IT WAS A HARD MARCH. Though we had not wandered aimlessly before we met the Little Rose, we had been on no real schedule, and thus had not exactly hurried on our way. Now that we feared the hunting dogs of Kharuf were right behind us, with horsemen in the van alongside them, we fairly fled. The blisters that marked the Little Rose’s feet burst and bled, but she continued to walk without so much as a whisper of complaint. Even with him knowing the magic behind it, I could tell that Saoud was impressed. Arwa found a plant that would make sure none of the open wounds became infected, but I knew that if we wanted to make a habit of walking, we were going to have to find a better pair of shoes.
At last we reached the steep slopes where no heather grew. We were well north of the pass by now, and did not think of turning toward it. Instead, we climbed the trackless ways over rock and deadfall, pressing through the underbrush, even when there was no clear way before us. Our going was slow, but we had reached the mountains with no sign of pursuers, and the pressure on our lungs had lifted when we crossed the border again, so our pace did not chafe then as it might have otherwise.
“It is possible that my parents will stall as long as they can,” the Little Rose admitted on our second night in the mountains. Saoud had commented on the lack of a chase—relieved, but also perplexed, and too weary to think about it—and she looked embarrassed at her answer.
“They won’t want you back?” Arwa said, clearly unwilling to believe it.
“Oh, I am sure they do,” the Little Rose said. “But they don’t know what to do with me when they have me, either.”
“Except lock you up,” Tariq said darkly.
“I went to that willingly,” the Little Rose said. “Or as willingly as I could. It would not solve anything if I was murdered, or if I gave in to temptation and learned to play the harp.”
The levity from her was relatively new, and it further increased my discomfort, so I didn’t comment on it.
“You really think they’ll be happy to let you go?” he said.
“My mother sent us on a quest we had no wish to go on,” I reminded him. “Who knows why our parents do anything, except that they still have some strange hope that we will find a future? Even if it is one they cannot share.”
“I agree with Yashaa,” the Little Rose said. “Even if they do not believe it themselves, I think my parents will spread the story that I have fled over the desert, to whatever freedom I can find there. Or, if they choose to believe that I was kidnapped, the spinners will be among the first suspects—and everyone knows that the desert is where spinners go. If the riders are sent out in force, they will ride south and east for the sand, not west for the stone.”
“I hope you’re right,” Saoud said. “We’re going to have enough trouble surviving up here without worrying about unexpected company.”
We made even slower progress after that, because Saoud and I called frequent halts while we scouted out the terrain for a place where we could set up a permanent hiding spot. Arwa took advantage of the time to gather all the useful plants she could, and Tariq made what repairs to our gear were possible with his limited tools. The Little Rose sat and watched them, and I knew it must have been a torture for her.
I hated spinning with nearly the same intensity that I loved it. It pulled at my soul and galled it. Even now, when the fire burned at night time, my fingers missed the familiar rhythm of the work. I could not imagine feeling that love, that calling, and being forced to deny myself time and time again. We saw daily evidence of the Little Rose’s strength in her feet, but I was starting to gain an appreciation for the pure will that must have comprised her character.
On the fifth day, when Tariq carefully used up the last of the grain we carried for porridge and set it above the cooking fire, Saoud found a valley that would suit us. Its walls were so steep that I suspect he fell into it, rather than spotting it beforehand. On two sides it was sheer rock, cut straighter than the blocks that made the Little Rose’s tower. The third side was a waterfall, an unexpected but very welcome blessing. Not only would the falls’ pool give us fresh water, but the noise of the water would help hide any noise we might make ourselves. The fourth side was the steep green slope down which we walked after Saoud came to fetch us.
“Bless the Storyteller Queen for these mountains,” the Little Rose said.
“Indeed,” said Tariq.
“Saoud, I think there is a cave,” Arwa said, perched on one of the few outcroppings the valley boasted. “There, behind the cascade.”
She was right. The valley was an even better refuge than we had imagined. Now, even if someone found the valley itself, they might never find where we camped—assuming the cave was habitable. Saoud went along the ledge and through the water to find out, and I went behind him.
“It will be dark, even with a fire,” he said. “The smoke might not exit well, either. We’ll have to be careful.”
I nodded, and then remembered he couldn’t see me in the dark.
“How far back do you think it goes?” I asked, walking forward with my arms held out before me.