Their guide led them in silence. Occasionally Hettie saw the branches bend and drift as shadowy shapes bounded across their tops. She realized that the road was meant for visitors and that the Vaettir did not use it themselves. It amazed her. She wondered how long the Bhikhu had watched them before presenting himself.
The road began to climb and the journey became more difficult. The forest floor started to slope and dip with undulations, and large boulders began to appear in the forest. Some were carved with symbols. Others had faces. Occasionally there were small huts built off the road, made of thatch and the strange narrow trunks.
Hettie glanced at Paedrin. She expected him to be fascinated by his homeland. His people had come from Silvandom originally. She was surprised that he looked so tense, so ill at ease. Something was troubling him greatly. She could see it burning in his eyes. He caught her eye and looked away, ashamed.
With Kiranrao and the other Bhikhu there, she knew she would not have the means of talking to him privately. His obvious discomfort made her worry.
The road began a tortuous pace upward, weaving between large boulders and crevices. Her legs began to burn with the climb, but she did not want to seem weak. Birds chirped and watched them. Once she even heard the scree of a hawk, but she could not see it. The road ascended up the twisty path of a mountainside. They were climbing higher now, emerging from the green-hued stretch of forest. It was after midday and Hettie was starving. The Bhikhu offered them nothing. He just continued at a punishing pace, just hard enough to make her work at it. She knew she was holding them all back. The others would have been able to make it to Silvandom by then if not for her. She resented the feeling.
As Hettie looked backward, she saw the clouds of green leaves behind her, creating the illusion of rich green grass, undulating in the breeze. From that vantage, she saw other Vaettir crossing the forest. They had not encountered another soul along the way. Now she could see why.
The road climbed mercilessly higher, and she found herself soaked in sweat, trying to keep up. She drank from her flask, but the water was starting to run out. Still she pressed on, angered by the enigmatic guide who refused to speak to them. Kiranrao said nothing as well. Some insects had taken a special interest in him, especially some rather large dragonflies. But he did not swat them away. It was against the Vaettir way to injure any creature unjustly. She had learned that from Paedrin.
The steep climb changed the scenery dramatically. The higher elevations did not allow the thin, pole-like trees to grow. She saw cedar and pine and even some redwoods. The road was no longer made of hard-packed dirt. The sun tilted in the sky, making her see spots. She shook her head, trying to clear it. Paedrin touched her arm, looking at her in concern. She jerked her elbow away from him, furious suddenly.
Ahead, the road began to widen and opened into a scene of transcendent beauty. A dazzling waterfall thundered from the crevice of a mountain on the left, sending tendrils of never-ending water cascading down the side. There were interconnecting bridges and gorges, mounted into chasms that defied belief. Then she noticed the peak-roofed buildings that sloped and pointed gracefully. They were made of stone and timber. Chimney smoke trickled into the air, giving it a faint musty scent. She was breathing hard, wiping the sweat from her lip on her arm. The view was breathtaking. The structures each looked unique and perhaps a thousand years old. It felt as if the farther she walked, the more they had gone into the past.
“A little farther,” the Bhikhu said, looking at her with a shrewd smile. “I think you will make it.”
They crossed fourteen bridges and steps cut into the mountains. More and more homes and structures could be seen. Her stomach was ravenous with hunger. But she would not stop to eat if the men did not. Her pride demanded she keep up.
After the fifteenth bridge and an agonizingly painful set of steps going down, they passed another chasm that opened up into a valley.
Hettie stared at in shock and felt tears sting her eyes.
Never in her life had she imagined such a place of beauty could exist.
Silvandom.
It was nearly sunset when they reached the prince’s estate on the eastern outskirts of Silvandom. The Bhikhu who had guided them nodded in farewell and left without a word, floating into the air and off to another destination. A destination he would reach much faster this time.
They were met by a Vaettir woman who was perhaps a little older than she or Paedrin. She was pretty, in a very subdued way. She had long jet-black hair that was perfectly straight. She did not wear Bhikhu robes, but did appear to be in some form of ceremonial dress.
“Welcome to Silvandom,” she said perfectly in their language. “My cousin, Prince Aran, will join you shortly. He asked me to offer hospitality. My name is Khiara Shaliah.”