Dess frowned at his sister, while the waterfall roared. “How do you know their language?”
She gave him a once-over. “I don’t.” She looked back at the others. “Say it.” She repeated the phrase.
“What does it mean?” Thia asked.
“By your laws, by my word.Hurry now.” They obliged, stumbling over the unfamiliar words, Dess still staring at her in bemusement.
“Now what?” Thia asked.
Oskaren grimaced. “Now we cross.”
Oskaren led the way onto the bridge. She stepped carefully, one foot per plank, her hands clutching the ropes for balance. Thia winced as the bridge swayed with each step. Dess went next, hair even more chaotic with what was surely terror-induced sweat. But his feet were steady as he followed a few paces behind Oskaren.
Thran nodded to Thia. “After you, lass.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I hear that.” The smile he gave her was equal parts sympathy, equal parts fear. “But she must have spent some time here.” His attention skipped across the river to where Oskaren waited on the other side.
Thia frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Knowledge of the Losrohir is lost to us,” he said. “I spent my life in study and learned little, save for a handful of stories. That she knows even a fraction of their language, the rituals of the Vale….” He paused. “I’d reckon she was more than a passing traveler on a witch hunt, last she was here. I trust her. At least in this regard,” he concluded, at her look of surprise.
Thia tugged on the end of her braid.I begged her to leave with me in search of a cure. I even suggested the Losrohir, Dess had said. What if Oskaren had done it? Not with him, clearly, but—had taken his advice, done everything she could to free herself? The Losrohir must not have been able to help, since she was still cursed. Was that when she’d gone to the witches? Did she somehow thinktheycould do something?
“I can brave it first, if you like.” Thran’s voice summoned her back to the present.
Thia ducked her chin, embarrassed, and shook her head. She approached the bridge, swallowing thickly, as the water below became visible under her feet. Gripping the ropes in both hands, she inched slowly onto the first plank. It sagged a little under her weight but held firm.
It truly was a frightening design. She couldn’t place her feet without looking down, which meant gazing into the crash and tumble of rapids below. She forced herself to breathe, in and out, and step, one after the other while Mavrel soared above. Wind tore at her hair, making her head swim, and the bridge swayed, pitching her sideways. She clung on for dear life, creeping slowly to the next plank, her heart a hammer in her chest.
Then she was across. Thran appeared a moment later, skin gray. At the tree line, Dess collapsed against a tree, shuddering. Only Oskaren seemed unperturbed; she inspected them one after the other, face serious. “Remember the vow you took. Do not leave the path. Do not kill anything.”
Thia gulped, ever the pragmatist. “What about bugs we accidentally step on?”
Oskaren glanced at her, unimpressed. “The Losrohir are not forgiving.”
“Wonderful,” Thia muttered.
Without further ceremony, Oskaren turned and led them into the forest, the brightness of a sun-kissed world fading into memory.
The Vale was much like a regular wood, with one exception. The sky was blocked by immensely tall trees that tangled around each other in a woven pattern, too precise to be accidental. The ground was smooth as well, the path free of stones, sticks, and leaves. It should have been pitch-black, but tiny buds high up in the canopy emitted a soft glow of silvery light.
There was something else about it, Thia thought, in the air maybe. Or the ground. It may have appeared like a forest, but it feltalive.
All forests are alive, Thia, she reminded herself.
But there was…something. Like it was humming with energy that vibrated under her feet.
After several hours, she could no longer tell herself it was her imagination. She tapped Dess on the shoulder. “Do you feel that?”
He looked down at her. “What?”
“The ground.”
He frowned. “What of it?”
She bit her lip. It was ever-present, like the feeling of a foot being asleep. If he could feel it, he’d know what she meant. “Never mind,” she said. Maybe her feetwerejust asleep. She jiggled one, then the other, but it didn’t help.
