The Silver Key

by Emery Gallagher

  Charlie rode until mid-afternoon and still saw no signs of the opposite shore. She had hoped somehow that she would reach the other side before dark. She ate some of her dried rabbit meat and hoped it had been cooked thoroughly enough to not make her ill. Night began to fall, and she dismounted and continued on foot. There was no point in losing hours, and there wasn’t anywhere to stop anyway. She halted periodically to let Mystic rest; there was no food for the mare on this part of the trip, and her head had begun to hang. Charlie had filled her large waterskin before starting out, and she rationed the water between the two of them, pouring it into her little tin bowl to give it to the horse.

  After a weary night of alternating walking with brief periods of rest, the sun slowly made its way into the sky. With it came a dark line on the horizon. Charlie trudged steadily toward it, her eyes fixed straight ahead, until the line began to darken and grow more solid—it was land. Realization that the end was within sight, however distant it remained, bolstered her spirits somewhat, and she marched grimly onward. She was too tired to be hungry, but her mouth was dry as dust. Every now and then she glanced down through the semi-transparent bridge at the foaming water below. The endless movement of the dark water had a hypnotic effect, and she had to be careful not to look at it too much. Sometimes the bridge in the distance blended so well with the sea and the sky that it appeared she was walking on a road ending in only air.

  The vague shadow of land grew as she walked until it was a solid, inviting shape waiting for her. She was aware as she drew closer that there were tiny dots some ways further up the coast, but the glare of the afternoon sun on the water prevented her from really looking. Charlie did wonder briefly if anyone could see her and what they must be thinking seeing her walking ten feet above the water. That seemed a secondary concern to rest, shelter, and water at the time. When she finally stepped off the bridge, her feet dragged and Mystic’s head hung wearily. With a sigh of relief, she used her sword in place of a key on the stone platform, and the bridge disappeared.

  They weren’t safe yet though. She still had to find them water and a safe place to rest before it was dark. She led Mystic down the hill into the shelter of some trees and tied her where she could find some grass for a moment. Taking just her waterskin, Charlie went searching for water. She had thought she had seen a stream or a creek that flowed into the sea while she was high up on the bridge, and she stumbled in that direction, crashing carelessly through the trees. By some miracle she was able to find it. She filled her waterskin, drank until her stomach hurt, then went back to get Mystic. When the horse had also had her fill, Charlie picketed her, threw her saddle and bags in a heap on the ground, and flopped down with her blanket in her hand. She was asleep before she could even wrap it around herself.

  * * *

  3

  Shala

  Charlie woke with a start the next morning: She was in Shala, a country she hadn’t even known existed a few weeks ago. She sat up and surveyed her surroundings. She had been lying haphazardly on the ground like a doll thrown down by a bored child, her blanket a twisted wad caught under one arm. She was a little alarmed and chagrined by her own carelessness, but at least there were plenty of trees by the stream to provide shelter. She got up and slowly began to set about righting things. She had another drink from the stream, noticing this time that the water was decidedly unpleasant. She had been too thirsty to care last night. Her stomach wasn’t feeling too keen either, but whether it was the water or having barely eaten for two days, she wasn’t sure. She let Mystic drink, then moved her to some fresh grass. She scraped together a meal of her own but found her supplies were now perilously low. She would have to purchase food very soon.

  The trees thinned away from the nourishment of the steam, and she could see the sea glittering a few yards away. When Charlie had pulled herself together a bit, she left the shelter of the trees and walked out toward the coastline to have a look around. From here she could see that while the shore was craggy and steep like the Tandora coast, this side seemed less wild, like it had encountered some measure of civilization. There was evidence of cutting in the forest, and she could see paths cut into the cliffs that allowed access to the water. The trees gave way to grasslands further to the north, and about even with the cleared land she could see tiny objects bobbing in the water—fishing boats, she guessed. There must be people nearby then, and people hopefully meant food.

  Charlie reasoned that she had two possible routes. She could go straight down the coast until she was level with the town or village that housed the boat owners, or she could follow the stream back to its source. She suspected it was an offshoot of a river that had been diverted to power the waterwheel for a mill or to irrigate crops. The coastal route made her feel a bit exposed, and there was plenty of room to ride next to the stream, so she chose the more secluded path.

  Her efforts were rewarded when, after a short time, she spied what appeared to be a building of some sort visible through the trees. It was a mill with a waterwheel, as she had expected, and she skirted around it to find the point where the stream joined the river. She hadn’t gone much farther when the edge of the forest gave way to cleared land. Beyond was a village, a bustling little place swarming with tiny people and animals. The river curved a gentle sweep around the outside of it before disappearing toward the sea. Looking at it, Charlie suddenly found it hard to catch her breath. She stayed under the shadow of the trees.

  The idea of interacting with the natives filled her with trepidation. She would have been uncomfortable navigating this situation back in Tandora, but here in Shala she had even more to worry about. Grandmother had given her a few coins minted in Fallond and assured her they would be accepted, but she did not know the laws, customs, or people of Shala. Would they recognize her as an enemy at once? Would authorities be summoned? Even if they didn’t finger her as a foreigner, she was still a girl dressed in breeches and boots and riding alone, things that she doubted were anymore acceptable here than they were in her own country. It would be better to simply avoid people as much as possible, but in this instance, she had little choice. She had to have some supplies, or she risked starving trying to support herself on poorly-roasted rabbits and foraged berries.

  Charlie gathered her courage. She had taken care of herself for weeks, negotiated a dangerous forest, and walked across a sea. She could talk to a few villagers. She swept her hair up carefully so that some of it still showed across her forehead and ears when she put her hat on, but its length was hidden. Despite the warmth of the morning, she tossed her cloak around her shoulders. She was grateful to be dirty and sunburned; her mirror confirmed this was effective at making her look less pretty. She directed her horse toward the road that led into the village, trying not to appear as though she had emerged from the trees.

  The fishing village as she approached proved to be larger than she had first thought, more of a town really, and there were several shops and food stalls. She was relieved to find that she would be able to purchase supplies, and that her presence would be less remarkable with so many people about. Townsfolk bustled about their business in the streets. Women carried baskets and led children by the hand. Men toted heavy loads or drove teams of oxen or donkeys pulling carts. As was to be expected, there was a strong smell of fish as the town’s main product was prepped for distant markets. The everyday noises of shouted greetings, loud bartering between buyers and sellers, creaking wheels, and dogs barking filled the air as thickly as the dust kicked up by wagons and boots. So much noise and commotion after such extended silence and solitude flooded her senses and left her staggered and uncertain.

  Heads turned briefly as she rode down the street, but most turned back to their work. Barefoot children paused in their play to eye her curiously, but adults watched her cautiously from a distance, then looked away when she neared. None of the food stall owners shouted enticements in her direction. Anyone who happened to be in her path mysteriously felt inclined to move somewhere el
se.

  Spying a stall selling bread, Charlie led her horse toward it. She tethered Mystic to a post out front and approached hesitantly, clutching her money purse tightly underneath her cloak. She had never purchased anything from a shop or vendor before, and she watched the other customers closely to learn what they did as she waited in line. When a kindly woman in an apron inquired what she would be needing today, Charlie limited her conversation to pointing, numbers, and the necessary “please” and “thank you.” When the baker told her the price, she counted out the coins carefully, self-conscious about how long it took her and the women with baskets who were accumulating behind her. The woman accepted the money with good humor, but Charlie could see the tension behind her friendly smile. She could feel the eyes of both the baker and the other customers on her back as she walked away.

  She repeated the process at the butcher’s and the fruit-seller’s stalls. The man at the butcher’s shop was not nearly as adept at concealing his thoughts behind a friendly facade as the baker. He clearly noticed that there was something off about her and was disconcerted by her, but he served her without protest. She met the same reaction from everyone she interacted with. They were all polite and helpful, even as their eyes were worried and their smiles were tight. No one questioned her or dared to appear curious or critical. Charlie almost found the stilted deference to be more unnerving than outright stares and inquiries would have been. She tried making eye-contact with a few people on her way back to her horse, just to see what would happen, and found they all looked away. When she reached her horse, arms full of her paper-wrapped goods, two young men leaned against the hitching rail, eyeing Mystic in an unreadable but speculative manner.

  Ignoring them, she stowed her purchases in her saddlebags. She could feel them watching her as she untied her horse. Still not looking at them, Charlie turned Mystic to the street and swung into the saddle. She directed her horse toward the edge of the town, but she had not gone far when the sensation of being watched became too unbearable to resist looking back. She stopped. The two men had obviously followed her, though they had stopped when she had. They continued to watch her shamelessly. Frustrated, she kicked her horse on again, only to stop a few minutes later to find them once again the same distance behind her. She wondered if they had intentions to rob her, or if they were just being vexing. Either way, she was putting an end to it. She spun Mystic around suddenly to face them, causing them to stop short in surprise as they found themselves on the receiving end of the staring. Charlie fixed them with a hard look and dropped her hand casually to her sword-hilt, showing quite clearly that she both uncowed and dangerously annoyed.

  After a moment’s tense standoff, the boys finally shrugged and turned back the way they had come as if Charlie had proven below their interest after all. After watching their retreating backs for a long, suspicious moment, Charlie also turned and continued on her journey. Bravado aside, she wondered wearily how much similar behavior she would be treated to during her excursion in this strange country. Her quest was beginning to feel a little more dangerous than exciting. Once out of the village she continued eastward.

  * * *

  There was a small road leading east out of town, but Charlie abandoned it quickly in favor of the shelter of the trees. Her map showed this little path from the unimportant seaside town she had arrived near eventually joined the main road that connected a much larger port city several miles to the north with the center of the country. The river that created the delta around which the city was built ran roughly in line with the road from its source in the mountains that divided the country vertically. Some of its larger tributaries or offshoots like the one that supplied the fishing village were visible on the map, and Charlie reasoned that if she stayed close by she would have access to water and opportunities to purchase supplies along the way. She elected, however, to not ride directly on the road, even though it would have been faster, to avoid encountering other travelers as much as possible.

  Adequately supplied and having achieved some sense of her bearings, Charlie turned her attention toward her task. Grandmother had identified five places for her to look for the sapphire dagger, and together they had marked them on the map with tiny x’s and plotted a possible path to visit them all. They were an unusual and unrelated mix of locations—a weaponry, a shrine, a temple of some sort, a place labeled only ‘apothecary?’, and some vague spot on the side of a mountain. They were also spread out across the country. Shala was a wide country divided into thirds by two mountain ranges; a low range separating the western part of the country from the center and a higher, wider range that cut off the eastern coast from the rest of the country. Most of her potential destinations were on the western or central portions of the country, but the furthest one, the mountain, seemed to be a high peak in the eastern mountain range, the Mishanta Mountains. Charlie sincerely hoped that she would not have to go that far to find this dagger-thing. Maybe she would be very, very lucky and find it at the first spot. Of course, she might not find it at any spot, since she had only Grandmother’s vague suggestions to even go off, and she suspected Grandmother might be crazy. Still, she would look, and if she didn’t find it, she’d go back home.

  The first destination on her list of places Jordana was known to have frequented during her trips to Shala was a weaponsmith in a large city a few days’ ride from the coast. Charlie wasn’t exactly sure what she was supposed to do when she reached the city, but so far she had been addressing all of her problems when they arose, and she figured that approach would continue to work. After the fantastical trials of the last few days, riding all day and camping at night were almost relaxing. Doing her own cooking, bathing in streams, sleeping outside on the ground, and even occasional hunting no longer seemed like difficult tasks. She rejoined the road occasionally to make sure she hadn’t strayed too far or when the underbrush was particularly thick. She kept her hat on and stayed alert for fellow travelers, but she rarely encountered more than one or two people.

  Her mind wandered as she rode, and she contemplated her quest and whatever had possessed her to come to a foreign country for such an uncertain thing. When thoughts of her family arose, she shoved them away. Truthfully, she was enjoying herself and felt more guilty about how little she missed home than she felt guilty for leaving. Charlie was, by her own grudging admission, a rather self-interested person with very little sentimentality—her attention was entirely occupied by the present. She adjusted to new situations quickly, and her current reality surreptitiously eclipsed any previous perceptions of what was normal. In moments where she did take the time to consider the vast differences between her days now and her life a mere few weeks before, she was amazed to realize how little she missed the things she had held dear. The revelation made her uncomfortable enough that she always quickly pushed those thoughts aside.

  On her third day riding away from the coast, Charlie was feeling confident. She was managing her journey well and proud of her accomplishments. She left the forest to ride in the road for a while, reasoning that she’d make better time and she had nothing to fear from anyone anyway. The trees were beginning to thin a bit and the ground to rise in low, grassy hills. She kicked her horse into a canter. When she topped one particularly large hill, she stopped suddenly.

  The valley below her was striped with neat rows of tents that seemed to stretch endlessly. A banner snapped from a long pole set up at the center of the camp, but she couldn’t make out the emblem from such a distance. In an open space to the side of the tents, a large group of men in matching tunics marched and brandished weapons to the order of a call she could just barely hear. Other tiny figures milled busily about the camp or tended to the big, sleek horses grazing in makeshift pole-and-rope corrals. She could see where the already-large valley had been further widened by cutting down the trees to make room for all of the horses to graze and to provide the camp with wood for fuel. She could even smell the freshly-cut wood. A few sentries rode around the parameter of
the camp, but they seemed more focused on the camp itself instead of the surrounding trees, and they had not seen her.

  Charlie very quietly turned her horse and rode back into the trees. Tents, formation marching, archery targets, horses—it was an army camp, and not just a small outpost either. But why was an army of this size gathered so far out in the countryside? The soldiers looked quite settled in; not permanently perhaps as they had not built any real structures, but they were not on the move. This was far too large a group to simply be on border patrol. They’re waiting for orders, she realized, feeling sick. She had some uncomfortable ideas about what those orders might be. These people, not the peasants in quiet villages, were the ones whose attention she dare not draw to herself. Anxiously she began to worry about where else she might run across soldiers in camps or on patrol. What if they were everywhere, moving toward the coast?

  A sharp bark startled her from her worries. Charlie turned in her saddle, scanning the trees around her carefully. Another louder bark sounded to her right. Mystic began to shift nervously, her dark eyes rolling. A dark shadow slunk from the trees, its eyes glowing faintly. The dog growled softly, crouching close to the ground. Another dog came from the other side, its teeth bared. A handful of rangy beasts emerged from the woods around the horse, giving low growls as they circled.