Her heart twisted as she looked at the distant mountains. She’d grown up only a few short miles from their destination, a nameless village — they were all nameless — hidden within the forests, their mere existences rarely acknowledged on any map. She felt her hands begin to shake as she remembered her childhood, remembered how close she’d come to dying time and time again before a passing magician had purchased her as one might purchase a sow or a lamb. No, he’d shown even less consideration for her as a young girl. And yet, he’d probably saved her life. The villages were permanently on the brink of starvation. She’d known it was only a matter of time before she was cast out to die.
Or someone killed me in a drunken fury, she thought, numbly. She’d thought she’d buried that part of her, but the memories had returned when she’d returned to the Cairngorms. The scent in the air was a mocking reminder of a time when life was nasty, brutish and short. It still was, for the hundreds of thousands of people within the region. Or I had an accident and they left me to die.
She carried her mug to the nearest stream and washed it quickly — no staff to do the washing, not here — and then made her way back to the tent. The interior looked surprisingly inviting, despite the brew, but she forced herself to start dismantling the tent instead of trying to go back to sleep. She couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Hoban had told her she had to pull her weight as part of the team, to use her strong back and her magic to help them complete their mission. Frieda didn’t mind. Hoban, bless him, had been embarrassed when he’d told her. He didn’t realise how hard she’d had to work as a young girl. She’d been put to work from the moment she’d been able to walk.
A hand touched her shoulder. She jumped and spun around, a hex forming on her fingertips before she realised it was Hoban. He raised his hands in surrender… Frieda flushed, embarrassed, as she banished the spell. She was doing her best to overcome the scars of her childhood — Emily had called it a fight-or-flight reflex — but it wasn’t easy. She’d spent too much of her life in a place where an unexpected touch meant a beating, or worse. Hoban didn’t understand. How could he? The Great Families — and her boyfriend’s family was amongst the greatest, as they made sure to tell everyone who crossed their path — had their problems, but they didn’t treat their children as servants and slaves. They had no comprehension of just how lucky they were.
“Sorry,” Hoban said. He kept his distance, a sign of understanding. Frieda loved him for that, too. He was a powerful sorcerer, used to taking what he wanted. And yet, he gave her space whenever needed. “Are you ready to go?”
“Just about,” Frieda said. She leaned forward and gave him a quick hug, as far as she could go in public. “You?”
“Ready.” Hoban watched as she finished stowing the tent in her rucksack, then slung it over her shoulders. “We’ll be on the way in a moment.”
Frieda nodded and followed him back to the campsite. It was practically melting away in front of her as tents were dismantled, the fire stamped out, and everything either buried or packed away. The diggers showed a surprising amount of respect for the land, unlike most outsiders who visited the region, something that had puzzled Frieda until she’d realised they didn’t want to anger the Other Folk. Or the Awful Folk. Or… she frowned inwardly as the team formed up, ready to resume the climb. There were all sorts of legends about things lurking in the shadows, ready to snare unwary passers-by. The team couldn’t afford not to take them seriously.
And they’ll be here for quite some time, she thought. She was going back to Whitehall at the end of the summer, to take her final year of schooling before she went on to an apprenticeship or… or what? They don’t want to anger the local spirits.
“All ready?” Hoban’s eyes swept the team. “Let’s go.”
The team shambled forward in a rough parody of a route march. Frieda had been shocked when she’d first seen it — Sergeant Miles would have castigated the lot of them — but the team wasn’t a military unit. It didn’t need to maintain strict discipline, not when everyone knew and trusted everyone else. Frieda flushed at the thought. She was the only stranger on the team, a newcomer who’d only been allowed to join because she was dating the team leader. It was galling… sure, Hoban had told her another magician was always welcome, but she had her doubts. It had taken a while for the rest of the team to even speak to her.
Sweat beaded on her back as they left the clearing behind, making their way along a rocky — and muddy — path that was barely visible, even to her. The wind blew hot and cold, the scent of wild magic pulsing around them… she gritted her teeth, understanding why so many outsiders were so ill at ease here. The Cairngorms were beautiful, but so was a Death Viper. A man who climbed the mountains might never come down again. She glanced at Hoban, who winked. She was mildly surprised the team wasn’t grumbling like martial magic students on a forced march. But then, they’d all volunteered for the team.
The hours wore on. Her arms and legs began to ache. It felt as though they’d walked and walked and yet made no progress, as if they were walking in circles. She told herself it wasn’t possible — Hoban and his team were skilled navigators, and someone would have spoken up if they’d thought they were going in the wrong direction — but it was hard to escape the sense they were lost. The landscape didn’t seem to change at all. It was nothing but endless trees and dark shadows.
Frieda ground her teeth. She’d gotten soft. She hadn’t felt so… unfit… when she’d been a child, when she’d gathered mushrooms and herbs for her family and… her heart twisted as she remembered finding a dead rabbit, only to have the carcass stolen from her by an older boy before she could get it home. The bastard had smacked her down… hatred pulsed through her, numbed by the grim awareness life was a constant struggle for survival. There were stories of villages that had resorted to cannibalism, when the snow came. She wanted to tell herself they weren’t true, that no one would break the taboo on eating human flesh, but she’d never cared to lie to herself. The villagers would do everything in their power to survive.
“Nearly there,” Hoban said, quietly. “Are you looking forward to seeing your family again?”
Frieda had no answer. She’d been fourteen when she’d been sold and yet… she barely remembered her parents. She wasn’t even sure the people she remembered were her true parents. Family relationships were a tangled tree in the Cairngorms, where it was rare for someone who’d lost their partner not to remarry as quickly as possible. A father needed a wife to care for his brood, a mother needed a husband to bring home the bacon… not, she reflected, that there’d been much bacon. For all she knew, her parents were dead. She’d had no contact with them since she’d been sold. She had to think to remember their names.
Hoban frowned. “Frieda?”
“No,” she said, finally. “I’m not looking forward to seeing them again.”
She put the thought aside as the road reached a peak, then fell down into a valley. It felt wrong, in more ways than one. The remnants of a village lay in front of them, blackened and burnt by… something. She shivered as she remembered the stories the old women had told, while they’d been bossing the younger girls around. The village had been caught in a firestorm and destroyed, the entire population burnt to ash and the earth beneath their feet cursed. She’d been cautioned never to enter the valley, not for anything. The one time she’d wandered too close, she’d found herself unable to cross the old boundaryline. The village wasn’t a human place any longer.