but all that was there was an earthenware jug filled with water, some food, spare clothes, and a purse filled with odd bits of metal. Glenn pulled out the jug and took a long drink. The water was ice-cold and tasted metallic. She sat, turning it in her hands, staring at Kevin’s back as the current passed them by.
“You should have something to drink,” she said.
“Not thirsty,” Kevin said without moving.
“There’s food.”
Kevin adjusted his position at the bow but said nothing.
“We didn’t have a choice,” Glenn said.
Kevin turned to her, his dark eyes narrow. “Didn’t have a choice about what?”
“Aamon,” Glenn said, perplexed. “Those men were coming. He
pushed us away. You did the right thing.”
Kevin stared down at the murky water flowing by. “Yeah,” he said. Something dreamlike and distant in his voice sent a chill through Glenn. “You’re right. We had to.”
He turned away, his hand hovering up by his chest where he had tucked away whatever it was Opal had given him. His lips began to move low and fast as if he was whispering to himself. As if he was praying. Glenn shuddered at the thought of it, at the feel of that ghost within him.
Glenn wedged herself deeper into the stern and pulled her coat tight, watching him, amazed at the seed of fear that was unfurling inside her. Afraid of Kevin Kapoor? It should have been laughable, but there it was, undeniably real.
The day passed as they searched for a path neither of them ever saw. The sun arced above them and again began to fall.
“This is useless,” Kevin grumbled. “Aamon has been away ten years. Whatever road he was thinking of could be gone by now. We should just start walking.”
“Walk where?”
Kevin didn’t respond. However vague Aamon’s directions had
been, one thing was clear: They should have stopped hours ago. At this point, the river could only be taking them farther from where they wanted to go. As much as she hated it, Kevin was right. There was no time for stubbornness. Glenn put the pole into the river and fought her way out of the current. Once the bow crunched into the rocky shore, Kevin jumped out and pulled the boat up onto the bank. Every muscle in Glenn’s body ached, but she reached for the backpack, ready to sling it over her shoulder. Kevin’s hand got there first.
“It’s okay,” Kevin said quietly. “I got it.”
As Kevin leaned over the pack there was a clatter of metal
underneath his coat. He threw the pack onto his shoulders, then took off into the woods above the shoreline without a word. Glenn watched him go, then, seeing no choice, followed, her white breath puffing out before her. Soon, the rush of the water faded and the trees thinned, giving way to a long empty field that stretched to the horizon. Glenn hoped they’d at least be within sight of a town or a road, but there was nothing but twilight- shadowed hills everywhere she looked. It was all so alien. So empty.
“That way.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It just … seems familiar.”
“Kevin, you’ve never — ” But then Glenn understood. Cort. He was saying Cort had been here before.
They set off. He moved quickly, barely pausing to examine the rough terrain as he led them through the woods and out onto a road that was pitted with what Glenn took to be wagon tracks. Glenn’s exhaustion was a heavy fog that wrapped around her body, dragging her down. Her legs ached. Her back was a nest of burrs and knots.
Far worse than the pain, though, was Kevin’s silence. She never thought she’d miss his babble but now the absence of it haunted her, as did the way his hand rose to his chest over and over to steady whatever it was Opal had given him. As they passed pilgrims’ waymarkers Glenn let her fingers brush against them, wondering if praying to Kirzal could make Kevin be Kevin again.
Hours later they stopped in the middle of the road, Kevin
squinting off into the darkness.
“What?”
Kevin pointed straight ahead. There, peeking out from the trees, ghostly yellow lights danced just above the ground. Glenn thought back to the man and the swan woman in the forest and wondered what the Magisterium might bring them next.
Slowly the lights resolved into small yellow points. Candlelight in windows. It was a town, ten or fifteen small buildings arranged on either side of the main road. Most of the structures were low shacks, little more than dark boxes barely lit from the inside. There was one larger building, the only two-story building in the town, and it sprawled the width of three or four of the other shacks. Firelight and candlelight poured out of it, and Glenn thought she could also hear the barest trace of music.
“An inn?”
Glenn shrugged and peered into the town, trying as hard as she could to not see the shapes of giants and ogres in the plain lines of the houses.
“Give it a try?”
Glenn was pretty sure she couldn’t walk another step. It was fully night now and the temperature still seemed to be dropping. Glenn nodded wearily and started to press on, but Kevin took her hand and pulled her back down.
“I need you to do something for me first. Before we go.”
“What?”
Kevin reached into Aamon’s bag and pulled out a dark blade with a scarred wooden handle. Glenn started, but Kevin flipped the knife around so the handle faced Glenn, the tip of the blade pointing at his own heart.
“What do you want me to do with that?” Glenn asked.
Kevin’s smile briefly returned as he pushed his fingers through his green mane.
“Think it’s time for a trim,” he said.
As they walked out of the woods and into the town, Glenn
couldn’t stop looking over at Kevin. He was right — his green hair would have drawn far too much attention to them. But still, Glenn hated it. Almost more than his silence, turning to her side and seeing the stubbly gleam of his nearly bald head, made Glenn feel like she was walking with a stranger.
As they approached the larger building toward the end of town, the thin strains of music drifting out of its windows started to become clear. A flute, Glenn thought. Maybe a violin too? Whatever they were, they were being played fast and cheerful, lightening something in her as they stepped up onto a small porch and neared the door.
“There’s money in there, right?”
Kevin was looking at the pack that was now over Glenn’s
shoulder.
“Yeah,” Glenn said. “I think.” She slipped off the pack and dug through it until she came up with the small purse. She opened it and produced a handful of metal coins of various sizes. Kevin snatched them away and reached for the door.
A welcome blast of light and heat from a large stone hearth hit them as soon as they opened it. The room was smaller than Glenn would have guessed, and packed tight with about ten rough wooden tables, each of them surrounded by four or five men and women leaning over tankards and pipes and games of cards. The men were dressed in well-worn but sturdy-looking clothes — farmers or hunters maybe — and were big-boned and bearded, with wide shoulders and hands like dinner plates. Daggers hung from their belts.
The air reeked of smoke and food and unwashed bodies. The
music was coming from the far corner where a woman, heavyset and rosy faced, sat on a stool blowing into a wooden flute. Beside her stood an exceedingly thin man with long gray hair who drew a bow across an old violin, quick and precise. The music soared and reeled around them, and after the quiet hours of their hike Glenn became distinctly uneasy.
