II

The clearing was small, surrounded were we by a dense forest that yawned outward and down from the hillside upon which we stood. There was a small break in the trees to our north, the ragged tear of the mountains in view.

It was important I did not lose sight of those mountains. Such an imposing sight even from such distance. I had never seen mountains as these. Never, in fact, cast eyes upon anything beyond the walls. The walls that generations of men had built to keep the outside world from us. Like most, I had never ventured beyond the bounds of the kingdom, small as it was. Beyond the confines of where we lived and died was what my father always referred to as the undergloam, from the old texts. It was once known as something else, but I forget. It was an alien word to me then and begged to be forgotten. It was all I knew of the world. A vague tapestry of shadow woven into bedtime stories and whispered between children, voices laced with fear. It was not wise to venture there. Remnants of humanity that was violent, scattered and broken, yet they were the least of what played within. There were too many books bound in old leather containing tales of my forebears lost to horrors best left unsaid. My father always said we were the last candlelight, and one must never stray from the light.

Yet strayed I had. What courage must have coursed in my complacent and malcontent veins that night.  It was in me to turn and run. Run like the frightened rabbit I played at being. The laughter rang through the halls, the jeers already rebounding between a hundred stone pillars through the conference. I would not go. They knew this. 

I did as was expected and their mirth increased. Yet the humour would have been stolen from their gaping mouths the following morning when my bed was found empty. 

I was expected to flee from this. 

How could I? She was radiant. I could not fear her. I wanted her. 

So I pursued her, as I pursue her now. She has returned to the earth far below the mountains. 

The mountains.

I had first caught sight as dawn rose on the first morning. I had already travelled some distance under cloak of night, stumbling my way in the darkness, fearful of every sound, every shift in the atmosphere. I knew (or thought I knew) that there was nothing to be afeared of so close to the sentries and lookout posts – yet they alone were enough to keep me spry and alert. Torchlight drew maddeningly close at times, and I would cower in the undergrowth, calming my frantically beating heart, convinced someone would hear the erratic drum. If they found me they would have killed me, of that I as sure. I knew enough what orders were given to the deathwatch. Corbyn set them himself. I heard hum tell my father. I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but my gift didn’t always heed what I wished. 

What happened between the night of my departure and my arrival at the crossroads is something I knew I would need to bring to the surface, so far down had I forced it already. Although I wonder if I ever will need to. Chance would be that I should not, and what would occur between now and the arrival at my destination would pile so much more compacted trauma as to render these early hours obsolete. 

Perhaps I am ruminating too hard. I always have been too introspective. There is no relevance in the events from there to here.

My relief at securing the services of the ranger was palpable, despite his sour disposition. He nevertheless seemed trustworthy, in the way that men are when they have seen all the horror that their life may show them and they’re left with the knowledge that the imminent end of their own mortality will make no odds to the turning of the earth. We had spoken little those first days, and the traversal through moorland, across riverbed and through the vale had passed without incident, despite what he had gruffly warned me about the vale. 

He stood a few feet from me, surveying our surroundings. No doubt already attuned to the dangers should there be any here. My confidence in the man was such that I thought his kind valued self-preservation above all else, and therefore his notion of where to camp was likely good. It had served well til now, and once more I would do as he bid. The thought of robbery had crossed my minds, yet dismissed in turn. He had my coin that I gave willingly enough. He should see no reason to attempt to take further from my person, as I had already promised him tenfold the contents of the purse should he see me to my destination. 

He would of course be oblivious to the fact that I would have no means of paying him should we both safely arrive.

There would be more pressing matters on his mind then, truth be told. 

I allowed myself a smile, seeing as he was still fixed upon the splinters of darkness betwixt the trees. 

Such a smile soon took on form of a grimace when the ranger turned sharply and - obviously satisfied at what he had espied (or not, in this case) between the trees - instructed me with a grunt and hand gesture to remove my heavy backpack. It felt a relief for the weight to be off my shoulders once more. The day had been long and uncomfortable. I had packed for too many items, loathe was I to leave some of my finery, however out of place it may be in this place. Yet it was not for this place, but where I was heading. I would need to look my best for her, and that I intended to. I attempted to place the bag down slowly, as though accustomed to such a weight. I nearly managed it, but the relief in my muscles was too great and I exhaled loudly, the pack slipping from my hands at the last to land with a dull thud on dead grass.

He said nothing but his expression was sour. I felt my face go hot and berated myself. I had nothing to prove to this man and he everything to me. It was my coin that still hung around his belt, the pouch that his hand couldn’t stray far from, returning regularly to feel the purse’s comfortable heft. He was doing it now, as he watched me with naked contempt, his countenance as dour as when we had first met and where it had - like his hand - never strayed too far. 

I was going to speak, something belligerent. Something quick that would remind him of the proper hierarchy. Yet my tongue was too fat and slow in my mouth. The journey had taken it’s toll, and it was all I could do to sit myself down rather huffily on the upturned bag, expelling more air in an attempt to weave the illusion that my earlier sigh was nothing more than an affected mirage of weariness. An attempt at camaraderie even, if men such as he would be susceptible to such things. An icebreaker, to engage in mutual conversation about the toll of that days travel. 

Real or not, the ranger didn’t take to it. As he never had done previously. The man was an exercise in frustration. I was used to being attended to. To my utterance being acknowledged. He did nothing but eyeball me further, as though daring me to show more signs of exertion. I did not wish to give him the satisfaction, not like the previous two nights. Instead I attempted to return his gaze although it was not long before I turned away. There was something I found uncomfortable in his eyes. Beyond the steel, there was something older. Something worse. There was death in there, yet whose I did not know. It felt like it could be mine. 

“Tha make room fer fire, tap?”

Tap. Never had before I left the kingdom had I heard the word used in such a way, and surmised that it was part of the man’s dialect. As always, I could guess what it meant. This time I attempted to converse on his level.

“Tap,” I said, the word sounding forced and inappropriate from my dumb lips. 

He grunted again and nodded curtly. I was about to speak further - ask perhaps what making room for the fire would entail given the clearing he had chosen this time was empty apart from the dead yellow grass that crawled across the surface of the earth. Grass the colour of plague A sharp cry above diverted my attention long enough for me to see a fleeting black shape overhead against the darkening sky. By the time I looked back towards the ranger, he was gone, as though he had been absorbed into the trees beyond. I muttered a curse under my breath and complacently remained sat upon my bag, caring not at that point for the belongings inside. It didn’t matter anyway. The more valuable items, as it were, were protected by the clothing - both fine and not - that I had wrapped around them. The clothing had the added advantage of lending it’s bulky non-specific shape to the backpack, obfuscating it’s contents. Contents that I would rather keep hidden from the every prying eyes of the ranger. I may be soft and what my older brothers – Ashe most of all - referred to as a “curt whelp”, yet my senses were keen, and I could feel the older man’s eyes on my constantly. They burned like cold fire. If my brothers had known the extent of my perception then perhaps they wouldn’t have teased me such as they did, for the result was my avoidance of the attentions in the grand library, surrounded by those same tomes that contained stories of the lost generations. There were other tomes there, tomes that were written by others such as me, and for others such as me. 

So I would read, and this perception would develop. Eventually I could form images - vague at first - from what I scraped from my brothers. 

They would not like the pictures that I scraped from them. 

My brothers were not the clean and just purveyors of the light as they portrayed. Ashe was bad, Bryln worse. 

This I knew. 

The ranger was different. I had tried briefly with him and been presented with nothing but an empty page stained with blood. 

Perhaps that was enough. 

It didn’t matter. I had other gifts. 

The light was dying around me, another large black shape above this time nearly imperceptible against the weeping bruise of low cloud. With the darkness, the meagre temperature dropped further and my breath suddenly condensed before me, an apparition that was pulled away. Perhaps it was part of my soul. I pulled my arms close around me, wrapped my heavy coat tighter. It wasn’t designed for travel in cold climbes and lacked the insulation that I had espied in the lining of the ranger’s coat. Mine was for sight only, a fashionable indulgence like most of my attire. I did not regret taking it for I hadn’t any other choice. I just didn’t think it would chill so soon after crossing the vale. The climate had been tenable til that point, but from the northern edge there had been a climb – that which had tired me so now – and the altitude had chilled the air markedly. 

Pagailon would be back as before with firewood and a couple of rabbits or some other game. It would not take him long. He would set the fire and roast the meat. It would be sour and chewy, part raw in places and burnt in others. I would do as I had done before - devour it silently, the bloodied juices running down my chin. Then I would lie down, head on my pack and coat drawn in to me, and sleep until being kicked awake at sunrise. 

My stomach surprised me by growling, a sharp pang in my belly. Two evenings of rabbit were not enough. My own supplies had been exhausted before the crossroads – I had packed too light and briskly that I hadn’t brought enough. Of course. 

He would return before long. I knew this. Yet I stood anyway and ventured closer to the edge of the clearing. There was something there, visible in the last dregs of day. A small thatch of briar around the base of a tree, small dark berries spotted throughout. I tentatively reached and took a handful, holding them close to my nose. Theirs was an unusual smell, of damp wood and freshly turned earth after the rain. I selected a plump one and placed it on my tongue, holding it there before closing my mouth and crushing it. The juice was bitter with a hint of pine honey, enough to make it not an entirely unpleasant experience. I spent the next few moments collecting a handful before returning to my pack and sitting more carefully upon it. 

The light had gone and the cloud had parted a little. The wind was picking up, but it meant I could see the first stars. Configurations and constellations I couldn’t know and didn’t care to. The sky hadn’t been the same since I left and I began to wonder what old magick was being used behind the walls to weave an illusion so vast, and for what purpose. 

I began to tilt my head back, raising a fistful of berries to my open mouth. I stopped suddenly, my breath hitching in my chest. I hadn’t even heard the blade being drawn and now there it was, cold against my throat.