Chapter Fourteen Odessa
Fourteen
Odessa
There was a rock under my bedroll that had grown larger and sharper overnight. It dug into my hip, waking me from a fitful sleep.
“Hey. Woman. Wake up.”
Not a rock. A boot.
Someone was kicking me.
I gasped and shot upright, pushing the damp hair out of my face as I peered up at the person standing over me.
An old man with hooded black eyes frowned as he prodded me with his boot again, his gloved hands fisted on his hips. His hair was wrapped in a blue silk scarf that matched the starbursts in his irises. His chin was covered in long, wiry gray whiskers that bounced as he spoke. “Get up.”
“W-what?” I squinted against the sunlight streaming through the tree branches overhead.
“Get up. Get yourself on the road before the town patrol finds you here. Norcresters don’t take too kindly to outsiders sleeping in their gardens.” Warning delivered, he turned on a heel and walked to a horse-drawn cart waiting on the road.
As he drove away, I pushed the blanket off my legs and stood, taking in our surroundings.
It had been nearly dark last night when we chose to camp against this tree.
I hadn’t realized that it marked the entrance to a vegetable garden.
Rows and rows of different plants stretched across the fields around us.
“Evie.” I bent and gently shook her shoulder, rousing her from sleep. “It’s time to wake up.”
“No.” She frowned, squeezing her eyes closed as she shook her head.
Last night had been too short for both of us.
I left her to wake up slowly as I got Freya saddled and loaded. My back and legs protested the idea of another long day of riding, but the last place I wanted to be was in an Ozarth jail cell.
Just as Brother Skore had promised, the stream Evie and I had followed out of the mountains yesterday had led us to Norcrest. The ride had taken the entire day, and for the last hour, I’d been certain we were lost. But then the town lights had sparkled into view, and I’d nearly cried.
Norcrest was built in a basin encircled by steep, terraced hills.
The town square was located in the center of the bowl, with an inn, livery, mercantile, and other businesses.
Its homes were all built into the hillsides, their roofs covered in thick grass.
Their doors were all wide and sturdy, some arched to follow the curvature of the terrain.
It was as if each enclosed a private cave, likely dug deep enough into the land to protect their owners during the migration.
We’d ridden into Norcrest as the sun was setting, and I’d followed the road that spiraled to the basin’s bottom.
The town might have been charming if not for its people. They were as welcoming as the wet blanket I’d slept under that night. Not a single person had offered a warm smile. Most only sneered and glared. And without any coin or gold, the innkeeper had slammed his door in my face.
So we’d retreated out of the basin, and when I’d spotted this large tree, I’d decided we could sleep here for the night. No sooner than we’d unsaddled Freya, the skies had opened in a deluge.
The tree had provided us some shelter but not enough. I was tired of being wet and cold. I was tired of sleeping on the ground and wearing these clothes. And mostly, I was tired of hearing Evie’s stomach growl.
How were we supposed to keep going? We’d gotten to Norcrest, but now what? We had to continue south and find a way across the Harrow River that divided Ozarth down the center. But from there, I didn’t know the best way to Quentis.
Once we made it out of Ozarth, I’d have to ride through Laine and Genesis. If we made it that far, if I managed to keep both of us alive, we’d have to get through the Evon Ravine.
Did I keep riding? Should I try to get to the coast? Maybe if I sold Freya, I could pay for passage to sail the Krisenth.
Except I didn’t want to sell my horse. She was nearly as precious to me as Faze. She’d kept us alive, kept going without complaint.
I rubbed the scar on my palm, closing my eyes.
What would Ransom do? Keep going. All we could do was keep going.
Shades, I missed him. I missed the strength in his arms. I missed the softness of his lips and sleeping on his bare chest. I missed his arrogant smirk and gravelly voice.
I missed feeling safe simply because he was near.
Evie’s groan pulled me out of my thoughts as she stood with a scowl.
“I’m sorry we can’t sleep longer,” I said, holding out my hand.
She took it and let me pull her into a hug.
“Want to steal some vegetables with me?” I asked.
Her sly smile made me laugh.
After weeks of traveling through the forests and mountains, riding through the Ozarth grasslands was unsettling. We were too exposed in the open. Too vulnerable. But at least we were on a road, and at least we weren’t alone.
“What’s in this box?” Evie asked Wells, tapping the lid of the crate she was crawling over in the back of his wagon.
He didn’t look over his shoulder to answer. “Lard.”
“More lard? Is that all you have?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you just say that earlier?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Oh.” She sighed, drawing in her knees to sit cross-legged.
Wells, the old man who’d woken me up at dawn, was now our travel companion. It hadn’t taken long for us to catch up to his cart after we raided the garden, stuffing our pockets and bags with carrots and tomatoes and beans and peas. I’d even dug up a handful of round potatoes.
Wells was on his way to the Harrow River, and when I’d asked if we could ride alongside him, he’d agreed and even offered to let Evie sit in the cart.
It was strange not to have her in front of me. My arms felt empty and too big, but she seemed much happier with room to squirm. And Wells, while a bit gruff, indulged her string of questions.
“What is lard?” she asked him.
“Fat from a pig. It’s cooked down and melted, then put in jars.”
Evie grimaced. “Sounds gross.”
“Gross?” Wells harumphed. “My lard makes the best pie crust in all of Calandra.”
“Where are you taking it?” I asked.
“Ripfell. It’s about a day’s ride once I cross the Harrow. This is my last trip over for a while. Should be back in Norcrest in a few days if I sell quickly. Then I’ll stick close to home until next summer.”
Until after the migration.
“Do you have a good shelter?”
“Yes. It’s already stockpiled and has been for months.”
“Good.” When the crux came, he’d be ready.
Wells glanced over, taking in my dirty, wrinkled clothes for the tenth time. “Where are you going?”
“Quentis.”
He frowned and shook his head, muttering something under his breath.
Evie yawned and lay down on the crates, tucking her hands under her cheek. It didn’t take her long to doze off.
“Do you worry about monsters?” I asked Wells.
“I’ve crossed paths with my fair share of tarkin.” He gave the carrier slung across my body a wary look.
I shifted Faze to my other side. “Have you ever been attacked?”
Wells reached over the edge of his bench seat, tapping the crate secured beneath. “She didn’t ask me what was in this crate.”
“Weapons?” I asked.
“Piglets. Three of them. The minute I see a tarkin, I’ll let them loose. They’re easy enough prey and make enough noise that the monsters forget about a thin, old man.”
Unless the monster had Lyssa. Then I doubted any number of piglets would be enough of a distraction to quell its bloodlust.
We rode through the rest of the morning in comfortable silence, following the two-track road through sweeping fields and over rolling hills.
Not long after Evie woke from her nap, she heard a squeal and discovered the piglets.
And as the afternoon bled into the evening, she was back in the saddle, riding in front of me as the road widened and merged with other trails.
Another wagon appeared ahead of us as two fell into line behind us. They were all merchants like Wells, hauling goods in carts.
I hoped most had heard news of the crux scout and were fleeing to shelters and cities.
With strangers nearby, Evie’s questions stopped, and the only noise came from the clop of hooves and the crunch of wheels on dirt.
The grasses grew taller and thicker the closer we got to the river.
The road was still muddy in certain patches from last night’s rain.
The smell of smoke greeted us not long before we reached an expanse of tan canvas tents.
Clustered along the road and trampled grass, they stretched as far as I could see, forming a makeshift city alongside the Harrow River.
Everyone ignored us as we rode past, busy with their own tasks. People bustled in and out of their tents and tended to horses. Some were busy cooking beside ringed firepits.
It reminded me of the first camp I’d ever seen, a camp made on the Turan plains not long after I’d sailed across the Krisenth to my new kingdom. It was the camp where Ransom had first started training me to fight, all because I’d demanded a sword.
That camp had been a lifetime ago. Before I’d fallen in love with Turah. Before I’d learned the Guardian’s true identity. Before I’d fallen in love with Ransom.
My heart twisted, and I stroked the scar on my palm.
A bell rang out, clanging so loud Faze poked his head from the carrier.
“What’s that?” I called to Wells.
He snapped his horse’s reins. “Last ferry for the day. Hurry.”
We kept pace as he raced for the Harrow, trotting toward the river’s edge where a flat wooden boat was tied to a sturdy post. Two thick planks connected it to the shore.
Wells dug into his pants pockets, pulling out a coin. He flipped it to the ferryman and drove the cart onto the boat’s platform.
I urged Freya to follow, but the ferryman—a broad, hulking figure wearing a leather oilskin coat—stepped into my path, holding up both hands.
“That’ll be two darrics. One for each of ya.”
My stomach dropped. “I don’t have any coin.”
The man crossed his arms over his chest. “Then be gone.”
“Please,” I begged. “We have to get across.”