There were serpents in the cave. Coiled in the dank corners, unaccustomed to being prey, and blinded by the fire starter, they were little match for lances and swords, and the men ate well for the first time since leaving Bin Dar a fortnight before. Sasha didn’t help them kill the snakes, but she didn’t balk at skinning them, and she ate the meat with the same relish as the men. It didn’t take long for someone to remind her that she’d promised them a story when the storm passed, and she nodded amiably and settled in for her tale.
“When Isak held the fire in his hands today, it reminded me of a story I once knew. In the beginning, there were only four gifts. Telling, Spinning, Changing and Healing. But as the years passed and the people multiplied over the land, the gifts grew and changed, and new gifts emerged. Power grew and evolved. In some of the Gifted, telling became seeing and healing became transforming. Some of the Changers began to shift into more than one animal, and spinning became more and more diverse. Some Spinners could turn air into fire, like Isak. Some turned objects into illusions. Some could even spin themselves into trees.”
“—but not animals,” someone inserted, and Sasha nodded.
“No. That would make them Changers.”
“But there was one Spinner who was so powerful he could spin thoughts into stars. They called him the Star Maker.” She was quiet for a moment, and the men all raised their faces to the stars, looking for the brightest light. The sky had begun to clear and the moon lurked behind the haze, glowing dully. Kjell raised his hand and moved his thumb across the muted swath, remembering Sasha’s golden freckles.
“When someone grew old and was close to death, the Star Maker would draw their memories into his hands and shape them into orbs of light, releasing them into the heavens, so they could live forever.”
Isak cupped his hand and created a flame, showing off for Sasha, and she smiled as he released it, tossing it as if he too were a Star Maker.
“Sometimes, he would call the star back, pulling it down from the heavens, so those still living could hold the memories of the ones they lost.”
The men chimed in then, naming the people they missed, the people they’d lost, and the oldest soldier, a man named Gibbous who had been in the King’s Guard for as long as Kjell could remember, called out the name of a woman, his eyes glued to the heavens.
Jerick hooted, surprised, and the mood was broken. Isak, determined to keep Sasha talking, asked her if she’d lost someone close to her.
“I am the one who is lost,” Sasha said. “And I don’t think anyone is looking for me.” The corners of her mouth lifted wryly, and Isak looked momentarily stricken. Kjell glowered at him. His men had become too familiar with the servant woman. It wasn’t good.
They unrolled their pallets in the mouth of the cave, leaving the horses hobbled outside. Kjell volunteered for the first watch, needing solitude.
He didn’t get it.
Sasha found him when the camp quieted, and she perched beside him, casting her eyes out at the empty expanse, mimicking his posture.
“You are angry again,” she stated softly.
He didn’t deny it, though anger was too strong a word. He was weary. Restless. Distracted. Intrigued.
“Having a woman traveling with a group of warriors is dangerous,” he said.
“Why?” The question was quietly distressed.
“Because if they care for you—and they all do—they will stop looking out for each other and they will all start looking out for you. It’s not your fault. It’s not theirs. It’s simply the way we are.”
“I see,” she whispered, and he ceased speaking, knowing that she did.
She stayed with him as the moon rose higher in the sky, sloughing off the haze and lighting the dunes around them. Before long, Sasha was curled on the sand beside him, her head on her scarf, her legs and arms drawn into her chest, and he sighed, knowing his men would think they dallied.
But he didn’t wake her. Not yet. He would let her stay a while longer.
The horses slept, his men dreamed, and he kept watch.
They entered Enoch ten days after leaving Solemn, dusty and dirty, longing for baths, wine, and beds that didn’t encourage sand spiders and stiff backs. There’d been no battles, despite Sasha’s warning, and their armor was dingy, their skin chafed, and their horses in need of grain and grooming.
The land of Enoch boasted the River Bale, the largest river in all of Jeru. It extended for one hundred miles, just below Jeru City all the way to the borders at the south of Enoch, and because of that, the province enjoyed trade with the kingdom and the Northern provinces, unlike its poorer neighbor, Quondoon.
Along one side of the River Bale, fine homes and respectable businesses lined the streets. Sheltered women and cherished children moved freely, and a cathedral erected for the first Lord Enoch overlooked the river and cast a disapproving shadow upon the opposite bank. Across from the safe and the acceptable—with only the width of the mighty river to separate the two—all manner of decadence and depravity had become well-entrenched.
The wealth was just as evident on the far bank of the Bale, if not even more so, the free flow of money and vice drawing the respectable and disreputable alike. Gaming and gambling drew the greedy and the bored. Taverns and teahouses enticed the hungry and the hiding. Elaborate public bathhouses, where washwomen would draw a man’s bath, clean his clothes, and keep him content while he waited for them, attracted the soiled and the lonely, and kept them coming back again. Luxurious inns boasted rooms that were fully stocked with food and fair company, and the drinks never stopped flowing.
It all bore the purifying sheen of money, but the women were still concubines and the spirits still made men foolish. Kjell’s men were eager to be impetuous and imprudent for several days, and when they boarded their horses and secured lodging, they dispersed along the streets of Enoch with firm orders to be prepared to ride out in two days’ time. Kjell was among them, Sasha deposited in a room of her own with a maid at her beck and call and the benign instruction to do whatever she wished.
Yet Kjell worried.
And he fretted.