“Why haven’t we seen these kinds of monsters in our kingdoms since the blight started?” I asked Dorian one day. It was midafternoon, and we rode our horses side by side. He didn’t answer for a few seconds, and for the first time in a very long time, there was a weary—though not quite defeated—air about him. We’d been on the road for a week, and it was taking its toll on all of us.
“A couple reasons, I’d imagine,” he said at last. “One is a matter of logistics. These creatures tend to live on the outskirts of our world. It’s simply taken them time to discover the feast the blight has created for them, and then of course, they’d actually have to put in the time to spread out and make the journey. They may simply not have reached our lands yet.”
That was a disheartening answer, its severity driven home by his sober look. “What’s the other reason we haven’t seen them yet?”
“We were living in a state of war before this disaster struck. Our armies were built up, our lands regularly patrolled. Much of that has stayed in place, even though our forces have taken heavy hits from the blight. But other kingdoms? Like the Palm Land? They were living an idyllic, peaceful existence. Their armies were minimal, so they had less to work with when the blight fell—and next to nothing now that the monsters are coming out of hiding.”
“Will ours be enough?” I asked. “Will our forces be able to protect our people?”
He studied me for a few moments, and I got the impression he was debating whether to answer with truth or comfort. He opted for the former. “I don’t know. We’re in better shape than most, and it’s a rule of nature that predators prefer easy prey. I don’t wish harm on any of these lands, but they’re probably more appealing to snow monsters than lands that fight back.”
His point was proved by the fact that many of the creatures we encountered tried to back off once they discovered the kind of fight we could put up. The smart thing on our part would have been to let them run ... but we, foolish or not, often pursued and took them out. It was hard not to when we kept passing more devastated villages. Leaving those people unguarded would have been cruel. It didn’t matter if they were our kingdoms or not. We were all victims of Varia.
The occasional fight also broke the monotony of travel. Volusian and our own intelligence assured us we were on the right path, but our days were long and dreary. We weren’t entirely sure how much farther we had to travel, and our rations were running low. I’d overheard Rurik and the soldiers debating whether or not they should impose new food restrictions to ensure our supplies would last. They’d decided against it at the time—we were already weak from hunger—but I’d gotten the impression that things might change very soon. I didn’t like that, but I disliked the thought of running out of food altogether even more.
Kiyo continued to be a constant stress to me. Whenever he had me alone, he’d attempt his absurd “reasonable” arguments about why Isaac was such a threat. Fortunately, Kiyo rarely got me alone, since almost everyone else went out of their way to interrupt his attempts. When Dorian did it, he would always act as though he had something really important to ask me, which almost always turned out to be ridiculous—like whether the purple in his cloak clashed with his tan horse. Others, like Rurik, made no such pretenses. He would simply force himself into the conversation and glare until Kiyo backed off.
Despite his nagging, Kiyo otherwise seemed to go to great pains to act like we were all civilized and friendly. I supposed this was better than him being aggressive or homicidal, but it seemed ridiculous after what he’d done to me. I couldn’t really believe he expected me to forgive and forget.
He scouted throughout most of the daylight hours, giving me some peace. One afternoon, he came tearing back toward us in fox form, with a sense of urgency that was obvious even as an animal. Immediately, we stopped and drew weapons, ready for an army of abominable snowmen around the bend. Kiyo reached us and turned human.
“What’s going on?” I demanded. I was tired and sporting a headache (probably from lack of food) but was ready to fight if need be.
Kiyo was panting, meaning he’d run back to us at a pretty serious pace. His fox form was normally pretty hardy. “You ... you have to see this. You won’t believe it.” Recovering himself, he glanced around and seemed to notice our tension. “And you don’t need your weapons.”
“What is it then?” asked Rurik, who showed no signs of putting his sword away.
“You just have to see it,” said Kiyo wonderingly. “It’s amazing.” He shape-shifted back to a fox and began trotting away. He paused after a few steps and glanced back to ascertain we were following. We set out at a cautious pace, none of us disarming.
“The kitsune’s gone insane,” said Dorian with mock sadness. “I knew it would happen sooner or later. If cold or starvation didn’t do it, I figured his own nature would bring it about. You can see these things coming, you know. I spotted it long ago, not that anyone bothered listening to me.”
I smiled in spite of my apprehension. “Right. You’re a regular—”
I gasped. The land had shifted around us, as it did a few times each day. Only this time ... we weren’t in a blighted kingdom.
Brilliant sunlight and a blue, blue sky nearly made me wince after spending so much time in the stark landscape of the blight. Chilling silence had been replaced by birdsong and the chatter of other animals. Trees—with leaves—spread out as far as we could see, radiantly green and alive. And the temperature ... that was the most amazing thing of all. Probably, it was only around seventy, but after being in the blight, we might as well have stepped into the tropics.
“There’s no blight here,” exclaimed Jasmine, her gray eyes wide. “It’s like—plums! Holy shit! Plums!”
br />
“Why haven’t we seen these kinds of monsters in our kingdoms since the blight started?” I asked Dorian one day. It was midafternoon, and we rode our horses side by side. He didn’t answer for a few seconds, and for the first time in a very long time, there was a weary—though not quite defeated—air about him. We’d been on the road for a week, and it was taking its toll on all of us.
“A couple reasons, I’d imagine,” he said at last. “One is a matter of logistics. These creatures tend to live on the outskirts of our world. It’s simply taken them time to discover the feast the blight has created for them, and then of course, they’d actually have to put in the time to spread out and make the journey. They may simply not have reached our lands yet.”
That was a disheartening answer, its severity driven home by his sober look. “What’s the other reason we haven’t seen them yet?”
“We were living in a state of war before this disaster struck. Our armies were built up, our lands regularly patrolled. Much of that has stayed in place, even though our forces have taken heavy hits from the blight. But other kingdoms? Like the Palm Land? They were living an idyllic, peaceful existence. Their armies were minimal, so they had less to work with when the blight fell—and next to nothing now that the monsters are coming out of hiding.”
“Will ours be enough?” I asked. “Will our forces be able to protect our people?”
He studied me for a few moments, and I got the impression he was debating whether to answer with truth or comfort. He opted for the former. “I don’t know. We’re in better shape than most, and it’s a rule of nature that predators prefer easy prey. I don’t wish harm on any of these lands, but they’re probably more appealing to snow monsters than lands that fight back.”
His point was proved by the fact that many of the creatures we encountered tried to back off once they discovered the kind of fight we could put up. The smart thing on our part would have been to let them run ... but we, foolish or not, often pursued and took them out. It was hard not to when we kept passing more devastated villages. Leaving those people unguarded would have been cruel. It didn’t matter if they were our kingdoms or not. We were all victims of Varia.
The occasional fight also broke the monotony of travel. Volusian and our own intelligence assured us we were on the right path, but our days were long and dreary. We weren’t entirely sure how much farther we had to travel, and our rations were running low. I’d overheard Rurik and the soldiers debating whether or not they should impose new food restrictions to ensure our supplies would last. They’d decided against it at the time—we were already weak from hunger—but I’d gotten the impression that things might change very soon. I didn’t like that, but I disliked the thought of running out of food altogether even more.
Kiyo continued to be a constant stress to me. Whenever he had me alone, he’d attempt his absurd “reasonable” arguments about why Isaac was such a threat. Fortunately, Kiyo rarely got me alone, since almost everyone else went out of their way to interrupt his attempts. When Dorian did it, he would always act as though he had something really important to ask me, which almost always turned out to be ridiculous—like whether the purple in his cloak clashed with his tan horse. Others, like Rurik, made no such pretenses. He would simply force himself into the conversation and glare until Kiyo backed off.
Despite his nagging, Kiyo otherwise seemed to go to great pains to act like we were all civilized and friendly. I supposed this was better than him being aggressive or homicidal, but it seemed ridiculous after what he’d done to me. I couldn’t really believe he expected me to forgive and forget.
He scouted throughout most of the daylight hours, giving me some peace. One afternoon, he came tearing back toward us in fox form, with a sense of urgency that was obvious even as an animal. Immediately, we stopped and drew weapons, ready for an army of abominable snowmen around the bend. Kiyo reached us and turned human.
“What’s going on?” I demanded. I was tired and sporting a headache (probably from lack of food) but was ready to fight if need be.
Kiyo was panting, meaning he’d run back to us at a pretty serious pace. His fox form was normally pretty hardy. “You ... you have to see this. You won’t believe it.” Recovering himself, he glanced around and seemed to notice our tension. “And you don’t need your weapons.”
“What is it then?” asked Rurik, who showed no signs of putting his sword away.
“You just have to see it,” said Kiyo wonderingly. “It’s amazing.” He shape-shifted back to a fox and began trotting away. He paused after a few steps and glanced back to ascertain we were following. We set out at a cautious pace, none of us disarming.
“The kitsune’s gone insane,” said Dorian with mock sadness. “I knew it would happen sooner or later. If cold or starvation didn’t do it, I figured his own nature would bring it about. You can see these things coming, you know. I spotted it long ago, not that anyone bothered listening to me.”
I smiled in spite of my apprehension. “Right. You’re a regular—”
I gasped. The land had shifted around us, as it did a few times each day. Only this time ... we weren’t in a blighted kingdom.
Brilliant sunlight and a blue, blue sky nearly made me wince after spending so much time in the stark landscape of the blight. Chilling silence had been replaced by birdsong and the chatter of other animals. Trees—with leaves—spread out as far as we could see, radiantly green and alive. And the temperature ... that was the most amazing thing of all. Probably, it was only around seventy, but after being in the blight, we might as well have stepped into the tropics.
“There’s no blight here,” exclaimed Jasmine, her gray eyes wide. “It’s like—plums! Holy shit! Plums!”
She was off her horse in a flash, running toward the nearest tree. With dexterity I hadn’t known she possessed, she scurried up the trunk and began picking purple and gold fruit as soon as she could reach the branches. She tossed several of the plums to the ground and then hopped down holding a huge one for herself. She bit into it, juice running down her chin, and looked as though she would faint in ecstasy.
The rest of us wasted no time. We dismounted too and joined in the plum feast. The crazy thing was, I don’t even like plums, but in that moment, they were the most delicious things I’d ever tasted. Our rations had consisted mostly of dried, salty goods that would travel well. Eating something so sweet and so fresh was exquisite. Plus, there were no limits here. We could eat as much as we wanted—and we did. I didn’t doubt I’d regret it later, but for now, it was glorious to have a full stomach. I stretched out in the grass when I was finished, marveling in the warmth. Others joined me, also basking in the moment. It took Dorian to point out the obvious.
“You realize, of course, why there’s no blight here?” he asked. No one responded. “This is one of Varia’s subject kingdoms. If not the Yew Land itself.”
That revelation certainly dampened the mood. I summoned Volusian, though it seemed like a shame on such a beautiful day. The only positive part was that this sort of cheery, bright location obviously bothered him.
“My mistress calls.”
“Where are we?” I asked. “We’re not in the Yew Land already, are we?”
“No, mistress. We are in the Beech Land.”
“Are you sure?” asked Jasmine with a mouthful of fruit. “Seems like the Plum Land to me.”
Volusian regarded her with narrowed eyes. “I am quite sure. This kingdom lies near the Yew Land, however.”
“You were right,” I said to Dorian. “One of Varia’s subjects.”
Dorian was sprawled on the grass, eyes closed and face tilted toward the sun. “Of course I was right.”
Kiyo tossed aside a plum pit. “I checked where the road led. It crosses back to the blight in a few miles, then back to this land. Not sure after that.”
“Still,” I said. “It’s a good sign that we’re on the right track. We should stay here for a little while. Stock up, wash up ...”
A number of us had begun peeling off our layered clothing, and the effects of not having bathed in a while were kind of obvious.
Jasmine sat up and peered around us. She pointed off to her right. “There’s a body of fresh water over—”
The sound of hooves on the road startled all of us. The impromptu plum picnic had made me feel lazy and content, but we’d spent too much time on edge recently to go totally lax. We were all on our feet as a group of riders came into view. Just like the scenery, these gentry were a sharp contrast to those we’d seen in the blight. This group was clean, well dressed, and obviously eating well. They looked strong and healthy—and had weapons drawn. We followed suit, though I hoped an altercation wouldn’t be necessary.
I also figured this probably wasn’t the most ideal situation for Rurik to negotiate, so I stepped forward before he could attempt to take control. Dorian joined me, and I tried to look pleasant and nonthreatening as I faced the riders.
“We don’t want any trouble,” I called. “We just want to pass through peacefully.”
“We can pay for the plums, if that’s the problem,” added Dorian helpfully.
“We know who you are,” snapped one of the riders. She was a woman with graying, curly hair and bore the air and authority of a leader. “And we know why you’re here.”
That caught me by surprise, and I wondered what had given us away. Had someone leaked our plan to Varia? Had our descriptions been spread around? Did she have all of her kingdoms on high alert?
“So just turn back now,” the rider continued. “We don’t want your kind here.”
I blinked in confusion. If Varia was on alert for us to attempt some ploy, she would hardly have her people simply send us away. “I ... I don’t understand,” I said.