Llew woke from a dreamless sleep. It took but a moment to realize she wasn’t breathing, that she hadn’t been breathing. Gasping for air now, she grabbed the rope around her throat, trying to ease the pressure; her own weight kept pulling her down. Her legs kicked at nothing and she began to swing gently.

Someone gasped and someone – the same or another – ran off.

Consciousness faded and everything went black again.

When she stirred, Llew had a vague recollection of having done so before. She fought down her panic and managed to squeeze her fingers between the rope and her throat and raised herself enough to take a ragged breath: but her arms failed and she came down on her fingers. She was able to take shallow breaths, but her fingertips were being rapidly suffocated of blood.

A woman’s scream alerted her to the fact she was in full public view. Great. Even if she got herself down, there was every chance she’d be right back here soon after, or disposed of in some other, more certain way. An image of a chopping block and an axe flashed through her mind. Oh gods!

Through sheer force of will she made her arms once more raise her body and, trembling under the strain, she eased the rope forward from her throat toward her chin. She rested her fingers, grabbing the sides of the noose and leaning her head back into the spiral knot, redistributing her weight. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

The hushed silence told her that people were more fascinated by her efforts than they were interested in alerting anyone official.

She didn’t know how long she’d been gone. As she focused her efforts on freeing herself, some part of her mind turned over the fact that she’d already died once before. Now she could make it, what? Three times? Three times in how many days? The sun was high. Lunch time. She’d been hung in the morning. Was this the same day? The next day? A week later?

As far as she could tell, it had taken her a couple of hours or so to come back after the glass bottle incident. She didn’t know how long a broken neck would take to heal.

Her arms rested as much as they could under the circumstances, she returned to her efforts to slide the rope to her chin. Her neck ached, the rope burned her cheeks and jaw, and trapped blood threatened to pop the tips of her fingers. But none of that mattered when giving up would mean suffocating to death. Again.

The flutter of wings and the scratch of claws on metal drew Llew’s attention to the roof of the building that cast a shadow over her, shielding her from the afternoon sun. A swamp hawk perched there, inspecting her, its head moving in staccato tilts and turns. She bared her teeth and hissed at the bird. It continued to peer at her with idle curiosity. The best way to lose the scavenger’s interest was to get free and on the move.

This was it, her moment of freedom likely followed by a more permanent death. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer to whatever god might listen to an orphan in such a godforsaken place. The ignorance of others and her own luck had so far kept her alive. She just needed them to hold out until... well, until she was away from Cheer. She was almost certain there was more to life out there, somewhere.

She took a breath, steeling herself for the drop, and wiggled, rolled and pressed the rope over the curve of her chin. It burned up the back of her head and caught under her nose. Pain seared through her top lip and up her sinuses into her forehead, and her legs thrashed, seeking ground; she wasn’t there yet. The rope was slipping, if slowly. With a flick of her thumbs she forced it from under her nose. Her brow caught on it briefly, then she slid free.

Landing on something soft she leaped up immediately, adrenaline flooding her bloodstream, fearing she had landed on an over-enthusiastic onlooker, only to find a still warm but motionless pile of feathers, fur, and flies. A selection of the local carrion eaters: swamp hawks, rats, and bugs.

Bile rose in her throat, and her skin crawled. Llew turned from the pile of death – her saviors, evidently. Her body ached and her tired muscles trembled. She would have collapsed from the fatigue and revulsion but, coming face to face with her audience, she was reminded she was not out of danger just yet.

The woman right in front of her looked as terrified as Llew felt. Llew poked out her tongue, screwed up her face, and made an unintelligible sound. The woman shrieked and ran, her male companion following after, looking as shocked as she did. No one in the square seemed to know what to do about this girl who had come back to life. They simply stared.

Llew didn’t much know what to do either. But standing around was only going to get her caught and killed one more time. Taking advantage of their inaction, Llew leaped from the platform and ran; she kept on running.

Her toes slapped the hard-packed sand roads that led to her Spot, and then she pushed through the tussocks. Someone coughed and she skipped behind a tree. Her approach hadn’t been silent, but neither was Big River.

Peering around the tree, she saw a man sitting upstream from her hovel, his line in the water. She moved to confront him – fishing holes were like gold seams in Cheer, and this one was hers – but some small part of her made her grip the trunk and stop before she was halfway past. She looked in the direction of her small shelter, hidden behind more grasses and lupins, and knew she couldn’t return. If she went out there the man would see her. A large contingent of Cheer locals had seen her hang, and it wouldn’t take long for word to spread that she had lived and escaped. So, she couldn’t stay in Cheer. If she left immediately, she might have a chance. While news of her feat might spread far and wide, hopefully a detailed description wouldn’t.

She owned very little; yet it had been hers. To abandon it left a pit in her stomach, but still she turned away, pushing back through the tussocks, back to the road.

She had always thought traveling alone would be dangerous, but what did she have to lose now? If she were attacked, she would heal. If she starved, she would heal. If she poisoned herself trying to stave off hunger, she would heal. Why hadn’t her parents told her this? All her father had ever told her was to keep it to herself, keep it secret. She knew she could fix the odd bump and bruise. Had they thought that if she knew she could come back from the dead she would make a habit of it? Having gone through it twice, no, three times in, perhaps, five days, it wasn’t something she would care to repeat any time soon.

Calculating north, she ran with the simple aim of getting out of Cheer. There was no longer a place for her there and, if she was honest with herself, there hadn’t been since the night her father left.

She found a clean shirt and pair of trousers on a farmhouse washing line. Feeling almost normal, she continued north for as long as her feet would carry her; this turned out to be a pretty long way with bare feet brushing through fields of lush, vibrant grass. She was dimly aware of the almost constant tingling in her soles as her muscles were continually refreshed. Her stomach continued to grumble, though.

The outer regions of Cheer were turning to wine country now that gold was no longer so easy to come by, and she eased the ache in her gut with a couple of handfuls of grapes. And then she found the Great North Road. This continued on a predominantly straight line heading between fields turned to wineries, with others turned to cattle or sheep farms, and finally into the as yet uncleared Aghacian forests. She slept off the road amongst the trees after the sun dipped below the horizon. In summer, the twilight would linger well into the night, but autumn brought dark evenings and freezing nights. She woke shivering in the dark and dawdled onward, figuring she may as well warm her muscles by walking rather than lie sleepless in the early morning cold.

Cheer lay behind a series of hills, yet Llew felt she’d hardly made any headway. There was so much farther to go. So many miles of road, so many hours of hunger and thirst. Aghacia was a long, narrow country and Llew knew little of it, having only vague memories of arriving with her father some eleven years earlier. Cheer was a long way from anywhere.

It was getting to midday when she heard horses approaching from behind. Her pulse quickened, and she scanned the area for cover. There were always trees by the side of the road and she readied herself to dart amongst them. Then, glancing over her shoulder, she relaxed. It was a carriage with a small escort of riders. Not the Farries, then. If she stuck to her path, hopefully they would just ride past her.

The leading riders caught up and passed her. She kept her head down, still feeling too close to Cheer to be safe from scrutiny. But the carriage pulled up just ahead of her.

“You alright, son?” The driver was a man a little past his middle years. Beside him sat a prim woman in a chaste, yet flattering dress, with her hair scooped up at the back of her head. A pretty blonde girl about Llew’s age, dressed as properly as the older woman but with a more relaxed air, completed the trio.

Llew cleared her throat and made her usual octave drop. “I’m fine.” She kept walking.

“We can’t just leave him,” the young woman murmured and was hushed by the older woman.

The carriage moved forward with her.

“It’s just that there ain’t much but road for miles. You sure you wouldn’t be wanting a ride?”

Llew stopped.

“You mean it, mister? You’d take me with you?”

The rider behind the carriage moved into view. Uh-oh. It was the man Llew had stolen the knife from several days before. And, judging from his expression, he remembered her too.

“Hey! You’re that kid from the other day.” One of the leading riders swung round. “Remember him, Jonas?” Al. That was it. His name was Al.

Jonas grunted and gave Llew a none-too-impressed look.

“You know him?” the girl in the carriage asked.

“Kinda. He stole Jonas’s knife at the market the other day.”

“You let him steal your knife?” The older man gave Jonas an incredulous look.

“I didn’t let him—”

“What you doin’ all the way out here?” Al asked.

“I told you I wanted to leave Cheer. I’m leaving Cheer.”

“Just how far were you hoping to get with bare feet and...” The older man looked her up and down. “...no provisions?”

Llew shrugged. “Figured I’d walk. There’s gotta be a few towns between here and Ryaen.” Ryaen was the only Aghacian city with a port. Cheer should have had one, but an unfortunate tide just out from the peninsula made it a dangerous stretch of sea. Too dangerous for the few flakes of gold coming out these days, anyway. What had stated to be built had been left to fall apart.

The older man smiled. “A few, sure. But we’re not due to reach the next till tomorrow, and we got horses.” His head dipped. “And footwear. Come on.” He patted the carriage platform behind him. “We’re all headed the same way.”

It hardly needed saying. Cheer was at one end of Aghacia, ocean to the south and east, hills and mountains that dropped off to the sea to the west: the only way to get anywhere was to take the North Road.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Aris.” Jonas brought his bay and white-patched horse forward. “We don’t know nothin’ about him—”

“Look at him. Clothes too big, no shoes, planning to walk the length of the country.” Aris waved an arm up and down, drawing everyone’s attention to Llew’s attire. “What more is there to know?”

“I just think we should be careful, is all. Anya’s gotta be delivered safely—”

The girl in the carriage laughed, at which the woman beside her scowled. “Sorry, Emylia, but I think Jonas underestimates me. I think I could defend myself from a boy that small.”

Everyone, apart from Jonas apparently, could understand a young lad wanting more from life than Cheer had to offer, and they agreed that extra hands could be put to use. So Llew clambered up into the carriage, and they set off. As he snapped the reins to make the horses walk, Aris explained that they were escorting Anya to her future husband.

“This is so exciting!” Anya exclaimed. “We’re barely out of Cheer and we’ve already picked up a mysterious stranger. What’s your name?”

“Llew.”

“Nice to meet you, Llew. My name is Anya, this is Emylia, and this is Aris.” The woman nodded to Llew with a tight yet friendly smile, and the man offered his hand. Llew shook it and smiled at him. “Up the front,” Anya continued, “are Cassidy and Alvaro. They’re cousins from Rakun, where we’re going. The blond one is Cassidy. And behind is Jonas, who I believe you’ve met...”

“Yes, I, ah, ran into Al— Alvaro and Jonas the other day...”

“How poetic!” Anya said, with a sparkle in her eyes. “I guess it was fate.”

“So, tell me, Llew. Where are your people?” Aris asked over his shoulder.

Llew shrugged. “They’re dead.”

“That’s terrible!” Anya’s perfectly clean and delicate hands flew to her lips.

“Ah.” Aris nodded, ignoring the girl’s outburst. “That’d explain the thieving, then. You lookin’ to make an honest living?”

“Could I?”

Aris nodded again. “Never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes and hands. We’ll find a use for you.”

Jonas watched her with a flat expression for a while then reined his horse in to fall behind the carriage again. Having him behind her made Llew’s spine tingle. Still, the rest of the group seemed welcoming enough. Focus on that.

The carriage rolled on and Llew started her journey with strangers. Strangers with benefits and a modicum of danger.

A gentle breeze blew across the landscape. They remained close to the coast, and the hiss and crash of waves were constant companions. Now and then, the salty smell reached them across open fields. They stopped at a creek by the roadside to eat, water the horses, and refill canteens. Llew gratefully accepted a share in the fresh bread rolls and fruit on offer.

“So, what’s your special skill?” Anya asked, joining Llew by the creek as she filled one of the spare canteens.

“Sorry?”

“Well, you see, Cassidy is a superbly fine shot with a bow and arrow,” she began, swiveling so that she could point out each of their companions. “My father insisted they prove to him that I was in good hands. He’s good with a sword, too, but it was Alvaro who shone in the mini-tournament they put on for me.” She beamed. “And Jonas has an uncanny knack for knife-throwing. Actually, his knives sliced each of Cassidy’s perfect shots.” Anya looked around, seeking out the dark young man.

It wasn’t hard – he hadn’t let Llew out of his sight since she’d joined them, and he wasn’t hiding the fact. Every time she looked up, he was there. When she went off for a privacy stop, he was barely out of view, although he was polite enough not to watch. He didn’t trust her, and Llew hoped that was all. She had stolen from him, after all, so she could understand his concerns.

“So, my little menagerie has an archer, a swordsman and a knife-thrower.” Anya looked Llew up and down. “And what is it that you can do?”

“Fishing?” Llew cursed herself for such a lame answer. She’d been caught off guard and replied with the first thing that came to mind – an archer, a swordsman, a knife-thrower, and a fisher?

Anya clapped her hands with delight. “Oh, that’s wonderful! You can catch us some fresh dinners. It’ll make a nice change from the travel rations.”

Llew blinked. She’d expected a demand for a talent in weaponry. In truth, she had some – you didn’t work for a blacksmith and go on to survive the streets without picking up a few essential skills – but she doubted she compared well with Alvaro, Cassidy, or Jonas.

“I’ll need a hook, I—” Stop. Just stop, now. “I don’t have a hook.” Why was she continuing with this? She should have been proclaiming her skill with a sword, a sling, whatever they needed. Something useful. These people had money and ample supplies, and it wasn’t as if they had the time to sit around waiting for dinner to bite. Fishing. Sure, Llew. They’ll be happy to have you along. You’ll be so useful.

“Perhaps we can get you one when we stop at Orn. I’m sure they’ll have a store.”

“Damn shame, ain’t it?”

“What?” Llew couldn’t believe she’d been taken by surprise again. She stood and turned to follow Cassidy’s gaze. He was watching Anya chat animatedly with Aris and Emylia.

“A girl like that. Off the market already. Marryin’ a guy more’n ten years her senior, too.”

Llew looked at Cassidy. Her lips began to curl up in a smile, and then she remembered her role as a fellow young male and the smile disappeared.

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Damn shame.” Anya’s laughter jangled like a cow bell back through the air to them, accompanied by the deeper tones of Aris. Anya was as comfortable in the presence of her elders as she was with Llew, a stranger.

Normally, Llew would have been wary of these people. What did they have to gain by taking her with them? Very little. In Llew’s world that equated not to generosity, but ignorance. Giving without expecting in return? Unheard of. In accepting their help without negotiating terms, she had put herself in a vulnerable position, and yet it felt like the right thing to do. She probably wouldn’t have accepted the ride from these people if it hadn’t been for Anya though. She trusted Llew not to take advantage of their generosity, and Llew realized that faith was catching.

Cassidy’s clear blue eyes settled on her. “Of course, men like you an’ me never get girls like that. They keep to their own kind and we keep to ours.”

He wasn’t wrong. But Cassidy didn’t look like much of a street rat.

“And what’s your kind?”

Cassidy’s face lit up in a grin. “Generous.”

Revera shifted under Braph, her saddle and his trousers creaking. She was growing restless. If she had any notion how to read the signals flying along the telegraph semaphore line, she would have been as riveted as he. Semaphore towers. Braph shook his head. Aghacia was so far behind the times. Turhmos already had a wired telegraph system, and in having such had a far greater level of security for the information crossing the nation. Aghacia still relied on optical signals, which any damned fool could read. Braph wasn’t a fool, and he was certain he knew more about the information currently heading up the length of Aghacia than the sender or receiver.

News was spreading of a witch surviving a hanging in Cheer at the far south of the country, where Braph was now headed. But not only had the girl survived, she had also killed. She was still there then, or at least had been until this news had got out; he doubted she would still be in Cheer any longer. That wasn’t a bad thing. The shape of Aghacia meant that the chances of Braph and the girl crossing paths were high, and Braph was by no means saddened at the prospect of not returning to that primitive and ramshackle town.

The only question remaining then was whether the girl had actually died and lived, or if she had merely failed to die in the first place and healed her wounds. Either way, Braph wanted to see it for himself.