Standing around after walking up the ramp turned out to be the worst by far. Gwen’s calves and ankles weren’t as stiff as they could be, certainly, but that wasn’t saying much. Every muscle in her legs ached to be moving, but she was penned into a giant stone block that would soon be rising into the sky.

Fortunately, she had plenty to distract her.

Waggoner had arranged the wagons in the front corner of the Lift, practically right against the railing.

“You five can relax,” he told the guards. “Don’t go far, but feel free to take in the sights.”

It made sense. Not only was it unlikely anyone would start something on a closed platform, but if they did, there were no fewer than six armed Lift guards ready to step in.

Gwen stood next to the wagons and looked out over the railing. Even though it looked sturdy and well-crafted, she didn’t quite trust it enough to lean on. Frederick stood on one side of her and Erik on the other, though the latter seemed to have no problem resting his arms on the wood. Behind the three of them, people and horses and wagons milled about waiting for the Lift to live up to its name. Gwen was still trying to tune out the constant murmuring noise, the ripe odor, and the heat that all inevitably arose from so many people and animals packed together. She wasn’t interested in the crowd. She wanted to see the Roots fall away.

“I always love this part,” Frederick said. “Helps remind me why I do this job.”

Gwen opened her mouth to ask why that was, but she was interrupted by one of the guards.

“Closing the gate! Last call! Closing the gate!”

A few stragglers hurried onto the platform, and then the guards slid the gate closed and locked it with a heavy padlock and chain.

“Ready!”

With the creak of wood, the Lift lurched upward, climbing slowly into the sky. Horses snorted and whinnied with surprise. Gwen saw the inns slide by, floor by floor, until she was looking out over their roofs. The Fourth Root began to shrink, the colossal tendril narrowing as Gwen rose. It was like climbing the ramp from Fjorir, except faster and without her having to move. Instead, this happened on its own, like magic.

An odd mixture of sadness, excitement, and awe filled Gwen. She was finally leaving the Roots--her home--behind. First she’d left her village, then she’d left Wirtrumburg, and now she was leaving the base of Ascangen altogether. The Wirt River shrank into nothingness, the three Roots Gwen could see became brown stripes, and the great city itself vanished underneath the stone slab of the Lift. Tears carried the feelings out of her.

After about half an hour of staring, Gwen’s emotions faded to a more manageable level, as the only changes were the Roots shrinking and the clouds above growing. It was then that she remembered her question from earlier.

“Frederick?” she asked.

“At your service.”

“Why did you become a caravan guard?”

“Honestly?” he said. “It pays better than being a town guard.” He chuckled. “No, that’s not quite it. I was big and strong even when I was a child, so I decided to use that to protect people. I joined the town guard when I turned sixteen and did that for a few years. You know all the stories about guards stopping murders and catching thieves, that sort of thing? They don’t really happen. We mostly just showed up where there were crimes, told people we’d look for the criminal, asked around, and got nowhere. Either that or we helped the treasury haul people off to debtors’ prison. Once in a while, we caught a criminal in the act, but mostly the volunteer fire brigade did more good than we did.

“One day me and my partner were sent to help a treasurer arrest somebody who wasn’t paying their taxes. Turns out she was a young mother who had to choose between feeding her child and paying her tithes. She was all skin and bones herself, but the kid seemed mostly all right.

“I couldn’t do it. So I tied her hands just a little bit too loosely. Bumped into my partner when he went to grab the kid. Whoops, they got away, how sad. The treasurer saw the whole thing, but he just gave me a little wink and let it slide.

“Once my shift was over, treasurer introduced me to an old friend of his who happened to do books for Waggoner. That guy suggested I join up. It was better money and I got to actually stop bandits, so of course I was gonna do it.”

Gwen’s eyes went wide. “You know Brother Argus?” She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised, given that Frederick had been working for Waggoner for a long time, but she just hadn’t made the connection.

“Wait, Argus is your brother?”

“My--no.” Gwen laughed. “No, he’s a priest now.” Argus was old enough to be her father, and then some. “I stayed at his temple my first night in Fjorir, and then he sent me to Waggoner.”

“Oh!” Frederick smacked his forehead. “That makes way more sense. I never heard what he did after he left. After...”

Gwen nodded solemnly. “I heard. Did, er...did you see it happen?” She probably shouldn’t dredge up those memories, but she was gripped by a morbid curiosity. For all she knew, she could end up in the same kind of danger that killed Argus’s beloved.

“I wish I didn’t. I saw the mercenary break into the wagon, but by the time I got there, Rufus had already been stabbed. I made sure his killer died painfully, though.”

“Good,” Gwen said. “Wait, how did you all figure out they were mercenaries in the first place?”

“I told them,” Erik said. “That’s how I started working with Waggoner.”

Frederick grinned. “Erik was with the mercenary company. He had a change of heart and tried to warn us, but he didn’t get there until after the fight. He still told us everything.”

“I couldn’t be part of a group that was so underhanded. Waggoner didn’t want to believe me at first, but when I led them right to the mercenary camp and helped them loot it, he offered me a job.”

Waggoner seemed to offer practically anyone a job if he thought they were a good person and a decent fighter. It was a wonder he didn’t have half the city working for him at this point. Gwen was sure he looked into his guards’ pasts before hiring them, but he still seemed to pick up a lot of random people. Not that she was any different. A sixteen-year-old pilgrim who could fight as well as any soldier and came with a recommendation from his old treasurer-turned-priest, and he hired her then and there.

“Waggoner has sure got a soft spot,” Frederick said. “You know Bo used to be a gladiator?”

“He told me last night,” Gwen said. “It sounds like he’s been through a lot.”

“So much,” Erik said. “More than the rest of us, I think. Not that your life hasn’t been hard, though.” He frowned. “Has your life been hard?”

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That was a good question. The obvious answer was yes. Gwen’s parents had been killed, she’d had to leave her village and brother behind, and she’d been robbed. But she also carried an Ember of Divinity, was on her way to becoming a full Beohur, and had a chance to make friends and earn money on the way.

“I think...” she said slowly, “that I have had more than my share of hardships and more than my share of blessings.” The men looked expectantly at her, so she explained. “My parents were killed about ten years ago. I found comfort in faith, while my older brother found comfort in fighting.”

“Well now I know Argus isn’t your brother,” Frederick said with a chuckle. “He practically fainted every time he saw blood.”

“My brother, Steffan, taught me to fight in turn. We mostly herded sheep, but I apprenticed with a blacksmith for a little while. That’s how I got so strong and got this staff. When I was finally ready to leave for my pilgrimage, I had enough saved for the first leg, but I was robbed. I fought them off, but they took my pack, so I needed to find work.”

“That is a pretty hard life,” Erik said. “But wait, you were robbed by bandits and then you casually signed up to fight more of them? You know this is a dangerous job, yeah?”

“Dangerous for the bandits,” Frederick said. “You haven’t seen her fight yet, Erik. It’s hard to believe she’s only sixteen.”

The conversation was drifting into dangerous waters. Gwen looked for some way to change course. “You say that, but this is my first time above the Roots. How much farther up does the Lift go?”

“I don’t know the distance,” Frederick said. “It’ll take another hour or two. Then it’ll drop us off right at Nergund and we’ll spend the rest of the day walking.”

“Before that, though,” Erik said with a smile, “we get my favorite part.” He pointed up. “In about half an hour, we’ll go through a cloud.”

“How does that feel?” Gwen knew it was possible to go through one, given that she’d seen the Lift do just that last night, but the only thing she knew about clouds was that they made rain and lightning. She had no idea what they themselves were made from.

“Wet,” Frederick said.

“Magical,” Erik said at the same time. He shot Frederick an exaggerated glare. “Alright, fine, it’s wet. Clouds are kind of like extra thick pillows of fog. They’re cold and soggy, but it’s also so beautiful to watch the world disappear for a couple of minutes and then see a whole different world appear in its place.”

“It sort of is,” Frederick admitted. “Especially if the clouds cover enough of the sky and they look like a fresh coat of snow. It’s still too wet and cold to enjoy properly though.”

The experience did sound spectacular to Gwen, albeit also uncomfortable like Frederick said. Still, a passing discomfort was more than worth a once-in-a-lifetime experience. She looked up at the cloud, anxiously watching it grow closer and closer.

Those minutes of watching and waiting, shifting from foot to foot in excitement, were some of the longest of Gwen’s life. Finally, though, the pulleys above them vanished into the cloud, and then they were inside it too.

Gwen was cold. Gwen was wet. Gwen was blind. All of her senses were obscured by the chill, damp fog swaddling her. She couldn’t feel anything except frigid. She couldn’t see anything except white. She couldn’t smell anything except the crisp icy air. She could still hear the horses neighing in confusion, but even the platform’s conversations had died. Frederick and Erik had both been right. Being in the cloud was at the same time uncomfortable and magical. The world below truly had fallen away.

Then, after several serene minutes, the Lift emerged. Sight and smell and touch returned, though the latter barely changed. Gwen was still cold and wet. But now she could smell the horses--and, unfortunately, some of the people. What was more, she could see.

What a sight it was. Endless hills of clouds rolled out beneath her, though with their lumpy texture they looked more like herds of fluffy sheep than slopes of fresh snow. And above them, above the Lift, Gwen could finally see Nergund.

That sight etched itself into her mind forever.

She’d caught glimpses of the Branches before, of course, on days the skies were clear. But they were distant, bordering on abstract and unreal. Now Gwen was looking at a Branch up close, a Branch she would be setting foot on soon. That made it deeply real.

The giant bough of living wood stretched clear across the sky. Tremendous leaves sprouted from its sides, filling the rest of Gwen’s vision. From here, looking up at the bottom, it seemed like a regular--if titanic--tree branch. But Gwen knew that once she stepped onto it, she would see far more than that. She would see forests, rivers, plains, and mountains. She would see cities and villages. She would see animals and people. Each Branch was a region unto itself, with its own climate and culture.

“You were right,” Gwen said softly, tears in her eyes. “It’s so magical.”

“I cried the first time too,” Erik said. “I told my fellows it was water from the cloud, but it wasn’t.”

Gwen grinned and pointed to her eyes. “That’s what this is. Just water from the cloud.”

“Sure, kid,” Frederick said. “Sure.” His eyes were suspiciously wet too.

The rest of the ride took about an hour. Gwen looked up the entire time, watching as Nergund grew ever closer. Eventually, the Lift pulled alongside of the Branch, passing barely a hundred feet from the thick bark. Barely. It was odd how distances grew so distorted when dealing with things this huge. Back on the ground, a hundred feet would have felt like a decently long distance. Here, Gwen felt as if the Lift could smash into the Branch at any time, scattering the platform’s riders into the cloudy void like so much dandelion fluff.

But Gwen knew if that really happened, no one would ride the Lift in the first place. And indeed, the stone platform came to a halt safe and sound right alongside Nergund. The hundred feet had shrunk to just a couple.

Guards from the Branch ran over and hooked ropes to the Lift, securing it so it didn’t sway.

“Open the gates!” they called, and the guards inside did so. The Lift’s passengers began streaming out into a square that looked quite similar to the one at the bottom, with two rings of inns facing the Lift. Edric’s caravan, being in the corner, was one of the last to leave.

Two claps sounded behind Gwen. That was Irina’s signal to pay attention. The guards gathered around her.

Same places as yesterday, she signed.

“Sounds good,” Frederick said. “Come on, Gwen. Let’s get you your first glimpse of Nergund.”

Gwen followed him into the square. Some part of her had expected her first steps onto a Branch to feel unique somehow, but earth was earth, and the cobblestones here were no different from the cobblestones below. The air was slightly cooler and more humid, but that was the only change. When Gwen could actually see Nergund’s landscape, it would probably sink in that she was in a different place, but at the moment the buildings were in the way.

Once the guards took up their positions around the wagons, the caravan followed the main road out of the square. The Lift, it seemed, was on a low mountain looking out over the whole of Nergund. When they emerged from the buildings, Gwen could see the entire topography of the Branch.

It was gorgeous.

Maybe it was just because Nergund was new and exciting. Maybe Gwen would have felt this way about the first Branch she saw no matter what. But Nergund felt like a nicer, more beautiful version of the Roots: where they were sparse with plants, it was lush, with tall grasses and thick groves of trees. Where they were packed with people, it was spacious, with long, winding roads from town to town. No wonder the journey would take weeks. There were no direct paths anywhere.

The caravan started down the mountain road, which was plenty wide but had many switchbacks. For the rest of the day, Gwen took in the scenery and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. There wasn’t anything different about walking on Nergund instead of down in the Roots, but it felt odd to be walking downhill after an entire day of the opposite. Gwen’s body had just gotten used to the incline, and now it had to face a decline. It was still just walking, though.

Just before sunset, the caravan reached the bottom of the mountain and pulled off of the road. Waggoner called a stop for the night, and they parked the wagons. Tents were distributed and a stew pot was set atop a bonfire.

Before dinner, Irina guided the guards through their poses for a good hour, alternating between armed and unarmed. From the way the others lined up as soon as their tents were pitched, Gwen gathered this was a longstanding routine. It was one she was more than happy to join. Walking all day was good for keeping her fit and sleeping soundly, but with the energy from the ember, she needed more work in order to get stronger. A little training would polish her body and her skills in equal measure.

Soon the food was ready, and the entire caravan ate around the fire. The stew was a bit bland, but plenty hot and nourishing. Gwen mostly stayed out of the conversation, preferring to listen as everyone else talked. One of the wagon drivers was glad the caravan had left when it did, as she’d heard there was more and more crime in the villages near the Wirt, which had then been confirmed by the fires Gwen had seen on the wall. Luckily, no one had heard of similar problems in Nergund. Gwen wondered if all of the Branches were this peaceful. If so, why couldn’t the Roots be the same?

Once the stew pot was empty and a flask of something sharp and fiery had been passed around, it was time for sleep. Gwen lay awake for a while basking in her sense of community and purpose. Then she drifted off into a deep, dreamless slumber.