Nothing Saeldian did would be good enough for Kell, so it didn’t matter. He didn’t understand their reasons because he wouldn’t. That wasn’t Saeldian’s problem, so they should put it aside and pay attention to Eightbridge, because dwelling on his reaction was a waste of time.
They blinked at the feel of a bright dawn that forever promised the kind of day that needed a broad-brimmed hat. Many of the people filling the road to Eightbridge already had them, from simple straw to wide mushroom caps. One dryad wore a crown of supple willow branches woven so their long leaves shaded past his shoulders. He moved from tree to tree, stopping to pat each one’s trunk for doing a good job.
Saeldian hadn’t expected a road bustling with people who could have been in…Silverymoon, Saeldian supposed, taking into account the people who walked, danced, trotted, and rode along the road and over the bridge that had grown from twining branches and was now wide enough for wagons and people coming and going under the leafy boughs. Saeldian and Jubilee joined the growing crowd, and then they were in Eightbridge itself. Noguard or taxman stopped their progress, but people played music, did tricks so simple everyone knew how they were done, and called on people to sample whatever delightful-smelling things they had for sale.
They had made it to Eightbridge. That was what mattered, not how they’d done it. Kell had needed to believe he could find his way there. He was afraid that he couldn’t. Saeldian just showed him what he needed to see to succeed.
And what thanks they received, for doing their best to help! Saeldian reached up to squeeze the amulet, startled again by how their hand closed around it but they couldn’t feel it, like a part of them had gone numb. Saeldian’s power worked just fine, but it was unsettling to touch.
Just ahead, a building that looked like someone had lifted enormous, impossible shards of clear glass and then shaped apple trees to hold them stopped Saeldian in their tracks. It was a building. But it was also a grove of trees, and one bough had a sign with a bed on it. Another bough held a sign with the symbol Osalor told them to look for—the traveler with a star lantern on a staff.
This was the place, and Saeldian wanted a meal and some private silence more than anything. The closer an inn was to a city gate, the dearer the cost, but Saeldian’s feet were so sore, and their throat was so dry, and every bone in their body was a pound heavier than it was when they woke up. That inn was looking better by the second.
Saeldian signaled their change in direction, but Kell, that ingrate, said, “Wait.”
No way. Saeldian walked three more steps before Jubilee called out, “Sheld, hold on. You’ve got to see this.”
Saeldian huffed loudly enough that passersby glanced at them. “Fine.”
Kell held out a cloth bundle of the mushrooms he had foraged on the hook of one finger. It leaned away from him, as if it would fly through the air if Kell let it go. “I think he’s this way.”
Nine Hells!“Good news. That means you can find him after we’ve had a meal.”
“I think he’s close by. It’s really pulling.”
“My feet are killing me slowly, Kell. How close? One mile? Five?”
“Shush.” Kell stood firm on his feet. He flexed his knees. He drew in a breath and called in a clear, carrying voice, “Verandil? Verandil Sureshot?”
Everyone on the street looked at him, then swiveled the other way when a voice called, “Who’s that? Kell?” A man in a wagon stood up. A set of tall, curved horns rose from his curled hair, his stunned disbelief visible from here. “Kell!”
Jubilee gave a small, happy cheer. Kell looked like he might float right off the ground. The bag in Kell’s hand strained against his full grip as if it wanted to fly toward the answering voice.
“Ran!” Kell shouted, his voice rising with joy. “I found you!”
Verandil hauled on a brake lever and sprang out of the wagon. He leapt so high that Saeldian caught the odd shape of his legs, the tail swinging for balance, a glint of metal on cloven hooves before he landed in a dead run.
Bystanders on the road stepped out of the way. Kell sprinted down the open path that Verandil galloped down, and their hug was a collision that should have sent them tumbling, but Kell’s footwork kept them upright.
They didn’t let go. Verandil picked Kell right off his feet and swung him, spinning them both on his hooves as he danced. When Verandil set Kell back down, Kell whooped and kicked up his feet to dance, their hands clasped together.
They were doing the same steps, quick and showy. Plates on the satyr’s hooves tapped out a complex rhythm that made people stop to cheer, and then they hugged again, tight and shaking with sobs. When Saeldian came close enough, they saw that Verandil’s tears rolled down the edge of a thick keloid scar that barely missed his eye. Kell’s shoulders shook with his own weeping; they held on to each other and wouldn’t let go.
Who would ever run to Saeldian and weep for joy at their return? Who would hold them so tightly to make sure they were real, who would have to feel their heartbeat and breath and knit their hearts back together before they could step back?
They had to look away.
Kell had suffered for years being cut off from the Feywild. He never stopped dreaming about going back. Saeldian always thought that he would have used the gold they left behind to find a way to get home, after they watched Baldur’s Gate until it disappeared and there was nothing to see but choppy gray water and heavy clouds.
Finally, Kell relaxed his grip and stood back to look up at his long-lost brother. “You’re a man, Verandil.”
“Tell that to my absent beard,” Verandil said with a scoff. His curly hair looked soft, like black fleece, and his horns were no longer than a finger. He was young, and handsome, and probably dangerous if anyone near him believed in sweet talk.
His smile softened as he rubbed Kell’s jaw. “Kell Redsong. Your beard is salted.”
Kell’s smile turned sad. “It’s been a long time.”
Verandil touched the corners of Kell’s eyes, the gray hairs dense above his ears. “It’s been years away. But not as many as I feared. You’re here, where your time will dawdle before meeting you.”
