I swivel owl-like as I realise what I’m missing. As I search, Ryfon catches my eye giving me a questioning look, but it’s not him I’m looking for.
“Where’s Edwyn?” I ask the twins, but before either of them has a chance to answer an ageing lady in front steps in.
I recognise her instantly as the skeletal lady who had jumped to Orrian’s aid at the meeting. Rags hang off her thin frame, not dissimilar from the bags clinging to her sunken eyes. She must have been tall once, but time has curved her spine and she now stoops over us.
“I saw him and the king a few hours ago, he was heading back into the forest to pick up some more weapons for us,” she replies.
“He must’ve gone back to his den, but he’s got a long way to travel. Is he well enough?” I ask, marvelling at the risk he’s taking. Sure, he has been on his feet lately and he would be travelling either way, but to make such an excursion in his still unhealed condition didn’t sit well with me. There certainly aren’t enough weapons to go around but to risk one of our best fighters and those that accompany him all that way across colony infested land is a bold move indeed.
Over the next few miles the conversation naturally progresses into me revealing mine and Orrian’s journey to the mountain. Horas has heard large portions of it before and so I notice his mind wandering and returning accordingly whilst the other two listen. Medea, the elderly lady, turns out to be a very active listener. Reliving my story enthusiastically, the two of them are particularly keen for details about our encounter with the Halpians in the valley.
“-but thank the gods it was just yourself and Jaq,” I finish, reaching the point where I had first met Astera after the ambush.
“You both looked dreadful,” she comments. “I wish we’d gotten there in time to join in. Would’ve been nice to get some payback against those assholes, not that you two couldn’t handle yourselves of course.” Medea animatedly agrees.
We have left the peaks behind us by now, realising the excess of time I had spared no detail in my retelling of my travels and so the mountain is now far behind us. We are crossing vast flat grasslands with tall grass ahead of us before we reach the forest, this has put everyone slightly more at ease, the flats make certain that we’d spot any attack a fair way in advance from any direction. There are also several pockets of water dotted around, giving hope to the scouts who have taken to scouring the shrubbery dotted around for rabbits and other prey. Nobody’s going to be complaining at putting more food between us and our extremely limited supplies in the carts.
The change in ground had also been a very welcome change from the tough dirt and sharp rocks I have become used to these last few hours, I cannot imagine the relief that must be going through the rest of my company. Our cut feet fall on softened, spongy grass, where stones had used to draw blood and bruise toes. Our only annoyance now are the miniature blades getting stuck between our toes, a small price to pay
Orrian halts the line to have a few minutes rest by one of the larger bodies of water, giving the weaker ones time to rest. Unfortunately for us, the water is much too dirty to drink but it gives the horses a chance to replenish under the fierce sun.
Seeing an opportunity, I make my way over to Orrian. Faelyn and a couple of others graciously give us space as we stand on the outskirts of the group staring into the distance whilst the others collapse on the emerald blanket. I don’t bother asking him where we’re going, I would just be adding my voice to the masses anyway, I’ll find out when I need to, until then I suppose I will just keep following. There is one answer I am tired of waiting for however.
“Why does everyone think I’m a fighter?” I ask. When Orrian doesn’t immediately answer I continue, “Astera called me a warrior, people keep staring at me, I think I’ve been through enough to at least deserve the truth.”
Orrian turns to face me, taking his time and refusing to meet my eyes.
“You’re-” he gestures to the marked side of my face, as if that should answer everything.
Immediately I flush.
“So what?! Yeah, my face is wrong, I get it. Is this all some sick joke then? Or are you all like the rest of them and think I’m part spirit or any of that nonsense,” my knuckles whiten by my side, my raised voice has grabbed the attention of some of the tribespeople resting and I notice their heads tilted in our direction.
Orrian hastily steers me away from his people, manhandling me until we are well out of earshot.
“They think you’re him,” Orrian says.
“Who?!” I hiss, furious at the vagueness of the answer.
“The Akanian,” he says.
“The warrior from the prophecy?” I ask, shocked. If it wasn’t for the seriousness in Orrian’s eyes I’d be tempted to laugh. These people think I’m their saviour? How am I supposed to do that? Most of the tribe look like they could snap me in two without a second thought.
“Yes,” Orrian confirms.
“But that’s ridiculous,” I object, “You’ve seen me try to fight, I’m not a warrior. Why would they even think that?”
Orrian sighs and takes a seat on the cushioning grass below.
“It’s been told that the Akanian will wear a mark, that just from looking at them we will know that they are the one. The stories say that the Akanian’s face, whoever it is, will be decorated with the blood of the forest when the final fight is here,” he
