After a little scrambling over the rocky crest of the dip between the two mountains, the descent into the valley took on the atmosphere almost of a family jaunt. Although on occasions the Traveller seemed to drift off into a reverie, there was a vigour and a sprightliness in his step which, his companions saw by contrast, had been conspicuously absent when he was in the village. The sky began to clear.
Ibryen and Rachyl moved uncertainly at first. It was a valley on the fringe of their domain and the head of it was routinely patrolled, even though it was, for all practical purposes, inaccessible to the Gevethen. ‘There’s no one about,’ the Traveller assured them, though in more carefully measured tones than he had used before. Years of caution when moving through the mountains had taken their toll however, and his reassurance was politely ignored. Only as they moved further down from the ridge did Ibryen and Rachyl begin to feel easier.
‘Keep a careful note of our route,’ Ibryen said, as they began to stride out down a long grassy slope. ‘It’s fine today, but it could be mist and rain when we come back.’
Rachyl acquiesced, but with that air of polite toleration reserved by the young for respected elders who tell them the obvious. Both Ibryen and the Traveller noted it and exchanged knowing looks.
On the whole they did not talk a great deal as they moved along the valley, though at one point Rachyl stopped and gazed round at the enclosing peaks. Not, this time, with the shrewd-eyed warrior gaze that searched into shades and crevices, alert for the subtle wrongness – the movement, the shape, that should not be there – but almost with wonder.
‘Probably no one’s ever been here before,’ she said, speaking softly, as if she were in a holy place.
‘No people,’ the Traveller confirmed. ‘At least not for a very long time. Certainly before ideas like Nesdiryn and Girnlant came into their thinking. Perhaps, as you say, never.’
He stopped and joined her in her study. ‘Who knows. Perhaps some solitary wanderer, with his own joys and burdens has stood right here and felt them come into a different perspective, just like you are. Mountains are very good at doing that. That’s one of the reasons I like them.’
Rachyl did not seem too sure. Ibryen took her arm and gently urged her forward. The last thing that Rachyl needed was a new perspective on her life, especially the last few years. Circumstances had made her a soldier and it was the best thing she could be until the need for soldiering was gone.
‘What are the other reasons?’ Ibryen asked the Traveller, anxious to draw Rachyl back to the present.
‘No people,’ the Traveller replied, slapping his stomach with both hands and then holding them out in a wide embrace. ‘No people and no people.’
Ibryen laughed. ‘I’m sorry if we give you such offence. Shall we walk in our bare feet to preserve the ancient silence?’
‘I’d hear the grass bending under your feet,’ the Traveller laughed in return. ‘Listen!’ he put a hand to his ear. ‘I can hear the voices of the countless tiny creatures that dwell here, the tumbling of Marris’s tiny pebbles on their way to the avalanche, the wind twining around the high peaks and sighing through the tangled gorse, the fluttering wings of nesting birds, the scuttling feet of moles and rabbits and…’
Ibryen and Rachyl were listening spellbound, there was such joy in his voice, when, abruptly, he stopped and tilted his head forward, a hand raised for silence. He turned from side to side intently as if searching for something. Alarmed, both Ibryen and Rachyl quietly reached for their swords and, instinctively turning back to back, began scanning the surrounding slopes. Then the Traveller sagged slightly and his look of concentration became one of resignation.
‘What’s the matter?’ Ibryen whispered, his hand still on his sword. ‘Can you hear someone coming?’
The Traveller held out his thumb and forefinger. ‘Twice now,’ he said. ‘Twice I’d swear I heard the Song.’ Ibryen frowned. ‘Sound Carvers, Count. My ancient kin. But so faint, so far away. The faintest wisps – deep, deep down, beneath the creaking roots of the mountains themselves.’ He gave a little sigh and was himself again. ‘Imagination I suppose,’ he decided. ‘We see what we want to, we hear what we want to. The Sound Carvers are long gone, aren’t they, Count?’ He snapped his fingers and set off walking. ‘Ah, I forgot. You’ve never heard of them, have you?’
Ibryen wanted to question the Traveller about these strange ancestors, but the little man was gathering speed and was already some way ahead. For a moment he was inclined to call after him, but decided against it. His interest was little more than idle curiosity; he had nothing to offer the man in what was plainly a disturbing, if not distressing matter. Rachyl was starting to stride out with a view to catching up with him, but Ibryen motioned to her to slow down. There was a quality in the Traveller’s posture that said he wished to be alone for a while.
When they eventually caught up with him, he was sitting on a rock, swinging his feet, and seemed to have recovered from whatever had unsettled him. Ibryen met his concerns head on.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘You seemed upset before. That’s why we left you to walk on.’
The Traveller smiled broadly and gave an airy wave. ‘A touch of nostalgia, a whimsy, a mishearing – it happens when one reaches too far. I should know better. But I thank you for your thoughtfulness. It’s very pleasant to be reminded that not all people are braying oafs.’ He looked at Rachyl. ‘And that some of them are quite lovely.’
Ibryen responded as he had before when the Traveller had offered Rachyl his heavy-handed compliments – he started in alarm. He also prepared to move quickly, this particular compliment having been uttered to Rachyl’s face. Any man in the village foolish enough to speak thus would soon have measured his length on the ground, nursing a bruised jaw, or worse. Somewhat to Ibryen’s surprise however, Rachyl merely levelled a finger at the little man and said, ‘Stop that!’ like a matriarchal schoolteacher. The Traveller drew in a sharp breath and patted his heart in a gesture of mock pain. Rachyl turned away, and became apparently engrossed in adjusting a strap on her pack. Ibryen eyed her carefully. He could swear she was blushing. The hearty companion in him laughed and jibed, but the leader of his people grieved that his cousin’s life had been so needlessly distorted. Images of the life she should have led burst upon him. He allowed them no sway, and they passed leaving only a dull ache behind, but, without fanfare or declamation, his long-formed resolution to destroy the cause of this pointless and painful destruction reforged itself even as he laid the distress aside.
Rachyl finished fiddling with her pack and drew a hand across her flushed forehead as if she were hot. ‘Why are you helping us when you’d prefer to be without us?’ she asked the Traveller without warning, though there was no reproach in her voice.
The Traveller jumped down from the rock and set off again. The others followed him. ‘I told you before. I’m as much like you as I’m unlike you. Knowing what I know, I can’t walk away and expect my life to be unsullied by the neglect.’ Suddenly he was walking quickly and waving his arms. His voice rose. ‘The average folly of the average individual brings enough inadvertent pain into this world, but that’s part of our lot. Somehow, we need it. But wilful sources of evil like your Gevethen…’ He growled ferociously and clenched his fist. It was not the comic sight it should have been from so small a figure and both Ibryen and Rachyl winced at the passion in his words. ‘… should be rooted out and destroyed utterly. They are diseased.’ He twisted his foot as he spoke, as though crushing something under his heel.
No one spoke for some while after this. Nothing but time could follow such a declaration and each was content to let the sunlit valley open before them as they walked along over the yielding mountain turf. Eventually, as they moved steadily downwards, the many streams tumbling from the slopes on either side merged into a single energetic and noisy flow and the vegetation began to thicken. They stopped for a rest by the bubbling river. It was becoming warmer and the breeze had dropped, and from where they were sitting they could see the river twisting, white and silver, down into a forest which spread across the entire valley floor.
Ibryen frowned as he looked at the way ahead. ‘That’s going to present problems,’ he said.
‘It’s going to offer food and shelter. And warmth if we need it,’ the Traveller said, as to an ungrateful pupil.
‘Not pressing needs at the moment,’ Ibryen rebutted. ‘I was thinking about our progress. It’s so easy to get lost in dense woodland.’
The Traveller chuckled. ‘How can you get lost when you don’t know where you’re going?’
‘You know what I meant,’ Ibryen said crossly. ‘In trees like that we could travel in circles for hours, if not days, without realizing it. And marking the track’s going to be laborious, to say the least.’
The Traveller tapped the side of his nose. ‘I follow this,’ he said. ‘It rarely goes round in circles.’
Ibryen’s eyes narrowed.
‘I thought you followed your ears,’ Rachyl intervened caustically, then to Ibryen, ‘As for going round in circles, why the sudden concern? I’ve no idea what you’ve been following but you seem happy enough with it so far, so you might as well carry on doing the same. And I’ll just carry on doing what I’ve been doing – following the two of you. However…’ She looked from one to the other significantly, then waved a small book at them. ‘… at our great leader’s behest, I’m having to write this lot down, as well as mark the track, and I’m with him; I’ve no desire to plunge into a forest that could reach from here to your precious Girnlant unless it’s absolutely necessary. Are you both sure we’re going the right way – whatever that is?’
The small outburst silenced the two men for a moment.
‘Your kin,’ the Traveller said to Ibryen eventually, with a disclaiming wave and a humorous challenge in his eyes.
Ibryen smiled and shook his head in resignation. ‘Itis the way,’ he said to Rachyl, looking down towards the forest. ‘But whatever’s reaching out is changing. It’s getting weaker, but it’s getting clearer as well. And it seems to be pulling the whole of me in some way. It’s different. It’s going beyond.’
The Traveller was serious now. ‘It’s not easy so close to this river, but what I can hear still is just weaker, nothing else, no other changes. That’s the second time you’ve said that. What do you mean?’
Ibryen gave a pained shrug. ‘I don’t know. I’ve told you before, the whole thing is beyond any words I can find. It’s as though the… call… is beginning to come from some other place – or part of it is. And…’
He hesitated.
‘And?’ the Traveller prompted.
Ibryen blew two noisy breaths as if to force the words out. ‘And it’s as though part of me… the part that’s hearing this call… is somewhere else as well.’
Rachyl’s face became anxious. Survivor of scores of savage encounters, and heroine of many a daring raid on the Gevethen’s forces, she felt as though she were beginning to slide down a perilous slope at the end of which lay a terrible drop as she listened to her cousin and leader struggling so futilely with his strange inner vision. The Traveller reached out and touched them both. He spoke to Rachyl first.
‘When you’re lying in ambush, silent and still in the darkness for endless, aching hours, strange images flicker past your eyes, strange sounds buzz and clatter in your ears. Sometimes up becomes down and down up. But you’ve learned that it’s only your body, your own weaker nature, rebelling against the dictates of your will. You don’t confuse it with that feeling which brings you fully alert and says “danger”, do you? Yet when you feel this, you’ve heard nothing, seen nothing. You’ve no idea what mysterious reaches of time and distance this feeling comes to you across.’ Rachyl watched him uncertainly but intently. ‘So it is with your cousin. He’s as lost at the moment as you were on your first night attacks. He needs the assurance, the support, that someone probably gave you once, but there’s no one here can do it except us. You with your loyalty and affection, me with my limited knowledge.’ His grip tightened about her shoulder. ‘And you have a touch of this gift yourself I’m certain. Deep inside you understand. You can bear him when he leans on you. And I’ve heard of this thing often enough, and from intellects sceptical enough, to know that it exists – this ability, this gift, to reach into places which our hands and ears and eyes and all our commonsense tell us cannot be. Song forbid that we should be so arrogant as to think that what we can’t sense or imagine doesn’t exist! We, who can’t even see what the owl sees, hear what the bat hears. We, who can’t burrow beneath the ground, fly over the peaks or even move over the land faster than the merest trot without all manner of clanking devices to help us.’
He turned to Ibryen. ‘Your gift is profound and very rare. You’re disturbed because you’re like an unborn child just becoming aware that it’s time to leave the womb.’
Ibryen did not appear to be comforted. ‘It’s not unknown for babies to die on the journey to their new world,’ he said sourly.
The Traveller gave a guilt-stricken grimace. ‘My mistake. Bad analogy,’ he pleaded, patting Ibryen’s shoulder. ‘But you understand my meaning. It’ll do you no more hurt than any other natural gift. If any hurt comes from it, it’ll be because of what you’ve chosen to do with it.’
His voice fell, as though he were afraid of being overheard. ‘From what you tell me, I suspect that your Gevethen too have this gift, but that’s by the bye. Whether they have it or not, every fibre of me tells me that following this call to its roots will bring you to a new vision of your predicament.’
Neither Ibryen nor Rachyl seemed inclined to question him, or to pursue the matter further. For a while they sat silent, watching the river in its noisy dash down the valley. Eventually Ibryen stood up and adjusted his pack. He lobbed a pebble into the water. It arced white in the sunlight then disappeared into the cold mountain stream. The sound of its entry could not be heard and the water closed about it with scarcely a ripple. A few bubbles congregated on the surface, then, after a hesitant start, scattered hurriedly like guilty witnesses, to join the flood.
‘Eddies and waves,’ Ibryen said, to no one in particular. He bent down and reached into the water. It trickled between his fingers as he lifted his hand out. ‘Goes its own way, can’t be moulded and bent like wood and iron, yet before our eyes it shapes itself into ridges and hummocks like rolling hills. Always changing, always the same. What power forms those, Traveller?’
‘The same that forms us all, Count,’ the Traveller replied.
Rachyl pulled a wry face and stood up. ‘Come on, you two. We’ve a journey to make and a war to fight. You can philosophize later when we’ve got the Gevethen’s heads on a pole. It’ll be nightfall by the time we reach that forest as it is.’ Her brusque command galvanized the others who found themselves having to scurry after her as she strode off.
It was indeed past sunset when they came to the edge of the forest. As they reached the first trees, the Traveller laid his hands against the trunks of some of them and, gazing up into the branches above, smiled. It brought him one of Rachyl’s suspicious looks, but she said nothing. Catching the frown, he raised a finger to his lips, then, tongue protruding slightly, he bent down and picked up a stone. There was a brief pause while he looked around, then a sudden economic flourish and the stone was thrown, with a force that surprised Rachyl. The Traveller vanished into the trees after it, to return a few moments later carrying a dead rabbit.
‘Shouldn’t have stayed out so late, should you?’ he was saying to it. He held it out to Rachyl. ‘It’ll save you eating your supplies tonight,’ he said. She could not forbear a look of admiration as she took it.
‘Not without more mundane resources, I see,’ she said, taking the gift.
‘Oh, you’d be surprised at what I can do,’ he retorted, winking.
Rachyl ignored the challenge. She drew her knife and began skinning the rabbit. ‘Impressive throwing, that. I could have used you on some of our raids,’ she said, soldier to soldier, as her knife deftly laid open the animal. ‘We’re all good archers, but arrows are precious out here. Stones, on the other hand… plenty of those.’ Ibryen was nodding in agreement. ‘There!’ The task was done. Wiping the knife on the grass, Rachyl looked at the Traveller. ‘Why didn’t you just…’ she offered two fingers to her mouth vaguely ‘… whistle it down?’
The Traveller met her gaze. ‘Amongst other things, it was entitled to a chance,’ he said.
The answer seemed to appeal to her. She made to discard the skin. The Traveller frowned and held out his hand. ‘Give me that,’ he said with a hint of irritation. ‘Have you no manners, no respect for the creature? I’ll find a use for it. And don’t forget to thank it for giving its life so that you could eat.’
‘Y… yes,’ Rachyl stammered, taken aback by this rebuke. She glanced at Ibryen for help but found none. ‘I… we will.’ The Traveller was walking away. ‘Aren’t you going to eat with us?’ she called after him.
‘No, thank you,’ came the reply. ‘I don’t eat much and I had plenty at the camp. I’ll be back in a little while.’
Ibryen shrugged helplessly as the little figure retreated. ‘I’ll get some kindling,’ he said.
‘Well dried,’ Rachyl reminded him absently, still watching the Traveller. ‘We want no smoke.’
Ibryen did not dispute the point. They might be far from the eyes of the Gevethen here, but there was nothing to be gained by letting slip the habits that had kept them safe for years and which they would need again within weeks, whatever the outcome of this journey.
It was dark when the Traveller returned to a low, glowing fire and two replete companions. He seemed more cheerful than when he had left. ‘That was a happy gift,’ Ibryen said to him. ‘We’ve saved you some.’
The Traveller smiled appreciatively but shook his head. He sat down. ‘Finish it between you.’ Then he looked at them both. ‘You did thank it?’ he demanded.
‘Yes,’ they replied simultaneously and uncomfortably.
‘Good,’ the Traveller said, though with some doubt in his voice. ‘I can see it’s something you’re not used to.’ He became stern. ‘Understand this. You can kill your own kind however you fancy. That’s between you, them, and your consciences. But while you’re with me, have some respect when you kill something else. Where’ve you left the remains?’
Rachyl, wide-eyed, pointed with a bone she was chewing on.
‘Did you offer them to the forest?’
Rachyl stopped chewing and looked at him like a child aware that an offence had been committed but not knowing what. The Traveller clicked his tongue reproachfully and stood up. ‘I’ll do it for you,’ he said wearily. ‘You young folk, you’ve no idea.’
As he marched off Rachyl bit fiercely into the bone, teeth white and feral. She muttered under her breath. ‘I don’t know what to make of that little…’ She stopped and then wilted. ‘I think that’s me in my place,’ she whispered to Ibryen.
‘I think it’s both of us,’ Ibryen whispered in reply, coming to the aid of a beleaguered ally. ‘I’ve heard of rituals like that in primitive peoples, long ago, but…’
‘Primitive is as primitive does,’ the Traveller called back, making them both start guiltily. ‘Just because we’re alive and they’re dead doesn’t make us any wiser, you know. Still less, superior.’
Ibryen held up his hands in surrender. ‘Peace,’ he said. He was about to say, ‘It was only a rabbit,’ but quickly changed his mind. ‘Thank you for the gift and for the instruction. We’ll try to remember in future.’
The Traveller returned. ‘Just be aware, Count,’ he said, as he sat down again. ‘That way you won’t need to remember.’ As sometimes happened when the Traveller spoke, Ibryen felt meanings in his voice far beyond the apparent content of the words. There was no outward indication of anything of great significance having been intended however, and the Traveller was now beaming at Rachyl, his face glowing in the soft firelight. It forced a smile out of her.
Though the night promised to be cold, there was no sign of rain pending so Rachyl and Ibryen lay down in their blankets rather than pitch the small shelter they had brought. For a while there was some desultory conversation between them. It became more and more subdued and incoherent as they drifted off to sleep, until the only sound in the small camp was the Traveller humming softly to himself as he remained squatting on his haunches and staring into the fire.
Ibryen was overwhelmed with longing.
He screwed his eyes tight against the brightness.
Where was he?
His body felt different. It was alive with sensations that he had never known before. Yet, too, he had known them always. As the eyes gave sight and the ears sound, so subtle touches caressing him gave him another knowledge. A knowledge as familiar as sight and sound, and one that he needed…
For what?
Where was he? The question returned.
Wherever it was, there was no menace around him. He was at ease. But he could not see properly. After so long in the darkness, the brightness was pressing on his eyelids, allowing him only a blurred and streaked vision.
The air was cold and fresh and he could read every nuance in its movement – a myriad eddies twisting, turning, spinning, folding in and through one another – countless linking and shifting movements – all bound to a whole, yet free, like the shivering ridges and valleys of water in the bustling river.
He turned. The eddies turned and danced with him, unhindering and unhindered. He could make out little of the landscape though it seemed to be covered with snow. Yet it wasn’t, he knew. In the distance there were darker tints – the brightness made it difficult for him to differentiate individual colours, but he knew that it was the land beyond this place. Yet the perspective was strange. It was not the view of a landscape from a high, snowy peak.
His eyes began to adjust. As his vision was returning, bright coloured shapes began to drift into his flickering view. Hailing voices reached him, full of surprise and joy. He lifted his arm in greeting.
Such elation!
He had never expected to return here.
After so long.
He was home again!
The call was all about him, urging him forward.
Ibryen opened his eyes with a jolt.
Darkness filled them.
As he blinked, a redness slowly formed and the call began to fade. Gradually the redness brightened until eventually it was the small camp fire, sharp and clear, and the call was now faint and distant. By the dim light of the fire he could see the dark shape of Rachyl wrapped tight in her blankets, head submerged, and the still-crouching form of the Traveller. As if he had heard something, the Traveller turned towards him and, making a slight gesture of greeting with his hand, smiled.
Ibryen grunted by way of reply and the Traveller turned back to his reverie.
I must tell him about that in the morning, Ibryen thought, drowsily.
Ask him what it meant…
He’d know…
The soft hissing of the fire mingled with the murmuring of the leaves above and the lilting hum of the Traveller’s tune, to become the returning tide of the great ocean of sleep. Gently it lapped around Ibryen, lifted him, and carried him away.
His next awakening was less gentle, more in the nature of a shipwreck. It was Rachyl’s booted and prodding toe. ‘Come on, Cousin. Food to make, camp to break, and a journey to finish.’
Despite the unceremonious waking and the heartiness in Rachyl’s voice, Ibryen smiled. He felt refreshed. Not even as stiff as he might have anticipated, he realized, as he disentangled himself from his blankets. The morning cold struck through to him. Between the trees he could see faint hints of lingering ground mist. He glanced up at the sky.
‘Nearly sunrise?’ he asked.
Rachyl nodded, taking his blankets and shaking them vigorously. Dew sprayed white into the moist air.
‘Where’s the Traveller?’
‘Gone for some water.’
Ibryen looked at the commander of his camp a little guiltily. Tasks had been allocated while he slept. He passed a hand over the mound of grey ashes. It was very warm. ‘I’ll fetch some more wood. Get the fire going. Make some…’
‘He said to leave it,’ Rachyl told him, throwing the blankets over a rope slung between two branches. ‘You can fetch the water tomorrow.’
The Traveller returned before Ibryen could find an opportunity to feel too much remorse for his tardy start. He bent over the ashes, nose twitching, then he poked amongst them with a stick. ‘Here, try these,’ he said, flicking something out on to the grass and bouncing it quickly to Ibryen. It was a tuber. Ibryen caught it instinctively only to toss it hastily from one hand to the other. It was very hot. Another followed for Rachyl and finally the Traveller retrieved one for himself.
‘What is it?’ Ibryen asked, more rudely than he had intended.
‘Delicious,’ the Traveller replied, blowing on his and nibbling it gingerly. ‘Not as evenly cooked as I’d have liked, and a touch of salt and a herb or two wouldn’t go amiss, but, here and now – and in such company – delicious.’
Carefully emulating him, Rachyl and Ibryen were obliged to agree.
‘Did you remember to thank the trees?’ Rachyl said with heavy irony.
‘Of course,’ the Traveller replied, quite seriously. He looked up at her with wilful ingenuousness. ‘You know, I’d have sworn you’d have forgotten about it.’ He turned to Ibryen. ‘It’s nice to see young people paying heed, isn’t it?’
Ibryen however, was coping with too large a mouthful of hot root and, gaping alarmingly, was only able to gesticulate.
‘Be careful,’ the Traveller said needlessly.
‘Twice you’ve fed us now, Traveller,’ Ibryen said when he had recovered.
‘Not often I get a chance to look after people,’ the Traveller replied, a little self-consciously. ‘Especially people as hurt as you’ve been.’
Rachyl frowned. ‘We can forage for ourselves, if we have to,’ she said defensively.
‘Don’t know where to find these though, do you?’ The Traveller held up his half-eaten root and issued a challenging smile. Caught between the challenge and ingratitude, Rachyl became fretful. She looked to Ibryen, but he was drinking hastily from a canteen of water. The Traveller released her. ‘Indulge me,’ he said. ‘I’m enjoying your company much more than I thought I would, and I need to pull my weight. Besides, we might as well live off the land while we can. If we have to move upwards – and I suspect we will – we’re going to need our supplies.’
Ibryen, wiping his mouth, smiled as he watched his warrior cousin being defeated again. She was learning however, and counter-attacked immediately.
‘I’m sorry.’ she said. ‘It was a thoughtless remark. And you’re right, I’ve never seen tubers like these.’ She leaned forward and became massively courteous. ‘I’d be most grateful if you’d show me where they’re to be found.’
The Traveller inclined his head in acknowledgement, then, baring his teeth he bit slowly and deliberately into the root. ‘I’d be delighted,’ he said, with similar irony. ‘There are plenty of things I can show you as we go.’
They broke camp.
‘What did you hear in the night?’ Ibryen asked the Traveller as they moved off. The little man raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I saw you sitting by the fire when I woke once, and there’s no sign that you’ve slept anywhere,’ Ibryen explained. ‘I presumed you were glad of the quiet.’
The Traveller chuckled. ‘I can sleep standing up if I have to,’ he said. ‘But you’re right, I was listening.’ He moved closer to Ibryen. ‘Though it’s difficult with the river so near. I’m going to the limits and there are many strange things there which confuse and mislead. But it’s still there, though it’s growing weaker. It almost winked out at one point – just before you woke, as a matter of fact.’
The reminder brought some of Ibryen’s strange vision back to him. He recounted it. ‘Do you think it’s of any significance?’ he asked.
The Traveller was silent for a moment, then he shook his head. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said, but Ibryen sensed that he was disturbed by what he had just been told and was keeping his peace until he had had a chance to think about it fully.
They walked steadily on through the day, following the line of the river. For the most part, the forest floor was quite clear, the main obstacles they encountered being fast-moving streams dashing across the valley to join the river. A brisk breeze sprang up to shake the tops of the trees, but only spasmodic gusts of it reached down to blow amid the trunks and strike the walkers. It was as though someone, somewhere, opened a large door from time to time. Conversation too, was spasmodic; the walking being easier, the three were able to sink into their own preoccupations.
Despite all the discussion that had brought him to this point, Ibryen still found himself concerned about the rightness of what he was doing. His mood oscillated between absolute certainty and awful doubt, but it lingered at neither for long, and generally calmed down to leave him with just enough certainty to keep him moving forward, with the assurance that they would not be away from the village for long. Rachyl, for the most part more concerned about the known enemies behind them than what might lie ahead, played discreet rearguard, protecting the backs of her Commander and his guide. The Traveller was quiet, though occasionally he would become bubblingly loquacious. At one such time he showed his companions where to find the tubers he had served them that morning. At others he pointed out various herbs and fungi: what a shame, this would have gone splendidly with their rabbit; this one made a most refreshing drink infused with hot water; this one an excellent poultice; this with some of that and that would make a meal that a king couldn’t better. Most of the culinary references he levelled at Rachyl, to her annoyance. Finally, he plunged into the undergrowth to emerge with a drab green leaf. He squeezed it delicately between his thumb and forefinger and, before she realized what was happening, dabbed them behind Rachyl’s ears. ‘And this just perfumes the night.’ As her fist came up he held the leaf under her nose. It brought her retaliation to an immediate halt and she smiled. Taking the leaf gently she squeezed it as he had done and held her thumb and finger to her nose. Her smile broadened and, oblivious to her audience, she followed the Traveller’s example and touched the perfume behind her ears. Then, suddenly aware of the two men watching her, she hastily stuffed the leaf into a pocket and, clearing her throat, motioned the party forward with a scowl. Later, the Traveller dropped back to join her and with a conspiratorial wink, surreptitiously folded some of the leaves into her hand.
During the latter part of the day, without any spoken agreement, they began to edge away from the river, gradually moving to higher ground. Rachyl noted the change, but made no comment.
It was early evening and they were contemplating stopping for the night when they came to a great swathe cut through the forest. Splintered and uprooted trees were scattered about as if they had been so much kindling and, here and there, boulders were visible. Somewhere underneath it all, a noisy stream could be heard. Though burgeoning spring foliage, long grasses, and creepers were seeking to repair the hurt, the cause of the damage was quite apparent.
‘More of Marris’s dust blowing in the wind,’ Ibryen said as he surveyed the scene.
‘Only a few years ago too,’ the Traveller remarked.
Rachyl looked at it sourly. ‘What a mess. It’s going to be awkward to cross, to put it mildly.’
Ibryen nodded absently. He was looking around and frowning. Suddenly he stopped and pointed up towards the peak that lay at the head of the damage. It looked ominous against the darkening sky.
‘That way,’ he said.