‘No, Flint –’
‘Really, it’s perfectly understandable that you –’
‘FLINT.’ Blaze’s voice is urgent, excited.
I glance up, frowning. ‘What?’
‘Look!’
I follow the direction of her finger. There, far in the distance, barely distinguishable against the clouds, is the hazy outline of mountains. Hundreds of them, dark red in colour and stretching across the horizon as far as the eye can see.
The Ridge – the border between the Firelands and the Wildlands.
I punch the air, triumphant. ‘See! What’d I tell you?’
Blaze smiles. ‘I take it all back.’
‘And?’
‘And I’m sorry for ever doubting you.’
I bow my head. ‘Apology accepted. Now, come on. I’m starving.’
‘You’re always starving,’ she says, nudging her horse onward.
By the time the sun starts painting the sky pink, the rumbling of my stomach can be heard above the clopping hooves. Smoke curls from the chimneys of the little stone cottages fringing the outskirts of Isolla, which gradually increase in both size and number as we ride through the winding streets. The noise in the centre is deafening – merchants and traders haggling at full volume, the hiss of molten metal as it meets water, children laughing and squealing as they dart through the throngs of people and pens filled with livestock.
Blaze’s eyes are wide as she slides from her horse, fascinated. This rather mundane scene must seem like a whole new world to her. I dismount too, gathering my reins and leading the way on foot. We agreed to sell the horses once we got to Isolla. There’s no way we’ll be able to take them with us through the Ridge tunnels.
‘You stay here,’ I say as we untether the satchels from our saddles. I pull the hood of Blaze’s cloak up over her head. ‘And be careful.’
She nods, her expression bright with excitement. Leaving her to eagerly peruse the market stalls, I head off in search of someone to take the horses off our hands, taunted all the while by the glorious smells wafting from the various inns and alehouses lining the square. My burns are smarting andmy limbs are heavy. Every part of me feels bruised. All I want in this moment is a hot meal and a proper bed. Perhaps a bottle of wine. Anything to take my mind off the fact that tomorrow I will be walking straight into the depths of a snake-infested mountain in order to chase some enchanted relic that I’m still notentirelysure isn’t just a figment of my sister’s imagination.
The first trader I approach is a small, balding Fidra man who waves me off, uninterested. The second, a woman dressed in strange, expensive-looking robes, shakes her head and says something in a language I don’t understand. Vosti, I think. Blaze would know.
On my third attempt, the trader looks me up and down before walking round the horses, inspecting their teeth and hooves, then offers me six pieces of silver.
‘Six?They’re worth double that.’
The man snorts. ‘Not a chance. Call it seven and we have a deal.’
‘Nine.’
‘I said seven, boy. Take it or leave it.’
I cross my arms. ‘Eight.’
He considers. I try not to salivate as a girl walks past carrying a platter of roasted meat. Then the trader says, ‘Very well. Eight it is.’
Smiling triumphantly, I pocket the silver and head back towards the corner of the square where I left Blaze. Only when I arrive, she’s nowhere to be seen. I swallow my unease as I whip my head back and forth. I suspect she’s just wandered into the centre of it all, caught up in the colourful chaos of Isolla. I adjust my satchel and plunge intothe throng of travellers, tourists and traders, my good eye scanning the square for her face. Where is she?Whydid I let her out of my sight, even for a few minutes? Panic rises, hot and clawing.
A cloaked figure stands a few yards to my right. My heart leaps.
‘Blaze?’ I curse myself as soon as her name leaves my mouth, but no one around me pays any attention. I try again, pushing my way through the crowd. ‘Blaze?’ I almost let out a sob of relief as I feel someone tap me on the shoulder. ‘Thereyou are.’
‘Here I am.’ My sister looks extremely pleased with herself as she holds aloft what appears to be a small bronze ball on a stick. ‘It’s a toffee apple,’ she says, eyes shining.
I exhale slowly. ‘I can see that.’
