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Resting my palm on Dusty’s neck, I closed my eyes.To the Rainbow Hills.It was a single thought but all I needed to get Dusty walking in that direction. “Tell Lyra I’m coming,” I called to Callon over my shoulder.
“Done!” he answered. “I’ll just wait here then!”
Callon disappeared as we headed toward the horizon. Dusty and I trotted at a fast clip, as Tick loped over to join us. Together, the three of us made our way into the rugged mountains bordering the western edge of our settlement, Dusty’s long strides eating up the desert floor as we rode with the morning breeze.
Along the way, I sifted through Tick’s mind, but having been at the Badwater Basin hunting shrew and rattlesnake all night, the coyote knew nothing that would help me discern what the hell these people were doing so far east of the Seven Kingdoms. The desert lands, unlivable and desolate at best, were nothing compared to their lush forests.
The farther we rode, the more the landscape changed, barren in some places and remarkably dangerous and otherworldly in others. Though our village was a thousand people strong, with more coming every week, we’d found a peaceful existence in Death Valley over the years. Especially with our powers to better serve us.
The Elementals could manipulate the soil for crops, control fire for cooking and warmth on cold, cruel nights, and find underground water sources to keep us, our animals, and our gardens hydrated. Telekinesis and enhanced strength, speed, and senses came in handy with daily chores and helping the patrol teams. And Telepaths, well, they were invaluable for communication between outposts in an expansive place like this, where security in our hidden oasis was paramount.
We’d found a way to live out here, away from the unrest of the Seven Kingdoms, and it worked. Even if it never quite felt like Fallen Wood—like home.
What home? I had to remind myself it hadn’t been home in a very long time. The memories were as painful as they were precious, and as much as I hated dwelling on the past, I couldn’t stop myself from missing it, either.
I told myself this bout of nostalgia was because Jake had been abroad for so long this time, searching for whatever it was he never seemed to find. Being the last of his kind—an original changed during the Turn and celebrated by so many as the Patron of Healers—Jake was always wandering and restless. He was always searching, but for what, I was never certain. And I missed the only family I had left. That was only part of my reminiscing thoughts, though.
I missed my sister. Had Autumn survived Queen Corisande’s attack on our village, she would have been thirty-eight yesterday. More than that, had I killed the Corvo queen when I was in the castle ten years ago looking for Jake, she never would have been able to go back on her word and slaughter my people.
Bottom line, had Jake and I been there when it happened, we might’ve stopped the siege on our village, and my sister might still have been alive. Instead, now we were out here, living off lands too brutal to be claimed, with the treacherous Sierra mountains stretching between us and the trading ports and outposts we needed to better survive.
Sensing my darkening mood, Dusty rode harder and faster, as if he, too, wished to outrun my memories. And as soon as the eroded Rainbow Hills glinted into view, we slowed, Tick, Dusty, and my human eyes scouring the rocky canyon for unwanted attention as we approached.
Tick trotted ahead in search of Lyra, sniffing as she scaled the smooth rockface to the hiding post. Through Tick’s eyes, I could see Lyra and Martin, her scouting partner, crouched in the shadows of the outer cliff as Tick crested a boulder. Everything was so crisp and clear through the eyes of a coyote, even if our mental connection made my senses tingle a little.
Absently, I dismounted Dusty, prepared to follow Tick.
When Lyra saw the coyote, she nodded in greeting and gave me the signal that our visitors were a klick south. Nulling myself so that any probing minds wouldn’t sense me, I left Dusty in a patch of shade in the foothills and began to climb.
“They arrived in the middle of the night,” Lyra said as I crawled into place beside her. Her blue eyes were fixed on the scene below.
I nodded. “Callon reported no banners.”
“No, none. And out of the two dozen of them, most are enslaved.”
I peered down into the shadows of the rugged valley, the greens, blues, and purples of the metallic soils shimmering in the rising sun as I took in the sight of our intruders working below. I hated that they were here, bold and brazen as ever. Whatever the mercs’ reasons were for coming, it had to be important to have driven them to no-man’s-land.
“They started at sunrise,” Martin offered gravely. “So far, they’ve kept to the lower valley.”
“Any idea what they are digging for yet?” I squinted, seeing only a glimpse of what Lyra’s enhanced vision and hearing could glean. She was the eyes and ears I relied on most that patrolled the perimeters of our band of castaways and refugees. “Hematite?” I asked. “Manganese?”
Lyra shook her head. “I’m not certain, but they need samples for someone in the Sierra Kingdom,” she said, confirming what I’d feared. “But that man, right there—” Lyra pointed to a guy in brown garb who stood no bigger than my thumb in the distance. Though she could see every minute detail and twitch of our visitor’s mouth from here, to me, he looked like nothing more than an insect I wanted to smash between my fingers.
“He doesn’t know who he’s working for,” she explained. “Only that he’s been ordered to collect samples and return by the full moon if he wishes to receive his coin.”
Martin handed me his binoculars, and as my eyes adjusted, an emaciated Feral came into view, his hair shaggy and as long as his beard. He moved like a beaten animal, only going through the motions he knew would get him food and water at some point.
I eyed the three guards patrolling the tops of the hills behind them. The man in the brown cape had disappeared into the single tent they’d set up in the flattest part of the valley.
“Why so many wagons?” I asked. There were far more than they needed to transport the Ferals.
“They need enough of each soil color to fill one of them,” Lyra explained. “They should be finished before nightfall.” She stared at me. Her dark blue eyes glinted in the sunlight, and I knew that look. It was the same one I’d seen the day I found her and her ailing father, half-starved and hiding in one of our outposts. An all too familiar weight hung in the air.Fear. “From here, they’re headed to Mantis.”
Dread needled its way into my shoulders, and I peered down at their temporary camp. “I was afraid you’d say that.” Nothing good ever came from the Sierra capital.
“If we go,” Lyra started—she clearly knew what I was thinking—“getting in will be one thing. But getting out...” She huffed derisively.
The Sierra Kingdom was known for its armies, and King Eduart was known for taking resources and tech from everywhere he could—more than what he needed to protect his lands against the Ferals and anyone else who would think to encroach on his territory. His kingdom was as vast as it was dangerous, with his military spread throughout, patrolling every border and town. No village was untapped or untaxed, nor were they free of constant military occupation and perpetual mistreatment. I hated King Eduart almost as much as I loathed Corvo’s Queen Corisande.
