I don’t follow for a moment, letting the words weigh on me before starting after him.
Kalan skirts the small town area until we head to a narrow street that ends with a thatched-roofed house. It reminds me of ours, the small trade house, off the weathered path. Kalan knocks on the door, and a man opens it and greets us. His grey hair camouflages what’s left of the darker colour here and there. They both bow the familiar Kirrian greeting before he steps out onto the street with us. He leads us to a stable down a concealed alley to the side of the house. Four horses are merrily chomping on hay as we approach.
“Thank you.” Kalan hands him a small leather pouch, and he leaves us. “Come on.”
Kalan and Ten saddle the horses, and we mount them and leave the village. All in silence.
Fleeting glances, strained smiles, and the pain of trying to remember the gaps in my memory are the rhythm that accompanies our trek with the newly acquired horses.
Kalan’s words have dried up, even Ten’s. And, while I imagine we would have happily spoken in silence, using our bond to check on one another, without it, there’s a hollowness around us.
“How does your magic feel?” I ask Ten, remembering what it felt like to be on the ship and parted from Aslendrix. The power in Nehandun was tempered, more stable than over the water.
“Not quite whole. When we cross the border to Kirrasia, our magic will return.” His words are as sure as the steel that pierced our skin. And I can’t fault his optimism, even after everything. My smile is a sad offering to him, but my heart wants to reassure him, even if my mind is trapped in turmoil.
“Kalan?” Ten calls. “How do you know all these people? How do you know where we can find help?” His change of subject is welcome, neither of us seemingly ready to face the harsh questions yet.
“I have been gone from Kirrasia for a long time, Aten. I told Lyle I was a Watcher. There are plenty stationed in Estereah, but also in Sunatora, and Nehandun. And while that wasn’t my official role, I took up my own version of that. Watching. I made acquaintances where I travelled. Helping where I could. Listening for signs. It was my duty, and so I wandered. Sought out friends, information. I traded in information.”
I listen to his explanation and place it against my memories of him, and it fits. He would come and go like the winds. And now I know he wasn’t checking in on Lyle. He was there for me. A debt he felt obligated to carry out because he promised my parents he would.
He’s wandered all these years. Does he even have somewhere he calls home?
“What were you waiting for?” Ten asks.
This time, Kalan doesn’t grant him an answer. “We’ll stick to the forest, cross the river at night, and continue, following theforest and woodland path north until we reach Lyle.” He nudges his horse forward, done with his talking.
As we venture on our path through the trees, there’s an ease in the air, and I think of the brooch, and Kalan, and the Variscite Forest.
In Nehandun, I was too angry, too full of pain to see anything other than the hurt. But now, empty of everything, at least any strong emotion or feeling, I can see past the deception.
“Did you know what the brooch would help me to do when you gave it to me?” I ask him. There are other questions I’ve lined up to ask, but this is the first.
“They are a sacred possession of the Naturals. Of a Shepherd. You were the one I was looking over, and so it felt right to ensure whatever protection it might afford you was in your power when you found yourself in Kirrasia.”
I listen as hard as I can, on the air, in the rustle of leaves, for the voice of the forest. A signal that maybe my magic is still there. But it is silent. There is no call or whisper like there has been in the past, even in Nehandun.
“I can’t hear it anymore. Can you?”
“Hear what?” Ten asks, but I keep my eyes trained on Kalan. His head tilts to the side. A fraction of a movement, and if I weren’t so attentive to him at that precise moment, I’d have missed it. There’s no need to confirm. He can hear the forest and whatever it might whisper on its winds.
Like I needed him to hear that night.
“You will. It is a rare gift. Maybe because you kept the brooch in your possession, maybe because you are a Fifth, but the forestis ancient, there is no whimsy with their magic.” His deep voice rumbles, and the leaves shake, as if answering his voice.
Maybe.
It’s night when we reach the river, the gloom providing us with only a sliver of moonlight to aid our path through the water.
I look up, stare up at the dark blanket of sky, and a thousand questions race through my mind like shooting stars, blazing trails of further questions, like stardust in their wake.
And then it hits.
A searing, burning pain deep in my mind. And I’m no longer crossing the river. I’m back in the tent in Nehandun, my hands plunged into the earth. The tent morphs into trees, then Fenix.
I’m blinded.
White-blinding light surrounds me, and I grab for my eyes, losing my balance and plunging down into the cold water.
