“Then those are the words we will say.”
Tiras could not watch as the wagons, loaded with supplies, disappeared. He couldn’t bear it. With uncharacteristic impatience he changed, leaving his clothes in a pool where he’d stood, becoming an instantaneous extension of wings and flight, taking to the sky to follow his brother for just a little longer.
Lark watched him go and spoke a prayer into the breeze, asking the Creator for his blessing.
In the lands we cannot see,
In the hearts we do not know,
In the kingdom of the trees,
Where my brother now must go.
Give him hope amid the pain,
Love amid the hate.
May safety guide his footsteps.
May mercy be his fate.
Northern Degn was temperate and grassy, with endless grazing and plenty of open space, but Corvyn was mountainous and cool with towering pines and winding ascents and descents. They wouldn’t go to the lord’s keep in Corvyn, but would cut across Degn and enter Corvyn where the Nehru River clipped the border. From there they would follow the river along the Corvar Mountains which extended into the southwest corner of Kilmorda. At the northern tip of the Corvars they would veer east to the Bay of Brisson which was shared by the two provinces.
It was the shortest course, a route with easy access to water and plenty of vegetation for the animals, but water meant the possibility of pockets of Volgar. Volgar mated, but they didn’t reproduce. It was an instinctual exercise that bore no fruit. They built nests that never sheltered eggs, and they’d lost their Creator. They had no way to regenerate, a dwindling food supply, and continual decimation had winnowed their numbers drastically. But Kjell knew it would be foolish to think the threat had been completely extinguished.
The women that had been brought on the journey to assist Sasha were put to work attending other things. The queen kept her own company and had no desire or need to be waited on. That much had not changed. She rode the plodding grey with gentle eyes and steady feet, and Kjell checked the horse’s saddle, his bindings, and his hooves continually, determined to avoid calamity. He would have felt better if Sasha was riding with him on Lucian. But that was not possible.
Sasha was different, her back straighter, like she stood guard over a past that demanded her protection. Or maybe her memories carried with them walls that she was forced to erect. She was more subdued, more introspective, as if consumed by the images of her old life, and Kjell wished he could see her memories too, just to feel close to her again.
His men seemed to understand that she was not the same Sasha anymore, not the girl who slept at his feet and followed him wherever he went. It was odd really. Sasha had discovered she was a queen instead of a slave, and it seemed a weight instead of a buoy, a burden instead of a blessing. She kept to herself when she slept, staring up at the firmament like her star was still embedded there, winking down at her. Padrig stayed at her side, but Kjell could not trust the man, nor could he imagine he would be much protection against the night. So Kjell stationed a guard to watch the camp and one to watch the queen, and though it hurt to be near her, Kjell was never very far.
One night she woke him, her hand on his shoulder, and he forgot for a moment that they were not on the Jandarian plain. Freed by sleep, he sat up instantly and pulled her into his arms. She let him hold her for a heartbeat, her body soft against him, her lips on his temple before she withdrew. Her eyes bore the echoes of premonition, and he smoothed back her hair, meeting her gaze, trying to tighten his thoughts and narrow his focus.
“We need to break camp, Captain,” she urged.
“What did you see?”
“The rocks are falling,” she said numbly, as if they were at that very moment, tumbling all around them. But the night was silent, the precipices peaceful.
She closed her eyes, and he waited for her to sort through the pieces of her dream. When she opened her eyes again, her face inches from his own, her gaze was clearer, her voice strong.
“I don’t know when. The moon is lower when they fall.” She looked up and tracked the distance across the sky before staring back at the looming wall of quiet stone. “I think there is time. But those are the rocks I saw.” She pointed at the crags that rose directly above them, overlooking the quiet clearing ringed with trees and the rushing sounds of the Nehru River beyond.
Kjell rose immediately and with haste and few explanations, they woke the camp, hitched the horses to the wagons, and began to ease the weary caravan through the clearing and away from the Corvar cliffs, their eyes continually rising to the formation they left behind, a crouching rock creature waiting to leap from the ledge and bury them beneath his bulk.
It began as a smattering of gravel, dusting their heads and bouncing off the rocks. Then the ground rumbled beneath their feet and a mighty crack split the air. The horses shrieked and pulled against their reins, and the travelers picked up their pace, tired mutterings and doubtful glances converted to incredulous belief and surging adrenaline.
A woman’s scream pierced the night, and the caravan froze, ears perked, faces lifted, wagons halted. The sound ricocheted around them, behind them, above them, beneath them, beyond them. The women in the caravan eyed each other in wonder. None of them had uttered a sound. The scream came again, more horror than pain, and the rumbling turned into a roar.
“Keep going toward the river!” Kjell bellowed, fear sharpening his instincts. He held back, pushing everyone forward, the wagon wheels bouncing and groaning over the uneven ground, forced to travel at a speed they weren’t equipped to withstand. Behind him, in the clearing they’d just vacated, the trees began to sway and crack, branches bending beneath the weight of falling rock.
“Kjell!” Sasha screamed, and he turned his back on the snapping limbs and crashing boulders.
She was waiting for him, the little grey beneath her dancing and tossing his head in fear.
“Go!” he yelled.
But she held her position, letting the others rush past her toward the river before moving into the rear beside him. The first wagon had reached the banks of the Nehru, but the water was too deep, the river too wide, and the wagons wouldn’t float. Kjell just hoped they were far enough from the slide to escape being caught in it. He pulled her from her horse, bringing her to the ground beneath him, sheltering her as best he could. Lucian bolted, the grey fell, and Sasha clung to him. The time for fleeing had ended.