“It sounds wonderful, and I understand your reason for wanting to do so. And you will one day. But not here and not now. There are creatures living within Roughlin Wake that feed on things lying on or near the shoreline. I think we should try to avoid this.”
Again, I can hardly argue. This is not my world. I do not yet know enough to understand the nature and extent of its dangers. I nod and smile in agreement, and we walk on. Harrow has given me boots from the boat to replace my own, which have almost fallen apart. While they are not an exact fit, they are close enough. We travel inland for a short distance before he leads me to an encampment that he tells me he established some years back to provide him with safe haven during his excursions abroad. There is a tree house set within the branches of a broad-leafed behemoth, with a trunk that rises straight up for more than thirty feet before branching. He chose it, he tells me, because it cannot be easily climbed. A rope hangs from one of the high limbs, knotted at regular intervals, and he puts me on his back, arms about his neck, and pulls us up effortlessly.
Once atop the platform, we settle into a lean-to shelter where there are blankets and a strange warming device that helps to chase off the night chill. We do not talk again as we curl up beside each other and close our eyes. I would like to ask more questions about this land and its Fae, but I am too tired to pursue the matter, and Harrow reveals his own disinclination to converse by turning his back as we stretch out. Still, the solidity of his presence at my side warms me—maybe more so than the strange device.
Sleep comes quickly, and on this night it is deep and dreamless.
I do not wake until I sense my companion moving about. By then it is daylight again, and I rise at once. I wish I could bathe—my body and my clothing are sweat-soaked and my hair a tangled mess. When I ask if there might be some chance to do so, he beckons me over to the rope. Before we descend, he reveals a pack I failed to notice earlier, straps it over his shoulders, and takes up his staff. I am strong enough today to lower myself on my own. He leads me into the trees to where a small pond of crystal-clear water is sheltered in a grove of conifers. How long has it been, if ever, since I have seen something as welcoming as this? He deposits the pack on the ground and promises he will stay close and keep watch so that I may wash without being disturbed.
I do not ask if what he will be watching might include me because I cannot find a reason to care. I barely wait for him to disappear before opening the pack to find hard soap and a towel, and a clean shirt. I am astonished he can manage to scrounge up such items, given the limited purpose and primitive nature of his camp. I strip off my clothing and climb into the pond, finding the waters unexpectedly warm. I would like to luxuriate in their soothing comfort forever, but I know we must start walking soon.
So I bathe myself and then wash out my pants and set them in a patch of sun and just soak for a time. When I sense I am pushing my luck, I dry off. I have no underthings and apparently neither does he—hardly a surprise. Dressing quickly in damp pants, I find the tunic a reasonable fit—as much so as the boots he gave me last night. I call for Harrow, and he comes out to find me ready. He gives me a quick once-over (it is only then I find myself blushing, wondering what he has seen) before he leads me back to the camp.
We eat a spare breakfast of some odd but tasty fruit and hunks of hard bread and cheese he retrieves from his lean-to. How they can be edible after sitting out here in the wilds for who-knows-how-long is a mystery, but I am famished and do not question what I am given. I find the food and the accompaniment of cold water more than adequate.
“Two days to reach where you live?” I ask at one point. “To this place you call Viridian Deep?”
He nods. “It is the ancient homeland of the Fae, who have lived there for thousands of years. Our population is well over one million, and there are more than twenty varieties of Fae living in the valleys of the Deep and the highlands surrounding them. The Sylvans are the dominant type, but there are many Sprites and Nyiads, too. My mother and father are both Forest Sylvans.”
“I am surprised I have never heard of any of this before—not of Viridian Deep or the Fae.” Although I guess you could argue that since I can’t remember much of my past life, that’s not too surprising. I might have heard something of both once and forgotten. “I wish my memory were better.”
“What is wrong with your memory?” he asks.
“I lost it.”
“How?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure. But I wish I could do something to get it back.”
He chews thoughtfully. “Maybe you can. There are ways.”
“Are you saying…?”
He makes a dismissive gesture as he interrupts. “That’s for later. But understand, most Humans have not even heard of the Fae, though we have been here for thousands of years. They know nothing of Sprites or Sylvans, or even of Goblins and the prisons they operate. Government officials in the Ministry keep us a secret. Those are the Humans we fear.”
This is news to me. So there is a functional Human society, unaware of the prisons in which I and my friends were kept? And what of this Ministry? What is that all about? I instantly want to know more, but Harrow is already continuing.
“The rest do not believe we are real. Faerie-kind is thought to be the province of legend and story—not a reality with which they should concern themselves. And we prefer it that way.”
I frown. “But you would think that some Humans would have found their way here by now. After thousands of years, how could your existence remain a secret?”
“When we reach home, I will explain.”
“I would like that,” I say encouragingly.
He doesn’t respond, so I ask the question that has been burning inside me since he first mentioned it. “You said something about government officials in the Ministry. Does this mean that there is still a Human government? That there are still free Humans?”
He looks at me strangely. “Of course. Did you not know that?”
“I don’t know much about anything outside the prisons,” I confess. “But what of the Goblin prisons? How does the Human government let their own people be imprisoned?”
He looks at me almost sadly. “Let them? It’s the Ministry that runs the prisons. The Goblins just administer them.”
I am shocked into silence. Humans imprisoning fellow Humans? But why? I am not sure I want to ask this…or even know the answer.
“What will you do with me after we reach Viridian Deep?” I ask instead. “I am not one of the Fae, and I should probably try to find my way back to my real home.”
He hesitates. “You will go where fate says you must, and I will see to it that you get there safely.”
I give him a long, appraising look. What isn’t he telling me? “Why are you doing all this? Don’t think me rude, please—I am deeply grateful. I cannot say it often enough. You saved my life. You gave me back my freedom. But you risk so much, and you do so for a stranger.”