They began the long trek up the mountain the next day.

It hadn’t occurred to the boy how rough or difficult following a path up a mountain would be. Yet as their path became more and more steep, the spaces for the pack snakes became more and more narrow, that reality began to set in.

What was once a painting of dancing golds and dribbling blues soon drowned in a bath of painfully grey rock. Even the odd tree or two, surrendered to the overwhelming moss that latched onto the mountain side.

The paths were rough here. Rocks of every shape and size littered the pathway. Some were even so oddly shaped, the young prince would take to collecting them in hopeless attempt to impress the unappeasable Azhar.

Somehow, Toftof had managed to convince the young prince that the man was once a fond archivist of rocks.

That made Cirin laugh a little while he watched the prince laude the man over with rocks, until of course he saw Taba laughing to the same thing and immediately found no joy in it. She was his enemy after all.

Despite their long breaks and slow attempts at rearing the snakes up the particularly narrow paths, they made it to a relatively high and spacious cave by late that evening.

Cirin wandered out of the cave when he saw Azhar and Taba leave it. At the entrance, he saw Taba running the way back, while Azhar simple strolled to the opposite side.

He made his way to his master’s side.

“Look at dat mouse.” Said the man.

Cirin pressed his bangs up and glared into the distance as Azhar had. He had his breath stolen by the sight. The thief was a stunning one.

A series of mountains clambered in the distance, parting their world from the endless desert sea an eternity away. There well into the rock infested path, a myriad of lights snaked from one mountain to the next until it flowed into desert as if it were a delta. This luminous river dimmed and flickered every so often. The place where those lights ended and the sky met the ground made seem as though those lights became the very stars themselves.

“I rememba dis from a long time ago.” Confessed Azhar, “Do ya know what dey are?”

Cirin squinted at the seeming river, “Fire?” he guessed.

“Locusts.” Answered Azhar, “Da damned bugs da farmers of Gin hate most. Dey swarm tru dis mountain pass every few years. Exactly as dey do, dey happen ta glow as well. One da most beautiful of sights if ya manage ta see it. Back den my friends and I met a young couple who said dey’d build an inn down dere. I wonda if dey did in da end? Humpf.” He puffed, “Da duo insisted travalahs would come from all ova ta stay when da locusts passed. Imagine, hundreds of people swarming dere as much as da locusts, and on top of dat, whoel feasts fa da pack snakes dose travalahs be bringin’ .”

“Y-y-ya mean dere’ll be hundreds of s-snakes down dere?” stammered Cirin.

“Only if dat duo succeeded.” The old mon smiled and ruffled Cirin hair, “If dat fear of ya’s bests ya even now, I may have ta keep calling ya mouse fa da rest of ya life, mouse.”

Cirin brushed off the man’s grasp, “dey be awful tings. No arms. No legs. Dat just be unnatural mon.”

“Dere be far more unnatural tings in dis world dan dat, mouse. Take a red eyed boy fa example.”

Cirin instantly covered his face with his hair.

“Why ya got ta be sa ashamed of it?”

“No one else has dem.” Hushed the boy. “Ya just said it. Dey be unnatural.”

“What?”

“Ya heard me.”

Azhar let out a long drawn breath, “One of dese days ya going ta be blinded by ya own hair cause ya be too shy ta show ya eyes.”

“You’re one ta talk.” Retorted the boy.

“Oi, I dun cut my hair cause I be… not ta concerned about it.”

“Dat’s an easy way ta say lazy.” Grinned Cirin, “We not trainin’ tonight?”

Azhar yawned and turned on his heel, “Sleep mouse. Lest ya want da locusts crawling in ya ears when ya fall asleep tammora.”

Cirin glanced the way of where Taba left. He balled his fists.

“Maybe I be needin ta take dat risk.”

He broke into a sprint the moment he passed the cave entrance, the long winding road heading back the way they came bobbed up and down in his sights as he ran.

“Where ya going?” called the old mon after him.

Cirin half turned as he ran on the spot, “Just a little run.” He huffed before returning to his trot.

He ran where he could, but for the most part he spent his time carefully wading passed the more unaccommodating rocks on the path.

Keeping his eyes fixed ahead of him, he would stop every so often whenever a wide space presented itself alongside the road. He had seen quite a few of those on the way there, all of which the old mon refused to stop by because the pack snakes were too sizable to rest there.

Then, after nearly a half hour’s run, he came across the telling view of Taba. She had one blade ahead of her while she kept her free arm poised behind her back.

That arm would momentarily produce a snap and a simple rock mannequin would emerge behind her. Each time they did, she would spin to them and cut them down immediately.

Cirin squatted where he was and squinted to get a better view. Hers was no ordinary style. It allowed her to pivot quickly and respond in equal fashion. Maybe it was because she was the one forming her dummies, though Cirin remembered she had no control over things she created that were not within her sight. So every time she snapped another of her rocky targets into existence she could not place or control them as she pleased since at the very least they’d form out of her field of view.

Cirin found himself sitting now, with his elbows resting on his knees and his head perched upon his palms. It was a novel way to train. Something he’d wish he had the capability of doing. Yet the more and more he watched her the more bothered he became about it.

Cirin had beaten Taba twice in a duel. When she challenged him, he saw that as his opportunity to rid her for good. She was too stubborn to train and the past made it clear she was the inferior fighter. Besides, she had no way to counter him close range.

He focussed on her blade in motion. Now she had a means to counter him. His perching hands fell from his head and crumpled into fists. For the first time since Ezmir he choked on his imagined feebleness. A single thought carved out all others.

What if she won?

Taba’s movements seemed faster now, florid even. She snapped her fingers once more, yet this time spawning her target atleast fifteen paces away from her.

She turned to it as she had a dozen time before. Cirin sat up. She had no way of striking the statue with her blade. Not at that distance. Atleast not anytime soon.

What she did next made Cirin instinctively reach for his right shoulder.

She vanished her blade, snapped ten times, and sent ten miniature missiles whistling to the dummy.

They hit in ten powerful bangs and the dummy crumbled to dust.

Cirin got up. He’d seen enough. He cursed at himself for not noticing earlier. Taba was never one he could take lightly.

By morn the company made quick work of the downward mountain path. It proved considerably easier to traverse as the footing became more and more flat. It seemed the locals were only fond of improving roads when they happened to be used.

Their path had already converged three times that day with more paths coming in from the south, north, and northwest.

They’d even passed a few travellers who opted for a laxer pace.

Manama, who had parted momentarily to approach one of these groups, ran up to the company whilst waving them to stop.

Azhar was both the man to steady the snakes and greet Manama, “What have ya, Mana?”

“Pilgrims.” She puffed, “Dey be here for da locust festival.”

“It’s a festival now?” said Azhar, “Den time has really given life to dis place.”

Manama nodded, “Dey say people come from all ova da desert ta attend it by da Grand Valley inn. It be four day pilgrimage from all official entrances to da mountains.”

“Tree days, eh?” stretched Toftof.

“Well that isn’t as bad as I imagined.” Noted Catherine, “And we get to stay in a proper lodging.”

“If we get any rooms.” Pointed out Azhar.

Cirin lowered his brows at the man, “But ya said ya knew da owners.”

“Dat was twenty years ago, mouse. Dey must’ve forgotten me by now.”

“And if they didn’t?” asked Catherine.

Azhar sighed her way, “Even den, dere be no telling if dey make an exception for us.”

The pilgrims Manama had been talking to made their way passed the company. Manama waved them by as they did.

It was a young couple, both equipped with massive packs on their backs. A couple ‘coo’s’ echoed from behind them and Cirin found himself staring at a small, hairy creature wearing a long skirt all the way to its shoulders. It leapt to the man’s shoulders when it got to them, prompting a good chuckled from the two.

Cirin smiled at Sol when he saw the boy. The prince had been absolutely taken by the sight.

Manama must have noticed the boy’s interest as well as she explained to them all, “Dat be a tulek, young prince. Da little imp was travelin wit da two. Dey called him ‘a dear friend’.”

Cirin reared his eyes to the hairy devil. Most of them lived in the desert, but every now and then slave traders would arrive at Lamanori with the creatures in stock. There were even some rumors that an entire village of the beasts lay to the south of Lamanori in a small valley not known to most salvagers.

The boy’s gaze lapsed back to the prince. Perhaps he’d take Sol there someday.

“Will we see more of them?” asked Sol.

“I promise we will.” Answered the old mon, “But not if we spend our days wasting on dis road. Break be ova.” Azhar patted the lead snake twice and it started slithering.

Sometime around noon, the roads became impassably populated. It was slow at first, but as more and more smaller roads converged with their main one, the intrusion of pilgrims became inevitable.

Unfortunately for the company, their packs snakes made traveling that limited road contrived for now. Azhar was the one who gave the order to stop by the first available road side.

“I rememba dis place.” Said the old mon as he paced by the roadside.

It was a blooming place, oddly encroached upon by flora where all else life ceased to be. It was half circle cut into the mountain with a wide enough path that led higher up.

The more Cirin studied it the more he realised that greenery was not just present by the roadside, there were also hints of it right near the curving path.

Azhar led the way, motioning for the pack snakes to follow him, “My friend and I stopped here when we first passed. Etro,” He continued, glancing at Taba, “Was da one who insisted we keep go higher even if it kept us from our path.”

The pack snakes slid up the pass, which curved sharply with a bit of a slope. The foliage grew in color and size the more they trekked up the pass. In a lot of ways it reminded Cirin of Gin. There vines spread across the sides of the mountain walled path with a variety of daisies coloring the side with red, yellow, and white.

The road here was also littered with jagged stone and prickly weeds. The more they trekked along the road,it became steeper until finally it levelled all at once with a singular Malformed tree blocking the top half of the pathway.

Azhar ducked his head under the crooked thing.

“It be just pass dis branch.” Informed Azhar.

Cirin made sure he was the first to pass after Azhar, with Sol just behind him, and Taba a close third.

Cirin held his breath. An entire clearing of moss laden ground lay ahead of them. Birds chirped in the distance while the heavy flow of water followed through. The clearing was large enough to host a dozen pack snakes let alone two! Though admittedly it had been split in two by a trickling creek that fed into a darkened hole on the other side.

Cirin panned his head and spotted what was a glistening miniature waterfall and even more of the daisies he had seen before. In fact, the walls guarding the clearing were a mess of flowers and vines. Life thrived here.

“Dun get used to it.” Warned the old mon, “We only be staying here till da crowd down dere, parts, den we’ll make up da time we lost.”

“So we’ll be traveling through the night?” started Catherine.

Azhar let out a long sigh, “No. Toftof, Manama and I will guide da snakes in shifts while you children sleep on them.”

Catherine nodded to herself, “That sounds… leisurely.”

“Dun get used ta dat eider.” Snapped Azhar.

Cirin found himself locking eyes with Taba then. He had only glanced her way, though he not been expecting the girl to glare back. The same telling animosity painted across her narrowed brows. Did she know he saw him? Was she taunting him?

Taba turned for the tree then, but not before Azhar’s voice boomed once again, “I know ya like ta head off on ya own, princess, but I’d advise against it fa today.”

Taba shifted a little closer to the tree then stopped herself. Cirin had expected a heated response from the girl, yet to his surprise she merely protested with.

“But-”

Azhar stepped towards her, “Dere be a flock of stranger down dere, strangers who may wished ta harm girls like ya. Now, normally I’d let ya go seeing as how ya only happen ta be traveling in da same direction as us, but say someting do happen ta ya. Why den we may end up stopping our own travels ta pursue ya.”

“Ya wouldn’t.” blurted Taba.

Azhar nudged his head at Toftof who had been observing the situation from a distance. The old mon had a halfsmile on his face, “Even I didn’t fa some reason. Da idiot ova dere would. Do me a favor.” He finished his trip to the girl and placed a hand on her head, “Trust me and stay wit us just fa dis.”

After a while Taba nodded her head underneath the man’s hand.

Cirin blinked. Was she the same girl he’d known her to be? The ingrain noble he knew her to be would never be so docile.

He may have well called out the unholy association of the two, when the man himself approached the boy first.

“Oi mouse, we need ta talk.”

Azhar directed Crin to a secluded corner of the clearing.

“Alone.” Stressed Azhar at the duckling prince.

Sol produced a frown, but listened all the same, choosing to go to Catherine in the absence of cirin’s presence.

Azhar placed one hand on Cirin’s shoulder and pushed him through the final stretch to the corner. There was log there, partly molded but brimming with moss. Azhar sat down on it and patted it to motion Cirin to sit.

The boy did just that, his eyes still glued to the far off Taba, who had strangely followed sol to Catherine and even began conversing. Cirin squinted his eyes, just what were they talking about.

“Mouse. Mouse!”

Cirin shook his head and turned to the man.

“I know we be in da mountains, but ya head shouldn’t be in da clouds just yet.”

“Yes, I know old mon.” sighed cirin, “what is it ya need?”

Azhar crossed his arms and took a deep breath, “It’s been a while, so do ya mind telling me what happened dat night?”

Cirin stretched his face, “Noting big, old mon.”

“Noting big?” scoffed the man, “Ya disappeared, in da middle of da night, in a foreign city and fa same strange spirits fasaken reason ya brought back a girl.” He motioned his hand at Taba, “Wit golden eyes and apparently da powa ta control rocks?”

“Ya know about dat?”

“Toftof told me dat’s what she used ta heal da prince.” Admitted Azhar. “Now tell me Cirin, please.”

Cirin bit his lip.

“We were kidnapped.” He tossed his eyes at Taba, “Bot of us.”

“From da inn? Really?”

Cirin could feel the man’s eyes piercing through his skull.

“No. not da inn. I-I snuck out early dat night ta… get some air and I saw her.”

“And ya followed her?”

Cirin nodded, “I knew her from Ezmir, Sol asked me ta help her and I couldn’t den. So I tried again dat night, but when I followed her, dere were already uddas afta her so I ended up getting caught as well.”

Azhar nearly fell forwards at that point to the breath he took. Cirin tilted his head. It was almost as if he was relieved to hear that.

“Old mon?”

“Yes? Oh right.” Azhar sat up, “And dat’s when Caterine saved ya, eh?”

“You knew aobut dat to?!” started Cirin.

“She told me she saved ya and da girl from da basilisk gang, but refused ta tell me why ya were captured in da first place. Taba, well I imagined she got taken fa her title as she claims herself ta be some count. But you?” Azhar shook his head, “It’s noting mouse. I was just a little concerned. So den Taba. If you and da prince somehow met her in Ezmir, den she must be somewhat of a traveller and a good one to if she’d been travelling by herself. Caterine and da prince seem ta tink well of her, so I suppose I should give her a chance to.”

“About dat.” Started Cirin. “Taba, she-” Cirin choked on his own words. He balled his fists and his chest buckled. He had the ability to remove her from their group. He tossed his eyes to Azhar. He needed only to tell him the truth. About who she was, about what she’d done. But then he would’ve betrayed the pact they made.

“I wouldn’t truly be defeating her.” He hushed under his breath.

“What was dat, mouse?”

“Taba.” He clarified, “She’s not someone I’ll accept as a companion just yet. I dun trust her even she trusts ya. Why is dat anyway? What spell she play on ya?”

“Spell?” Chuckled Azhar. He leaned forwards and rested his head on tips of his knuckles, “Sometimes when ya see someone who’s lost a lot even if dey dun tell ya, ya strive ta help em. No reason. No trick to it, just instinct. Call it human nature.”

“Dat’s ridiculous! Instinct?” mocked Cirin, “Ya letting her stay wit us based on a feeling? If it wa up ta my instincts, old mon, I’d cut ties wit her right away. She’s an arrogant, bad mouthed, unreasonable, and insufferable pain.”

“She’s a innocent girl without a home nor a family.” Retorted the man, “Have a heart, mouse. By the way ya care fa Sol, I know ya have one.”

Azhar lifted off the seat then, leaving Cirin to shoot up after him.

“Train now.” Instructed Azhar with his back to the boy. “Practice ya stance, make sure it’s perfect. Den ya swings, and most importantly ya stretches.” The old man stretched his own arms and glanced at Cirin as he made his way to the pack snakes, “I’m going ta rest a bit fa my night shift. Oh and mouse.” His tired stride halted, “I’m glad ya finally told me da truth, mouse.” He noted before continuing.

What followed was the slowest four hours of training Cirin ever endured. Throughout it all, the stances, the swings, and even the stretches Cirin found himself staring at Taba while she conversed with the members of the company. The worst about it was that he had no way of telling what they talked about. He entertained the idea of walking in on the discussions, but knew that if Taba even heard his steps she would derail the topic and move on to the next. So Cirin waited.

After his final stretch, he capitalized on Taba’s absence from Catherine and Sol. He crossed the distance to them in seconds, as the were giggling by the larger pack snake by the exit to the clearing.

“Cirin!” called Sol, “Done with practice?”

“Yes, my prince.” Said Cirin with a glance at Azhar, “I tink I can rest now witout da old mon breathing down my back when he stirs.”

“I saw you looking at us earlier.” Detected Catherine. The smile on her face told all about what she was thinking.

“Yes.” Sighed Cirin, “It’s about Taba. What did she talk to ya about?”

Sol seemed giddy to answer, but Catherine was quick to quell his urge. She kept one hand on the prince’s shoulder.

“You mustn’t be surprised to learn we talked with her, Cirin. She is a member of our company after all.” Explained Catherine, “But, it was quite unlike her to ask about what she did.”

“You!” Brimmed Sol, “She wanted to learn about you!”

Cirin made a frown, he could not say he shared the same enthusiasm as his younger counterpart.

“What about me?”

Catherine started laughing between closed lips, “Nothing to worry about, Cirin.” She calmed the boy, prying her hand from sol’s shoulder to place it on Cirin’s, “You suspect her too much, yet you two share more than you know. You’re the same age for starters.”

Catherine lowered her chin when Cirin refused to change his expression, “I’ve also taken this delay in our schedule as opportunity to question her.” Continued the scholar, “thanks to this boy’s presence,” She smiled at the prince, “I’ve determined Taba’s role in the black tower plot.”

“You know about dat?” coughed Cirin.

“I will admit it makes me awfully curious about the magic required to do such a thing and the morality of it well… Cirin, if that’s what has been bothering you, Taba had not actually broken a tower.”

“I know dat, it’s just-”

“Sol did you happen to remember the time I scheduled with her.”

“Yes mam.” Saluted the prince.

Catherine turned back to Cirin, “Cirin, you must hear this! Taba agreed to divulge what she’s been taught about the towers! Can you believe that? Her knowledge alone could open entirely new doors into my research. Cirin?”

“Ya won’t tell da uddas about it?” Cirin’s eyes snapped to the prince, “Neida of ya?”

Sol made a motion to seal his lips while Catherine nodded stoutly.

“That goes without saying.” Confirmed the girl.

Cirin glanced at Taba once more. Now she was talking to both Manama and Toftof. There was laughter, gasps, the usual snickering Manama, and the unavoidable red aced Toftof. First Azhar, then Sol and Catherine, now even those two? Cirin dug his fingers into his palms. Little by little Taba had wormed her way into their little circle and only half of them knew the truth.

They left the clearing by the evening.

Unlike before, the road now was nearly barren. Azhar had been correct once again. They made down the road without delay.

As discussed, Cirin, Sol, Catherine, and Taba all leapt on the pack snakes to sleep when night had fully set in, while the other three took to guiding the snakes.

Cirin and Sol stuck to the front snake while Taba and Catherine kept to the back one.

Sol fell asleep as quickly as ever, yet Cirin could only lay there on his back, his eyes permanently open. A simple question repeated in his head a thousand times.

What if she won?

Even she had, he knew the people who he’d be forced to abandon would never let it happen. But now? They seemed to trust the girl more every day. Cirin rolled to his side. She could do more than him too. She had magic, she knew the land, and she could heal wounds. She was everything he was and more.

As his thoughts hammered within him, the air became stiflingly cold. He huddled himself to keep warmth and when he did, he heard the distant buzz of the locust swarm. A bug by itself merely buzzed, a couple began to sound as if it were static, but a swarm was something more. Even if it were well into the distance he could discern it as well as the wind. A million wing beats, the myriad of chirps of countless more. Together it formed nothing short of a brilliant indisputable ballad of the night. It was the sound of the ocean, of waves, of deafening force.

Cirin’s eyes began to drift then. He had heard the ocean every night since he was born. No lamanorin slept without the waves in their ears. It was therapy. He became immediately entranced and quickly fell into slumber.

Not Even Toftof’s yawn woke him from that.

“Oi azhar, I might fall asleep on ya.” Warned Toftof.

“Da sound of da bugs?” replied Azhar.

“Aye sounds like Da Ocean.”

Azhar let out a laugh, “Da weakness of all Lamanorins.” He declared.

Come the next day, they stopped by a clearing by noon once again. This time, Azhar argued that they had traveled too far at night, and needed to give the snakes some time to rest before moving on.

Cirin noted that they had traveled fairly well down the mountain pass by now and in fact were bound to travel to a place further down than ground level. There camp that day consisted of a unceremonious spot near a mess of low rolling hills.

He teetered over a nearby fall. The legendary valley the pilgrims had talked of lay ahead of him in full glory. It was teeming with life.

The same trees that grew just before the mountain pass flourished in the valley below, yet instead of displaying the familiar golds, this valley was as luscious as Gin.

Some of the trees grew massive enough to tower above the sea of green below them, and in one particular area there was no forest at all. Instead, a field of grass lay barren save for a manse which sat squarely in the midst of it. The Manse was an immaculate thing. Just on first inspection, Cirin counted nine floors, more than he had ever seen in any palace.

Azhar gave it a title, “Da Grand Valley Inn.” Azhar patted the boy on the shoulder, “Since da self training worked sa well yestaday, I’ll have ya do it again today.”

Cirin frowned at the man. No doubt he just wanted to sleep. Azhar’s subsequent yawn only proved that.

“Anyting ta get away from ya foul breath.” Waved Cirin.

Azhar breathed into his own hand and gagged, “A problem I’ll be solving when we reach dat inn tammara.” he retorted

“Tammara?”

“Aye, we aren’t far mouse. Now, go train befa I change my mind.”

Cirin nodded to that, fearing the man truly did mean to breath on him.

As always he looked for Taba first. This time, it seemed she was clear to go train, as she was nowhere to be seen at the camp. Cirin wondered why she did that. Perhaps because she wanted to hide her magic? Though it was clear everyone knew of that. Cirin spotted Toftof as he zoomed passed the man. Everyone that mattered anyway.

Cirin nodded to himself when he reached the first of many hills. He glanced back at where the pack snakes were. Perhaps he’d try training in solitude as well.

He found two benefits upon commencing his lonely regimen. One, he had no distractions, and two, he could respond to the voice without anyone raising a brow. Still, it had been weeks since the voice had spoken to him, so the second point was merely a pleasant addition.

“I tink she’s just trying ta learn of ways ta beat me.” Roared Cirin as he swung his blade forward.

Surely if that were her intention your allies would have told you so, pig child.

“Why else would she talk to dem?”

Have you ever considered that she genuinely wants to stay with your group?

Cirin paused his swing, “No.” he convinced himself, “Dat girl’s only here ta thwart me. Why da udda day when I showed her my stance, your stance, she laughed at me.”

Hmm, perhaps you have a point. One does not merely laugh at another man’s stance.

“Right?” swung Cirin.

But be that as it may, you must not let these idle thoughts distract you to the point where you cannot even fathom winning. Her power is considerable, but so is yours. Even if you happen to be restricted to that piddling weak pig body.

Cirin lowered his blade, withdrew the second and took up his stance.

“What do ya tink of my blade by the way?”

Trust, you called it?

“Ya know about dat? Huh. It seems everyone knows everyting dese days.”

The blade is ornate, I will admit, but it trifles in comparison to my own blades. I did not name them as you have, but they bare importance all the same. One was a blade forged personally for me at the behest of a good friend, and the other was that of an ancient warrior passed down from mari to mari in my clan. Only the worthiest fighter could wield the blade. Ah, how I wonder who holds it now.

“Maybe when I get olda I can go ova dere, to da east as ya say, and claim dat blade fa my own.”

You? A pig? Impossible. You couldn’t even lift the thing.

“Not yet.” Conceded Cirin, “But I’ll be able to in da future and sa much more.”

Only if you beat the girl that is.

“Ya, if only.”

It surprises me the girl even manages to hold a title whilst being a shaman. In my land that would be considered a crime.

“How so?”

Shamans are powerful, yes. But they must use that power to serve the land. That is their calling. From what you’ve seen and heard of this girl and how you’ve described her to me, bar the insults, she appears to be very much indebted to these towers. As if that is the part of the land she serves.

A ball of sweat rolled down his temple as he focussed on the front blade, “I dun tink dat’s right mon. Ta say anyone be bound by someting dey be born into. Da way Sol is. Well, I say no one should be stuck like dat. Not even dat noble.”

How strange. And yet you despise slaves as you do.

“Dey chose deir course.”

Not all of them quipped the voice.

“Even if dose slaves back in dat city be bound by something dat was already decided fa dem, dey can still chose ta run. Dey have arms ta break deir chains, feet ta run away wit.”

And you assume they know of that option? You are naïve pig-child.

“Shut it, ya headless voice.”

The voice paused for a bit, though Cirin was sure it was not due to his request.

There is another matter I wish to discuss with you, child. Or rather, test out so to speak. Put a way your blades.

Cirin hesitated. He could feel the voice’s presence linger on. Strangely, he had been out longer than usual. There must have been a reason for that. He let himself breath while he sheathed his blades.

Now sit down, cross-legged I possible, press your fists together and close your eyes.

“What good will dat do?”

I do not have much time. Listen to me this once.

Cirin wanted to protest, but he understood the truth in the voice’s words. If it disappeared now, there was no telling when, even if, it’d reappear. He sat down, crossed his legs, and pushed his hands together at the knuckles.

He let the last image he saw of the world burn in the back of his mind. Oblong mountains stretched in the distance, a series of rolling green hills coveted the foreground, and a mist lingered over the forest below. It smelled of mint and lavender. The fields were ripe with the stuff. The air was breezy, a comforting thing.

Cirin shut his eyes. Black, the inside of his eyelids. And then, true black.

He felt motionless, bodiless, the cold sting of air vanished without warning. Frightened, he tried opening his eyes, but when he did, there was nothing but black. His body returned to him, yet now he was floating.

A voice, distant at first, prickled the back of his ears.

“Do you hear me, pig-child?”

Cirin dared not breathe. It was the voice, yet it wasn’t. This sounded real, not within him but behind. His neck arched on its own. The first thing he saw blurred passed him to his side and he followed it duely with his head.

The moment the figure snapped into focus, he recognized it instantly. How could he not? It was the same figure he had seen a hundred times in his dreams. The same figure he recalled whenever he practiced that stance.

“Why can’t I see ya face?” asked Cirin.

“Curious. Must be symptom of my fading.”

Cirin shook his arms awake as he struggled to get up.

“No. Stop.” Urged the figure, aching closer, “Sit still or you’ll break the meditation.”

“Dis… where? Am I trapped?”

“Listen before you ask. As I said just seconds ago, you need only stand up to leave. But to return, well that isn’t so simple. Let’s just say, your presence here is a joint effort, without my consent you cannot be here.”

“And where is here?”

The figure sat down a little ways infront of the boy. He had the same black feathered from before, wearing the same robes as prior.

“In a space between you and I. It’s quite complicated. If it wasn’t for a few lessons I had learned from a particular shaman in my life I would not even have thought to do this. But that is beside the point, right now I need to learn whether or not I can trust you.”

“What are ya afta?”

“Your continued survival. To that end I wish to pass on to you my clan’s ancient fighting techniques so you may do your best to endure.”

Cirin cocked his head, “But ya said I can’t stand up. How do I even begin ta train?”

The figure sprang to his feet, “You proceed with the first step of any form of learning.” It reached behind its back and withdrew both blades, “You listen. Observe.”

He held his first blade well a head of him, the pommel leveled with his breast. The second blade, he adorned a little ways behind his head.

“You begin with your left hand.” He instructed, swiping the front blade down at angle, “Then while you are doing that, arch forwards and continue with your right.”

His body slid forwards as he drew his right blade over his head and in front of him.

“Whilst you are doing this, bring the left blade back like so.” He brought the blade behind him and ever so slowly brought it over his head.

Cirin’s eyes expanded as the figure snapped the right blade to the side that was a head of him.

“Return to the original posture where both arms are reversed.” Instructed the figure. “Train this, instead of your swings.”

“Dat’s it?” blurted Cirin.

“Well yes.” Answered the figure, lowering his blades.

Cirin held his arms to his side, “My fight wit Taba be in a couple days, how can I use dis to defeat her? Dis be da basics mon.” He protested.

“The basics are of the most import to your studies.”

“Why didn’t ya show me dis earlier, den?” argued Cirin.

“As I’ve said before, I’ve only recently concocted this idea as a means to communicate with you.” Explained the figure. “Besides, I suspect that opponent of yours may more willing to post pone that fight than you imagine.”

“What do ya mean she’ll post pone?”

The figure produced a peculiar chuckle, “If only you observed mari as well as you did their positions, pig. As for now, you best mind your own position.”

Cirin stood up instinctively, waking from the darkness as if it were a dream. He glanced about himself and sighed. There was no one watching him. The voice was right about one thing. Cirin never erred in the positions of his enemies. If someone had been watching him, they were no more.

“Voice?” he called out in his loneliness.

Cirin plummeted to his bum. Of course he wasn’t there. He had used Cirin’s own caution against him.

Slowly, the boy withdrew Trust from his back and squinted at the searing reflection of the sun against the steel. It was still bright out, probably not much past midday.

Cirin leapt to his feet and rolled his shoulders. He’d try out those swings after all.

Once he made it back to camp, he spotted a particularly open spot beside Manama. Unlike the others who tended to stick together Manama oft spent her time alone with the snakes and if not that, tormenting Toftof.

Cirin caught her staring his way as his steps spelled towards her. It seemed Toftof had enough of her ridicule for one day.

“Ah, Cirin.” Commented the woman as Cirin sat in front of her, “How unusual for ya ta see me., dough Manama need not see ya eyes ta undastand ya have questions.”

“I do.” Nodded Cirin, “What can ya tell me about talking ta some one, but wit out talkin to dem.”

Manama scanned the others then motioned the boy to edge closer. “Dis sounds ta be da workings of magic.” She whispered.

Cirin could already see Sol looking his way, no doubt intent on greeting him. He had to hurry if he wanted answers. He lowered his ruby specs at the fortune teller, “Do ya know of it or not?” he pressed.

“Dere be a way.” Confided Manama, “It be called da Cleva’ Man’s Council, dough uddas name it ‘a Place between you and I’.”

“Dat’s it!” started Cirin.

Manama rose a telling brow, “And why would da young Cirin know of dis, eh?” she prodded.

“How would I normally know?” asked Cirin.

Manama smile proved he had passed some unwritten test, “If it were a simple fortune tella, such as Manama, one would assume dat she learned of it from da many rumahs of da Black Flight.”

“Da same Black Flight behind da Black Necks?”

Manama nodded, “Some say da parentage of all Ilivanmar gangs. Da Cleva Man’s Council be simple means ta talk to anudda in private. It be needin no special magic, just consent from bot membas and most importantly…” Manama slowly tossed her eyes to the figure of Taba approaching from the hills. Manama glanced back at Cirin, “it requires da presence of one wit golden eyes.”

Cirin squinted at Taba. His lips moved for him, “How far?” He gasped.

“Manama say it need not be close. She heard of times people have used dis method witout the golden eyes knowing.” She rose both her brows and leaned in a little, “We could try if we wanted.”

Cirin shook his head, “No, dat be ok. What else is dere about it?”

Manama leaned back, “When it begins, bot people enta a darkened room. One be sitting, da udda free ta move, yet only one of da two can choose ta leave end da session.”

“Da one sitting down.” Finished Cirin.

Manama puffed, “Ya learn well from da rumors. Fa dis reason only one of da membas holds all da powa in da room. Dis be a risk but also a benefit ta dose mo… sinister of people.”

“But ya said bot membas have to consent?”

Manama held up a finger, “As it is a technique where bot membas need ta consent, less are suspicious of it. Dough, not many know of da consequences.”

“Except dose who heard da rumahs.”

“Except dose.” Agreed Manama.

Cirin sat up, Azhar’s telling steps forced a turn of the boy’s head.

“Mouse, I expected ya ta train, but did ya decide ta sleep as well?” started Azhar.

“I was trainin a new way ta swing old mon.” retorted Cirin.

“To swing?” quipped Toftof quick on the man’s heels, “Like dis?” he pitted, boxing his fists ahead of him.

“No, wit my blades.”

“Doesn’t matta, we going now. Get ya tings mouse.” Ordered Azhar.

One by one the members of the company passed Cirin by as they threw their owns goods on the back of the pack snake. This was usual practice by then. Due to their increased company size one or two members would oft be forced to carry a few of their own things to relieve the weight the snakes had to bear. Normally, Manama or Taba got stuck with this measure as they were both the laziest and tardiest respectively.

Cirin threw the rest of his things into a loosely tied knapsack. It would have to do for now. Once the first snake slithered away with Azhar and Toftof guiding it, Cirin stumbled to catch the second one. A slightly quicker Taba passed him by as he struggled. She too had to gather her things. Cirin paused. If he had blinked, he would have missed it.

Just as Taba passed him by, he could’ve sworn she looked at him. A face of disdain as usual? No. It was one of muddled eyebrows and sullen cheeks.

“Cirin?” called Sol from the back of the pack snake.

Cirin tugged the last of his pack straps to ensure its rigidity, then ran to the prince. Even as he made his way to the prince, his eyes snapped to Taba, who had already started talking to Catherine by the snake’s side. A telling smile from the girl made him question what he had saw just moments prior. Cirin shook his head.

“What’s wrong?” questioned the prince.

Cirin smiled at the boy. It seemed the Sol was as keen to read his expression as he was Taba’s.

“Noting ya imp.” He waved it by, “I tink I’ve been trainin’ too much. I almost tought I saw Taba make a face dat wasn’t disgusted at me.”

“She’s not that bad.” Pushed Sol.

“Well she hasn’t proven uddawise.” Argued Cirin.

The company continued on through the night and even into the morning. The timely trip led the company through a spiraling pathway. For hours, the scenery of the barren mountains persisted, until as they breached the valley mouth, that endless stones seemingly yielded to a host of luscious greens.

Cirin spotted the Grand Valley Inn by noon the next day.