by JA Andrews
“Yes,” Alaric answered, “but this here, what you translated ‘of’ could have another meaning.”
Everyone was looking at him.
“Literally it means: which is the same as,” Alaric continued. “So instead of: the valley of Kordan, it would be: that which is the same as the valley of Kordan.” He met five blank stares.
“Meaning,” he said, “that there are two valleys. The valley of Kordan, which is what we’re in, and the valley that is similar to it.”
“We’re looking in the wrong place?” asked Brandson, his face stunned.
“It’s possible.”
“Let me see that,” snapped Gustav, snatching the map from Alaric’s hands. He pored over the runes, holding the map inches from his nose. “I suppose that could be one interpretation,” he said, “but it’s hardly the most straightforward reading.”
Douglon took the map back across the table and set it squarely in front of himself. “Another valley with these two rocks?” The dwarf pointed to two notations on the map. “There’s the Rocks of the Bear at the top of the map, and Mother’s Rock halfway down the left side.”
“Mother’s Rock?” asked Alaric.
Brandson nodded. “It’s on the ridge west of town. It looks like a mother holding a child.”
Gustav cleared his throat. “The legend says that a woman, Kessera, was so beautiful that an elf lord fell in love with her. They married, some say against her will, and a year later, she bore him a son. The elf was so jealous of Kessera’s love for her child that he cursed them,” he dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper, “and turned them to stone!”
“That’s a charming story,” Alaric said, glancing at Ayda. “What’s the moral? Never marry an elf?”
“Never anger an elf,” she corrected him.
“Probably good advice,” Alaric said.
“Seems like an elf would turn someone into a tree rather than a stone,” Douglon said.
“Elves turn themselves into trees,” Ayda corrected him. “And it isn’t a punishment. It’s lovely.”
“Anyway,” Brandson said, coming up beside Alaric, “those two rocks put Kordan’s Blight right in the middle of the map. The valley we are in is wider than the one on the map, but besides that—” Brandson cocked his head to the side, peering at the upside down map. “It’s Bone Valley!”
Milly, standing next to Douglon, shook her head. “The rocks are in the wrong place.”
“Not from where I’m standing,” Brandson answered. He grabbed the map. “Bone Valley is over the ridge to the west of us—the ridge that has Mother’s Rock. If we flip the map over, like this, so that Mother’s Rock is on the east side of the map, instead of the west, then the map fits Bone Valley, complete with a set of ruins at its southern end named Bear Stronghold.” Brandson grinned at everyone.
“You people need to stop naming things after bears around here,” Douglon said, but he was grinning, too.
“Bear Stronghold wasn’t named after the animal,” Milly said. “It was a small fortress where the chieftain of a mountain clan defended his people from an attack. It is said he fought as fiercely as a bear.”
Gustav grabbed the map. “Yes! That could be what it says. It is an old-fashioned word that today would translate to rock, but it has the idea of solidness and strength. I would say that ‘stronghold’ would be a fine translation.”
Alaric had come to the same conclusion, but he was impressed Gustav had picked up on the nuance. Alaric felt his pulse quicken. Kordan’s Wellstone was in the next valley. The antidote was almost within his reach. He rubbed the ruby at his neck through the pouch, picturing the darkness swirling around with the red light.
Douglon rubbed his hands together. “Well, at first light, we should stop wasting time and find our treasure. Brandson, please tell me there’s just one lone tree in the center of the valley.”
Brandson and Milly exchanged glances. “I’m not sure.”
“It’s right over the hill. Haven’t you ever hunted there?”
“No one hunts in Bone Valley,” Brandson said. “There aren’t any animals. The lake there has no outlet, so the water’s gone bitter. Besides…”
Everyone looked at him expectantly.
“It’s supposed to be haunted,” Milly finished.
“By what?” Douglon asked. “People who bury treasure?”
“By the ghosts of people who were killed by a dragon,” Brandson said.
Gustav looked sharply at Brandson, his eyes eager. “A dragon?”
“A local legend about a dragon?” Alaric said, reaching for paper to write it down.
“It was a long time ago,” Brandson said, “I don’t know any more of the story than that a dragon came and ate people. But no one goes into Bone Valley today. I went over the top of the ridge on a dare when I was a kid, but I didn’t go all the way down the other side. It was eerie. Part of the valley is forested, but it was unnaturally quiet.”
“Well, ghosts don’t scare me, and you’d know if there was still a dragon in that valley,” Douglon said. “If no one goes there, then there’s a good chance our treasure has been left alone. I say tomorrow morning, we go see what it’s like over there.”
“Yes,” said Ayda. “Bone Valley sounds lovely.”
Chapter Twelve
The sky had barely begun to lighten when they left the next morning. A mist skulked along the ground, and Alaric crept behind the others, beads of moisture clinging to him and dampening his clothes before they even reached the forest at the edge of Milly’s farm.
Alaric’s eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. After the others had finally gone to bed, he had lain awake, longing to steal Douglon’s map and set out immediately, but it would be faster to stay with the others. Brandson could get them into Bone Valley more quickly than Alaric could wandering around in the dark. That fact didn’t alleviate his anxiety to get moving. He had finally fallen asleep only to be woken up for his turn watching for Patlon.
The night had passed peacefully, though, and this morning, he carried one of the small packs Brandson had cobbled together for their trip. According to the smith, they’d reach the valley by dinnertime.
Douglon glared at Milly as she walked next to Brandson. “One more person wanting a share of the treasure.”
“Maybe she’ll turn out to be useful,” Gustav whispered to the dwarf so loudly that everyone heard. “You never know who will. That’s why I like to embrace the people around me.”
Alaric tried to keep an incredulous look off his face, but Douglon didn’t.
“You embrace me, and I’ll break your scrawny neck,” Douglon said.
“I don’t want any of your treasure, master dwarf,” Milly said over her shoulder. “I just don’t want to be home alone when your cousin shows up.”
“It’s your fault that she’s here,” Ayda said, pointing to the dwarf. “Which means she should share your part of the treasure.”
Douglon growled at her and trudged up the hill.
“How are you going to split up one gem?” Milly asked.
Alaric glanced around the group. Ayda didn’t appear to be listening, but Douglon’s face turned stony. They didn’t really expect Douglon to share with them, did they?
“We’re all friends,” Brandson told her. “It will work out.”
Gustav, on the other side of Alaric, gave a small snort, muttering to himself and shooting glances at Douglon.
As the ground rose, they entered a sparse forest smelling of pine and moss. Ayda picked small purple flowers, occasionally poking them into Douglon’s beard. Holding a handful of flowers, she waited for Alaric to catch up to her.
“Are you going to put those on me?” he asked.
Ayda considered him for a moment, then she tossed the flowers aside and gestured to the flame that still hung around his neck. “You’re better suited to fire than flowers.”
Alaric had thought about removing the little flame, but it was so lifelike, he’d decided, cautiously, he liked it.
“That’s the second time you’ve said that. I don’t feel well suited to fire.”
“Of course you are. You have that tight burning core of anger. Or pain. Or guilt?” She waved the question away. “Whatever it is, it’s deep, but it’s bright.”
That deep core was anger, and it flared at her attention. “Stay out of my mind.”
Ayda laughed, “I’m not in your mind. I’m just looking at you. Can’t you see someone’s color?”
See someone’s color? He didn’t even know what that meant. “Let me guess, my color is red?”
“Fiery orange. But not all of you. Just that blazing center. Most of you is a tenacious green.”
“Tenacious.”
“Yes. Like a mossy stone under scuffling water. It’s soothing, really. Except the fire part. You think the fire part is all there is, but that’s not true. The anger is only there because of how much you love.”
Right, that tenacious green love. “Does everyone have colors?”
Ayda nodded.
“What color is Milly?”
“A dauntless pitch purple. That first color the sky turns before the dawn.”
“The color of the sunrise isn’t usually called dauntless. Delicate or fresh, but not dauntless.”
“Of course it is. The world is flooded with blackness every night before that purple glides over the horizon and presses it back to make room for the sun. No other color braves the darkness like that every morning, or holds it off as long every night.”
Milly was walking next to Brandson, talking quietly with him. She looked more like a farm girl than a dauntless sunrise.
“What color is Douglon?” Alaric asked.
“Molten coppery red. Like his beard. Molten enough to be dangerous, but still easily shaped.”
Alaric laughed. “Easily shaped?”
“Yes. He’s quite tender hearted.”
“And Brandson?”
“Cozy brown.”
“Gustav?”
“Oh, who cares about the wizard?” Ayda said, shrugging. “People are colors. If you can’t see them, I’m not going to explain everyone to you.” With that, she turned and headed up the hill toward Douglon.
Alaric shook his head at her. He was either getting used to the influence she exerted over him, or it was fading. The walk through the cool morning air left his mind feeling clearer than it had in days. He needed to consider what he would do once they found the Wellstone. He couldn’t let Douglon, or Gustav, take it. Then Alaric would have to chase them, and he was tired of chasing things.
Alaric would explain who he was and what the Wellstone was. When Douglon heard how much Saren and the Keepers would pay him for it, he would sell it. And hopefully, Gustav wasn’t a good enough wizard to even know how to use it.
They trudged up the steep ridge that separated Kordan’s Blight from Bone Valley. It would have been impassible if Brandson had not known a game trail that wound up toward Mother’s Rock. Even with the trail, Alaric was winded and hot before they were even halfway up.
Just before midday, they reached the highest trees, which were stunted and twisted by the mountain winds. Alaric’s back was sweaty underneath the pack Brandson had put together. The game trail turned back down the slope, leaving nothing above them but a steep slope of loose rock. Ayda had been lagging behind as they climbed, looking bored at the scrawny trees around them. At Brandson’s suggestion, they all dropped their packs in the shade of the last trees, deciding to eat lunch before trying to scramble over the rocks. The sky, which had started out clear, was beginning to cloud over. With any luck, by the end of their meal, the ridge would be encased in cloud, hiding them from any watching eyes.
If nothing else, it would block the sun.
Milly and Brandson began to lay out some food.
Gustav stood at the edge of the trees, arms spread wide and eyes closed.
Alaric’s skin tingled as though a warm wind had blown past him. He looked at the wizard in surprise. Gustav had just cast out, looking for the energy of living things around them.
“I sense no danger,” Gustav proclaimed. “Neither ahead nor behind. I think our presence has gone undetected by the evil dwarf.”
“He’s not evil!” Douglon broke in, but at Brandson’s annoyed look, he shut his mouth.
Alaric, who had been planning on doing what Gustav claimed to have done, considered the wizard. Casting out was different from manipulating energy. It was just a seeking, sending out a wave of awareness and feeling for the reflections sent back by living things. Alaric couldn’t feel the reflections from someone else’s wave with any accuracy, but he could feel impressions. Keeper Gerone had called it a sympathetic resonance. Alaric always thought it was more like eavesdropping on a whispered conversation. You couldn’t hear the exact words, but you got a notion of how many people were talking.
Gustav had produced a wave, but it was clunky. Alaric doubted it had traveled past the first few trees.
So the wizard did have some familiarity with magic.
Alaric weighed his options for a moment. He did want to know whether Patlon was following them, but if he sent out his own wave and Gustav picked up on it, the wizard would know Alaric wasn’t just a historian. Announcing that he was a Keeper right now, out of the blue, felt awkward. Unfortunately, the whole secret was beginning to feel awkward.
There was an art to casting out. Nuances of strength and speed and direction. Alaric kept his eye on Gustav and sent out the most subtle wave he could, sending it mostly downhill. Alaric felt the reflection of Gustav’s energy, so some ripples had made it that way. But Gustav made no indication that he noticed Alaric’s wave.
Alaric’s wave made it a good way down the slope and all the way to the top. He came to the same conclusion Gustav had. There was nothing on the ridge larger than a squirrel.
The clouds had rolled down over the ridge by the time they finished eating.
After they had packed up, Ayda dusted her hands off on her dress and turned to the group. “Well, it’s been lovely searching about with you people. You’ve all been entertaining, but I can’t see any point in continuing this climb when I just have to climb back out tomorrow.” She looked distastefully at the bare, rocky slope rising steeply above them. “I’m going to go find a nice forest with interesting trees.”
Alaric turned to Ayda in surprise.
“You’re leaving again?” Douglon asked, bored.
“You can’t leave now!” Brandson said. “We’re so close!”
“You know I don’t care about your little stone,” Ayda looked at the thin, wind-stunted pine trees around them. “These trees make me miss my home.”
“You’re not even slightly interested in whether we find the gem?” Douglon asked.
“Not really. I’m vaguely interested in seeing if the tree it was buried under is still alive, but not enough to keep climbing this endless slope.”
It made sense, of course, Alaric thought. It was more surprising that Ayda was still with them than that she’d want to leave. Any normal elf would have run home months ago.
Alaric stood a bit back from the group and was the only one who saw Gustav, his brow drawn, step away from the others. The wizard focused his gaze on Ayda and his lips started to move. A moment later, his hand clenched in pain and his face reddened with effort.
Alaric looked back and forth between Ayda and Gustav. Was the wizard really trying to influence an elf? She would know it instantly.
But Ayda continued chatting with the others, unconcerned.
“But you’re part of the treasure hunt,” Milly said. “You can’t leave the group.”
Ayda gave her a skeptical look.
“She’s right,” Brandson said. “Right, Douglon?”
Douglon, whose scowl had deepened as the conversation continued, shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. I’m here for a sparkling gemstone, not a sparkling elf.”
Brandson shot Douglon a glare before turning back to Ayda. “Please stay just a little longer.
I wouldn’t feel right if you weren’t there.”
Gustav stopped muttering and hid his shaking fist behind his back. He slumped, exhausted, against a tree.
Alaric could still see no sign that Ayda had noticed the wizard’s attempts, nor was there any change in her attitude. Had the wizard even cast a spell?
“That makes no sense, blacksmith. You all will find your treasure, and I will find a forest with better trees than these. How could that feel wrong?”
Brandson looked around at the others for support, then turned back to Ayda and said, “We might need you. What if we need to talk to the trees? They might know where to look. They might remember a treasure… or someone digging… a really long time ago… or something,” he finished lamely.
A small smile crept across Ayda’s face. “I need to teach you a little bit about trees.” But she nodded. “All right, I’ll go over the hill with you.”
She met Alaric’s gaze and beamed. Alaric grinned back before he realized that the fog had returned. His grin turned to a scowl.
Maybe he should have encouraged her to leave.
They continued up, slipping on wet rocks in a dull grey mist. All around him, the endless grey was punctuated with thumps and curses and the skittering of rocks down behind them.
Reaching the top of the ridge in clouds so thick the group could barely see ahead of them, they hurried over, glad that no one in Kordan’s Blight could have seen them leave and glad that the other side, although steep, was more grass and low brush than rocks. Brandson, after a short nervous glance toward the greyness filling Bone Valley and an encouraging nod from Milly, led them down the slope.
Alaric brought up the rear of their group, focused on each step, concentrating on the slope before him.
With a shriek, Gustav tripped and tumbled down the hill, a blur of skinny limbs and a pointy hat. He fell a good way before his foot caught, yanking him to a stop with a yelp. He lay there stunned, his head lower on the hill than the white legs sticking out from beneath his robe. Gustav didn’t move and Alaric peered down past the rest of them at the old man.