Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
“Freaking finally!” Bran shouted, grabbing Rynna from behind and lifting her clear off the ground in a bear hug. “We’re finally going on a real mission!”
Rynna didn’t miss a beat. Adjusting her weight, she hooked her heel around his calf, leaned forward, and twisted her hips sharply. Bran yelped in surprise as she used his momentum against him to flip him over her shoulder, where he landed flat on his back, gasping from the impact.
“Nice one, Rynna,” Elara said with a rueful smile, glancing at Bran as he crawled awkwardly to his feet. “You’ll have to show it to me.”
“We’ll add it to the list of techniques to cover on our journey to Fallowmere,” Fenn said, his hand carefully unfolding a large piece of vellum, its edges yellowed and worn from years of use.
“Now pay attention.” He crouched, then spread it out on the ground before them, the parchment crackling softly under his fingers.
“Whoa! Is that the world?!” Bran asked, crawling next to him.
“As far as we know.” Fenn scratched his head. “Nothing’s been found in the great oceans for as long as anyone can remember.”
Interesting, Rynna thought, scooting closer. She had no real concept of what this world looked like on a broader scale.
A single, vast landmass sprawled across the parchment, beautifully rendered with intricate details. Bright symbols marked the various Reaches or elemental territories, hand-painted with vivid strokes of color.
In the center, a massive mountain range cut through the continent like a jagged spine.
A great winding river wove through the territory from one end to the other, branching off here and there into tributaries.
To the north, dark green forests sprawled across the land.
While the west was marked by rolling plains that stretched far into the distance.
And in the south, a vast desert spread, barren and golden beneath the illustration of a harsh sun.
“This is Ember Reach?” Taren pointed to a spot where a tributary of the great river flowed south, leading to a large, lush oasis nestled in the dry expanse.
“Yes,” Fenn confirmed. “And here is Pulse Reach to the north in the forests, Tide Reach west of that in the plains and coastal archipelagos, Stone Reach is here in the mountains, and Gale Reach is in the desert south of us.” His finger traced every territory, their borders marked clearly by bright red lines.
“And Void Reach?” Taren asked, his tone serious.
“The Void?” Elara squeaked.
“Void Reach is more symbolic than an actual place. It represents the sixth element in opposition to the other five,” Guide Fenn chuckled softly, looking up from the map. “At least, as far as we know.”
“So where are we going?” Rynna leaned in closer, her attention fully on the map now. She barely noticed where her thigh brushed against Fenn's.
Fenn flinched slightly at the contact but relaxed quickly. “Here.”
He pointed to a small empty space far to the west, nestled between the territories of Pulse Reach and Stone Reach.
“That’s awfully far,” Elara commented, her brow furrowing. “Wouldn’t the other Reaches be better positioned to respond?”
“The other Reaches are full of lazy, greedy cowards!” A shrill voice cut through the air behind them.
Breathing heavily as she worked to catch up, an elderly woman joined the group.
Fenn sighed, clearly used to this particular argument. “I’m sure they had their reasons.”
“Yeah! Their reason was that I didn’t have enough coin to pry them from the comfort of their grand houses!
” the old woman barked, shrugging off her pack and settling next to them.
“So, when do we leave? Or are we just going to sit here all day, staring at the map? The journey’s at least three weeks.
” She paused, her fists clenching tightly. “And every day, more of my people die.”
The air around them seemed to freeze. All four of the Novices raised their eyebrows in unison.
Die? Rynna thought, her stomach tightening. She’d known this assignment would be a step up in difficulty, but death? That seemed like a leap from catching runaway cats, no matter how vicious those cats had been. She looked at the other three, wondering if they were ready.
Fenn’s earlier irritation faded as he met the old woman’s gaze. “And that’s why we’re stopping here first.” He pointed to a bright blue star painted on the map, marking a spot in the empty space between Ember Reach and Stone Reach.
“A waypoint?” Elara asked.
“What’s a waypoint?” Bran and the old woman both blurted out at the same time, glancing briefly at each other in mutual confusion.
“It’s an ancient method of Source travel set up by the first Hollow-born,” Taren supplied, then frowned at the Unit Leader. “I thought they were dangerous and only to be used in war or dire situations.”
“Yes, that’s true. It takes a great deal of Source power and control to use them safely.
” Fenn nodded, rolling up the map and pressing himself to his feet.
“Lucky for us, I can handle it; otherwise, we’d be looking at nearly a month’s journey each way.
This should cut it down to a week or so, depending on how far the answering waypoint is from Fallowmere. ”
He glanced at the old woman, who was still staring at the ground where the map had been. “Is that acceptable, Gran Hesta?”
When she finally looked up, there were tears glistening in her eyes. “Yes, Unit Leader,” she said softly, wiping away the wetness with her sleeve. She accepted Bran’s extended hand and stood, a little unsteady but resolute. “That is more than acceptable. You have my gratitude.”
“We’ll do everything we can to help your village.” Fenn gave her a respectful bow before turning to head down the road.
The others scrambled to catch up, their argument over who would carry Gran Hesta’s pack erupting almost immediately. And in the midst of the chatter, Fenn began explaining the mission’s details.
“Apparently, a group of bandits arrived months ago,” he said, his voice low but clear.
“They killed all the village elders except for Gran Hesta, who was able to escape. The bandits, only a handful, have been forcing the remaining adults to work for them, threatening to kill the children if they don’t comply. ”
The Novices fell silent, caught in Fenn’s words.
“They’re making some kind of opium product,” the old woman started. “One of the warehouses has already exploded...” She pressed her lips together, struggling to hold back the wave of emotion. “It killed everyone inside, including my son.”
Tears welled in Elara’s eyes as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Granny.”
“After that, I ran.” The old woman’s voice was quiet, heavy with exhaustion. “There was nothing I could do. We needed help. So, I went to each of the Reaches to petition for aid.”
“Guide Fenn.” Elara twisted her hands together nervously. “Do you really think we’re ready for this?”
“Elara!” Bran interrupted, snatching the old woman’s pack from her. “Of course, we’re ready! How can you even ask that? They need us. We can’t just walk away.”
“I know. It’s just that...”
Fenn cut in, his tone calm but firm. “From what Gran Hesta has shared, this should be a mid-level assignment. It’s a step up for you, yes.
You’ll be facing actual human opponents, but none are Hollow-born.
Plus, their numbers are limited. Our priority will be rescuing the children.
Once we do that, the rest of the villagers will be able to handle the bandits. ”
Gran Hesta growled in agreement. “They won’t leave Fallowmere alive.”
The group quieted as they moved along the narrow path, their footsteps accompanied by the steady sound of the stream beside them. The water, clear and fast-moving, wound its way through the landscape, glittering in the sunlight as it flowed from Ember Reach’s central oasis.
The further they walked, the more the scenery shifted.
The desert’s dry, cracked ground gradually gave way to patches of stubborn grass, and the oppressive heat began to lift.
The foothills ahead were dotted with low shrubs and scattered trees, and the cool breeze that drifted down from the coming mountains was a welcome relief after the long, hot trek.
By the time they set up camp that evening, the land around them was a mixture of rolling hills and pockets of greenery. Having grown wide, the river’s murmur was a constant background to their conversations as they built their fire for the evening in a small clearing near the water’s edge.
Rynna sat close to the flames, the warmth pleasant on her face, though her attention kept drifting toward Fenn.
He bent over the map again, firelight flickering across the hard lines of his face, deepening the shadows that clung to his features.
She caught herself watching his expression shift with each thought, the red ends of his hair, pulled up in a messy bun, gleaming whenever the flames leapt higher.
Then his eyes lifted.
She tried to look away—too late. For a heartbeat, their gazes locked, heat rising to her cheeks as her pulse faltered.
Get a grip, she told herself, turning her focus back to the flames.
He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t done anything to suggest something had changed in their strictly ‘no drama’ situation.
Yet, there had been an undeniable tension between them since the start of the mission—glances that lingered a second too long, the brush of his hand against hers when they passed supplies.
Each time, they both studiously ignored it, but it was there, simmering just beneath the surface.
That last quip after the stupid cat mission had been dumb. She’d gotten caught up in the moment, excited he was finally talking to her, and now things were definitely weird.
Bran poked at the fire with a stick. “So, what’s the first thing we do when we save the village?”
“Hopefully, get some real food.” Elara looked down at her ration pack in distaste.