As the wanderers began to flit away, headed off to wherever their work might take them—some to nearby farms, some to a county fair in the closest town—Anya’s impression of being out of place only intensified. Tieran had not returned, and whatever Matthias had to say about family and belonging, she felt anchorless and rudderless among the wanderers without him.
When the last of the group had gone, leaving only silver-haired elders and children too young to work, Anya made up her mind. She might as well take the opportunity to remind the Elect that she was still making progress toward the mountain. The wanderers were secretive—Matthias and Lee had both reminded their folk several times that they were to keep to themselves and draw as little attention as possible wherever they went. Anya, on the other hand, wanted to find the high road and be seen, so she doubted their paths would cross.
With some difficulty, she made it up to the top of the steep embankment on one side of the sunken lane. When she’d entered the hollow way the day before in company with the wanderers, they’d been among farms and hedgerows. Now, she came out in a wood very much like the one surrounding Weatherell, with tall, overarching beeches and oaks and sparse undergrowth starred with wildflowers.
Though the wanderers had taken care to depart the low road a few at a time, and to leave little evidence of their passage, Anya was used to trailing Ilva through the forest at home. To her, the minute signs of recent movement were as good as a road, and she followed them out of the woods and into the outskirts of a sizeable market town.
It was busy already, people milling about in the streets, carts and makeshift pens and wagons set up in any open space. A heady, buoyant air suffused the place, and the voices that rose above the din were good-natured, belonging to barkers or hagglers. Here and there, little knots of the blue-and-black-liveried guards stood about, armed with short swords or crossbows and an aura of arrogance. But most people seemed untroubled by them, or at least ignored their presence, so Anya chose to follow suit.
Ducking around a quieter corner, she fumbled in her pocket, grateful that Midge had remained behind. For a few moments, she struggled with the loose threads at the back of her band, tying the ends together as best she could. Then she tucked her hands into her pockets, one finding the hilt of her bone knife for comfort, and stepped back out into the fray.
The difference was immediate. Where before she’d been invisible, just another insignificant element of the busy crowd, now everyone who caught sight of the band turned their head to watch her passage. Murmurs spread in her wake like ripples, and by the time she reached the town center, a small gaggle of children were trailing along behind her, using crates or wagon wheels for cover in a clumsy attempt at secrecy anytime Anya glanced back.
Still, she saw no sign of gray robes. No indication that the Elect were present and had taken notice of her. With a frustrated sigh, Anya dropped down to sit atop a small stack of wooden boxes at the edge of the central market square. A crescent of open space formed around her as market-goers instinctively gave her a wide berth.
One of the surreptitious children, a girl of no more than six, breached the emptiness between Anya and the townsfolk. Ilva materialized behind the child at once, following her closely like an eerie shepherd.
“I’m Linny,” the child said abruptly, oblivious to the ghost at her back. She was a charming, unkempt little thing, with dirty hands and face, but her apron had once been made with care and had embroidery around the hems and on its pockets. “Are you a mountain girl?”
“That depends,” Anya answered. “What do you mean by mountain girl?”
Linny’s face scrunched into a frown as she glanced over her shoulder and found adult faces staring at them both. “I don’t—maybe I’m not supposed to talk about them.”
“Well, I can’t very well tell you whether or not I am one unless you explain what you mean,” Anya said reasonably.
The small girl sidled over to her, rising on her toes to whisper in Anya’s ear. Her breath was warm and smelled of honeyed candy, her hand on Anya’s sleeve leaving a smudge.
“You know, mountain girls. The ones who climb the mountain we live by—my mam said we had to leave our house and go south until the next mountain girl comes, but when she said it she looked sad. You look a bit sad too, so I thought maybe you was one of the girls.”
“You had to leave your home?” Anya whispered back, hiding her shock.
“Yeah,” Linny said. “Mam told me the Elect don’t like people to go, but that we had to get farther from the mountain on account of the fire there. It’s been burning every night. And there’s something up there… I don’t really know. A wolf or something? A bad creature, and it swallows the mountain girl whole. Swallows other girls instead, if the mountain one doesn’t get up there fast enough.”
“Nothing’s going to swallow me whole, or you,” Anya said quietly, patting Linny’s hand. “At least, I hope not.”
Tears welled in the child’s eyes. “But if you are the mountain girl, I don’t think you can help it. Not if you go up there. The bad creature even comes down at nights now. Before we left, Mam said my cousin Jessamin was sick, on account of the bad creature found her, and we had to go before it found me, too.”
“Your mam is very clever,” Anya assured Linny. “You won’t have to worry about any bad creature ever getting ahold of you, not with a mam like that.”
Linny’s tears spilled over, and her lower lip trembled. In her concern, she forgot to whisper.
“What about you, though?” she asked tremulously, her high, clear voice carrying on the summer air. A small knot of listeners had gathered, and though the grown folk were better at hiding their attention than the children standing about, it was still obvious who was idling because they wanted to overhear what Anya had to say. “It’s not safe—the bad creature up there might hurt you. You’d better come with us instead. My mam could—”
Anya’s heart sank as a pair of gray-robed Elect chose that inopportune moment to finally appear, slipping out from among the gathered market-goers. Worse yet, Anya recognized Orielle and Roger from the way station in Sarum. Orielle smiled comfortingly, holding out her hands to Anya and the child beside her.
“And where is it you’d have our lamb go, little one?” she asked warmly. “You know she has a task to complete, and there are some still in Albion who know their place. Who know where they belong, and do not stray from the role or the home they were born to.”
Somewhere behind Orielle’s warmth, there was a threat. She knew Linny’s people had disobeyed the Elect in leaving the far-off city of Banevale. What consequence might come from that disobedience, Anya didn’t know, and had no interest in learning. She leaned closer to the child.
“Go find your mam,” Anya said under her breath. “Tell her whoever you’re traveling with, all of you need to leave this place. There’s a wood to the east of here—if you walk into it far enough, you’ll come across a sunken road. So long as no one’s following you, it’s a good place to hide. Do you understand? East to the wood, and the sunken lane.”
Linny nodded, wide-eyed and fearful. When Anya stood, the small girl did just as she was told and bolted into the crowd. Roger started after her, but something stubborn and unyielding twisted in Anya.
“Stop,” she called out. To her shock, the selectman halted in his tracks.
“Let her go,” Anya said, her voice pitched to carry. “It will take more than a child to turn me aside from the path I’ve chosen. Whatever faithlessness exists in the world beyond the wood, you won’t find it in me. Soon I’ll make right what’s gone wrong, and Albion will be at peace again, thanks to the care and oversight of the Elect.”
Orielle’s slow smile was filled with pride, and the anxiousness in the pit of Anya’s stomach turned sour. Ilva had drifted to Orielle’s side, looking decayed and terrible in the midmorning light. The two grayrobes drew closer, hemming Anya in, and she fought for calm, everything in her poised for flight.
“And yet despite your talk of faithfulness, you left us.” Orielle’s words were mild, but a reproach nevertheless. “You left before we could finish our prayers. How did that come about, child?”
Beside Orielle, Ilva was speaking, her slack mouth moving ceaselessly though no sound came out. Fear lit her eyes, and it made Anya cautious and careful. There was, too, a strange hungriness in the way Orielle inquired about the manner of Anya’s departure, which woke uneasiness in her, and a desire to hide the truth.
“It was Roger,” Anya said, feigning perfect confusion and lying as if her life depended on it. “He told me you’d finished for the time being. He said I should go, because of the guards who’d come. He said I was to make my own way, and that you’d finish your prayers in Banevale, at the foot of the mountain. Truly, I didn’t mean to do wrong. Would you have me do penance—shall I humble myself to make right my failure?”
She was wide-eyed and guileless, channeling the show of humility that had always placated Arbiter Thorn. He’d called her a perfect penitent, and though Ilva, wild-hearted and irrepressible, could not understand how Anya found it easy to abase herself, to Anya it always seemed the path of least resistance. To give way, and make herself small and contrite, rather than fighting in her own defense.
“There, child,” Orielle said swiftly, clearly satisfied with Anya’s innocence. “You did well to heed your elders, and yes—we’ll finish our prayers in Banevale, as Roger said.”
A glance passed between the two of them, swift and unreadable.
“Would you prefer for one of us to travel with you?” Roger offered. “It might make things easier on the road, and it would be our honor to undertake the task.”
Anya felt an instinctive distaste and wariness at the way they continued to press her to accept an escort.
“No,” she said. “The road may be difficult, but it’s part of my service. I can manage.”
Orielle reached out and squeezed Anya’s shoulder with one hand. “Your devotion is admirable. No doubt the god will sleep long and deep after your offering.”
“I pray it may be so,” Anya murmured, but the false piety was beginning to stick in her throat.
At last, Orielle and Roger drew away. With a lingering glance back, they were gone, swallowed up by the shifting crowds. Ilva trailed along behind them as if to ensure they really left, and then she vanished from sight as well. Unable to restrain herself any longer, Anya shuddered.
“Did all right with them, didn’t you?” a familiar voice said approvingly as Tieran materialized from behind a wagon loaded high with cabbages and crates of outraged chickens. “Maybe you were right—maybe you are a liar.”
Anya shot him a disgruntled look. “How long have you been lurking back there?”
Tieran shrugged. “Not long. Got my own business to look after, but I caught sight of you on your way into the square and saw the grayrobes following. So I thought I’d better make sure you didn’t land yourself in a fix again.”
“I’m perfectly well,” Anya told him. “Or as well as I can be, when there are people wandering the countryside without hearth or home until I meet with a monster on their behalf.”
She folded her hands and grew very prim, unwilling to grace the thief with a smile when he’d been such poor company at camp that morning and the evening before.
Seeming not to notice, Tieran produced a broad-brimmed straw hat from where he’d been skulking and settled it atop Anya’s head.
“There,” he said, transparently pleased with himself. “When I got you from that way station in Sarum, your nose was all over sunburn. Thought you might need a hat.”
“Did you steal it?” Anya asked solemnly.
“How about you not asking questions you won’t like the answer to?” Tieran replied, equally solemn. “Found you something else, but I’ve only got a few minutes. Come back here with me.”
“What, behind the chickens?” Anya sputtered as he drew her into the private niche created by the overloaded wagon, a makeshift pigsty, and a wall.
The uproar of the market was slightly muffled behind the wagon, and out of view, with only the thief for company, Anya’s pulse began to slow. The stifling discomfort she felt in Orielle’s presence faded, subsiding back into the low, constant thrum of guilt she’d felt since Ilva’s passing.
“Give me your collar,” Tieran said, holding out one hand. Without hesitation, Anya did, her makeshift knots giving way before a single determined tug.
The thief produced a needle and thread from his pocket, along with the two pieces of a small gold clasp. Squinting a little in concentration, he deftly stitched the pieces of the clasp to either side of Anya’s scarlet band, making a neat and sturdy job of it.
“You could be a tailor,” Anya said as he bit off the last length of thread and motioned to her to turn her back to him. “You did that very well.”
“Could be a lot of things,” Tieran said a trifle grimly, “if I could stay in one place and keep honest for more than an hour at a time.”
He fixed the collar back in place, and Anya turned to face him once more. She couldn’t be stern with Tieran any longer, and smiled up at the thief from under the shade of her new straw brim.
“I like my presents,” Anya told him. “Especially the hat.”
Tieran grinned. “Thought you would. Now, you gonna wander for a bit, or do you want to come with me? I got myself set up at a spot where none of the rest of our folk are working, so you can keep that collar on without having to answer a lot of questions later tonight.”
“Oh. Well, I… I’d rather come with you,” Anya said. “So long as you’re not doing anything untoward, and I won’t get in the way.”
“In my way?” Tieran said, with an expression Anya couldn’t quite parse. “Don’t think so. But come on then, I been gone too long already.”