Frey (The Frey Saga, #1)(18)

I didn’t have to ask my horse to kneel; Steed just grabbed my waist and threw me up. He was mounted before I had settled into the saddle and our horses took off, galloping north in synchronization. I looked back for Chevelle. He was standing in his saddle, leaning forward, as his stallion raced to catch us.

We were covering distance so quickly I could barely take in the new surroundings. It wasn’t long before we were coming up on a large creek. I assumed Steed had control of my horse; I was simply concentrating on staying in the saddle as we ran beside him. The horses edged closer to the creek, splashing along the muddy bank and then the shallows of the water. Silt and cold water sprayed my face as we ran. I wondered if this was what it felt like to fly like the fairies. We followed the creek until it turned west and we kept north, slowing to a walk. I tried to catch my breath. Steed was watching me, smiling appreciatively, and I realized I was wearing a huge grin. And surely three pounds of mud.

The slow pace gave me time to look around. The ground had leveled off again, clearing to open meadows of low grass and a few scattered trees. Large gray rocks dotted the landscape. There was a haziness on the horizon but as we kept riding I could start to see clearer. A mammoth lake lay ahead, a hundred times bigger than the tiny forest ponds I was used to. It was as smooth as glass and behind it the haze cleared just enough I could see the outline of mountains. Mountains.

Chevelle rode up beside us. “The hills of Camber.” I looked at him, he seemed peaceful now. We rode closer, our horses in a quiet row.





When we reached the lake, the horses stopped and I realized I had forgotten I was riding. The mountains and lake were almost too much to take in; none of it seemed real. Chevelle was next to me before Steed had the chance this time. As my horse knelt, he held out his hand and I stepped down beside him. The three stallions followed Steed to a nearby tree and I watched as he fed them apples from its branches.

I looked back to Chevelle. He was watching me. I wanted to ask him if this was where he was from but he and the setting seemed so serene I was afraid to disturb it. I looked again out over the lake to the mountains. If I was incarcerated for a thousand years in the village, I would want this memory. I breathed deep; the air was cool, moist, and smelled so unlike the harsh floral scents that saturated every part of the village. I could smell the deep green moss covering the rocks at my feet, the fir trees that edged the east bank, even the soil smelled richer. My eyes were closed as I took it in. I felt something brush my cheek. Chevelle. I opened my eyes and realized he had brushed debris from my face. I wiped a hand across my forehead and felt the dried mud crumble away. I looked down; it was caked on the fabric of my pants and splattered about everywhere.

I walked to the edge of the water and then in, clothes and all, until I was waist deep. I relaxed and fell back, gliding under the dark cool water and floating back to the surface. I marveled at the size of the mountains as they seemed to dissolve into the blue haze of the sky. Would this ever seem real?

Eventually, I made my way back. I was surprised to find a shelter had already been set up for me. Thank goodness. I hadn’t considered wet clothes and cool air as I floated in the water. Chevelle nodded toward the hut as he prepared a fire. When I entered I found my blankets were on a raised bed of birch branches and a small flame lit the room. My pack lay on the bed, along with a pile of material. I examined the material and was relieved to discover it was a stack of dry clothes.

As I pulled on the gray pants I wondered if Chevelle had made the first set, not Junnie as I had assumed. Or maybe she had packed extra for me. Why hadn’t I considered he’d still be following me? The shirt was fitted to my shape but of a heavier fabric and a pair of boots was at the bottom of the stack; it must be colder in the mountains. I remembered stepping out of the cold wet gown on the bank of the creek and dressing in the new clothes, finding the scroll, the map. Chevelle's words came back to me... I’m sorry, Freya… I let you down at the creek… I was distracted… should have been paying closer attention… should have prevented this… too late now.

The smell of cooked meat cut through my thoughts. I ran a hand through my wet hair and walked out to the fire. The scene wasn’t any less impressive this time. I sat on a large rock facing the lake and Chevelle brought me a plate of food and sat beside me. He’d apparently been gathering while I bathed. We had a feast. Steed tore a piece of meat from the spit and sat to my other side as we ate quietly looking out across the lake… to the mountains.





The mountains at dawn were so much more intimidating and I was hesitant to leave our camp. Everything had begun to seem real and reality was much harder to deal with. I tried to distract myself as we rode east around the lake. I concentrated on naming the species of plants and trees we passed to keep my eyes off the mountains but there were so many I had never seen before that it started to remind me of the differences rather than distract me from them. So I bantered with Steed regarding horses and imps and everything I could come up with to keep him talking. Chevelle rode quietly behind us, casually scanning our surroundings. I wondered if he was enjoying the scenery or playing lookout.





We rode a few days to and in the base of the mountains. We had stopped to camp when, over dinner, Steed announced he would be leaving us the next morning, heading east. His easy humor had become a comfort to me during the long days, our quiet evenings a pattern I knew I would miss. The disappointment must have shown on my face.