Not for the first time, she wished Layla was with her.
Fortunately, she’d eventually found some kind of game path that led through the forest. She’d spent that night huddled under a tree, not daring to use a heatplate or a nightlamp for fear it would bring unwanted attention. The sounds of this forest were completely new to her, eerie shrieks and sighing sounds coming from all directions.
She’d woken sore and weary, fatigued from short snatches of fitful sleep. Half a day had seen the game trail turn into a fully-fledged path. The trees had grown thinner, and she had emerged into a dusty field, spotted with outbuildings. She’d circled back around through the forest, following the edge of the field, until she’d come upon the small town.
The land was sparsely populated, Ella knew that much. There was a good chance Killian had passed through here. It was an opportunity she couldn’t afford to miss.
Now, she was having second thoughts. The sun was harsh here, and the people had sun-darkened skin and swarthy features. Women frowned at her, she was obviously different. They wore scarves tied over their hair, whereas Ella’s long pale hair fell loose and straight. Some of the men frowned too, while others just stared. Many of the men had curled moustaches, others sported neatly trimmed beards. Ella was surprised to see that both men and women wore some kind of charcoal paste around their eyes. It gave them a strange, exotic look.
Ella walked along what she thought must be the town’s main street. The buildings were constructed of a dark slate with beams of red wood. Some of them appeared to be taverns, and it must be meal time. Ella could smell spicy aromas and see many of the men and women drinking something from bowls with two hands while they conversed.
Ella decided she needed to ask her questions and quickly leave, before she got herself into trouble.
She walked up to a moustached Petryan who looked like his face was less severe than the others. He backed away slightly when she approached, keeping a few paces between them.
"I am terribly sorry to bother you," Ella said. "Have you seen a young man, a priest, pass through here? He would have had red hair."
"Where are you from?" the Petryan frowned.
"I… I was raised in Altura, but my father..."
"Altura?" The Petryan half-turned, and called out a name, "Putahnmet!"
Another man popped his head out of some kind of an official house with painted gold trim on its wooden beams. He wore a flat red hat on his head, the raj hada of Petrya — a teardrop and flame — presented on the breast of his red coat. "What is it?"
"Look at this girl. She asks about the priest, the one who sleeps at your house. She says she is from Altura."
The official looked hard at Ella for a moment. "Altura? Wait there, I will come over."
There was something menacing in his tone. Ella didn’t understand what was happening. "I need to be going."
The moustached man grabbed her by the arm. Ella began to panic.
"Nothing to fear," the moustached man said in soothing tones. "We just want to ask a few questions."
She reached into a pocket of her dress with her other arm and withdrew a small stone, the size of her palm, inscribed with runes.
"Tuk-talour," she whispered. She threw the stone into the middle of the street, then put her hand over her eyes and looked away.
There was a sudden flash of white light. People screamed. The moustached man and the official both clutched at their eyes.
"I’m blind, I can’t see!" she heard someone shriek.
She was free. Ella gathered herself and ran away.
"I can still see! Should I stop her?" someone yelled.
"Yes, she might be a spy! Stop her!"
Ella couldn’t digest the situation. She simply put her head down and ran down the main street. She ducked through a market, the sound of pounding feet behind her spurring her on. She collided into a woman purchasing a gauzy roll of cloth, yelled an apology, and kept running.
She ducked into a narrow street, and then turned again. Soon, she left the commotion behind her, but she still kept running.
Dashing over a bridge, she made a quick decision and dropped down to the river bank below rather than continuing on the road. She followed the bank away from the bridge, slowing to a walk now. When she was sure she’d lost all pursuit, she sank down to her knees.
She couldn’t believe what a disaster it had been. How could she have been so stupid? She should have gone somewhere quiet, where she could have been more prepared to deal with any opposition, where she could have tested the reactions of just one person instead of many.
Now she’d lost her chance. What could she do now? Undoubtedly Killian had passed that way — the man with the moustache had said something about a priest.
Perhaps he was even still there! And she’d gone walking in, bold as brass.