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Chapter 3

A thick gray mist filled the Dell, coiling about the trees and grass, sagging the flowers with moisture. Occasionally a muffled bird call could be heard through the steady drip off the branches.

Mornmeal was a quick affair. The sprytes huddled together in their clammy tunics, some wishing they could use fire magic to warm themselves, others thinking of cozy bowers and thick coverlets. Anything to hide from the skin-chilling damp. Danai nudged Elanoria, and nodded at the cluster of Mentors off to the side in deep discussion. After a short while, they broke apart. A reed pipe summoned the sprytes into the Mentors’ Circle.

“Sprytes, sit.” Mentor Armerion ignored the mutters of protest as they sat on the wet moss, waiting for silence. Danai glanced around, expecting the Dolmen to appear, but the Mentor continued. “This morn begins the Sojourn of Truth. Ye will be placed in different groups, each given a journey rucksack. Ye are to seek the Truthing Well, from which you may petition but one question. Ask naught that be frivolous, lest ye waste your quest. The Well is wise in the ways of foolish young sprytes, and can as easily disregard thy presence as acknowledge it. Questions?”

Kerion stood. “Mentor, since we are all headed for the same spot, why break us up? Wouldn’t it be safer and easier?”

A shadow of a smile softened Armerion’s fissured olive face. “Yes. But ye are not all starting from the same place.”

The sprytes glanced at each other. Kerion rolled his golden eyes as he sat down. Another elusive answer. He should have known better than to ask, he thought, but sometimes they were given useful replies. This was not to be one of those times.

“Listen well. Seek ye out Pyre Tor, a twisted stone peak crouched at the southern feet of the Rymple Mountains, northwest of the Wynndowns. It is crowned by the setting sun’s fire last of all the western peaks. At the Tor’s footstone shall ye find the Truthing Well. For proof of thy Journey, each group shall bring back a trefoil, the likes of which is only found there. A safe Search to ye all.”

Moments later, Danai rose stiffly as Armerion called her name. Search for a Truthing Well. It sounded like an interesting Rite. Certainly nothing to be afraid of. She wondered as to Pyre Tor’s actual whereabouts. Her bird journeys had never passed any such peak that she could recall.

Three others were bundled in her group—Tatia, Aaron, and Joson. She was relieved that at least one was a friend. Aaron carried his usual lopsided grin, and cocked an eyebrow at her. Danai noticed Tatia’s lush smile as she approached. Oh, by the Mother! This could be a long journey with those two.

“Fetch thy dirqs and a rucksack from those on the trestles,” Armerion called to the groups.

Danai hurried over to her rest spot, nearly bumping into Rhytha. “Weapons! Danai, do you have the feeling this is not going to be a lark in the meadows?”

Thong belts had been given to each spryte at the end of the dirq-crafting, and Danai girded on the birch bark sheath she had made for her dirq. The papery bark released a fine white powder onto her hands as she slid the sheath loop along the belt, and then secured her weapon.

The dark green rucksacks were surprisingly light. Quick inspection revealed a kuis—a hollowed acorn shell filled with water and plugged with beeswax—and six miyacan balls—a standard journey food of dried honeycomb, nuts, seeds, and fruits pounded into a dense paste. Nothing else.

“Doesn’t look like they expect us to be gone too long,” remarked Aaron, shouldering the ruck. “I hope not,” grumped Joson. “That’s not going to last me more than a day or two.”

Danai chuckled, adjusting the carry strap. “Well, it’s one way to get you to lose weight.”

“Me? Need to lose weight? I’m already a wraith!”

Armerion signaled their group, his sodden cloak clinging to him like brown moss. “Follow me in silence.”

As they headed out, Danai observed the other groups being escorted by their Mentors towards all points of the Dell. In moments, every figure had been swathed in gray, and her world shrank to five silent forms and the plop of dripping fog. She shivered and fell last in line behind Tatia.

Any sense of direction soon dissipated. A bone-white birch trunk veined in black emerged from the gray, then retreated. Dripping underbrush continuously soaked their tunics. The only sound was the faint squelching of their feet in the forest floor’s duff. They trudged behind the Mentor, heads down, watching the feet in front of them, wrapped in their thoughts.

At some point, Danai noticed her leg muscles tightening, and realized they had started uphill. But which? The Great Dell was centered in a large bowl shaped valley, and in this fog, they could have headed off in any direction. She realized she had never paid much attention to the surrounding landmarks. Now would probably be a good time to start. Except for this dratted fog! Coarse gray stone, blotched with lichen, began to interrupt the soil. The climb steepened. She began to pant, hearing an echo among her fellows.

She glanced up. It seemed lighter ahead. Then, with a cry, Joson lost his balance and pitched forward, tumbling down into the thick mist. Giving a shout of alarm, Aaron dropped his rucksack, and lunged after him. Tatia shrieked.

“Keep screaming,” bellowed Aaron, his voice echoey and distorted. “I’ve got him. He’s not much hurt.” Danai joined her voice with Tatia’s, their shouts pummeling the fog, and in a few moments, the two lads reappeared. Pine needles spiked Joson’s hair; a gash bloodied his left forearm. Even in the dim shifting light, his ivory skin seemed paler than usual.

“For the Mother’s sake, sit down,” Danai ordered, yanking off her rucksack and digging for the kuis. She pulled out the beeswax, sloshed water over the wound to clear the blood, then inspected it. Bits of dirt and gravel lodged around the torn edges of flesh. Ripping a piece from her tunic hem into two strips, she used one to carefully swab the gash clean. Joson winced, biting his lip as she pinched the wound’s lips together, and snugly bound it with the other strip. “Nice fancy bandage for you,” she teased, reaching up to pluck some of the debris from his hair. “Good thing my Aunt Triasa taught me some basic Healer skills when I fostered with her Second Season. We were always getting into scrapes of some sort. You’d think they’d have taught us Healer Lore over the past two lumnas.”

Aaron glanced around. “Where’s Armerion?” They stared at each other.

Danai jumped up. “He didn’t fall too, did he?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Aaron was still peering into the mist. “At least I only saw Joson fall, and then everything happened so fast.”

“Now what do we do?” Joson’s question hung between them.

“I would say stay put until this mess lifts and we can see where we are, and if the Mentor is anywhere around,” Aaron suggested.

“But what if he’s hurt?” Tatia hugged herself, her tinkly voice a subdued whimper. “Shouldn’t we search for him?”

“We’d only get ourselves lost into the bargain,” Danai argued, “Aaron’s right. This fog is bound to lift, hopefully soon, and if Mentor Armerion has fallen, he’ll be somewhere down slope from us. And I would think he’d be calling out if he were hurt.”

Tatia moaned. “Unless he’s knocked silly.”

An unseen branch gave a sharp snap. Joson looked towards the sound, frowning. “I think we had better move into a safer position,” he muttered. “After all, there are creatures out here, and I’ll bet we’re well past the edge of the Dell.”

Aaron shrugged. “So what?”

“So didn’t you get that part in survival training where the Charmers have established terms with the local wood folk like they do in our glens, so that we ground-bound sprytes can poke around into the woods without having to look over our shoulders? I doubt the truce zone extends this far—which means we’re just a bunch of tasty morsels for some fox...or worse.”

Tatia began to sob. “They’ve sent us out here to die. Oh Aaron, what do we do?”

Danai wanted to shake the silly flit, even as her own stomach knotted. What a ninny! It was no time to flirt. And since when was Aaron the group’s leader? “Joson, can you walk?”

“I was just waiting for somebody to ask.” He heaved himself up, swaying unsteadily for a moment as red and white sparks cluttered his vision. The air was pierced by the startled trill of a robin.

“Move folks,” hissed Aaron. “Joson’s right. We’ve got company.”

Fear makes for poor woodcraft, Danai realized as they hustled away through the confusing mist. Any creature would hear their stumblings and their rustles as they pushed through the bracken, and dodged around pine cones and piles of fallen leaves. Oh, for their wings!

“We have a definite problem.” Aaron had been leading them single file, and they bumped into each other at his abrupt halt. Before them was a sheer black rock face, shiny with damp.

“Go left.” Tatia clutched his arm, her whisper shrill.

“Can’t. There’s a fallen tree there. Saw it through a swirl in this blasted fog.”

“Oh, Mother!” Joson cursed softly. “Listen!” Somewhere behind them, they could hear an eager sniffing.

“Aaron, quick. Was the tree rotting or new fallen?” Danai barely whispered.

He stared at her, puzzled. “Rotting. Pine I think. Why?”

“Come on! Maybe we can crawl inside and hide!”

They bolted for the tree, sliding to a halt before the furrowed black bark gashed by pale dirt-clogged cracks. “I can’t go in there,” panted Tatia, with a backwards step. “I can’t. Lunasa knows what might be inside.”

“You’ll be inside of something else if you don’t,” snapped Joson, as he pushed forward into a moist, uninviting crevasse. “Come on.” He glanced over his shoulder. A monstrous shape emerged behind them, crouched down. “In!” He lunged forward.

The wood crumbled around them as one after the other they plunged into the trunk’s hollow. An eerie shriek, like the wail for the dead, shriveled the air. Through the gap, a gleaming amber eye glared, replaced by a moist black nose giving quick short snuffs. Then a tentative scratching sound, and the crisping tear of wood.

“Determined little fellow, isn’t it?” Aaron smiled grimly. “Sounds like a clawcat. I think we had better get a move on, don’t you? Unless you’d rather see if he can break through.”

“What’s to prevent it from smelling us, and waiting at wherever we come out?” Tatia was shaking so hard, she could barely keep her balance. It was a good question.

“Well, it’s obviously hunting.” Joson rubbed his chin absently, favoring his injured arm. “What if we leave one of our rucks behind? Maybe the smell of the miyacan will make it think we’re still here. But we should take out the food.”

Aaron seized Tatia’s ruck, tossing the food balls and kuis to the others, then flung it close to the long curved claw that was pulling at the crack. “Let’s move.”

Down the slender tunnel that cored the tree, something glowed. Motioning them to be silent, Joson lead the way, holding his good hand above his head to avoid colliding with the tunnel roof. They proceeded more by touch than sight, only faint slivers of light incising the darkness from other cracks in the trunk. The dank air reeked of pine-scented decay, and rivulets of sweat trickled down their faces. A few moments of eternity later, they reached the greenish light, bulging into a narrow kink of the tunnel.

“Root rot!” Danai leaned forward. The others looked at her in confusion. “Root rot. Foxfire. Don’t you recognize it? It’s the stuff the Skalds and Orpheii set up on the Tale Tells and Dancing Eves to light the revels. Glows in the dark. Joson, what’s beyond it?”

“Can’t see a blasted thing,” he grunted, sidling around the glowing fungus.

“Well, take a piece of the foxfire!”

“I’m not touching that slimy stuff.”

“Oh, please. Look, here, I’ll grab some and give you a piece.” Danai drove her hands into the luminescent glow. The cool mass yielded easily, squishing like an overripe fruit. With the sound of thick leaves tearing, a blob broke off in her hands, and a pungent smell engulfed them.

“Ugh, it stinks.”

“Take it, you dim! Aaron, Tatia, here you take some too. At least we’ll have something to light our way.” Up tunnel, the scratching had halted, but quick sniffs could still be heard.

The tunnel angled down then widened, allowing Joson and Aaron to hurry forward side by side. In the foxfire’s dim glow, their heads seemed to float along like the mournful night wisps of the swamp. Danai held onto Tatia’s elbow, afraid the maid would collapse from tremors.

“I think we’ve reached the roots,” Joson pointed. “See how gnarly the walls are getting? There’s got to be an out here somewhere.”

“Wait a second.”

“No, let’s go forward, go forward,” urged Tatia, jerking her arm from Danai’s grasp.

“No really, stop.” Danai halted. “What time was it when the Mentor abandoned us?”

“No idea,” Aaron answered after a moment’s thought.

“Mid-day? Later?”

“I swear we hiked forever,” said Joson. “But with the fog and all, I don’t really know. I just sort of followed Armerion. My stomach says it’s well after mid-day.”

“Well let’s assume it’s later. So it’s going to be dark soon. My guess is the clawcat isn’t going to follow us down the tunnel.”

“And how do you know?” Aaron leaned against the tunnel-side, studying her.

“The eye was too big for a small creature. We barely fit through that crack. Besides, it’s no Orpheii-song that most of the hunters come out at gloaming. So wouldn’t it just be smarter to settle in here for the night? We’ve got light, food, and water. At some point I’d think it will get bored and leave.”

“And how will we know when it’s dawnshine, oh wise Elder?” Tatia wasped as her fear subsided.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” Danai retorted, “but I usually wake up at dawnshine. I don’t see why I shouldn’t do the same morrowmorn.”

Aaron nodded. “She’s right you know.”

Joson scuffed around, then sat down after bending over to inspect the area for possible splinters. “I like the idea of something to eat. And truthfully, my arm hurts like all daemiani, and staying put would do me fine.”

“Some sojourn,” Tatia groused, daintily seating herself on a smooth knob of wood, then plucking at the drawstrings of Aaron’s rucksack. “And after all this, we’re supposed to go search for a Well? Hah!”

“Methinks this is just the start of the fun,” Aaron answered, reaching for his rucksack.

The honeyed sweetness of the miyacan was a welcome relief, and the cool water washed away the sour taste of decay permeating the air. “Don’t gobble too much,” Danai suggested. “Somehow I think this journey is going to take a lot longer than we expect.”

“Our luck, you’ll be right, again.” Tatia curled up, pillowing her head on Aaron’s rucksack.

He stared at her a moment, shrugged, then lay down near Joson. “Isn’t it strange that none of us thought of using Feyree dust to blind that thing?” he asked nobody in particular. His question went unanswered as the others’ feathery breathing filled the air.

* * *

Danai opened her eyes to darkness. She heard nothing but the slow thump-thump of her heart. The foxfire had dimmed to little more than bits of glow. Only the sprytes’ faint bodyglow revealed their whereabouts. We’ll need to get some more of the foxfire before we can move, she mused. I’d forgotten it does that. She stretched, feeling a mild protest from her thigh muscles. Some shape I’m in!

A rustle and yawn came from Joson’s indistinct figure, and she sensed more than saw him roll to his knees, stand up—and collide with the low tunnel roof. “Ow!” Tatia and Aaron jerked upright.

Danai saw the startled glow of their eyes, and wondered once again why Feyree eyes flickered when frightened. “Morrowmorn’s greeting to you.”

“What’s greetable about it?” Tatia rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Hey, what happened to the foxfire?”

“I forgot it fades when broken away from the main plant. I’ll go get some more.” Danai almost added a remark about Tatia never being around at the end of a revel when the foxfire had dimmed because she was probably otherwise occupied, but decided against it. She scrambled to her feet.

“I’ll come help.” Aaron rose and shook himself, running a hand through his hair, not noticing Danai’s surprised look. Seizing two of the foxfire bits, they moved back up the tunnel.

“Fresh air would definitely be a welcome change.” Aaron yawned. “Remind me to not build my next bower in a rotting pine trunk. Phew! Say, you were pretty calm yesterday. All the maids I know would have acted like Tatia. Shrieks and mushy knees.”

Danai was thankful that the darkness hid her blush. “Well, maybe it’s the maids you know,” she replied primly, then hurried to change the subject. “Look, there’s the foxfire.” She tossed her piece down; it broke apart. The newly exposed portion glowed brightly. “Toads! I didn’t know it did that. Would’ve saved us a trip. Should we grab a larger piece so it’ll last longer?”

“Depends on what we’re going to do next, don’t you think?”

“Umm, good point. Let’s grab a big chunk anyway—we can always toss it.”

Aaron helped yank off two large chunks. “Yuck! It still stinks.” They returned more quickly than they had come, the fresh foxfire casting weird shifting shadows.

* * *

“This is a worse labyrinth than bramble bracken!” Joson smeared the sweat from his eyes. It seemed like forever they had been following the intersecting tunnels to get out, with no luck.

“I don’t get it.” Aaron chewed his lip. “We should have found some way out of the roots a ways ago, where it toppled.”

Tatia had been unusually subdued all morn, but now spoke. “Uh, what if the roots never pulled free of the dirt? We wouldn’t find an out because they’re still in the earth.”

“By the Twins, I think you’re on to something!” Joson nodded. “It has been smelling pretty earthy in here, now that you mention it. I’ve been so busy watching where to put my feet, I didn’t bother to look around us.” He held up the foxfire close to the roof. “Lots of dirt—more dirt than root. These tunnels must have been caused by the roots shifting when the tree fell. We’d better turn around.”

“Oh great, so we just hiked all this distance for nothing. Frog feathers! Couldn’t you have said something sooner Tatia?” Aaron shook his head with disgust.

“Well,” Tatia put on what she knew was a fetching pout, “you all seemed to know where you were going, and nobody listened to me yesterday.”

“You were all noise and shakes.”

“Was not!”

“Were!”

“Not!”

Danai didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. “Yes, I’m sure the Mentors would be impressed by us right now, aren’t you Joson? Look, I just want out of here. Could you two save your little love quarrel for later?” She pivoted and started back.

“Danai wait!” Joson grabbed her shoulder. “What is the way out?”

“Hah?”

“I didn’t make any trail marks, did you? No, I didn’t think so. We’ve been so sure about this being the right path. Think of all the turns and crosspaths we’ve followed. Face it all; we’re lost. Trackers we’re not.”

There was a long pause. The stuffy tunnel felt like a burial chamber. They strained their ears, hoping for a sound, any sound to suggest a way out. Forward or backward?

“How about something to eat?” Joson pushed the panic-laden silence away with his cheerful, practical suggestion. “You know I always think better on a full stomach.” He squatted down, and began to rummage in his rucksack. “Seriously, sit down you three. We might as well figure out what we’re going to do over food and water. Just tearing off in one or the other direction isn’t a good idea—we’ve kinda done that already.” Reluctantly, the other three sat down.

The few sips of water rinsed her parched throat, and Danai felt the tight sensation in her chest subsiding. Something Joson had said earlier tugged at her thoughts. “Dirt.”

“Plenty of it around here,” griped Aaron through a mouthful. “Want some more?”

“There wasn’t any in the trunk.”

“How’s that again?” Joson lowered the bit of miyacan he was about to nibble, and stared at her intently.

“When we were in the tree, it was just that. Tree. Wood.”

“Oh, ho. I see where you’re headed,” said Aaron. “The clues are all around us, if we just had paid attention. If we go backwards, we should watch for the tree—more wood means we’re closer. We should be able to find our way back into the trunk.”

“Exactly. And we usually were coming down, not climbing up. So we should do the opposite.”

“How do we know it’s going to work?” Tatia put in.

Danai sighed. “We don’t. It’s open discussion here Tatia. What do you suggest?”

“I don’t know. But we’ve sure made a mess of things so far.”

“Nothing escapes you, does it Tatia?” Aaron stood up, ignoring her glare. “So let’s un-mess them. I, for one, have a real hankering to smell something other than stinking foxfire, damp dirt, and moldy wood. Of course, that just my opinion. Perhaps you enjoy it?”

“And our food is getting low too,” Joson added, forestalling further argument. “Danai, why don’t you lead?”

Oh, I hope we’re right, Danai prayed silently to the Mother, as she tried to walk and simultaneously study the walls. All this time wasted going down the wrong path—and now we have to backtrack and try again. Why can’t this be easy?

“Smell!” cried Joson sometime later.

“Yes it does.” Aaron rolled his eyes. “Tell us something we don’t already know.”

“No, you snail brain. The air. It smells different.” Joson’s nose was twitching like a squirrel’s.

“Look, more wood up ahead!” Tatia hastened past Danai and Aaron. “Oh Aaron, maybe we’re getting there. I think I remember that bend!” The tunnel walls were shifting back to twined roots and further up, just at the edge of their foxfire’s glow, the tunnel thickened into trunk. Tatia ran ahead and disappeared around the bend. They heard her shouting.

“Tatia, come back!” Joson bellowed. They all burst into a run, hurrying around the bend. Up ahead they saw flickers of light. Real, natural light. It was so wonderfully bright after the tunnels. Tatia was dancing with delight by the foxfire blob.

Moments later, they tumbled out of the much shredded-crack into glorious sunshine. Birdsong bathed their ears, sun-warmed air filled their nostrils. They gulped down deep draughts of it, savoring the freshness. “Oh, it’s as good as goldenvine dew,” Tatia exhaled rapturously.

Danai looked about, then giggled.

“And what pray tell is so funny?” Aaron arched an eyebrow as he reached into his rucksack for the kuis.

“Us! I’m sure I look as much a fright as you do! Aaron, you have all this dirt and root in your hair, and a big smear of something, only the Mother knows what, across your nose.” She laughed harder. “Joson, there’s miyacan on your tunic—what I can see of it under mud and wood bits.”

“Well, you’re no lady of springtime yourself,” said Joson, as their laughter, tinged with hysteria, poured forth. “Actually, that shade of dirt is very becoming on you. And what a lovely crown of foxfire you have. What did you do? Sleep on it?”

“Some Rite,” chuckled Aaron, smearing away laugh tears. “Four dirty sprytes by a rotten tree. This is how we earn our wings?”

“I think they should rename this the Rite of Dirt,” groused Tatia, vainly attempting to wipe off her blotched tunic with a piece of freshly-torn leaf. Her comment sent the others off into more peals of laughter, and after a pause, Tatia finally joined in.

Their laughter subsiding, Joson shaded his eyes and stared skyward. “My guess from the sun is that it’s probably mid-day. That gives us a chance to get back on track with this Rite—wherever it is we’re going. Which we still have to figure out. Let’s head back up the hill to where this whole thing fell apart.” The others nodded and followed him.

The climb was short, and the forest peeled back to reveal the knobby stone spine that marked the ridge along which they guessed Armerion had been leading them. Before them lay a broad swath of Lampion. The ridge framed the northerly part of the Dell, which was hemmed by pines and trees robed in every shade of green. Rolling away to the west was a rumpled swell of hills that vanished into a purple haze. Northwards surged the jagged Rymple Mountains, footed by the Anlyn Hills, their muscled flanks mantled in swags of dark pine patterned with lighter green pockets of birch and aspen. In the distance, the highest peaks were diademed with snow. Somewhere to the west lay Pyre Tor.

“So which one is it?” Aaron muttered, scratching absently at the dirt on his neck.

“Those are the Wynndowns.” Joson pointed at the hazy hills. “We flew to Rymple Dell a few summers ago, and our bird flapped right over them in less than a day. It would have taken us several days to walk across. Beyond that is Whittlesea. We probably flew right past Pyre Tor, but fish feathers if I even noticed it.”

Danai repeated Mentor Armerion’s words. “Seek ye out Pyre Tor, the twisted stone peak which is crowned last by the setting sun’s fire.”

“Thanks, we remember what he said, and I for one have absolutely no intention of sitting another day waiting for sundown,” Tatia spat. “Let’s go down. It stands to reason if we head west, we’ll figure it out as we go along.”

“But will we get as good a chance to see it through all the forest?” Aaron argued.

“What about following this ridge top for a while?” Danai gestured to the right. “It looks like it wraps around west towards the hills, with plenty of bald spots. We’d be headed in the right direction, and at sundown, Lunasa willing, we’ll see Pyre Tor.”

“But there’s no water,” Tatia objected, her voice growing shrill. “I’m tired. I’m filthy.”

“Yes, you are definitely that. May I offer a dab from my kuis?” Aaron loosened the drawstrings on his rucksack.

Tatia shot him a glare that would have quartered a chestnut in its shell. “And I’m hungry and just want to sleep. I’m sick of this stupid Rite.”

“And, of course, you’re the only one that feels that way,” Aaron snapped. He took a few paces along the ridge. “Look, we can’t risk not seeing which one is Pyre. As it is, we’ll need to forage. So let’s get going. We can always hike down slope later.”

Tatia looked mutinous. “And if I choose not to accompany you?”

Aaron shrugged. “I hope you can run quickly. Because you’ll be alone and outside the Charmer’s truce zone.”

* * *

The sun was level with their eyes when Aaron suggested a halt on a craggy outcropping of dark red stone that commanded an excellent view of the Rymple Mountains and Wynndowns. A gentle breeze had sprung up, and the peaks were flushing pink.

They had managed to replenish their kuis from cupped leaves that still cradled the morning dew, and gathered young shoots and leaves to munch. They agreed to save the miyacan for as long as possible.

Danai dangled her legs over the outcropping’s edge, the others perched comfortably behind her. The sinking sun cast long strands of honey-hued light, framing the Wynndowns and Anlyn Hills as they sank into amethyst shadows, separated by gathering mist. Thin filaments of glittering clouds striated the sky. The light deepened from gold to bronze, from bronze to copper, then blazed red, washing the mountain peaks in scarlet. Slowly it withdrew the crimson mantle until it edged the horizon, a glowing crescent.

“That must be it,” breathed Joson, pointing. One twisted peak clasped the last of the sun’s rays, a tortured spiral of frozen fire. A shimmering red ribbon cascaded down its distant face, bleeding into the darkness below. The sun vanished. Pyre Tor dimmed to the color of old blood, but remained visible a short while longer as gloaming swathed the surrounding hills and mountains. A magpie shrieked its raucous cry, startling them to motion.

“Well, I guess we’ve figured out where to go,” murmured Danai, somewhat bemused by Pyre Tor’s frozen flame.

“Yes, on the morrow.” Aaron shook himself free of the image, and stood up, followed by Tatia. “Now we need to figure out where to bower for the night.” As he spoke, Lunasa emerged above the trees behind them, a glowing egg in the darkening sky. The ridge stone reflected back his silvery light, blackening the shadows of the surrounding brush and trees that shivered in the rising breeze.

Joson stared uncomfortably into the restless shadows. “Talk about fuzz heads. We should have chosen a bower site before sundown watching. I have absolutely no urge to go rooting about in those shadows for a sleeping place, do you? Makes you wonder how any sprytes survive these Rites.”

Danai stared along the bald-topped ridge. During their hike it had made for clear views and a feeling of safety. Except for a possible bird attack, little could sneak up. “What if we keep going?” She was rewarded by three pairs of startled glowing eyes. She gestured towards the silvery path. “We can see perfectly well in Lunasa’s light, and the trail goes a fair distance. It would bring us closer to Pyre, and at least we wouldn’t have to worry about falling asleep and becoming a hunter’s dinner. I know we’re all tired, but maybe this is part of the Rite. Nothing has been exactly what I’d call simple.”

“True, true.” Joson nodded thoughtfully, heaving himself up. “We might as well walk as sit and be eaten.”

“Will you stop with something eating us already!” Tatia stamped her foot. “Eat, eat, eat! Is that all you can ever think of? Either putting something in your fat stomach or being put into something’s stomach. By all that exists, I am sick, sick, sick of it! Do you hear? Sick!”

The woods had hushed their soft night sounds to listen to her shrill tirade. It was strangely quiet. Too quiet. Danai shivered, wondering what Tatia’s outburst might have attracted.

A creaky groan vibrated beneath their feet. Stone gritted on stone. There was the faint ‘ting’ of metal scraping rock.

“Good going, Tatia,” hissed Aaron, crouching down, and motioning the others to follow. “Why don’t you just shriek some more, and see what other adventures you can summon to liven up this dull journey?”

Danai peered over the outcropping’s edge.

Two glowing emerald eyes peered back.

“By the Mother,” she gasped, leaping to her feet.

“Indeed, by the Mother,” a gravelly voice replied, followed by a figure crawling over the cliff’s edge. It straightened, looming over them, a club-shaped staff poised on its left shoulder.

* * * * *


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