Felitïa.

There was no rest. There couldn’t be.

Every day, every night, it called to her. Constantly. There were periods of silence—anything from a few minutes to an hour or two—but it was never enough. Felitïa had lain awake night after night due to its incessant calls. What broken sleep she got provided little rest. Last night had been particularly bad. She had gotten at most an hour of sleep total.

Felitïa.

It was driving her mad.

Felitïa.

When she had first heard the Staff of Sestin calling to her outside the Grand Temple in Ninifin—before she’d known what was calling to her—she had been determined to rush in and find it. She had risked her life—and the lives of her friends—to recover it. She had been impulsive and reckless in a way she didn’t normally behave. She had been so certain it was important.

She still thought it was important. But that didn’t matter if it killed her.

Felitïa.

“Ready?” Nin-Akna asked.

Felitïa nodded.

Nin-Akna took Felitïa’s right hand and began to cut the strings holding the splints on Felitïa’s fingers together. Felitïa tried not to flinch as Nin-Akna’s knife moved about ever so close to her skin.

Felitïa.

What do you want? She’d asked that questions hundreds of times already. She’d tried so many ways to answer the Staff’s call, but it never responded. It didn’t seem to recognise she was even addressing it.

It was broken. It had to be.

In her head, in the Room she visualised there, it loomed above the queue of people and the uncountable blurred images beyond them. It stretched perhaps the length of the line, although given the strange dimensions in the room and just how impossible it was to determine the length of the line, the staff was possibly longer or shorter. Indeed, she couldn’t even say it was truly above the line. It was in some other direction, at right angles to all the normal directions. It was fitting. An inexplicable staff in an inexplicable place. As if to emphasise that fact, the eyes of the coiled serpent at the Staff’s end sparkled in the non-existent, yet ever-present light of the Room.

But in the real world, the serpent had no eyes. Just empty sockets.

Felitïa needed to find those eyes. Maybe then the Staff’s mind would be whole. Maybe then she could understand what it wanted.

The Staff’s mind.

Even her own thoughts about it made no sense. The Staff was an object. A thing. It couldn’t have a mind.

Yet in some sense, it did.

Felitïa.

As Nin-Akna finished with each finger, she tossed the wooden pieces of flint into the river, where they drifted away with the current. Her right hand free to move at last, Felitïa tried to bend her fingers. They shook, but otherwise refused to budge.

Nin-Akna took Felitïa’s left hand. “You’ll be stiff for a while. Don’t worry. You’ll get your mobility back. Just give it time.” She began to slice through the strings on the left-hand splints.

Felitïa nodded.

Felitïa, you must listen to me.

Occasionally, the Staff said those extra words, echoing the voices in Felitïa’s head, the ones that spoke the names of the people in the line. There had to be a link. The Staff’s voice and the voices in her head were exactly the same. They had to have the same source.

Felitïa.

She could block it out sometimes. It took effort, but just like with the emotions of other people, she could manoeuvre the walls of the Room around the Staff’s presence and keep its calling at bay. For a time. Whether five minutes or twenty, the Staff always broke through eventually and would be twice as intense for the next while, almost like it was angry at her. As such, she only did it if there was something else important to concentrate on—or when the frustration got so great she just had to have a few minutes of freedom, even if it meant dealing with worse later.

Felitïa.

There was a new pressure on her fingers. Felitïa looked down. Nin-Akna had already tossed aside the splints from Felitïa’s left hand and was now gently bending Felitïa’s fingers with her own. Nin-Akna was also saying something but Felitïa had missed most of it, too focused on the Staff.

“Like that,” Nin-Akna concluded.

Felitïa nodded as if she understood.

Nin-Akna took Felitïa’s right hand again.

Felitïa.

Shut up. Sometimes, that was all she could say to it. Sometimes, when the frustration built up more than she could bare, she would just mentally scream and curse at it. It usually let her feel better for a very brief time, but otherwise achieved nothing.

Felitïa.

She wasn’t going to let the frustration get that great this time though. She would remain calm.

Felitïa.

Nin-Akna pressed on Felitïa’s fingers. “Try to move them as I push on them.”

Felitïa. Felitïa. Felitïa.

“Oh, just fuck off!”

A flare of annoyance shot from Nin-Akna and she let go. The annoyance died away quickly though. “The Staff?”

Felitïa gave a small smile, then lowered her head. “Sorry.” Sometimes, stress and exhaustion made her say things meant for the Staff out loud in front of others.

“It really gets to you, doesn’t it?”

Felitïa sighed. “You don’t know the half of it. Sorry again. What did you want me to do?”

Nin-Akna took Felitïa’s hand again. “Try to close your fingers. I’ll help.”

Felitïa tried. Her pinky refused to move at all, and her index finger only moved a little—until Nin-Akna moved them for her. All her fingers ached and protested at the movement. The fingers on her other hand were aching too. It must have been from Nin-Akna’s earlier manipulations.

Six weeks they’d been immobile. Stiffness and aches now would only be a minor inconvenience in return for being able to move them again.

When Fra-Ichtaca had ordered Felitïa’s fingers broken, it had been to prevent her spellcasting, and that had been its immediate effect. It had nearly crushed her spirits, as so much of her spellcasting was dependent on her fingers. Over the weeks since, she had begun working on alternative means to cast her spells, and she was enjoying some progress. It was slow, but it was still progress, and she would continue it now even though the splints were gone and she would soon have full mobility back.

Yet she had also discovered all the other things that needed her fingers—the mundane, everyday things she had always taken for granted. Picking up objects. Writing. Even hugging her friends. So many things that had never drawn any thought were now complex tasks that needed careful planning. For a significant portion of them, even careful planning wasn’t enough without assistance. She needed someone to help her mount her horse, and she could barely keep hold of the reins herself, never mind use them effectively. She couldn’t even dress and undress herself without help.

She had felt so useless.

Having mobility back might finally change that.

Felitïa.

“The stiffness should clear up eventually,” Nin-Akna said. “I can show you a few exercises to do every day until you get full mobility back, and for a while after that.”

For the last four weeks or so, poor Nin-Akna had been the one stuck assisting Felitïa in all those mundane tasks. Zandrue had done it at first before they’d had to go separate ways. Now there was mostly just Nin-Akna. Corvinian liked to help where he could, but there were so many things he couldn’t help with, so the majority fell to Nin-Akna. The young woman had done everything without verbal complaint, but the resentment at having to be here outside Ninifin was strong, and it hadn’t diminished any in the weeks of travel. If anything, it had gotten stronger. Felitïa often had to block out Nin-Akna’s emotions just for her own peace of mind. Dealing with the Staff was enough.

It wasn’t just resentment; Nin-Akna was brimming with anger, fear, and depression too. The poor girl often cried out in her sleep. Felitïa understood. Nin-Akna had been through a lot. They all had.

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At the moment, however, Nin-Akna was smiling, which was a rare event these days. And amongst her other more common emotions, relief was flooding from her as well. Nin-Akna was a warrior, not a nursemaid.

“I’ll be sure to do them,” Felitïa said.

“You should be able to start doing a lot of things on your own again, but don’t overdo it,” Nin-Akna said. “You don’t want to strain yourself, so if you need anything, you can still ask.”

Felitïa smiled. “Thank you.”

Nin-Akna stood up. “I’ll start breaking camp so we can get moving.”

“I’ll help.” Felitïa started to stand, but stopped at a surge of annoyance from Nin-Akna.

“No, don’t worry. Like I said, don’t overdo it. You just moved your fingers for the first time in weeks. They’re not ready for lifting and carrying heavy things yet. Corvinian will help me.”

Felitïa sat back and nodded. “You’re right. I’ll wait here.”

In the last several weeks, pitching and breaking camp were amongst a very small number of moments Nin-Akna got away from Felitïa. It had been foolish to suggest invading that time before Nin-Akna had had a chance to experience other moments of freedom.

“If we make good time today,” Felitïa said, “we might reach Dorg.”

“Don’t worry. Corvinian and I have a system going. We won’t take long.” Nin-Akna moved off and called out to Corvinian.

While they took care of the camp, Felitïa decided to try meditating and focusing on her concentration exercises. Maybe the Staff would leave her alone long enough to do so.

She closed her eyes and tuned out her surroundings. One by one, she let them go. The sound of Nin-Akna’s and Corvinian’s voices. The sound of the river. The buzz of insects. The last was the feel of Lon’s and Nesh’s tiny feet on her shoulders.

Felitïa.

This time, she was going to ignore it.

Felitïa.

No matter how much it pressed her.

Felitïa.

She sighed, opened her eyes, and looked over at the camp. She wasn’t sure where the Staff was right now. It was packed with the saddle bags, and Nin-Akna and Corvinian had not yet saddled the horses. But it only needed to be nearby to bother her. That made her concentration score so far today just three calls of her name. Not a good start.

She took a deep breath, and started again.

* * * * *

“It’s so big.” Corvinian climbed onto the carved balustrade and peered over the top. “Way bigger than the Jaguar.”

Nin-Akna shrugged. “Sure, but you can still see the far side. Since sailing to Scovese, I’ve come to the conclusion no water is big unless you can’t see the other side. Still, as rivers go, yeah, it’s big.”

Felitïa had never seen the Tirin before despite living alongside its source for most of her life. It was the largest river in Arnor—the largest on the continent—flowing all the way from Lake Belone to the Bay of Ras. But Quorge was on the opposite side of Lake Belone, so Felitïa had never seen the river, even though Quorge saw many visitors who had sailed upon it.

For the last few days, they had been following one of the Tirin’s many tributaries on the road to Dorg. The tributary was a sizeable river itself, but it was small compared to the Tirin, which had to be several miles wide here near its mouth into the Bay. Right now, the water looked calm and placid, but Felitïa had heard that it could become violent in stormy weather.

“How did they build the bridge?” Corvinian asked.

“What do you mean?” Nin-Akna asked. “It would be like any other bridge, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it’s so wide.” Corvinian leaned over the balustrade and peered down into the water. “And we’re so high up. It must have taken a long time and been really difficult.”

Nin-Akna shrugged and looked at Felitïa.

“I don’t know,” Felitïa admitted. “I don’t actually know anything about building bridges.”

A sign just before the bridge had identified it as the Peldwin Bridge, though Felitïa had no idea who or what that referred to. She had to admit it was a marvel of engineering, stretching the thousand or more feet across the river and rising a hundred feet or more above it at its apex. Meleng would have loved it. He could probably even have answered Corvinian’s question.

But Meleng wasn’t there. He was doing important things, though Felitïa still found herself wishing he, Zandrue, and the others were there. She missed them, and she knew Nin-Akna would be happier if Meleng were here.

Corvinian stood up on the balustrade and craned his neck. “I wonder how far I can see!”

“Be careful, Corvinian,” Felitïa said.

Looking southeast from the side of the bridge, it was just possible to make out the docks of Dorg in the distance—a tangle of ships and piers on the left side of the river and mouth of the bay. It wasn’t really possible to see the bay itself, but Corvinian tried, rising up onto his tiptoes.

One foot slipped.

Nin-Akna threw her arms around him and pulled him back off the balustrade, stopping him from plummeting into the river below. She placed him back on the deck of the bridge on unsteady feet.

“I told you to be careful!” Felitïa snapped.

Corvinian clutched at Nin-Akna, shaking.

“Ye should never’ve let him on there in the first place.”

Felitïa spun at the sound of the voice. So did Nin-Akna. A man was standing beside them, although Felitïa hadn’t heard him approach. “If yer his mother, ye oughta be ashamed of yerself.”

“She’s not my mother!” Corvinian said before Felitïa could reply.

“Then yer guardian,” the man said. “Either way, she oughta be ashamed.” He was short and muscular, with the tawny brown skin of western Eloorin rather than the more russet colour of the local Orwinians. His face was broad and flat, his brown hair stringy and greasy, and his left eyelid drooped. There was a Friazian lilt to his speech. Despite the harshness of his words, there was no anger emanating from him. Instead, he was radiating a calm certainty.

“I’m sorry, but...who are you?” Felitïa asked.

He frowned, though amusement flowed briefly from him. “Just a concerned passerby.”

There was something off about this man, though Felitïa had to admit he was right. She should never had let Corvinian climb onto the balustrade like that. Her exhaustion was causing her to make bad decisions. Once they reached Quorge, she hoped to store the Staff in the Hall of Knowledge so she could get away from it from time to time, and study it on her own schedule. But Quorge was still a long way away. She needed to come up with some other solution in the meantime.

Felitïa.

There it went again.

The man patted Corvinian’s cheek. “Ye be careful now, boy.”

Corvinian pulled back from the man’s touch. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ll be on me way then.” The man turned and began walking away.

Felitïa turned to Corvinian. “He’s right, Corvinian. I’ve told you many times, you need—”

“Fine horses ye have here.” The man had stopped by Xoco. He reached out his hand, but Xoco stepped aside with a snort. “Ninifin-bred, aren’t they? Ninifins don’t usually take good care of their horses, but these are fine indeed. ’Specially this one. You, girl, you look as though yer from Ninifin, yes? Ye bring ’em with ye?”

Nin-Akna nodded slowly. She had one hand on the hilt of the dagger at her belt. Her eyes stared, unblinking, at the man.

The man’s gaze fell on the Staff, its ends sticking out either side of the saddle bags on Xoco. His hand moved towards it, but the horse stepped aside again. Xoco was a finicky horse, though Felitïa didn’t blame her in this situation.

Felitïa.

This man was starting to aggravate her. There was something off about him. Truth be told, she was more annoyed at herself for not noticing his initial approach. She should have been more alert for... No, wait. Those were Nin-Akna’s feelings.

Felitïa was getting her own feelings mixed up with others’—usually Nin-Akna’s—more and more these days. The more sleep she lost, the worse it became.

Felitïa.

“Well, good day to ye.” The man started on his way again. He paused to pat Mulac’s nose. The gelding was much more willing to allow his approach than Xoco had been. After a couple gentle pats and strokes, the man finally headed away along the bridge.

Nin-Akna’s hand lowered. “I’m sorry. I should have noticed his approach.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Felitïa said. “You were paying more attention to Corvinian, which was the right thing to do.”

Nin-Akna huffed. “Maybe.”

“Besides, we’re not alone here. It’s not surprising someone noticed Corvinian nearly fall.”

Nin-Akna shook her head. “He was right behind us, Felitïa. He must have been practically here before Corvinian slipped. I should have noticed.”

That was a point. He had gotten uncomfortably close to them unnoticed.

“I didn’t like him.” Corvinian rubbed his sleeve on the cheek the man had patted. “He was dirty and gross.”

Nin-Akna leaned to the side to look past Felitïa and the horses. “Where did he go?”

Felitïa looked in the direction the man had gone. There was a small group of people with a horse-drawn cart coming towards them, but none of the group appeared to be the man. Past them, there were silhouettes of people farther in the distance—too far for the man to have gotten in so little time. She looked the other way, but there was still no sign of him.

“He moved fast,” Felitïa muttered. She approached Xoco and touched her hand tot he Staff.

Felitïa, you must listen to me.

I’m trying, she said out of habit.

As usual, the Staff didn’t respond.

Nin-Akna came up beside her. “Rudiger and Zandrue spoke of a man...” She trailed off.

Felitïa nodded. “Yeah, they did.”

Mister Speedy, Zandrue had called him. An unbelievably fast man who had dogged Zandrue, Rudiger, and Jorvan months ago. Could that have been him? Felitïa couldn’t remember the description they’d given of him. Wasn’t there something about a drooping eye? If only Zandrue were here.

But Zandrue was on her way to Arnor City. A place Felitïa couldn’t go.

Not that it mattered. There were more important things for her to do in Quorge. As much as she would have liked to go to Garet’s funeral, it was necessary that she not. She did not regret her decision.

So she told herself anyway.

Though she did wish there had been a way to make Quilla understand.

Felitïa.

“Let’s get going,” Felitïa said. “I’d like to reach the city before nightfall.”

Felitïa.

Go away, she told the Staff.

Felitïa.