Chapter Twelve
F oreigner’s Valley.
They tell stories of this place. How it got its name. Why travelers far and wide know to travel cautiously through its deceptively beautiful terrain.
Wedged between the Cliffs of Yilandra and the Endymion Mountains, Foreigner’s Valley overflows with lush, sprawling grass, vibrant wildflowers, and towering pines and cedars.
There is a sparkling river, split into two separate streams that weave through its center.
An assortment of vegetation and herbs sprout along the lands, and it is inhabited by many animals—birds, gazelles, wolves, foxes, and the like.
From the outside looking in, it is a peaceful place filled with great beauty.
But on the inside…
The story goes that a foreigner once lost his way in the valley.
A foreigner with a twisted and strange sort of magic.
Legends claim he heard voices whispering to him.
Voices that told him different directions and forced him to walk in circles.
After the seventh day, the foreigner—on the verge of madness—went across the valley instead of going through.
He hiked to the highest cliff in Yilandra and cursed the valley before jumping from the ledge into the Turely Sea, landing among the jagged rock formations.
Now, it is said any traveler wandering through the land hears those same voices.
According to legend, if one is not careful, the trees, flowers, and streams will actually shift direction—changing from east to west, guiding a traveler north whilst they think they’re going south.
It was the final mark of the foreigner; his curse to those who wander through this forsaken valley.
The legend used to be regarded as nothing more than a mere bedtime story. That is, until the disappearances of travelers in the valley continued to grow—their remains never found again.
“It certainly doesn’t look frightening,” Gray observes while we walk down a dirt path surrounded by fluffy grass sprinkled with pink and purple flowers.
The Endymion Mountains tower in the south, clouds covering the onyx-colored anthracite composing the mountainside. The valley’s river runs east, a vast amount of flowers and vegetation growing along its bed. Birds chirp, blades of grass whistle, the river sings.
It’s the perfect alluring trap.
I arch a brow at him. “I think that’s kind of the point.”
He chuckles lightly, folding his arms across his chest as he walks. “I suppose it is.”
I snort a laugh and roll my eyes. “Bathara is due east through the valley. Should we just follow the river and see what happens?”
“I don’t see why not. There’s no sense in creating solutions for problems that don’t yet exist. We’ll stay close to the river and follow my father’s instructions—making sure to stop when the sun rises and quench our fires when the moon peaks—and we’ll see what happens.
” From my peripheral, I see Gray glance at my throat, a smile tugging at his lips.
“That’s new.” He tilts his head in the direction of my necklace.
My fingers clutch the icy stone as if on instinct. “It was a gift from Thestis, believe it or not.”
Gray arches a brow. “Thestis?”
I squeeze the stone a little tighter, the chill of its touch biting into my skin. “His mother said if I’m accepted into Bathara, she’ll have him continue his training with a tutor. The necklace is for good luck.”
At Gray’s silence, I drag my gaze toward him and find he has a giant, goofy grin painted across his face, observing me with a gleam in his eye.
I click my tongue and shove him .
I get it.
I, the pessimist, am giving Thestis’s mother a reason to be optimistic.
But it doesn’t mean he needs to smile at me like that.
After a passing silence, Gray muses in a soft voice, “It is very pretty.”
I again graze the glittering stone with the tips of my fingers. “It is,” I agree. “Though I think I’m going to need more than just luck to be accepted into Bathara.”
With a humorous lilt in his voice, Gray asks, “What else is there besides a little luck?”
I scoff a dry laugh. “Oh, I don’t know…actual skills, training, combat ability, magical knowledge.” I arch a brow at him. “Shall I continue?”
His lips curve upward with amusement, and he suddenly stops walking.
I halt, slowly turning to face him. “What are you doing?”
With a pointed grin, he claps his hands together. “Well, there’s no time like the present, so might as well begin some of your training now.”
“What, right here?” My eyes scan the landscape.
Gray shrugs. “It’s as good a place as any.”
I sigh, feeling a slight nervousness creep into my veins. “Of course you’d say that,” I mutter.
“We’ll start simple,” Gray assures me. “I’m going to restrain you, and I want you to break free and dislodge me.”
I lift a suspecting brow. “That’s all?”
“That’s all,” he confirms.
I eye him for a long moment. “Alright. Tell me what to do.”
Gray wags a finger at me, instructing me to come near. I approach him, watching him assume a spread out stance. “To start, I want to see what you do. What your instincts tell you. We’ll talk about it after the first go.”
I nod, and Gray takes that as confirmation to wrap his arms around me, cocooning me inside of his powerful embrace.
“Break free,” he commands.
I wiggle, writhe, try to push his arms off by attempting to press my elbows outward, but nothing works. I am helplessly restricted—caged by his strength.
I suck in a breath, not willing to admit defeat yet.
I squirm and twist some more, attempting to buck against him, but Gray simply doesn’t budge. I exhale, frustrated, and concede. “I can’t.”
Gray releases me and steps back. I turn on my heels to face him, and am surprised to see his face assuming a more serious expression, slipping seamlessly into the role of tutor.
“There are different strategies for getting out of different types of holds,” he begins.
“The way I just held you is one of the trickiest to maneuver.”
“Okay,” I say, a wrinkle forming in my brow. “So what do I do?”
Gray steps forward. “May I?” After a confirming dip of my chin, he steps forward and again embraces me from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around me in the style of a bear hug. “What I want you to do is drop your hips, take a step that reaches outside my legs, and move it behind my feet.”
I slowly go through the motions.
“Good,” he approves. “Now, when I say so, I want you to grip behind my thighs and, in one quick movement, drop your weight to the ground while sweeping a leg behind me. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Go through each step slowly first,” he suggests.
I take a steadying breath and slowly do as he instructs. I drop my hips, slide my foot across the ground and step outside his leg. I reach for behind his sturdy thighs, and I imagine dropping my weight, feeling the phantom sweep of my leg to come.
Gray smiles. “That was great. Now, on my cue… Go .”
Using swift, fluid movements, I complete all the steps just as Gray instructed, dropping my weight to the ground and sweeping my leg behind him.
He plummets to the soil as a result, still attempting to clutch onto me.
But his grip is awkward and loose, and I wiggle free from his hold.
I scramble upright, then I whirl back toward him, feeling strong and ready to pounce.
Gray sits up, draping his arms over his bent knees. “You’re a natural,” he praises, looking up at me with a proud grin .
I fight the urge to roll my eyes and stretch a hand out to him. “And you’re biased.”
Gray grabs my hand, and I help him stand. He glances down at his rumpled tunic and brushes the dirt from it. “Your doubt in my ability to scout talent wounds me.”
I snort a laugh, and he smiles in response.
“That move can drop anyone, no matter their size,” he continues, his voice again shifting to a more serious tone. “Whoever it is will try to hold onto you—will try to keep their grip secure—but as soon as they hit the ground, that’s when you break free and run.”
“Why run? Can’t I fight back?”
His eyes soften, and he lightly grips my arms with his fingers. “Eventually. But for now, and while at Bathara, you run.”
A small seed of disappointment roots itself in my stomach.
Gray squeezes my arms gently, noticing. “The time will come when you can fight back. But first, you need to learn how to walk before you try to sprint.”
Though I hate the taste of it, I know he’s right. It’s just I’ve always believed something so different. That running is never an option, and one should simply sink their feet deeper into the mud, standing their ground, and fight .
Never let them win.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “What’s next?”
Gray and I work through multiple types of holds.
He shows me what to do when someone wraps their arms around my neck.
How to tightly pull down their arm as far as I can and drop into a low stance; the art of reading the push and pull of my opponent’s energy—deciphering if I should flip them forward or swing my leg behind them and pivot, twisting them to the ground.
He also shows me how to break free when someone embraces me around the hips, equipping me with different techniques based on both my stance and my enemy’s .
We walk through different simulations, Gray highlighting certain patterns to look for. He focuses on explaining the movements—the tells—of the enemy’s intentions. Showcases the way their body will adjust to my movements, and then teaches me how to counter those movements to my benefit.
After we finish, we continue traveling a few miles farther, only stopping once the sun dips beneath the horizon.
We locate the mouth of a small, damp cave to rest in for the night, and I collect sticks for the fire while Gray traps fish in the river to eat for dinner.
We work efficiently, not stopping until both of our tasks are complete.
Utterly exhausted from a long day of travel and combat training, we eat our charred fish mostly in silence.
Once nothing but bones remain, Gray tosses his stick into the flames.
“We’re going to wake up at first light tomorrow and go over those moves again.
I plan for us to stop for three training sessions per day.
One in the morning to cover your defensive skills, one in the afternoon to go over combat and offensive moves, and in the evenings, we will work on your magic. ”
My eyes remain glued to the flickering flames. “Do you think it’ll be enough?”
Gray releases a loud sigh. “I think it is exactly as my father said—it will have to be.” He turns to look at me, and I let go of my hold on the flames to meet his mossy gaze. With a soft smile curving his lips, he jerks his head toward the cave. “Come on,” he says softly. “Let’s get some sleep.”
We quench the fire and shuffle into the cave, where we lay out our bedrolls side-by-side in the small center. Within minutes, I can tell Gray is asleep. Yet there is so much on my mind, I remain awake, thinking about Bathara, the blood wager—if I have what it takes to really do this.
I stare into the black voids of the cave’s ceiling. As sleep lingers in the pervading dark, I focus on the steady rhythm of Gray’s breathing, naming off different flowers in my mind.
At some point, my eyelids finally close, leading me into the sweet delights of a peaceful slumber.
I jolt awake as the feeling of burning ice spreads through my veins.
My fingers reach for the necklace at my throat, clutching it with my fingers.
I glance around the cave, completely blind in the dense darkness.
I count to ten, taking slow, deep breaths between each number, just like I’ve done after so many other nightmares.
My ears tune in to every faint sound, but all I hear is Gray’s steady, rhythmic breathing.
Swiping a hand across my forehead, my skin collecting beads of sweat like a harvester gathering crops, I lay back down on my bedroll and calm my pounding heart.
I am so close to attributing the chilly feeling to another nightmare. One fragment away from chalking up the noises grating my ears and raising the hairs on my skin to nothing more than a simple bad dream.
Until I hear a loud scraping noise outside of the cave.
Until I hear a sharp, shrieking howl belt into the night, echoing as though it fills the entire valley.
Until I inhale the face-puckering stench of rotten, decaying flesh.
I don’t fall back asleep after that.