CHAPTER 93

There’s a heaviness in the air under the thick canopy of Mossgreen’s realm. Though Hilde has disbanded the magical darkness, the difference is almost unnoticeable. Pure, textureless dark was replaced with too-close, prickly shadows. We scurry through the underbrush in a line, hands clasped, lead by Hilde. Rue has climbed up to my shoulder, and I check in with him from time to time. I don’t know how he sees, but clearly the absence of light isn’t an impediment. But even with two lookouts and Hunch activated, I still feel like a mouse observed by a high-flying hawk.

“So, this troll.” Essa’s voice cuts through the silence. “He’s Lysander’s ally?”

“Yes. Well,” I hesitate. “Or was. It’s unclear. He let Lysander build his home in the middle of the forest in exchange for a promise. Mossgreen has also passed through a Door, or maybe even many Doors. Lysander called him a Druid.”

“But they had a falling out?”

“I don’t know. From what Roark said something happened to the forest, that it stopped the villagers going in. That has to be Mossgreen.”

“And if we find him? Do you know of any weakness we can leverage, or—”

“You should know,” I interrupt. “If Mossgreen is alive he’s watching us right now. He knows everything that goes on in his woods.”

That shuts Essa up. For a while we walk in silence, with quick, sudden touches to make sure we stay together. We decided against making a light to make things harder for Valkas and his men. But are we leaving a trail behind? If we are, and at the pace we’re moving, then…

“Something I don’t understand,” Hilde says. “The path isn’t that hard to follow. Sure, there are thorns and underbrush and such, but nothing that would stop someone determined from walking into the forest.”

“Yeah,” I say. Her thoughts echo my own. “I think Mossgreen is letting us in, so to speak.”

“And that’s a good thing, or bad?” Essa asks after a moment.

That I can’t answer. The forest lets us through. Is that because we’re welcome, or so it can better trap us and hand us over to Valkas on a silver plate?

I remember the troll’s quiet resentment at Lysander. I remember his slow questions and his straightforward demands. I also remember that he called me a friend, and offered the troll war mantle I carry around my shoulders.

Which Mossgreen will we find tonight?

The thornbushes and spindly trees with reaching fingers slowly give way to older and more somber growth, each tree more distant from its neighbors and ruler of its own little patch of land.

Hilde drops Essa’s hand, and we hear her walk in a circle around us, her shadow dipping behind trees and reappearing a moment later.

“Cold tonight,” Essa says, jumping from foot to foot.

“Damnit,” I say. “You don’t even have a coat! Neither of you.”

“Should have asked Roark,” Hilde replies. “Nothing to do now.”

“You can have mine,” I say. “It’s a troll war mantle, but it’s pretty cozy.”

“And then you’ll be cold,” Essa says. “Thank you, but no thank you. If it gets too cold, at least I’ll get to try skying.”

We watch as shadow-Hilde walks from tree to tree, illuminated only by a faint hue of light that manages to pierce through the canopy. After a while, she returns to us.

“No road,” she mutters.

“Roark said the road had been overgrown,” Essa says. “Maybe you just can’t see it.”

“Even then. According to Malco, we’d need to follow the road for a good while before we reached Lysander’s house. And I can’t be sure we’re in it.”

“You mean we’re stumbling around in a dark forest?” I ask, trying to inject some casualness into my voice.

“I mean,” Hilde says. “That there’s no way to confirm whether or not this is the road. We might be walking in circles…”

“I thought you could see in the dark!” Essa interrupts.

“Of course I can see in the damned dark!” Hilde snaps back. “My dark-seeing magic is great, best you’ve ever seen! My road-finding magic, however, isn’t that amazing!”

“Oh, come on!” Essa says. “Anyone can follow a track!”

“I’m a dwarf!” Hilde replies, eyes shining like gimlets in the dark.

“Hey!”

They stop to look at me. Or at least I think they’re looking at me. All I can distinguish is the shuffling of bodies and the trampling of fallen leaves.

“We probably shouldn’t be shouting,” I say.

They shuffle once more. Embarrassed? Hopefully.

“We should rest. We wait for the sun to come up, when Essa will be able to find the road.”

“Two problems with that,” Essa says. “Valkas’ people are after us, and the local ruler is a possibly homicidal troll. He’s also looking for us.”

As soon as Essa closes her mouth, a tree creaks ominously in the distance. We wait with bated breath. The hairs in the back of my neck stand on end, and a shiver threatens to shake its way up my spine.

“I don’t think it’s anything,” Hilde whispers. “Nothing I can see, at least.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I was gonna say, if someone is following us, they’re doing a terrible job of it. And if Mossgreen wants to find us, there’s little we can do to stop him.” I sigh. “The truth is, Essa, there’s little we can do right now. We need to make sure we’re going the right way.”

Essa shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortable, running her hands up her bare arms for warmth.

“And if Hilde raises a darkness bubble around us, I can light us a fire. We won’t be able to see by it, but we’ll be warmer.”

At that, Essa finally relents. I see her nod quickly, her the chatter of her teeth.

Finding a place to stretch out on and locating wood for a fire are no problem for Hilde. Essa shoos my one-handed attempts at building a pyre and does it herself. When she’s done, Hilde raises her hands, and the feeble shadows I’d been following turn to complete darkness.

I never take my eyes off the place where we left the pyre. As the darkness goes up, I lift my hand and Create Fire.

Nothing happens at first. And then, from the opaque black, comes the crackle, and Hilde confirms the fire is lit.

With Hilde as guard, we let our weariness weigh us down, bring us to the lowest hum of activity. I stare into a fire I can’t see, guiding my gaze by the warmth that bathes my face. It’s a strange feeling, the warm darkness, punctuated by small, distant noises.

It reminds me of Reach. Of the home hearth, merry and bright and waiting after a long day of exploration with Katha, or doing the healing rounds with Dala. With my mother.

A shock courses through my body, and for an instant only I wonder at it, half-suspecting the memory of Katha to barge into my brain and drive the pain deeper still. Instead, I see Medrein. His wide eyes spinning and the long red ribbon trailing after as his body collapsed.

Are you alright, Malco? Rue asks.

My father is dead.

He hums almost timidly on my shoulder, a buzzing wave that sends my teeth clattering very gently together.

I felt it, he says, or thinks. When he died and you saw it I felt your pain. It was awful, Malco. I can feel it now, though you won’t let me in. It’s very red. Very angry.

I can’t help but smile a little at Rue’s innocent and careless constructions. Even through the pain of memory, my mouth twitches. As it does, I hear Hilde shift in her seat. Damn. I’d almost forgotten she could see me, that I wasn’t really alone with my thoughts.

“Malco?”

“Nothing,” I tell her. “Just something I thought about.”

Something clinks as Hilde moves. At the same time, I can feel Essa shift in her seat, moving closer to the fire.

“I think we could all do with a little conversation,” she says. “It’s killing me that I can neither keep watch nor completely relax.”

The weight of their attention bores down on me, demanding entertaining.

“Well. My father died. Valkas killed him just before you entered.”

“Oh no,” Essa says.

“I’m so sorry, Malco,” Hilde rushes to add. “Are you—I mean—I never should have—”

I raise my hands up for Hilde’s benefit. Asking her for peace.

“It’s alright,” I say. It’s not. Not nearly. But they have nothing to do with why that is so, and I drive the thoughts down, use them to fuel the fire in my heart, which roars in appreciation. “It’s… we were never very close, me and Father. My entire life I felt like I couldn’t win his respect. He was a warrior, he had a warrior daughter, and I was only training to be a healer. I was always closer to my mother. Anyway,” I chase after my thoughts, lost in reverie, searching for a meaning for my speech, for a point to the memories. “When I infiltrated the dungeon, I thought, secretly, maybe, that I’d won some of his admiration. He’d seen me dash into a den of monsters and traps and gods know what, to save my sisters. That had to count for something, right?”

I let my hushed voice dwindle and disappear into the ether, covered by the crackling, rolling, and moving of the fire.

“When I saw him now – when I went down to the Catacombs to save him, I found out that no, he was still too happy to act like my father. Bossing me around, taking charge of every situation and refuse even to explain what he’s thinking.” I breathe in and out slowly. “Maybe that’s a good thing? That he went away staying true to who he was? Somehow, I feel an opportunity was missed.”

Silence falls. I blink away an insistent tear, hoping Hilde isn’t looking yet knowing she is, hoping instead she won’t make a big deal of it and knowing she won’t.

“I never knew my father,” Hilde says. “Or mother, for that matter. I realize it’s different with humans, but dwarves don’t care so much about the biological stuff. All dwarves are raised by the Carers. But when Duturia died – she was my favorite Carer – I had a very difficult time. Not right after. Right after it didn’t seem real.”

A flash of red. Medrein’s head tumbling through the air. Painfully real, that.

Essa clears her throat, retreats back away to her original seat. It’s a constant dance between her and the fire, too cold and too warm.

“My father didn’t want me to come to the Challenge. Said he’d beat me blue and lock me in the cellar if I insisted.”

“And did you?” Hilde asks.

“Insist? No,” Essa answers. “I stopped talking about it, pretended it was a stupid, childish dream. I waited until the Godtouched came and then volunteered. Father wouldn’t even look me in the eye to say goodbye.”

“Why did you choose to take the Challenge?” I ask.

“My mother was a Champion,” she says softly. “I want to be just like her.”

“You will,” Hilde says in a barely audible whisper.

We don’t talk more after that. I exchange slow thoughts with Rue, trying to keep busy, away from a yawning chasm of pain that feels ready to engulf me. It’s not just Medrein. It’s everything and everyone, Rev, and Katha, and Dala, and even Ged and Lysander and Amelia. I hope everyone is well. That we will meet again soon. And I am thankful for friendship, its warm and gentle energy, present as the fire.

Very slowly, I fall asleep.