Chapter 30
A turn in the weather signaled the day of their departure.
The sky burned blue in all directions with a cold clarity, and it seemed to Fern that she could see for a hundred leagues.
Ice and snow groaned from the pitched abbey roof, occasionally sloughing in tectonic slabs to thunder to the ground below.
Fern kept a wary eye on the eaves as she passed under them with Zyll in tow.
With her satchel over one shoulder, she carried a haversack stuffed with dried goods over the other. Yet another gift from the Tarimites.
In the center of the cobbled square, which gleamed with melt, Astryx fussed with the saddle the stablemaster had refurbished for Bucket, checking and re-cinching the girth strap.
With Nigel on her back again, she moved with purpose, and Fern could almost believe she was as hale as when they’d first met.
She saw the carefully hidden evidence of suffering, though. Moments of subtle reorientation as the elf adjusted the saddlebags.
“Apologies, old man,” Astryx whispered, patting Bucket’s cheek.
“I’m sorry we can’t part with one of the donkeys,” said Bluebriar. “Unfortunately, with the restoration work to be done, they can’t be spared.”
The abbess, Rhubarb, and Burdock had gathered to see them off, and a pack of monks huddled near the main doors, whispering and watching.
“We’ll manage. You won’t hear a word from me that’s not grateful,” replied Astryx. She turned and fixed the abbess with a solemn gaze and bowed her head formally. “Yours are kindnesses I won’t forget. If ever you have the need, I will come. Only call for me.”
Fern passed up the haversack, which the elf received with only a slight wince before tying it beside one of the saddlebags. Approaching the abbess, the bookseller extended a paw. “Thank you. I could wish you hadn’t seen the worst of me, but I’m glad you looked past it until you saw the back of me.”
Bluebriar smiled, amused. “Perhaps you’ll make it up to us someday. If not, we’re accustomed to a rather one-sided relationship with the world.”
Fern thanked Rhubarb and Burdock in turn, and then Zyll appeared beside her, rummaging in her pockets. One hand emerged clutching a fistful of clinking leather bags that Fern recognized. She’d altogether forgotten about the Four Fingers’ coinpurses.
“Thank-lings,” said Zyll, dropping them into the paws of the shocked abbess, although several spilled onto the ground with a chime of silver. “Sorry for bridge-ly.”
Then she turned, scurried to the horse, and held out her arms to be hoisted aboard.
“Tarim’s patience!” exclaimed the abbess, as she teased open the mouth of one of the bags and saw what was inside. It was the first time Fern had seen her off-balance.
Bluebriar didn’t get the opportunity to protest the gift, however.
“Wait!” cried another voice, as Staysha the Silver Sparrow came stumbling out of the abbey doors toting a battered lute case, her black hair falling free from its jeweled clip.
Everyone turned in surprise as the dwarf came huffing to a stop a few feet from Astryx.
“I . . . whew . . . hey, so, I had no idea you were leaving today!”
Astryx, bemused, blinked at her.
Catching her breath, Staysha continued, “Is there any chance I can travel with you, just for a while? At least until you reach civilization?”
Fern frowned, gesturing southwest. “But Bycross is that way. We’re heading in the opposite direction. Don’t you have some kind of engagement to get to?”
The dwarf waved a hand dismissively and laughed.
“Hells, they’ve long since given up on me showing.
Time to pick a new horizon and see what opportunities I can find.
” She refocused on Astryx. “I won’t be any trouble!
Hells, with no cart, one of you is bound to be walking most of the time.
There’s room on my wagon. You can make better time that way. We can make better time.”
“Well . . .” Astryx’s expression clouded.
Fern thought she could see her weighing the prospect of endless prodding for tales of derring-do against Staysha’s offer of a spare seat. If the elf hadn’t been wounded, Fern had no doubt she would’ve declined instantly. She’d traveled on foot before, but as things stood . . .
Fern was amazed at how vehemently she wanted the bard to stay behind. There wasn’t anything wrong with the woman, really, apart from her overbearing interest in Astryx. She was friendly enough. Still, Fern caught the elf’s gaze and tried to transmit her objection with her eyes alone.
Astryx chewed her lip and stared eastward like she was gauging the distance left to travel. Fern saw the precise moment of resignation before the elf turned back to Staysha.
“All right,” she said, with a reluctant nod.
“I think Zyll would probably like to ride in the wagon. Wouldn’t you, Zyll?” said Fern, brightly. No matter how mixed her feelings toward the bard, she didn’t strike Fern as a bounty hunter in disguise.
Staysha seemed to notice the goblin standing in Astryx’s shadow for the first time.
Zyll grinned at her with savage cheer.
“Wait, who the hells is that?” asked the perplexed dwarf.
Rhubarb mounted a donkey and accompanied them back out the tentacle-flanked entrance and along a narrow, less-traveled path that curved around the perimeter of the abbey and to the northeast. The snow was crusted over and wet beneath, breaking up like ocean ice before Bucket’s progress.
Fern rode in front of Astryx. Staysha brought up the rear with her dun pony gamely following the larger horse, Zyll on the buckboard beside her.
Fern glanced over her shoulder and around the elf, and thought the dwarf looked vexed by her travel partner.
“Something the matter?” asked the Oathmaiden as the leather creaked beneath them and Bucket’s hooves cracked through the snowshell with squeals and snaps.
“Nothing at all,” replied Fern, smiling to herself.
They passed alongside three more of the Tarimite bell-walls before reaching a promontory of stone and snow overlooking a deep valley. Far below, a long, still green lake filled the notch it made, painting near-perfect replicas of the clouds above.
“I’ll leave you here,” called Rhubarb from the back of his donkey.
“Follow the switchbacks down, and the path continues along the south side of the lake. Go slowly and be careful.” He laughed ruefully.
“No bridges that way. Even so, don’t try Tarim’s patience any further, eh? Leave us at least one way out.”
With parting words of thanks, they continued along the promontory until the way plunged downslope.
The sun seemed warm for the first time in weeks, despite the snow in every direction.
Fern closed her eyes and luxuriated in the unexpected heat of it on her fur, leaning back against Astryx’s belly as Bucket navigated the decline.
The clatter and clank of Staysha’s wagon behind them was a lulling counterpoint to the rhythm of their motion.
It took the better part of the morning to make their cautious way to the base of the valley and the westernmost point of the lake.
There, dark, round stones emerged to stud a snowy beach that had been skimmed thin by winds which were now still.
The lake’s surface seemed a mystic window into a verdigris world that mirrored their own.
As the way became easier, Astryx spoke unexpectedly from above Fern’s head. “You never finished the story.”
“Hm? Oh. Ten Links? Well, after you got up and around, there didn’t seem to be time, somehow.”
Astryx made a hm sound that Fern could feel in her back where their bodies couldn’t help but stay in contact. “Plenty of time now.”
“Oh, shit. I think I stole their copy. It’s still in my bag.” Fern laughed guiltily. “I’m not sure I can read and ride, though. I think it’d make me horse-sick.”
“Ah.” She sounded disappointed.
“But,” Fern amended, “I remember most of what happened. I guess it depends on whether you’re fine with the Fern version.”
“Does that have more swearing in it?”
“Fuck yes. Also, fewer descriptions of the furniture. And I don’t think I can tell it in first-person, since I’ll be sort of summing it up.”
“That sounds just fine.”
“Where were we, do you remember?”
“Madger was trapped in the bell tower, with nothing but a stolen coat and Warrick’s magestone,” said Astryx without hesitation.
Fern cocked her head to peer back up at the Oathmaiden, who stared serenely ahead. “Damn. All right then. Let’s see if I remember how this goes . . . Ahem.”
Prepared for an embarrassed moment of self-consciousness, Fern was surprised to discover it didn’t arrive.
Her chin rose and her tone shifted. She wasn’t properly aware it was even happening.
“Madger leaned out of the tower, hanging on to the bell rope with one hand, staring down at the square far below. She couldn’t even see the cobblestones for all the soldiers packed into the space, some with torches, a few with bows.
Suddenly, one of them shouted as they spotted her, pointing at the top of the bell tower.
She could hear boots on the stairs. There was nowhere left to run.
Then, while her heart hammered in her chest and she searched the top of the tower for an exit that wasn’t there, she spied a coil of spare rope in the corner . . .”