It was lucky we’d gained four more badgers to pull the wagons; all non-combatant gnomes now fit inside the carts. They were clearly not happy with the cramped arrangements, but it was necessary. Though there was more room now that the warriors and scouts were suitably equipped for walking, it was still crowded.
The badgers weren’t the only animals that had been growing larger. The hoot-hoots were big enough that there was no longer room for all five of them on the chariot, so the responsibility for their care had been spread around the other wagons as well. Though initially delighted to have the company, the novelty soon wore off, and the gnomes’ excitable cries of “hoot-hoot” soon became grumpy mutters. The owlets were getting bigger and my denizens clearly did not appreciate sharing such limited space with the feathery nuisances.
Apparently the owls felt the same way. One by one, they elected to leave the wagons, choosing instead to ride on the backs of the badgers. As soon as the first one hopped aboard, two more followed suit, the trio forming a crowded bundle swaying atop Bruce’s back. The remaining two owls hooted indignantly and tried to fling themselves on to Bruce as well, despite there clearly not being enough room. Both splashed gracelessly into the swamp.
Finally accepting that Bruce’s back was all booked up, they each floundered toward different badgers and climbed aboard, shaking mud and algae from their feathers and muttering to themselves in a way that sounded remarkably similar to the gnomes’ earlier grumbling.
Benin still complained with every squelching step. The misty air plastered his hair to his head whenever his fire aura was deactivated. Pyra spent her days huddled on top of his satchel, claws digging into the canvas as she stared down mistrustfully at the marshy ground, growling and snapping at every insect that dared fly by. Even Coll was grumbling; apparently this environment was a haven for rust, and he was running low on oil for his weapons and armor.
Though I’d tried to remain positive, I found myself becoming dragged down by the pervading negativity and the oppressive atmosphere of the marsh. On top of that, the constantly counting timer—now in single digits—prompted even more worrying thoughts.
What if the timer ran out while we were still stuck trudging through these godsforsaken marshes?
The hostile environment would be its own defense against external enemies, true, but that didn’t really matter if we couldn’t survive it ourselves. How long until I’d be able to use exodus again if that happened?
I thought to ask Bekkit, but decided I didn’t want to know the answer. Besides, giving voice to the possibility of failure would only make it feel more imminent. It was better to just push it down and hope for the best.
Ket tried to bolster my morale by reassuring me that this was simply the darkness before the dawn. I didn’t really understand this phrase; since the darkness had always been my home, to me this felt more ominous than reassuring—similarly to another phrase she’d taught me, “the calm before the storm.” But hopefully it meant this was the last leg of the forest before we’d emerge among the mountains. The trees were growing even sparser, which I hoped was a sign that we were finally nearing the forest’s edge.
I couldn’t wait for us to find a suitable new home and rest in safety once more. It felt like forever since we’d been able to truly relax. Here in particular, my denizens rested fitfully if at all.
Even the children had picked up on the growing tension. They constantly glanced over their shoulders and out into the darkness. It was as though my denizens shared my suspicion, which was rapidly becoming a conviction.
We were being watched.
Forty-Five
Out of the Woods
Corey
“The good news is, we’re almost out of the woods.”
We’d stopped for our third rest of the day. Coll had taken out the crumpled map yet again and was pointing at where he guessed us to be.
“And what’s the bad news?” Benin asked him.
“What bad news?”
“Well, when you start by saying ‘The good news is…’ it implies there’s also bad news.”
“Oh. Well, there isn’t.”
Benin rolled his eyes. He seemed even more on edge than usual. Like me, he was clearly expecting something bad to happen before we got out; for the marsh to make one last effort to keep us from escaping its cold, damp embrace. For the storm that followed the calm,, or however the phrase went.
It caused me some discomfort to realize that I had more in common with the mage right now than I did with anyone else in my Sphere. What have I become?
“We just have to cross this last bit of marsh,” Coll was saying. “After that, there’s a stretch of hills—no more than a few miles—then we cross the River Emonand head into the mountains.”
I peered at the map. Coll’s finger rested on a thin band of marshland just before the forest’s edge.
“Is this area a different color?”
“What?” Coll peered closer, then held the map at a different angle, trying to catch the dregs of gray light. “Huh. It does look a bit… red, doesn’t it?”
There was a definite reddish tinge to the area we were about to cross. Looking carefully, it extended across the entire forest perimeter on the north and west sides.
“If Tiri were here, she’d be able to tell us exactly what the mapmaker meant by it,” said Benin. I glanced at the venomous creatures color coded as red dots on my own map and thought I could probably guess.
Darkness before the dawn indeed.
Still, whatever lay between us and the forest’s edge couldn’t be much worse than what we’d faced already. Unless it was a horde of grumpy hoot-hoots, in which case I suspected my denizens would surrender immediately.
Ket said it was just growing pains
