“There were many I could not help,” Karigan said, “and I never expected to find the pair that had taken Joy.”

“If not for you,” Estral said, “none would have been helped at all.”

“Perhaps.”

Traveling through North was a reminder of how it had all begun for her, a runaway schoolgirl who promised a dying messenger she encountered along the road that she would complete his mission. His brooch accepted her, and she learned very soon that it augmented a weak magical ability she had not known she possessed, an ability to fade out. More time passed before she learned that she was in fact not just fading out, but crossing thresholds in the layers of the world.

On that first momentous journey, she’d begun interacting with ghosts, and since then, had even seen and dealt with Salvistar, the steed of the god of death. It was not something she wanted, but it came with her brooch and being a Green Rider. Fortunately, it did not dominate her life, and once in a while, something good came of it, such as being able to break the arrows that had trapped Joy’s spirit.

They had ridden a few miles when Enver halted Mist.

“What is it?” Karigan asked.

“Our path lies off the road here,” he said.

“But we haven’t reached the waystation.”

“That is still hours down the road, is it not? We would have to backtrack. The path is here.”

“I want to dry out,” Karigan grumbled.

“The rain is slackening. It will be clear tomorrow.”

“Karigan,” Estral said, “I would like to be dry, too, but I would just as soon not lose time backtracking. I am also not interested in riding all night.”

“We will ride for only a little while,” Enver said, “then set up camp. There is a way I can spare you some of the damp.”

Karigan wondered at that.

“Please,” Estral said, “the farther north we go, the closer I may be getting to my father.”

“We are not going to the Lone Forest.” Karigan realized, unamused, that that was what she had said about North.

“This path does not lead to the Lone Forest,” Enver said, “but it does lead north.”

Estral fell uncharacteristically quiet.

Karigan contemplated the shadowy forms of her companions in the dark, rain dripping off the rim of her hood. She’d been looking forward to a roof over her head, the warmth and dryness of the waystation, and perhaps seeing the forester who was guardian in that area, but this was no leisure jaunt through the woods. The waystation was almost a day’s ride from North and it would be well after midnight when they reached it. Then, if Enver was right about the path, they’d have to turn around and ride all the way back.

The cat poked his nose out from beneath Estral’s coat again and sniffed the air. “Meep,” he said.

“You say you can keep us dry?” Karigan asked Enver.

“Yes, Galadheon.”

He must, she thought, have some sort of Eletian magic at hand. She let out a mournful sigh. “All right. We’ll take the path.”

CAT-MONSTER-THING

They did not ride long before Enver found a place for them to camp for the night in a patch of older woods that had not yet been harvested by the lumber merchants. The boughs of tall pines offered some protection from the rain.

“You will have to care for the horses,” Enver told Karigan and Estral, “if I am to give us dryness.”

Karigan thought that if he could work some magic, she was fine with that. Her fingers were stiff and cold as she tried to undo buckles of tack and harness. Enver, meanwhile, had drawn out his muna’riel and stood gazing into its depths. She glanced over her shoulder as she worked to see him moving his hand over the muna’riel, almost as if he were sculpting light.

Another time when she looked, it was much the same, but the rain did not seem to fall where there was light. The cat sat at Enver’s feet, long whiskers rigid as he watched the Eletian’s every move.

When the horses were taken care of, Karigan realized it wasn’t raining on her even though she was outside the range of the light. The horses would be dry, too. She stretched her palm out to make sure, but no rain fell on it. She could hear it falling elsewhere. She carried their gear closer to where Enver sat cross-legged on his cloak, his head bowed and the muna’riel cupped in his hand. The cat lay stretched out beside him.

“Are you all right?” Karigan asked.

“I am well,” he replied, “but using etherea has its cost, especially for one who is only half Eletian.”

Karigan and Estral exchanged glances and continued to set up camp. Enver may have created a dry area for them, but they were not going to find dry wood. Karigan was just as glad she’d had a hot meal in North.

“Do you want us to set up your tent for you?” Estral asked Enver.

“No. It takes persuasion.”

Persuasion? Karigan wondered. Eletians.

After a time, he left the muna’riel nested on a pile of pine needles and rose to set up his tent. Karigan lit a lantern even with the light of the muna’riel, thinking it could at least be reminiscent of a fire. Then she and Estral collected wood and brought it into the light of the muna’riel. Perhaps it would dry enough overnight that they could have a fire in the morning.

When Enver emerged from his tent having, apparently, persuaded it to be set up, Estral asked, “Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Yes,” he said, giving her a penetrating gaze. “You can teach me the song about the ale.”