Now I thank fates for the passage of all that time in the cell, and I can guess the why of the delay. The Queen had given an order to let me go, and thevizarewanted to make sure her majesty was serious about her decision. No doubt that advisor was hoping that clearer minds would prevail in the morning. And into the start of the afternoon.
Obviously they didn’t.
It’s a relief to see the trees come up, because it means no more daylight will be wasted with travel, but I am filled with dread as the gate looms. While I look up and follow the walkway across the top of the great doors, a shot of fear goes through me. Over to the north and west, way above the spiky stone summits of the mountains, there are shadows riding the currents. They look like birds, but that’s a misinterpretation because of distance. They are dragons, readying for the hunt as wildlife begins to move into its nocturnal hideouts. I imagine that those kings of the clouds live off of ogres and maybe skystalkers, in addition to thedsteersandgoatumthat roam the more habitable rises.
But they might well take a human if they were hungry enough. Or a stallion.
Soon enough, I am once again standing before the mighty gate with its banded bare trunks and its center split. The creaking occurs at the hinges as the side I entered is opened once again, and then I see through to the mist on the other side.
No one says a thing. But I didn’t expect the guards to wish me well or help. Their job begins and ends at seeing me to this point, and I suspect they’re relieved to discharge the responsibility. At least my stallion is sticking with me. Lavante is happy to go through and be in charge once again, no more horses he must follow. He has no conception of what we are in for, however, as we confront the fog… and the gate starts to close—
“Wait!” I call out.
I expect the closure to continue. When there’s a pause, I wheel Lavante around.
“I need one more thing,” I request. “Please.”
EightySpiders and Rubies.
On the far side of the gate, the mist is even thicker than I remember, and I’m battered from all sides as we go through the trees with their slapping branches. Lavante is just too good at weaving in and out of that which I cannot see, another game he likes to play. The torch that I got from the guards doesn’t help. Flames flare and spit as I dodge the arboreal attacks, but all the golden light gets consumed in the thick humidity, frustrating me as I search for the drop-off down to the ruins—
We find the slope when Lavante’s hooves slip out from under him.
As he goes into a topple, I’m nearly unseated, and grab on to his mane to try to steady myself while also making sure I don’t light either of us on fire. Even with his superior sense of balance, he’s falling sideways through the mist, his hooves digging for purchase, his grunts a testament to how hard he is working to recover.
I look back at where we were; then attempt to see forward.
If the mist persists below now, I worry that we’ll not be able to orient ourselves at the bottom and sure enough, we finish the scrambling descent without notice, the ground underfoot suddenly angling sharply to the flat.
I can see absolutely nothing.
And then, as I cue Lavante forward, there’s a sloppy sound.
Fates, I think we’re in the marshes. I’ve gotten turned around without knowing it, distracted by conjecture, fear, and sorrow—as well as our sloppy, flailing nosedive—so I didn’t check in with the compass. And now I’m certain we are much, much closer to the ocean than the ruins.
Pulling up on the reins, I squint as I look around even though that doesn’t help. If we keep going in the wrong direction, we’re going to get mired in, and that is going to be disastrous.
Arranging the torch under my leg, I mutter, “You need to stay still or that mane of yours is going to be the hair equivalent of kindling.”
Shucking off my pack, the compass finds my hand as if it’s ready to go to work, and I picture the ruins as clearly as I can recall them, with the megalithic sculpture in the center—
The top pops open, the map appears, and the spinning starts. My heartbeat redoubles as I try to imagine making this foolhardy attempt without the instrument—and I think of what Mr. Lewis said so very, very long ago.
“One makes it possible, the other is the reason for it,” I whisper under my breath.
I think of the crown of black crystals and resolve that somehow I’m going to get that ruby, and then I’m going to force the Queen to accept her destiny.
I had to accept mine even though I didn’t want to. And now here I am.
Her Royal-damn-Highness can do the same.
In the flicker of the torch, the directional notes on the compass face continue to go round and round, and the red arrow works in counter to that. As with before, it takes longer, as if the mist is a disorientator, but then the arrow settles and points behind us.
So I was right, we would have gone the wrong way.
“Thank you,” I whisper as I return the compass to its satchel and the satchel to its place in the pack on my back.
Lavante is agreeable to the about-turn and off we go, trudging our way along until the ground becomes solid. It’s right about this time that the mist thins out—at least on the ground. There’s still heavy cover overhead, and I try to tell myself that’s somehow an advantage. I don’t know how, though, except for keeping dragons at bay?
