Frey (The Frey Saga, #1)(14)

I glanced down at my palm, reviewing the symbols again. I thought I had figured out most of the lines, creeks curving through the landscape. And the mountains were obvious, but there were still a lot of things I was unsure about, nervous about. I squeezed my hand closed into a fist and kept moving.

I tried not to think about all that had happened, tried not to think about Fannie, not the trial, not Junnie, and especially not Chevelle. Not the watcher. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. I couldn’t even imagine what lay in the mountains where I was heading.

I wasn’t tired today, not as I had been almost every day lately. Since I’d been using magic? I shook my thoughts away again, counting steps… I was miles from home. A home I might never return to.

I forced myself forward through the day, only stopping momentarily at a patch of berries and twice to drink. The berries were much less palatable without the guiding hand of an elf but the stream water was cool and refreshing. As evening approached I began to get uncomfortable about the coming darkness, aloneness. Not that I hadn’t spent my share of time alone at home, just not alone in the middle of a strange forest, outside, really alone. I considered running through the night and sleeping during the day, but eventually decided to find shelter before nightfall. I slowed my pace and gave my surroundings a little more attention.





A half mile or so later, I came upon a suitable hollow in a low embankment. I gathered some shrubbery to cover the entryway and give me a little more security, or at least the feeling of it. It wasn’t dark yet but I went ahead and settled in, sitting so I could see through an opening in the shrub door I’d created. It was quiet and I had to fight the thoughts that were trying to creep in. I began to run songs through my head for distraction, mangling the lyrics and humming through the parts I couldn’t remember at all. … and she’s a tall long dawn…. wanna freedom of drink… yeah, yeah, yeah…

A flicker of movement just outside stopped me. I held my breath for what I was sure was impending, and painful, death. There it was again. I blew the breath out. No, not my last. A small gray bunny was loping a few feet in front of the bushes. My stomach was interested, but I’d never prepared meat, I’d only ever gathered berries and vegetables (that someone else had grown). I didn’t have the first idea how to make a bow, let alone shoot one. I’d never actually killed anything, except plants. And a bird. Yes, I’d killed a bird. But I had no idea if an animal killed by magic was viable. I thought of the thistle, its black roots, how it had turned to ash. The bunny sniffed at the air in my direction and then continued on its way. Well, that answers that.

I was sitting in a hole, utterly alone, and it was beginning to get dark. I lit a small flame and decided to practice my fire magic. I leaned forward and danced the little flame back and forth in front of me. My control had progressed a good deal since my training; it seemed almost easy to navigate a small flame. I smoothed it out into a line and traced arcs and then more intricate designs. The designs started to resemble portraits and I had to concentrate hard to keep from seeing them. I tried to focus on landscapes and then those went from tiny village houses and small trees to rolling hills and curving creeks and then the hills to mountains that eventually melted into unidentifiable monsters. I snuffed the flame with a wave and the den was black with darkness. The clouds broke and the soft glow of moonlight filtered in through the opening. I leaned over on an elbow and examined the glistening patches of light on my twisting hand. I lowered my head, using my arm as a pillow, and fell into a peaceful sleep.





Chapter Seven


Steed





The next morning, I woke to find rays of sun had replaced the moonlight in the tiny hole. I considered covering my head and sleeping longer but my stomach ached for food. I crawled out and squinted through the bright light to find something, anything really. I was able to locate a few roots and greens, not great, but enough to tide me over until I could figure out a way to hunt.

I grabbed my pack and headed north again. There were plenty of streams and the occasional berry patch along the way. And the route was undemanding; the ground was smooth, nothing too overgrown to make passage difficult. I carried on without incident for days as the rolling hills continued, making each new day a surprise. I was glad; this might have seemed daunting if I could have seen hundreds of miles straight ahead of nothingness, just flat plains. I was moving every moment of light and sleeping every moment of darkness. I concentrated on each step, breathing in the new scents, doing anything I could to keep my mind on task instead of the dark thoughts gnawing at me.

I was counting my steps when I came over the top of another hill and saw a bridge in the valley. I hesitated and then slowly made my way down the hill, trying to decide if a bridge meant a village and a village meant elves. I was fully prepared to run by the time I reached the bridge. It was rather large, stacked gray stone like those that had been appearing more frequently on my path. Water flowed quietly beneath and smoothed the stones at the base. It looked like it had been in place for centuries.

I crossed and saw there was a light path on the other side so I swung wide and through the trees instead. And then the scent of roasting meat caught my attention. I found myself following it, despite my concerns about other elves. The trees broke to a small clearing and I spotted a cloaked figure leaning over a spit. I tried to get a better view, I was sure it was an elf, male from his size. The smell of real food was consuming, I was watching the meat as I moved again and crushed a dry leaf beneath my shoe.