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OF FORTUNES AND FUTURES

RANNOCH

“ R ann!” Silas’s panicked voice pulls me from dark dreams of cracked mountains and angry Gods, and I sit bolt upright, fear coursing through me like lightning, only to realize it’s just a memory.

Only a memory, but one that has left me cold and shaking, a clammy sweat coating my skin like oil.

There’s no going back to sleep tonight. Sighing, I stand slowly, stretching sore muscles unused to the punishment I’ve inflicted on them in the past few weeks.

Two? Three? I don’t know at this point — time is passing in strange, stuttering ways, where days are months long, but hours only minutes.

From across the dim firepit, Kaden is staring at me, giving me time to sort myself before he calls to me quietly so as not to wake Wren or Tahrik. “Poor dreams?”

“You could say that. It’s fine, though.” I make my voice as wry and humorous as possible, but I can tell he doesn’t believe me. I don’t believe me.

“We’re in a strange place here, friend.” He’s trying to be comforting, but what comfort can be offered to someone who left their people behind where a surging Earth and scourging sky flayed the people’s skin from bones and ate them alive, no souls Guided home.

“The Corpse Bridge is hard even on peaceful minds. Too much blood has been spilled here for there to be no echo of death and destruction, however pretty the trees. However pure the water, as you’d say, right? ”

I can’t help but smile reluctantly at his words.

We’ve been talking as we’ve traveled, exchanging stories from our past — always cautiously, never ones that expose much beyond what is already known, but he’s a quick study, however much he likes to pretend to be otherwise.

He’s especially good at language, picking up our idioms and adopting them as his own, though he never uses them quite right.

I suspect it’s because Wren grins every time he uses one just slightly incorrectly.

He’s always gently self-deprecating afterwards, which somehow convinces her to talk him through the correct way to use the phrase.

It makes her curiously happy, so I’ve studiously ignored the deadpan winks he’s given me when she leans toward him to teach him.

Her laughter is coming more easily these days, and I’d pay a higher price for it than the smug face of a frustratingly friendly Trader.

“You know it’s right. No use in pretending when Wren’s asleep,” I say wryly.

His grin is clear even in the faint light cast by the embers. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

There’s a long pause, long enough that the sound of the fire fills the spaces around us, and then, very softly, “ Are you okay, though, Rann?”

The darkness invites confidences that daylight would hide. “I…I don’t know. I am, as much as I’m able to be. What we left…” My voice trails off, and I shrug. “But I’d make the same decision again, and that’s some comfort, I guess. I don’t regret where I’m going. Only what I had to leave behind.”

“And that one?” He nods toward Tahrik; I didn’t need the prompt though.

Wren’s fascinated with every step of our journey, empty eyes drinking in everything around us, every minute of the day.

Even the way she moves, despite being sore and tired, is strangely light, as though a physical weight has been lifted from her.

And I suppose in a way it has, though it’s one I’ll never understand or appreciate.

Her shoulders still curl in with fear at times, of course, her face blanks and closes at others.

You can’t shed a skin that was sewn to you every day for years in the space of a heartbeat, but when I watch her breathe deeply in a way I’ve never seen before, it makes me fiercely glad I jumped after her.

Tahrik, though… “He’s trying, Trader.” He’s one of my people; I won’t disparage him to someone who doesn’t know the heart of our village.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, Rann. That’s one thing I don’t doubt.

He’s making every effort, I think. But he’s struggling with the space here.

” Then, more cautiously, “And with the changes in the way…the way a flower is blooming, without surrounding weeds. I don’t mean offense.

” He is being very deliberate with his words, with his footing, and I appreciate his attempts.

Nodding, I sit heavily on the ground next to him.

“You have to understand our village, I suppose, to know what he’s going through.

He’s never left there. Never on a hunt, even, so everywhere he walked was inside a wall.

It felt like an embrace, a comfort. Not to speak for him, but…

” Trying to think of how to explain it, I shrug, almost helplessly.

“I know you didn’t see much of it, Kaden.

And what you did was a poor representation in many ways.

But for all its faults, there was music, and laughter.

And love. Our Council is not our people, our history not our whole.

I’ve tried to remember that, to hold it close in hard times.

But Tahrik, I don’t think he needed as many reminders. ”

Sighing, I stare at the dirt, attempting to find honest words for our home, and for the Miller.

“I didn’t know him there, but it was impossible not to know of him.

He was requested at every celebration for music, was invited to every table at our festivals.

I am beginning to wonder if I haven’t given him enough credit, if in my…

envy, perhaps… I’ve overlooked how hard this all must be for him.

He loved and was loved there in a way that I don’t entirely understand.

And to leave the comfort of that, to come to this…

” My voice trails off as I consider what Tahrik has been keeping quiet.

“It’s funny.” Kaden drops his voice, and I cock my head curiously in response.

“When I was there, I felt so trapped.” Rushing to explain, he holds his hands up, clearly trying to stall any offense, though I wouldn’t argue with him about that anyway.

“It’s not meant to provoke you, please understand.

” Shaking his head, he exhales sharply. “Sea and Sky know I put my foot in my mouth often enough with Wren at the start. I don’t want to travel the same road with you.

But it just felt like relentless pressure against my eyes, my ears, my chest. I couldn’t take a full breath until we left. ”

“I imagine that’s how Tahrik feels, just in reverse.”

“He cares for her deeply.” The comment is a thread dangling; to pull on it would unwind an entire cloth. So I’m careful in my reply.

“He does.”

“Did you know? In the village?”

“It wouldn’t have been safe for him if anyone knew, I think. Either of them.”

“Mmm.”

“Just so.”

He’s even more hesitant now, like he’s carrying a pane of paperthin glass. “Do you think they had an understanding?”

“I don’t know. I…I haven’t asked.”

“Did she…did she leave anyone behind her?”

“We all left people behind us, Trader.” There’s so much sorrow in my words that he puts a hand on my shoulder and leaves the rest to silence, even though I know there are more questions filling his mouth.

“I’d sing to you to comfort you, friend, but I’m afraid next to that one, my voice would be a dying sheep. Never as bad as you though.”

His teasing is enough to shake a little of the sadness shadowing me. “Go to bed. We’re close to morning, and you said we still have a long way to go?”

He nods, now serious. “Longer than I’d like, in any case. And into areas I haven’t traveled, though I know the land enough to see us safe.” He sighs. “I don’t think sleep is coming for me tonight, though.”

Yesterday had been a blow to Kaden. The path the Traders follow through the mountains to the borders of their lands, straight and solid from the Corpse Bridge to his home, runs between two mountainous ranges, a little cut-through providing relief from climbing rough cliffs.

The closer we’d gotten to it the more clear relief had been on his face, the strain of the past weeks draining away.

But as we approached, there was a strange roaring sound, one I’d never heard before but which Kaden clearly recognized, and his shoulders collapsed, cheerful face folding in near desperation.

“We’re too late.” His words were ominous.

Tahrik looked almost numb with terror, and Kaden straightened immediately, shaking off the gloom that had briefly covered him.

“It’s alright, Tahrik. I’m being dramatic.

The path is flooded now, it’s not safe to travel.

Even if it dries, there’s no guarantee that more water won’t pour down from the source, and we’d get caught in mudslides or washed away. We’ll have to go around.”

“Can I see?” Wren replied, curiosity clear in her voice, and Kaden wasted a morning of travel to walk her carefully up to the mouth of the path, where brown, churning water rushed over stones and carried small branches and leaves at quick speeds past the jagged curves of the path.

I’d never seen anything like the violence in the water; we are used to land, or mountain, or sky heaving and seething, but the chaos in the water was something foreign and frightening.

In rare accord, Tahrik and I had exchanged anxious glances, but Wren, who I thought would be petrified, was wide-eyed and wondering, holding tightly onto a rock with one hand, leaning over the surging river as far as she could, close enough that spray wet her cheeks.

“Careful,” Kaden cautioned quietly, but there was something in his eyes as he looked at her, at the wildness of her expression, that was a pit in my stomach.

He wasn’t as surprised as Tahrik and myself at her response, didn’t leap forward as Tahrik did to try and pull her back.

He simply watched as though he’d expected the tentative joy blooming on her face, the curling of her lips as the water tumbled past us.

“It’s amazing ,” she whispered, and he smiled in a strangely satisfied way at her words.

“I’m al right , Tahrik. I’m alright.” But she’d accepted his hand, let herself be drawn back from the edge, casting a longing look over her shoulder as he led her away.

Kaden trailed them with his gaze, eyes narrowed, then glanced at me, brow raised in a silent question I studiously ignored.

So here we are, off the path in more ways than one, traveling lands none of the four of us have set foot on, and everything is changing, leaving me struggling to keep up. Kaden is still staring into the fire, a companionable silence growing between us, until he inhales deeply, low and slow.

“Can I ask you a question, Rannoch?”

Something in the way he says it, some reluctant hesitation, causes my hackles to rise, but I keep my voice level. “You’re always free to ask.”

“Though you may not answer?” he replies, clearly rhetorically, but continues anyway. “Her necklace…”

“No.”

“Rann, I?—”

“No.”

“Why don’t I tell you what I know, and then you can decide.” He’s tense now, not quite belligerent, but his jaw is tight, muscles flexing against his clenched teeth. “It’s clearly important to her. There’s something about it… It’s obviously very different than her bracelets?—”

Different than her bracelets? I don’t know what I expected him to say, but not that.

“You didn’t know? You can’t tell? She doesn’t talk to them in the same way. She doesn’t really talk to them at all. Though I don’t know what that means .”

It’s impossible to process what he’s saying for so many reasons. “Ta—talk to them?” The stuttered words aren’t a response at all.

He almost laughs, more a tired huff of sound than anything else. “I’m not blind, Councilor. Though you must be if you can’t see the difference between her bracelets and her necklace.”

Nothing seems safe to say, so I don’t reply, but a chill skirts my skin that has nothing to do with the darkness. How carefully does he watch her? How much does he know? What is safe to say? I wish Silas were here .

“Let’s try another way. If I am put in a position where I have to save one and not the other, what do I do?

How hard do I try to protect them all if it comes down to it?

What choice should I make? Do they serve different purposes?

It’s clear the necklace is more important to her, but which is more necessary?

If you and Tahrik aren’t there, I should know what is vital to her survival, Rann. ”

The question forces a response from me. Eyes narrow now, almost suspicious, I study him. “Where would I be but at her side, Trader.” It’s a statement, and doesn’t invite further queries.

Staring in the fire, not looking my way, he casts his voice low, imbibing it with as much honesty as possible.

“Nowhere else, if you had the choice, Rannoch. As I said, I’m not blind.

But we’re not always given the option. And if it’s just me and Wren, I’d like to know how best to keep her safe.

The chances of fatal steps are higher when you don’t know how to walk the path. ”

Silence stretches between us, violent and vibrant like the waters that blocked our way through the mountains, and Kaden finally sighs, nodding.

“Alright, Rannoch. Alright.” Getting to his feet slowly, he moves like an old man, bones groaning, exhaustion clear in every line of his body.

“There are still a couple of hours until sunrise. The watch is yours.”

The watch is yours. So much trust in that statement, so much faith.

“Rannoch, he’s safe," she’d said.

And then, “ I’ll take the watch now. You have my word.”

“The necklace. Always.” It’s a whisper of sound, barely anything, but I see it hit in the pause of his steps, the single nod of his head in reply.

“The necklace.”

And I am left by the fire, by myself, desperately hoping I haven’t exposed secrets which aren’t mine, desperately hoping I’m picking steps which won’t prove to be fatal.