CHAPTER 6

In the dark of the night, they walked with Rian and Mythra to the edge of Stone-in-the-Wood. The gentle glow of the village was barely visible through the trees, and only a sliver of the rock on the rise could be seen, illuminated in the moonlight.

“Best wishes!” Mythra said. “When I’m big, I’ll come and join you. I fear no lying Skeksis!”

Rian gave his sister a friendly shove, sending her toppling onto her rear in the moss. He came prepared for a journey, with his pack strapped on his back and his walking spear in hand.

“Once you’re big enough to not be eaten in one gulp. Then I’ll welcome you.”

It was the first playful thing Kylan had heard the soldier say, and it was endearing. Mythra jumped to her feet and gave her brother a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Please don’t die,” she said. “Any of you!”

“We’ll do our best,” Rian replied. Then the three of them turned away from her and the village, and went into the wood without a glance back.

For the first part of the journey north, they said little. Rian’s steps were solid, never wavering, and Kylan followed with Naia behind. They had taken the formation instinctively, with the soldier guiding at the front and the warrior at the rear. Kylan was the song teller in the middle, telling himself he did bring value to their party in some way, even if he didn’t know what that was yet.

After they had traveled for some time, Kylan felt the initial wariness of the unknown fade away. Their footsteps crunched against the underbrush, and he lost track of their direction, trusting Rian to know the way.

“The Skeksis have been doing this for a long time, I think,” Kylan murmured, more to Naia than to Rian, who turned his ears back to listen. “Do you remember the night you came to Sami Thicket? It was the night of the census, and Lords skekLach and skekOk were there. They came twice a trine and recorded the numbers of all our people.”

“They do the same in Stone-in-the-Wood,” Rian said. “And in Ha’rar, I hear. Probably along the Sifan coasts as well. Do they not in the Swamp of Sog?”

“No. I’d never seen a Skeksis before I left Sog.”

“Do you suppose they take the census as part of their . . .” Kylan swallowed, unsure of what to call the Skeksis’ apparent plan.

“Harvest?” Rian asked bluntly. The word sounded awful, but Kylan couldn’t think of a better one. He tried not to think of Maudra Mera’s message, and his clanfolk who had been taken.

Taken, he told himself. Not harvested . . . but is “taken” really any better?

Rian whacked an errant shrub with his walking spear.

“We count the peach-berry trees every spring, and pluck half the blossoms so they bloom in the summer. That way we know they will all bear fruit, and how many. Mother Aughra taught the Gelfling these things long ago, and we’ve performed the counting and plucking every year since the Age of Innocence . . . and yet we couldn’t see that the Skeksis were doing the same to our people, in front of our very eyes.”

Naia said, “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to consider.”

“What about the other clans?” Kylan asked aloud, to no one in particular. “The Dousan and the Grottan? Do you suppose the Skeksis send skekLach the Census Taker to them as well?”

“We had only one Dousan guard at the castle, and none from the Caves of Grot. Who knows if any Grottan even exist. Perhaps the Skeksis finished them off long ago and no one even noticed.”

It was hard to tell how much of Rian’s depressing attitude was because of the nightmare he had endured. In their dreamfast, Kylan had seen a Rian different from the serious, angry soldier who walked ahead of him. Someone who had taken pride in his work as a guard, but also someone who had been sentimental. In love, in fact, and vulnerable enough to be terribly wounded from what had happened in the Castle of the Crystal.

He knew that he could do nothing about Mira. Nothing except know that it had happened and understand why Rian might behave the way he did. It was tragic, but in it Kylan saw beauty. Like a song-for-tears, crafted to sing to the heart in sadness.

Maybe there was something to that. There was kindness hidden in Rian; Kylan had seen hints of it around Shoni and Mythra. He had seen it in the dreamfast. Rian had hardened himself against other Gelfling, but maybe there was another way to ease his troubles. Maybe there was something Kylan could do.

“Uh . . . I was thinking. Well, there was a song I read on the stones on the rise, about Jarra-Jen. I could tell it to you both, if you’d like?”

Rian didn’t respond, but Naia said, “Yes, do. I could use a break from the stories of our real life.”

He could do this. Or if he couldn’t, he might as well try. Reassuring himself, Kylan put his thoughts in order, cleared his throat, and sang:

Many songs of our lightning-born hero are known

From courage and cleverness are these stories grown

But no song is filled with such heartache and yen

As this one of the Dew-Tree and brave Jarra-Jen

Jarra-Jen was known well through all of the land

As a brave hero: kind of heart, quick of hand

But little is told of Jarra-Jen’s first love true:

Amiris of Darkwood, the Singer of Dew

Brown of skin, green of hair, with the bluest of eyes

Amiris sang Sister Moons sweet lullabies

And then every morning to break nighttime’s fast

She laid one loving raindrop on each blade of grass

Jarra-Jen loved Amiris, as a singer loves song

So often he’d visit her Garden of Dawn

Together they’d dance till the morning light glowed

And away to her dew-singing Amiris would go

Now, the Garden of Dawn was the life of the land

And its melody charmed Kaul, the Dark King of Sand

His thirst for its power could not fast be quelled

So he kidnapped Amiris to the dunes where he dwelled

On the next evening when Jarra-Jen came to call

The Garden of Dawn was barely living at all

Without the Dew Singer, all green turned to brown

The tree-branches withered with the roots in the ground

In Kaul-Dunes, the Dark King bade Amiris kneel down

And call forth green life from the parched golden ground

She tried, but no seed could grow root in the sands

Not even when bidden by a Dew Singer’s hands

So the King, at her failure, grew wrathful in spite

He took her out in the desert, upon sands hot and white

There he punished her, holding her face to the suns

“If I can’t have the Garden, then neither will no-one.”

There he left her, the sands draining life from her eyes

Amiris sank to her knees, sang a song of goodbye

For three nights and three days she prayed, and then

On the fourth morning dawn, from the dunes came her Jen

He ran to her, held her—she wanted to cry

But even joy-tears had long since been burned from her eyes

Though he’d found her, she knew she was headed to rest

So she blossomed blue fire, drew a seed from her breast

Jarra-Jen pleaded and begged, cried for her not to go

She put the seed in his hand, bade him help it to grow

Then she melted to stardust. The wind took her away

Jarra-Jen left with the seedling on his loneliest day

Sad one in the desert, the seed cracked in his palm

Jarra-Jen had to act soon. He didn’t have long

So in the sand did he plant it, though futile it seemed

As the desert had nothing to water the seed

He called to the earth. He called to the sky

But nobody answered. The dew-seed would die

With no other hope, Jarra-Jen fell to his knees

And wept . . .

Bursting forth from the sands came an enormous tree

Brown of skin, strong of branch, and emerald of leaf

Its roots rippled the earth, its crown brushed the sky

And Jarra-Jen poured forth every last tear he could cry

Kaul-Dunes and its Dark King were lost in the storm

In the desert, a new Garden of Dawn became born

The Dew-Tree split open the sands of the dunes

Strong, graceful, at peace, and with silver-drop blooms

And from that day forward, and for all the trine after

When the Sisters grow tired of twinkling star laughter

In the Garden of Dawn, the Dew-Blossoms appear

Left on each blade of grass

Nectar shaped like a tear

It seemed as though the entire wood had been listening, hushed in anticipation, and when Kylan finished telling the song, it was quiet for a moment longer in reflection. Naia gave a hum of approval from behind.

“I liked it,” she said. “I think it’s a good lesson . . . We will always face hard times, but it’s important to remember that our sadness can often be what becomes our strength. There’s no weakness in sorrow or grief.”

Rian said nothing from ahead, treading on with the same steady cadence as before. Just as Kylan thought the soldier had been unaffected—or maybe not even listening—he sniffed once and raised his hand to wipe his cheeks. He cleared his throat and said, “We’re here. This is where we part ways.”

In the dark and so focused on Rian’s reaction, Kylan hadn’t realized they’d come abreast of the Black River. It gurgled, inky and wide, on the other side of a line of straight trees and reeds. The path they’d taken ended in a short wooden dock where two small boats were tied. The river flowed north, where it would eventually empty into the Silver Sea at Ha’rar, the Gelfling capital.

Rian pointed upward, almost to the Sisters themselves.

“Head northeast, toward the cliffs, a day. Moss in these woods grows on the north side. Follow the incline through the night. On the second morning, you’ll see the High Hill. You can’t miss it. That’s where you’ll find Aughra. The river will take me all the way to Ha’rar. If I’m lucky, I may finally fall asleep and wake up in the All-Maudra’s keep.”

Farewells were in order, but no one was eager to be the first to say goodbye. Circumstances were dire now, and it was all too possible that they might never see Rian again. Naia clasped wrists with Rian, and when Kylan’s turn came, he held on to the other boy’s arm a moment longer.

“You’re not alone, Rian,” he said firmly. “We may be strangers by blood, but we’re family in arms. Please trust us as you trusted Gurjin.”

Naia saluted. “Yes. If you should need us, we’ll find a way.”

It took a moment, but Rian’s callous features softened, and he let out a sigh. For a moment, Kylan knew he was seeing the real Rian, from before the nightmare at the castle.

“I miss Gurjin and the others very much,” Rian confessed. “I don’t want to put anyone else in danger. Every night I dream of the Skeksis hunting me, killing anyone nearby. Gurjin, Mira. Mythra, Timtri, my mother . . . The only way I can rest is if I’m alone. Once the All-Maudra has been told, maybe I will stop looking over my shoulder, but until then . . . I couldn’t see you in danger when Gurjin died to protect us.”

They helped him untie one of the boats and steadied it as he climbed in. Kylan regretted meeting this Rian so late, now that they were parting ways. As if feeling the same, the soldier let slip a small, sad smile.

“I do trust you both, though. As I trusted Gurjin. I only fear that my sorrow will not be enough to grow anything.”

“Only if it’s salted with remorse,” Kylan said. “Good journey to you, Rian. We’ll meet again in Ha’rar, with help from Mother Aughra and stories of our adventures on the High Hill.”

They pushed him away from the dock, and Rian pulled the oar out from beneath his feet, handily maneuvering the little boat so it was pointed downstream.

“Till Ha’rar, then!” he called. “Be safe . . . Oh! I forgot to mention one other thing about the High Hill!”

“What’s that?” Naia called.

The Black River had caught hold of him, carrying him away at a surprising speed. The soldier’s voice seemed disembodied in the dark of the night as he drifted farther and farther away.

“Stay away from the finger-vines!”

Then the boat with Rian disappeared into the shadows.

“That song of Jarra-Jen was really something,” Naia said as they untied the second boat. They would need it to cross the river, as it was far too wide to ford. “I think it really moved him. I wouldn’t mind meeting the song teller who wrote it. The song that soothed the soul of the boy who first saw the Skeksis betrayal!”

They climbed in the boat, and Naia used the oar to push them away from the dock. Kylan let her do the rowing, since she knew her way around the water much better than he.

“You don’t have to wait to meet that song teller,” he said. “You already did, in Sami Thicket, when he was running away from home.”

“When he was . . .” Naia coughed in surprise as she put one and one together. Then she crowed with laughter. “You devil! You made it up just for Rian?”

“I thought if he knew I’d done it for him, he wouldn’t listen!”

Naia rowed them across the river, beaming with pride in the moonlight. Kylan absorbed as much of the feeling as he could. He’d done something right. Naia hummed a little as she worked.

“I don’t regret it one bit, Song Teller,” Naia said, as the opposite bank came into view in the dark. “Taking you along. I would have been a fool not to. I hope you know this as I know it.”

It was possibly the sweetest thing she’d ever said to him, and Kylan finally let out the smile he’d been holding back.