I unroll my map onto a dry patch of grass, using rocks and twigs as paperweights. The kingdom of Liona spreads out before me, named for its resemblance to the mighty lion. The north makes up his head, and the south his foot and tail.
My eyes skim over the many towns and cities that I have only ever read about in books, but never had the privilege of visiting.
Charstown is situated to the east just below the lion’s neck, and I still have a long way to go before I reach it.
Across the lion’s head, I see a semicircle marking a vast stretch of mountains. The word 'Veil' is written there in dark ink. Again, I recognise my mother’s handwriting.
I count my money: ten gold lions, five silver stallions, and several copper bits.
After gathering my things, I climb onto Belle’s back and pat her mane. The path before us is unfamiliar, but we must go on.
There’s no turning back now.
A new beginning awaits us.
“It’s time to go, Belle.”
A cold wind whispers through the trees, rustling the leaves of the forest, before brushing across my skin like icy fingers.
I'm being watched.
I turn to a nearby tree, where a glossy raven perches, its silver eye fixed on me. Dread sweeps through my veins. The raven at the cottage had silver eyes, too.
It arrived at the same time as the king’s men. Could the two be connected? I doubt it. It's most likely just an ordinary raven… with eerie, human-like eyes.
Belle stamps her hoof, and a tremor ripples through the earth, rattling my bones. The trees shake, and the raven spreads its wings, disappearing into the grey sky.
One of its coal-black feathers drifts to the ground, and I shiver as a cold breeze wraps its talons around me. Ravens are omens of death, and unease twists in my gut.
But it’s probably nothing to worry about. Maybe it's all just in my head.
And it’s time to ride north.
3
Ivy
Severaldayspass,andI find myself at the edge of a stony cliff, gawping at a giant, snow-capped mountain in the distance.
I’ve never seen anything so vast before. Maybe inside the illustrated pages of a book. But seeing one in real life is a whole different experience.
There are other mountains, too, and they’re all just as imposing as the first, like sleeping behemoths waiting for someone to come along and wake them from their ancient slumber.
These rock formations have been here since the world began, and at the thought, the hair on my arms rises up and down.
What dreadful creatures will be waiting for me beyond those colossal structures? Stories of trolls and goblins rush to the fore, and I think of everything Mama taught me about the Fae.
At least I have my iron cross; I have my knife and sword, too, and sprigs of rowanberries and pouches of salt.
But will I really have any need for them? After all, I’m not sure that I really believe all those stories about the Fae.
I always wanted to believe. Anything to make the real world seem less dull in comparison.
Arethey real?
I wantto believe in pocket worlds or faerie circles made of toadstools, and I want to believe in the Fae court.
But seeing is a whole different experience, and I guess I’m about to find out if all those cautionary tales I read as a child were true, after all.
