“Yes, that was really shitty,” said Kioppi, which immediately produced some snickering.
They then moved as quickly as they could, and only stopped once it had become completely dark, in the lee of a stand of trees. When they removed the horses’ harnesses, they discovered that one of the horses’ shoes had loosened. Bediz, with his long experience of horses, could, however fix it fast again.
“Is it difficult to drive the wagon?” Gondar asked later, when they were sitting around the fire eating.
“Nothing is too hard to learn,” answered Allur.
“Could I try it tomorrow, then?”
“OK, but don’t blame me if it doesn’t go well.”
The next morning their journey proceeded, Gondar at the reins of one of the wagons. He had a natural talent for it, and was soon steering the horses as if he’d been doing it all his life. The only potential mishap was when they were fording a swift stream and he hesitated a moment, which nearly resulted in their getting stuck. It was only by resolutely whipping the horses that he managed to regain some speed, which got them up the other side. The horses clattered up, snorting and whinnying in a cloud of dust, and trotted on in a flurry of hooves. They drove on through farmlands for the better part of the day, past small settlements surrounded by fields and pastures of browsing sheep, cattle and horses. The air was filled with the smell of flowers, sun-warmed grass, manure and, not least, wild roses growing in tall, dense hedges along the sides of the road.
As evening approached and they became more tired, the demands of the day and the cooling air chilled them. They entered a small town, called Ekron, where they decided to stay at an inn, the Sitting Boar. The dining room was lively and bustling; it was filled with guests who sat at a rough-hewn table, beneath sooty ceiling beams strung with hanging glass lamps. They found a free table and waited for the innkeeper, a broad and jovial man with a handlebar moustache, to come over to them.
Their evening meal finished, they retired to their rooms. Kark went over to her window and gazed out at the light rain falling onto the hard, shiny surface of the street and into the rough gutters. She was lost in thought when suddenly there was a light knock at the door. It took a moment to open the rough lock, so that when she finally got it open and looked out, there was nothing but a quiet and deserted corridor. She was just going to close the door when she noticed a folded piece of paper on the floor. Picking it up, she read the message within its folds: “Be careful, my friends. Everything is not as it seems.” Astonished, she went over to her bed and lay down, as the rain gained in strength.
Kark woke early the next morning, after having lain awake half the night wondering what the note might mean. Her only conclusion that it was someone who meant well, but who didn’t want to reveal too much. The most recent addition to their group was Enaiga, but she should be irreproachable, given the circumstances when they had met. Perhaps either Gondar or Bediz were double-dealing, or perhaps something about their entire endeavour was questionable. She had no idea but, to be on the safe side, she decided to remain silent about the warning, and play it cautiously, without relying on anyone.
They left the city, travelling through a beautiful landscape of small streams winding their way between low hills. In the afternoon, the sky darkened and became a downpour, so that they were forced to seek shelter under some tall pines growing close together. It soon ended, however, as quickly as it started; the sun shone brightly and they were off once more, with renewed energy, along the road still wet with rain. A few hours later, crossing the top of a hill, they spied yet another town in the distance, attractively nestled among a quilted landscape of fields and meadows.
“Is that Lotre where we intend to contact Steinar Menoti?" asked Zania.
“Yes, undoubtedly,” answered Kark. “Just look at the high mountaintops east of the city and there, in the centre of the city, is Komod cathedral, with its five golden stars.”
Having learned their lesson, they decided to do a reconnaissance pass first, before rushing into something entirely unknown, as they had done so many times previously.
The reconnaissance group – Enaiga, Allur, Anderika, Kark and Caver – soon arrived at the town gates, where they were checked and questioned by guards who instilled respect, before being allowed to enter. The air that had felt so fresh and clear after the rain was now replaced, in the town’s narrow streets, by unpleasant acrid fumes. They eventually emerged from the narrow lane into a broader street lined with buildings painted in ochre, which they followed until suddenly they were surprised to find a shop with a small blue sign, saying “Menoti the watchmaker,” above the door.
“What? We seemed to have arrived at our destination!” exclaimed Kark. “What do you think? Shall we go in?”
“But weren’t we just supposed to do a reconnaissance?” said Allur.
“I know that we said that, but I don’t see anything suspicious, and since we are here, we might just as well meet our fate now, rather than later.”
Since no one seemed to object, she approached the shop purposefully, in the guise of being their leader. She opened the door, which caused a chime to ring, and then waited. Eventually, a red curtain was drawn and a short, smart woman, in her twenties, emerged. She was pleasant, and even if she was rather plain-looking, she had a fresh-looking expression, highlighted by lively grey eyes and a small, determined mouth, all framed by short, curly hair.
“What can I help you with?” she asked, with a wink.
“Is your name Menoti?” asked Kark.
“Yes, that’s right, Fillifaj Menoti" she answered.
" We are looking for Steinar"
"My parents, Steinar and Larna, are away on business, unfortunately, and will not be back for another week. I work in their place. What do you need?” she asked, somewhat uncertainly.
“We’d like to have some help getting a clock repaired.”
“Certainly, what kind is it?”
“A blue tower clock from Kaminor.”
With that, she gasped, and for a moment looked as if she was going to faint, until she regained her composure. She hurriedly rushed forward to lock the outer door and showed them into a room that was dimly lit by a small leaded window.
“I can’t believe it’s true,” she said, tearfully, when Anderika had told her of their background and mission. “For four generations, my family has waited for the chosen one, or ones, to come, and so it has become my fate to receive you. However, there is no time to lose, so I’ll have to write them a letter explaining what has happened. Tell me, was there anyone who might have noticed or followed you on your way here?”
“No, not that we are aware of,” replied Anderika.
“That’s good, but one can never be certain enough, for there’s always those who are on the lookout and pay special attention to unknown travellers. Are you travelling with horses and other equipment?”
“Yes, they’re secure with our friends, who are waiting for us a few kilometres south of the town,” answered Caver.
“Good, then I think we should leave immediately. There’s no reason to wait unnecessarily, since every minute that passes can increase the risk of being discovered.”
She then rushed to pack her things in her backpack. Just as she finished, there was a loud banging on the outer door and a loud voicing ordering them to open, in the name of Feona.
“No, they are on to us, we must hurry!” she exclaimed, frightened. “Follow me, I know of an escape route we can take.”
They followed her as she ran down a flight of stairs. When they came to the cellar, she pushed on a small, round stone, which caused a grey stone wall to open slowly. “Quickly, hurry!” she shouted, as they heard that upstairs someone was trying to break through the outer door.
Once everyone had passed through the opening, she shut the wall and lit a lamp. They continued another hundred metres down a damp tunnel before stopping. She swore under her breath, irritated, as she searched with her hand along the rough surface of the rock,
until finally, now smiling broadly, she announced that she had found the right stone.
“Where are we?” asked Caver, when they had also gone through this opening and the wall had squeaked shut behind them.
“In the cellar of a warehouse that my family has owned for many years, just in case a situation such as this one should arise,” she answered.
“I just can’t understand why we were suspected and followed,” said Kark.
“Who knows. There could have been something about your disguise that somehow didn’t fit, but whatever it was, we’ve shaken them off now.”
“But what if they figure out where we’ve gone and are following us?” Anderika asked.
“No, it’s not likely, since the wall openings into the tunnel are securely blocked and as good as impossible to detect from the outside. They have surely imagined that we have fled through the entrance, so that if they go looking for us, it will be out in the streets. That’s why it’s best we stay here for a while, until things have calmed down and it’s dark outside.”
In the absence of any better ideas, they accepted her suggestion and tried to make themselves as comfortable as possible, among all the sacks of potatoes and boxes. They were nevertheless afraid of being detected and arrested, so that it was a worrisome wait, until Fillifaj finally thought it was time to leave. They quietly opened the door and came out into a tight, narrow alley, which they stealthily crept along through the dark night. When they were eventually reunited with the others, after having managed to leave undiscovered, pushing through the town’s streets and wall, and then through muddy ditches and fields, they were completely filthy and past being tired.
“Some obstacles emerged along the way,” supplied Allur, smiling, “but now Fillifaj, daughter of Steinar and Larna Menoti, is with us, and is going to show us the way to the Blue Mountains.” Once all the introductions were finished, they hurriedly packed their things, worried that they were being followed, and departed without any further delay.
By dawn they had come to a broad, open meadowland. A falcon could be seen circling high in the sky, waiting for prey. The surroundings were rather monotonous, with few surprises, apart from the occasional hare that could be seen sticking its head up from its hole, disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared. At lunchtime, their boredom was broken, to their surprise, by the sight of a file of wagons approaching in the distance.
“Oh, my God! Those wagons are red, which means they must be Sylvanians!” hollered Kark. “I believe we better take another route, quicker than quick!”
“No!” shouted Enaiga. “They’ve already seen us now, and if we try to go another way and try to avoid them, we’ll only awaken their suspicions, which will only lead to their following us.”
“That doesn’t sound too encouraging.”
“No; my soul and your disguises are a problem. I expect they’ll see through us as quickly as if we were pigs in a parade.”
“Do you have a better suggestion, then?”
“Yes, that I ride ahead to meet them.”
“Are you completely crazy?”
“I hope not, but we don’t have any other choice, so it’s make it or break it,” she replied, tersely, at which she set off at a fast gallop, ignoring their protests, towards the foreign wagons.
They all sat tensely during her absence, which felt like an eternity, until they finally saw her returning, at the same time as the approaching column had slowly begun to veer away from them.
“It was actually really pleasant to meet my countrymen,” she said, laughing, when she had returned.
“What did you say to them?” asked Kark.
“After a shaky start, until I was sure that they were understanding me, I told them that our chief had died, and that we were on the way to the holy river of Zelon to spread his ashes.”
“And what did they say, then?”
“As is the custom, out of respect for the deceased, they said they would keep their distance.”
“Didn’t they think that you were speaking in an old-fashioned way?” asked Anderika.
“No, at least they didn’t say so, anyway. Sylvanians are spread out across a vast territory and have a number of dialects.”
“It was incredibly lucky of us to get through this with only a bit of a fright,” said Kark, “but now we better get out of here before they change their minds.”
“That sounds really smart,” Fillifaj blurted out.
As they baked under a blazing sun under a brilliant blue sky, a light breeze blew from the south. They followed a road that wound along a long, sloping and grassy valley spotted with patches of thorn bushes and clusters of deciduous trees interspersed here and there. In the afternoon, when they had passed a fast-rushing stream, they suddenly saw a young woman with dark curly hair, sitting on a black and white horse, who held up her hand as a sign for them to stop. She had on a blue tunic trimmed in gold brocade, a folded white cap and, on her feet, grey moccasins. Her gaze wandered back and forth, while her deep-set almond-shaped eyes contemplated them with suspicion.
“None of you except her are Sylvanians,” she said, grimly, and pointed at Enaiga, at the same time as Kark replied.
“That may be the case, but who are you?” Kark asked.
“My name is Pireza and I’ve left the caravan you passed this morning.”
“And why is that, if one might ask?”
“Because I have no desire to marry Hurgi.”
“Is that someone you don’t like?”
“Yes, you can say that again, and I’d rather die than live with that awful man.”
“That doesn’t sound too good, and where are you travelling now?”
“I followed you, in the hope that you were Sylvanians and that I could travel with you, and now I can never return, since they’ll never forgive me for what I’ve done.”
“No, she’s probably right about that,” said Enaiga. “That young women leave their group to join another clan is not unheard of, but by relatives is considered to be an unpardonable mortal sin.”
“Leaving people in distress is not part of my repertoire and never will be,” said Kark. “If you consider our company good enough, you are welcome to join us.”
Nodding happily, she dug her heels into her horse’s sides and rode over to Enaiga, who seemed to be the only one she dared to trust.
In the afternoon they came to a large forest and split into groups to go off in search of food. When they eventually returned, it seemed that Kark and Gondar had been the most successful, having felled a small buck. Although the others hadn’t managed to bring back any meat, they still found an appreciable quantity of berries and edible mushrooms, which together became a reasonable dinner. Bediz told how they had seen a large elk standing and browsing in a hollow. Pilgar had tried to down it with an arrow. The shot hadn’t been bad and missed the animal by only a hair, which nevertheless alerted the animal, so that it bounded away and was swallowed up by the dense green foliage.
“Oh, it was so close!” sighed Pilgar.
“Maybe so, but when it comes to hunting, everything but a perfect shot is a failure,” said Bediz, laconically.
They camped at the edge of the forest and lay resting in the warm sunlight as the evening sun slowly moved towards the hazy horizon. It eventually became extremely dark, and they gathered around the blazing fire; Pireza took out her flute and played several melancholy tunes for them. When she put it aside, she asked Enaiga, who had sat listening with tears in her eyes, how it had happened that she was now travelling with all these people, whom she wasn’t even related to. Wide-eyed, she listened as Enaiga told her the story, and when she was finished, she asked her, unbelieving, if everything she’d said could really be true.
“Certainly,” she hissed, “you don’t think I’m just sitting here and lying, do you? Do I look like someone who would do that?”
“No, but it just sounds so incredible.”
“And neither is Blackwarj forest like anything else in our world. H
aven’t you heard of it?”
“Of course, I have, and that it’s best to avoid it, but I never knew that it was so horrible.”
“Well, now you know.”
After sitting quietly for a moment, she then wanted to know everything about everyone else in the group, at which Anderika told her of their escapades. When she got to the part about the black wagon in the forest, Pireza gave her an enquiring look and asked, in a low voice, if the wagon also had silver eagles on its sides.
“Yes, I am pretty sure it did, now that you mention it,” answered Kark, amazed.
“Then it was Rismen,” she said.
“Rismen, who’s that?”
“He’s a magician, who is said to be working in collusion with the fairy clan, and who, as with Blackwarj forest, is someone who one is not supposed to avoid. When I was a child, the adults used to try to scare us by telling us that he kidnaps children who don’t listen.”
“We’ll have to try to avoid him in the future.”
“Yes, at least those who haven’t been good,” laughed Zania.
“It’s not funny,” said Pireza, seriously.
“Yes, you’re probably right. When we bumped into him, none of us thought it was very entertaining, in any case.”
The next day was once again rather monotonous farming country, with small villages here and there, none very different from the other. It had been a foggy, grey morning, but at midday the sun was shining and a light breeze carried pleasant smells from the surrounding crops. Later in the afternoon, the agricultural scenery was replaced by barren and stony bush country, broken only by occasional copses of trees. They made camp in a small stand of trees as the sun was setting, providing them with a brilliant display of different shades of red.
“Now we’re approaching the Pulash plains,” said Fillifaj, when they were sitting at their meal, “so now we should begin to think about another disguise.”
“Is that really necessary?” asked Gondar. “Being Sylvanians has worked well enough so far, and now we also have Enaiga and Pireza to help us.”
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