At night we make camp in the hollow and rot-worn remains of a small hamlet. I avoid discussing any difficult topics. Evander isn’t keen to, either. So we spend our hours around a small fire ignited by Folost, discussing our favorite foods and telling tales to each other woven into what stars we manage to see.
All the while, I add a few stitches to Mary’s symbol in the cape—something that will hopefully neutralize Evander’s and my scent like she managed to in the tent for when we inevitably return. A sort of tether for the spell. Evander assists, giving me pointers until it seems just right.
The next day is much the same as the last. Even though, once or twice, I think I can sense the presence of a spirit shiver across my magic, I decide not to stop. Our focus is to get as far as we’re able, as fast as we’re able.
The day after, we cross over a large river, fed by a breathtaking waterfall that tumbles off the mountains in the distance. But we don’t pause to admire it. All I manage is a glimpse. Evander is tireless, running the entire day. He doesn’t come to a stop until, sides heaving, he reaches the remnants of a large, abandoned town, hollowed out by time.
I take it as my signal to dismount. Evander promptly changes back into his human form, flopping on the ground in much the same manner as he did yesterday.
“This…is…as far…as we should go,” he manages to say between ragged breaths.
“Thank you for pushing so hard.” I crouch down next to him to lightly pat his shoulder.
“I needed a good run.”
What are you running from?I want to ask. But, once more, I resist. I’ve encountered a wall with Evander and instinct tells me that trying to overcome it with force will only make him fortify the ramparts. I have to show him that I’m someone who can be trusted. Not just with his body, but with whatever secrets are engraved on his heart as deep as the scars on his back. He has to let me past his defenses willingly.
“I’m glad you could have one—many, with this excursion.” I stand once more and take another step into this ruined town. The houses made of stone are still standing, roofs collapsed in. Those of wood have been mostly reclaimed by the forest, creeping vines and decay consuming them. It’s been abandoned for some time. “Was this another lykin outpost?”
“In part. Vampir also lived here. And elves…” He sits, continuing to catch his breath. “The middle of town is the edge of the lykin’s territory. The southwestern part is vampir. This place was abandoned when the vampir turned into monsters.”
“We’re out,” I breathe, inhaling a little deeper than I have before in Midscape. The air is fresher here. Cool off the mighty mountains that stand guard to the left of this town as we face south. “Do we need to worry about the vampir?”
“One hasn’t been seen in centuries, my ancestors saw to that, so we should be fine.” He stands. “And if there is one, I’ll protect you.”
“My hero.” I lean into him, batting my eyelashes.
Evander chuckles, but I do think he looks the slightest bit flattered. “This way.”
I follow as he leads us through the town. Past two large buildings that I imagine were once an inn and perhaps some kind of town hall. Perhaps a market. I slow to a stop.
“What is it?” Evander pauses as well.
“There was a town not far from where I lived…” I murmur.
“Corwall,” he blurts.
I look in his direction, startled. “You know it?”
“I’m the only one who knows anything really about the other side of the Fade.”
“Because of your witch love?”
He pauses. I don’t think he’s going to answer. But at last he says, “Yes.”
I purse my lips. The only witches I knew near Corwall were my grandmother and I. Perhaps there were others up the forest on the other side?
“Where did she live?”
“By the woods.”
“Obviously.” I resist rolling my eyes, partly in frustration. “All witches live at the edge of the Fade. But where, specifically?”
“It doesn’t matter now.” He starts walking again.
I quickly catch up to his side. “It matters to me.” He says nothing. It’s as if he didn’t hear me at all. “Do you have any idea how lonely my life was? If there were witches out there that I missed then?—”
“It would make it worse,” he interrupts with confidence, silencing me. “Trust me, Faelyn. There are few combinations of words more horrible than ‘what could have been.’”
