The breeze echoed in Belegorn’s ears. The water lapped against the side of the boat like a million tiny hammers trying to break it into little bits. The oars plunged in and out of the water silently, stealthily moving the little boat along the water.

A black figure darted between the trees, but it was only a shadow.

~ : ~

“Do you think,” Belegorn said, “anybody notices we’re gone?”

“What do you mean?”

“Honestly, I don’t even remember doing anything worth recognition in Nentathar.”

“Why? What did you do?”

“Mostly just hung around.”

Morfindel pulled her oar through the water. “I’m sure they all miss you like the apple blossom season.”

“What was that?” Belegorn said.

“Well, the season when–”

“No,” Belegorn said. “That. I saw something.”

“You’ve seen something a thousand times in the past hour.”

“But I really did!”

Something rustled in the branches of the trees on the bank.

“See?” Belegorn pointed like an arrow.

Morfindel turned, raising her paddle over her shoulder.

“Where is it?” Morfindel said.

“I swear I saw something,” Belegorn said. “But it just disappeared.”

“Belegorn.” Morfindel put her oar back in the water and turned to give Belegorn a look. “I’ve already told you: stop saying you saw something when there’s nothing there. The time you actually do see something I’m not going to believe you and then where would we be?”

“Watch out!” Belegorn shrieked.

The boat hit a bump. It sent Morfindel over the front. The next thing she knew she was encased in a prison of water. It clouded her vision and squirmed down her throat but she couldn’t cough and she couldn’t rub her eyes because the current sent her arms flailing like strips of cloth, and she could not breathe. She flailed toward the surface but the surface was not there. All there was was a hard ceiling that kept her from the air her lungs were screaming for, kept her down, down in the cold murky water where the bubbling foam hit her in the face and the kicked-up sand and dirt scratched against her skin under her wet clothes. She beat her fists against the hard wooden ceiling as best she could and swallowed some more water.

She hit a rock, which knocked the water from her mouth (before she swallowed another mouthful), and the boat passed over her. She exploded from the water.

“Morfindel!”

Spluttering, she lay on the rock and watched the boat with Belegorn in it stumble across the rapids. She coughed and gasped; water spilled from her mouth.

The boat hit another bump. This time it tipped the whole thing over. Belegorn disappeared from sight under the angry rapids, along with their bags and blankets and food.

Morfindel took in a large breath and let go of the rock. The water pulled her under, but she kept her eyes open. Her eyes stung. But she was alert now, for she had expected the strong pull of the current, and she used her arms to push herself forward even faster. She saw the bottom of the boat, ahead of her, blue-ish green from the algae and through the murky water. She saw it crash into a rock that was probably sticking quite a ways out of the water, and stay there, rocking sharply back and forth by the water rushing past it on either side. She pushed harder. Her lungs, though water surrounded her, were on fire.

The boat was only arms-lengths away.

It shook free of the rock and disappeared.

Morfindel would have screamed.

She reached the rock and clambered on top, gasping for breath. She blindly lunged out one tired arm. She got lucky. On the first try she felt the splintery, wet wood in her hand. She almost let go – her muscles felt like seaweed – but she did not.

The sun was warm on her wet back. She lay on her stomach, stretched out on the rock, her arm outstretched in front of her like a taut laundry line; she breathed heavily.

When she noticed the ache in her locked elbow, she pulled her knees up onto the rock, grabbed the edge of the boat with her other hand, and pulled it toward her, against the current. It was like trying to pull a cart uphill.

She pulled it around to the other side of the rock, grunting and straining and sweating like an animal. There, she jumped into the water. Here the water was up to her waist, but the rapids – calmer here – splashed around her shoulders and sprayed her face. She clenched her teeth and squinted her eyes, and pushed the boat, slowly, step by step, to the shore.

As her energy weakened, so did the waters as they got closer to the bank.

Finally, she pulled the boat onto the pebbles and sand where Belegorn lay, wet and sleeping, and collapsed. Her clothes were soaked all the way through. It would take forever to dry them.

She sent one breathless, tired prayer to Seria and fell asleep.

The day of departure was gray. The sky was gray, the tops of the trees were gray, the dust floating in the piercing air was gray as the expression on Yanta’s mother’s face. She would not embrace her husband farewell on his journey.

“Why should I make attachments when I know you’re only going to be robbed of everything you carry and probably left to die in some gods-forsaken valley a hundred miles from here?”

“Make attachments?” Yanta’s father said. “You’re my wife.”

“Through an arranged marriage, yes. I haven’t talked to my parents since. Based on the choice they made for my marriage, they aren’t fit to make any decisions.”

As her father struggled to make excuses for his leaving, Yanta held Rana to her chest and ran behind the barn. “Sikke?” she said. “Sikke, are you there?”

A horse tied up to the cart heaved a great sigh, but there was no movement, in the barn or near it, which was strange because he was usually here at this time of year, in the cold days between summer and fall when the rumbling clouds migrated toward the sea, curled in the hay like a barn rat. But the barn was empty save for the actual rats that scurried between bales of hay and through the holes under the wooden walls, and the horses that stood saddled and bridled for the journey.

Yanta left the barn with a lonely, hollow feeling in her throat. Her mother was gone, back inside with the other women. Her father pulled on a pair of thick brown gloves.

“Are you ready to leave, Yanta?” he said. He didn’t look at her like he would have a son or a nephew. Sometimes she thought the only reason he talked to her was because he had no sons, and all his nephews were away in Dor Lorelin for school. She wondered what her father would say when the time came for them to depart from Dor Lorelin and she had not returned to join them. She considered hiding behind a vendor when the small caravan would prepare to leave, to watch her father’s reaction. But she did not want to see her father leave her in Dor Lorelin without a shrug of his shoulder or a break in his step. After all, she was only a daughter, and he had ten of those. She wasn’t a son, with which to continue the family name.

She preferred to imagine his grief.

“Well?” her father said.

Yanta nodded.

“Did you hear me, Yanta?”

She looked up. He was still fixing his gloves. Her throat felt hollower than before. “Yes, sir,” she said.

“Good girl,” her father said. “Have you everything you’ll need?”

She held Rana close to her chest. “Yes, sir.”

“Get on the cart then,” her father said. “We’ll leave in a moment.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

~ : ~

As the caravan of three carts laden with hand-stitched quilts and boar-hide blankets pulled away from the dusty gray town of Rhundor, away down the dusty gray road toward Dor Lorelin, Yanta looked back for the second to last time at the clay houses, the shingled roofs, the stone chimneys of the town where she grew up so fast. She only looked for a moment, then turned her eyes back to the road before her. When she looked back for the last time, it was nothing but a row of pimples on the smooth horizon, marked only by the smoke curling like snakes into the dusty gray sky.

The shadows grew long over the River Siranim. Belegorn tucked the map away into his pack while Morfindel steered the boat to shore. She threw their sleeping blankets at the base of a tree and brushed off her hands.

“Well,” Morfindel said. “The first night of our journey. I suppose I’ll stay up first, on watch, you know. We should have a fire. I shall wake you in a few hours so I can get some sleep.”

Belegorn said nothing. He spread out his blankets, lay down upon them, and promptly fell asleep.

Morfindel shook her head, smiling. “Didn’t even say his prayers.” She lay out her blankets as well before stacking some branches and lighting it with a match. She opened her pack and drew out her knife. The hilt was leather, smooth and weathered under her fingers. It was her uncle’s, given to her on her fifteenth birthday so many years before, the time fathers were to gift their hunting knife—a family heirloom—to their eldest son. Morfindel only accepted it three months later, when Belegorn got a fairly nasty cut while helping his mother cut carrots.

A chill swept down her spine.

She gripped the leather hilt. Something may have darted between the trees, blanketed by the black shadows. Her heart pounded like the drums of the river boats.

The feeling passed. She placed her knife under her blanket, and watched the shadows. She didn’t even notice when she fell asleep.

~ : ~

Caws echoed through the branches. Low howls from far away cried in the dark. Morfindel jolted awake. She swore she could hear the soft crunches of footsteps on the dead leaves, the footsteps of a hungry animal.

But they could just as easily belong to a little bird hopping around. No reason to be afraid.

Morfindel squeezed her eyes shut. “There is nothing,” she whispered. “Nothing to be afraid of. Just little birds hopping around.”

Something very close to her moved. Her eyes shot open. It was too dark to see, but the darkness seemed to amplify the quiet sounds of the forest. Crunch, crunch! They thundered in her ears. Crunch, crunch! They were behind her, beside Belegorn’s blanket. Crunch. They stopped. She heard it breathing. Morfindel wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her knife that she had tucked beneath her blanket.

It coughed.

She whipped around, drawing her blade. “Stop!” she said. “Don’t touch him!” The reflection of the moon in the blade of the knife quavered.

“Morfindel!” Belegorn’s voice said. “It’s just me. I went down tot he boat to get another blanket.” She felt his hand on her wrist, lowering her arm. “It’s just me.”

She knew he was telling the truth, wasn’t just some creature who could shape-shift to look like her cousin and catch her off guard. She knew because the light reflecting off the moon on the blade illuminated his face and she could see the fear. He hadn’t been up to get another blanket; he had probably felt something crawling around under his sheets.

“Don’t get up like that,” Morfindel said, “in the middle of the night. You scared me.”

“Sorry.”

“Good night, Belegorn.”

She did not sleep well the rest of the night, and neither did Belegorn, who tossed and turned and fidgeted. When the next morning came, they both had bags under their eyes.

The gaps of light and shadow flickered over their faces as the boat floated down the river. Belegorn, sitting at the helm pulling an oar, glanced about him, eyes wide. The creatures would probably take them by surprise.

Morfindel, sitting at the stern, kept her eyes on the water. She rowed gently, just in case there was something in the river that did not want to be disturbed. Each ripple glided malevolently across the water. Each shadow wavered like ghosts over the surface. Then she spotted something dark and long just under the surface.

“Look!” she said. “Watch out!”

Belegorn turned sharply. “What are you…Aah!”

He hit the water with his oar. It splashed, soaking both of them. The thing they both saw bobbed to the surface. It was a stick.

Morfindel sighed. “What luck. It was just a stick.”

“Are you sure?” Belegorn still held his oar up. “Maybe it really is an eel and it just made itself look like a stick to catch us off guard.”

“Put the oar down,” Morfindel said.

He did, with great reluctance, and they paddled onward, occasionally glancing behind them to make sure the shape-shifting eels were not following them.

~ : ~

When the sun was directly above them, the cousins steered onto the bank. The dirt and sand crunched under the boat.

Morfindel stepped off the boat and stumbled as she got used to the stability of dry land again. She got on her knees and closed her eyes. While she muttered a thanks to Kemenon for providing dry land and to Serïa for bearing them safely, Belegorn retrieved the sack of food from the boat. He took a couple slices of bread and some spread his mother made from the sack and was about to eat.

“Are you not going to give thanks?”

“What’s the point?”

“The Powers do not take kindly to defiance and lack of respect. They will punish you.”

Belegorn shrugged and took a bite of his bread. “The Powers love everyone, do they not? They’re merciful and kind. I don’t think a merciful or kind Power would punish me because I don’t thank them for steering the boat safely.” He looked pointedly at Morfindel. “Which I did myself, by the way.”

Morfindel glared. “You’re sealing your own fate, Belegorn.”

“That’s what they all say.”

Standing, Morfindel stretched her arms above her head. “Some food now, Belegorn,” she said.

He handed her a slice of bread.

She is so frightened, he thought. She looked at the Powers like evil monsters who would kill anyone who made made them unhappy, then she spoke of them and prayed to them like they were loving gods who did everything for the humans they created. For some reason, her fright did not appall him, did not repulse him. Actually, her fright made him respect her. Ramar, Belegond and Eleniel, his aunts and uncles, Hadhod, most Nentatharins he knew, they were just as scared as she, and he could not imagine a single one of them accompanying him willingly on this perilous journey.

He looked over at her. She was eating slowly, quietly, always keeping her eyes open. The fear was clear in those wide eyes. The fear had been like a plaque nailed to her forehead this entire journey so far, but she didn’t speak up. Perhaps she thought if she hid her fright it would go away. Maybe she believed she was responsible for him and he would think less of her if she showed fear. But Belegorn knew neither was the case. There was no doubt in his mind that she hid her fear because she thought it was wrong to be afraid after she had prayed to the Powers. That would mean she did not trust them to keep her safe.

“Come, Belegorn,” Morfindel said. “If we hope to find the House before we die of old age, we had better get moving.”

He put the food back in the boat, they got in, and pushed off down the river.

After hugging his mother and father, and saying tearful farewells to his neighbors, and shaking Hadhod’s hand, Belegorn stepped into the little two-person boat. They were at the docks just outside Mantathar so their goodbyes would not be interrupted by people in a hurry to get somewhere, merchants shouting prices, or lost children crying.

Morfindel also embraced her aunt and uncle, kissed Adurant goodbye for now, and got in the boat.

“Are you sure you have your map?” Eleniel said. “Two of them?”

“Yes, mother,” Belegorn said. “I…wait a minute…” He opened his bag and dug through it, his stomach churning more and more as he rummaged. Finally he said, “Here it is!” He held a piece of parchment into the air and almost dropped it in the river before returning it to his pack.

“You’ll make it,” Hadhod said. “I’m sure you will. Just keep Aranna in mind and you’ll get through.”

Belegorn nodded nervously.

“Why couldn’t Aranna come to at least bid Belegorn goodbye?” Morfindel said, frowning. “This boy is risking his life for her.”

“The sun isn’t good for her complextion,” Hadhod said. “She’s very prone to sunburn.”

Morfindel still looked at him suspiciously but did not answer. Belegorn began untying the boat.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Eleniel said to her son. “You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do,” Belegorn said.

“Yes, he does,” Hadhod said.

Eleniel looked at Belegorn sadly. “I’ll miss you. Please come back.”

Belegorn just smiled, and pushed off with his foot. They began to float down the river, Morfindel facing straight ahead and Belegorn waving to his parents.

The scenery drifted by, fields of golden grasses waving in the breeze, a few trees here and there. Belegorn and Morfindel sat without saying a word. There was nothing really to say. Belegorn looked down into the clear sparkling waters and thought about how it might be his last time seeing it. He would probably be strangled by the vines or drowned in a bog of quick sand. But if he did make it to the House, he knew his soul would be captured by the enchantress and kept in one of those jars for eternity.

He pictured the enchantress as a tall, dark haired young woman, with pale skin and red eyes. He imagined her wearing a red and black skirt and colorful blouse made of thick canvas. In his mind she sat by the top window of the House watching the fish swim around and around and the jars knock softly against each other and laughed at the little invisible souls. He saw her red, cherry lips turn up at the thought of the trapped souls in agony in their prisons for eternity.

He shook his head to shoo those unpleasant thoughts from his head. Mustn’t think that way. No, not like that. Think happy thoughts. Nice stroll in the woods, possibly the last stroll of his life…

No, mustn’t think that way.

Belegorn steered the boat into the bank when they arrived at the edge of the forest. It bumped quietly into the sand. Morfindel got out and pulled it further onto the land so it wouldn’t float away. She put her hands on her hips and looked up at the looming trees. Foreboding caws called out from far away and a soft breeze shook the leaves and sent some drifing to the ground.

To Belegorn, those ominous cries were his death knells.

I should run away, he thought. Damn the contest, damn this impossible task, and damn Aranna. He didn’t need a girl he had never seen, no matter how beautiful, how rich she was. He could run away now, to Rhundor maybe, and make his way down to Dor Lorelin where he could steal a good boat—not like this poor excuse he had been riding a few minutes before—and take his chances in the open ocean. Maybe he’d find an island or travel or something on the other side of the mountains, even if the waters along the edge of the rocks are rough and rocky and no one has ever…

No. His death would be guaranteed there as well. And if Morfindel was right he would probably be hounded and killed by the Powers for deserting a task given to him by an Adani. Even though he doubted the Powers really existed, Morfindel was convinced beyond shadow of doubt that they controlled their lives.

Look around, she would say, that stream, this tree, the air we breathe…it’s all proof of the Powers’ existence, that they watch over us. They created this beautiful world just for us. Belegorn would snort and say, Yeah, and you say I’m self-centered. And she would hit him in the head and scold him for not respecting the Powers.

“I guess…I guess I’d better get going.”

Morfindel nodded. “I guess you had better. Are you going to be all right?”

Belegorn laughed and shot her an arrogant grin. “You know I will be. I’ll kill the enchantress and come back to claim my prize.” His voice was strong, but his knees shook.

“I would be a good idea to start off walking,” Morfindel said. “It would be easier than trying to steer the boat on your own.”

Belegorn tied a rope to the helm of the boat. “Goodbye, cousin,” he said.

“Goodbye.” Morfindel had never been a sentimental person. She hated long goodbyes.

Belegorn hesitated for a moment, then entered the forest.

The sun shone in patches through the leaves but further into the forest on either side of the river it got darker between the more closely grouped trees. He tried to stay as close to the river as possible where the light came through the gap in the trees. The river was flowing calmly, and calmer even near the banks, so Belegorn had no problem pulling it along behind him by the rope. It was quiet, it was still.

Then something caught his leg. He tumbled forward and began to scream but it was cut short when his face hit the ground. He tried to pull his leg away but whatever, whoever, tripped him held on tight. In the fall he had let go of the rope and saw it sliding down the bank toward the water, out of reach. He began to panic, his eyes got wet and misted, and sweat began to break out on his forehead. He pulled harder, but that only tightened the grip on his ankle.

He then felt another hand on his ankle, freeing his leg from its captor. He opened his eyes.

“I can’t leave you alone for two seconds, can I?” Morfindel said, holding the boat’s rope with one hand and holding her other hand down to Belegorn.

He waved it away and got up himself. “You needn’t have come,” he said. “I just tripped. That’s all.”

“Yes, which is why you were wimpering ‘Help! Help!’”

“All right, all right,” he said, snatching the rope from her hand, “so I was a little scared. That’s to be expected, remember? But I can take it from here. You can go home now.”

Morfindel turned and Belegorn’s heart dropped. It was habit that made him deny any help, habit that had formed with the ridicule he received from his cruel peers in his younger years when he showed fear. He had decided never to show fear again, but it was hard. Often his peers saw through his disguise…somehow. But he had horribly failed at his goal the night he showed up in Morfindel’s room stricken with fright.

“Wait,” he said. Morfindel looked back at him, and he hurriedly replaced his frightened face with his cocked grin. “If you really do insist, you can come. I know you want some excitement in your otherwise dull life, but if it gets too exciting, I’ll be here.”

Mofrindel smiled and shook her head. “You’re pathetic, Belegorn,” she said. “Now let’s get in the boat. It will be easier to steer with two people aboard.”

A parade of about four or five boats floated down the River Siranim. Hadhod sat with Belegorn and Morfindel in the leading boat. He had a smile on his kindly old face, but Belegorn’s stomach was churning. Morfindel sat beside him kneading her skirt. Adurant and a boy Belegorn’s age named Gilaglar rowed.

“What a fine day it is,” Hadhod said. “I love the summertime, don’t you? So much more pleasant than those miserable cold winter days. Of course the sun down there in the south is much too hot…”

For hours they had been drifting through fields in which no one lived—nothing but birds and small mammals that burrowed in the ground. Then they began passing people, mostly dressed in rags carrying sacks on their backs; then more people dressed in neater clothes. Finally they found themselves in the bustling city of Mantathar. It was mid afternoon by then and the buildings cast shadows over the crowds. Belegorn and Morfindel’s boat bumped up along the docks and Hadhod stepped out, followed by Belegorn and Morfindel. Gilaglar and Adurant, who tied up the boat, brought up the rear. The rest of the boats were tied to the docks.

Belegorn had to scoot sideways and suck in his belly to get through the crowds. He kept his eyes fixed on the top of Hadhod’s balding head. It bobbed in the ocean of heads like a lump of foam in the river, traveling rather quickly compared to Belegorn, who had to crane his neck to see it.

And then it was gone. Belegorn breathed heavily, sweating in the crowd. The closeness of everyone, shoulders touching, was beginning to make him sick, and it didn’t help that his stomach was turning with the losing of Hadhod’s head.

He looked behind him. Morfindel was sweating visibly as well, her dark eyebrows stern with concentration, muttering, “Excuse me…pardon…I’m sorry…Ouch…excuse me…Watch where you’re walking!”

So he wasn’t completely lost. At least he had Morfindel.

He felt a hand grab him by the sleeve. “Careful now,” Hadhod said. “It’s easy to get lost on a day like this.”

“Is it like this every day?” Belegorn shouted at Hadhod above the roar of the crowd.

“No,” Hadhod said. “This is the week merchants from all over Aglarnen come to Mantathar. They spend much of the year traveling between the four cities selling their merchandise. It’s usually much thinner.”

“Where are we going?”

Hadhod didn’t seem to hear him. He just kept fighting his way through the mob. Eventually, Hadhod disappeared inside a doorway. Belegorn followed him inside, only turning back once to see if Morfindel was close behind.

“Keep going, Belegorn,” she said.

Hadhod had reserved three rooms to split among the thirteen Nentatharins—Belegorn, Morfindel, Hadhod, Adurant, Gilaglar, Belegorn’s father Belegond, his mother Eleniel, the carpenter, the old man who lived down the street, Eleniel’s friend who visited once a week to quilt, her hunsband, and their little son named Hathel.

As the sun began to set over the tops of the mountains in the far distance, Belegorn sat by the window, the most quiet and sullen he had been in his life, and thought about the day to come. He would set off, just he and Morfindel, to the forest. When they got to the edge she would leave him to go on alone.

He imagined what sort of slimy, snaky creatures would live in the cursed forest. Huge rodents with red eyes and worm-like tails and fangs. Slithering reptiles that attack while one sleeps, hiding amongst the vines. Insects and spiders probably crawled up and down the trees and along the forest floor and would climb up his pants legs and bite him, giving him nasty welts, and perhaps killing him. There were probably bogs of quicksand or mud pits hidden under the dead leaves that would swallow him up.

He didn’t even know where the House was. Legend said that the house was “surrounded on three sides by walls of stone,” but who knew where these walls of stone were? The people of the savage land of Kemad would know, but they would roast him alive on a spit before they told him where the House was. In fact, they were probably good friends with the sorceress and would give her his soul, and then eat his body. He would rather take his chances looking for these walls of stone rather than ask the Kemeneans for help.

Before he left he would look at a map. Maps of rock formations in the forest were generally inaccurate, as anyone who entered the forest never escaped to share what they found. But the map makers had done what they could looking at the forest from the mountains. From the map he would find the walls of stone, and he would find the House.

Belegorn watched the last rays of the sun disappear behind the shadowy tips of the mountains but he stayed awake for hours. He did not know if he would get any sleep that night.

~ : ~

“It’s a long walk back from the forest,” Adurant said, sitting on the bed. “Are you sure you’ll be able to make it? A lone woman out of sight of Mantathar is not someone you might wish to be.”

“Are you doubting me?”

“No, I’m just doubting the maturity of the men you might pass on the road.”

Morfindel untied the strings on the front of her blouse, slipped it over her head, and put on her sleeping shirt. “I’ll be all right. It’s Belegorn you should be worried about.”

Adurant ran both hands through his yellow hair and blew out air. “I am worried about him. I’m worried out of my mind about him, because no one has ever come out of that damned forest alive, and he’s just a boy, and Hadhod must be out of his holy mind to be sending Belegorn in there.” He sighed and sadly shook his head. “I don’t know who’s nuttier: Hadhod for giving such an impossible task to such a young boy who has so much life ahead of him, Belegorn for agreeing to do it in the first place, or you and I for letting him.”

After six years of being married to him, Morfindel had only seen Adurant so anxious thrice before: once was when she went to dinner with his parents who thought she was a Kemenean savage, twice was when business was so slow at the tavern three winters ago they nearly had to close down, and the third time was when their last cow died and they hadn’t enough money to buy a new one yet so they had no milk for a month. She removed her skirt and put on her night dress and got under the covers.

He followed her and she said, “Just sleep, Adurant. Tomorrow’s a new day; you’ll have plenty of worrying to do then.”



“An’ I met the man who rafted down the River Siranim, from Mantathar to Dor Lorelin, last year. Some people is callin’ him a dare-devil ’cause the forest is more’n a hundred miles from north to south, but he said the trick was just to be able to carry enough dried food an’ know what’s eatib…edi…good to eat in there and won’t kill you.”

Yanta sat crosslegged in the dirt, absentmindedly combing the sagebrush out of Rana’s fur with her fingers. “You really met him? You spoke to him?”

“Yup,” Sikke said, puffing out his chest. He grinned for a moment, then deflated a little and said, “Well, no, not really. I was kinda jus’ taking some fruit from a vender an’ overheard a woman askin’ him about it.” He held up his hands inches apart. “But I got this close. There wasn’t no crowd or anything. Even in Dor Lorelin fame doesn’t last forever.”

He paused, frowned and said, “Maybe I should stop. You’re getting all dreamy-eyed again.”

Yanta turned her attention back to Sikke. “Sorry, Sikke,” she said. “Did you meet anyone else during your time in Dor Lorelin.”

“Nah,” he said. “Didn’t stay long enough to meet anyone. I saw the Queen’s palace in passin’, though, on my way out.”

Yanta got up. She brushed the dust from her tunic. “What I would give to spend a day there.” She sighed.

Sikke looked up at her from the ground. “Yes?”

“What?”

“You didn’t finish your sentence.”

“What are you…Oh!” she said. “It’s just an expression, Sikke.”

Sikke stood too. “Well,” he said. “Learn something new every day, don’tcha.”

~:~

Yanta bid Sikke farewell for now, scooped Rana up in her arms, and went home. The sun was nearing the end of its descent. It was only an hour or so before it would be gone behind the mountains. The air was already cooling and a late afternoon breeze blew through her hair and ruffled Rana’s fur.

When she reached the house she put Rana down. He darted away, stopping only once to make sure Yanta was following. Yanta climbed after him, up onto a windowsill. She used worn holes in the wall as footholds to haul herself onto the next floor window, and did the same up to the next.

Finally, she lifted herself onto the roof. She slipped once on the shingles but caught herself, and took a seat at the very top. Rana brushed against her knees, then sat himself on her lap.

Yanta had been sneaking onto the roof at sunset every chance she could for the past two years. She did not know what it was about sunsets, but the way the orange sun melted into the mountains, casting its soft light on the trees, made her feel warm inside, and if she looked hard, she could almost make out the tops of the tallest buildings of Dor Lorelin.

She knew she would go there someday. She just didn’t know when.

“A week from tomorrow.”

The voice made her jump. She clutched Rana and looked around. She hadn’t heard anyone else come up onto the roof and, if her eyes could be trusted, she was still all alone.

“More notice would have been preferable.”

Now that she was listening for it, she could tell that last voice was her mother’s, carrying out onto the roof from…from where?

She eased herself down the slanted roof on her bottom, gripping the shingles with her fingers. As she neared the edge of the roof, the voices grew louder.

“I’m sorry. It slipped my mind. I wasn’t actually planning on going until last month.”

That was her father. She bent down. There was an open window just below the edge of the roof. She could hear her parents clearly.

“But…Dor Lorelin?” her mother said. “It’s so far away.”

“Hardly any farther than Mantathar,” her father said. “And I go there every year.”

Dor Lorelin! In her joy, Yanta almost fell off the roof. She grabbed the shingles and heaved herself back up.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s so far. I don’t know if I could do it.”

“Please, dear. I know you hate to travel, but in Dor Lorelin…we could make twice as much as we do in Mantathar! The more people, the more customers, right? The more customers, the more money. And the more money…well, I could buy for you that topaz necklace you saw in Mantathar last year.”

“Yes, and the farther away we go, the more vulnerable we are to bandits, highwaymen, robbers…”

“But—”

“I’m not going.”

Yanta’s hopeful smile fell and crashed on the ground three storeys below.

“Then…then let me take Yanta with me. I’m sure she’s old enough.”

Her mother sighed. It was silent for a long time. Yanta held her breath.

“All right. As long as you don’t stay any longer than you need to.”

Yanta didn’t get to hear her father’s reply. She sprang up to the top of the roof and hugged Rana tight.

“We’re going!” she said. “We’re going to Dor Lorelin!”

The sky was a sea of dark gray and green clouds. The wind whipped through the branches. A white mist hovered just above the ground, thick as cream. The murky trees loomed above the tall grasses, surrounded by shadow.

Morfindel approached the forest.

She shivered in the cold, trembled with fear. She did not know why she was going into the forest. Something was pulling her in.

“Morfindel…”

She staggered through the trees. Their branches grabbed at her hair, roots tried to trip her, but she stayed upright. The leaves rustled under her footsteps. She couldn’t see in the dark, but whatever was pulling her seemed to know the way.

Then she entered a small clearing. The gloomy light shone down on her face.

In the center of the clearing was a towering, twisted tree. A small stream ran under and around the thin roots, brimming with little vibrant fish, swimming around and around. Colorful glass jars hung from the branches.

Tiny pale forms, almost invisible, squirmed inside and pressed their pale little hands against the blue, green, red glass.

Built into the tree was a crude, frail structure of pieces of discarded metal welded together. Wooden steps wound around the roots, up the base of the trunk, and to a crooked door. At the door stood a tall, slender woman. Her skin was white and her hair was curly and black, tumbling down her shoulders and back.

“Morfindel.”

Her lips were of a red Morfindel had never seen before. Then those red lips parted, but no sound came out. Two sharp fangs shone in the dim light, and then she wasn’t a woman anymore, but a giant snake.

The snake slithered over the dead leaves on the ground. Morfindel tried to move, but her legs were made of stone. The snake was almost on top of her. It opened its jaws.

Its fangs glistened.

“Morfindel!”

Her name was coming more hurriedly now.

“Morfindel!”

She opened her mouth to scream.

“Morfindel!”

~:~

She opened her eyes and shot up straight.

“Morfindel!” Belegorn was saying. “Are you okay? It looked like you were having a nightmare.”

Morfindel rubbed her eyes. She was sticky with sweat. “What are you doing here, Belegorn? It’s the middle of the night.”

Belegorn wrung his hands and looked at the floor. “I…I’m scared, Morfindel,” he said.

His confession was followed by silence. Morfindel studied his face. She couldn’t remember the last time he had admitted to being scared of something. All at once, Morfindel was flooded with flattery that he would confide in her what he wouldn’t speak of to anyone else.

She smiled gently at him. “That’s to be expected Belegorn. But if your purpose is noble, the Powers will protect you.”

“And is my purpose noble?”

“Of course it is,” she said. “You are doing this for Aranna.”

Belegorn looked away. “I don’t know if the Powers will protect me. They haven’t before. I don’t know if they even exist.”

“Don’t say that.”

“What if I can’t even find the House? What if I die before I even reach it? What if it takes years to find it?”

She knew what he meant, but she chuckled. “All these ‘what if’s,” she said. “Don’t worry. You know exactly where it is. You remember how Hadhod would recite his old cautionary story about it to the kids: ‘Between three walls of cold, tall stone, the witch’s house makes its own home.’ The obvious location is Aman Loke, as it curls around in a C shape. Therefore, three walls of stone. Just follow a map.”

“You know maps of the forest are never accurate,” Belegorn said. “The hills were all mapped from a viewing point in the mountains, and the daredevil who drifted down the river once to map it wasn’t even a professional cartographer.”

“Will you go with me?”

Morfindel’s heart jumped. “What?”

“I can’t go alone!” He was practically on his knees. His face, looking up into hers, was in shadow, but his eyes, now watery, nearly glowed in the moonlight.

Beside her, Adurant shifted in his sleep. Belegorn dropped his voice. “Please?”

Morfindel’s mind went back to her dream. The pale, thin enchantress, the snake, the souls in the jars.

“Please.”

“You’re going to have to go alone, Belegorn. You got yourself into this mess. You’ve got to get yourself out of it.”

Belegorn hung his head and began to turn to the door.

It hurt Morfindel to see him like that, alone and frightened. His grandparents, on both sides, had died early, leaving his parents as only children. His mother, a small woman, nearly died during his birth and was unable to bear another child. Morfindel was one of the only three relatives he had. She was responsible for him. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if he were to die in that cursed forest.

But she would die if she went into that forest with him.

“I…I’ll go with you, Belegorn,” she said. “But only to the edge of the forest. No further. It’s more than most would do.”

Belegorn turned with hope in his eyes. “You will?”

Morfindel was silent for a moment.

“Yes,” she said.



Dirt and dust mingled with the moisture in the air and lay over Rhundor, sticking to sweaty faces and eating up the energy like a ravenous lion. The glaring sun shone off the creamy clay walls of the houses. It was the sort of day on which you could roast a chicken if you lay it on the ground for a few hours, even in the early morning. It was nearly noon, so you would burn the chicken instead. It was humid too, warm droplets of water attached themselves to exposed skin, piling on top of the sweat until the victim was a mess of damp clothes, stringy hair, and sticky skin.

Yanta sat on a warm wooden bench in the shade of the house and dug her toe into the dirt. “Well,” she said, “this is fun, isn’t it?”

Maris looked at her with a tilted head. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It was sarcasm, Maris,” Yanta said. “We can’t do anything!”

The other girl raised her eyebrows. “Sure we can,” she said. “I’m sure the mothers would appreciate some help with the cooking, and I can get out the needles and we can finish the blanket we started, since winter is coming in a few months, and it will start raining…”

Yanta stood up. “But that’s boring!” She let her arms drop to her sides. When she stood up her face was hit by the sunlight and immediately the sweat began forming in beads on her nose. She yearned for the shade and breeze of the forest. It had been so long since she had been there, but on a hot, humid day like this one she wanted to be surrounded by the trees. “Let’s go exploring in the forest.”

Maris frowned and opened her mouth to object.

“Would you be quiet?” a voice behind Yanta said. Both girls turned around. Rana brushed up against Yanta’s ankles.

A tall boy was squinting at her in the sunlight, and even from twenty feet away he seemed like a giant. “Your high pitched whine is killing me.”

Kicking up dust, Yanta marched up to the boy and shook her fist at him. “You mind your own business, Draven,” she said. “And my voice is not high pitched.”

Standing this close to Draven, the difference in height and build was obvious. He was tall and broad shouldered, and now he raised his fist, twice the size of hers. “No one cares,” he said. “You’re being loud and I don’t like it. So shut up.”

Maris tapped Yanta on the shoulder. “Um…Yanta?” she said. “I…I’m going home now. See you tomorrow, I guess.”

This was the time that week Yanta had tried to do what she wasn’t supposed to do—shout, run, pick fights with boys—and the third time that week her friends had gone home early. It couldn’t be coincidence. But at the moment Yanta barely saw Maris skip off through the dust.

Rana circled Yanta’s legs, then, with a purr, darted away. Yanta swivelled around when she heard the cat go.

“Rana!” she said. “Now you’re leaving?”

She turned back to Draven. He still had his fist raised. “Hold on a moment, will you?” she said, running after Rana. “I will be right back to break your nose after I catch my cat.”

She followed Rana into the shade of the stables. A figure, unrecognizable in the shadows, bent down and held its hand out for Rana. The figure picked Rana up in its arms.

“Sikke,” Yanta said. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since last month.”

Even before Yanta was under the shadow of the stables, before she could see his face, she knew who he was. There was only one other person besides Yanta to whom Rana would willingly go. Sikke was a tangly, rebellious boy and younger than Yanta by a few years—she wasn’t exactly sure how many. He ran away from home, he told her, years before and lived like a nomad, wandering the Valley, eating what he could catch, sleeping wherever he happened to be when he got tired.

“I caught a ride with a carpet seller and spent the weekend in Dor Lorelin,” Sikke said. He stroked Rana’s head. “Would have stayed longer, but it was too crowded. Took the scenic route back here along the edge of the forest. Took a while.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Yanta held out her arms and Rana jumped from Sikke back to his master. “But Dor Lorelin? What’s it like?”

“Dusty, stinky.” Sikke shrugged. “A place I could stay for a while. But too many people.”

Yanta stepped out of the shade of the stable and looked southward. Beyond the town she could see the Great Road stretch out like a pale yellow snake and curve away behind the edge of the forest. In the flat dustiness of Rhundor, Yanta would look out her window and see the road pointing the way to Dor Lorelin. She could picture the bustling crowds, bodies wrapped in colorful clothes jostling against one another to follow the cries of street vendors. It was a world where she could meet people like her, and where girls could do what they wanted to do without disapproval.

“Yes, okay,” Sikke said. “You don’t have to lecture me about your dreams of Dor Lorelin again.”

“Never mind then, Sikke.” Yanta clutched Rana to her chest, stuck her nose in the air, and began to saunter back toward her family’s house. “When I go to Dor Lorelin, never to return to this dreary little town, you can’t come with me.”

Sikke put his hands on his hips and sent her a wet raspberry. “Like I’d want to. You can take your smelly old cat and go away. I’m better off without you.”

It wasn’t ten seconds before Yanta stopped and turned around, the sun shining on her dark hair, and said, “Actually, Sikke…you can come with me if you want.”

Sikke, too, stopped retreating. “Y’know, it’d probably be a lot better in Dor Lorelin with you and Rana.”

Under the shade, Yanta held out her hand. “Friends again?”

Sikke shook it. His grip was sticky with sweat and dirt. “Sure.”

“We do seem to make up like this a lot, don’t we?”

“If we didn’t we wouldn’t be friends, would we?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Yeah, well.” Sikke gave a little salute. “See you later.” He ran off into the forest.

When she first met him, Yanta would have called out and asked him where he was going, but she had learned over the years that he went where he pleased and did what he wanted. She knew it would be futile to try and find out where he spent most of his time. So she put Rana down and ambled back home.