OoOoO
A far green country the likes of which Lhara had never seen unfurled before them, stretching on and on under a low-hanging mantle of mist. Every breath drew heavy and humid into her lungs, so unlike the thin air in the upper reaches of The Teeth. Even to stand on the western side of the mountains felt surreal. All her life, Lhara had known west Goran only by how others spoke of it. Now, leaving the ridgeline behind to pick their way down amongst the western foothills could have been no less strange than entering an alien world altogether.
The plains of east Goran, visible at all times from Trosk, were flat, yellow-brown and nearly featureless for as far as the eye could see. One could lose a ram and still see it escaping halfway to Derbesh, or so the joke went. West Goran was nothing like that. Here, the land never seemed to smooth out entirely after the foothills; it dipped, curved, hollowed and swelled like folds in a cloth. What fascinated Lhara most though were the trees. Nothing taller than a shrub grew on the rocky hillsides around Trosk. Even though they were still too high up to see any great detail, Lhara recognized trees from the descriptions in Tarun's books, growing together in rows and clusters across the landscape like leafy, earth-bound clouds.
"This is your homeland?" Lhara asked Jath, almost incredulous.
Jath had to stop, unable to talk and focus on slip-sliding his way down the steep mountainside at the same time. The rocky bones of The Teeth were covered by soil here, rich and dark and threaded by the roots of hardy wolf willows. As brush became thicker further down, their descent was both hampered and helped; there was more to hold onto in case of a slip, but also more to fight through and get tangled in. Already burrs and twigs were making themselves at home in Lhara's cloak.
"Not quite," said Jath. "I was born further north."
"You're a northerner then?"
"No, you'd know a northerner if you saw them."
"So where are you from then?
Lhara thought she saw Jath's teeth gritting out the corner of her eye. "...Vaelona."
That wasn't a name Lhara was familiar with. "Vaelona? Is that a town?"
"A city, north of Amenthere but south of the Black Forest."
Why did you leave? Lhara wanted to ask. Despite having made it safely to the west, Jath did not seem in much of a mood for sharing stories, so she left it for now. Was it because of the Factionists, the crown, both...or neither? She supposed it was hardly her business or her concern. Crossing The Teeth had put her once again on the same side of the world as Tarun, and that was what mattered.
Lhara's fascination with this new land was stirred even further once they came down to where true grass grew. She couldn't resist stretching out her hands to feel the long, cool blades tickle her palms. Fog blanketed the foothills thickly here, making it difficult to see very far (not that Lhara's eyes could have seen further regardless). Still, she was able to make out the edge of what seemed to be a thick gathering of trees a little ways further down the hillside. These were not five, ten, or even fifty trees though. The closer Lhara and Jath came, the more she felt dwarfed by a looming wall of timber. Trunks thick and tall reached toward the sky, their leaves blotting out what little grey sunlight there was. Beyond their edge Lhara could see nothing but cave-like gloom. A thick, earthly smell reached her, so pungent with growing and rotting plant-life that it seemed almost a taste upon her tongue.
"Is that a forest?" Lhara asked, unable to help herself.
"The Forest of Latharan, yes," replied Jath. He had put up his hood against the damp, and droplets of un-fallen rain gathered on the rim of the cloth. "Falerik must be close by now."
Still wondering at the strange and somehow sacred nature of the forest, Lhara lingered. The long grass was soaking her clothes below the waist and chilling her, even on a late summer day, but she waded closer to the trees anyway. There was something about the Forest of Latharan that spoke to the fledgling Wise Woman within her, not unlike the crypts of Trosk. Beneath the low creaking of the tree trunks and the rich scent of damp moss there was something else; a sense of timelessness that beckoned Lhara in to explore that shaded, earthy womb.
Then a bird, a red-winged blackbird sang out, trilling from the branch of a sapling in the open, and the spell of the forest was broken. Lhara realized that Jath had stopped and turned back to wait for her. A tiny bit of late afternoon sun had managed to filter through the mist around them.
"Lhara?"
"Just...looking," said Lhara, drawing the front of her cloak closer around her and moving to catch up. "It's strange, but there's something...special about that forest."
"In Falerik, they say that the Forest of Latharan is haunted, and they're right; it is a place where ghosts walk. We should move on. If we aren't delayed, I think we might be able to make Falerik before sundown."
"Where ghosts walk..."
Lhara paused to turn back once again. Thoughts of Marden and Yelaina immediately flooded her mind. Their spirits ought to be among the stars now...shouldn't they? But what if there was a chance, a chance that she might somehow be able to find them in the forest? She couldn't imagine why or how that might be so, but there had to have been a reason why the Forest of Latharan drew her in.
"Perhaps I might have to come by this way again on my journey to Geristan," said Lhara thoughtfully.
"Why?" asked Jath. Then he seemed to realize the path Lhara's thoughts had taken. A troubled look tightened his face even as the blackbirds took up their sweet, echoing chorus once again. "If it is ghosts that you wish to see, I don't know as I would chase such a thing if I were you, leastwise not in there."
"You're not me." Lhara rebutted Jath rather more sternly than she had perhaps intended. The bitterness she had felt in Trosk's immediate wake threatened to seep back around the edges of her heart.
Jath sighed. "True, but still, to see ghosts may not be a gift so much as a curse. Vinie, the Factionist leader, can tell you as much."
"This Vinie has seen spirits?" Lhara's interest was piqued.
"Not so much seen as heard, from what little I've been privy to." Something seemed eager for Jath to say it, and after a moment's hesitation he relented. "I joined the Factionists after Vinie found me half alive in the Forest of Latharan. The voices of the dead led her to me." Then Jath smiled in a halfhearted way that Lhara had come to nickname his 'upside-down frown'. "So I suppose you could say that Vinie does actually see ghosts, since she found me."
Lhara frowned, not getting whatever self-depreciating point it was that Jath was making. "Don't be droll Jath, you're not a ghost. You're a bit on the strange side, but strange is good to me. That's why I was trying to become a Wise Woman before you and the rest of Goran decided to come to Trosk."
Oddly enough, this seemed to both confound and touch Jath. He said no more as they wound their way around the southern edge of the forest, but Lhara could see how much less dispirited the pale Factionist was compared to earlier. He even stopped to offer Lhara a dry pair of socks once they were out of the soaking long grass. Lhara however pointed out that she too had a spare pair which was far more likely to fit her, and Jath chuckled at himself as they emptied out their swampy boots.
OoOoO
As Jath had predicted, it was just about sundown when they reached the road leading in to Falerik. They had to jump a fence to get out of a farmer's vineyard and onto the path, and Lhara just about choked on one of her 'borrowed' grapes; another new discovery in this foreign land. She refused to ruin such a delicious treat by gagging on it though, and just barely managed to tease the errant grape back up to her teeth. The rest of her snack lasted her until the edge of town, where Lhara would have been too preoccupied to eat anyway.
Falerik struck Lhara as not so very different from Trosk...but at the same time extremely different. The buildings were built from wood and stone, just as the mountainfolk did, but they were far taller and narrower. Grey-shingled roofs slanted dramatically, bringing to mind the peaks of The Teeth not so far away to the east. It occurred to Lhara then that this was the first time in her life she had actually been outside of the mountains entirely. The warm, sticky humidity all around served as another reminder that she was definitely not in Trosk.
The people of Falerik went about their business all around, and occasionally Lhara caught eyes lingering on the pair of them as they passed. Onlookers were always quick to look away when caught, refusing to make eye contact or return Lhara's cautious smile. Lhara wondered if the people here had ever seen one of the mountainfolk before. They reminded her of clansfolk, with their tanned complexions and hooded brows.
Lhara for her part made no effort to hide her interest in the sights and sounds around her. Some of the glass lanterns with colored panes that hung outside the doors were being lit, adding a firefly-like glow to the street. Heavily stylized bone jewelry rattled on the wrists and necks of most they saw, and Lhara told herself to remember that to ask Magda about after she and her teacher were reunited.
Jath kept them as much to the side of the streets as possible, and they did not stop to sight-see. When he approached a solid, well-lit inn displaying a sign for 'The Drunken SkinPainter', Lhara gathered that they had reached their destination. The Drunken SkinPainter wasn't much larger than The Giant's Shoe in Trosk had been. For a brief moment, flames burned before Lhara's eyes and the groan of falling timbers filled her ears. Then she squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head, and there was nothing but a building of shale stone with windows full of orange light.
"This way Lhara."
Rather than approach the front door, Jath led the way around the side toward a stairway set into the earth and hidden behind an ivy-draped rail of wrought iron. The heavy door at the bottom had no lantern hung beside it to light the threshold.
As Jath knocked, Lhara found herself suddenly skittish. In Trosk, Jath had been the stranger. Now it seemed the tables had turned. Drawing her still-damp cloak tighter around her, she waited and watched.
A little metal hatch slid back at eye level, and a disembodied voice spoke.
"Aren't you a little out of your way?"
"We seek a new way," said Jath wearily.
A grunt from the unseen doorman was all they got. The sound of a bolt being drawn from the inside made Lhara even antsier. It felt like they were being let into some sort of underground vault. Uncertain, she placed herself slightly closer to Jath's shoulder, reminding him that she was very much there and out of her element.
"Don't be-"
Whatever Jath had been about to say, it was cut off when the door slid open before them. A short but powerfully built man with the darkest skin, hair and eyes that Lhara had ever seen stood on the threshold, eyeing them. He was dressed both for the climate and for a fight in a loosely fitted half-suit of leather, breathable green pants and sandals. There were flecks of grey in the tight, short-cropped hair at his temples and the beginnings of wrinkles at his mouth though, and Lhara didn't know why she found that reassuring.
"Jath...is that right?" The man asked.
"Yes that's me. Dhalad, is Vinie here?"
The Factionist named Dhalad flicked a quick glance at Lhara, and apparently decided she wasn't a problem. "Yas, but why are you here? I thought you shipped out from Moaan with the others months ago. Working on stirring up support in the east, weren't you?"
"May I speak to Vinie? Please Dhalad...it's urgent."
Dhalad considered Jath briefly, chewing the inside of his cheek. Then to Lhara's relief he nodded.
"Alright, I'll see if she's free. She's been waiting to hear from Sula and Nadathan actually, so she might just make time for you regardless."
"That's part of why I'm here," said Jath, his face grim.
That last bit seemed to raise the urgency of their arrival somewhat in Dhalad's estimation. He led them down a long stone corridor, their boots padding on the hard-packed dirt floor. When they reached the end they turned a corner out into a larger, better-lit chamber. Lhara could scarcely believe that all of this was beneath an inn.
"BlackPearl, got a minute? We've had one of the recruits sent to Derbesh turn up on the doorstep with a friend, and he says he's got news from Sula and Nadathan."
One of a group of people standing around a heavy, rough-built table pouring over what Lhara recognized as a map of the Old Mountain Road looked up. She was even darker than Dhalad, and built like coiled wire with crisscrossing scars overlaying the lean flesh of her forearms. Lhara guessed the leader of the Factionists to be at the start of her third ten-year, if not a little older judging by the careworn look to her angular face. She wore her hair tightly pulled up into a bun, making it all too easy for Lhara to take note of the little black stone bound in the center of her forehead by a length of braided cord.
"Jath!" Vinie looked both surprised and disconcerted as she came to greet them. "Although I'm glad to see you, what are you doing here? Did Nadathan and Sula send you?" The Factionist leader suddenly noticed Lhara standing awkwardly in the doorway and cocked her head, uncertainty even more plain in her expression. "And who is this? I don't think we've met before."
When Jath looked to her, Lhara peeled herself away from the relative obscurity of the hallway and tried to speak confidently. "I'm Lhara Miradaughter of Trosk. Jath hired me to guide him here through The Teeth."
This seemed to answer none of Vinie's questions. Still she approached Lhara and offered her a wrist to clasp. "Then in that case you're welcome here, Lhara of Trosk. My name is Vinie, also known as 'BlackPearl' if you go by the arrest warrants." She seemed about to say more, but flicked a questioning look toward Jath.
"Lhara has no special love for the crown...or Factionists either I suppose. She has good reason not to."
That brought a dark look to Vinie's face. Releasing Lhara's wrist, she beckoned the pair of them to sit down at the table. There were others seated there; a tall man with a head of glossy black curls and what Lhara might have dared to call one of the most charming faces she'd ever seen, an older, rounder woman bedecked in canary yellow with sparkling bracelets and a smirk to match, and a swordsman well suited by his fair, rugged complexion and militantly close-cropped hair.
"I think you had best tell us the whole story Jath, starting from when you got on the ship to Derbesh," said Vinie, returning to her own stool across the table. She and the others were staring intently at Jath, allowing Lhara to at least try to relax.
For the next half hour, Jath spoke at length about the events that had led the Factionists to Trosk. He spoke of visits to the G'Hesh and N'Shar clans outside the Hanara desert, and the resulting chaos. From what Lhara understood, the two clans were old rivals, and the G'Hesh eimir did not take kindly to anything that involved working with the N'Shars...or losing capital money. Despite that, the Factionist movement in the east had been gaining traction. Nadathan's uncle, with some prompting, had agreed to give the Factionists both griffins and weapons. With that, Nadathan and Sula had set about trying to recruit more bodies for the Factionist cause. According to their reasoning, as Jath put it, the more people willing to declare for independence, the more motivation the eimirs would have to make a move against Amenthere. If in the event that the east did separate entirely, the title of Wal would be up for the taking for the first time in centuries. Even Sula had believed that her loyalist grandfather would jump at the chance to put one of his children in the running for Wal, should King Mahir betray a weakness in Goran's integrity.
Through the entire story Lhara listened with interest. She didn't know half of the people that Jath referred to, but it was more insight into the mindset of the clans than anyone in Trosk had had since the last spring caravan over a year ago.
Tarun would love to be here listening to all this, she thought sadly. No doubt her brother would have been right in the thick of the conversation, full of questions to throw at Jath.
Which brought them to the Battle of Trosk. Jath retold the arrival of the Fourth Company, the ensuing fight and the destruction that followed in a bleak, guilt-ridden monotone. When he got to the part about the Red Obad though, the reaction was instantaneous.
"That can't be right! Are you sure you're remembering properly?" The swordsman introduced as Reyson exclaimed. "I've been in Castle Armathain, I've seen the Obads. They can't so much as light a candle without going into once of their trances."
"Reyson's right," said Gideo, the charmingly handsome fellow, for some reason mirroring Jath's expression of guilt. "An Obad working magic couldn't make a move to save their life."
"You calling the boy daft then?" interrupted the bejeweled matron whom Vinie referred to as Kiiss in a long-suffering way. "Tell us girl – what's your name again? – Lhara! Lhara, Jath said you're the one who put him back together after Trosk, so tell us if that knock his skull took could have had him seeing things."
Surprised to have been called on to add to the conversation, Lhara nearly banged her knee on the bottom of the table before finding her voice.
"It...he took a bad enough hit to knock him senseless for hours. But..." Lhara glanced sideways at Jath, who was looking on the verge of frustration "...but I never heard Jath speak of seeing things that weren't there, or forgetting anything that had happened. Straight after waking, he knew enough to insist first thing on getting here to tell you about what he'd seen the Obad do." Remembering how the last she had seen of Marden and Yelaina alive before the Giant's Shoe collapsed were their feet on the stairs, Lhara drew herself up stiff and straight on her stool. "I don't think any of you have ever seen Obads do what that red sorcerer did to Trosk before. And afterward, when we tried to run to our men, he separated us with a line of fire in the earth, leering at everyone the entire time. He was present, and he knew exactly what he was doing."
Everyone stared at Lhara, and it was hard not to squirm under not only such scrutiny, but such dismay. Vinie and Gideo exchanged a look that Lhara could not read, but there was pain evident in both of their faces. Vinie let out a long breath.
"If it is true, that the Obads are moving out to fight for Mahir, then we're in deep trouble. I can't even begin to figure how we could stop someone like that in a fight."
Reyson harrumphed in the back of his throat. "Gideo, Jath and I have all seen Obads at work up close. We'll put our heads together and come up with something. Count on it, Firebelly."
"I didn't know you were an Obad, Reyson," said Kiiss, arching a painted eyebrow steeply at her hireling. "So glad to know you understand the inner workings of magic at a glance."
"You know what I meant, Madame."
"Kiiss, Reyson, the last thing we need right now is one of your battles of wit!" Vinie leaned forward on her elbows, massaging her temples beneath the black pearl's cord. "Arrrgggh...at least tell me that Sula and Nadathan are still in the area, Jath? We need them to lay an ambush for us so that we can give Lord Xolani and Lady Oesu the insurance that they need."
With a mournful look, Jath shook his head. "We were routed pretty badly by the Fourth Company, BlackPearl. I can't be certain, but I think Sula took a perilous if not mortal wound before a retreat was called."
If they had been unsettled before, now the Factionists at the table were positively stricken. Vinie groaned aloud, and even Kiiss folded her hands tightly in the folds of her dress, one step short of wringing them.
"Mortal?" Gideo pressed, as if he did not quite trust Jath's assessment. "What happened to her, did you see?"
"I did not see the actual strike, but the last time I saw Sula she was bleeding heavily enough from a wounded leg to paint her griffin's side red." Jath's seemed to grow squeamish at the thought, and glanced away from Gideo's probing gaze, shuddering subtly.
"Obads on the field...the eastern Factionists routed, and Sula badly hurt if not dead." Vinie recited the litany of bad news dully. She looked to Gideo. "It feels like we're losing the fight for freedom before it ever started."
Whatever Lhara had been expecting from walking into the Factionists' den, it wasn't this. It was hard to hold onto the anger she had felt toward the Factionists after the Battle of Trosk while watching them tally the mounting odds against them with clear distress. She sat in silence, not meeting anyone's eyes so that she wouldn't have to decide how to react to all this. It had never occurred to Lhara though that freedom was something others in Goran didn't feel that they had. How would the proud mountainfolk react if they felt the same?
There would have been no question about joining the Factionists when Sula and Nadathan first spoke at Trosk, that's how. How would things have gone differently if Trosk hadn't been divided in their support? Would they even have been any different?
"Vinie!"
A shout from the hideout's entrance and the bang of a door flying open brought everyone bolting up from their seats. Vinie, Gideo and Reyson had weapons out and pointing toward the hallway in the blink of an eye. Lhara strained to see past Jath. A moment later a tall, powerfully built girl even younger than Lhara burst into the room, Dhalad on her heels.
"Vinie! They're coming! A whole company of the king's army headed south and carrying the royal sigil on its banners!"
"Where? When?!" Vinie cried out, prong-hilted knife still in her hand.
"They passed the fork to Falerik not five hours past." The girl had to stop and bend over, heaving for air and bracing herself on her knees. "I ran the whole way here as soon as I saw them."
"They're heading to Utunma," whispered Gideo, making the hairs rise even on the back of Lhara's neck and setting her Ættartré afire.
"Sahar."
The way Vinie spoke the name brought back to Lhara all of the years and love between herself and Yelaina. If Vinie and this Sahar had even half of the friendship that she and the golden-haired innkeeper's daughter had had, then Lhara could brutally imagine her fear and pain.
"What will the army do to Utunma?" Lhara asked softly.
Vinie and Gideo looked too horror-stricken to speak, Jath seemed at a loss for words and Reyson ignored her, so it was Kiiss that answered.
"The same thing they did to your village, Wild Child, only much, much worse. Trosk was caught between the claws of the wrong two leopards. Utunma actually drew blood."
"What can I do to help?"
The words were out of her mouth before Lhara could think to stop them. She had brought Jath to this place intending to collect on her fee and arrange passage north to Geristan. The mere memory of The Giant's Shoe burning and the mountainside churned with blood prevented her from walking away from this though.
Reyson frowned, folding his arms. "Not that we aren't always glad of an extra pair of hands, but we need fighters more than anything right now. Without the Moaanese guard..." he hissed from between his teeth. "Can you handle any kind of weapons at all?"
"Actually, Lhara had skills far more rare and just as needed if we're to confront the army in Utunma." Jath reached up to touch his head where the bandage had been. "As I said, she's a credible healer, and set to take over from her village's aged Wise Woman."
Lhara opened her mouth to protest that she wasn't going to be replacing Magda any time soon, and that she had in fact only been a Wise Woman's apprentice for less than a week before the Battle of Trosk. The looks of sudden and glowing respect on the Factionists' faces gagged her into silence.
Forced to accept Jath's endorsement, she shrugged diffidently. "I did what I could to help the wounded after Trosk."
Vinie, grey in the face but once again composed, came around the table to stand nearly eye-to-eye with Lhara. Lhara was a hand-span taller than the famed BlackPearl, leader of the Factionists, but every eye in the room sat upon Vinie.
"Lhara, I know you owe us nothing, in fact more the opposite after what happened to Trosk. The truth is though that we really don't have any trained healers amongst us, apart from what little beach aide most of us know. If you would agree to come with us to Utunma, and help us if..." Vinie stopped herself, swallowed hard once, and continued with a grim set to her jaw. "...when we have to fight the king's company, I will be in your debt. We all will."
"Can you get me to Geristan after all is said and done? My brother was taken prisoner by the Fourth Company. Their captain said that they would be brought there to be made into soldiers."
"Done," said Vinie without hesitation. "Once we've faced the army at Utunma, just say the word and I'll have Kiiss drive you to Geristan herself in her carriage."
"And minnows will come schooling out of my-!"
"Done," interrupted Gideo with a meaningful look at Kiiss. The art merchant's ruffled feathers settled almost immediately. She tapped the point of a fingernail against her teeth with a grin.
"Alright, but only if you come along to protect us on the road, my dear masterpiece." When Gideo nodded, Kiiss turned that grin on Lhara. "My carriage is yours Wild Child, for one time only."
Jath's white eyes were watching Lhara, and when she turned to him he looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. Vinie offered Lhara her wrist for the second time that day.
"Are you with us then, Lhara?" she asked.
Lhara took a deep breath, girding herself for whatever was to come from this. She reached out and clasped Vinie's wrist.
"I'm with you, for now."
OoOoO