Abisina vowed that she would not ask Haret for a rest. But as the shadows of the trees lengthened, she could go no farther. They had not eaten since they left the cave. She had sipped from her water skin, but her mouth was dry and her head ached. Though walking kept her body warm, her hands and feet were ice.
“Haret!” His pace did not slacken. “Haret!” Louder.
Still nothing.
“Haret!” she yelled, and he spun around.
“Quiet, human! You’ve now alerted all the centaurs to our presence.”
“I have to rest. And eat,” she said, lowering her voice and casting a fearful glance around her.
“Not here.” Haret kept moving.
“Haret, please.” Abisina hated herself for sounding pitiful, but he merely ducked under some branches and disappeared. Abisina had no choice but to follow his back under more boughs. When he stopped, they were beneath a squat bush just putting forth its leaves. Haret crouched on the ground and opened his bag. Abisina sank onto the damp earth beside him, not meeting his eye when he handed her something dark and stiff.
She recognized it immediately—one of Hoysta’s smoked moles. It was bound to be nasty, but she had to eat it. She wiped her hair from her face and put the whole thing in her mouth, almost breaking a tooth on the tough, sinewy meat. It tasted mostly of smoke, but she could detect a little of the familiar muddiness. She was still chewing the meat into a softness she could swallow, when Haret put his bag back on his shoulder.
Not yet
, Abisina thought. “I need more food.” Her voice was firm.
“More?”
Abisina got four moles out of him and four long drinks, Haret looking on in disgust.
As Abisina rose to her feet, she saw that Haret had pulled her mother’s necklace from under his cloak and was caressing it.
Abisina gasped, startling Haret. He turned away and stuffed the necklace back into his tunic.
It was all Abisina could do to command her emotions—remembering her mother with a hand at her throat.
We were supposed to go on this journey together!
How different it would have been standing here with Sina. Abisina pushed the thought away. She couldn’t afford to be weak now.
She lifted her pack to her shoulder and faced Haret. “I may not be as fast as you, but I’m strong. Let me carry my own moles. I will slow us down less if I eat more frequently.”
“Typical human,” Haret sneered, but he dug into his pack for the moles. And when they started walking, Abisina could keep up without jogging. Her head and muscles still ached and she was tired within moments, but she gritted her teeth and trudged on.
Abisina assumed that they would stop when it got dark, but the sun sank, the stars and the waning sliver of moon peeked between the branches of the trees, and except for pausing to cover their tracks in muddy areas, Haret showed no signs of slowing. For what seemed like hours, Abisina had told herself, Any moment now, he’ll have to stop. . . . Just up that rise. . . . He’s looking for a safe place. When she realized he would
not
stop, she did. She sat on the ground without uttering a word, forcing Haret to circle back when he noticed that she was not behind him; he returned, stamping his feet in anger. She could just discern his solid figure in the darkness. “I have to sleep,” she told him.
“Not yet,” he growled. “We will travel till dawn, sleep during the day, and walk again at dusk.”
“I cannot walk all night!” Abisina insisted.
“You must, human. We’re in the thick of centaur territory.”
Thoughts of those cruel faces and their footless victims filled her head.
And I have no bow!
There was nothing for her to do but get to her feet and walk.
Before long, they lost even the paltry light of the moon. After the sun had gone down, Abisina tripped so often that she started lifting her knees to step over the rocks or roots. But now, she was blind. She walked into branches and trees and slowed down so much that Haret made her put her hands on his shoulders. It was humiliating to be led through the dark completely dependent on Haret’s sharper night vision, and their feet got tangled more than once, sending them both into a pile on the ground. Invariably this brought curses of “Human!”
When he stopped again, Abisina sank to the ground, beyond caring what Haret thought of her as long as she could sit for a few moments before they continued this grueling march. The trunks of the trees around her were just visible against the night sky. Dawn could not be far away.
“It should be right here,” Haret muttered to himself and took a few steps. Abisina was too tired to ask what he meant or to follow.
“Ah!” he cried and he was back, dragging her to her feet and pulling her forward. “Bend down,” he barked as he pushed her head toward the ground. Abisina staggered, her nose filling with the smell of dust and damp, and she knew she was in a cave. She fell to her knees and crawled, but before she’d moved the length of her body, she bumped into the rough rear wall. She lay down right there and didn’t move. Haret squeezed in behind her and slid over to the side.
“You can sleep here,” he said. She heard him fumbling in his bag, but still she did not move. “We can sleep now,” Haret repeated irritably. When she did not answer, he reached over, yanked Abisina’s bag off her shoulder, and pulled out her sleeping pelts. Abisina wanted to refuse his help but couldn’t summon the energy even to lift her head. She fell asleep before Haret had laid the pelts over her.
Haret shook Abisina awake at twilight, the last rays of the sun visible through the cave’s entrance. He handed her a few pieces of dried mole, a wedge of badger cheese, some flatbread, and her water skin. Abisina pulled herself into a sitting position, every muscle crying out in pain, while Haret gathered up her sleeping pelts, stowed them in her bag, and then stood impatiently clenching and unclenching a handful of dirt.
As soon as Abisina had choked down the last bite, he crawled out of the cave. She followed, groaning as she got to her feet in the sharp, cold air. Haret had already pulled his heavy bag over his shoulder, thrown some dried leaves over their footprints to the cave, and begun to walk. With a sigh, Abisina lifted her own bag, but she yelped when it hit her hip and shoulder. Haret stopped and looked at her. Abisina tried to adjust her under-shirt, but it stuck to her shoulder. She yanked harder and the shirt ripped away from her skin. The spot where her bag had rested was rubbed raw and now bled afresh.
Haret came closer and glanced at the wound. “Ready to give up?” he asked, arms folded.
Abisina shook her head without looking at him.
“Look at yourself, human! You’re bruised, bleeding. I know every skinny muscle in your body is screaming. Admit it. You can’t do this. Tell me how to get to Watersmeet. I’ll take you back to my grandmother—at an easy pace.”
In answer, Abisina returned her bag to her shoulder, gritting her teeth against the pain. She stared at Haret defiantly.
“Give me the bag,” he said finally.
“What?”
Instead of answering, he grabbed the strap, tugged it off her shoulder, and started walking.
She stumbled after him, head low, cheeks red with anger.
Abisina passed the next few days in a numb stupor. At dusk, Haret would shake her awake and wait as she ate a few mouthfuls of bread. And before they set out, always the same question: “Ready to give up?” These were the last words either would speak until the next evening when he asked the question again: “Ready to give up?”
The farther they got from Hoysta’s, the more often Haret stopped to bend down and examine the ground, grabbing a fistful of dirt and sniffing or tasting it, running his hand over a tree trunk as if reading the bark. Begrudgingly, Abisina admired his skill. She had taught herself to track and hunt in the woods of Vranille, but her skills were clumsy compared to his—and that was in daylight! As dawn softened the blackness in the east, they would stumble into a cave, under an overhang, or into a clump of trees to sleep away the day huddled under their pelts until Haret shook her awake again.
They continued to head northwest, through forests and low mountains no Vranian had ever seen before. Abisina saw little herself. At dusk and dawn she glimpsed variegated-green forests, a mix of the lighter broad leaves and the sharp needles of firs and pines. Now and then, she heard the distant chatter of water flowing over rocks. Owls hooted, wolves cried, and animals scurried in the undergrowth. A few terrifying times, she spotted the leaping flames of centaurs’ fires and heard their raucous singing. Her hand would reach for her absent bow, and Haret would strike out on a new course away from the danger. Nothing else broke her walking-trance and the realities of tired feet, cold hands, and sore thighs.
A couple of weeks into their journey, Abisina woke without Haret shaking her. She knew that something was different. In the mouth of the cave, snowflakes fell thick in the twilight. Haret sat before a small fire, twisting the Obrium necklace, its light dancing on the ceiling.
Abisina shut her eyes and felt the wash of loneliness brought on each time she saw the necklace. Haret was silent as she got to her feet and tried to stretch her taut, aching muscles. But when she bent down to roll up her bed, he grunted, “We’re not traveling today. Too much snow.”
Abisina stopped rolling and stood where she was. She relished the idea of sitting by the fire wrapped in warmth or getting some extra sleep, but she did not relish being in a small cave with Haret, who still sat holding Sina’s necklace.
“I—I need you to put it away,” she said.
“What?” He looked up at her with a frown.
“The necklace—my
mother’s
necklace.”
Did he see her tears?
Would he care if he did?
But he stuffed the necklace back into his tunic with a—
Is it even possible?
—guilty look. “I’ve made some soup,” he said gruffly and pointed to a small earthenware pot on the edge of the fire.
Abisina moved to the fire as Haret reached for his pack, retrieving another wooden spoon. He picked up the pot and placed it before her. “Don’t touch the pot!” he said as she bent to pick up the soup.
“You touched it.”
“I’m a dwarf, born to work hot metal.” Abisina bristled at his superior tone. “I’ve added some comfrey for your muscles,” he continued, handing her the spoon. Abisina’s temper flared.
Comfrey—he’s had it all the time! I could have made a poultice, which is much better for soreness than comfrey in soup.
But the heat of the soup felt nice in her belly, and the comfrey added a flavor that softened the usual taste of mud. As she sipped, Haret gathered a few more logs from the rear of the cave. Abisina wondered where they came from, but refused to ask.
“I saw signs of the snow coming. Got the logs while you slept,” he said, anticipating her question.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” she asked. It came out like an accusation.
“Not as much as you, human,” Haret shot back.
After she finished her soup, Abisina announced, “Well this
human
is going back to sleep” and crawled into her sleeping roll. She drifted off, lulled by the soft snap of the fire and the whine of wind underneath it.
She woke with a start. Looking around, she took in the dull red coals of the dying fire, the mouth of the cave almost filled with snow . . . and the silence.
Haret was gone.
Abisina fought her rising panic.
He’s gone to get wood
, she tried to convince herself, even as she noticed the stack at the far end of the cave. She stirred the fire and sat near it, watching the shadows leap on the walls. The flames sank low and she added more wood and stirred again. And again. Still, Haret did not come.
“He’s left me.” She spoke the words that had threatened her since she woke. She knew he would. Hadn’t she learned about the treachery of dwarves all her life?
She stood up quickly. She had to act—do something to save herself. She grabbed Haret’s abandoned bag and ripped through it. The bowls, mugs, and spoons; the cooking pot; two flints; sacks of moles, flatbread, badger cheese; a packet of herbs—she recognized yarrow, coltsfoot, comfrey, and ginger root; a bone needle and few feet of sinew (she could make a bow!); and her own bag folded at the bottom.
I’ll take what I need and set off on my own. Head north toward the Obruns and figure out the rest from there.
She set her bag, Haret’s bowl, mug, and spoon aside and stuffed her sleeping pelts into his bag. Spying Haret’s pelts, she stuffed them in, too, a tight fit.
When she had the bag packed, Abisina paused.
Now what?
She glanced toward the mouth of the cave, trying to gauge the narrow slit of darkness.
Is it the middle of the night? Closer to dawn? How long have I slept?
The panic closed in.
She couldn’t travel at night like Haret. In the day, she might be spotted by centaurs. She had no bow yet. And if she got to the Obruns, she needed Haret to show her the Mines. Abisina threw the bag down hopelessly, disgusted with her fear.
Something moved behind her. She spun around.
There was Haret’s head, poking into the cave, his dark beard flecked with snow. He held two dead rabbits in his mittened hand.
“Going somewhere?” he spat, eyeing the stuffed bag.