Chapter 9 #2
Thia’s lips parted. “A magician? Can’t we just ask him to send me home?”
Dess shook his head. “He’d be even less capable than Callista. Magicians do learned magic from spells given to them by sorcerers. Tricks and trinkets, really.”
“Oh.” She struggled to keep the disappointment from her voice. “So…to the mountains then?” She directed the question to Dess.
He sighed. “Fine. But if anything happens to us, it’s on you.” His hazel eyes threw daggers at Thran.
The man grimaced. “Aye,” he agreed softly, then returned his attention to his bread.
Thia watched him for a moment, hoping she hadn’t just made a huge mistake. Dess, in turn, recovered quickly, shoving more cheese into his mouth. He bit down, then gagged and spat aggressively into his hand. “Fair Havens.”
“What?” Thia asked, worried he’d knocked a tooth out somehow.
“Mold,” he said mournfully, then chucked the bite of cheese into the bush.
Thia chortled. “What’s Fair Havens?” she asked, curious.
Dess raised an eyebrow. “Does anyone know?” He took her in. “Oh, you’re not joking. I suppose you don’t have that in your realm.”
She shook her head.
Dess shifted his position on the grass to face her more fully. “It’s a good place. Some say it’s where we go when we die. Others say it’s where we came from.”
“And what do you say?” she asked.
“I’d like to think there’s somewhere better. But it doesn’t change the fact we’re still stuck here in the meantime.”
“That’s practical. Wise beyond your years,” she teased, though she didn’t share his optimism.
He snorted. “You don’t even know how old I am.”
“How old are you then?”
His face fell.
She chastised herself silently. He wouldn’t know, would he?
“I think I’m about sixteen,” he answered. “Pagdan said they thought I looked about five or six when they brought me in. And it’s been ten years since then. How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” she replied. “I win.”
A hint of his smile returned. A bird’s cry echoed through the trees, cutting off his retort. A moment later, feathers rustled near Thia’s ear.
“Mavrel,” Dess greeted him, as Thia felt the falcon land on her shoulder.
She reached a hand up to his feathers. “What are you doing here?” He gave a soft cry. Gently, she lifted him off her shoulder. “Go on,” she said. “Fly home.” He didn’t move, only pecked her lightly on the hand. “Ouch,” she sputtered, batting him away. “Who does he belong to?”
Dess shook his head. “No one. He belongs to himself. He’s been our persistent visitor even before I came to Haven, or so I’m told. The cleric believes he is our guardian.”
“Guardian?”
Dess scratched his forehead. “I dunno. A spirit from Fair Havens who watches over us. I think the bird probably just spent too long in the Sutherlunds. There are these great craters that expel mist from the underground rivers that originate in Losrohiria. People say it’s steeped in Losrohiri magic, and if you spend too long breathing it, strange things happen to you. ”
Thia raised her eyebrows. “Like what?”
“Like madness.” He wiggled his fingers at her.
She snorted.
Mavrel ran his beak through her hair.
“It seems he’s adopted you,” Dess said.
Thia giggled. “That tickles.” She raised a hand. “This is a dangerous quest,” she told the bird. He stopped preening her and hopped off her shoulder and onto the ground. “You should go.”
He gave an indignant shake of his head and pecked the skin of her hand again.
She tore it away. “Fine. You can always fly off if you change your mind.”
He ruffled his feathers as if to say, Not likely.
“That’s settled then.” Dess rose to his feet. “Shall we?”
She took the hand he offered and helped him stuff the remnants of their meal into his pack, then shouldered her own.
He nodded once in approval, then called over to their other companion, “Thran! We’re leaving.”
Thran grimaced, raising a hand to indicate he’d heard. Thia watched him return the remainder of his bread to his pack, noting how little he’d consumed.
They set off, Thia and Dess hand in hand again so that they wouldn’t lose each other in the darkness. Or, Thia guessed, so that she wouldn’t lose him. He’d probably have been fine on his own.
She told him as much, and he laughed. “When I first came to the forest, I was a disaster,” he admitted. “I got lost at least once a week, tripped over things…broke my nose once falling on a log.”
“How long until your eyes adjusted?”
“I’m not sure they did,” he replied. “I don’t reckon I see any better now than I did then. I just know what to look for in the shadows.”
For Thia, that was not the case. Every shape was the same, just another blur in the expanse of dark. The only blot of difference was above, where far over their heads small speckles of light outlined tiny gaps in the thick foliage.
After another four hours or so, her feet ached, and her calves were cramping. She couldn’t tell if Dess was perceptive, or if it was just that time, but she nearly fell over in relief when he decided they should rest for the night.
They set up camp under the branches of an extraordinarily large tree.
Thran started a fire, and Thia followed Dess’s lead in spreading the bedroll from her pack across the forest floor.
They ate a meal of dehydrated rabbit meat, then settled down without saying much, too exhausted for chatter.
Mavrel flew off into the darkness, likely to find roost in a branch somewhere.
Thia’s lids were heavy, her body sore. She stretched out, warm in the roll, and was asleep almost instantly.