The Long Road South

The sun was coming up. It was a red morning, the colour of blood.

The light spilled through the high windows of the library, painting the shelves in shades of crimson and rust. 

Wren was already awake. She had been awake for hours, unable to sleep, unable to sit still. She stood at a wide table with the kingdom's map spread out before her.

Her finger traced the route south. There was Thistledown, small and familiar. Below it, Dunwallen. And further south, past the last mapped roads, the mountains and the forest that led to the Verdian Empire.

"So their stronghold is here," she murmured. Silas's words from the food stall echoed in her mind. South of Thistledown. South of Dunwallen. In the mountains near the border.

Then there was a knock on the library door.

Rourke stood in the doorway, dressed in travel clothes now instead of his formal coat. "Let's go."

Wren quickly rolled up the map and left it on the table. She followed Rourke through the quiet halls to Bellweather's office. The lamps were still burning low.

Rourke knocked. A voice came from inside. "Come in."

Bellweather was sitting at her desk, studying her own map. She looked up as they entered. Her glasses caught the light.

"Yeah, Rourke. Is everything ready?"

"Yes, ma'am. The preparations are complete. We're ready to depart." Rourke sat down in the chair across from her. Wren sat beside him.

Bellweather looked at Wren. "You ready, lady?"

Wren met her eyes. "Yes."

Bellweather turned her attention back to Rourke. "This is a stealth mission. You go in, you sneak around, you gather information on them. That comes first and foremost. Then you can attempt the rescue mission."

Wren felt a bit of tension release from her shoulders. It was finally the fourth of Sanguin. They were departing. After four days of waiting, four days of staring at maps and walls and the green emblem in her palm, they were finally moving.

Bellweather continued. "The carriage will take you to the forest near Dunwallen. After that, you're on foot."

Rourke nodded. He stood, and Wren rose with him. They both bowed to Bellweather and turned to leave.

Bellweather called out from behind. "This is your first mission, so make sure to stay alive." Her gaze shifted to Rourke. "And keep an eye on her."

She looked him in the eye, and something passed between them. A silent understanding. A warning. Rourke nodded once.

They both left the room.

The door clicked shut. The red morning light was spreading through the windows now, staining the stone floor like a promise of what was to come.

They left the Hall of Vows. The building stood behind them, and behind it, the castle loomed against the red morning sky.

The carriage was ready. Rowan was standing just beside it, his travel pack at his feet. Rourke and Wren approached, and Rowan opened the door. They all climbed inside — Rowan and Rourke on one side, Wren on the other.

Rowan spoke up as the carriage lurched into motion. "So it's the three of us and your one friend, Wren?"

Wren choked on her spit. She coughed, covering her mouth with her hand. "Yeah."

The carriage began to move. The wheels rolled smoothly over the stone streets. Rourke glanced toward the window, watching the city slide past. "So where is this friend of yours?"

"Oh, he'll meet us outside the capital."

"Is it safe to bring him with us?" Rourke's tone was careful, measured.

"He's a good fighter. And he knows the terrain south." 

They left through the capital's front gate. The city fell away behind them, replaced by open road and the dense green of the forest beyond. They traveled for a while before Wren asked the driver to stop.

"Stop the carriage. He told Wren to meet him here."

The carriage rolled to a halt. The forest pressed close on both sides. Birds called somewhere in the trees, and the wind stirred the leaves. They waited.

"Where is he?" Rourke asked, glancing around.

Then a figure walked from the road ahead. The driver knocked on the small front window. "Sir, someone is coming from up ahead."

Wren brightened. She got out of the carriage, and Rowan and Rourke followed.

It was Silas. He came toward them without hurry. He wasn't wearing the blindfold. But his eyes were closed, as they had been at the food stall. Closed and still. 

"Yo, Wren. It's been a long time."

He extended his hand toward Rourke and Rowan. "Name's Silas."

Rourke looked at him, his brow furrowed, his eyes fixed on Silas's closed eyes. He didn't take the hand.

Rowan was staring too. Not at the eyes. At the face. He was trying to remember where he had seen him before. Then it clicked. His expression shifted, and he glanced toward Wren.

She gave a tiny shake of her head. No.

Rowan understood. He closed his mouth, swallowing the words he had been about to speak.

"I remember seeing you in Thistledown." Rowan forced a nervous laugh. "You're pretty strong, aren't you?"

Silas's smile didn't waver. "I manage."

They all climbed into the carriage, and the carriage moved forward again. The space inside felt smaller now, the air thicker.

Rourke was still looking at Silas with open suspicion. "So how do you know the southern terrain?"

"Oh, my father was a trader. We used to travel to the Verdian Empire quite often when I was young." Silas said it with a small laugh, leaning back in his seat. To Wren, who knew him even a little, it sounded like a complete lie.

The rest of the journey passed quietly. They stopped for the night, ate from the food supplies, and slept under the stars or in the carriage. Four days passed in a haze of road and trees and growing heat. The landscape shifted as they traveled south — the forests thicker, the air heavier, the road rougher.

On the evening of the fourth day, they reached the outskirts of Dunwallen.

The carriage turned to leave. Rourke sent the driver away with a brief nod. "We're on foot from here."

Wren glanced at the darkening sky. The sun was sinking behind the mountains, dragging the last light down with it. "It's turning night. We should camp before it gets too dark."

They walked deeper into the forest, the trees closing around them. The road faded behind them, replaced by uneven ground. After a while, they reached an open area. There was a cave set into a small elevated rise, its mouth dark and yawning. Below it, the clearing opened out, flat and protected from the wind.

Rourke walked forward, scanning the area. "We should camp here."

They all entered the clearing. Rowan and Rourke immediately set to work collecting firewood and clearing a space for the camp. Silas wandered off toward the treeline, returning with an armload of dry branches. The campfire began to take shape, sparks catching on kindling, flame licking upward into the evening air.

Meanwhile, Wren was sitting on the ground, facing the cave. Something about it felt familiar. It pulled at her, a strange tug at the base of her skull. She sat there, drinking water from a leather pouch, her eyes fixed on the dark opening in the stone. She closed the pouch slowly.

Just as she fully sealed it, a sharp headache surfaced.

It started at her forehead and shot back through her temples, bright and searing. Then the memories arose.

She was on the back of someone. A woman. Golden hair, falling around her shoulders. There was light in the woman's hand — soft, warm. They were leaving this cave. Coming out of it. And Wren was laughing. The woman was laughing too—

"Wren. Wren."

She snapped back. Rowan was crouched beside her, his hand hovering near her shoulder. The campfire was burning bright now, its warmth washing over her face. "The campfire's ready. Come on, let's eat."

Wren blinked. The memory was already fading, slipping away like water through her fingers. She hadn't even realized she'd been crying.

They sat around the fire, the flames crackling between them. Silas had produced a small pot from somewhere and was stirring a thin stew of dried meat and root vegetables. It smelled better than it had any right to.

Rowan held out a bowl to Wren. "Here. It's not very good, but it's edible."

Wren took it. The bowl was warm in her hands. "If you made it, should Wren be worried?"

Silas snorted, almost choking on his own stew. "You two sound like an old married couple."

Wren's face went red. She buried it in her bowl, suddenly very interested in the chunks of carrot floating in the broth. "Wren doesn't know what you're talking about."

Rowan said nothing. But the corner of his mouth twitched, just slightly, and he turned his attention to his own food.

Then Rourke's expression changed.

It was subtle — a tightening around his eyes, a stillness settling over his features. He looked across the fire at Wren.

"Why is Ysolde and the Hollow Choir after you? Going to such lengths."

Wren looked up from her bowl. "Even Wren doesn't know."

Silas, hearing this, started to laugh. A genuine laugh, deep and unexpected. He doubled over, one hand on his stomach, his closed eyes crinkling at the corners.

Rourke frowned. "What's so funny?"

Silas's laughter subsided after a while. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still grinning. "It's just... ask her what happens when she makes a Vow. When she uses her Fatebinder power."

Wren's eyes widened. What does he mean?

Rowan and Rourke both turned to look at her, their expressions questioning.

"What?" She paused, then relented. "Fine."

"Whenever Wren makes a Vow, the world around her seems to stop. Time. People. Cants. Everything just... stops."

Rourke's expression remained neutral. He waited.

"Then fog erupts from around Wren." Her voice grew quieter. "It spreads out, and then it comes back. And Wren hears chanting in her ears. That's it. That's all that happens."

Wren looked up from the ground toward Rourke.

He was sitting there, his eyes wide. The firelight caught his face, and for the first time since she had met him, Callum Rourke looked genuinely shaken.

Silas leaned forward, his voice low and amused. "Now do you understand why Ysolde wants her?"

Rourke swallowed. The words came out slowly, like he was remembering something from a very old book. "The Fatebinder from the legends. Born once every generation." He paused, his red eyes fixed on Wren. "The Fatebinder with no limitation."

Rowan's eyes widened too. He had heard the legends as well, in barracks and around campfires, half-believed stories passed between soldiers. "So Ysolde wants her power. But for what?"

Wren was lost. "Legends? No Limitation?"

Silas turned to her, his voice dropping into something almost sympathetic. "It just means you're above the normal Fatebinders, little clerk. That's why Ysolde wants you."

The fire crackled. The cave loomed behind them. And Wren sat very still, the warmth of the flame on her face doing nothing to chase away the cold settling in her chest.