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She put a hand on my shoulder. “Surely, you don’t mean to go back to the mountain city. You’re free of it. Run, fast and far, in the opposite direction.”

“I’m not returning to the pleasure house. I have something else to do in the city, and I don’t want to travel alone on the road. I think the path would be safer.” I glanced back at the town square, my fear of soldiers growing with every second that passed.

Inside the little room, the children’s chatter was now a din. A small boy had climbed on a chair and was waving his wax tablet in the air.

She slid her hands into the pockets of her dress. “Do you think you can find the way to our sanctuary?”

I thought for a few seconds. “I believe so.”

“You’ve already been to the place where the path from the mountains ends. Remember the shrine to the Goddess that we visited yesterday? On the west side of the clearing, a silver birch tree has the last marker or, I suppose, in your case, the first. Keep our secret safe, and keep yourself safe as well, Anna.”

“Thank you.” I might have embraced her, but she had already turned back to her noisy pupils and shut the door.

FINDING MY WAY back to the sanctuary from the town wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped. It was farther than I remembered. I led the mare in what felt like circles, tramping through thick undergrowth, mistaking small gaps in the trees for the path. I finally found the place just after midday and made my way around to the little grove, keeping well away from the farmhouse. If I entered that warm, comforting kitchen, I wouldn’t have the courage to leave it again.

Fortunately, the grove was empty when I finally reached it. I stopped to look at the statue’s worn face, features softened by centuries of wind and water. What have you seen in your many years here, Mother? How many women have wept with relief upon seeing you at the end of their path?

I led the mare to the trees on the west side. The sun shone obliquely into the clearing, kindling the brown pine needles that carpeted the ground into an orange glow. There were several silver birches, but only one of them, the thickest, had a small bronze plaque nailed to the bark. It, too, was worn by time. Carved on its smooth surface was a crescent moon.

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LONG AFTER SUNSET I FINALLY SUCCEEDED IN making a small fire in a hollow beside a basalt outcropping. It was a cold night, but the rock blunted the breeze enough that I could keep the fire going. I had walked all day, leading the mare by the bridle as we picked our way from one bronze marker to another through thick shrubs and ferns, across fallen trees, around brambles, and between the mud puddles that seemed to be everywhere. I had abandoned the idea that I might ride the horse; the dense forest was completely unsuited to traveling on horseback. My feet throbbed from hours of hard use as I propped them as close to the crackling flames as I dared.

I wrapped myself in my cloak and the blankets I had brought with me, but the chill still found its way in. Thick clouds covered the sky, and although I knew the moon was at its quarter, I couldn’t see it. The forest rustled around us. The mare and I both started at every noise, each thinking in our own way about creatures coming upon us in the dark, drawn by the firelight. To calm my nerves, I continued the imaginary dialogue with Sebastianus I had started while lying in bed the night before. In my mind’s eye he lounged beside me, lazy in his confidence, certain that he could drive away anything that crept through the undergrowth.

I’m going to stir the fire, I imagined telling him. I’ll try to get it burning a little higher, so it lasts longer while we sleep.

I pictured him stretching, poking at a log with the tip of his walking stick. Good idea, falcon. And then come closer to me.

I AWOKE THE next morning, stiff and terribly cold. The mare stood shivering under the blanket I had placed on her, trying to graze on ferns. I gave her an apple and a drink of water from my nearly frozen waterskin. I ate a few bites of bread and cheese, and then we were on our way again.

As we struggled along, leaves crunching underfoot, I began to think that I had been foolish to undertake this journey alone. The solitude of the forest was absolute. I had never experienced anything like the feeling of these empty woods, having grown up among dozens of girls and young women. Even at Sebastianus’s villa I had been in the company of others nearly all the time. I was so accustomed to living among many people that I had become adept at escaping into the solitude of my thoughts, creating a small, private space for dreams of adventure. But here in these vast, soundless woods, my thoughts seemed to expand and drift.

At long last, I had learned something of my mother. She had passed this way and gone on. I had learned, too, that a group of women could band together to help each other survive. They could pass a secret down for generations, keeping it safe from the outside world.

After a while the silence of the solemn forest seeped into my mind and stifled my thoughts completely. I trudged on. The sky had a heavy, leaden quality to it that I was afraid might indicate impending snowfall, but my greater fear was that I might fail to spot the next in the series of carved bronze plates and become lost. The markers were not easy to see. As they were often attached to silver birch trees, I began to look first for the trees and then, once I found one, for the small bronze marker with the crescent moon. Birch by birch, the hours passed, and then an entire day. So many women had followed this trail in the opposite direction, frightened and far less well-provisioned than I was. It would have taken so much courage for each of them to face these woods alone, unsure of what lay at the other end.

Despite the cold, when precipitation came, it was a bitter rain instead of snow. Otherwise, the mare and I might have frozen as we huddled by the sodden ashes of our extinguished fire, waiting for sleep. Misery crept over me, and by myself in the dark, I began to despair. I tried again to conjure up the image of Sebastianus’s strong, comforting form beside me or the sound of his voice in my mind, but I found I couldn’t. I was alone with the beat of the raindrops on the wet leaves. Why had I been so quick to push aside his care and affection in my quest to learn something of my mother? What had I gained, really, from filling in that parental cipher? Had it been worth everything that I had left behind?

As an orphaned child I had wanted to believe that I was not just an ordinary, abandoned girl, but someone with secret, spectacular origins, meant for great things. Perhaps my lifelong wish to understand who my mother had been was just a selfish, inward gaze, a need to believe that I was something more than just another tira bound to a life of service. And for that self-serving impulse I had cast aside Sebastianus, when his belief in me, his love for me, was the one thing in my life that had ever truly made me feel extraordinary.

The mare stamped and snorted in the chilly air. Rain dripped from every leaf, saturating my blankets, my hair, my cloak. My undertunic was soaking wet. Sebastianus. Why had we parted in anger? Why had I not kissed him goodbye? What I wouldn’t give for a brave adventurer beside me now. I curled up on my sodden blanket, and when I began to cry, I could not tell the tears from the rain that coated my cheeks.

I AWOKE THE next morning shivering, with a weak sun already overhead. Even my very bones felt damp. The only benefit to the rain was that my waterskin, which I had left uncorked overnight, had partially filled. I took a few sips, ate a mealy apple, and began to walk. One bronze plaque, and then another. I had never been so exhausted. For the briefest moment I considered sitting down and ending my journey right there, but I took a deep breath of cold forest air and walked on, leading the sturdy little mare.

Marker by marker, hour after hour, I walked through the dense woods. With every step I considered all that had happened to me over the past few months. Despite my many faults and errors, I had come a long way. Some of my instincts had been good, hadn’t they? Yes, I had taken risks, but I had been right about some things. I had found the hidden refuge. I had talked to my mother’s friend. The chances I had taken and the choices I made had led me to real answers.

I had learned an ancient language, mastered navigation with an astrolabe, reconstructed an orrery. I had faced the great Imperator Jovinian and survived. Here I was, making my way alone, following a hidden path for miles through the forest. Surely, I had the strength and courage to survive this too. My dark mood began to lighten.

Do you hear that, Sebastianus? I will find my way through this forest and meet you in Corlivo, as we agreed.

This time, the reassuring voice that answered in my mind was my own.

TWO MORE DAYS passed. On and on I walked. My feet throbbed. My knees and back hurt. I slogged from tree to tree. Several times I lost the trail and nearly panicked, only to realize the next marker was hidden by an overgrown shrub or fern. The rain continued off and on. My muscles cramped from cold, from hard use, and from sleeping on the unforgiving forest floor. At night I heard rustling and creaking all around, and I was convinced that a hungry bear or wolf would come upon me and tear me to bits. But that didn’t happen. I endured.

One morning, I became aware of an ache in my calves. The land was climbing up into the foothills of the mountains. As the morning wore on, the oak trees and silver birch thinned out and gave way to dark green pine and slender larch trees. By noon, the undergrowth had transitioned from shrubs and ferns to a thin layer of moss. The way became steep and rocky, and many yards passed between one marker and another. The mare and I struggled up the slope. Finally, as the sun was setting, I found our way blocked by a high stone wall, and I realized that we had reached the fortification that surrounded the city of Corlivo. I was filthy, aching, hungry, and chilled to the bone, but I had come alone through the vast forest that stretched all the way from Mareus to Corlivo. I turned to look behind me; down the slope I saw the last silver birch I had passed, thin and scraggly, with its bronze plaque and carved moon: the start of the trail for so many, and the end for me.

There was a worn wooden door in the wall, just large enough for me to pass through, leading the mare behind me. To my surprise and relief, it was unlocked. I pushed it open, and immediately I was hit by the fragrant smell of herbs. As my eyes adjusted to the dim room, I realized I was in what looked like a small apothecary. Dried plants hung everywhere, and barrels and crates were stacked from floor to ceiling. I led the mare carefully through the maze of a storeroom until we emerged into the front of the shop, where a wizened old woman with thin white hair sat dozing behind a small counter.