10. CHAPTER TEN
The rising sun hit the water’s surface in streaks of red, purple, and gold. Alena stood rooted, unable to tear her gaze away from the glistening Deep River.
Katell had left her with the horses while she scouted a village ahead to find passage across the seemingly endless expanse of water.
After tending to the horses, Alena waded into the waters close to the riverbank and washed off the sweat and dirt from her skin.
When the sun hit its highest point, Katell returned with an older man hobbling behind her. He was short but stocky. Tufts of grey hair peaked under his straw hat, and he carried a fishing net over his shoulder.
“Alena, this is Magni.” Her sister motioned behind her. “He can ferry us over the river today.”
The man grinned, his white teeth bright against his weathered face. “May the Sailor bless you both.”
Alena gawked at him. He spoke the Freefolk tongue, although his intonation was strange.
They led the horses back to his village, a small fisherman’s settlement with huts sprouting along the riverbank. A dozen fishing boats occupied the pebbled beach. Women sat outside threading nets while laughing children played in the water. The biggest hut, with a thatched roof and open at the front, housed a wooden statue of a man. At its feet, dozens of boat-shaped baskets filled with flowers and food were stacked.
Magni tilted his chin at the hut. “You missed the Sailor’s festival by a few days.”
“The Sailor?” It wasn’t a deity Alena recognised.
“Our patron god. He is lord of the river and watches over our settlement.”
Alena took another glance at the open hut. It was more modest than the Achaean temples her father had described, yet a thrill ran through her when she spotted a stone altar peeking beneath the mountain of offerings.
Before she could ask Magni more questions, Katell pulled her back. “Best we don’t bring attention to ourselves.”
They stopped in front of a hut perched on wooden stilts by the water. The fisherman called out to a young boy up on higher ground, who stared at the sisters with wide eyes. “Bring the horses to the pens,” Magni said. “Make sure they have plenty of food and water.”
Katell patted the bay stallion, then hauled two heavy saddlebags over her shoulder. “Make sure to treat them well.”
“Oh, we’ll take great care of them.” Magni grinned, taking the reins from her. “Two horses like these are like a Gift from the Sailor. We’re very grateful. I’ll make sure Old Leiva gives you a mule or two in return. It’s the least I can do.”
With a heavy heart, Alena untied the saddlebags from her mare and then patted her nose and cheek in goodbye. The Deep River’s current was too swift for horses to cross, and none of the fishermen owned a boat of sufficient size for them.
Magni left with the boy and soon returned with sacks of dried fish, cheese, nuts, and bread for them. It was more food than Alena had hoped for and would last them several days on the road ahead.
Katell stood by the shore, looking across the river’s shimmering waters. “We should get going. The sun will set in a few hours, and I would prefer to reach the other side with some sunlight left.”
Magni nodded, taking off his straw hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Let me make an offering to the Sailor, and we can be on our way.”
Alena’s ears pricked up. She followed him, curious to witness her very first offering.
They walked along the pebbled shore, past the women and children, towards the row of beached fishing boats. Alena took a seat while Katell remained standing, keeping a watchful eye. Magni waded knee-deep into the water and chanted a soft prayer, offering a loaf of bread to the river. Though Alena couldn’t hear the words, she got a sense from his tone that his prayer was joyful. It reminded her of the chants Camp Bessi’s women sang during the festival.
She looked up at Katell with a grin. Her sister, who’d never cared much for the stories about the gods or Marked ones except for the Rebel Queen, watched Magni with rapt attention as if coming to the same realisation as Alena. The Old Lands were no longer just stories. Once they crossed the Deep River, they would be in another kingdom with its own gods and magic, and the Freefolk’s teachings would be useless to them.
They’d have to rely on each other more than ever.
Magni’s boat was shallow but long enough to fit three people around the sail. Once on the water, the wind at their backs carried them at a steady pace across the river.
Water sloshed against the hull, drenching Alena’s boots. Beside her, Katell gripped the wooden sides, her knuckles white.
Only Magni’s coughing broke the tense silence between them until finally he asked, “So, where are you girls headed?”
“Megara,” Alena replied, then bit her tongue.
She shouldn’t have said that. Magni might seem like a kind, old man, but it was best to remain cautious. Sure enough, Katell pinned her with a stern look, her lips pressed tight.
“Megara, eh?” The fisherman leaned back, one hand steering a side oar. “Years ago, a trade route existed down the Deep River rapids that led south, straight to the Great Sea and the Achaean cities. The Roxolani tribes traded more food than they could spare just to get their hands on Megarian textiles. But the Empire put an end to that.”
A bout of wheezing coughs overtook him, leaving him gasping for air. He unhooked his waterskin, and Katell helped him lift it to his dry lips.
“I’m all right. I’m all right,” he said, once he’d calmed down. “Cursed cough won’t leave me alone these days. Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, Megarian goods. People around the Great Sea went crazy for their craftsmanship, and many came to visit their temples and theatres. Of course, that all changed after the massacre.”
Alena’s insides roiled at his words. Massacre?
Katell’s eyes, brimming with worry, met hers.
“I’ve heard things are much different now.” Magni tugged at the oar with a grunt, shifting the boat’s course. “Emperor Tarquinius ordered the temples be burnt and all the priests be killed. The Achaean gods are dead, so they say. All we hear about now in these parts is war. War against Achaea, war against the Western tribes, and we even heard rumours that the legions had been sent north. The Rasennan army hasn’t marched anywhere near the Deep River yet, thank the Sailor. But mark my words, with the way things are, they’ll be here soon enough.”
Alena struggled to keep up with all the information the fisherman was throwing at them.
Years ago, rumours had reached Camp Bessi of the Empire conquering Achaea. Alena had never stopped to think about the consequences. Were the gods of her father’s stories, the Achaean Twelve, truly dead? The Father, the Archer, the Sea God?
Surely not the Grey-Eyed Maiden. No one could best her in battle.
“What happened in Megara?” Katell’s question snapped Magni from his thoughts.
“Well, I suppose the same as with any other Rasennan province,” he said. “They—”
“No, you mentioned a massacre.”
“Oh, that.” He tugged his hat off and splashed some cool water over his head. His pale grey hair glistened in the sunlight before he covered it again. “There were rumours of a massacre about ten years ago. King Pandion of Megara tried to resist the Empire, but it seems he was betrayed by one of his own. The whole royal family, the Silver Shields, the guards: everyone was killed in a single night. All except for a prince who was taken by the Emperor to dissuade any future rebellion.”
“King Pandion?” The name rang a bell. Alena had read about him in her father’s scrolls. “He was an ally to the Rebel Queen.”
Magni nodded, his lips set in a grim line. “Yes, and now they are both dead.”
A heavy silence fell between them. Shaken by Magni’s revelations, Alena exchanged a tense look with her sister, leaving no doubt they shared the same thought: if Megara had fallen under Rasennan rule and posed too great a risk, where else would they go?