He reached for her again and she clasped his arm and mounted behind him again. When she had first seen him, the scars on his face had frightened her but now she hardly noticed them. His eyes had seemed dead. They no longer did. There was something inside his eyes now, a longing for his past. But she also remembered quite vividly how quickly his mood could change and how dangerous he truly was. It made her shudder.
With a tap from his boots, the horse plunged into the shallow stream and emerged on the other side in moments. They managed an even pace to preserve the animal’s strength. In the distance behind them, the haze from the brushfire could still be seen. She wondered what Master Winemiller was doing. Had he gone into Stonehollow to seek information? Was he traveling to the cabin at that moment? What of the Vaettir prince? Where was he? So many questions flitted through her mind.
“What do you know about my blood?” Phae asked him after they had been traveling awhile.
“You are Dryad-born,” he said. “You also have the fireblood. I do not think there has ever been someone like you before.”
“But do you know what a Dryad is? Do you know what makes that important? I do not understand what my father was hoping to accomplish.”
“It does not matter,” the Kishion replied. “His plan failed.”
“Yes, but what was it? Do you know what he wanted to do with me? Why he sent someone to find me?”
He was silent for a while, and she did not know why. She did know that saying nothing would probably be best. Patience, she told herself. Let him decide he can trust you.
“He was going to take you into the Scourgelands.”
Even Phae had heard of that place. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh. “But—nothing survives there. There is no kingdom even near it because no one can tame that forest. It is older than the world. In Stonehollow we teach that our valley was chosen as a way to protect us from the evil of that place.”
The Kishion said nothing. She sensed a reticence falling over him.
“Have you…been there?” she asked softly. “Do you remember something?”
He shrugged. “I earned these claw marks somehow. I do not remember when I got them. I believe I have had them for a long time. It may have…something to do with that place. Your father had claw marks too.”
Phae swallowed and pressed her cheek against the Kishion’s shoulder. The hills began to rise and swell and soon they saw massive stone formations crowning the hills amidst the bristlecone pine and bur oak. The ridges were rugged country, impossible for a horse to cross. The sun began to set, turning the sky a fiery hue as it mingled amidst a bank of storm clouds. The wind swept through the lowland prairie, bringing the temperature down. In the distance came the rumble of thunder. The beauty of the land swelled inside Phae’s heart. She still did not want to leave Stonehollow, but she could not think of a way to avoid that fate. Perhaps a storm would force them to shelter amidst the trees or inside a cave?
The horse was weary from the long ride that day and carrying two riders. But it was a stubborn beast and it continued to plod ahead, determined to carry them to the brink of the country. Phae nestled against the Kishion’s back, drowsy with the swaying motion. She could feel the tension in his muscles, hear the heart beating inside him. He was a living creature. But he could not die.
“I hope you will remember me—when this is over,” she said, stifling a yawn. “If I saw you again, I would be…sad if you did not remember me.”
He was silent and the wind rustled the long valley grass. She swallowed, her eyes closing. His voice was barely more than a whisper.
“The strange thing is that I feel I already know you. Somehow. I cannot explain it.”
Phae straightened. “We have never met, Kishion.”
“Then why are you so familiar to me?” he wondered aloud. He sighed. “I feel as if I should know you. As if I should recognize you. The locket. The music. Your hair. Something speaks to me from the past.” He sighed deeply. “There is the road.”
Phae saw it too and her heart turned into stone. It was closer than she had believed. They had followed the valley to the northeast, cutting across the abandoned farmlands to reach the mountains and finally the road. They left the long grass to the finely packed dirt road leading up into the mountains. The constant trampling of oxen hooves and wagon wheels had made it impossible for anything to grow on the road. Markers carved from stone appeared on the road ahead, designating the distance to Fowlrox. They would reach it long before midnight.