Chapter 32

The road leading up into the Cesanha Mountains ran straight and broad, a steady incline, lined by towering green pine trees whose needles were stirred by a chill evening wind that cut across the path.

“We should make camp, darkness will come swiftly here,” Muka said.

They found a suitable grove and set up camp, eating quietly before splitting the watch – Never took the first shift.

The crackle of their tiny fire was muted where it burned fitfully in the pit, the even breathing of Ayuni and Muka faint beneath it. From his position on a rock, moonlight offered some detail to the woods, broad trunks and low-hanging branches – where he saw a small figure flitting along.

He reached for a blade, but it was only the hin with its golden glowing eyes – only now it scampered forward on all fours, appearing more like a small animal rather than a moth. When it drew close enough, its leaf-like skin became clear, gleaming beneath the moon. The golden eyes appeared larger too, especially in a face without discernible nose or mouth – yet it extended stalk-like fingers, petals drifting down to the ground as it did.

He frowned at it, why had the hin grown larger since last he saw it? Or perhaps it had grown twice already. After all, hadn’t the butterfly in Tisura been green, with two yellow markings? And like the moth, it had seemed attracted to his blood.

“Slow down, fellow,” he said softly.

The hin retracted its arm, sitting back on its haunches.

“We’ve a contract, right?”

It nodded, a solemn movement.

“Then let’s see what you can do once more, little scout. I want to know who is nearby, if anyone follows us. Can you do that?”

Another nod, more vigorous this time.

“Thank you – as fast as you can.”

The hin spun, barely stirring the leaves as it charged back into the woods. Never stared after the creature. Perhaps his blood had changed it, like it seemed to change everything else it encountered. The question was just how much and in what way?

By the time the hin returned, his watch was nearing an end.

“What did you find?”

The creature nodded, then raised both forearms, holding up first eight fingers and then ten. Next, it swung an arm sharply, single finger extended.

“Eighteen monks, all armed?”

A nod.

“Following us?”

The hin shook its head. Then it closed its eyes, tilted its head to the side and rested both hands beneath.

The monks were sleeping – good news at least. “How close are they?”

It shrugged, then blinked a few times.

Never tried again. “This side of the Beshano River?”

Now the hin nodded.

“And this side of the forked road where a tree has been struck by lightning?”

The fae creature gave a tiny jump with its nod.

“Thank you,” he said. They were still a day behind and according to Ayuni’s estimation, her village was near the same distance further up the mountain. Still, eighteen monks, while a formidable force itself, hardly made it seem as though Hiruso was worried. Why not send the Hammers? After all, they’d captured Never once already.

The hin was beginning to twitch.

“Sorry.” Never drew a blade and pricked the point of his thumb. Blood welled, and he held his hand out. The hin approached, its own plant-like fingers outstretched, then latched on to him.

The hin drew his blood forth this time, golden eyes glowing brighter.

Never pulled away after just a moment, not wanting to give it too much. In the scheme of things, it was hardly an amount to concern Never – but there was always a chance it would somehow hurt the hin. Simply because nothing bad had happened to the creature yet did not prove nothing would.

“Want another task?” he asked.

The hin gave another bounce.

“Good. I want you to slow the monks down somehow.”

It blinked.

“Hmmm...” He paused to think. Could a hin influence the very forest? “Would the trees help you close or move the trail if you asked?”

The hin clapped its hands together then once again disappeared.

Would it be successful? Even a slight delay might make enough difference between recapture and escape. At least the monks were asleep. “As I ought to be.” Never woke Muka, explaining about the hin, then sought his own bedding.

At dawn he nearly sprang from his bedroll when Ayuni called his name; he’d slept far deeper than usual but rising was no chore. “So, this is what a truly restful sleep feels like – I think I’d forgotten,” he said, squinting against the rising sun. His rest suggested that at least one part of him felt that the hin had successfully delayed pursuit.

They set out to climb once more, with Ayuni mostly quiet, her attention fixed on her surroundings. Occasionally, she’d shake her head. “So little is familiar but it feels right nevertheless.”

“Trust your instincts,” Never would say, and they’d follow whatever path she chose – not all of which were well-maintained, and a few turned out to be dead ends. But by noon they crested a hill that looked down upon a wide green vale and caused Ayuni to come to a halt.

In its centre lay a wide platform that covered enough ground to stand in for a village, yet there were no buildings upon it and the boards seemed to have been built upon giant, shorn tree trunks. Instead, strange ruins littered the place – once brightly-coloured tents and pavilions, now pale echoes only of their former cheer, low steel fences surrounding nothing but debris and mighty cages gone to rust.

“I know this valley,” Ayuni said.

“As do I,” Muka added. “It was called the Vale of Lights, a place where travelling performers came from all corners. Only the most famous singers, musicians, rudama and acrobats would visit. As a child, I once saw a woman shatter glass with only her voice.”

“Ayuni?” Never asked.

She was nodding. “Let’s go down; there’s something here.”