Keys of Awakening
Out of the Furnace

Tarmel came up to walk alongside her.

“I thought you had told me all of your secrets …” he said quietly, his tone neutral but a little distant.

“I have. I told you everything there was to tell; this was something else, something new.”

He shook his head in resignation.

“Then I suppose I had better get used to the fact that you are probably never going to stop surprising me or frightening me to death.”

Illiom gave him a weak smile.

“It is not over yet.”

A group of young warriors circled around them, keeping a respectful distance from Illiom. One young man indicated with a gesture that she should follow them.

“You have earned their respect,” Tarmel noted. Illiom did not respond.

Malco, walking next to Tarmel, saw fit to add to the Rider’s observation.

“She has earned mine as well! I have not the slightest idea what happened back there - I do not think I even want to know – but whatever it was that you did, it was masterful. I have never seen anyone fight like that!”

Illiom glanced at her fellow Chosen.

“I was not fighting him, just avoiding his blows.”

It was not me, she wanted to say, for she knew it to be true; but she remained quiet instead. She did not fully understand what had happened, so how could she explain it to another?

They had reached a poled fence that encircled a small space near the outer edge of the village. One of the men opened a section of the wall and then stepped aside. Illiom peered within but it was too dark to see anything.

“They all here, they all alive.” Mara translated for the young Virupa warrior who spoke somewhat defensively.

Something was wrong.

One Virupa pushed past, carrying a crude ladder, while others shone their torches into the pit. Illiom now saw movement below; light reflected off several pairs of anxious eyes.

Thanks be to Sudra and Iod!

“Azulya!” Illiom called out. “Just a moment and we will pull you all out … stand clear, we are lowering a ladder.”

“Illiom?” a hoarse voice spoke her name. She did not recognise it, had no idea who it belonged to. Other voices echoed with incredulity and relief.

Outside the enclosure the Virupa leader continued to speak to Mara; his tone seemed filled with regret and even fear.

Illiom’s concern and focus was upon her friends; there was no room for anything else.

The ladder was eased over the edge and lowered into the pit. One by one, the prisoners began to climb out. As each emerged Illiom touched them, reassuring herself, comforting them and delivering them into the hands of those who waited outside the prison pit.

They looked worse for wear: bedraggled, covered in half-dried mud, and exhausted. In their midst there were two whom Illiom had completely forgotten about: Shrian Olum and the lone surviving carriage driver.

The Scholar began to talk the moment she saw Illiom, but the Chosen shook her head.

“Not now, Shrian. We will talk later,” she said, softly but firmly.

Next out of the pit was Undina. When the Pelonui girl stepped from the ladder, she wrapped her arms around Illiom and laid a cheek against her chest for a moment. Illiom held her before easing her into the hands of her companions.

A few were injured. Mist used only one hand to pull himself up, his other arm hanging in a sling improvised from the remains of his shirt. Regardless, he used his good arm to help Elan climb the ladder and, once she was out of the pit, he positioned himself by her side. Pell had blood plastered down the right side of his head and all along his shoulder.

Argolan, the last to leave the pit, struggled to climb the ladder. Illiom pulled her out and then followed her as she limped away from the enclosure. Only then did she realise that the Shieldarm’s left trouser leg was not caked in mud as she had first thought, but was stiff with dry blood.

Outside, the Virupa warriors had retreated into the shadows to make room for a small army of women who now closed in on the former captives. The women beckoned them with gestures and led the group to another hut, the biggest Illiom had seen so far anywhere in the village. A number of fires burned around it, illumining all the surrounding space with a bright, flickering glow.

The women coaxed them, with signs and reassuring sounds, towards an entrance. When the flaps were parted, a cloud of steam billowed out and straight up into the cool evening air.

“What is this?” Scald frowned.

Illiom looked around for Mara, but the Shimina woman was nowhere to be seen. The Virupa women crooned and beckoned and smiled reassuringly. One rubbed her limbs with long, stroking gestures.

“I think that they intend to bathe us,” Scald summed up. “And if that steam is anything to go by, hot water is in the offering.”

Illiom waited until all the others were inside before joining them. She stepped into the hut and was enveloped in steamy darkness. The only light came from what seeped past the hides, from the fires outside. The steam was so thick that visibility was reduced to whatever was within arm’s reach.

A Virupa girl materialised before her. Smiling shyly, she took Illiom by the hand and led her towards a large wooden tub of water where she gently began to remove Illiom’s clothes.

Illiom was captivated by the girl’s face as she worked. The soft pale down that surrounded her large brown eyes, and spread to cover her cheeks and forehead, was so inviting that Illiom felt a strong urge to reach out and stroke it. She did not, of course, but it took an effort of will.

The girl caught her look and her smile deepened. Even her small fangs looked harmless and dainty in such a sweet face. Using a sea sponge, she bathed Illiom with long, slow strokes, and as the smell of herbs and resin wafted around her, Illiom began to feel all tension ease from her body.

A wave of cool air caused her to open her eyes momentarily. She saw a glow moving through the haze towards them. A young Virupa man was using a pair of antlers to carry an incandescent rock. The stone shone like a fragment of Iod himself. Without a glance in their direction, the lad dropped the stone into the tub where it vanished in a frenzy of hissing and bubbling and a cloud of dense steam.

After a time, the girl draped a pelt around Illiom’s shoulders and beckoned her to follow her outside where a group of women were busy washing their clothes in wooden tubs and then spreading them around the fires to dry.

Here, the injured were also being tended to. Illiom watched a pair of women as they applied what appeared to be sap to the side of Pell’s head and then covered it with layers of large leaves. A headband of woven reeds was then eased over his head to hold the medicine in place. Illiom saw Azulya nearby, avidly studying the application of medicine to Mist’s arm.

The women tending them seemed discomfited by the Kroeni’s presence. The reason for this became apparent the moment Illiom saw Azulya’s face waver between her true appearance and that of Kassargan.

“What happened to your disguise?” she asked.

Azulya shrugged.

“I lost the moss during the clash with the Legion,” she said. “It is probably still in the carriage’s wreck. Maybe if I had had it with me none of this would have gone so badly.”

“What do you mean?”

Azulya shook her head, her eyes blazing with opal fire.

“When they brought us back to their village they bore some of the slain Legion women with them ...” she said, and then her voice fell silent.

Illiom had never seen the Kroeni so hesitant.

“They butchered those dead women, Illiom.”

Azulya held her eyes as she continued her recounting.

“They held a feast that very night and that was when the problems started. They offered us some of the women’s flesh to eat and when we declined, they took it to heart. They became insistent but there was no way any of us would eat human flesh. There were arguments, some of the warriors were angry, and of course we understood nothing of what was being said. When we retired for the night they surrounded our huts with armed warriors and we heard them arguing deep into the night …”

Azulya took a deep breath.

“My appearance began wavering the next morning. Somehow, that tipped the scales and next thing we knew they threw us into that pit. I am so glad you came when you did, or else we too might have ended up becoming a source of sustenance …”

Illiom stared at Azulya in horror.

She glanced around at the Virupa women. The one who had bathed her caught her look and smiled back openly. Suddenly her prominent canines no longer seemed quite so dainty. Illiom had to avert her eyes from the cannibal’s innocent gaze.

“They decided you were not human,” Scald, who had been standing nearby listening, now said.

Azulya looked up at the Chosen sharply, questions burning in her eyes.

“Sharing food is how these folk distinguish between humans and demons. If you do not eat their food, it is proof to them that you are an evil spirit, come here to do harm …”

The entire circle had become silent. Everyone was listening to his explanation.

Sereth started to laugh quietly.

“Our reluctance to turn to cannibalism marked us as evil spirits? My great-grandchildren are going to love this tale …”

“We need to tell them!” Elan interjected. “We need to explain that this was a misunderstanding or else they might still try to dispose of us.”

“I do not believe that will be a problem now that Illiom has bested their champion …” Malco commented.

Azulya frowned in confusion. “Champion?”

This prompted Malco to recount Illiom’s confrontation with the Virupa warrior.

Azulya nodded.

“I still believe the best way to pacify the Virupa is for us to eat with them …”

“I will not eat human flesh, not for any reason!” Sereth interrupted. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Nor I!” Azulya exclaimed. “That is not what I meant.”

“I am sure there are other things we can eat …” Illiom said, looking around, seeking Tarmel.

“Have you seen Mara?” she asked her rider once she had found him.

He shook his head.

“I saw her talking with the chief,” Grifor said.

“I can go and look for her, if you like,” Tarmel offered.

Illiom nodded.

“Yes ... I will come with you.”

“So please explain to me how you avoided getting yourself killed,” Tarmel urged as soon as they were on their way, heading towards the assembly place. “I am still getting flashes of you dying a score of deaths at the hands of that warrior, and yet here you are ... having deflected each and every one of his blows …”

Illiom cringed at his recriminating tone. She understood that, to him, it really was as though he had seen her die, and the vision still haunted him. What could she say to ease him?

“It was not like I deflected anything,” she found herself saying. “It was not me, Tarmel. I am starting to think that it has something to do with the Key ...” She hesitated for a moment before amending what she had just said. “… with my Key. Something started happening to me when we first arrived in this village, and by the time that confrontation had begun, it was so strong that I really had no choice but to let it happen.”

Illiom glanced at Tarmel and shrugged.

“You once told me something about your Madon, that it was concerned with only one thing ... the present moment. Well, whatever the Key did, it allowed me to see that moment and nothing else. It was absolutely exhilarating! There was nothing to distract me - neither fear nor hope; all that existed in that moment was what was happening, nothing more and nothing less. I cannot explain it better than this, but somehow that complete focus brought about something I have not experienced before.”

Illiom caught Tarmel by the arm, bringing them both to a stop.

“It was as if all of eternity was contained in that moment. Avoiding the man’s attacks became easy and effortless … like child’s play ...”

Tarmel nodded.

“Do you feel you can now do this at will?” he asked after a moment.

She shook her head with a touch of regret.

“That would be nice … but no, I do not think so. I have no idea how or even why it started. It just came upon me from one moment to the next, but now …” Illiom shrugged helplessly. “Now it is completely gone, almost as if the whole thing was nothing but a dream.”

When they reached the place where the tribe was gathered, the Virupa parted before Illiom as if she was some sort of fearsome Goddess who had chosen to walk amongst them.

They found Mara, deep in conversation with a group of Virupa women. When she saw Illiom and Tarmel approach, she rose quickly to her feet and came to meet them.

“You well do,” she intoned. “Too well! Virupa now you fear. This not good. Virupa not fear like.”

Illiom wasted no time. She explained to Mara about the possible misunderstanding around the consumption of food, and the Shimina woman’s eyes lit up at the account.

“This good!” she exclaimed. “Tribe soon eat. Eeliom friends here come and with tribe eat! Virupa they show not demons be.”

“That depends on what they are eating,” Tarmel countered. “Our Gods do not allow us to eat people.”

Mara sang a question to a nearby warrior.

“Food not people is,” she reassured them with a smile. “All food from forest come: meat, yams, fruit. All forest food be.”

She looked at them pensively for a moment.

“Shimina also not people eat,” she saw fit to add with a shudder of revulsion.

The leader of the Virupa himself came towards them as the entire party of Albradani approached. The warrior she had bested earlier stood beside him and Illiom studied the man closely but saw no signs of resentment or aggression. So, either the man was adept at hiding his real feelings, or he was no longer antagonistic. Somehow, Illiom felt the latter to be true.

The leader greeted them and then the warrior approached and bowed to Illiom, as if she was his peer. She bowed in response.

Seemingly pleased by this development, the leader nodded and beckoned them to follow him. Turning, he cut a swathe through the crowd until they reached the empty central hub of the village.

A dozen men stood waiting and at a gesture from the leader they moved into action. Picking up wooden spades, they began to dig into the earth at the centre of the clearing. They did so with a great degree of care.

Very soon a layer of woven reeds was uncovered. Moving with even greater care now, they removed layer after layer until steam rose from the pit, accompanied by the glorious aroma of cooked food.

Finally, the men uncovered a pile of reed baskets that they pulled out and passed around.

“Why do they cook food in the earth?” Illiom asked Tarmel.

“It is effective,” he informed her. “They heat stones in a fire until they are red hot, and then place these at the bottom of a pit. They then cover the stones with bark and leaves, and then the food baskets are placed in the pit and everything is covered with mats to stop earth getting into the food. Finally the earth is replaced, thereby sealing the heat in ... and the food cooks.”

Illiom frowned at her Rider.

“How do you know all this?”

“The Danee of Middle Plains also use earth ovens, very much like this one.”

Soon Illiom found herself holding her own basket. When they each held one, she became aware of the blanket of silence that had descended upon the entire village. The Virupa stood around them, watching, frozen in place.

Illiom looked at Mara. The Shimina said nothing but brought her fingers up to her lips in a universal sign that could not be misconstrued.

Eat.

With the eyes of the entire clan upon them and the air tense with silent anticipation, they opened their baskets, exposing the portions of meat and vegetables they contained.

Illiom brought a morsel to her lips tentatively. After her first taste, she gave no more heed to protocol: she could no longer contain herself, and fell upon the food like a wolf.

The bubble of tension that had kept the mainlanders separate from the Virupa immediately burst.

Laughter and cries of joy erupted all around as the rest of the tribe filed past to claim their own baskets. Their hosts smiled now and nodded with approval at their guests’ enjoyment of the food.

While they ate, a large pile of wood nearby was set alight, and as the fire grew and lit up the faces of all those present, the Virupa leader spoke to the gathering.

Mara translated.

“Ku’tanak, chief of Virupa, to Tch’nkat you welcome. We bad start, but now good. Now you us honour, our food eat. Now we you honour. We not spirit demon in you see, our women and children you not come to steal.”

The chief grinned at them, baring his fangs.

Illiom thought she might never get entirely used to those smiles. She was fascinated that the Virupa should be worried about them being demons when they looked so much like demons to her, with their blood-red eyes and ferocious-looking teeth.

“When Virupa food eat, you and Virupa like one!” the chief informed them, and illustrated his words by clasping his hands together. “You to Tch’nkat always welcome. To Virupa lands always welcome. Even blue shape-changer, powerful witch, she too, welcome.”

Illiom glanced at Azulya, and even as she did so the Kroeni woman’s appearance wavered. No wonder the Virupa had believed them to be demons.

“Great warrior, Eeliom, also welcome. No warrior ever like she fight. Like smoke, like steam fight. No harm do …”

He seemed puzzled by this, by the fact that Illiom had not wounded the warrior she had fought, even though she had obviously bested him.

A very old man, his pelt all grey and white with age, stood up slowly and intoned a song, which Mara translated.

“He say you now brothers and sisters of Virupa be. You in Tch’nkat sleep, honoured guests be. But still strange to me you look ... two hands not four, no long tooth, no tail. Strange, but not ugly-strange. Your women, they pretty to Chulultt look … maybe later we do trade, yes?”

This brought about an eruption of laughter from the crowd around them.

Illiom could not tell if the man was serious or mocking, until a woman’s voice rose from the crowd. Mara translated.

“Chulultt, if you tail-less one marry, then we you trade for new man too, one with good, strong back.”

The old man laughed with the others, pointing in the woman’s direction in mock outrage, eyes bulging with hilarity.

Illiom did not know what to make of the banter. It was as though whatever had dictated the earlier ill feeling of the Virupa had now lifted. Those who had been held captive, however, were still wary.

The laughter and jests continued, seamlessly moving from one person to another, until it became as incessant as the waves of the sea, mounting and dipping, rising and falling, but never abating completely. It quickly moved beyond Mara’s ability or inclination to translate.

Sereth alone seemed to have forgotten their previous predicament. Even in the absence of translation, he responded to the antics of the Virupa and their disarming mirth, laughing with them through a blur of tears. It was Sereth’s laughter that eventually brought a grin to Illiom’s face. It was contagious, and spread among the Chosen and Riders alike.

Eventually, when her jaw began to ache, Illiom moved away from the fire and found a quiet place to sit, near the fringe of the gathering. From there she continued to look on as the evening unfolded.

Azulya came to sit beside her on the log that she had claimed. The men continued to keep the great fire burning strong, and the two women sat quietly watching those gathered around it.

“I would like to hear what happened to you,” Illiom broke the silence, “after we became separated.”

Azulya turned to look at her but her expression was distant, and she turned her gaze back to the gathering. She had not answered the question and Illiom began to wonder if she had even heard it.

“I feel like I am still recovering,” she said at length. “Things did not look very promising there for a while …”

Azulya fell silent again, so Illiom prompted her.

“What happened? We lost sight of you when the Legion cut us off. We knew your carriages had made it across the bridge, but ours did not. The Legion soldiers split into two groups. One group went after you while the other came down the road towards us ...”

Azulya released a heavy sigh and nodded, before relating her story.

“At the time, we had no way of knowing what was happening behind us. We pieced this together later.

“When we crossed the bridge, the road deteriorated rapidly and soon became no more than a rough track, forcing us to slow down. The Legion, with their lighter chariots, closed in on us. They killed the driver of the second carriage. I was in the first and it came to grief soon after, toppling onto its side. After that, the Legion warriors swarmed around us before I had a chance to get out …”

Azulya paused for a moment, then continued.

“It would have ended there and then, and badly, had the Virupa not chosen that very moment to intervene. I was just crawling out through the carriage window when they came …”

Her eyes burned as fiercely as the fire she gazed into.

“They came like demons, Illiom; flying out of the green with their fangs bared and bone knives flashing. The Legion did not stand a chance.”

Azulya looked into Illiom’s eyes then, and took a breath.

“Within moments every single Legion soldier was dead.”

She shook her head.

“Argolan, bless her, saved us from a similar fate. She ordered the Riders to drop their weapons, and just as well, because there were at least thirty of them and only nine of us … well, actually, more like only four of us who could put up any kind of a fight. Anyway, it became obvious that the Virupa were not sure what to do with us. They must have seen that the Legion was intent on murdering us, and when they saw that we in turn had no intention of fighting with them, they rounded us up and marched us into the forest and back to this village … you know the rest.”

Illiom nodded thoughtfully. The whole tale seemed full of irony to her: so much danger, so many twists and turns and yet here they were, together once again and, in the end, not much worse for wear.

“But do tell me about what happened to you,” Azulya now insisted. “What happened after we became separated?”

Illiom shook her head and, heaving a sigh, proceeded to tell her story: how she had leapt into the stream to avoid death, how she lost consciousness and nearly drowned; of her rescue at the hands of the Shimina, and finally of the ordeal of being borne across the forest by the two warriors.

Azulya listened carefully to every detail of Illiom’s meeting with the Clan Mothers and of their claim to have seen her in their dreaming. Illiom hesitated when she reached the part about her own prophetic dream of fighting the Virupa warrior. In the end, she groped for the only explanation that made any sense to her.

“I think it is my Key … it seems to be having an effect on me …” With these words, Illiom proceeded to relate in detail the whole incident. When she had finished, Azulya stared at her silently for a span then, slowly, the Kroeni began to nod.

“I too have been thinking along similar lines for a while now,” Azulya admitted.

As Illiom watched, her face turned blue momentarily. She waited for Azulya to say more.

“When the Roonhian’ka adopted me into the tribe, the grandmothers gave me this stone.”

Azulya pulled at a chain around her neck. A lustrous dark green stone hung from it.

“It comes from the Whiteglass Valley in southern Albradan, an area held sacred by the tribals as the only place where this kind of stone can be found. In any case, I have no doubt that this is a stone of power. Soon after receiving it, I began to notice that at times it would grow inexplicably warm against my skin. Well, over the years I reached the conclusion that the stone warms when it is in the presence of deceit …”

Illiom’s gaze was fixed on Azulya’s stone.

“What do you mean?”

The Kroeni gave a little shake of her head and momentarily wavered between Kassargan and her own visage.

“It took me quite some time to puzzle it out, but eventually I came to believe that the stone grew hot when I was being lied to. It became particularly useful whenever any traders visited the Roonhian’ka. After a while no one in the tribe would trade with them at all unless I was present, and the traders, well, they soon came to despise me!”

Azulya laughed.

“Anyway, the point I am trying to make is that things have changed dramatically since Draca Menalor gave me the Key of Union. The stone’s heat has become quick and strong. I no longer wear it directly against my skin because at times it becomes so hot that it actually burns. It is not terribly useful in large gatherings, such as this or even at the Triune, for I have no way of isolating the liar or the lie. Yet now, even in a group, I can sometimes sense who the stone is singling out.”

Illiom’s eyes grew wide as she listened.

“This is fantastic, Azulya, what a boon! A great gift that can truly serve us on this journey …”

The Kroeni nodded, though her brow still bore a frown.

“I agree, and I believe that the Key is responsible for intensifying the stone’s power. But there is something else that concerns me now. It has to do with the seven of us …”

She looked to where the rest of their own group sat, with Mara and the Virupa elders, at the far side of the fire.

“We still have no idea why we were Chosen. Our role, according to both Menalor and the Prophecy, is simply that of finding these ancient beings who were indirectly instrumental in bringing about the first Devastation, and offering them the opportunity to prevent another such event. Our advantage seems to be that we have no power, as such; for if we did, this would mark us out to the Bloodrobes, and bring about our immediate demise.”

Azulya paused and looked down at her hands.

“And yet I believe that power is now beginning to stir within us.”

She looked up at Illiom as she spoke these words.

“I fear that we are too meek, Illiom. We are so accustomed to hiding our differences that we fear to show ourselves, even to each other …”

Illiom’s heart beat faster as she listened to Azulya. She wanted so much to speak of all the things that she had shared only with Tarmel, but the Firebrand’s cautioning words held her back.

She touched Azulya’s wrist lightly.

“We will speak of this some more, but the time is not yet,” she whispered. “The Awakened advised against it ...”

Azulya looked at her with sudden, sharp interest.

Illiom nodded.

“Soon,” she added, “when all the Chosen hold a Key.”

Eventually the laughter around the fire subsided and conversations were reduced to occasional quiet exchanges. Many Virupa had already retired to their individual huts for the night, and the great fire itself was reduced to little more than a glowing mound of embers.

Azulya and Illiom rejoined their companions.

“Good, now we are all here,” Argolan said. “We have been discussing our next move, and are of one mind that we should leave here as soon as we are able, to make our way towards Cevaram. What say you?”

Azulya agreed without hesitation.

“We still need to find two more Keys; we should do whatever we must to gain them, and swiftly,” she said.

“Mara, how far are we from the Th’ekera city?” Argolan asked the Shimina translator.

“For Qwa’kol, one day. For you, maybe four or five day ...”

This elicited a few groans.

“Suddenly I feel quite exhausted again,” Scald said.

He lay down and stared up at the darkness for a moment before closing his eyes.

“Mist,” Argolan said. “How is your arm?”

“It is mending,” the Rider said, with an indifferent shrug. “No need to slow down on my account.”

Azulya turned to the Shieldarm.

“More to the point, how is your leg?”

“Much better. Whatever the Virupa used to dress it with is speeding its healing. So do we really need to vote on this?”

Argolan’s tone was tense, as if her patience had been stretched to the limit.

“No,” Illiom found herself saying. “I know we are all tired; the last seven days have been … what am I saying? The last two moons have been the most eventful of my entire life. But we cannot allow ourselves to collapse now, and this place in particular is not one where I wish to stay a moment longer than necessary. I say we move on in the morning.”

Scald contributed a long groan in response, but no one voiced an actual protest.

Argolan nodded slowly.

“Very well, Mara, can you talk to the Virupa and see if they can be of some assistance?”

“That would be very helpful,” Azulya agreed, “because right now we do not even know where we are.”

“Even pointing us in the general direction of the capital would be a help,” Malco added.

“I am sure we can do better than that,” Argolan said, looking pointedly at Illiom. “Especially if you are present when Mara speaks to them; I think you have earned us some influence with these people.”

Illiom smiled.

“In the morning, then?”

“First thing,” Argolan confirmed.

When Illiom awoke, she found the village astir with activity. Iod had already risen and the God’s rays slanted across a cloud of smoke issuing from dozens of small fires.

“Ah, she stirs,” Tarmel spoke from behind her. “Here, try this.”

She turned to find her Rider squatting beside her bed, holding a steaming wooden bowl of ... something ... in his hands.

She took it from him, sniffed at it dubiously, and then took a tentative sip. Her eyes widened as her face lit up.

“Hmm, this is good. What is it?”

“Something unpronounceable,” he replied with a light shrug.

Illiom smiled and took another sip. She looked about at the heightened activity stirring the village.

“Is something happening?”

“Everything is happening! Argolan has already spoken with the chief ... she did try to rouse you but, when you told her to go away and leave you alone, she decided to let you rest a little longer …”

“I did not say that! I would not …”

“You did, I heard you myself,” Tarmel grinned. “Anyway, your clout was not required after all. The chief has agreed to help, though he was greatly disappointed that we are leaving so soon. They do not get many visitors, it seems.”

“Have you suggested that they might have more visitors if they stop eating them?”

Tarmel raised an eyebrow at her.

“Anyway, we will leave just as soon as we are all ready. There will be a farewell ceremony of course …”

Illiom looked at him sharply.

“I hope you are joking!”

Tarmel looked up at the trees then returned his gaze to her.

“I wish I was, but … it is tradition, and tradition must be adhered to, it seems.”

Illiom drained the bowl of dark liquid and put the empty container down with regret. The time for action was upon them once more.

Much to Illiom’s relief the parting ceremony did not last nearly as long as the welcoming one; but it still extended long enough for Iod to be higher in the sky than they would have liked, before they were able to leave.

One great boon was that the Virupa had given them several horses, survivors from the clash with the Legion. The Qwa’kol had no need for horses and Illiom suspected that the ones left behind would most likely end up in the village stew. The Virupa had offered them even more mounts; one for each in their party, but being without saddles meant that only the Riders could make use of them.

They had conceived a plan but it was one fraught with supposition. They would make their way back to where Azulya’s carriage had met with grief, and see if the second carriage was still in a usable condition. If not, then the journey ahead would be significantly longer.

The Virupa chief insisted that they have an escort, at least until they saw their way clear of the forest. If nothing else, the Virupa could act as lookouts in case they came too close to a Mudaral - which was one encounter they could definitely do without.

It took the better part of the day to reach their objective and Illiom was relieved when they finally did. For here, fortune smiled upon them, and they found the scene more or less as Azulya and her companions had left it. A number of squat, grey-furred creatures, with white ears and small eyes, snarled viciously as they approached. Their muzzles were drenched in dark red and the scene that met them reminded Illiom of a butcher’s workbench. Flies swarmed in the air and the stench of death made her gag.

Tarmel, holding his forearm across his mouth, walked through the battlefield, chasing the creatures away. The two carriages, the wrecked and the hale, were just as they had been abandoned, indicating that no one else had come to investigate.

The Riders put their backs into salvaging whatever they could from the damaged carriage and loading it all into the other. Azulya rummaged through the contents until she emerged triumphantly, holding a satchel in her hand.

“The Arukala!” she announced, holding it aloft. “I do not have to be a witch anymore!”

The Riders turned the carriage around before hitching four of the horses to it. They wasted no time, and as soon as everything was ready they set out, Argolan and Grifor riding ahead in the lead, while Mist and Tarmel took up the rear on their mounts. Pell sat on the carriage alongside the surviving driver, and Angar walked with Shrian and the Chosen behind. In this formation, they moved back towards the bridge, invisibly flanked by the Virupa on either side of the road.

When the light began to fail, they stopped to set up camp. Not wanting to attract undue attention, they lit no fires, eating the cold meat the Virupa had gifted them. Some had retrieved their bedrolls from the carriages, but Illiom’s group had to sleep rough on the damp ground.

“At least it is not raining,” Illiom commented, as they prepared to lie down on a makeshift bed of leaves. But whatever gratitude she had felt at the absence of rain was soon eroded by the cold discomfort that prevented her from sleeping.

She tossed and turned, huddling up into a ball, wriggling to dislodge a countless number of objects that were digging into her.

A hand on her shoulder made her look up.

“Chosen and Rider,” Tarmel whispered. “Do not misconstrue this, Illiom, it is just a practicality.”

She could not make out his expression in the near total darkness. She was about to ask what he meant when she felt him snuggle up to her, the length of his body nestling against her back, his arm draped around her waist.

She seemed not to notice any more twigs or stones digging into her after that. Soon his body heat warmed her and she fell asleep.

When Illiom opened her eyes, her forehead was pressed against the stubble of his cheek. She lifted her head slightly and looked straight into his open eyes.

She felt his breath upon her face and knew that he was also savouring their closeness. The moment felt so intimate that she could not recall whether they had kissed or not.

The forest around them was a riot of sound. Neither spoke nor smiled. They just gazed into one another’s eyes until they felt others stirring around them.

They rose then and it was not long before they resumed their journey.

It was still morning when they reached the bridge where the Legion had intercepted them. They found no sign of the carriage Illiom had been in, as they had hoped to. There were many tracks on the road itself: signs of a recent skirmish, of blood spilt and a mess of footprints, but no corpses, no weapons, and no carriage.

Even so, Illiom made her way back to the spot where she had jumped into the stream.

“What are you doing?” Tarmel asked her.

Preoccupied, heart hammering in her chest, she did not answer. Instead, when she reached the spot where they had abandoned the carriage, she stepped off the road and wandered to and fro between the road and the stream, stifling her apprehension as best she could.

Tarmel’s voice reached her from the road.

“Illiom, what are you doing?”

Oh Sudra, please. Let it be here!

She parted brush and reeds, and coarse bushes with wicked little hooks that snagged her clothes and tore at her skin.

Sliding suddenly, she lost her footing and nearly fell into the stream again. She clasped a tree branch to steady herself, and looked around breathlessly.

There, leaning against a tree trunk as if she had only just put it down: her quiver. The bow lay half-hidden in the foliage nearby.

“Found them!” she called out.

She climbed back up to the road, triumphant, and held up her bow for all to see. The relief that flooded through her was unspeakable. It was as though all of her powers were somehow connected to the Altran weapon and its arrows.

Tarmel nodded, smiling.

“A good thing,” he said. “That bow has paid for itself many times over. It would have been a shame to lose it.”

They set off once more.

They made slightly better progress now that they were back on a decent road. Of course, they could only proceed at a walking pace, but having stowed all of their belongings inside the carriage meant that they were unencumbered.

Illiom strode alongside Azulya. Having already consumed a portion of Arukala, her appearance was once more stable as Kassargan.

The road climbed steadily, constantly meandering but always climbing, taking them higher into the mountains. The forest became increasingly sparse. The trees lost their height, and the lush undergrowth began to give way to a dry and exposed land, one where light and wind played a more significant role.

Here the Virupa, whom Illiom had all but forgotten about, made their presence known once more. Mara and one of the warriors stepped out of the foliage, to stand at the road’s edge.

Argolan reined in.

“He say no further come,” Mara explained. “This land not Qwa’kol be. Belong to place Slave Waters called. You continue. We back go.”

“What about you, Mara?” Illiom asked as she approached the translator. “What will you do?”

“I home go,” she said simply. “Good journey been, yes?”

Scald answered her.

“Yes it was, Mara. And it would not have been at all good without you.”

Illiom hugged the Shimina woman, who responded warmly.

Then all the Virupa let loose a chorus of whoops and howls.

Illiom watched as the leader of the group vanished into the trees and Mara followed him. When the whooping stopped and the forest returned to its normal sounds, it was as if the Qwa’kol had been nothing more than a strange dream.

“Slave Waters?” Argolan asked, turning to Shrian. “Do you know of this place?”

The scholar did not.

“We should have asked her before we let her go,” Malco grumbled.

They resumed their march.

The road continued to rise, but soon enough the climb came to an end and, as the road eventually levelled out, the sky seemed to grow and expand over them, rewarding them with a clear, uninterrupted view of the terrain ahead. The road wove away into the distance, following the lay of the ridge closely but never dropping more than a dozen spans in altitude.

However, farther along the ridge in the distance, the road was completely blocked by a large encampment of warriors.

The Legion was there, waiting for them in force.

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