Chapter 8
Eight
Ivy
“Are you sure he said the ‘crossed trees’?” Stavros asks, pausing to swipe the sweat from his forehead.
The breeze licks cold across my own dampened skin. I rub the back of my neck, dislodging the strands of hair that’ve stuck there.
We spotted the peak of the mountain this morning, shining like silver where it jutted up just above the tree line. The sun was directly overhead by the time we reached the mountain’s foot, and we’ve been climbing for what feels like hours.
I can’t be sure of the exact time, since we’ve found ourselves in a part of Silana so remote that the peal of the nearest town bell was little more than a distant chime even before we started the climb.
The air has cooled as we’ve ascended, but the exertion has warmed us at the same time. The last section of the trek has been up terrain so steep we had to dismount and lead the horses in our weaving path across the rocky ground.
I peer through the brush around us for any sign of trees that would fit Kosmel’s description. “Yes. I remember every instruction he gave perfectly.”
Apparently dreams provoked by godlen don’t fade into vagueness like the regular sort. His divine voice burned itself into my memory.
Alek swipes his fingers through his thick hair, glancing around us. “The forest is dense enough that we can’t see very far through it. We could have already passed the trees by.”
I grimace. “He said to ‘climb straight.’ We set off from the exact spot where we reached the mountain, and we’ve only been veering a few paces from side to side. I don’t think it could be that far off course.”
Casimir hums to himself and then lets out a few coughs. Guilt jabs through my stomach as I turn to him.
“We should take a few minute’s rest anyway. Look, there’s a log over there where you can sit.”
The courtesan gives me the bemused look that’s become more common in the past two days. His voice is still hoarse from his cold. “I’m not worn out yet.”
“We shouldn’t wait until you’re totally exhausted.” I prod him over to the log, touch his forehead to check his temperature, and turn to the horses. “Where are those berries we gathered this morning? Those seemed to help soothe his throat a little.”
Stavros has already moved to his stallion’s saddle packs. “Right here. It’s not a bad thing to pace ourselves.”
He hands me a bundle of the plump purple berries, and I hustle back to Casimir. After he accepts the snack, there isn’t much else I can do for him other than sit on the log and massage his back with slow circles of my hand that I hope soothe his muscles too.
Casimir swallows a couple of the berries and tips his head toward me. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ve had colds before—it’s hardly serious.”
I let out a humph. “You’ve pampered me plenty of times when I was perfectly well. Let me return the favor as well as I can.”
The flush that creeps into his cheeks at those words looks more pleased than feverish. He presses a kiss to the side of my head. “You’re doing a wonderful job.”
Alek leans against a nearby tree, looking equally glad for the brief rest. “Did Kosmel give any indication at all of why we should come up here? If we had a broader sense of what we’re trying to find…”
“That would make it easier, I know. I don’t think he was going for easy.” I sigh. “He mentioned it after I asked him about whether he’d still help direct my magic. He claimed coming here would ‘mend some of what was marred,’ but I have no idea what that means.”
For the first time in ages, Rheave speaks up from where he’s standing at the edge of our group. “If a godlen said it, it’ll be true. They don’t tend to explain things thoroughly, but they don’t lie.”
I look back at his smooth face. His eerie eyes gleam with unshakeable confidence.
How much do daimon know about our deities? They’re considered divine creatures, closer to godly than mortal, but they’re a far cry from being even lesser gods themselves. More like the stray cats and dogs of the unearthly realm.
Although I guess that means they probably still know more than any of us mortals do.
He peers around at the rest of us with an air of avid curiosity I’m seeing more and more of over time. “Have any of the rest of you talked to the gods? I didn’t think they touched humans that directly often.”
Casimir laughs. “They don’t. Only Ivy has had that honor. Kosmel obviously sees something particularly impressive in her.”
The daimon-man’s gaze returns to me, even more avid. “She is special. But you two have gifts.” He nods to Casimir and Stavros.
“One I can’t use anymore,” Stavros says brusquely. The injury that lost him his knack for catching glimpses of the near future is still a bit of a sore subject for him. I don’t imagine he wants an inhuman near-stranger prodding about it.
As if to intervene, Casimir pops the last of the berries into his mouth and stands. He gives his gelding an affectionate pat. “I’m good to continue. Let’s push on.”
I adjust my grip on Toast’s reins as I study the terrain around us. “Maybe we should split up to cast a wider net. We have our lockets—whoever finds the trees first can signal the rest of us.”
Rheave frowns as if he doesn’t like the idea of breaking up the group.
Julita chuckles in the back of my head. The daimon would probably insist on coming with you. I swear he’s even more stubborn than the others. You didn’t even give him any offerings, and he’s stuck on you like a hound to its master.
The stray dog comparison might be even more apt than I realized. I did give Rheave something, without realizing it: honest answers and a little compassion.
A meal he needed more than the standard daimon offering of scraps of food on a plate, it appears.
There’s no denying his commitment to his newly formed loyalty. The way he charged at that bird in the bush yesterday when he thought I was threatened… He was more attack dog than hunting hound then.
An attack dog capable of roasting a starling in an instant.
Really, I should simply be glad he’s aimed his loyalties at me rather than the scourge sorcerers who made his human body.
Stavros guides his stallion toward a path through the underbrush. “I think we should keep together for now. We can reconsider later if we still haven’t found the spot.”
Toast grunts in protest, but he clomps onward up the slope at my gentle tug. Pebbles rattle away under my feet.
The sun dips lower, our shadows lengthening. The wind picks up and tugs at the hood of my cloak.
I’m just starting to worry that the climb will get so steep we’ll have to leave the horses behind when I lift my head and spot a strangely angled trunk through the forest above.
My heart leaps. “Is that…?”
I do leave Toast then, though only to clamber through the clinging shrubs and over jutting tree roots as quickly as I can. A twig scrapes across my palm, but I barely feel the sting.
I come to a stop in front of the trunk I spotted, and a smile stretches across my face.
Somehow or other, a massive birch ended up growing on a slant. Its papery white bark makes it stand out like a slash against the trees behind it.
It looks as if the tree leaning against it was struck by lightning in a storm. The charred trunk toppled to the side—and caught on one of the birch’s boughs. The pale tree holds the dark log against it in an arboreal embrace.
The tops of the trees veer past each other, stretching off into the forest. Forming a shape like a mismatched X in the midst of the woods.
Alek comes to a stop beside me with a breathless laugh. “The crossed trees. We head to the left from here?”
Of course the scholar would have memorized all of Kosmel’s directions the moment I shared them.
I nod, my spirits lifted despite my fatigue from the climb. “I don’t know how much farther it is from here. But I don’t think we can miss a whole waterfall.”
I turn to scramble back to Toast, but Stavros has caught the reins to lead both stallions up together. As the former general studies the crossed tree trunks with a wary expression, I give my steed’s jaw a good scratch in apology for temporarily abandoning him.
We head left through the brush. Fading sunlight filters through the trees and sets off glints amid the vegetation.
I pause to examine a particularly glittery spot and find the rocks jutting from the soil are flecked with some kind of sparkly mineral.
“Mica,” Alek says, and pauses. “The peak must be coated with the mineral to shine the way it does. You don’t usually see deposits quite that big.”
Casimir pats a nearby tree. “It’s a godly place. Some of them enjoy a certain grandeur.”
I wouldn’t have thought Kosmel was one of those, but then, this mountain might not be his domain. He was sending me to seek help other than his own, after all.
A pang of hunger ripples through my stomach, but we’re too close to our goal now for me to suggest another stop. As if sensing my mood, Stavros pulls out the apples we liberated from an orchard we skirted yesterday evening and passes them around so we can eat while we walk.
As we tramp onward, the daylight stretches farther with the sinking of the sun. Where the trees briefly thin, Stavros surveys the landscape beyond the mountain: mottled fields and forestland with a few isolated buildings in the distance.
“No sign of soldiers on our trail,” I say.
He smiles grimly. “No. But gods only know what the scourge sorcerers have been up to since we left.”
The uncertainty gnaws at me too. How long will whoever else makes up the Order of the Wild wait before they unleash more of their horrific magic on Florian… or the rest of the kingdom?
Kosmel knew that stopping the conspiracy was my greatest concern. I was under the impression he was awfully concerned about the scourge sorcerers himself.
Surely wherever he’s sent me, it’ll help us in our mission to stop them?