Chapter Sixty-Nine. Ask and Receive.
Sixty-Nine
Ask and Receive.
It turns out I’m wrong.
Merc and I let the horses run for what feels like an entire season of exertion, and though Lavante seems to have the stamina to gallop the length of Anathos and back, the other one begins to flag.
Eventually, we have no choice but to slow down to a canter, and finally, at least on Snooze’s side, an exhausted trot.
I spend most of my time checking in our wake.
Eventually, I cannot see the wave of fire and not because it’s extinguished.
We’re far into a flat plain of the red, flame-spitting landscape now, and though the spires of stone remain fairly close by to the west, there’s nothing to the east except the horizon.
Having seen the compass’s map, I know the ocean is somewhere in that direction, but the topography and the red trees make it impossible to see it.
The sun’s placement is still very high in the cloudless sky, and this is reassuring. With the way the topography is looking, I’m not sure where we could find a good place to bunk down for the night. And I have no idea how much farther we have to go.
Or how much farther we can go.
Merc pulls up on his reins, and both horses stop, sure as if he has control of Lavante’s bridle as well.
Before I can ask him what’s wrong, he eases to the side and takes something out of his saddlebag.
“I bought a map,” he says gruffly as he unfolds a parchment square. “Back at the Outpost.”
Lavante goes right over to the other horse, as if he wants to check where we are as well. I lean in, and see all kinds of lines on a creamy background.
“I can’t tell one from another on that,” I say, staying silent as to what the compass has directed.
Because really, how could I explain it.
“You needn’t bother.” He turns the map to me. “It only shows the way from the main route that was flooded. It offers nothing for where we are.”
Merc circles the lower part of the page that’s blank. “Our location is somewhere here.”
A quick glance over the rest of the map and I see all kinds of details up above where we are, from what I gather is the Outpost’s group of buildings to the road we followed to the beginning of the jagged rises …
to the flooded pass we couldn’t get through and its route that continues onward until it reaches a massive, bordered territory marked Kingdomg daSouse.
“We need water for the horses.” I shift my focus back to our blood-colored landscape. As if taking another look around is going to help somehow. “I’m worried about them.”
“Agreed.” Merc puts the parchment away and points at the mountains.
“We better hope there’s an access point to the Kingdom—and soon.
The one thing I can tell is that that range curves right into the ocean.
I don’t know how we’re going to get through it, and there will be no swimming.
The surf is very high this far south. We could get trapped. ”
Trapped? Try “eaten by ogres.” Winning one skirmish is very different from battling hordes of them for the rest of our natural lives.
As my mind spirals into anxiety, I know I must reconnect with the immediate issue at hand. We need water—
And that’s when it dawns on me.
“What is it?” he says, as if I’ve mumbled something.
“I … ah.”
Taking off my pack, I pull out the compass in its satchel. As I reveal the golden instrument, I can feel Merc staring over at me, and I’m glad he makes no comment.
Even though I have no idea why this would work, I picture water, clean, cool, fresh water that’s safe to drink. When the image is so clear in my mind that I can smell the bracing scent, and see the shimmer on its surface, I flick the top open and hold my breath.
There’s no reason to think this could help our situation. But I just manipulated fire, for fate’s sake. Asking this old instrument for directions like it’s a native to the territory and can communicate, can’t be any more unreasonable—
After the map pops free of the face, the center arrow begins to spin, faster and faster, and the direction markers likewise start to move, in the opposite way.
A vibration registers in my hand and travels up my arm, tingling my wound on its way to the center of my chest. From there, the energy is sent out in all directions, through my body—
All goes still.
I have to blink my vision clear: The arrow has oriented itself forward and to the right, and the directional markings show the N to be at the base of the instrument and a little to the left.
I point forward and toward the cliffs. “We go that way. For water.”
As I put the compass back in the satchel, return it to the pack, and swing the weight onto my shoulders once again, Merc just keeps staring at me.
“What is that thing,” he says in a remote voice.
Gathering the reins, I meet him in the eye. “Would you believe me if I told you I don’t know?”
There’s a long silence. “Yes, I think I would. But what I do know is that these animals just ran too hard for too long, and if we don’t locate a water source and some shelter before dark, we could find ourselves in another … situation.”
As I focus on the direction I was given, I feel an echo of the vibration reenter my palm and my arm.
And then I utter hoarsely something I never imagined I would: “It was left to me by my mother. It is very, very old.”
My mother. The words feel as strange on my tongue as they do entering my ear.
“Is it magic, then.”
All I can do is shrug. “I don’t really have to answer that, do I.”
Merc releases a slow exhale. “No, you don’t.”
When he glances back at where we came from, his eyes narrow and I wonder how much he noticed about our escape from the ogres.
Nearby, there’s a fire flare, and I glare at the flames as if they’re a child I’m telling to pipe down.
I don’t understand what I did any more than I can explain the compass—
“Okay, we go that way,” he announces gruffly. “And maybe we find some water.”
I’m nodding in agreement as he urges his horse forward, and Lavante follows without any heel from me, though he tosses his head and stamps his feet because he hates not leading the way. He will go too fast for the gelding, though, so the weaker horse has to be first.
More red trees. More fires that spontaneously appear out of holes in the red dirt.
We avoid the latter with a big margin, but at least the horses are no longer reacting to the blasts of heat and light, either because they’re used to them or they’re just tired.
Actually, it’s more like Lavante is no longer threatened, and Merc’s steed is too exhausted to care.
I continue to scan the landscape, and Merc does as well, as the cliffs we were chased out of get closer and closer. We’re as yet too far away for me to spot any ogres blending into the rock faces, and I worry that we’re being tracked and just don’t know it.
“The soil is changing,” he remarks.
Sure enough, the red color is dimming because it’s being diluted, its replacement the normal brown of the ground I’m used to—and soon, I catch little sprigs of green.
The trees change as well, new varieties coming in and choking out the ugly, knarred red ones, the leaves becoming green.
And no more fires, either, as we presently enter a forest—
Merc draws in a great breath through his nose. “I can smell it.”
“What?”
“The water.”
I try out the sniffing routine, but all I can scent is the sulfur and the burning flesh, as if it’s stained my sinuses.
“There.” He pulls his horse to the right and points. “Through the trees. Hear it?”
Leaning forward over Lavante’s pale mane, yes, I do see it … a river that’s flowing with a brisk current. The horses pick up on the stream, too, nickering and trotting faster through the low-hanging branches.
The trees by the rushing current are green, leafy, and packed in close together, and as we break through the congestion, the sight of the river is a huge relief. And it’s big, the shore seeming to be overrun, no doubt because it’s swollen with runoff from the Badlands’ storm.
“Hold up,” Merc orders as he hauls back on the reins. “Look.”
Sure enough, there are a variety of footprints along the edge—as well as one big disturbance that’s marked with a bloody trail that leads off into the trees.
My fear immediately labels it as a demon attack, and I search downstream for a bloated animal corpse that has its stomach open and the meat ripped from its bones.
As Merc continues to scan the area, neither horse appreciates the delay, but I would rather wait, too. Thirst is not an issue if you’re eaten alive.
“Hold him here,” he says as he dismounts. “I’ll test out the water.”
I take Merc’s reins, and he goes over and kneels down.
He keeps his broadsword in his right hand, and makes a cup out of the left one.
Though I need to stay aware of my surroundings, I focus on the dried gray blood on the blade and remember the fury on his face as he thundered by me and stabbed that ogre in the head.
To make sure I lived.
“It’s clean,” he announces.
As if the horses understand him, his breaks free and goes over to drink, and Lavante impatiently stomps forward. I barely have a chance to dismount before my stallion wades in up to his armpits.
Merc captures the reins of both horses and nods at me to follow their example.
Lowering myself down, I wash my hands first to get the red dirt off, and then I rinse off my hot face.
The water tastes different than what was in the stream that led into the Outpost. It has a bite to it, no doubt due to the mineral deposits it’s flowed through to get here—
“Sorrel.”
Anxiety prickles and I glance around frantically. “Yes?”
Merc’s scanning the trees behind me, his sword at the ready—and I realize I’ll never get tired of staring at him.
There’s always something else to notice, whether it’s the gleaming waves of his hair, or the strength of his hand on that hilt, or the way his thighs bunch up … he’s a vista all to himself.
“Don’t lose that compass.”
It takes me a moment to decipher his words, even though they’re well and clearly spoken. And then I have to look down and resume drinking, my eyes stinging.
There’s a lot I don’t want to lose.
“Never,” I say roughly.