“Jackson, sit down, and mind your tongue!” the barman said, his eyes wide.
“You’re just puppets of the Legion. You do their dirty work for them. You can all rot in the abyss,” the man sneered. “You’re kind ain’t welcome round here.”
For a moment, Elian stared at the man, his hands curled on the table. Then he stood and walked slowly to the bar. His boots thudded against the creaky boards. The barman shrank away, while another man slowly moved down a stool.
Elian’s tall stature overshadowed the man who’d spoken against him. He glared at the customer for a long moment, then drummed his fingers on the bar and said, “If you think Wielders are given authority only over Astrans, I implore you to think again before you open that mouth of yours.” He took the pitcher of ale sitting there and poured himself a cup. “As it stands, I can have anyone arrested and taken in for speaking against the Legion. That includes you. And if you press me far enough, I might just kill you where you stand. It would be a shame for your family and friends to have to scrub your blood from these walls, and the barman no doubt would appreciate it if I didn’t taint his pub with your insides.” He raised his brows as he took a gulp from his cup.
Something in the man dented. He went to open his mouth, but sat back down instead, saying nothing. He hung his head low over his mug and sipped it quietly.
“Enjoy your ale.” Elian downed the rest of his drink, paid their tab, and left swiftly, Rhielle following close at his heels.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
Elian looked ahead, his blood rushing through his body so swiftly he swore he could hear it in his head. “Sometimes you have to put these people in their place.”
“These people? They’re no different from me or you.” When Elian said nothing more, Rhielle asked, “Where are you going? I thought we were staying the night.”
A shadow passed over his face. “I’m changing the plan. I want to catch up to Amias. He came through here and I’m not letting him get away.”
“But we need sleep, and the horses need rest!” Rhielle pulled on his arm. “We’ve been riding them for weeks now.”
At this Elian stopped and looked at her hesitantly.
“Eli, don’t let that man at the bar get to you.” Her eyes were soft in the waning light.
His heart jerked and he looked away. “I’m not, but you’re supposed to be taking notes.” He tapped his temple. “Once you’re a Wielder, you’ll have the power to arrest someone on suspicious grounds.”
Rhielle grimaced. “But you just threatened to kill him.”
“You have the power to do that, too.”
“Not if it’s unjustified.”
“It’s an empty threat, Rhielle.” Elian sighed and crossed his arms. “It keeps you safe.”
“But it’s not right.”
“Then you’re not cut out for this life.” His words were cold and dry. Rhielle tightened her jaw and looked away.
He did not want to tell her that he hated when people insulted him, how angry he became as a result. As a Wielder, he had to appear intimidating. The remaining Astrans would no doubt stir an uprising if he did not. And with talk of the rebel group calling themselves the Alliance seeping in and out of taverns, even within Alacor’s walls and all the way to the citadel, he could not tolerate disdain for the Legion from anyone, Astran or not.
If he stayed in Green Springs, would he wake in the morning to frowning faces and backhanded whispers about his kind?
When a few drops of rain hit Elian’s face, he placed his hands on his hips and sighed. “All right, then.” He glanced playfully at her. “Go find us a few huts to stay in, but we’re leaving very early in the morning.”
Chapter 9
The Weathered Pot was cozier than Owen had imagined it would be. It sat upon a grassy hill overlooking green fields of cows and sheep. Owen counted the inn as a blessing, as the night brought in a cold storm that blew fierce winds with bright lightning. Thunder shook the foundation, and the wooden spoon on Owen’s plate vibrated.
“Imagine being out in that,” Colt said, nodding at the window as he took a big bite of seasoned roast.
Amias leaned back in his chair, his face worn and dirty, and said, “I’m certainly glad we’re not out in it. I need at least one night of sleep in a warm bed.”
They sat in the main room, where few patrons loitered at tables and the lyre player was near to falling asleep as he slowly strummed the strings of his instrument.
Owen tapped his fork against his cooked carrots. He had eaten all his potatoes, which he had mixed with eggs and milk, finding that he liked the dish well enough. It was hard to eat the rest when thoughts of Emberton rose in his mind. The pub reminded him of the one in his village, and every time he heard someone laugh, he looked up, half expecting to see familiar faces. Instead, he saw unrecognizable men relaxing after a long day in the fields.
“You gonna eat the rest of that?”
Owen glanced up at Colt, who was pointing his fork at Owen’s half-eaten roast. “Yes, I was planning on it.” Moving his plate, Owen cut a piece of meat off. He took in a bite, surprised at how good the blend of seasonings tasted, then turned to Amias. “How long will we be in Birchwood for?”
“I don’t know, Owen,” Amias said with an irritated sigh. “Perhaps a few days.” He waved a hand.
“And this is all on foot?”
“What, did you want a nymph to help take you through?” Colt asked.
Owen narrowed his eyes. “Do you even know what a nymph is?”
“I figured it was something of small stature.”
“No, a nymph is like a spirit who watches over certain parts of the land.” Owen rested his arms on the table and looked at Colt. “They guard forests and lakes, rivers and mountains—things like that.”
“And if they catch you stomping around their grounds?” Colt raised his eyebrows.
“Then you’ll have to give them something . . . a gift. Perhaps food or a valuable item.”
Colt leaned forward, the grime on his shadowed face visible against his eyes. “So if I cross one in the wood, can I give them you? Your power should be valuable enough to get me out of a spot like that.”
Owen smirked. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“No, you’re just easy to mess with.” Colt leaned back and propped his feet up on the chair beside him.
“Is he always so arrogant?” Owen asked Amias.
“You’re just now figuring this out?” Amias shook his head and yawned, his weary eyes watering. “I’m in for an early night. You should get some rest, too.”
“But I wanted to talk to you about where we’re going after Birchwood.”
“We’ll be headed for Torke.”
“Will we be visiting White Oak?”
Amias ran his fingers over his beard. “Afraid not.”
“Should we buy some more food for the road, then?”
“Tomorrow, Owen, as well as some extra skins to keep us warm, and some matches, if we can find some up this way.” Before Owen could ask him anything more, Amias placed a hand over his mouth. “Hush. I’m no good leading us if I’m this worn out.” He stood from his chair and left the hall.
Owen’s shoulders slumped.
“What are you so down about?” Colt crossed his arms against his chest.
“I’m not down, I just don’t know about venturing through Birchwood.”
“Oh, come on. You don’t really believe in all those tall tales, do you? They’re only stories.”
“I believe in spirits, and Birchwood is home to many.”
“Oh, yeah? I didn’t know you were friends with so many of them to know this.”
“I’m not,” Owen quipped. “But I’ve felt the energy of that place before.” He looked down at his plate and swallowed hard. “When I was younger, Amias and I traveled to the outskirts of the wood, and I always felt something strange emanating from it.”
“Emanating?” Colt furrowed his brows
. “What’s that mean?”
Owen stared at him, hesitating, before he said, “You know, emanating. Putting out.” He shook his head. “Spreading.”
“Oh right, I knew that.” Colt scratched his head and looked away. “So what about it, then? Was it witchy, this emanating?” He chuckled softly.
“No . . . it was like a strange gray energy, as if something watched but never bothered. As if something there was interested, curious.” He thought of that day he and Amias had ridden on horseback close to the tree line, and it had felt as though a hundred eyes watched them.
Owen looked up to see Colt digging food out of his teeth with his finger. He sighed and said, “I don’t know why I’m even telling you this. You don’t even care about what I’m saying anyway.”
Colt slapped his hand on the table. “You’re right, mate. Are you gonna eat that?”
Owen pursed his lips and shoved his plate toward Colt with a growl before standing and leaving for his room.
They left early in the morning, amid a foggy and rainless day, and traveled along the main road until they came to a long corn field. They cut through the field, breaking stalks of corn as they went and placing them in their bags. When they emerged, the tree line of Birchwood was in sight.
Milarc’s biggest forest was home to some of the biggest legends around, from little people called Dornies, to sprites who turned into enchanting women and drank people’s blood, to dog-like men who walked on their hind legs.
Owen went in with his mind open to get a feel for his surroundings. The forest was a mass of green trees from left to right, and it traveled upward, looking almost like a mountain. As they delved deeper, jagged rocks lined the way upward, and before long, Owen broke out in a sweat.
The fog had cleared the day and brought with it a rare blue sky. Owen savored the warmth of the sunshine, and as he walked he tried his hand at channeling his power, moving his palms over leaves as he went, making them rustle.
The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a soft amber haze through the trees of Birchwood Forest. Owen gripped the hilt of his dagger, his eyes darting at every rustle he saw among the limbs and shrubs, but even so, he did not feel any strange or ill energy among the trees.
“The path should cross over a river,” Amias said. “It flows all through the forest until it reaches the coast.” He set down his bag in a small clearing. “This looks suitable enough for tonight. You two set about getting some kindling for a fire. It’s going to be a cold night.”
As Owen walked with Colt to gather twigs and brush, he took in his surroundings. Though the twittering of birds among the colorful branches created a pleasant impression, his stomach churned at the thought of spending the night in the forest.
Their fire was dim and low. It did not put off enough heat to rid the chill from Owen’s freezing hands. He pulled his coat tighter around him and glanced at Colt, who ate a biscuit and leftover roast from the inn.
Food was more limited when traveling. Rather than eat raw vegetables and fruits, or the occasional sandwich that seemed to go quickly, Owen wished to make a stew instead. So far they had not been able to build a sustainable fire to cook anything more than the small rodents Colt hunted. Whatever town they came to next, Owen made note to pack something more substantial to eat.
As the sky grew dark, Colt took a thick stick and shaved the bark from its frame. Owen watched him for several minutes, cocking his head when he saw the piece of wood beginning to take the shape of something.
Minutes ticked by. While Amias lay in his pallet, snoring, Owen leaned his head against a tree, watching Colt in the firelight. His hands looked strong, calloused. It was not until Colt leaned toward him that he jolted upward.
In Colt’s palm was a small figure in the shape of a rabbit. Owen took it and turned it around, inspecting it. Its feet were rounded, with little lines dividing the toes. Its oval eyes were clear to see, as well as a faint triangular nose and puffy cheeks. Owen smoothed his dirty finger over the ears and poked the ball that was the tail. It was by no means smooth, but its crafter had a knack for shaping it.
“Cute.” Owen’s lips twitched into a smile. “You’ve a good hand.”
“It’s your good luck charm.”
“You mean you want me to have it?”
Colt pulled away and rolled his shoulders. “Well, it might not ward off evil children or nymphs, but at least you can carry it and think of the things that are actually in here, yeah?”
Owen’s smiled. “That’s nice of you. To think of that to help ease my nervousness in here.”
“Nah, I just don’t want to hear you keep going on about odd creatures the rest of the trip. Night.” Colt lay on his side and pulled his blanket over him.
With a sigh, Owen curled his fingers over the tiny wooden rabbit, clasping it tightly, and leaned back against the tree.
They slept through the night, switching shifts to keep watch throughout. When they set out at dawn, Owen marveled at the trees. Though many of the them near the start of the forest were birches, bigger trees had begun to overtake them. The stirrings of autumn swirled around them, leaves of red, orange, and yellow drifting down.
“I love when the trees change colors,” Owen said. “The orange ones are my favorite. What are yours, Amias?”
Amias beamed at him. “I like the reds, but altogether the mix of color does the forest just right.”
“I think so, too. Colt? What’s your favorite?”
Colt looked up briefly, then sniffed. “I don’t have a favorite.”
“Everyone has a favorite.” Owen laughed and looked at Amias. “Hopefully it won’t get too cold while we’re here.”
“I can only hope,” Amias responded. “The days are still warm, yet, but the nights are only getting colder. We should be fine for now if we keep at a good pace south.”
Owen thought of the Torke region, where he used to live. They would be traveling close by a village he’d lived in for a while. “I loved living with Ms. Horace down in White Oak after mother passed.”
Amias’s smile reached into his honey-brown eyes. “You still think of her?”
“I always remember people I was fond of.”
The trace of a smile faded slowly on Amias’s lips. “I know you liked her. She argued with me to let you stay.”
“Why didn’t you let me, then?”
“I was afraid you were too vulnerable that far south. Many travelers were flocking to the towns that way and she would take you there often.”
“She bought me candy and honey rolls in the market, and I was always within her sight.”
When Amias said nothing more, Owen walked ahead. The sound of rushing water quickened his steps. In the distance he could already see the river Amias had spoken of.
Emerging from the shade of the trees, Owen squinted in the sunlight at the river. It was very wide, as Amias had told him, and littered with rocks. It looked shallow enough to cross, but there were areas that looked deep enough to possibly come to one’s hips. The water moved along swiftly, gurgling in the low areas and roaring over boulders.
“Birch River,” Amias said, coming up to him. “You most likely don’t remember, but you played in this same river when you were very small, just much farther south.”
“I don’t remember. I only recall the smell of a log cabin.”
“That would be where your mother raised you for three years. Until your father left.”
“There are some decent-sized fish here.” Owen brushed off the conversation once Amias mentioned his father, and leaned down into an area of the water that had pooled to the side. Several fish swam to the surface for bugs. “I have my pole in my bag. I can put it together and catch some for dinner.”
“That sounds fine.” Amias sat on a rock nearby. “I need to rest a while. We can follow the river down soon.”
As Owen took out his pole from his bag and attached the parts of the rod, Colt stood beside him and watched.
“Never seen a pole like that be
fore,” Colt said.
“I got it from my friend Milo.”
Once the rod was together, Owen tied his line to the hook and set it down. Then he searched the ground for insects. He found a few worms underneath one of the bigger rocks sitting near the bank of the stream. He cast out his line and let it sit, then glanced at his fellow traveler.
“What is it?” Owen asked.
“Nothing, mate. I’m just sitting here thinking if you can bait a damn hook and catch a fish, then you can damn well hunt.”
“Only if it doesn’t involve killing mother rabbits with babies.”
Colt smiled sheepishly and looked away.
When the line tugged, Owen set the hook with a jerk, then reeled in the line. He pulled up on the pole a few times until the line came out of the water, a bass on the end.
“One for me,” Owen said as he placed his fingers at the edge of the fish’s mouth and wiggled it off the hook.
“Now catch me one,” Colt said.
“As long as he hurries,” Amias called from nearby.
“Oh, all right.” Owen baited his hook and cast out his line again, where he caught one more fish before Amias told him they needed to keep walking.
“Come on. We’ve got to eat first,” Colt said.
Amias shook his head. “We’ve wasted enough time fishing. I’d like to cross before evening.”
“Who’s going to carry them, then?” Colt asked.
“I can string them through some line and carry them,” Owen said. “Here, give me one of them.”
Owen brought out a long piece of extra line from his small tackle box and pulled the line through the gills, then strung the other as Colt held it.
“Here, tie the end and I’ll carry it on my bag,” Owen said to Colt. “No, not like that—bring the line up more.”
“I’d like to get some more walking in before it gets dark, you two.” Amias chuckled.
As they strung up the fish, something suddenly whizzed past Owen, and he staggered back. Once he righted himself, he withdrew his dagger and looked around. Colt readied an arrow and aimed it ahead.
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