Have you got to bow and scrape and beg the gods even when you take a dump?¡±

    Ingo did not want to speak to these people. But he wanted to speak to someone. There was curiosity, perhaps, behind the mockery. The big man had removed the knot from his wrists earlier. His father always said, ¡®every suit of armour has a weakness.¡¯ Perhaps this man was their weakness.

    ¡°It¡¯s just polite,¡± Ingo replied, ¡°and sensible.¡±

    The man shuffled closer.

    ¡°Polite? Sensible? To crap on top of the Winter King¡¯s roof?¡±

    His mouth formed a provocative leer, but his patchy eyebrows raised in humour. Ingo replied slowly, as though explaining it to a small child,

    ¡°When you crap somewhere, things grow better. That¡¯s where it belongs - in the ground. It¡¯s no harm to the Lord Terlos.¡±

    ¡°So, if it¡¯s such a good thing, why do you apologise?¡± The rope soldier looked smug, like he¡¯d played the winning move in a game of Sevenstones.

    Incredulous, Ingo paused, unsure whether he was more confused by these questions or that someone needed to ask them. He eventually replied,

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s still shit, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    The man chuckled as though he had made an excellent joke, then went quiet but kept looking at him, regarding him with something resembling sadness. Ingo heard his father¡¯s voice again. Every suit of armour has a weakness. The fire crackled beside them. He realised that Gavan, who was on watch, had edged a little closer to listen. He¡¯d heard stories of these people. He¡¯d expected death or torture, or both, when they took him. He didn¡¯t know what to expect now.

    ¡°Is it true?¡± asked Ingo, as though he expected the man to know what his question was. The obvious question. The only question to ask such people. After a silent moment he added, in a fearful whisper that barely registered above the burning wood,

    ¡°Is it true that you shun the gods completely?¡±

    The man nodded slowly, his face suddenly serious. Gavan straightened his back a little and smiled faintly.

    ¡°How?!¡± asked Ingo. Despite all he had heard, he could not believe they didn¡¯t whisper secret prayers to a chosen benefactor. Even the exiles across the Western Straits were said to leave offerings to Maralon along their bitter, jagged coastline.

    His captor raised a scarred hand and balled it slowly and deliberately into a fist, one finger at a time. With a soft thump, he placed it on his chest.

    ¡°Faith,¡± he pronounced. The word filled the night, and the silence which followed. It left nothing else to be said.

    Ingo watched the clouds until they cleared and then he watched the stars. He picked out the constellations of each of the gods that were visible at this time of year. There was Farlean, rising in the East like a fish jumping at the waterfalls, quick on her brother Manafel¡¯s heels. Terlos¡¯ eight legs descended in the West, as did his daughter and sister-in-law, Sindrah, difficult to pick out even in a clear sky. Neither would reappear before Autumn. Hurean¡¯s solitary star had yet to burst in upon the dome, searing unpredictably this way and that. Soon he would appear and brighten the sky, shining both day and night. Before closing his eyes, Ingo mouthed the appropriate god¡¯s name as an act of defiance, as a kind of shield, out here among the apostates. He invoked the god of death and sleep, the only one with no constellation at any time of year.

    ¡°The Lost Daughter, with no domain to rest in, who drifts across the memory of dreamers.¡±

    Then he rolled over and fell in and out of a fitful slumber.

 Chapter 7 (The Hallin) - The Bloodstained Refugee

    Luthold repeated the details of his most recent search for a second time to Winilind, then added:

    ¡°When he came back South to the village yesterday, he must have gone too fast to check the route. He ran off the path and even stumbled into a new one. It was sheer good fortune that he made it back to us. We returned in his footsteps, and he must have passed us on the usual route then.¡±

    ¡°Pasha said he wanted to cross the river. Do you really think he would?¡±

    He bit his lip and shook his head. Winilind asked:

    ¡°You said the raft was still tied to our side?¡±

    ¡°Tied to it, yes, but bobbing about downstream. He might have crossed without tying it off. But why? What in the gods¡¯ names is he doing on the other side?¡±

    Luthold had returned with Joturn and Torvald to find the clan in uproar; Sullin warriors wandering about the place, Winilind rushing in and out of the forest and his daughter sitting alone in their home weeping and berating herself. When he had asked what was wrong, Adalina had only apologised for persuading her mother to allow Oli out to play. Pasha''s parents, Otmer and Beresa, had explained the rest, at least regarding her son. They had not touched upon the clan¡¯s new guests and for now Luthold did not have the capacity to consider what the Sullin were doing here. Luthold had immediately returned to the river, but too late.

    As he opened his mouth to speak again, Aimar poked his head inside their home.

    ¡°Luthold, Winilind, I heard what happened.¡±

    ¡°Come in, Aimar,¡± Luthold said.

    The slender, sharp featured man entered, brushing his brown hair and blinking in the gloom. They would have valued their chief craftsman¡¯s friendship, but Aimar appeared to consider them both too senior and his respect had never thawed into warmth. It was, Luthold assumed, because he had taught the young man his letters. He had been awed by Aimar¡¯s sharp mind, which easily matched the dexterity of his fingers. Not until Luthold taught Ingo, briefly, did any student impress him as much.

    ¡°The elders want you at the assembly, Luthold.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t they know my son is missing?¡±

    Aimar nodded. ¡°They know. Winilind is to accompany Beresa to the forbidden ford and search on the other side. Torvald will search for Ingo and Oli by the mountains and others will patrol the new path Oli used to return from the river. They want you and Heridan both at the assembly.¡±

    ¡°The forbidden ford?¡± Winilind asked as she pushed Adalina gently aside and rose swiftly to her feet. ¡°Has Oslef allowed us to use it?¡±

    Luthold had planned to cross there next whether he allowed it or not.

    ¡°Oslef has ordered it.¡± Aimar looked at Luthold. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Luthold. They insist you attend assembly.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re right,¡± said Winilind, who was already at the door slipping a knife inside her clothes. ¡°For Oli we need to be heard at the assembly too.¡±

    Winilind stopped by the door and pulled their daughter close. Adalina looked up at her mother through tearful eyes. She opened her mouth and before she could apologise yet again, Winilind squeezed her arm tightly and commanded:

    ¡°Pull yourself together, Ada. Now. Go with your father to the assembly. Support him. Keep any talk of Oli polite.¡±

    <hr>

    Aimar gestured in the direction of the Winter Roof and followed behind Luthold, allowing the older man to arrive in front. As they walked, the craftsman related the clan¡¯s gossip to Luthold. News had spread fast of Oli¡¯s disappearance and what Pasha said about it. Opinion divided, apparently, as to whether Oli¡¯s behaviour was foolish and heroic, or foolish and dangerous.

    They reached the shadow of the great meeting place. Every time Luthold set foot under the Winter Roof, the size of it impressed him. He could scarcely believe he had helped to design it. Two rows of huge wooden pillars supported a sloping, thatched roof which created the largest shelter the clan had ever built. Did they know somehow, eleven years ago, that they would stay here for so long?

    The throng parted out of habit as Luthold approached, forming a passage to the centre where those speaking would sit. The elders Oslef, Joturn and Mildred waited in a triangle equidistant from each other. Oslef gestured at two upturned stumps beside him and Luthold sat down. Aimar joined him and Ada went to stand with the crowd of observers who would, if things went badly, become a crowd of whisperers. Her first assembly, Luthold mused as he watched her push into a space at the front. Scanning those others who were seated, Luthold saw Heridan opposite, close to Joturn. Otmer was there, too, talking in a low voice to Mildred. Thilo sat with his head pompously high, looking very pleased with himself for being in the circle. His wife, Lien, nursed their baby at the edge of the crowd. He registered Angmar, too before his eyes came to rest on a tall, powerfully built man with strawberry blonde braids. The same man they said had followed Heridan out of the forest. A Sullin.

    Luthold¡¯s face flushed hot when the man smiled at him, his green eyes sparkling. The visitor¡¯s handsome aspect was marred only by the dried blood that stained his hair on one side. Beside him sat a smaller, older man with brown hair greying at the edges. Both wore swords. A cursory glance at their surroundings would have told them that was not the custom in a Hallin village, let alone an assembly. But the Sullin minded little the customs of others.

    ¡°All present,¡± announced Oslef. Mildred and Joturn nodded. ¡°Luthold,¡± he said gently, ¡°any news about your son?¡±

    ¡°Oli is gone,¡± Luthold announced. ¡°He took my spear. He went in search of me and Ingo while I was still out with Elder Joturn. We believe he meant to bring me my spear and warn me about the column of smoke.¡±

    He looked each member of the circle in the eye as he spoke. Not all of them met his gaze. They knew that his son could be senseless, but he wanted them to know that Oli could be uncommonly brave at times, too. Heridan looked down when Luthold turned to him. He stared at the dark hair on top of the man¡¯s head, willing the quick-tempered warrior to look up and own his part of this. He had been the first to accuse Oli of lying, and others had taken up and spread the accusation. Instead, Thilo spoke:

    ¡°Why did Pasha run after him? That¡¯s what I want to know. Why not raise the alarm right away? And why didn¡¯t Oli¡¯s family tell us about this outsider? We might not have clambered around the hoarder caves all night, when the real enemy was in the very forest!¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°None of the children should be leaving the village,¡± added Angmar, shaking his head. ¡°Their ill-discipline endangers us all. They could give up our location!¡±

    Thilo nodded vigorously and Luthold leapt to his feet, incensed.

    ¡°My son did not run into the woods to play games, and the cause of his ill-discipline were the words he heard whispered about him for telling the truth.¡±

    Heridan, still hunched over, raised his head and met Luthold¡¯s eyes. Luthold steeled himself to meet the familiar antagonism and swallowed when instead he saw weariness and pain.

    ¡°You care more now,¡± Heridan¡¯s voice rumbled and grated like rocks rolling down a scree, ¡°than you did last night.¡± The blow landed and Luthold stood for a moment with his mouth open, unable to find a retort.

    ¡°I¡¯d have liked to know more about the outsider he saw,¡± Heridan continued. ¡°I¡¯d have liked to know yesterday some of the things I¡¯ve learned today.¡±

    Luthold was about to remind Heridan that he had dismissed the outsider as a fabrication from the start, when another voice cut in.

    ¡°Enough!¡± Mildred silenced them both. She glared first at Thilo. Luthold thought she looked at him as she might look at weeds that had found their way into an herb jar. ¡°I¡¯ll hear no more blaming of children for the failings of adults.¡± Then she looked from Luthold to Heridan and added: ¡°And I¡¯ll tolerate no quarrelling between Hallin at assembly.¡±

    Luthold¡¯s face grew hot and, suddenly conscious that he was still standing, he sat down. Mildred had not finished. With a series of terrible cracks, she pushed her curved back straight and gave the clan a reminder of how tall she had once been. Her silver hair, which often trailed in the mud as she stooped, now hung just below her knees. Luthold noticed Joturn¡¯s dark eyes narrow as he leaned forward and watched with a wistful look.

    ¡°Many of us had a part in their disappearance, whether through over-indulgence or mistrust. But all of us must help to find them. There is a new threat in the forest. There is too much at stake and there is no time to argue about who is at fault. If this assembly is to continue, it will do so in a manner befitting the descendants of Rasha and Tion.¡±

    Sometimes, when she was cackling drunk after half a jar of wine, people forgot why Mildred was ever made an elder. Sometimes she reminded them.

    In the quiet that followed her intervention, Luthold heard Oslef shift, and he helped the frailest of their elders to his feet.

    ¡°We have in our midst a survivor,¡± began Oslef, ¡°of Dombarrow¡¯s first ever assault on Sevener land. He believes the apostates of the Sundered Republic want to conquer the forest. I remain unconvinced. Still, you should hear his story.¡±

    He gestured to the fair haired Sullin man, who stood as Luthold helped Oslef down.

    ¡°My name is Erlends of the Sullin,¡± he said, pausing for the response.

    ¡°You are welcome here, Erlends,¡± the seated clansfolk replied. Heridan¡¯s voice boomed above the others. Mildred, like Luthold, pursed her lips and abstained from the chorus. Though Oslef moved his mouth, Luthold did not hear any sound.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± He inclined his head as though bowing, and Luthold felt there was something indulgent, even patronising in the gesture.

    ¡°As you know,¡± he said, ¡°we Sullin are no strangers to conflict and loss. We bear this misfortune in the eyes of the gods as easily as we bore the prosperity before it. According to the command of Maralon, we will exact revenge. All who know the Sullin, know this to be true.¡±

    He looked round at the faces of his audience, as though challenging them to disagree.

    ¡°But survival comes first.¡± At this, heads nodded in relief. ¡°We had to abandon our fort. They came in numbers greater than we thought their city contained. They brought devices of war beyond our knowledge. Their armour is like the hide of the legendary crocodile. When we saw our disadvantage, we retreated. Most of our women and children were captured. Many of our warriors are dead.¡±

    He put one foot on the stump he¡¯d been sitting on and pushed his shoulders back.

    ¡°Before we came South, seeking refuge, we scouted further North. They are amassing an army at the Lawbreaker¡¯s Pass that is too large to be meant for the Sullin alone. From where it stands it can travel only two ways. To the Godless City from whence it came, or down into Saltleaf forest.¡±

    ¡°They wouldn¡¯t dare try to conquer the forest,¡± Thilo exclaimed. ¡°The Western King would not stand for it! Our land is still under his protection, is it not?¡± Thilo looked to Luthold for confirmation of this fact and Luthold nodded.

    ¡°Brunulf the Fourth,¡± drawled Erlends with a mocking flourish of his hand. ¡°King of Giftahl and High Priest of the Temple of Hurean. They say he is going on eighty years, kept alive by the clerics of Farlean. They say he sees through only one eye and never leaves the Godsroof.¡±

    ¡°Even so,¡± said Luthold, ¡°Saltleaf Forest falls within his borders. His house will not stand for it to be swiped away.¡±

    ¡°Those borders are meaningless and have been for centuries,¡± retorted the blonde warrior.

    In his heart, Luthold knew he was right. The Seveners did not see Brunulf as their king, any more than the Western traders who travelled up the river saw the Seveners as their countrymen. And yet, an invasion from the Godless City? Could even a distant and ineffectual ruler ignore such an affront?

    Erlends remained standing. Luthold heard leaves rustling and the mewling of lambs from the field. He glanced around and caught Adalina¡¯s eye in the crowd. She smiled back at him, but her hands twitched. Luthold remembered his own first assembly. They had discussed whether there was enough honey to make sweets for the feast.

    Finally, Joturn stood, giving up perhaps on waiting for Erlends to seat himself.

    ¡°For a long time, we¡¯ve been safer in Saltleaf than anywhere else, not because the forest is our friend, but because we are intimate with its hostility. They are not. Soon they¡¯ll start waking sleepers. They¡¯ll cross paths with a bear or hoarder and try to hunt it, or some idiot amongst them will talk to a ghoul. Let¡¯s meet again if they''re still here in the Summer.¡±

    Most Hallin in the circle nodded in agreement. Joturn added before sitting:

    ¡°They don¡¯t even know the paths. In the time it takes them to move an army a few miles, we could move the whole village to the Saltleaf Shores themselves.¡±

    Erlends, still looming over them, shot back:

    ¡°Didn¡¯t one of your lost boys see an apostate scout? Didn¡¯t you track him, and find that he was travelling on and off the paths? They¡¯ve acquired knowledge from somewhere. Dark knowledge. We saw evidence of it in our battle against them.¡±

    Luthold saw Joturn move and hesitate, perhaps wondering how much to share about the outsider Oli saw. He glanced at Oslef and Mildred and then replied.

    ¡°There are other possibilities. Some more likely than a soldier from Dombarrow who knows paths that even I have never trod. He could have been nothing more than a wanderer from another clan. He could have been a Westerner.¡±

    ¡°It was not wanderers from another clan that burned our fort down,¡± Erlends growled.

    Heridan looked up and asked, ¡°Then what do you propose?¡±

    ¡°We place ourselves in a position of strength,¡± Erlends said quickly, flashing Heridan a grateful smile. ¡°We send emissaries to the other clans and even Scursditch. Press upon them the danger we are in and urge them to join in an army ready to fight where we have the advantage. We¡¯ll approach the Republic united, and then we¡¯ll parlay. Peace through strength. Until we are strong enough for revenge.¡±

    ¡°Parlay with apostates!¡± Aimar spat. ¡°Summon the Sevener Clans to form an army! I cannot decide which is the greater sacrilege.¡±

    ¡°Mark my words,¡± Erlends replied in a dangerous voice, ¡°you can either gather to face the danger together or fall one by one as they cut through this forest like a sharp saw through dry wood. Your elder wants to wait and meet again in Summer. I say he¡¯ll be clamouring for another meeting in two weeks. They move fast, and everywhere they move fire paves a way for them.¡±

    Luthold was not sure if the words sounded more like a warning or a threat.

    ¡°Who will be leading this army? And who will be leading the negotiations?¡± he challenged. He expected evasion or scheming, and was surprised when Erlends replied flatly:

    ¡°Me.¡±

    Luthold looked at Aimar, who rolled his eyes in disbelief. He tried to catch the gaze of a few others. Thilo fiddled with the edge of his sleeve and frowned. Angmar looked incredulous. Mildred shook her head slowly and Joturn gazed impassively into the distance.

    ¡°Unless,¡± added Erlends, ¡°you have a plan? If so, pursue your path and we will pursue ours. But remember; even now we have more warriors than the rest of you put together. We could be powerful friends to the Hallin.¡±

    He looked as though he were about to add something else but made a point of stopping short. Leaving the assembly to guess at the meaning of his missing words, he finally sat down.

 Chapter 8 (The Hallin) - A Corpse by the River

    Winilind had slipped on a pair of leather bracers and thick trousers before leaving and, this time, she had brought a weapon. Beresa, too, was dressed for combat. Her hide cuirass concealed a pair of short, beautifully curved blades. They were among the many gifts that Aimar had showered her with, some said inappropriately, since she saved his life last Autumn. According to Luthold they looked like Southern blades. He had fumbled with them and cut himself when Aimar had let him test them and Winilind had declined the pleasure. Beresa, however, was a natural with any weapon and one of only a handful in the clan with whom Heridan deigned to spar.

    ¡°Wait,¡± Winilind whispered and Beresa¡¯s small, stocky frame came to a silent halt. ¡°I thought I smelled something.¡±

    Beresa flared the nostrils of her pointed nose and squinted into the trees.

    ¡°I¡¯m ill. I can¡¯t smell anything.¡±

    ¡°It came and went. Probably nothing. Come on.¡± The sweet odour had been familiar but too faint for Winilind to place.

    They resumed the journey at a run, two shadows moving through the trees, making no more sound than the wind. It was not long before they reached the ford. This time, they both wrinkled their noses. Beresa shot Winilind a look.

    ¡°Is that what you smelled?¡±

    The stench of a corpse crawled up her nostrils. Winilind¡¯s heart thumped against her chest and Beresa¡¯s hand strayed towards her hip. Winilind waved at her to wait. She inched out of the trees toward the clearing by the bank. She saw no movement and stepped out further. Nothing happened. Beresa, who had remained hidden and ready to counter any ambush, joined her.

    She looked at Beresa, still poised for action, and then at the ford. The crossing seemed easy enough. She stepped tentatively into the water and felt it wrap around her ankles, tugging at them like icy, limp fingers.

    ¡°So that¡¯s it, then,¡± commented Beresa, joining her. Winilind looked up from the water and saw her friend staring at the Northern skyline. She followed her gaze and gasped. When Joturn had shown her the way to this ford, many years ago, they had not emerged from the thick trees onto the bank. To see the tower, even though she had always known it to be there, shocked her. How could humans build something so high? Were it less deformed, or built over any city other than Dombarrow, she could have believed it a work of the gods.

    ¡°Oslef didn¡¯t want us to see it,¡± Beresa recollected in a low voice. ¡°Remember how he agitated to move the village that Spring, after Joturn came here? He didn¡¯t want it in view, even by accident.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯d only just raised the Winter Roof,¡± Winilind reminisced, recalling the arguments. ¡°Even Mildred disagreed with moving again so soon.¡± She looked at the dark clouds into which the crooked, black construction plunged and shivered. ¡°Do you think he was right?¡±

    ¡°Who knows?¡±

    They resumed crossing the ford. At its deepest point the water arrived at Winilind¡¯s waist and Beresa¡¯s chest. Her feet slipped on the stones beneath them. A child could not cross safely here. Even before they reached the far side, they saw the body and the flies that hung around it like a thick smoke. Abandoning caution, Winilind ran to the corpse.

    ¡°It¡¯s not Oli!¡±

    Beresa drew alongside her and crouched down.

    ¡°It¡¯s not even a Sevener.¡±

    The man¡¯s face was unrecognisable. Something had chewed it. His arms had been laid across his chest, but apart from that he had just been left there. Winilind poked at his heavy armour with a stick. Beneath a superficial layer of earth and dust it gleamed.

    ¡°Who would leave a companion like this?¡± Winilind asked. ¡°No cremation or even burial. I wouldn¡¯t leave an enemy like this.¡±

    Beresa shook her head in disgust. ¡°It can only be an apostate. Look at the tunic and armour. Dombarrow. The Sullin aren¡¯t lying; the soldiers of the Republic are really here. What do you think killed him?¡±

    Gingerly, she brushed away the leaves and soil that had blown onto the man¡¯s body. ¡°Look at this!¡± Beresa exclaimed.

    ¡°Don¡¯t touch it!¡± shot Winilind in a panic. Beresa whipped her hand back as though stung. She had revealed a protrusion from the centre of the chest plate. It was wood. It looked as though a young tree had grown through the iron, piercing it in several places as thin branches pushed through an inch beyond the surface.

    They looked at each other, then covered their hands and rolled the man over. A snapped piece of wood the thickness of a spear entered at his back. Winilind closed her eyes and gulped. She stepped away from the body, toward the fresh water of the river. She felt dizzy. She reached out to steady herself and felt her friend take her elbow. They stood quietly for a moment, then Beresa said:

    ¡°What is that Win? How could that happen?¡± Beresa stepped round and drew her gaze. ¡°What did Oli see? I know the elders didn¡¯t tell us everything.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Winilind caught the look on her friend¡¯s face and insisted: ¡°Honestly, Bess, I don¡¯t! We think... we thought it was a Westerner at first. An adventurer. Well... maybe we convinced ourselves.¡±

    She stood quietly for a while, but Beresa did not fill the silence. Eventually Winilind drew a deep breath and continued:

    ¡°Some of the things Oli described... they sounded like stories Oslef used to tell. It sounded like he met a... you know...¡±

    ¡°A what?¡± Beresa¡¯s voice rose in exasperation.

    Winilind withdrew her arm from Beresa¡¯s grip and looked her directly in the eyes.

    ¡°A medicine man.¡±

    Beresa¡¯s mouth hung open. She glanced around at the shadows and darkness, taking in the dead soldier, skewered on wood that had passed through steel. Fear flickered across her face.

    ¡°But it couldn¡¯t have been a medicine man, could it?¡± Winilind implored. ¡°It doesn¡¯t make sense! Oli said he was dressed like a townsman. Richer, even! And he was young, far too young to be one of them. He said he called the hoarders Beyobacks. That¡¯s not a forest word. It doesn¡¯t add up, Beresa. Whatever way you look at it, it doesn¡¯t make sense!¡±If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Beresa stood for some time with a stony look on her face. Winilind knew what this meant to her. She was thinking about her daughter, Pasha, and how she had chased after Oli into the forest. She was hoping it was not true and fearing, deep down, that it could be. Eventually, she rubbed her forehead and looked up at Winilind.

    ¡°Then let¡¯s make some sense of it. We should look for tracks. See where this soldier¡¯s comrades went after they left him here. We should double back down the river on the other side, too. Maybe Oli¡¯s stuck over there somewhere.¡±

    On the west side of the river, the ground was too rocky to find many prints, though they found a few short arrows stuck in trunks. Back on their own side, though, they saw a trail of crushed undergrowth leading North from the ford, well away from any paths. That sweet odour was on the air again and seemed to waft from the direction of the trail. It had not been the corpse. Winilind started to follow it and Beresa called after her:

    ¡°The elders said to check the ford and come straight back, Win.¡±

    Winilind paused. Her son might be this way. He might have been captured by apostates. Who knew what torments they inflicted upon their prisoners? As though reading her thoughts, Beresa pressed her more urgently:

    ¡°The Sullin said there¡¯s an army out there. Us two can''t fight an army. They sent us here to scout and report back. Nothing else.¡±

    Winilind did not move and Beresa added:

    ¡°You have a daughter, too, Win. Don¡¯t be reckless. We¡¯ll return if we must. Come on, we might be back in time to share the news at the end of the assembly.¡±

    Winilind picked her way back to where Beresa stood, ready to return to their village.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think the elders want this shared at assembly, Beresa. We should speak to them in private when it¡¯s over.¡±

    ¡°What if it really is a medicine man?¡± Beresa almost whispered. ¡°I mean, who else could cut metal with wood? But they were dying out even when Oslef was a child, and no one our age has ever met one.¡±

    ¡°And Oli saw a young man,¡± Winilind added. ¡°Yet none of the clans have sent them apprentices in our lifetime. Not even the Levonin.¡±

    ¡°Unless they broke their word.¡±

    Winilind looked at Beresa darkly.

    ¡°They made a vow to fellow Seveners. All the clans did.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Your daughter thought it might have been a priest. But that body would have been burned.¡±

    Beresa nodded. They journeyed back, each musing on their own thoughts and fears. Just before they reached the village, Winilind cleared her throat and started to speak, then thought better of it.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Nothing, it¡¯s ok.¡±

    Beresa stopped and stood in front of her.

    ¡°What were you going to ask, Win?¡±

    ¡°Did... did you ever tell your children about the medicine men? Did you ever tell Pasha?¡±

    Beresa¡¯s eyes narrowed.

    ¡°No. Especially not Pasha. Did you tell Oli?¡± She edged closer and lowered her voice. ¡°Did he have the dreams?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Winilind exclaimed as though poked by a needle. ¡°It¡¯s forbidden! I thought maybe you had to tell Pasha, after that summer. And then she might have talked to Oli and he imagined something...¡±

    Her words trailed off. Of course, Beresa had obeyed the elders. Neither her nor Otmer would have strayed. A heavy guilt moved in her stomach. She looked away and felt her friend¡¯s eyes boring into her. She¡¯s a better person than I am. I should not have asked it.

    ¡°Come on, Win, someone else will take over the search now. Someone fresh for it. You three should eat with my family tonight.¡±

    <hr>

    After the clan had formally bid him thanks, Erlends left the assembly with the other Sullin. They had to tend the special fire they had created, he said, to signal the other survivors of his clan, some of whom were still wandering isolated in the forest.

    Those remaining in the circle bickered over whether his thinly veiled threats regarding the number of Sullin warriors held any weight. Luthold balked at the thought of the Sullin bringing all their survivors to the village, although the same thought seemed to give others reassurance. It had been a mistake to let them past the border. It had been a mistake on Heridan¡¯s part to invite them.

    Oslef, who had been silent for a long time, took to his feet again. Nervous eyes around the circle settled on his round face, searching it for a sign of confidence. He spoke, clutching the smooth head of his walking stick with taut, white fingers.

    ¡°There are too many questions we can¡¯t answer,¡± he announced, staring at the ground with his brow furrowed. ¡°New dangers. How can we know how to face them?¡± He looked up and declared:

    ¡°We must read the oracle.¡±

    Luthold jolted upright. He would not have dared to suggest this, but it offered the best chance yet of finding Oli. As he raised his head, he saw the same sudden interest in Heridan¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°At what cost?¡± gasped Thilo, before either father could reply. ¡°We¡¯re a full moon yet from Hurean¡¯s night!¡±

    ¡°The Lord of Heaven still sleeps,¡± added Angmar.

    ¡°Whichever way they look, the gods see us,¡± recited Luthold, to himself. ¡°And whether awake or dreaming, they hear us.¡±

    ¡°True,¡± agreed Mildred, who heard him and nodded. ¡°The gods will hear us. But the question stands. At what cost?¡±

    Her gaze fell warily on Oslef and Luthold understood that they had not discussed this.

    ¡°We have lambs,¡± suggested Joturn tentatively. ¡°Though I fear a greater price will be exacted for asking out of time.¡±

    ¡°Some of us have newborns!¡± protested Lien with barely repressed fury from the edge of the circle. She ignored convention to voice her objection, and no one stopped her.

    ¡°We can¡¯t risk asking before Hurean¡¯s night! Our clan has always waited for the right time. We¡¯re not Levonin, are we?¡±

    ¡°It is not certain that a price would be exacted,¡± said Oslef, carefully. ¡°These are unprecedented times.¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t certain that it would not be!¡± Lien snapped back. To take such a tone with an elder would normally have been unthinkable, but a susurration of agreement passed around the circle. No one spoke out in favour of the suggestion.

    Heridan and Luthold met each other¡¯s eyes again. This was the best hope for both of their sons. But who could urge a young mother to risk her own child for theirs? Only on Hurean¡¯s night, the anniversary of the gods¡¯ first appearance in the world, was it safe to cast an oracle. On that night the gods gave the gift of foresight freely. But they required a sacrifice at any other time; a payment for drawing their gaze to the matters of mortals. If no sacrifice were offered, one might be taken. The Levonin, it was rumoured, did not shy away from the practice, but the Hallin had never condoned it. Neither he nor Heridan spoke, and the moment to offer support for Oslef passed.

    Joturn sighed and stood.

    ¡°Then I suggest we proceed with half of our guest¡¯s plan. We¡¯ll send a messenger to the other clans, and to Scursditch. Not to summon them here but to share the Sullin¡¯s story and seek their counsel. We¡¯ll escalate our search for Ingo and Oli. Perhaps in finding them we can find some other clue about our future.¡±

    He frowned and looked to the edge of the village, where the growing group of Sullin huddled around their fire, throwing blankets on and off it and sending curious puffs of smoke into the sky.

    ¡°We¡¯ll set up a watch on our new friends. For now, they¡¯re too few to pose a threat. Extend them your hospitality. But keep an eye on how many arrive.¡±

    Luthold made to depart the moment they were dismissed, then felt Oslef¡¯s hand on his knee. He turned and looked at the elder. He gulped and tried to hide his shock at the old man¡¯s expression. Never before had Luthold seen fear in Oslef¡¯s eyes. That deep, kind face was more commonly creased at the edges with laughter. Though frail, his presence had always aroused in Luthold a sense of benevolent strength. In his youth they had called him ¡®the big bear.¡¯

    ¡°What did your boy see in the forest, Luthold?¡± Oslef whispered. ¡°What¡¯s happening out there?¡±

    ¡°I told you, Elder,¡± Luthold said slowly. Had Oslef forgotten? Was he losing touch? Is that where this wild suggestion of risking a sacrifice, breaking with centuries of Hallin tradition, had come from? ¡°I told you everything that Oli saw. Remember?¡±

    Oslef¡¯s mouth spread into a rueful grin. ¡°I¡¯m not that old, friend. I¡¯m not asking you what he said. I¡¯m asking what you think. You know. What does your stomach tell you?¡±

    ¡°Why should my stomach know better than yours?¡± Luthold shifted uncomfortably.

    ¡°Because you¡¯re closer to this.¡±

    Luthold¡¯s face flushed. What is he implying? What is he probing at? I shouldn¡¯t be paranoid. Oslef has always been a friend to me. He wrestled with himself and then spoke carefully.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if Oli saw a Westerner or an apostate. Either way, I think his imagination got the better of him.¡±

    A flicker of something that might have been disappointment passed across the elder¡¯s face, but then he looked past Luthold and blinked.

    ¡°Your wife has returned, Luthold, but I don¡¯t think she came with the news we want.¡±

 Chapter 9 (Oli) - The Lost Explorer

    Oli became aware, first, of a soft cloth beneath his face. He had been lain on his right side with his head cushioned. Before opening his eyes, he listened. The last thing he remembered was that piercing scream. Now he heard the rustle of leaves and a gentle, low humming. As he focussed on the unfamiliar tune, he realised it was not humming but singing.

    ...The road flowed fast and I followed it blindly,

    The fools road carried me far from my family,

    Far from the market and far from the revelry,

    Far from the arms of my lovers that road carried me...

    Oli heard a louder snap and opened his eyes. Blurry, they perceived at first only light and darkness. The sky and trees. Then another light. Gradually a fire came into view, along with a huddled figure bent over it, breaking sticks. He blinked and looked again, then bolted to his feet. The patchwork cloak!

    Suddenly dizzy, Oli staggered and regained his balance, only to double forward and vomit. He felt thin, strong arms around his shoulders guide him back to the ground. His head began to pound.

    ¡°You fell hard.¡±

    The voice sounded distant, like an echo from the back of a deep cave. He felt a hand on his forehead, and the throbbing eased a little.

    ¡°You picked up a fever, too.¡±

    The rough calluses and bony fingers scraped as much as caressed. Not like his mother when she felt his forehead for a fever. Not unpleasant though, either.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± Oli mumbled, straining to look through drooped eyelids.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± the voice replied.

    Oli tried to speak again and realised that though his mouth moved, and sounds emerged, they were not intelligible. He grunted in frustration.

    ¡°Easy. Drink this.¡±

    He felt a water pouch on his lips and sucked. He was thirsty and did not notice the bitter taste until after he had swallowed. He ran his tongue over his teeth. Yarrow root, perhaps. Or perhaps not. The taste reminded him of the smell of scursleaf, a herb used by Elder Mildred when all else failed to dull the pain of her patients. The headache subsided and drowsiness took its place. He felt the bony hand pat his shoulder and a blanket was pulled over him.

    <hr>

    He dreamed of someone, or something, chasing him through the forest, while he chased another in front of him. He knew, as one sometimes knows the rules of a dream, that when he caught the one in front, he would take their place. He ran beside the mountains in the North, leaping up onto the pinnacles in the distance and bounding from one summit to the next, clearing the mountain pass as though he were playing at stepping-stones. He caught sight of his quarry, nothing more than a movement changing course and he too ran South, down the length of the gently curving river; the Scursrun. It is the spine of the forest. He did not think it, but he knew it as part of the landscape of the dream. He sensed movement behind him and quickened his pace. Now he passed through the valley, with the great falls ahead where the Scursrun and the Sevarun separated. Cascades crashed into rocks, splintered into smaller cascades and were subsumed in bigger ones. Water particles glittered in the air like shattered ice exploding upward. They caught the sunlight, refracting into colours Oli had never seen before. That¡¯s what the Levon falls look like, he thought to himself. This is the neck of the forest. He readied himself to jump, just over the top where the chase led. And then his arm shook, and the waking world intruded.

    Clinging to the remnants of the dream, he tried at first to brush off the hand. What¡¯s over the ridge? Then, as the dream faded and he remembered his questions about the real world, he opened his eyes.

    ¡°Where am I? Who are you? What happened to Ingo?¡± he blurted.

    ¡°Sit up slowly.¡±

    Oli rubbed his head. It felt better, but he did not trust himself to stand. He looked around. The sides of a small, low cave pressed close around him. A fire smouldered at the entrance and smoke from the glowing wood billowed around a pan set in the centre. It wafted out between roots that hung down over the entrance. As the breeze changed, the smoke blew his way and Oli¡¯s nostrils flared around the smell hot food. His mouth watered. The fire lit the cave to the back, casting jerking orange forms on the wet stone walls. A crescent moon hung low, adding a little light of its own.

    The outsider moved to the other side of the fire and sat on his haunches watching Oli, who pushed himself upright. He thought of his questions and repeated the first one.

    ¡°Who are you?¡±

    He leant forward as he asked it, almost expecting the outsider to disappear into thin air instead of answering. He poised his legs to run past him if he grew angry, like he had on their first meeting.

    ¡°Kass,¡± the man replied in a matter-of-fact tone, as though that explained everything.

    His pale face with its fine features contrasted sharply with his trailing black hair and beard. Patches of silver on his shirt caught the light of the fire and glittered from beneath the cloak. Oli had no doubt this was the man from the river, yet he seemed calmer than he had done that day. Oli¡¯s eyes darted around, checking for the crooked spear, but he could not see it.

    ¡°Is that it? Just Kass?¡± he asked, confused and a little disappointed.

    The lanky man smirked and stood. He gathered the ends of his heavy cloak and swirled it about himself in a gesture at once mockingly exaggerated and genuinely graceful.

    ¡°But of course not,¡± he replied, his lyrical voice playing at the edges of sarcasm. ¡°I am known more formally as His Grace Kastor... the magnificent!¡± He spread his arms and bowed. ¡°Like I said though, call me Kass.¡± He resumed sitting.

    Oli smiled. He detected the kind of cynicism he liked in certain grown-ups. A friendly, self-effacing humour that promised to mock itself as much as it mocked others. The man¡¯s manner reminded him a little of Elder Joturn. He sat up straight.

    ¡°I need to get home. I have to find my parents.¡±

    Kastor stayed put. ¡°Before I answer your other two questions?¡±

    Oli thought, trying to remember what he had asked the moment he woke. He thought the man had ignored him.

    ¡°Go on, then.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± He looked at Kass warily. ¡°You don¡¯t know where we are, or what happened to Ingo?¡±

    ¡°Both. So,¡± he crossed his long, thin legs and smiled apologetically, ¡°you see the problem with getting you home.¡±

    Hesitantly, with one eye on the outsider, Oli edged out of the cave. Kastor did not stop him. He looked up at the sky. He spotted the constellation of Terlos. He got a sense for where North was. He listened for the river but could not hear it. Kastor spoke to him from inside the cave.

    ¡°We¡¯re west of the Scursrun, I can tell you that. Far west, and a little too far north for my liking. If we go east for a while, we could reach the river again and travel upstream. But I don¡¯t know these parts. I don¡¯t know the paths, and the soldiers have started to use the river to travel.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you know how you got here?¡± Oli called back into the cave.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°With you slung over one shoulder and arrows whistling past the other,¡± replied Kastor, somewhat testily.

    Oli returned to the mouth of the cave and looked again at his unexpected rescuer. Their eyes met and they regarded one another silently. Once, when he was young, Oli had stumbled across a bear in the forest. It was an old memory, from before he knew how special they were. Great forest spirits were rarely encountered, especially benevolent ones, but at that age to Oli it was just a big black animal. They had watched each other for a long time, each trying to see beyond the other¡¯s expression into their hidden thoughts, or so Oli had thought. He remembered thinking that he and the bear were not so different. The boy and the young man watched each other like that, until Kastor broke the spell.

    ¡°I¡¯m not fit to make promises, little fellow, but I¡¯ll do my best to get you home.¡± He waved at the trees. ¡°There¡¯s ground to cover though and soldiers about. You still need rest as well, and I¡¯m not carrying you again.¡± He rubbed his shoulder and right arm.

    As though the reminder of his headache caused it to return, Oli felt a wave of dizziness and sat down next to the fire. He peered at the broth bubbling in the pan. There were some rich chunks of meat floating in it. His stomach rumbled. Kastor poked the pot off the embers with a long stick.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Oli.¡±

    ¡°And what were you doing running around the forest with a spear you could barely carry?¡±

    Oli glanced around and flushed in panic, remembering his father¡¯s spear.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± said Kastor as he tested a piece of meat on the end of his skewer. ¡°I didn¡¯t have time. Shame. It looked like a special weapon.¡±

    Oli put his face in his hands. He had no idea how far from home he was, and he had lost his father¡¯s spear. He knew Ingo was alive, though. He looked up. He was about to ask his rescuer another question, then stopped. He heard his mother¡¯s voice chiding him. Politeness matters to people, Oli, whether it matters to you or not.

    ¡°Um, thank you, by the way,¡± he mumbled.

    Kastor looked up and smiled.

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, Oli.¡±

    He pushed the pot towards him and snapped a stick, passing him half. Oli held it in the flames until the pointed end was black and tucked into the meat. When he had stuffed himself, he noticed Kastor staring at him. He felt as though the man were trying to see something behind, or through him. He asked the question he had held back from earlier.

    ¡°Could you save Ingo, the way you saved me? Did you scare them with that battle cry?¡±

    The memory of the scream, or screech, brought a shudder to Oli. He could still feel the way it had entered his body, not just his ears, and bounced around inside. But this thin, friendly man who had cooked him a pot of stew did not seem the type to wail like a ghoul and split skulls. Perhaps he had imagined it.

    Kastor shook his head slowly and placed his stick on the ground.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Oli,¡± he replied gently, but firmly. ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened to your kinsman. I don¡¯t know where they took him... and I don¡¯t know where to find him now.¡±

    ¡°Who are they? Why do they want us?¡±

    ¡°From their armour, I¡¯d say they¡¯re apostates from Dombarrow, from the Sundered Republic. As for what they want it¡¯s anybody¡¯s guess. They¡¯ve never shown an interest in Saltleaf before. At least,¡± he added, ¡°I don¡¯t think they have.¡±

    ¡°Where do you come from?¡± asked Oli, ¡°and why did you help me?¡±

    Kastor stared out of the cave as though he had not heard the questions. Oli was about to repeat them when he answered:

    ¡°The South.¡±

    ¡°Lake Silence? Where the Levonin wander?¡±

    ¡°I suppose so, yes. And further South.¡±

    What was further South than the Levonin and their lake? An impassable swampland, wasn¡¯t it? And beyond that the steppes of the southern mountains, where the worshippers of Terlos lived in their frigid halls. They¡¯d never been known to visit the forest.

    ¡°My parents thought you were a Western adventurer,¡± Oli said. ¡°Do the Southern clans make shirts like that? My dad says Seveners don¡¯t have time to dye wool.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± Kastor raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°I think really we don¡¯t have the dyes.¡±

    Kastor chuckled and grinned, then his grin faded into a soft smile, and he looked far away.

    ¡°A Western adventurer,¡± he said. ¡°They were half right. Although I prefer the term explorer.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s an explorer?¡±

    Kastor frowned and then, animated by the question, waved his hands as he spoke.

    ¡°You have scouts in your clan, don¡¯t you? People who learn new paths in the forest.¡±

    ¡°Joturn does that, mostly. He¡¯s the hunt leader. But only after we move. We know all the paths around our village now. At least the others do. I¡¯ve never been able to see them.¡±

    ¡°Ah, well, the Northern clans don¡¯t move around as much. Those in the South have scouts who train apprentices... interesting...¡±

    He trailed off and took out a small rectangle of leather, which he opened to reveal sheafs of parchment so thin they seemed to be innumerable. He flicked through the dense writing and, upon identifying a narrow strip of blank space began scribbling with a sort of shiny black quill. Kastor muttered to himself as he scribbled, then looked up at Oli and made a start.

    ¡°Yes, sorry, where was I?¡± He slipped the book and quill inside his cloak. ¡°They have scouts down south and the scouts also hunt. You have hunters who scout. Either way, you know what scouting is.¡±

    Oli nodded and Kastor continued:

    ¡°Now, imagine someone who scouts ¨C not just nearby, to see what¡¯s beyond the bend in the river, where the sleeper nests and the ghoul circles are and so on. Imagine someone who leaves the forest, leaves the country even, for new lands, beyond even the borders of your king and scouts those places!¡±

    Kastor¡¯s dark eyes twinkled with enthusiasm. Oli tried to work out why.

    ¡°You mean, in case the oracle on Hurean¡¯s night tells us to travel really far?¡±

    ¡°No no no. The rest of the clan don¡¯t go ¨C just the explorer. And the explorer comes back and tells them what¡¯s there!¡± Kastor looked at Oli, perhaps expecting him to mirror his own enthusiasm for this bizarre idea.

    ¡°But... why does he need to explore there if the rest of his clan aren¡¯t going?¡±

    Kastor blinked, then puffed his cheeks and exhaled. ¡°Just like everyone else here. Just like home. Forget it.¡±

    Oli thought it over in the silence that followed. Explorer. It wasn¡¯t that he disapproved of or disliked the idea. He had simply never heard of it before. Even his grandfather, whose travels were legendary in the clan, had only thought to visit the capital of the king to whom their forest ostensibly belonged.

    He looked at Kastor, whose mood had altered as suddenly as a leaf turns in the wind. The man scowled and pushed the remnants of the stew around the pot. He looked completely different to the man who had fed and looked after him. He looked more like the outsider by the river, and less like the mysterious rescuer. Oli felt sorry, and a little disconcerted. He edged away. He knew that he had disappointed Kastor but not how to undo it. Eventually, Kastor looked up. His face was tired, but Oli could see that he must only be a few years older than Ingo.

    ¡°It¡¯s a while until the morning. I¡¯m going to sleep. You should, too.¡±

    ¡°Ok.¡±

    Oli shuffled back to where he had lain before. He put his head on the pillow, which he now saw was a sack with a pelt jacket folded on top. He must have already slept for the best part of a day, though, and it took more effort to close his eyes than to stare up at the cave roof and the embers reflected in it.

    ¡°Kass,¡± he asked. ¡°Can we try to find Ingo tomorrow, before we go back? You like to explore, and you can scare the soldiers. Please?¡±

    He heard a deep in and out breath from the other side of the cave. ¡°Go to sleep, Oli.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t long before Oli heard the deeper breathing of a man sleeping. He thought about the stories he knew of children getting lost, like the one where the Hallin boy followed fireflies and met a hunter from another clan. The hunter promised to take him home but brought the boy instead to a sleeper nest. Not just any nest, but the nest of the queen herself. She had the hunter¡¯s own son, poisoned and buried deep in the ground, and the hunter offered the lost boy in exchange for his child back.

    The story ended in three ways, depending on who told it. Elder Mildred said the sleeper queen accepted the swap and the Hallin boy died in place of the hunter¡¯s son. That was the price of wandering off and trusting strangers. But Elder Oslef said the hunter tricked the sleeper, and when she woke his son all three of them fled to safety, and that is why the sleepers no longer speak to us.

    Elder Joturn told a darker tale. In his version the sleeper queen accepted the swap, saying: ¡°Come and show me which of my prey is yours.¡± When the hunter entered the dark lair, dragging the little boy behind him, she caught them both, betraying her word, and all three ended up under the ground. He¡¯d grunt after telling it, and mutter to the children.

    ¡°Saltleaf is your home, boys and girls, but it doesn¡¯t belong to you. Better have your wits about you. Nobody owns the forest.¡±

    Oli looked up. The embers were barely glowing now, but the first hint of an azure glow came in through the trees outside. He wasn''t sure if he had slept or not. He shivered and smelled the chilly air. The cool scent of a spring morning invaded the deep odour of old, damp stone. The cave was almost pitch black, apart from the entrance. He listened for the reassuring sound of breathing and realised he could not hear it.

    In the darkness, he saw Kastor lying impossibly still. There was something deeper about it than sleep. A silence that was more than the mere absence of sound seemed to emanate from his prone form, oppressing the small cave. The outline or shadow of something, a sack perhaps, sat on his chest. Oli blinked and focussed. He glanced back and forth and saw more from the corners of his eyes than he did looking straight ahead.

    Were those claws or talons that he glimpsed? Had something attacked his rescuer? Was Kastor poisoned? He crept forward on trembling hands, forcing himself to inch across the cave. The darkness deepened and within it something fluttered in a sudden, rapid rhythm like a bat¡¯s wings. Then he heard the shriek again, inside his head. Not loud, like last time. Short and sharp, stopping as suddenly as it started. He panicked and leaped away. The shadow moved in front of him. Scrambling to the far side and panting in ragged breaths, he pressed his back up against the wall and waved his arms in the darkness. They moved freely in the empty space.

    Silence again outside, and inside the walls of his own head, the echo of that screech.

    Holding his breath, he lowered his hands. Kastor lay there, unmoving. For a moment the shadow on his chest seemed to look at Oli with two bright, red pinpoints, which a moment later faded into the darkness like dying embers, so that he was not sure if he had seen or imagined them. A bead of sweat dripped from his forehead and ran into the corner of his eye. He rubbed it and when he looked again, the shadow was gone.

    Kastor sat up.

    ¡°Oh,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re awake.¡± He pulled up his knees, pushed himself to his feet and walked to the cave entrance. He stepped beyond it and stretched his whole body upwards as though he wanted to reach his fingertips right into the sky and brush them against the last of the morning stars. He yawned loudly. Then he turned to Oli and flashed him a broad smile that revealed the whitest teeth he had ever seen.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

 Chapter 10 (Ingo) - Ambush!

    Ingo awoke to the rustling, thumping and clanking of the soldiers packing. He watched with interest as they went through the same motions as the previous morning. First, they passed the narrow blades over their faces and washed. Even though they no longer had the river nearby, they each poured some of their water into a pail, then the captain let a few drops from a small, glass bottle drip into it. As they splashed their hands into it in turn, it let off an aroma like lavender blossom.

    ¡°Wash if you like.¡± Gavan invited Ingo to join the ritual. Ingo shook his head and looked away.

    ¡°A bit of hygiene wouldn¡¯t hurt your kind,¡± sneered the captain.

    When they had finished, they hauled the packs onto their backs, stamped out the embers of the fire and formed up to march again. The captain consulted Gavan and shouted to the rope soldier before they set off:

    ¡°Keep an eye on the young man, Hesio.¡±

    The mountains to their right gradually changed from dull grey and green to a dusty, barren red. The forest¡¯s edge neared. The caves appeared less frequently, though Ingo still spotted some entrances high up. He noticed the trees changing, too. His village was surrounded by silver fir and hornbeam but now he began to see maple trees, ash and even some oak. His curiosity was the first thing grown-ups had ever praised him for, as well as being what got him so frequently in trouble. He spotted a large, gnarly oak with bulbous, dormant branches and made a mental note of it. He memorised landmarks to plot his return.

    Concentrating on his surroundings and committing them to memory, Ingo only vaguely registered a sweet scent on the air that did not come from early Spring blossoms or the perfumed water of the soldiers. Looking up at the mountains, he did not pay attention to the ground beneath his feet until, tripping slightly and looking down, he saw the freshly turned soil. Alarmed, his eyes sped from right to left, and all around him the ground gave away the tell-tale signs. A trail of something dark and sticky, like treacle that had been stretched and hardened into filaments ran from one trunk to another. His nostrils flared, and he realised what he had had been smelling.

    ¡°Stop,¡± he gasped. No one heard him and the rope around his ankle pulled taut. Hesio turned to look back. He seemed about to chide Ingo then hesitated, his own face falling as though Ingo¡¯s fear were so acute as to be contagious.

    ¡°Stop!¡±

    The column halted. ¡°What is it?¡± yelled the captain. The soldiers turned to look at him.

    Through trembling lips Ingo whispered: ¡°Root sleepers.¡±

    Saying those words to any Sevener would freeze them like a pillar of ice. They knew that sudden movement was the most dangerous thing in a moment like this. These foreign soldiers did not.

    They erupted into action. Swords flashed in sunlight that filtered through the leaves. Ingo watched in disbelieving horror as they ran, jumped and stomped into their battle formation, each thunderous footfall vibrating into the ground. And yet, they tried to take formation with no sense of what direction the attack would come from. He closed his eyes and tried to summon the courage his father would have demanded. A warrior lives close to the next life. He did not want the next life, not yet. Not any more than he wanted to be a warrior. He felt Hesio grab his arm and yank him behind the soldiers but, since they could not agree on which direction to face, ¡®behind¡¯ kept shifting from one place to another.

    The captain shouted instructions to his men, but each one interpreted them through the prism of their own fear. One soldier backed around in circles with his sword pointing down shouting:

    ¡°They come from the ground! They come from the ground!¡±

    ¡°It came from the trees last time!¡± shouted Gavan, who spun one way, then another, trying to look in all directions at once. These soldiers, usually so organised and disciplined, fragmented into a confused crowd. Ingo realised that he was witnessing the distilled fear of men who had faced the same terror over and over and found it worse with each repetition.

    The ground beneath him rolled and he staggered away from it, struggling and failing to keep his balance. Then the earth exploded upward, and it emerged.

    First the smooth, grey dome of the body, the size of a large barrel, pushed itself out of the ground. From where Ingo stood, he could not yet see the head and jaw, but his heart stopped as the unmistakable hiss sounded through the clamour. The smell intensified. The body rose higher, and the creature pulled its legs free from the earth. Long, thick and smooth, with no obvious joints, they resembled the tangled roots of an elm tree. Ingo¡¯s stomach lurched as the beast moved. It did not walk like a creature under its own volition. The body jerked hideously atop the slithering, winding limbs as though it were carried by eight grey serpents, each with a mind of its own. As it descended upon the panic-stricken Gavan, two soldiers screamed and slashed wildly at twisting legs which coiled around their knees. Others tried to step over the thick obstacles and attack the creature¡¯s body. When they did so their swords scraped over it, leaving only thin marks on its bark-like hide.

    Ingo jumped behind Hesio, who raised his sword like a dagger and, with both hands, plunged it into the sleeper¡¯s back. It made a dull thud, then a ripping sound like someone cutting leather with a rusty blade. When he withdrew the sword a slick, black liquid clung to it, stretching into threads which hung in the air between the wound and the blade. The sleeper reared back, crushing a trapped soldier under its weight. The legs flailed, whipping the air and the bodies of several men in a series of sharp cracks. He felt something warm splatter across the side of his face and into his eyes. He fell to the ground, shuffling back against the taught rope around his ankle.

    When Ingo rubbed the blood and soil from his eyes and looked up, he saw the sleeper bearing down on his captor. Or was Hesio now his defender? The soldier stood like a stone wall between Ingo and the creature¡¯s path. He pulled his shield round and thrust it above his head to meet the gaping, hissing mouth, ringed with fangs that only needed to touch your skin to end everything.

    Some of the fallen soldiers leapt back up and those who could stabbed again at the body. The captain landed a daring blow beneath the sleeper¡¯s mouth, and it recoiled and leapt back.

    Suddenly a dark vapour filled the air, obscuring Ingo¡¯s vision. As quickly as it had blocked the light, it dissipated, and he found himself staring at an empty space where the sleeper had stood. It had fled under the cover of its inky mist.

    Everyone was still. A thin, slightly sticky film of moisture covered Ingo¡¯s body. The blow near its mouth must have frightened it.

    ¡°It¡¯s gone,¡± announced the captain. ¡°Only one, and it¡¯s gone.¡± Some soldiers faced the direction in which the predator had retreated, poised with swords raised, whilst others began pulling their comrades to their feet. One man hollered as he tried to stand.

    ¡°My leg, aaarrgh, my leg!¡± he yelled. Another commented: ¡°It¡¯s broken.¡±

    The man who had taken the weight of the creature could not be roused, and they quickly diagnosed a broken back and crushed rib cage. Another soldier, who appeared to be missing part of his neck, lay twisted on the floor with his eyes open and his mouth agape. Gavan, who had been the sleeper¡¯s first target, stood up, surveyed the scene and dusted himself off.

    ¡°Well,¡± he said, in the jocular voice of a man with a stomach full of wine, ¡°I seem to have got away with that!¡±

    The rest of the troop stared at him. A sheen of sweat glistened on his pallid face. His eyes looked dark, sunken back into his skull. His lips spread into a broad, toothy grin.

    ¡°Why the grim faces, men? We just fought off the mighty beast! Haha!¡± He waved his arm like a child play fighting. ¡°Ha, sha, phwa... Like that... We fought it off!¡± Then, catching his foot on a root, he tripped and fell face first into the mud beside Ingo. Hesio fell hurriedly to his side and rolled him over. The captain removed a water pouch from his back and two other soldiers ran their hands under his clothes.

    ¡°Here,¡± announced one. They undid his belt, unfastened his leg braces and pulled down his trousers. A ring of red punctures encircled an angrily inflamed thigh. Gavan glanced at the wound, then giggled and looked up.

    ¡°Have you seen the leaves here? There are so many leaves. And the clouds are so bright! They¡¯re so heavy in Dombarrow. I like the sky here.¡±

    ¡°Carry him, Hesio. He¡¯s delirious. Someone else tie the boy¡¯s rope on,¡± the captain commanded, then looked at the two dead soldiers and bowed his head. ¡°It could have been worse.¡±Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    ¡°It is worse,¡± said Ingo, pointing at Gavan. ¡°He¡¯s been wed!¡±

    All eyes turned to him.

    ¡°He¡¯s been what?¡± asked the captain.

    ¡°You have to leave him. She¡¯s marked him. She won¡¯t let him go. She¡¯ll come back - and others with her. We have to get as far as we can from him.¡±

    ¡°The hell we do,¡± spat the captain. ¡°We don¡¯t leave our own to die in the woods.¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯ll all die in the woods!¡± yelled Ingo, angry and desperate. ¡°And why should I die with you? Idiots who don¡¯t even keep to the paths! Let me go! Let me go!¡± he wailed, thumping the big soldier. Hesio did not stop him as he continued: ¡°He¡¯s been bitten by a sleeper. He¡¯s dead already!¡±

    One of the men spoke up.

    ¡°Let him go, Cap.¡±

    Ingo went quiet, his hopes suddenly rising. If they cut him loose, he could move swiftly and quietly away from the wed man and the sleepers wouldn¡¯t even notice ¨C not with all the noise the soldiers were making.

    ¡°The general wants a captive, but the general¡¯s not here. He hasn¡¯t got to put up with this.¡± The solider who had spoken waved his hand, encompassing the dead bodies and Gavan, who was now crawling in the dirt, marvelling at the shape of a small stone. ¡°We¡¯ll get out quicker if we don¡¯t have to drag him with us.¡±

    The captain¡¯s mouth formed a thin line, and he shut his eyes. Then he opened them, his face set in determination.

    ¡°We haven¡¯t lost ten, no twelve, of our troop to go back empty handed. Hesio.¡± He looked to the big man. Hesio untied the rope from his own wrist and passed it to someone else, then grabbed Gavan and hauled him up over one shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here.¡± Two others picked up the soldier with a broken leg.

    Ingo resumed his protest: ¡°You can¡¯t outrun them! We can¡¯t escape carrying him! There are more coming. Please, at least drop him if you¡¯re taking me!¡±

    The captain stood in front of Ingo and placed a hand on his shoulder. For the first time, Ingo saw something like sympathy in his face.

    ¡°I know, boy. You don¡¯t want to come with us, and you don¡¯t know why you must. The advocate general, a powerful man, wants one of you. He wants to ask questions about your people. That¡¯s the only way to get free. Come to the general and answer his questions. So, if you know something that¡¯ll help us get out of this forest, now would be a good time to share it. What are these paths? I don¡¯t see any.¡±

    ¡°You have to learn to see them, but I don¡¯t know this far north.¡±

    ¡°Then what about those sleepers? To me, they¡¯re a myth I never believed in until I saw one. Your kind live here. How do you survive them?¡±

    Ingo took a deep breath. From the beginning, he had told these soldiers nothing about the forest. He¡¯d watched as one of them ran his hand along a barrow needle bush, knowing the man would succumb to an agonising fever. He had watched them tramp off the paths he was familiar with, knowing all of them, he included, would soon be lost. But now they had disturbed a root sleeper, and one of them had been wed. If he wanted to survive, he had to help them survive. At least for today.

    ¡°Fire. They¡¯re afraid of fire. But if they¡¯re coming after a marked man... they might even cross flames for him. And there¡¯s no time to -¡±

    The captain spun round. ¡°Hesio, one of you institute lads must have something. Come on, say you¡¯ve got another cylinder.¡±

    Hesio had already lain Gavan down and was rifling through his backpack. He withdrew from the bottom a metal cylinder and a smaller metal box. Ingo stole a look into the trees. He saw no movement, yet. Hesio flipped open the box, which sprang back on hinges so small even Aimar would have been impressed. He poured a liquid from the cylinder onto a piece of cloth and began to spin a tiny wheel inside the metal cube with his thumb. Everyone watched. Ingo shuffled closer. Hesio grunted and muttered under his breath.

    ¡°Damn thing... Come on... Too loose... Blasted heavens...Aha!¡±

    A spark flew from the box, like an ember spitting from charcoal or a shooting star appearing from nowhere. Hesio¡¯s thumb worked furiously, and he held the cloth next to it. Suddenly, there was fire. Not just the delicate, tentative smouldering of kindling, as likely to blow out in the first gust of air as it was to take. The cloth burned as bright and hot as a tallow torch.

    Ingo had heard of fire summoned from thin air. It was said that priests of Hurean could call upon the lord of heaven to wreath a battlefield in flames. They said that King Brunulf used to light the iron braziers on the walls of the Godsroof with a special command; one that conveyed the authority of his heavenly master. This was different. These men had no gods to call upon, yet nonetheless they had summoned fire.

    Hesio threw the burning rag down and the other soldiers passed him branches. He took each one in turn, poured liquid from the cylinder onto one end, and held it over the rag. Each soldier soon held a burning piece of wood. The captain said in a level, forced calm:

    ¡°It¡¯s back. There are two.¡±

    The remaining soldiers formed a semi-circle of flame, held nervously out against the approaching threat. Ingo saw the legs first, writhing and creeping forward. Then the bodies came into view. The wounded sleeper held back. The new, lighter coloured beast moved in front. One of its legs whipped out and the soldiers jumped back.

    ¡°Don¡¯t back away!¡± shouted Ingo. ¡°It wants to break the line!¡±

    ¡°Listen to him,¡± thundered the captain. ¡°Hold your ground!¡±

    Hesitantly, the soldiers inched forward brandishing their branches. Then someone stood up behind them. They had forgotten about Gavan.

    ¡°There she is!¡± shouted the bitten soldier joyfully from beside Ingo, starting to his feet as though he intended to rush through the line toward an old friend. One of his comrades turned to restrain him. Others looked back over their shoulders. In the moment of distraction, the smaller sleeper rushed into the weakened chain.

    Ingo watched them scramble and knew, for the second time, that it was over. He heard the captain yell at his scattered men to reform, but it was too late. The wounded sleeper came from the side through another cloud of inky blackness and lashed one of the soldiers against a tree. He fell like a loose sack cloth. He heard another of the men scream in pain. A third creature emerged from the trees.

    Ingo looked for Hesio in the chaos. He stood waving the metal cylinder in front of himself in a circular motion, as though taking part in a ritual of some kind before his death. Something like water issued from the top of it. Then he threw his torch. An arc of fire flashed up between the remaining soldiers and the beasts, and a wave of heat forced Ingo to turn away. He looked back. One of the sleepers rolled through the undergrowth, wildly thrashing its legs. Fire raced up a narrow trunk before Ingo was on his feet. Some of the soldiers bellowed in triumph, others in fear, realising the fresh danger they were in. A tree two yards from the burning trunk caught fire. Ingo shielded his face and instantly felt the same intense heat on the back of his hand.

    He reached down to the rope and pulled at the knot. Hesio grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet.

    ¡°Make me a promise, boy. Stay with me.¡±

    ¡°We have to go!¡± Ingo tried to move, but the hand on his arm might as well have been a fallen trunk. ¡°We have to go while they¡¯re still shocked!¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t carry my friend as well as you. Don¡¯t make me leave him. Swear on your gods that you¡¯ll stay with me, and I¡¯ll let you run freely.¡±

    The fire spread around them. Further away, he heard eager hissing through the flames. He looked up into his captor¡¯s face and saw an almost calm determination. He could not believe it. Nothing would deter this man from his duty. Not even death by fire or the maws of a monster.

    ¡°I swear on the Holy Seven!¡± Ingo shouted. What did it matter? Their chances of surviving this were already so slim, and he could not survive it now without Hesio.

    Hesio nodded. With a sword dripping the thick, black blood he cut the rope that bound Ingo. Then he hauled Gavan over his shoulder and said:

    ¡°Run.¡±

    They ran.

    At times Ingo saw other soldiers to his right or left. Once, he thought he heard the captain shout ahead of them. At first, they seemed to be outrunning the growing inferno and the hissing of the sleepers returned. A scream resounded through the woods and a soldier who had been running not five yards from Ingo vanished. Ingo clung to Hesio as though the rope still connected them. Although he carried the marked prey, he carried also the magic pot of fire which waved to left and right as the fled. The fire spread fast. The wind behind them came in licking tongues of heat that ignited wood wherever they landed.

    As they ran, Ingo suddenly noticed his vision blur. To his right, the trees seemed to bend in toward one another. You could not trust a path you didn¡¯t know, but right now they couldn¡¯t do worse than this.

    ¡°This way!¡± he cried, and Hesio followed as he diverted into the path.

    Ingo did not know how long he ran, but gradually the ground rose into a gentle incline and the trees thinned. The path broadened and dissipated like a river running into its estuary. Earth gave way to rock and the slope steepened until, suddenly, Ingo realised he was no longer inside the forest.

    Exhausted, he fell to his knees. He was so tired he did not care at that moment whether fire or sleepers followed on his heel. He regained his breath enough to lift his head and look round. He saw Hesio stagger up the slope and heave Gavan¡¯s body to the ground. Both of their faces were coated in sweat, but Hesio was flushed pink, and Gavan looked a sickly grey.

    Ingo turned his attention to the forest from which they had fled. The fire had spread outward into an expanding ring, black at the centre, still bright at the edges. They watched it in silence, and it seemed at first like it would spread forever, consuming the whole of Saltleaf to the horizon. Then, a gentle drizzle began to fall, followed by a downpour. Ingo cupped his hands and slurped the cool water, letting it wash over his face and neck too. By the time the rain stopped the ring of flame was extinguished. He looked down at the poisoned soldier who lay motionless beside them and looked up at Hesio, whose huge body cast a long shadow on the ground before them and was framed behind by an orange sun, sinking down to the horizon.

    They stared at each other for a while, then Hesio growled:

    ¡°It¡¯ll be cold soon. I should start a fire.¡±

    Despite himself Ingo chuckled, and the chuckle turned into a laugh. They laughed together, spurring each other into hysterical, cathartic sobs. When they had subsided and the only sound was the wind moaning across the peaks behind them, Hesio said:

    ¡°You could have slipped away. You made an oath on your gods, but you could have said ¡®to hell with the gods,¡¯ and slipped away from me.¡±

    Ingo thought for a long time. He had obligated himself to a godless man by making an oath on the gods themselves. It was true though, no rope attached him to Hesio now. He could run back into the forest and risk the sleepers. Even if he could quietly avoid them, though, that would mean running home as an oath breaker. To escape the heretics by falling into heresy himself. It would be better never to see his father again, than return in such a state. No, he had to meet this general of theirs and then return if they let him.

    ¡°Where could I run to after turning from the gods?¡± he asked rhetorically.

    Hesio smiled, his wet face gentle and sad. The rain had plastered his curly red hair to the sides of his head. Did he want me to escape? Thought Ingo.

    ¡°What a question. Where do people run, who turn away from the gods? There¡¯s only one place they can go.¡±

 Chapter 11 (The Hallin) - Oslefs Two Questions

    Luthold approached Adalina. She sat outside their home mouthing something to herself as though rehearsing a line or trying to understand one. She saw him coming and he shook his head before she could ask if there was any news. On the third day of searching, they had found no trace yet of either child. Their chances faded, especially since the rain. Today, fresh black smoke in the sky had caused the parties to return early.

    He sat beside his daughter and reached across to rub her shoulder. She leaned in and he placed his arm around her. He thought she would ask again for permission to join the searches, but she had something else on her mind.

    ¡°I keep thinking about what that Sullin said at assembly.¡±

    ¡°Erlends.¡±

    She nodded.

    ¡°Everyone is frightened now.¡± She looked at him with warning in her eyes. ¡°When you and the others left today, people talked about ending the searches. They say every time someone leaves the village, they risk revealing it. The elders won¡¯t call off the search, will they?¡±

    Luthold did not want to answer that question. He looked away and mumbled:

    ¡°They haven¡¯t done yet.¡± Then he looked at her again. Something about her demeanour surprised him. Had she stopped blaming herself, finally? She looked deep in thought, instead of regret.

    ¡°What do you make of the Sullin and their story? Do you believe the Republic is attacking the forest?¡± He realised as he asked, that they had not spoken yet about her first assembly.

    ¡°Their story matches everything we¡¯ve seen, including that body Mother found.¡± She spoke slowly, thinking out loud. ¡°But what he proposes sounds too careful for them. They want us to help them gather an army. The whole forest under one leader-¡±

    ¡°Their leader,¡± interjected Luthold.

    ¡°But not to fight. To talk. To haggle for a portion of what we already own. It doesn¡¯t seem like them, that¡¯s all.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s exactly like them,¡± Luthold replied. ¡°The Sullin are hagglers who haggle with their swords. They¡¯ll be peacemakers, so long as the peace is made in their favour. You¡¯ll see what happens if we follow their plan. A smaller forest will be left for Seveners, but more of it will be theirs.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t think we should help them.¡± Adalina stated, her brow furrowed. ¡°Neither do I. I don¡¯t trust them. But what if they¡¯re right? What if Dombarrow conquers the forest? Wouldn¡¯t it be better to hold on to a part of it? They¡¯d probably leave after a while, and we could move back.¡±

    Luthold tried to form an answer and realised he did not have one. The Sullins¡¯ plan sounded reasonable. But they always managed to sound reasonable while they robbed you. His gut told him things that his tongue could not articulate.

    ¡°I know this, Ada,¡± he replied. ¡°The day we put our future in the hands of the Sullin will be a desperate one. Let¡¯s hear what they say in Scursditch when Aimar returns. Elder Mildred will bring news from the South. Perhaps things aren¡¯t as bad as they seem.¡±

    After assembly, the elders sent two parties to gather intelligence and seek advice. Aimar went to town, to consult with the mayor on behalf of Oslef, and to sound out any Virunin or Lujin who were trading there. Those clans could tell of what they had seen along the rivers and the eastern coastline. Oslef would usually have sent Luthold in his stead, but the elder had allowed him to stay with the search parties.

    Meanwhile, Elder Mildred had gone south with her two reluctant nephews to brave a conversation with the Levonin. The southernmost clan would never be found on the streets of Scursditch, rubbing shoulders with those they considered little different from Western city dwellers.

    ¡°Look, Father! Heridan is back.¡± Adalina pointed. ¡°But he¡¯s alone. Didn¡¯t he go today with Elder Joturn?¡±

    It was true. Joturn had asked Heridan to show him where he first met the Sullin refugees. But now Heridan emerged from the forest with sweat running down his face and his sword in hand. Luthold and Adalina leaped to their feet and hurried to hear him.

    ¡°Heridan!¡± Luthold called as he and his daughter approached. ¡°What have you seen?¡± Other clansfolk quickly gathered round.

    Heridan bent double and pulled in deep breaths, before standing and declaring:

    ¡°Sleepers! The smell of them is everywhere in the North. It¡¯s a month too soon, but root sleepers are waking in forest.¡±

    Clansfolk gasped and shook their heads. Some smiled, too. Luthold understood. Their oldest enemies could yet prove their saviours, if they liked the taste of these foreign soldiers. Luthold, however, thought of Oli and his heart trembled. His son could not survive under such conditions.

    ¡°Joturn and I stumbled on a trail,¡± Heridan continued. ¡°He heard them move in the ground and he ordered me to flee while he drew them off. I don¡¯t know which way he planned to go. Is Torvald here? What paths did he plan to use?¡±

    A child who was listening began to cry, and another asked:

    ¡°Will Elder Joturn come back? Can he run faster than sleepers?¡±

    Heridan pulled himself together and replied:

    ¡°He can make himself as silent as a falling leaf, and he can vanish like the wind into narrow paths that you and I cannot even see. Joturn will come back to us; wait and see.¡±

    Luthold shut his eyes and raised his face to the sky. He breathed deeply. It¡¯s almost over, he thought. The search for Oli is almost over. He felt Adalina¡¯s hand on his elbow and he looked down at her.

    ¡°Father, how long will it take for Joturn to come back?¡± she whispered. ¡°Will he be able to shake them off? I know he¡¯s fast, but...¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to speak with Elder Oslef, Ada. Will you look for your mother and tell her what¡¯s happened?¡± He pulled himself away from Adalina and walked quickly to the centre of the village, where the three large homes of the elders stood close to the central fire.

    Luthold encountered Thilo with a small group lingering around Oslef¡¯s roundhouse. A couple of the new Sullin guests watched the door from a distance. Thilo moved to stop him as he approached.

    ¡°The elder is busy. We are all waiting in turn for him as well.¡±

    Luthold stalked past and pushed open the door. He entered into the darkness of Oslef¡¯s comfortable home. Hides draped on every surface and a fire burned, as always, in the centre. It was true though, Oslef already had company. Luthold looked with surprise at Aimar.

    ¡°Aimar? You''re back. Did the mayor have so little to say?¡± In a way this was a relief. Perhaps the so called invasion was nothing more than a lost scouting party and Scursditch remained completely untroubled.

    Aimar looked to Oslef, who nodded and said:

    ¡°Tell him.¡±

    ¡°The mayor did not even receive me, Luthold. I declared at the gate that I came in the name of the Elders of the Hallin, and they would not let me pass.¡±

    Luthold looked at him agape. Then his mind raced with questions which he spurted out as they occurred to him:The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°What was their reason? Were they embarrassed, or afraid? Did you wait on the paths and meet others travelling there?¡±

    Before Aimar could reply, Oslef interrupted:

    ¡°We¡¯ve gone over it, Luthold. Patience. What brought you storming into my home when the door was closed?¡±

    ¡°Heridan has returned, but not Elder Joturn. They were separated from each other. Sleepers have awoken.¡±

    Oslef breathed in and out deeply, his face strained, then he turned to the craftsman.

    ¡°Leave us a moment, Aimar.¡±

    The young man nodded and rose. He inclined his head respectfully to Luthold, too, as he passed him. When his hand was on the door, Oslef added:

    ¡°The clan need to know what happened at Scursditch, Aimar, but not yet. I don¡¯t want a panic. Slip back to your own home as quietly as you came to mine and wait there.¡±

    When Aimar was gone and the door closed again, Oslef gestured to the vacant space. He pulled a pot from the fire and filled two cups. As Luthold made himself comfortable, the elder passed the earthenware vessel across the fire to him.

    ¡°Take some tea with me, Luthold.¡±

    They sat and watched each other through wisps of smoke that rose in the air between them. Luthold sipped at the sweet tea. He waited for Oslef to speak, twitching his fingers and fiddling with the hot cup. Then, as his mind slowed, he realised how much he needed this moment of quiet. His body settled down and, as he drank the warm tea, he drank in the silence, too. He felt younger, momentarily. He felt safe and calm, here in the old bear¡¯s home. Eventually, Oslef spoke:

    ¡°Aimar has brought us bad news, Luthold. Too much bad news and too little information. I should have sent you, as I always have done.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps. We found nothing on our searches anyway.¡±

    ¡°Do you remember why I asked you to teach the letters to the other children, not just your own?¡±

    ¡°Of course. Reading matters ever more in town, so it needs to matter here as well. You want our children to be respected there.¡±

    Oslef gave a dry chuckle and looked at him through the smoke.

    ¡°You can¡¯t hide your scepticism. You never were convinced, were you?¡±

    ¡°I never needed convincing to teach them letters. But the mayor¡¯s people don¡¯t care what we know, or don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°They used to,¡± said Oslef, sadly. ¡°What do you think changed?¡±

    ¡°As their luxury grows, they look at us and see a hard life, one they left behind and could not return to if they desired it. They trapped themselves on an island of comfort in a dangerous sea that we sail freely. They caged themselves, and we remind them of it.¡±

    ¡°You should have been a Levonin.¡±

    Now it was Luthold¡¯s turn to chuckle.

    ¡°You are right though,¡± Oslef continued. ¡°They¡¯ve forgotten where they came from and why their town exists. It was once just a meeting place, you know. Where the clans gathered to meet the heralds of the king. To have turned away Aimar, when he came in my name...¡± Oslef shook his head.

    Luthold stared at the elder, forgetting the hot cup in his hand until it burned him. Could nothing be relied upon to remain as it was? What could they do, when every rock they tried to stand on turned to sand. For years now, Oslef had sent Luthold to the town in his stead. The old man remained convinced of the importance of those ties. Although Luthold did not share the same enthusiasm for the mayor, he enjoyed his visits there. In the marketplace, he would soak in the sound of voices from different parts of the forest, and he would pick up any bits of writing he could lay his hands on. It must be hard, he reflected, for Oslef; to have invested so much in a place that cut them off at the first sign of trouble.

    ¡°What does it mean? Why now? Were they letting any other clans in, or closing the town to all?¡±

    ¡°Those are the questions I know you would have answered. Aimar is too straightforward. He took no as his answer and left. He didn¡¯t see any Virunin or Lujin there and didn¡¯t think to look for them on the paths they would use. He did notice something, though. They¡¯re building a wall of stone around their town. They have men in uniforms brandishing weapons atop it.¡±

    ¡°Do they think they are Westerners now?¡±

    ¡°There will be priests among them before the end of your lifetime.¡±

    ¡°Better priests than apostates. Perhaps the wall was built for Dombarrow. Perhaps they knew something about these soldiers before they came here. Don''t you think their men in uniforms might be from the West?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps. Who knows? Does it matter, when they have made plans for themselves but not for us?¡±

    Oslef refilled their cups. They sat quietly again, sipping and staring into the flames. Then the elder gathered the loose ends of his outer cloak around himself, put his cup carefully down and straightened up. He fixed Luthold with a firm look and asked:

    ¡°What would you do now, if you were in my position?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not in your position,¡± Luthold replied, suddenly alert. Oslef held up a hand.

    ¡°Easy. Suppose you were. Two elders are away from the village and the clan waits on your decision. Fire ravages the forest to the north and sleepers wake a month before their season. Two children from powerful families are lost. The threat of war looms over Seveners for the first time since our people fled here, and our cousins in town - our only means of petitioning the king - have finally spurned us. What would you decide, if you were me?¡±

    Luthold shut his eyes. He tried to picture himself on the other side of the fire. Truthfully, he had dreamed of that position. In his dreams, it looked more prestigious and less terrifying. What would I do? He knew what he wanted. He wanted to order every man and woman to scour the forest until they found his son. But what if he was responsible for their sons and daughters, too? His body sagged, and he grasped why Oslef had asked him this question. He wanted Luthold to understand what he would soon decide.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t wait for the oracle,¡± said Luthold, ¡°before moving the village. I would go now, if I had to think of the clan. I would take it south, into Levonin land, beyond the reach of Dombarrow and any need for the Sullin.¡±

    He left unspoken what this really meant. It meant the end of the searches. He felt sick. Oslef reached around the smoke and held Luthold¡¯s arm.

    ¡°You know why the elders are so often picked from those without children?¡± When Luthold did not answer, he continued: ¡°They must make everyone in the clan their child, and do what is right for them all.¡±

    ¡°Or for most.¡± Luthold¡¯s voice cracked.

    ¡°Yes. Sometimes for most.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to stop the searches, aren¡¯t you?¡± Luthold looked at Oslef, who met his eyes with a pained look.

    ¡°I¡¯ll have to soon, Luthold. I wanted you to understand. Heridan won¡¯t, but I thought you might.¡±

    Luthold bowed his head and stared at his cup. He watched the steam collect into wisps and rise away. He felt as though someone had clamped his heart into a vice and immobilised both his body and mind. He felt Oslef¡¯s hand on his arm again.

    ¡°I said soon, Luthold, but not yet. There¡¯s still a little hope. If I can rely on you, there''s still something I can do.¡± The elder whispered, but then continued in an urgent tone that was almost a hiss: ¡°I have two questions on my mind, Luthold. Are you listening to me? I have two questions.¡±

    ¡°Two... What...?¡± Luthold could not concentrate.

    ¡°I have these two questions: How can we find our lost boys? Where should our clan go?¡±

    Luthold blinked and concentrated on the elder¡¯s words. He had stated the questions, rather than asking them.

    ¡°I... Don¡¯t know the answers to those questions, Elder Oslef.¡±

    ¡°I know you don¡¯t, Luthold, but I need you to know what¡¯s on my mind. What I am asking. I need you to remember.¡±

    Was Oslef another rock that was turning to sand? Could he no longer rely on this old man to speak sense? He searched Oslef¡¯s face. There it was, beyond the worried frown and urgent look, the old strength of steel in his deep eyes. Oslef had some intent, but he did not yet see fit to share it. So be it.

    ¡°I¡¯ll remember your questions, Elder.¡±

    Oslef nodded and continued to stare at him. The man¡¯s hand still rested on his arm, where he had placed it earlier to offer comfort. It clung to him now, weakly, perhaps to draw comfort instead. Luthold had little to give. He finished his tea.

    ¡°I should return to Ada and Win.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget my questions, Luthold.¡±

    Luthold meandered home lost in thought. What was the meaning of this strange conversation? He was torn between sympathy for the impossible position the elder was in, and anger that he was about to abandon his son.

    He prepared for bed that evening as though he were asleep and dreaming already, oblivious to the conversation between Adalina and Winilind, even when they addressed him. When he lay down in the darkness, he felt his wife staring. Adalina slept.

    ¡°Oslef was strange today,¡± he whispered.

    ¡°Aimar¡¯s news must have shocked him. He¡¯s worked so hard to keep our ties with the town. All his life.¡±

    ¡°Win, I¡¯m not sure how much longer they¡¯re going to search for Oli.¡±

    He regretted the words as soon as he had uttered them. She moved in the darkness and spoke closer to his ear, no longer whispering.

    ¡°Did you tell him? This was a chance to tell him. He knows more about those things than we do. More than anyone. Perhaps he could help if he knew what we¡¯ve done.¡±

    ¡°Hush, Win! If anything, it would make the elders less likely to help Oli. And what should it have to do with all this?¡±

    ¡°But if he¡¯s going to stop the search, how much worse can it get? You should have told him!¡±

    ¡°Think of Ada as well,¡± Luthold urged. ¡°Don¡¯t speak of it. Don¡¯t even think of what happened.¡±

    ¡°What we did, you mean,¡± Winilind shot back. ¡°It did not happen to us, Luth. We did it. We broke the laws of our people.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he whispered, and winced in the darkness. ¡°We did. And for Ada¡¯s sake we agreed never to tell anyone. We agreed to forget it.¡±

    Winilind withdrew, and a space opened in the darkness between them, as invisible as the air, and as impenetrable as stone. He thought over what she had said and, slowly, admitted to himself that she was right. If they were going to call off the search anyway, they could lose nothing by telling the elders their secret. Nothing except their reputation in the clan.

    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± he whispered into the darkness, to no reply. ¡°I¡¯ll tell Oslef tomorrow. If anyone will understand, it will be him. I¡¯ll tell him everything in the morning. Are you ready for that?¡±

    He could not tell if Winilind was asleep or ignoring him. It was a long time before he fell asleep himself.

 Chapter 12 (The Hallin) - The Gods Answers

    In his dream, Luthold watched as Oli¡¯s funeral service ended and the flames lit. He heard laments and recognised his daughter¡¯s voice among them. Then, gradually, he became aware of the morning light and felt a hand on his shoulder. The dream ended, but the wails and crying grew louder. He looked up and saw Adalina, her eyes wide and her face pale.

    ¡°...Haven¡¯t moved his body yet. Father, you have to go there! Nobody knows what to do.¡±

    He sat up and saw that her eyes were wet. Winilind scrambled to her feet, throwing a cloak over her undergarments.

    ¡°Whose body?¡± he asked, blinking.

    ¡°Oslef¡¯s.¡±

    Luthold gasped. He felt dizzy as he stood.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Aimar found him this morning. There are no elders, father! Joturn is still missing, and Mildred must be days away. What shall we do?¡±

    Winilind stood at the door, dishevelled and confused. She must have awoken only moments before him.

    Luthold breathed in and out, waited long enough to check that he was steady on his feed and said:

    ¡°Show me.¡±

    He followed Adalina to Oslef¡¯s roundhouse. Did he die in his sleep? Luthold thought again about their conversation the night before, searching it for any clue that might have foretold this. What about those questions?

    A crowd had gathered around the home, though some distance from it. They looked like they were trying to press as close as possible without crossing an invisible barrier. As Luthold approached and they parted to let him through, he saw why. A circle was drawn in ash on the ground around the hut, about a yard away from its curved wall. Only Aimar stood on the other side of it.

    ¡°I crossed before I saw it.¡± He looked as grey as the ash. ¡°He¡¯s dead, Luthold. His body is in there.¡± Aimar pointed behind him at the closed door.

    Luthold took in the scene. He looked at the terrified faces of the clansfolk. He could smell their bodies pressed close together. Many, like him, wore nightclothes in the chilly morning air. The line of ash around Oslef¡¯s home was an inch deep and unbroken.

    ¡°Did he finish what he started in there?¡± Luthold asked. Aimar blinked.

    ¡°I... I think so.¡±

    Luthold kicked the ash with his toe, breaking the line, and stepped over it. ¡°You¡¯ll be ok then. You didn¡¯t interrupt them.¡±

    His own voice surprised him; full of confidence, as though someone else were speaking. Aimar gave him a grateful look and some of the tension left the crowd, but nobody followed him inside the circle. Luthold entered the house and Aimar peered in after him.

    Oslef slumped where Luthold had left him the evening before. His left hand rested beneath a blue embroidered cloth draped over a wooden board. His rigid face was fixed in a harrowed expression like the clay mask of a tragic hero, moulded for the Autumn festival of Manafel''s descent. His right arm lay to one side, and Luthold¡¯s eyes followed a deep cut that ran from inside the elbow down to the wrist. His right hand rested in a wooden bowl, which flowed over into a deep, red circle on the beautiful rug.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°A sacrifice,¡± said Aimar behind him, in a disbelieving voice.

    ¡°The blood of an elder,¡± whispered Luthold in awe and horror. ¡°He drew the gaze of the gods with his own life, to find a way for the rest of us. He consulted the oracle.¡± He felt excitement beneath the shock and sorrow, and wasn¡¯t sure if he should feel appalled at himself for it. Did this oracle reveal the location of his son?

    He turned to face Aimar. ¡°Have you looked at the reading?¡±

    ¡°How can I? I don¡¯t know what the questions were,¡± replied Aimar, shaking his head. Then he looked at Luthold with narrowed eyes. ¡°Do you?¡±

    Luthold repeated the elder¡¯s words in his mind. How can we find our lost boys? Where should our clan go?

    ¡°I do, Aimar. I know his questions.¡±

    Luthold stepped forward and pulled the cloth carefully away. Aimar flinched and stepped back.

    The flat, polished stones lay in what could have seemed a random pattern, as though they had been emptied onto the table from a bag and left where they fell. In truth, the position and angle of each one would be a work of precision under other-worldly guidance. The glyphs on the stones bore no resemblance to any letters and the wooden disks had pictures engraved on them. They were the same pieces used to play the game of Sevenstones, but in the hands of an elder they served a very different purpose. Luthold knew how to read them ¨C how to interpret their placement on the board Oslef had used. He had learned to read the stones from Oslef himself, over the course of many evenings. He walked round to look at the table from the elder¡¯s side. Some of the villagers who could see through the door muttered to one another outside. When he looked up at them, they fell silent.

    For a long time, he tried to find some other meaning in the arrangement than what stared up at him from the table. He could not. The answers were clear. There at the intersection of the lines drawn for Oli and Ingo sat The Lost Daughter. Loss or sacrifice. Death. Even now though, Luthold clung to a sliver of hope. Lost is not necessarily dead, is it? And hasn¡¯t Oli always been lost? And what of the answer to the other question? Since he could barely grasp its significance himself, how could he tell the rest of the clan? What position have you put me in, old friend?

    ¡°No wonder he died with such an expression,¡± Luthold said to Aimar. ¡°It must have been a bitter thing to give his life for this reading.¡±

    He needed space. He stepped past Aimar into the morning light. He took a lungful of cool air but the crowd immediately pressed around him, no longer worrying about the broken circle of wet ash.

    ¡°What does it say?¡± one of them asked.

    ¡°If it¡¯s an oracle, we have a right to know!¡± another demanded.

    Winilind looked at him but did not speak. She and Adalina held each other close. Beresa stood beside them with an arm around Winilind¡¯s waist. Luthold knew from his wife''s expression that she had already seen the answer in his eyes.

    Heridan arrived, pushing himself through the bodies thronged about the house until he stood in front of Luthold.

    ¡°What does it say, Luthold? You were deep in his confidence before he did this. What did Elder Oslef ask and what do the gods answer?¡±

    Luthold wondered what Oslef had told Heridan. They were not nearly as close as he and Luthold. But he must have given him some idea, because a fierce hope burned in Heridan''s eyes. Luthold did not look away from the mirror of his own pain as he revealed the oracle.

    ¡°They say that our lost children are lost to us forever.¡± Heridan groaned so harrowingly that several clansfolk around him stepped away. Algar moved to his side and embraced him, pressing his forehead to the side of Heridan¡¯s face and whispering a prayer. Luthold continued: ¡°and they say that we must leave.¡±

    ¡°To go where?!¡± The question came in hopeful shouts. Didn¡¯t they hear the first part? Didn¡¯t they care? He had lost his boy. Of course they cared, but they had children of their own to worry about, too. Wasn¡¯t that also what Oslef had wanted him to understand?

    ¡°Where should we go? Where will we be safe?¡± they cried. ¡°To the South? Should we join the Levonin? Should we do as the Sullin say and form an army?¡±

    ¡°They say,¡± Luthold began, and the crowd fell silent. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. ¡°They say that we are safe nowhere in the Saltleaf. That this land will soon lie beyond the sight of heaven. They say that we must leave the forest entirely.¡±