Corban shifted in his saddle, his backside aching and his shoulder itching from where he had been wounded in the fall of Dun Carreg. Eight days they had been riding since Camlin had spotted their pursuers, and he was exhausted. How was it that sitting in a saddle all day long could be so tiring? And so painful? Halion was leading them swiftly north, through a rolling landscape, much of it coated in dense woodland. Each night they had dismounted and walked extra leagues in an attempt to widen the gap between them and their followers. And each morning, before dawn, Gar would wake him to perform the sword dance and to spar. Others were starting to join them: Farrell and his da, Vonn, Halion and Marrock. Even Edana, claiming that if she were to be a true leader then she would need to learn how to swing a sword. Marrock had grudgingly agreed. And just this morning his mam had joined them: Halion had taken her through some forms with the spear that she now carried permanently. She had done well, her determination and athleticism reminding Corban of Cywen.
Cywen. Just the thought of his sister brought a pain all of its own, a dull ache in his gut. Sometimes he forgot that she was dead and then would be reminded of her by some inconsequential thing – a scent, a phrase, a mannerism in someone – then the weight of it would come flooding back. He shook his head, scattering the memories like gathering flies.
He was riding midway down their small column, along a narrow track which was winding through light woodland. Sunlight dappled the ground, moving as a breeze swayed the branches above. Storm was a flicker of white movement deeper in the woods. Without her they would all be close to starving by now.
He saw his mam and Gar in quiet conversation ahead of him, and scowled. He had hardly spoken to either of them since the night they had taken him into the dark and asked him to leave, spouted all that madness about Elyon and Asroth, about going to Drassil. Though he had not talked to them about it, once they had begun their ride through Cambren he had thought of little else. He did not like things this way between them. He was grieving, and he knew his mam was too, when they should be comforting each other. He felt there was a wall between them instead, something invisible but solid that he could not break through.
Corban stood straight and approached his mam and Gar, who were tending their horses. It was almost full dark and further away the others were making camp. He stopped before the two of them and they looked at him expectantly.
‘Can I talk to you?’ he mumbled.
‘Of course,’ his mam said quickly. Gar just looked at him.
‘I will not leave our friends,’ he said. Gar took a deep breath to say something but Corban held a hand up. ‘Please, hear me out. I have words I need to say. I am oath-bound to Edana, and even if I weren’t, I could not leave these people. They are my friends, our friends, and all that is left of home. I have thought about it long and hard, thought about nothing else for days, and, even if what you have said is true . . .’ He paused, thinking again of Elyon and Asroth, the tales he had heard of the Otherworld, the Ben-Elim and Kadoshim. How could it be true? ‘Even if it were true, I would not leave my friends. If it is true, then Elyon can tell me, not just you two. And until that happens I am not going to change my mind. You can say what you like, but I will not change my mind.’ He looked down at the ground. ‘I hope that we can be . . .’ And suddenly the words dried up. The same as before, he wanted to say. Before they had taken him into the dark and said those mad things. He looked up at his mam, eyes pleading. The silence lengthened.
She nodded.
‘You are a man now, a warrior who has sat your Long Night, and proven in battle,’ she said. ‘We will respect your decision. And we will wait until Elyon, or his Ben-Elim,’ she added with a quick flicker of her eyes to Gar, ‘changes your mind.’
With her words he felt his tension drain, evaporating like smoke in the breeze, and he saw the same happen in her face. He reached out and hugged her tight. She felt small in his arms, fragile. When they separated, Gar was busying himself rubbing his horse down, checking its hooves. He avoided Corban’s gaze.
Corban sat with Dath and Farrell close to the fire. They had all dined on dried meat and cold water, all that was left of a doe that Storm had carried into the camp four nights earlier, though none complained.
Right now Storm was curled behind Corban, half hidden in the shadows of a tree.