Yuchil looked to Nikolias. “First words are first mothers,” she said.
“Amen,” Nikolias said.
Reynard stopped chewing his bread and looked between them, as if they might also sprout wings and fly.
From the last wagon climbed four children, all around ten or eleven years of age. Their raiment was black and loose, and they wore beautiful boots and belts embroidered in tarnished silver and trimmed with brownish red cord. Even in their youth, they looked on Widsith and Reynard with some disdain, and on Kaiholo and the giant with respect but no cheer. Calybo and Valdis they ignored, as if they could not see them. Two of the children walked ahead of the troop, looking left and right at the sides of the path, and down at their feet, stepping carefully.
To the other pair, Nikolias barked out orders. “Care for the horses and inspect the wagons! And prepare our guests.”
These youths groaned at being so tasked. Andalo spoke short and sharp, and another held out ropes, with which the children ingeniously bound Kaiholo, Widsith, and Reynard to their saddles. Without a horse, Kern held out his hands and a young Traveler tied them together. Valdis and Calybo were left unbound.
“Never did like Eaters,” said one boy, looking back at them with a curled lip. “Too much behind ’em, and nothing ahead I need.”
Nikolias conferred with the other wagon drivers in low tones.
Widsith said to Reynard, “We expected to be met by Crafter servants. They are not here, and so we must make a decision. I think we are being taken through a cline, and not by choice.”
“What is a cline?” Reynard asked.
Unhappily, Kaiholo said, “A nasty turn of weather, or a place where things can go very wrong.”
Kern said, “They would keep you on your mount. And they fear I may thrash and injure.”
Nikolias ordered all but the first of the wagons to turn about, and all but seven of the armed young men. Each of these tied a red ribbon to their sleeves. None of the children but for Calafi remained with the one wagon.
“He is sending them back,” Widsith said. “Wish ye to return with them?”
Kern said no. Kaiholo seemed to seriously consider the prospect, but shook his head.
Nikolias conferred with Yuchil, and she made it clear she, also, wanted to venture on. They all watched as the troop split and all but one of the wagons were drawn back along the trod.
Calafi, Sany, Andalo, and Bela patted the horses and whispered to them. The Eater mounts seemed calm under their attention, and that impressed Reynard.
“Get thee beside me,” said Andalo, pointing to Reynard. Calafi led his horse forward, and the others formed two lines ahead of the remaining wagon. Again, the road before them seemed to grow and widen. A breeze rustled the dry leaves of the treetops.
Reynard watched the road with sweating fear. “Where are we going?”
“Into the sun,” Calafi said.
Nikolias said, “On this margin around the krater lands, our trods conflict with Crafter magic. We must beware and keep control.”
The trees parted further, like ladies gathering up their skirts at a dance, and the road was now as wide as five horses or two of the big wagons. Reynard blinked at unexpected glare as the sun moved backwards above the overarching branches, the light falling and shifting like the tide between two seas, and his head spun as the wagon wheels rolled smoothly over a white, glittering path. He closed his eyes and wished for oblivion, any sort, even death. For they were moving in a way that wrenched his stomach and stiffened his spine until his shoulders wished to crack and split wide.
He slumped in the saddle, but the ropes held and kept him from falling. Calafi giggled and patted his calf. The rest watched Widsith, who was also experiencing difficulties, and while he leaned back, and his head rolled and his eyes closed, the armed young Travelers adjusted their hats and made small talk, the horses nickered and advanced, and the wagon rolled on.
“The worst part is over,” Nikolias said as Reynard sat upright and focused his vision. “We are through the cline.”
Reynard squirmed in the saddle. His legs and butt were sore, as if they had gone many miles, and now there were no trees to define the path, but only rocky terrain and low rolling hills covered with sere scrub. They might have come to a different country! Far to the south, a high jagged ridge rose in a wide blue-gray wall, floating, it seemed, on a sea of mist tinted golden-yellow by the low sun. Overhead, clouds coiled like a great flat skein of hair or wool, the center hovering and a wisp dropping like an incipient water spout or tornado below the far horizon.
The girl squinted up at him, then pointed across to Widsith, who was still leaning, snoring faintly, and she gave him a broad, toothy grin. “Thou dost win the game!” she said.
Widsith lifted his head, then coughed and sniffed. “Need to clear my nose,” he said.
“Then blow!” Calafi said disdainfully.
“Calafi, be kind,” Yuchil said. “Loose his hands and loan him a rag.”
Calafi crossed to Widsith’s horse and loosened the bindings, then drew out a thoroughly filthy rag from the folds of her robe, no doubt used to clean the noses of horses, and dangled it to him with delicate fingers. He took it, blew quick and sharp, and handed it back.
She wrinkled her nose and tossed the rag onto the rocks.
Reynard thought to look over his shoulder and see if Valdis was still with them. She was, behind Kern, and unchanged, though her horse seemed thinner. All the Eater mounts had been affected, worn and in need of a rest.
Calybo was not visible. He assumed the high Eater had left, as he had promised… And felt a sense of loss. He would have asked many more questions! But that seemed an impertinence, perhaps another heresy.
“Five great mountains radiate the chafing waste southeast of Agni,” Nikolias said, pointing to the distant ridge. “Know’st a cline, boy?”
“No, sire,” Reynard said. He studied the trail they were riding and found it none too peculiar—just a well-beaten dirt track, cleared of the largest stones, he thought, but neither especially wide nor especially smooth.
“The trod hideth its quality,” Yuchil said, passing to gather the ropes from those who had been bound.
“And well it should. A cline marks the irregular boundary near where the ridges join, and beyond which Crafters shape their weather. Soon we enter their lands and breathe their airs. We do not wish to argue, and so subdue our own magic.”
Reynard nodded as if he understood, which he did not. “How far is their reach?” he asked. “Across the island, or beyond?”
Still dizzy, Widsith leaned his head forward. “Thou knowest the answer to that already. I go where their servants tell me, and bring back reports.”
“Across the world, then,” Reynard said.
“All for nought if they are fighting, or already dead,” Kern said.
They moved on across the rocky expanse into dusk. A far line of low trees became obvious through the persistent layer of mist, burned and broken. Thick and cloying smoke rose from another ruined forest to their left, up to the sky, where it took hold of the sharp crescent of a new-risen moon and choked it in ghastly orange.
“What about the boy? Seek’st thou payment for him?” Nikolias seemed to enjoy provoking Widsith. “He seemeth more in demand than thee.”
“He may be,” Widsith said, implacable. “But his ignorance is thy safety.”
Nikolias shook his head. “Methinks his ignorance is a curtain that soon will rise, and what say we then?” He spat into the dirt beside the path, looked around at the others, then at the colorful wagon, and finally at Valdis, shaded and still on her horse, paying no mind to anything, it seemed.
“What makes so much smoke?” Reynard asked. “There hath been a great fire!”