The road from Crystal Cove winds along the large river through a pass between the mountains and eventually out into the next valley. The river is called the Bisect because it does exactly that: bisects this south-eastern section of Qeth from the Strait of Halzansk, wherever that is, on through to the Graceful Sound. It’s kind of suspicious to me, frankly—I vaguely remember something from middle school science about rivers always running down hill, so I don’t think it’s all actually one body of water. But, maybe. Magic, after all.

The directions that Jonas got from the farmer named Klyne (whom he and Tyrus proceeded to spend the evening and most of the night getting absolutely sloshed with—we’re talking singing-at-the-piano, dancing-on-the-bar kind of sloshed, or at least that’s Meg’s version of events) suggested we take the river path through the pass between the mountains until we reach the crossroads on the other side. This would, apparently, take most of the day if we tended to travel quickly, so it was best to leave early as there are mountain goblins and other similar creatures lurking in the foothills surrounding the road.

Jonas and Tyrus apparently stayed up most of the night, and Meg, for all her insistence about the single room, didn’t seem to have spent much time in it. To say Flynt and I were annoyed would be putting it mildly. Though, at least we got to talk. A small part of me thinks that may have been the plan all along, but I’m not sure if I think Meg is that nefarious or not.

Like much of Qeth that I’ve experienced so far, the river road is beautiful, especially in the fresh spring air. Wild flowers are beginning to bloom, and birds sing from the trees dotting the river banks. The vegetation is different on this side of the Sound, too: it’s lighter, with what look like aspens mixing in with much smaller more delicate looking conifers than the beasts outside Oosal. It’s also missing the farmland that dots the scenery on the other side, and the road is different, too, with substantially less traffic in either direction here. It makes it all feel a little more wild.

It takes me a little while to realize that this isn’t really a river road we’re walking. Rather, we’re walking the floor of a deep, narrow canyon. The mountains grow up around us quickly as we journey along the river bank road, which is less something that’s been deliberately placed and more something naturally occurring that’s been marked out by a few hand-carved signs. And while everything is vibrantly green along the foothills, the weather more temperate here than just across the bay, the foothills quickly turn rockier and more grizzled the farther we go until they’re rising up thousands of feet on either side of the river.

After about an hour silently walking through the canyon, all of us have drifted into some kind of awe over the sight, and I start to feel this dread growing in my stomach as I flashback to stories told by park rangers during childhood camping trips at the Grand Canyon.

“I hope there’s not a flash flood,” I can’t help but murmur.

“Thanks, Keira, I hadn’t been thinking about that,” Tyrus says, looking up at the massive cliff faces jutting up around us.

The river meanders by, its quiet rushing sounds steady even if amplified by the narrow canyon. It looks like someone cut a narrow grandma sized slice out of the mountain and the river just spilled out like some kind of filling in a cake.

There’s nothing gradual about the ascent, either: just almost fully vertical cliff faces. Some of the stone has an iridescent quality to it, while there are veins of different colors striping along it. It’s not quite as dynamic as the canyons of the American southwest, but it’s still gorgeous. The cliff face on our bank is probably a hundred yards away or so, while the far shore is maybe a quarter mile. Looking up, the rough walls seem to tilt inward as they tower several miles above our heads. That’s probably just perspective, though. Probably.

It takes us about three hours to make it through the canyon and another two before the cliffs begin to recede, turning again into rolling foothills, though these are still covered in snow. The temperature drops a good twenty degrees by the time we’re out of the canyon altogether. The weather must come in from the east and get blown over the mountains, hitting here before being jettisoned over Oosal, while the foothills on the other side remain sheltered. The canyon itself is angled slightly north, which blocks much of the wind from whipping through it. It’d be almost non-traversable otherwise.

We find a spot to rest and eat about a mile from the canyon’s edge with, based on the wooden sign, another fifteen miles to go to the Crossroads—and that’s how it’s labeled, nothing more: the Crossroads. The decision makes a long day even longer, but we push through, and we get to the Crossroads Inn just as dusk starts to fall.

It’s a smaller than expected, ramshackle building made of overlapping wooden boards that have been treated with something to make them weatherproof. Sort of. Signs of damp are pretty obvious. As we get closer, it appears as if the top level is leaning slightly.

“We might be better off sleeping in our tent,” I mutter. “It looks like it’s seen better days.”

“Maybe, but the inn will have fire places, food, and ale,” Meg says. “And our tent is barely a tent. The weather here is going to be colder than the foothills outside Oosal. There’s a lot more wind.”

“That’s part of my concern…” I let my voice trail off. “What if it blows over?”

“It’s probably been standing for decades,” Tyrus says.

“That doesn’t mean anything. Today could be the day. Look at it.”

Jonas shrugs. “It’s about as nice as where Meg and I stayed in Oosal the first week or so. It served us alright. Better than sleeping rough.”

“You really stayed somewhere like this?” I know it’s a terrible thing to say, but honestly, the place looks like something from an episode of ‘Ghost Hunters.’ “The Wide Sky wasn’t that expensive.”

“Yeah, well, some of us didn’t have Mr. Moneybags to buy someone out of their room,” Jonas mutters.

“Jonas.” Flynt’s tone is sharp. I raise an eyebrow and look between them. Flynt hesitates and then tries to make it into a joke. “That is not becoming a nickname.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“No, go back a minute. What did you mean, Jonas?”

Jonas’s cheeks color, and Meg actually chuckles at the question, slapping him on the back. “You stepped in it now,” she says.

“It’s nothing,” Flynt replies, glaring at Jonas.

“I’m getting the impression it’s something.”

Tyrus rolls his eyes. “The Wide Sky is notoriously booked. You stayed there for almost a week, you never noticed that there weren’t any vacancies?”

“I didn’t,” I admit. “I honestly never asked. And I wasn’t really there much, I was with you guys. Flynt, what did you do?”

He sighs. “We needed a room. I offered money to anyone who would give up theirs immediately.”

I narrow my eyes. “How much money?”

“Enough to get it to happen.” His cheeks are a dark green and it reaches up to his ears, and it’s not just wind-chill. “Keira, it’s not a big deal. I would have done it for anyone.”

Tyrus scoffs. “She wasn’t the only wounded person on the street.”

“I knew her.”

“For a minute.”

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“Let’s give Flynt a break,” Meg says. “He did a nice thing. He’s very kind.”

Jonas laughs at the pained expression that crosses Flynt’s face.

“I panicked,” Flynt protests. “She was only there because of me.”

“So you dropped four gold pieces because of guilt,” Tyrus says flatly. “How do I get you to feel guilty about me?”

“Four gold pieces?” I ask. “For someone to give up their room?”

“Three for that, one to Nyssa to cover the week.”

“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “Wait. I was paying Nyssa.”

Tyrus laughs at that. “How much?”

“A silver and a half a day!”

“Oh. Keira.” Meg sighs as Tyrus and Jonas both chuckle. “You think somewhere like the Wide Sky would only be a silver and a half a night? There’s an indoor privy, warmed running water, magical lighting. Mattresses not made of straw. Where we stayed last night was four per room, and that was after negotiation. Original asking was six. And all it had was that creepy outhouse.”

“I thought the mark-up was from lack of competition,” I mumble. “Hey, I told you all I didn’t understand how money works here. How was I supposed to know? And why didn’t you tell me?” I elbow Flynt lightly in the ribs, though I just bump the heavy leather of his torso armor. “Nyssa must think I’m a total dumbass.”

“I asked her to play along,” he confesses.

“So it was a full on ruse then. I’m going to pay you back when we get inside.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” Flynt says, giving Jonas and Tyrus both a glare.

Tyrus shrugs. “She deserved to know.”

“Remind me to never confide in either of you.”

“Hey, she’s taking it better than you thought she would,” Jonas says.

“That’s only because I know him now,” I admit, though honestly I don’t love this new information. “If you’d told me a couple weeks ago, I definitely would have freaked out. He was probably right not to tell me.”

“I still don’t understand that,” Flynt mutters.

“Where I come from, things like what you did tend to come with strings attached.”

“How so?”

“It puts me in your debt. The expectation is that I’m going to want to do something for you. A lot of times it’s a way to manipulate someone and a situation. I paid so now you owe me.”

“The more you tell me about where you come from the more I don’t like it.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Tyrus says. “There are plenty of people like that here, too. Not everyone is as trustworthy as we are.”

“I got very lucky,” I reply. “Don’t worry, I realize that.”

We pause in front of the inn and I shake my head, taking it in. It looks even more crooked up close, but there are a number of unhitched wagons with beasts of burden in various stalls off on the other side of the road. A large ork seems to be standing watch, a big crossbow slung over his shoulder. He glares at us from across the road.

“Alright. I’ll keep trusting you here, but if that building collapses on me, I’m haunting all of you in the afterlife.”

Meg rolls her eyes but doesn’t say anything, stepping up the creaky stairs and pulling open the door. The rest of us follow into a large main tap room with similarly creaky floorboards and dilapidated looking tables. All of which are filled.

“This doesn’t bode well,” I mutter to Flynt. “What do we do if there are no rooms available?”

“Don’t worry, there will be rooms. Most of these people won’t want to leave their wares to stay at an inn.”

“Bet you a gold.” I put out my hand. He takes it.

We huddle around a single empty stool at the bar and order a round of beer—that’s all they have—from the human bartender. It’s absolutely terrible, like one of the notorious American lagers that advertise at baseball games; I let Tyrus finish mine as I eye the food being placed in front of one of the nearby patrons. It doesn’t look much better, and I give Flynt another look.

“This is your fault,” I tell him. “You’re the one who got me accustomed to a certain standard. I now have a taste for Qeth’s bougie side and it’s hard to go back from that.”

“I’m guessing at what you mean, but I apologize for not letting you live in a gutter.”

“What do you mean there aren’t any rooms?” Meg’s voice is needlessly loud—loud enough that we can hear her from the other end of the bar, even over the din.

I glance at Flynt and put my hand out. He sighs, then smirks at me. “How about I take it off your tab.”

“That is absolutely fair.”

“Mosby’s Law really is a thing, isn’t it?” he asks.

“I think you’re just not allowed to make proclamations anymore,” Tyrus replies. “You’re cursed.”

“Says the one who has tempted Mosby the most.” Jonas grins, elbowing Tyrus’s shoulder, though his expression drops after a glare from Meg as she approaches.

“We’re sleeping outside tonight,” she says. “Let’s just follow the path toward the ruins, and we’ll stop at the first campsite we see.”

“There’s nowhere around here?” Jonas asks. “Keira’s feet are tired.”

“Hey. Don’t bring my feet into this.” They are tired—this is probably the farthest I’ve walked in one day ever—but I’m not about to admit that now.

“The nearby campsites are the wrong direction,” Meg says. “I’d rather walk another hour now than have to backtrack tomorrow.”

I think we all grumble internally at that, but none of us argue. The guys finish their terrible beers, and we file out of the building, leaving the Crossroads Inn behind us as we travel north. It’s gets darker and with that, the temperature falls even more. I pull a second scarf out of my bag along with the purple knit hat I found at a stall during a farmers’ market sort of situation; it was stupidly expensive, but it covers my ears nicely, even if it does look a little goofy. Flynt chuckles softly at me. He’s about to say something when he cuts himself off.

“Meg. Marker up ahead. To the left.”

There’s a brief pause but she then nods. “I see it. Alright, up to the left, everyone.”

“Marker?” I ask.

“They’re left by travelers to tell others about rest locations, usually made with rocks.” He points it out as we pass, following an overgrown path up into the trees. It’s small, you’d have to be looking for it, but it’s a ring of tiny stones with one in the middle. “That means safe campground. A straight line means a place to rest but be on guard. An ‘x’ means to be wary and stay on the road. There are others, but those three are the most important. It’s part of the Hospitality of the Road. It’s also why we’re sure to leave any wood we gathered in the area, rather than take it with us, and we take food scraps so we don’t attract animals to safe campsites.”

“That makes sense.”

“Shh,” Meg says up ahead. She’s crouched down and we all follow suit. I hesitate but pull an arrow and nock my bow just in case. “It looks like there’s a camp already set up.” She moves carefully toward us, still crouched. “But I don’t see any other signs of people. There’s no one visible, and no fire.”

“Maybe they’re already asleep,” Jonas says.

“It’s still twilight. And even if they’re the early to bed types, I’d still expect to see someone on watch.”

“So what do you think it is?” Flynt asks.

“I don’t know. Could just be a bad angle. But this doesn’t feel right.”

“Maybe we should just head back to the road,” Jonas says.

Meg shakes her head. “We have a responsibility.”

Flynt nods in affirmation.

“Okay,” Tyrus says, “then let’s do what we’re going to do. It’s getting darker by the moment.”

“I wish we had rockie-talkies,” Meg mutters.

“I’m sorry, rockie-talkies?” I ask.

Meg glances at me and she frowns, her forehead furrowing. “Communications stones. They’re rocks. You talk through them. You’ve never heard that expression before?”

“I haven’t either,” Flynt says, “but we can’t just sneak in, Meg. If everything is okay, and there is a group camping there, and we come up with our arms out…”

“No, I know.” Meg’s mouth pulls into a tight line, and she rubs the place between her eyebrows. “But I really don’t like this, Flynt. Something’s not right.”

“I’ll go around,” Tyrus says, keeping his voice more downcast and gravelly than usual. “Use my stealth abilities. At least then someone has a surprise advantage. Keira and Flynt can hide in the trees for some range.”

“And you’re saying for Jonas and I to just go in,” Meg says. “Play it on the up and up.”

Flynt shakes his head. “I don’t like Jonas going in like that.”

“You want to go instead?” Tyrus asks. “That leaves just Keira covering the range attack.”

“Better than risking our healer.”

“Jonas?” Meg asks.

“I’m fine with wherever you want me. But you know I have to get up pretty close to deal any damage, and if something jumps out at you, I’d rather you not be worried about keeping me safe.”

“That’s a good point.” Meg sighs. “We have to get you some better offensive spells.”

“I’m going,” Tyrus replies. “Let’s do this.” He disappears into the foliage almost immediately after he says that.

“Okay.” Flynt stands and rubs his hands together. “I’ll have something ready to go just in case, but we shouldn’t go in obviously ready to fight.”

“This is so stupid,” Meg mutters, shaking her head. She glances at me and points. “Don’t blow us up.”

“Mundane arrows only.”

She nods at that, then stands, adjusts her shoulders, and, glancing at Flynt, she follows the path in toward the gathering of small tents set up around a dead fire pit about a tennis court’s distance away.

“Hello?” she calls as she keeps her hands out and palms forward. Flynt follows suit. “Hello? We were passing by and hope to share hospitality! We have warm food.”

Nothing. Everything is eerily still. I hold my breath, watching, keeping myself hidden behind the trunk of a tree but making sure I have a clear line of sight on my party members. Meg shakes her head, mutters something to Flynt, who is looking around carefully. He pauses, does a double take, then squeezes her shoulder, gesturing at one of the tents. They approach it slowly, and Meg peers in. There’s a small pause before Meg pulls her sword, turning back out toward the rest of the camp.

“Show yourselves!” she shouts.

There’s heavy silence. My breath puffs out steam that I try to keep controlled. My hands are freezing, my fingertips numb as they pinch the end of the arrow.

An object comes out of nowhere, whizzing through the air and thudding hard against the metal armor guarding Meg’s left shoulder; it’s enough for her to step back with an oof. Just as I process that the object looked like a crossbow bolt, a cry comes up from the tree line. On the other side of the camp, a dozen small creatures rush out toward them accompanied by a flurry of additional bolts.