“You want me to go with him?” She sounded offended, but not as hurt as Doran’s pride.
“What’s wrong with me?”
The girl shot him a scowl but didn’t deem him worthy of a response.
“Ora, dear, Doran here is someone who has seen much of the world. If you have to leave this family and see new places, I’d prefer you didn’t do it alone. He’ll recognise dangers long before you would.” She gave Naavah Ora a look only a grandmother could muster—kind, patient, and final. “The experience you’ll gain will serve you well when you inherit my place. Is it not your responsibility to ready yourself for the best of the clan, no matter your personal reservations?”
“I’m not a child.” Her hands curled into fists by her side. She wasn’t making a strong case for herself.
“I know, dear. The world is a dangerous place, and I’d like to know you’re safe. Do this for your old grandmother? For our clan?”
She sighed, her shoulders sagging.
Doran wasn’t done with this conversation. “I don’t want her. I’ve already got one stray to look after, and—”
“I’m not a child!”
“My granddaughter can look after herself, Doran. She won’t be trouble. In fact, I believe she will be an asset to you.”
“She won’t need me then.” In his experience, anything that was promised not to be trouble turned out to be a lot of trouble. Said trouble being alive and evidently opinionated just complicated matters.
The old elf’s eyes went soft, and her back hunched. He wasn’t going to fall for it.
“My granddaughter is a powerful mage. If you find yourself in a dangerous situation, she’ll be able to get you out of it.” Doran was about to protest when he remembered why he was in this position in the first place. “She can also heal you if you need it. It would be more difficult to find a family for the boy you saved if he’s covered in cuts, don’t you think?”
Doran was cornered. The capital of Vaska wasn’t that far away, two weeks if they hurried and only stopped at night. He could get them to Alt Võina and then go his own way. By the sour look on Ora’s face he guessed that she had similar plans.
Catching up with Ash got more appealing every moment.
“Fine. I’ll take her. But, since you insist that she can look after herself, I won’t be responsible if anything happens to her.”
But perhaps I’m giving you the wrong idea. This is my confession. I've had a long time to think—longer than you can imagine—and I know what I must do.
Chapter 10
Naavah Ora
Naavah Ora had always wanted to see the world. More than that, she’d always hoped to see the wonders hidden in Dunhă’s remote corners. Both worlds boasted beauty as well as terror, but the spirit realm hid secrets that outdid anything on their mortal plane. Her grandmother was right, leaving was for the best. One day, she’d take over from her grandmother and lead their clan. She couldn’t claim such responsibility if she didn’t know what lurked in the darker shadows of either world.
She had always thought she’d make this journey alone. She’d have been happy to travel with another family member, or meet sister clans and travel companions elsewhere. Anything would have been safer than to travel with a thief and a child who wanted to die for some dark deity. Her grandmother was the wisest woman she knew; she had to have a reason for sending Naavah Ora along with these two men, even if Naavah Ora couldn’t see it. Her grandmother never did anything without reason and Naavah Ora trusted her without reservations. She just wished her grandmother explained herself more often, especially now.
Naavah Ora removed the light clothes she wore around the village and strapped herself into her travelling gear. Light leather, a belt holding a pouch for money and smaller rations, and—most importantly—a bag big enough for several books. There was only so much she could take, but she wouldn’t leave her two most treasured books behind. Each held information she didn’t understand yet, and she didn’t want to regret leaving them behind later.
She had a bad feeling about this. When she was a child, her parents told her stories of bandits and raiders who burnt and pillaged small communities like hers. She’d had nightmares for weeks at a time. With the dagger at his hip and his scruffy appearance, Doran looked like every one of those nightmares come to life. She had seen the ancient elven relics he’d found in the forest. Retrieving them couldn’t have been easy.
But Doran didn’t worry her as much as the boy. What had he called himself? 840. A number rather than a name. An object rather than a person. She had heard stories about his clans; Doran had no idea what he’d saved the boy from. She herself had only heard snippets, but she knew enough. 840 came from a village that raised young children as sacrifices to their dark God, raping them and bleeding them before killing them in a dark ritual. She didn’t know why they did these things. She only knew that 840 likely wasn’t happy about being saved and savoured pain whenever he found it. That told her enough.
She’d have to watch her back until she could get away.
Naavah Ora couldn’t fathom what reasons her grandmother had, but she could trust that her grandmother acted in her best interest. It would do until she could go her own way.
“Valynaan protect me. Naverys watch over me. Ellasan lead me home when the time comes.”
Naavah Ora made sure her bag was nestled comfortably against her waist and let the familiar weight of books comfort her. Her small pouch, filled with gold, rested on top of her books. She was ready. All she needed to do was leave. With them.
Her fingers caressed the family heirloom around her neck. If she took anything with her besides the books, it would be this.
Valynaan protect me. Naverys watch over me. Alharys shelter my loved ones in my absence.
She was curious. Dunhă had so many places and hidden sanctums she’d only find if she travelled. Her books spoke of the most remarkable places, the only remains of her people’s civilisation. Hidden knowledge. Secrets. Naavah Ora was aching to find just half of the promises her books had made.
If she had to endure the company of a thief and a sacrificial lamb, then so be it. They didn’t have to be friends. Doran hadn’t looked happy about this either. She guessed he was keen to go his own way as well.
Naavah Ora left the house and stepped into the sunlight.
“There you are, dear.” Her grandmother smiled.
The grim frowns on Doran’s and 840’s faces dimmed the day. Naavah Ora saw what the boy was wearing and grimaced. One of her father’s old linen shirts and trousers.
She told herself it didn’t matter, that sooner or later it would have been passed down to a younger child regardless, but this was different. 840 wasn’t one of them. He was a nameless sacrifice. His people and belief stood for everything that was wrong with magic.
And now he wore her father’s clothes.
One day your son will wear these. Her mother had told her that years ago. She hadn’t been sure at the time if she wanted children of her own. As heir to the clan it was expected of her one day, but she’d only been sixteen years old at the time.
She just didn’t want 840 to have her father’s clothes.