Although still warm, the following day was wet and miserable, with lightning and torrential downpours hampering their journey. Just moments after leaving the cave, Oracus’s clothes were saturated and uncomfortable, and he was reminded of the rainy autumns in Thessley when he had helped his father on the muddy farm, herding the cattle into their shelters. He and his father would return home and empty the buckets from under the leaky thatching, before they huddled around the fire to get dry.

Oracus, Kivali and Quent descended the path of the mountains in the early morning and left Bandor behind. They were to be staying in Lalacia overnight, and while Oracus, Kivali and Quent could slip into the city without drawing any attention to themselves, a Lavorian would stick out like a sore thumb. And it was best left to the imagination how the King’s soldiers would react to a rebel Rider and Lavorian arriving in their city unannounced.

When the three of them reached the base of the mountains, they proceeded across the sodden sand (which was now golden and no longer the black it had been outside Fervia) until they could see Lalacia on the horizon a few hours later.

From having seen nobody since leaving Gravaz and Lapsin unconscious a whole day ago, civilisation suddenly came out of nowhere as they approached Lalacia’s gate. For a half-mile outside the city’s walls, foreign tradesmen and tradeswomen had erected tents and stalls on every spare area of sand, and they hollered prices to the hundreds of passers-by who squeezed their way to and from Lalacia’s gates.

To Oracus’s surprise, the city gates were wide and inviting when they reached them. The rain was still hammering the sand, but droves of people entered and exited Lalacia as guards on the narrow watchtowers to either side of the gate scanned the chaos beneath them. Oracus dropped his gaze guiltily as he passed, but nobody stopped him or even looked at him, and the gates and guards were soon behind.

“Welcome to Lalacia,” Kivali announced.

The intermingling sounds of many voices and heavy raindrops hitting waterproofs was all that Oracus could hear as he followed Kivali and Quent along a broad street lined with shops. Everything and anything Oracus could imagine was displayed in one window or another; be it sweet or savoury food, expensive or cheap jewellery, sharp or blunt weapons, a wide choice of herbal remedies, clothing from nightwear to thick metal armour, animals used as household pets or farmyard animals, a great variety of different books, as well as ales and beers and wines, amongst many other things. For their time on the street, Oracus wished his power was to have more than a single pair of eyes.

“It seems strange there are no guards here other than those at the gate,” Oracus observed. He had expected Lalacia to be somewhat less open than it was, quite like Fervia had been.

“This is Pharia’s trading city,” Kivali answered. “You’ll see very few guards here.”

“But I thought Jowra liked to keep everything under strict control?”

“Jowra is less blinkered than you give him credit for,” Kivali said. “He isn’t always focused on violence and death. He’s been King for so long because he’s wise as well as powerful. He’s very aware that a thousand guards and sealed gates would only intimidate traders. And that isn’t smart business.”

“That makes sense, I guess,” Oracus admitted.

“And letting these people feel free means their allegiance stays with him,” Kivali added. “There aren’t many who would oppose his rule and still travel here to trade their wares. And those who do oppose him, like us, are at risk of being found out and killed. It’s a clever and cunning way for him to weed out his enemies.”

Oracus looked around suspiciously at those closest to him and then turned to Kivali. “We aren’t likely to be found out and killed, are we?” he whispered.

Kivali winked. “Not if we’re careful.”

For half an hour, they bundled and pushed through the mania of keen and wet tradespeople, and still more stores revealed themselves in an endless fashion. The rain had finally stopped falling, but most shoppers were still more than damp, and a fair number of puddles waited patiently to fill the boots of the careless.

During their walk through the city, Quent had begun to find his voice after more than a day’s peace. Not until he started speaking again did Oracus realise how much of a blessing his silence had been. It had only taken the ‘rude’ and ‘unfriendly’ folk of Lalacia who barged into him to prompt his chuntering to return, and Oracus quickly became envious of Bandor still being in the mountains.

Eventually, Kivali and Quent led Oracus away from the jostling crowds and into a narrow side-alley that was as filthy as it was wet. The smell of sewage caught Oracus by surprise and he gagged momentarily. There was litter everywhere in the alley, along with rats scurrying from drain to drain, and several strange homeless people creeping in the shadows.

“Don’t talk to them, try not to make eye contact, and don’t accept anything they offer you,” Kivali warned.

The vagabonds seemed to glide out of the darkness as Oracus passed by, and he quickly discovered they smelled as revolting as the filth they lived in.

“Jar of slugs, my dear?” a creepy old lady with crooked, blackened teeth offered. “They’re poisonous.” She held up a container with white goo smeared on the inside of the glass.

“Maybe you’d prefer a pair of pig’s eyes, freshly extracted?” a tall, rangy man suggested. He was holding the two squidgy eyes between the thumb and forefinger of each of his hands as he showed them to Oracus.

“The rotting flesh of an eel?” a different woman with a frightening scowl proposed.

“How about a rat as a pet?” A short, gaunt man pushed the other three aside. “We have lots of those here.” He pointed to the edges of the alley where the creatures moved quietly, and an awful smile appeared on his pale face. “You may have as many as you can carry!”

Oracus grimaced and shook his head, and then proceeded along the alley a little faster, keen to get away from the vagrants that hassled him.

“Well, here we are,” Kivali said a moment later.

They all stopped at a red door of a stone building that was slightly set back from the other buildings that adjoined it. It was barely ten steps from the frightening alley-folk.

Kivali knocked on the red door, and Oracus checked over his shoulder to ensure they weren’t being approached by more of the strange people behind them.

There was a short wait after the knock, and then a woman's shrill voice screeched from inside, “Who’s there?”

“Kivali and Quent,” Kivali replied.

The sound of several locks being unchained came before the door creaked ajar. Then, a single blue eye peered through the crack.

“Who’s he?” the woman’s voice snapped.

“Oracus. He's a friend.”

The door swung open and the owner of the shrill voice and blue eye stood before them. She squinted suspiciously at first, and then a smile grew on her gentle face. “You weren't followed, were you? Would you all like a drink? I bet you’re hungry, aren't you? Where have you come from? Has the journey been exhausting? Quick, quick, come inside!”

The woman spoke with such speed that Oracus could barely keep up. As he stepped through the doorway behind Kivali and Quent, he glanced at the woman and took in her bizarre appearance. She was old enough to be a great-grandmother, with hair as white as snow and deep lines snaking across her face. Her eyes were severely crossed behind thick spectacles; her left eye was looking at Oracus, but her right eye was looking at something across the room. When she smiled, she showed a lot of gums but only one tooth, and her tooth overlapped her bottom lip quite significantly. She was surprisingly tall and gangly for her age, and Oracus wondered whether their close resemblance meant her and Quent were related.

The woman slammed the door shut behind them and started to reapply all the locks. Oracus took a moment to scan the sitting room he found himself in. It was relatively small, but equally as cosy, with a rickety chair beside the fireplace and knitting needles placed on a cushion beside it. There were ornaments on every surface, all meticulously arranged without a speck of dust. And on all four walls, there were dozens of golden-framed pictures of frogs and hedgehogs.

“So, Oracus, are you a messenger like Kivali and Quent?” the old woman asked as the final lock clicked into place. “First trip, is it? I sure hope they’re both looking after you. My name is Eistra, by the way.” She offered Oracus a huge grin, and her tooth and gums became even more pronounced. “Where are you from? You look like you’re from Tallarin.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Eistra,” Oracus said with a nervous laugh. “I’m actually from a village called Thessley.”

“Thessley?” Eistra responded with a perplexed frown. “Never heard of it!”

“It's in the Raspian Forest to the north. I was evacuated from there a few months ago when Jowra's soldiers found us.” Oracus had a brief feeling of grief as his father’s face flashed in his memory.

“I’m usually so good at guessing where people are from,” Eistra mumbled, somewhat disappointedly. Then her eyes sparkled as she looked at Oracus again. “But you are a messenger, aren’t you?”

Not wanting to dishearten Eistra further, Oracus nodded. “I guess I am, yes.”

The answer made her beam with delight. “You've found a good one here, Kivali,” she said with a wink and a giggle. She lowered her voice, but not so much that Oracus couldn’t hear. “He's smart, charming, and so handsome!”

Kivali pretended she hadn’t heard and kicked off her boots, but her cheeks reddened slightly and Oracus felt a pang of excitement somewhere in his chest.

“He's not smart!” Quent exclaimed, his voice as sharp as it ever was. “He almost got us killed on the way here!”

“You’re always whining, Quent. Pharia would be far too boring if there was no danger.” Eistra waved a flippant hand and Quent looked like he’d been slapped in the face, much to Oracus’s delight. “Now then, should I assume you’re staying for the night? I've made some lovely cakes that you could sample. Made with my own blood, sweat and tears – not literally, of course! I should warn you that I only have two spare rooms so two of you will have to share. One of you could share with me but I snore quite loudly. I’m so loud, I even wake myself up sometimes! I probably wake the neighbours up too. Come to think of it, that might be why they don't like me. Nobody really likes me. I don't know why. Perhaps I talk a bit too much, but it's better to talk too much than too little, isn't it? I certainly prefer someone who can make conversation…”

Eistra barely took a breath between words from when they arrived in her home to the very late evening. Twice her face turned such a dark shade of purple Oracus thought she might pass out. But she never did. He had never known someone talk so much, but listening to her voice was a helpful distraction from how much he missed Bandor. The distance between him and his Lavorian was too great for them to connect, and Oracus had become accustomed – addicted, in fact – to having Bandor in his mind. He felt incredibly lonely, even after just a few hours.

It soon came time for Oracus to get some rest. Eistra’s cakes had been quite magnificent (Oracus had a hard time deciding whether she was better at baking or talking) and with a full belly after such a long day of travelling, he was struggling to keep his eyes open.

He retired to one of Eistra’s spare bedrooms by himself after Quent had argued neither he nor Kivali should have to endure an entire night with him. A bed with sheets and pillows was quite luxurious compared to the prison bed in Fervia and the cold stone floor of the cave in the mountains, and Oracus prepared himself for a well-deserved night of comfort. But as soon as he lay down, thoughts of King Jowra and the rebellion began to circle in his head, and he felt wide awake again. He tossed and turned for a while, and then sat up in defeat when Eistra’s snoring erupted from the adjacent room.

A soft knock sounded on the door and Oracus was surprised to see Kivali poke her head into the room.

“You’re awake too, I see,” she whispered.

She pushed the door open and proceeded to sit at the end of the bed. She was wearing baggy blue nightclothes, and her hair was loose and messy. Oracus pulled the sheets up to cover his bare chest.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I just wanted to speak to someone.”

“Didn’t you want to speak to Quent?”

“He’s asleep. I hope you don’t mind.”

Oracus shook his head. “I’d quite like to chat. I feel empty without Bandor here.”

“I know how you feel,” Kivali replied. “It won’t be long now before I get to see Onca.”

Oracus admonished himself for being so thoughtless. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’ve spent far longer away from her than I have from Bandor.”

“Don’t be silly,” Kivali assured. “It was my decision to travel to Afarra without her in the first place. It’s my own fault.”

“You must really miss her.”

“I do,” Kivali agreed.

Oracus felt awkward and looked around at insignificant things in the room, like the cobwebs in the corners and the hooks that held the flowery drapes over the windows. For a short time, they both sat in silence, and Oracus pulled the bedsheet even higher up towards his neck. He wondered if Kivali might go back to her room, but after a while she turned to him and smiled.

“Can I show you something?” she asked.

Oracus nodded uncertainly.

“You’ll need to put on a shirt.”

Oracus swung his legs off the bed and pulled a shirt over his head. Then Kivali held out a hand for him to take.

At first, he could only focus on how warm and soft Kivali’s fingers were, but then the room started to spin around him, and he felt a familiar weightlessness in his body until he was no longer in Eistra’s house.

Oracus and Kivali stood alone in a courtyard, under the pearlescent silver shine of a mushroom-shaped water fountain. Beneath the starry sky, water flowed from the mushroom’s cap and splashed lightly into the shallow pool below, while insects sang merrily in the damp bushes a short distance away. At their sudden appearance, a thousand yellow fireflies burst into life and began dancing around them in the warm night air.

“Where are we?” Oracus asked as he looked around in amazement. He let out a laugh of delight. “It’s incredible.”

“We’re still in Lalacia,” Kivali answered. “I found this place when Quent and I stopped here on the way to Afarra.”

“It’s so peaceful,” Oracus said, unable to take the smile off his face.

“You’d think more people would come here to enjoy it, wouldn’t you?” Kivali said with a shake of her head. “There’s so much hate in the world that sometimes we should remind ourselves beauty like this does actually exist.”

Oracus was reminded of his conversation with Bandor the evening before; when he had wondered aloud if it was possible to avoid opposing Jowra.

“This is when you preach to me that we’re fighting Jowra to stop places like this being destroyed, isn’t it?” he said.

Kivali turned to him and offered a serious gaze. “Not at all,” she said to Oracus’s surprise. “If there was a way not to fight him then I would be all for it. But we have reached a stage now where a compromise cannot be made.”

“Don’t you think so?”

“Unfortunately not. There are so many people caught up in this war now there is no turning back; too much water has passed under the bridge. No agreement will ever be enough, so it will continue until the day there is a victor and a loser.”

Oracus sighed, and the fountain suddenly didn’t seem so attractive. The silver glow seemed less bright, and the splashing water became more cacophonous than therapeutic.

“What was it like in Thessley before you were forced to leave?” Kivali asked him quietly.

Oracus closed his eyes and let the memories of his childhood home come flooding back. He could almost smell the freshly cut grass from the summer fields, and almost hear the voices of the stall-owners shouting across the village centre. “It was perfect,” he answered.

“Tell me why,” Kivali pressed.

Oracus opened his eyes again and saw the fireflies had all disappeared. And the bugs no longer chirped from the bushes. “It’s simple really,” he said. “Thessley wasn't at war and I wasn't part of a plot to kill the King.”

“I can't imagine what that must feel like,” Kivali said. “I've lived my whole life preparing for war.”

“That can’t have been fun,” Oracus presumed.

“Actually, the challenge of killing Jowra has always brought me a lot of comfort.”

“I suppose we all find comfort in what we endure as children,” Oracus said.

“Did you ever want to leave Thessley?” Kivali pressed.

Oracus took a moment to consider his answer. Secretly, he had always wanted to see more of Pharia than just Thessley, even as a child. But now he knew what the rest of Pharia was like, he wished to be back in his safe little village.

“I thought the grass may be greener on the other side,” he admitted. “But it turns out I was wrong.”

“And that’s why you’re liked by so many people in the rebellion. You’ve only just learned of this terrible war, yet you’re still willing to fight alongside us all.”

“Jowra's soldiers killed my father, that’s the only reason I’m fighting. I’m not brave or courageous, I’m just the son of a farmer who has been left with nothing but the hope of revenge.”

Kivali bowed her head in acknowledgment. “Although I don’t agree with the circumstances, I’m glad you left Thessley,” she said. “Otherwise we might never have met. And that would have been a shame.”

Oracus looked up at the silver fountain again. Temporarily, it appeared to shine a little brighter.

“We should get back,” Kivali said.

Oracus nodded, and Kivali wrapped her fingers around his. For a second, they stared warmly into each other’s eyes, and then the spinning began.

In an instant, the fountain was gone, and so too was the gentle splash of its water hitting the pool. Oracus and Kivali were back in Eistra’s home, and the old lady’s snores were continuing to shake the walls.