They strolled along the wide road for hours, until aches in her back and legs blurred together. There was a clearing around the path ahead and she was going to have to suggest stopping for dinner if no one else did. She still felt uneasy.

As they neared the clearing Lyrua could make out the scent of smoke, and soon a figure was in view. It was a lone man wearing tight-fitting leather armour reinforced with copper plates, sitting by a fire. He watched them approach from under a nasal helmet as he turned a gutted rabbit above the flames.

Fourstaile led them away from the man to the other side of the path. The path was already three carriages wide. The added width of the clearing would keep them well out of the stranger’s hearing. Lyrua did find it odd that he did not carry weapons in the wilderness. Not even a bow for hunting. He might be a spellcaster then, and an arrogant one at that, to not carry a weapon for when his mana ran out.

The depleted remains of old fire pits speckled the clearing. Ove laid a cloth over a log by one of them and Lyrua sat down with Athen. Lander bounded excitedly into the woods to hack some branches into kindling.

The man across the path from them stared through the smoke of his fire with dark, narrow eyes. She was beginning to think the odd feeling was coming from him. He stood up and kicked some dirt to suffocate the flames, carrying his roasted rabbit on what looked like two layers of bark.

It could not be him though. The feeling began hours ago, when they entered the woods.

He crossed the path, holding his makeshift plate under his nose and inhaling the aroma deeply. The man stopped with a broad smile, and something shot out of the forest, purring as it spun through the air and erupted earth at his feet. As the dust settled the man was still smiling, but he had an eyebrow raised, and held his plate clear of the ruptured earth. A long steel axe was stuck in the ground between his legs.

Lander barged out of the woods, crushing foliage beneath his feet. His steel clattered as he crossed the distance aggressively and tossed a bundle of wood to the ground near the fire pit.

“Easy there, Iron,” the stranger said, “No need to get all steamed up on my behalf.” He raised his free hand peaceably.

“Leave,” Lander growled.

Fourstaile was so still against the woods that Lyrua would not have seen her if not for her magenta chrysanths. She could not tell where Ove was hiding.

He tried to emphasise his raised hand by lifting it higher. “I just came to say hello. It’s lonely in these woods; not so many travellers out with Highest Tide on the horizon.”

Lander stopped close enough to the man that he had to bend his neck until his chin touched his collar. Steam hissed from his body. “I’ll pull your spine out and hang you with it.”

Something glinted in the stranger’s shadow, and Lyrua tried quinting to identify it without him noticing. More of it emerged, and she recognized the patterns carved into the edge of Ove’s shortsword. Poised to spill blood.

The stranger still smiled, but a drop of sweat rolled down his cheek despite the cool air. “You must be a hired guard then, by the way you’re protecting these folks. Mother and child, Faunafolk, Florafolk. Odd group. Especially that raven. Where did she go?” He winked at Lyrua.

Lander clamped his steel fingers around the top of his head and pulled him into the air. He ripped his axe free of the cold ground with his other hand.

“Let the man sit,” Fourstaile said. “… On the other side of the fire.”

Lander let him drop. The man stumbled away from the menacing tower of steel, nearly catching Ove’s blade before it vanished into the dark. Lander set the fire and Ove appeared from the man’s shadow with a cooking slab and placed it across the rocks that surrounded the fire pit. The stranger moved sheepishly to sit in the dirt across from Fourstaile, where Lyrua could still see him unobstructed by the fire and gnawed his rabbit quietly.

The stranger did not seem at all shocked by Ove’s appearance; he just calmly watched everything they did with interest. Lyrua trusted Fourstaile to know what she was doing, she only wished she was included in whatever it was. Of course, it might just be that this traveller was harmless.

The man set his rabbit down on the bark plate beside him. “My name is Kraesten.”

“My name is Four,” Fourstaile said. Not the most creative alias, but only Toldremand ever addressed her that way, so perhaps it would pass if this man was someone to be concerned about.

“A pleasure,” Kraesten said. He turned expectantly to Lander.

“Do not address me.” Lander said in the same growling tone.

A knowing grin stretched across the man’s face. “Mixed with nickel are you? A good alloy. Not too many Nickellegerings around here, eh? I’ll call you Nickel then, if I must call you something.” He looked to Lyrua and Athen next.

There was something scrutinising about his attention that she did not like. Like he knew more about her than she knew about him. Just as he could somehow tell that Lander was made of nickel-steel alloy. She made up a name on the spot, thinking of the melody Athen was humming earlier. “Sermeledy. Nice to meet you, Kraesten. My son is… Aelling.” She tried to pretend her hesitation came from hiccoughs.

Kraesten gave her an appreciative nod.

Seeking reprieve from the attention of the stranger, Lyrua watched Ove laying thick steaks on the slab. She slathered them generously with butter and rubbed them with salt and pepper. He still stared at her.

“Got a shadow pocket enchantment in your cloak, eh?” Kraesten took his rabbit and chewed off another bite. “Powerful spell, that,” he mouthed around his meal. “And one of the most complicated there is, if I know my Dark. That is, without getting into spells like… What’s that theoretical one scholars are always on about? The Grey Zone? The Blank World? I suppose they won’t agree on a name until someone actually casts it. You know what I mean though.”

He took another bite and continued to speak with his mouth full. “Anyway, it must be handy to have your own pocket of Undelight Moerke to keep your meat fresh in.” He waited for a response from her, but she offered nothing. “How does it do that, anyway? Is it just the lack of air?”

“You are not even attuned to Dark.” Ove snapped. “Watch what you say, or I will put you in there so you can find out,”

“No thank you,” Kraesten laughed around another mouthful of rabbit. “I’d much prefer the mystery.”

Lyrua found herself itching with curiosity, listening to them speak of things she knew nothing about. There was no space inside the Light through which one could venture as Ove did through the dark. And spells that only existed in theory? When a spell was so powerful that no one could conceive one that surpassed it, it became known as the most powerful spell of its element. As it was for ‘Absence of Illumination’, which consumed so much Light that none remained for even the caster to see, Lyrua had studied nothing of Dark, so she knew nearly nothing of it but what she inferred from watching Ove. Now she knew Dark had no most powerful spell, but that “Grey World’ or whatever Kraesten mentioned must be what scholars expected it to be.

But Kraesten had said something else that intrigued her. “What is Undelight Moerke?” she asked.

Ove turned her head slowly. She was visibly annoyed by the stranger’s presumptuous conversation. “There is a long history there,” Ove replied. “It begins with humans thinking every thing should belong to them. Unde-light Morke is the name of the kingdom they built in the shadows. It survived… longer than most expected. Odd folk like silken will still call the shadows that some times, even though my shadow pocket is isolated from what remains of the kingdom.”

Kraesten grinned at her reply, but finished chewing before speaking again. “Aye, that’s right enough. I suppose you don’t get to casting shadow pockets without learning what lives in the Dark.” Kreasten was grinning excitedly as though the subject brought him joy to speak of. “Really, Undelight is the Dark itself, and Moerke is the kingdom. Only ancient Skumren named things like that though, putting the area in the name of a place like some kind of surname. That’s where my home’s name originates. Silk Ialend.”

“Silk Island.” Lyrua posited.

“Wind Island.” Athen corrected. “That means they call it ‘The Island, and it is in the wind. So the dark place Ove mentioned is called Moerke in the Dark, you know.”

For once a look of surprise flashed across Kraesten’s face. “You know Skumren, boy?”

“You actually studied those Skumren books?” Lyrua asked incredulously, nearly speaking over Kraesten.

“Eight hours every week!” he declared. “Instead of Ancient Fordagan Agriculture. I hoped to wait until I could speak it well to show you, so you would be impressed.”

Lyrua nodded, but she felt embarrassed at not knowing what he had chosen for his studies. His tutoring time was the worst time for her to be around creating distractions when he should be focused on the lessons. And the best for her to have time to herself. She was grateful that the Royal Education Advisors agreed during her grandparents’ time that Ancient Fordagan Agriculture should no longer be mandatory. That subject could bore even history-loving Athen to tears. She had chosen to learn the lyre instead.

“I’m impressed.” Kraesten said. “Have you ever seen a silken before?” He patted his helmet. “I would show you my ears but this helm is a bit stiff to get on. You round-ears wouldn’t like them anyway.” Kraesten looked over each of them in turn, then shook his head. “What an odd group. Five people and only four ears? This is why I prefer to stay home; everyone is properly eared up there.”

So he was silken. “Why come all the way down from the Island if the ears are so nice and pointed at home?” Lyrua recalled the sharp, elegant features of Aeotis the Everlasting from the few times she had met her. The last surviving person to have achieved immortality, she was an intimidating woman, and though she could be killed—she was not a god—she would never age. Her thousand lifetimes afforded her enough experience to look upon even the High Queen of Nythyemere like an infant. Her nation was not part of Lyrua’s empire; not even the Spellwards could have taken The Island in the Wind.

“I’m a mercenary, a spellbreaker actually. I came out here to enjoy the woods while the smith in West Eddy pounds the dings out of my silver sword.”

Lander tilted his head towards the conversation, showing sudden interest now that the talk was about weapons and metal. “You’re halfway to Manataklos. Why not get your sword fixed in the Guild District?”

“I would waste a whole day crossing the city.” He twisted a bone off his rabbit and tossed it into the woods. “Besides, I’m headed the other way. The Highest Tide is coming, and there’s work for a spellbreaker.”

Lander’s chest hummed as he processed what the spellbreaker was telling him. “You’re pretty far into the woods for just waiting; much closer to the Manataklos side. Why come so far?”

The man sucked air through his teeth. “Skoverdant,” he turned and looked down the path as if expecting to find the forest spirit waiting there. “Found a good spot to camp, but then I saw him close. Nearly startled me out of my boots. He just stood there staring at me, probably wondering what I taste like.”

Ove flipped the steaks, and rubbed them with more salt and pepper. And more butter. Lyrua could have been mesmerised by the sizzling if not for the strange man competing for her attention. Ove handed her a bowl of purple berry tomatoes to share with Athen while they waited. She pooped one into her mouth.

“I don’t think Skoverdant eats humans,” Lander said.

A smile crossed Kraesten’s face. “What about silken?”

“Probably tastes even worse.” Lander creaked as his body leaned forward. “All skin and bones.”

“Nice of you to say.” He knocked on the copper dome on his head. “As if you even know what taste is, metal man.”

Lander chuckled. “You know, I was going to ask what good a spellbreaker is for whale herding, but if you can do that mad cloud jumping, I suppose it makes sense.”

Kraesten nodded. “That jump is meant to take us home, but I can spare some time to play Leafstamp on whirlwhales for the right coin.” He smiled at Athen through a bite of his meal. “Right lad?”

Athen looked up at her instead of answering him. Lyrua was glad her son was no more eager to feed the man the attention he craved than she was. She set the bowl aside and hugged him.

The spellbreaker settled for conversing with Lander while Ove served the steaks. They were as thick as Lyrua’s wrist, seared crispy on the edges. She could see the juicy pink centre as Ove sliced the steaks thinly and stuffed them into buns with herbs and aged cheese.

They would be eating bread with every meal for a while, given what they had brought. She was grateful that Ove had something other than the cured meat. As Lyrua ate she tried to be subtle about watching Kraesten, who still seemed to be watching her. He spoke with Lander as if he was focusing his attention out of the corner of his eye.

Ove finished eating first, as she did not eat very much, and then washed the frying plate and doused the flame. Fourstaile sprouted to attention right as she was done.

“You can finish your buns while we walk,” the Highward said, waving them up. “We can be half way through the woods by nightfall if we don’t dally.”

Lyrua stood reluctantly, her legs still protesting. They returned to the path with Kraesten following behind them, but he kept his distance off to the side where he could speak to Lander without being near her and her son. They were laughing over some crude thing Lander said.

She ate Ove’s juicy steak buns until she felt uncomfortably bloated. From her experience the ‘eating for two’ nonsense everyone was always spewing was exactly that. She would have to digest all that steak and cheese on her own. The occasional hot wind did not help. It made her feel nauseous.

She kept watching the forest as they walked, and asked Athen to do the same, hoping she would catch a glimpse of Skoverdant. The woods were bright in the afternoon, despite the expansive canopy. The twisting shadows of the forest made the orange and yellow leaves flick like cold sparks of fire of some otherworldly place.

Lyrua tossed her head back with surprise as a storm of chittering manifested in the forest above. A swarm of painter squirrels played in the branches. They stole the colour of the leaves by rubbing them with their tails, absorbing the pigment into their fur. Five bright hues of chittering fur chased each other across the treetops in a blurry commotion. When they touched the trees for too long they took the colour back, and the white squirrels sat quietly defeated until only one remained with colour. A bright yellow runt claimed victory, and soared triumphantly across the Sydway with the others following respectfully behind.

Athen was awestruck by the display, staring hopefully into the forest for an encore as they disappeared. The leaves where the squirrels had played were left in scattered colours, a conspicuous vestige of their game.

By the time the sun was setting, she was exhausted again. Red and yellow rays pierced the Woods from the west, casting brilliant light across the lower leaves that made the forest glow. Fourstaile signalled them to stop, but there were no clearings near the path here. She simply told Kraesten matter of factly that she would break his neck if he followed them, and stepped off the path into the woods. The spellbreaker shrugged, and continued down the Sydway on his own.

Lyrua had to step high to get her legs over foliage and fallen logs, but Athen had fun jumping on—and off—of things. She did not know what qualities Fourstaile looked for when picking a spot, the stout woman just suddenly stopped and declared their camp site. Due to the dense woods, she forbade them from trying to set a fire here, but Lyrua was full from dinner anyway, and the evening was not cool enough to defeat her cloak. Athen chewed a carrot and a piece of cured meat, but he was not very hungry either.

Fourstaile crept around a large maple, looking at it like a dress for purchase. She kicked it, slapped it, examined it up and down, and even put her head against it to listen to it. Lander only shrugged as they watched her do whatever she was doing. Finally she seemed satisfied.

“There are no parasites in this tree,” she explained. “None that I should worry about.”

Lyrua could only shake her head in confusion while Fourstaile pressed her eyes closed and stood still with her face scrunched up until one of the buds in her hair deepened in colour. After a long moment it finally curled open into a bright magenta chrysanth. Its colour was much deeper than the other three as she manipulated its mana. She maintained her stiff posture for a moment longer.

Vines sprouted from her arm, and roots from her legs, wrapping like snakes around the wide maple. Her roots wove into a round base like a basket of straw while her vines spread out to canopy the basket and fasten it tightly to the side of the tree. Athen held his cheeks in awe of Fourstaile’s power. Lyrua bent her neck back to take in the structure that Fourstaile had become.

The large cocoon-like structure was camouflaged against the rest of the forest, blending well with the bushes and lower tree branches. As a pinecone tossed to the forest floor; it was hardly noticeable but to the one who put it there. There was an opening on the side facing away from the Sydway.

“I can only hold this in my sleep after making that flower,” Fourstaile said, her voice sounding distant and muffled as if coming from within the tree. “Unless I want it to up and wither right away. Hurry and get in so I can seal it up.”

The opening hung above a dip in the ground, so Lyrua had to pull her body up to climb in. Radiant threads of dusk shimmered through narrow gaps in the vines. She placed a soft Light spell to better illuminate the space, and then turned to see Athen waiting with his arms raised so she could hoist him up. After Ove fluttered inside, the opening coiled shut, leaving Lander to guard outside.

Ove spread out thick blankets to pad the floor, and Lyrua was surprised how comfortable it was. The gentle curve of the base was nice compared to the decrepit boards of the old cabin. The ceiling was woven of the vines and leaves of Fourstaile’s hair; even the little buds and chrysanths. It was relaxing and pleasant, and smelled a bit like one of her gardens. It was in every way better than the mouldy shack whose memory still haunted her nose. If only Fourstaile had not been so tired the night before.

Ove poured cold tea for them, and Lyrua cuddled with Athen against the sloping wall, wrapped snugly in blankets to read. Tonight, Athen insisted on reading through The Fall of Eftermid. He was about to pout himself to tears, and she gave in with a sigh, under the condition that they stop reading if she did not like the subject matter.

It was not a very interesting book to start, perhaps even duller than How to Pray so the Gods Will Listen. It began by describing the social structure and government of the countries in Eftermid, a system not unlike House Sorenrov’s proposed democracy.

By the book’s description, it had become just what her mother said it would. A system to feed the wealth of the rich and keep them in power. The rich were meant to turn that wealth back to the support of common folk, and to a degree they did, but they still lived high above the dirt in gilded towers. Her mind flooded with memories of Manataklos. The sixty floor Citadel dwarfed the mansions of the nobility and stood over the poor of the city like a castle over an anthill.

Lyrua bit her lip. Side by side the most significant difference between the governments was suffrage. The nobles already held immense power compared to the commoners. It was supposed to give the people the ability to deny them that power, to give it to whomever they felt would best serve their needs. Why would Sorenrov want that, if not because he intended to abuse it?

Tears of stubborn denial wet her eyes, until a drop fell to Athen’s forehead. She was staring at the book without reading the words, and Athen’s head already hung with sleep, so she put the book away and tucked him in next to her.

How could she admit to herself that there had been another possibility all along?

She picked up her book in defiance of the thoughts trying to twist her heart. How to Pray so the Gods Will Listen was the dullest thing she had ever read, and it did not do well to distract her. She skipped a few pages explaining the Gods; she already knew who they were. The book threatened dereliction by the Gods for worshipping Samella, the First Goddess, but offered no hint as to why one of the Imprisoned was counted above Caitilie Kirkegaard, the Second Goddess, who had created Ankermune.

Lyrua stopped reading. It was not distracting her as she wanted, but at least her eyes were growing heavy. Her light flickered and died as she lost concentration. The forest quieted as a creaking in the trees that she had not noticed before went silent, but there was still an eerie whistle between the branches as she drifted off into sleep, pursued by a trail of unwanted thoughts.

… could she have done more for the folk in the Dust?