They left as soon as René returned. Jean drove the horse, which Misha had named Fleur, straight back through the center of Lac-Azur on their way south. The village was still packed past bursting with refugees, all of whom seemed to pause and watch the three strays as they passed. Jean spotted Coral in the main square. She stared at him. He held out a hand to her, mouthing, "Come with us." But she shook her head and darted away into the crowd. Jean scowled at the back of Fleur's head the rest of the way out of town.
Misha kept looking, though. "Why are we leaving so soon?" she asked.
"You heard the council," Jean said with a growl. "The orcs are coming."
"Then why isn't anybody else leaving?" she asked.
"We can't make their decisions for them," René said. "We just need to focus on keeping ourselves safe."
"Then shouldn't we be going west, not south?" Misha asked. "I thought you said the south pass was cursed."
"Means fewer orcs," Jean said.
Misha wrung her tail as she watched Lac-Azur get farther and farther away, but she said nothing else.
It took the three of them ten days to reach Al Naar. The way was not easy. The road was marked only with intermittent stone cairns and grew rougher and more uneven as they climbed higher towards the void mountains. They eventually had to leave the cart behind completely. Fortunately, Fleur could manage the rocky roads without much difficulty.
There were no major settlements between Lac-Azur and Al Naar, either Purrisien or orcish. Just across the low mountains to the south were the Dragonsands, and the dragons did not care to have the lesser races anywhere near their homes. They supplemented the supplies René had bought in Lac-Azur with pheasants or hares that Jean killed with the sling at the end of his shepherd's staff, and Misha knew the plants of the region well enough to often scrounge up something edible. René was a passable camp cook, and, after sampling one meal prepared by Misha, took to preparing all their food on his own.
René also told stories as they walked. He went through the history of all the Children of the Abriasha. How the Abriasha awoke the Kinohi from the giant trees of a distant island. How the Gortzyi were shaped from the very stones beneath Mount Zverinyoskal. About the Abriasha's failed attempt to spite Syn by creating wisdom and beauty from the nightmarish swamp boars of Thornner that led to the Trotzen. And how the open theft and re-formation of the monstrous rakshasa gave rise to the first Purrisiens. Most of the stories were new, but Misha would join in the telling of the few that were familiar. Stories like the founding of Purrí, or how the first Purrisiens created livestock by using their fading nightmare magics to rend lesser monsters from Syn's control.
But outside René's stories, the three of them didn't talk much. When they did, it was of the views from the tops of mountains, of the fog rolling in the valleys, of the coming of the rain, of what awaited them in Purrí. They did not talk about Champ-sur-Branche or about how there were still no other cats following them. Misha still cried frequently. Jean did not.
Nor, Jean noticed by the fourth night, did he seem to be dreaming at night anymore. He awoke each morning feeling like he had not slept at all. He would sit in the twilight of the early dawn, wondering whether or not he'd slept. There was a vague sense of missing time and an almost-memory of nightmares, but both faded with the rising of the sun.
The pass through the void mountains and into Al Naar was visible high above them an entire day before they reached it, a massive gash between the steep walls of the void mountains on either side. The adjacent cliffs rose above the air and into the Void itself. It was clearly unnatural, as so much of the world was. Jean could almost imagine the Unsatisfied Architect reaching down from the Void one night to gouge a path through the mountains he'd created with a single finger. Nothing else could create something like this.
"This is amazing," shouted Misha over the wind as they hiked through the pass. The wind whipped around them, bitter cold on Jean's nose as it shoved them forward. This was its only way through the mountains too. "I feel like I could fly."
"Please keep your feet on the ground," Jean shouted back. "Al Naar is cursed, remember? You don't want Nilamaak to take you."
"Nilamaak doesn't take people," René retorted. "He's the god of places. The Abriasha would throw a fit."
"Then why are we supposed to be scared of Al Naar then?" Misha asked.
"I don't really know," René admitted. "I know that it's a wild zone, but I don't really know what that means. The stories just say the laws that rule Serinor operate differently because the gods' power pools here. They were never really clear on what that actually meant."
Misha stuck her tongue out at Jean but quickly put it back in her mouth to protect it from the freezing winds. "See? We're going to be fine." She began to skip. "Besides, it's the forest that's Wild, not the mountains. We're safe up here." She pointed towards where they were headed.
The elevation of the pass dropped abruptly, leading down into an ancient forest ringed on all sides by mountains. The wind roared on above them. Only the mountains to the north of the forest were low enough to cross. Which meant, of course, that they had to go straight through it.
Jean shook his head. "I can't believe we have to go down the mountains only to go straight back up the other side. Couldn't the orcs have built the road along the ridge?"
"Oh come on," Misha said. "It won't be that bad. We've been going up and down mountains for days now."
"Doesn't mean I have to like it," said Jean.
----------------------------------------
The road down into the forest was steep, but far smoother than the barely marked tracks though the mountains had been. It was almost relaxing. Walking downhill instead of up. Not having to watch for hidden dips or loose stones that would throw them over the side of a cliff. Jean felt that he could breathe easier for the first time in days.
Until they reached the edge of the trees. There had been woods around Champ-sur-Branche, but there had been nothing like Al Naar Forest. Jean hadn't known trees this tall and thick could even exist, let alone grow in such close proximity to each other. He could barely see more than four trees deep. The path led between two trees, turned, and disappeared. Jean looked up and down the clearly defined edges of the forest. This was the only significant gap between the trees.
"Still feeling brave now that we're down at the forest?" Jean asked Misha. She didn't respond. She stared into the trees, eyes wide and tail thrashing.
"It certainly feels like it's cursed," said René. "But look." He gestured towards the trees. "It wouldn't take a curse for people to never come out of this place again. One wrong turn and you'd never find your way out."
"We should have stayed with the others," Misha said.
Jean set his jaw. It was the first time she'd said that the entire trip. "Well, it's too late for that now," he said. "And the heartland is just on the other side of this forest."
"Let's stop here for today," said Misha. "I don't want to have to sleep in the forest."
Jean sighed. "Misha, it's barely past midday. We should keep moving. Besides, you saw it from up in the pass same as I did. There's no way we can make it that far in just one day."
"But maybe two, right?" she asked.
"Probably," René said. "It depends on how straight the road runs, but that seems reasonable."
"I think two," Misha said. "But if we start now, we'll end up spending two nights in the forest. Let's just wait and start fresh I the morning."
"Misha…" Jean said.
"We've been walking for over a week, Jean," said Misha. "I need a break. We all do."
Jean's tail twitched behind him. She wasn't wrong. They'd followed a stream of snowmelt on their way down the mountain that they could use for water, and he and René could use the afternoon to hunt for food so they wouldn't have to stop on the way through the forest. "Fine," he said. "Help me get Fleur settled in."
The game along the edge of the woods was much closer to its monstrous origins than Jean was used to. He stunned a bird with his sling, thinking it a quail. When he approached it, he saw its beak was serrated and sharper than his hunting knife. Its talons looked strong enough to tear off his arm. It was already starting to recover when he beheaded it. It tasted awful when they ate it later that evening, and Jean was glad he could blame it on the bird rather than Misha's cooking.
They struck their camp the next morning and loaded their gear and the leftover fowl onto Fleur. They stood at the edge of the forest for some time, just staring into the emerald shadows. Eventually, Jean sighed. "Come on," he said. "We need to get moving or we'll never make it through."
"We could just stay here," Misha said. She did not start walking.
"And live on monster birds and whatever those tubers you found last night were?" Jean asked.
Misha nodded slowly. "It would be nice to have a civilized meal again," she said. "I don't know that I can stand my own cooking much longer."
"Should be just a week to go," René said. "Once we're through this, we're almost done."
"And the rest will be through farmland," Jean added. Misha nodded, thrashed her tail once, and headed into the forest. Jean and René followed close behind, Fleur plodding ever forward behind them.
The dark under the canopy was oppressive. If Jean had not recently been out after sunset, he'd have compared it to that. But this was not the black of the Void. Sunlight still filtered down in places, tinted green by the thick layer of leaves overhead. Birds sang in the branches, and he could smell larger animals deeper in the trees. Despite his earlier fears, the path was not hard to follow. It was well-beaten, which struck Jean as strange considering how few people came this way, and there was typically only one gap through the trees large enough for a road to pass. The road even seemed well planned, tending to run along the ridges of the hills that rolled along the valley floor.
When they stopped to eat, Misha leaned against a tree trunk and sighed. "Why were we worried about coming this way?" she asked. "This must be one of the most peaceful places I've been."
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Jean had to agree. "Somebody probably started those stories about the curse so they could keep all this to themselves."
Misha giggled. "That sounds like something you'd do, René."
The orange tom smiled and stood, arching his back. "I would too," he said. "We've got days of walking before we get to Purrí. I could have the best story ever in that time."
"Ooh," Misha said. She beamed up at him from where she sat. "Can I help make it up?"
"Absolutely," René said. He smiled at her. The tip of his tail flicked back and forth. "We can start as soon as we're moving again."
Jean stood up abruptly. He did not like the way the tom was looking at his sister. "Go ahead and start packing up," he said. "I'll be just a minute."
"Don't get lost," Misha said.
Jean shook his head as he stepped behind a tree to relieve himself. When he came back, the path was gone and he was alone. His heart began to race as he spun around, trying to regain his bearings. "Misha?" he called. "René?" He walked around the tree he'd just used, and when he'd made the entire circuit, the trees seemed to have moved again. "Misha!"
"Jean!" a voice called. It was faint and distant, but it was definitely calling his name.
"Misha?" he shouted "Where are you?"
"Jean!" it called again.
Then he spotted a faint green light glowing beyond the trees. He rushed towards it, trying to find the source and his sister. He darted past tree after tree, and each time the light seemed to be shining from behind the next one. It was not until far too late that he realized what was going on. The forest was Wild. The laws of reality had changed.
He rounded what he decided would be his final tree, and a green light flared in his face, blinding him. "Why have you come here?" an uncountable multitude of voices boomed.
"I—" he said, rubbing at his eyes.
"Wrong answer," the voices replied. And Jean began to fall. He cried out and flailed his arms, but there seemed to be nothing on which to grab. He tumbled through the darkness until he landed softly on his back. He laid still, panting, waiting for his vision to return. Or to realize he was dead.
"You're far too hard on them sometimes," somebody said. Its voice sounded distorted, as if it were talking around too many teeth.
"You're one to talk," said the voices from earlier. They sounded much smaller now. "We don't understand why you need this one anyway."
Jean's vision began to clear, and he found himself staring up through a gap in the trees. The sky was dimming, as though night were approaching. He frowned. It couldn't be much past midday.
"This one specifically?" the toothy voice asked. "I didn't over much. But I do need the convergence, and if that will require intervention, so be it."
Jean looked over to the speakers. One was a werewolf, clad in a concealing robe of indigo and gold. It was looking at him. Its yellow eyes gleamed from beneath its hood. The other appeared to be nothing more than a mote of green light, fluttering erratically through the air around the werewolf on a pair of luminescent, emerald butterfly wings
"But the one's still out in Purrí playing with the cats!" the fairy said. "We could be here for months."
"Months indeed," the werewolf said. Jean hadn't even known werewolves could talk. It smiled at Jean, baring all of its fangs in a terrifying smirk. "But it wasn't long now."
"How can you even know that?" the fairy asked. "How are you always so certain about everything?"
The werewolf turned its lethal smile on the fairy. "Have I been wrong yet?"
At that, a dwarf stepped out of the trees between them. The Gortzyi was shorter than Jean, and the rich scarlet of the clan tattoos on his bare face and arms almost looked like veins of rubies against the stony pallor of his rough skin. The richly-dyed furs and leathers of his red tunic and trousers were stained with road dust and sweat. The dwarf jumped when he saw the werewolf and tried to dart back into the woods, but the trees had shifted, and he slammed headlong into one.
"See?" the werewolf asked, still smiling.
"These," the fairy said, vibrating in the air with a palpable anger. "These right here are the times we remember why we hated you."
"It's your verb tense that's wrong for a change," the werewolf said. "You still hate me."
The dwarf got to his feet and slipped between the trees, only to reemerge on the far side of the clearing. He skidded to a halt.
"Don't bother," the werewolf said.
"You got your convergence," the fairy said. It fluttered around the werewolf. "Now why are we even here? You still haven't explained to us why this is important."
"They'll not meet otherwise," said the werewolf. "And I needed them both in Purrí when the elf finally arrives, so there'll be some time to kill."
The fairy stopped fluttering, hovering low in the air. "How much time did we just lose?"
"Time is relative," the werewolf said. "You." It pointed at the dwarf. "Trireme. The cat needs an escort back to Purrí. He didn't make it back to the city alone."
"Alone?" Jean said. "Where's my sister?"
"Your sister's fine," the fairy said with a sigh. "She apparently made it safe to Purrí."
"Почемуу я должен вам помоь?" the dwarf said.
"You headed back to Purrí anyway, right?" the werewolf asked him. Jean thought it odd that the werewolf would answer in Purrisien when the dwarf addressed it in Dwarvish until he noticed the wolf's jaws did not seem to match the words he was saying. Had it been like that this entire time? "Just take him with you. He'll head that way too and could use the safety of a caravan. Particularly with the state his homeland is in at the moment." The werewolf looked back at Jean. "You weren't a burden, will you? You can handle any monster or nightmare you came across." Its eyes glittered in its hood. "Can't you?"
Thoughts of timeless nights and missing nightmares jumped to the front of Jean's mind. He looked down and gulped. This was the Eldritch One, god of time and fate, and the fluttering light had to be the Abriasha, gods of peoples. He'd been waylaid by a god.
"Besides," the werewolf continued, turning back to the dwarf, "I always get my way. One way or another." It pointed to the side of the clearing. "Your caravan will be that way. They won't even notice you've gone." It gestured to the fairy and stalked towards the trees in the opposite direction. "Come on. We're done here."
The fairy looked between the dwarf and the cat and smiled, nodding. "Such fine specimens," it said. Then it turned to follow the werewolf. They disappeared between the trees.
The dwarf and Jean looked at each other for some time. "Отличный," the dwarf said eventually. He shook his head. "Well, come on then," he said in Purrisien. His speech was clear, though it kept a distinct accent. "If we hurry, we make Purrí by Midsummer."
"Midsummer?" Jean asked. "It's just past New Year's."
The dwarf blinked at him then scowled off after the departed werewolf. The immensity of his brush with the gods began to sink in. Places visited by the god of time and fate were called "timeless" for a reason.
"Come," the dwarf said. "We must leave this forest. Now."
The two of them hurried in the direction the werewolf had pointed them. "I am Ostiya," the dwarf said as they walked. "Son of Miletus." There was a pause. "Called Trireme."
"That's an odd name for a dwarf," said Jean.
"It is certainly not a compliment," said Ostiya. When they rounded the next tree, they were in bright sunlight. Jean winced and covered his eyes. The forest had been darker than he realized.
"Остия!" a female voice called. "Живо!"
"Come, comrade," Ostiya said. "Meet my crew."
"Should we hurry?" Jean asked, blinking. "She sounds worried."
"Kadis always sounds worried," Ostiya said.
Ostiya introduced him to the dwarves traveling with him. They were all very friendly, and each of them had some foreign-sounding name that Jean couldn't begin to keep straight. He did manage to recognize Kadis, who did indeed sound worried as she shook his hand and welcomed him to the group. She was lean for a dwarf and nearly as tall as Jean. The ease of her movements also made him doubt that she had stones for bones the way dwarves were said to have.
Lodka also made an impression. "I am Lodka," he said. He was not tall, and Jean could certainly feel the stone bones crushing his hand when they shook. He and Kadis both shared the scarlet clan tattoos that Ostiya bore, though several of the other dwarves in their troupe wore different styles and colors. All of them were entirely hairless, though, and seeing their bare skin in a variety of shades of rock was unsettling to Jean. "It means 'boat' in your tongue," Lodka explained.
"That's also an odd name for a dwarf." Jean glanced at Ostiya. "Speaking of odd things for dwarves, why are you in Purrí?"
"Ha!" Lodka laughed. "Fearless leader Ostiya was exiled, and we followed."
"Exiled?" Jean asked. He clutched his tail. All this way just to end up taken in by bandits? "For what?"
"For thinking our future lies on the waves, not under them," Ostiya said. He looked off to the horizon as he spoke.
Lodka put his fist to his chest after Ostiya spoke. "I took the name Lodka because I am proud to follow one such as he. I will be the vessel that leads him to his destiny!"
"You are not just a tool to be used, Lodka," said Ostia. "You are a dear comrade."
"You honor me," Lodka said. His eyes misted over.
Ostiya sighed and shook his head. He shouted several commands in Dwarvish, and the group turned around and began to head in the other direction. "Come," Ostiya said to Jean. "Walk with me. I have questions." Kadis and some of the other dwarves gathered around. "For him alone," Ostiya said.
Jean and Ostiya waited until the other dwarves were well ahead of them before beginning to walk as well. Ostiya watched the dark treeline beside them as they spoke. "Have you really been in the woods since New Year's?" Ostiya asked.
"It was maybe two weeks past when I went in," Jean said.
"And this is all you were wearing?" Ostiya asked.
Jean looked down at himself. He was wearing shorts and an open wool vest that his mother had made for him just the year before. He'd refused to let her dye it. He liked how the white set off his gray tabby stripes. "Okay," he said to Ostiya. "Two things. First…" He held out his arms. "Permanent fur coat."
"Ah," Ostiya said. "Right."
"Second, you've obviously not been in Purrí that long," said Jean. "The temperature is like this all year. It would sometimes get a little chilly up north in Champ-sur-Branche during the winter, but not enough to need more than a pair of long pants."
Ostiya shook his head. "In truth, I have lived in Purrí for ten years, but still I forget. It is very different where I am from," he said, looking off into the distance. "It is farther north and higher in the mountains. It gets very cold in the winter."
"You must like it in Purrí then," said Jean. "I've heard it's always beautiful there."
"Yes," Ostiya said. "But you are not the only one who has heard such things."
Jean's tail drooped and began to twitch. "What do you mean?"
"Do you not know?" Ostiya asked. Then he chuckled. "But of course you do not. You have been in the company of the god of time for almost six months."
"What don't I know?" Jean asked.
"The orcs have come," Ostiya said. Jean stopped walking. Ostiya stared off to the horizon as he continued. "They have driven the dragons from their own homeland on Thornner and have pursued them here, to Amin. Your people have the misfortune of living in this beautiful land, said to be the most fertile in all of Serinor. The dragons let you live in peace. They have homes in lands we cannot find through the darkness of the night. But the orcs. The orcs know only one thing to do with lands that they want." He turned to Jean. "They take them."
"The orcs can go to Rutoshen," Jean said, his ears flat. "Let them find good land there."
Ostiya laughed. "We are of one mind then, comrade. That is the very reason we are out here. The Purrisiens gave me a home in my exile, and I, in return, agreed to help them in their fight against the orcs."
Jean's ears perked up. "You're fighting the orcs?"
"Not directly," Ostiya said. "We are out here scouting locations to place supply caches and ambushes. This is the most direct route from Purrí out to the Dragonsands, so the orcs often march along this route."
"Are there any nearby?" Jean asked. There was an unfamiliar tightness in his chest.
"No, we are safe," said Ostiya. "It is the only reason we are out during the day at all. We normally travel at night."
"At night?" Jean asked. Echoes of dark laughter rolled through his memory. "How?"
"Ah," Ostiya said. He reached into a pocket on his backpack and pulled out a small circle of metal. "It is my masterwork. I call it a compass." He held it out to Jean, who took it from him. It was a small pan with a long sliver of black metal resting on a small pin. The sliver shivered on the pin, but after a moment, came to rest pointing off to the north. "Amazing, no?" Ostiya asked. "It always points to the north. With this, we do not get lost, even when we cannot see."
Jean handed it back to him. "It wasn't really getting lost that worried me."
Ostiya waved away his concerns. "You mean the Eternal Nightmare? You should not worry so. We have lanterns enough to light the entirety of the caverns below Zverinyoskal. The Eternal Nightmare and its children cannot draw close to us. Nor orcs, for that matter, at least not without us seeing them. Besides, when we the last time you heard of anybody being carried off by Syn? The children of nightmare are real, but the god of nightmares itself is just a story."
"Like the gods we just met?" Jean asked. Ostiya grimaced, and Jean started to giggle. "Because I know for a fact that Syn is real. We've met. By the Void, I've met three gods this month. Or six months. Or whatever. Only Nilamaak to go." The giggles grew into painful laughter that seemed to echo back to them from the darkness beneath the trees. "So maybe I should just head over to Rutoshen to say hello."
"Comrade," Ostiya said, reaching out to take Jean by the shoulder.
But Jean growled at him. His laughter died and his tail bristled. "The Eldritch One told you I wouldn't be a burden. That I could face whatever monsters were out there. Well he was right." Jean clutched at his staff, his claws extending and retracting. "I've faced down the god of nightmares itself. What can an orc do? Steal another home from me? Kill me like they did my father? I've touched the Void!" His staff snapped in two between his hands, and he brandished the pieces at Ostiya, hissing. "Now they will know the fear that I cannot. With Syn as my witness, I will drive every last one of them from this land. I would say home, but now my home is gone. And orcs shall find no home here in return."
Ostiya looked unsettled, but Jean didn't care. The gods themselves had marked him, and he was going to use that blessing to make every last orc pay for what they'd done to him. He could imagine no finer way to mourn.