Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Sixty-Nine
Ask and Receive.
It turns out I’m wrong.
Merc and I let the horses run for what feels like an entire season of exertion, and though Lavante seems to have the stamina to gallop the length of Anathos and back, the other one begins to flag. Eventually, we have no choice but to slow down to a canter, and finally, at least on Snooze’s side, an exhausted trot.
I spend most of my time checking in our wake.
Eventually, I cannot see the wave of fire and not because it’s extinguished. We’re far into a flat plain of the red, flame-spitting landscape now, and though the spires of stone remain fairly close by to the west, there’s nothing to the east except the horizon. Having seen the compass’s map, I know the ocean is somewhere in that direction, but the topography and the red trees make it impossible to see it.
The sun’s placement is still very high in the cloudless sky, and this is reassuring. With the way the topography is looking, I’m not sure where we could find a good place to bunk down for the night. And I have no idea how much farther we have to go.
Or how much farther we can go.
Merc pulls up on his reins, and both horses stop, sure as if he has control of Lavante’s bridle as well.
Before I can ask him what’s wrong, he eases to the side and takes something out of his saddlebag.
“I bought a map,” he says gruffly as he unfolds a parchment square. “Back at the Outpost.”
Lavante goes right over to the other horse, as if he wants to check where we are as well. I lean in, and see all kinds of lines on a creamy background.
“I can’t tell one from another on that,” I say, staying silent as to what the compass has directed.
Because really, how could I explain it.
“You needn’t bother.” He turns the map to me. “It only shows the way from the main route that was flooded. It offers nothing for where we are.”
Merc circles the lower part of the page that’s blank. “Our location is somewhere here.”
A quick glance over the rest of the map and I see all kinds of details up above where we are, from what I gather is the Outpost’s group of buildings to the road we followed to the beginning of the jagged rises … to the flooded pass we couldn’t get through and its route that continues onward until it reaches a massive, bordered territory marked Kingdomg daSouse.
“We need water for the horses.” I shift my focus back to our blood-colored landscape. As if taking another look around is going to help somehow. “I’m worried about them.”
“Agreed.” Merc puts the parchment away and points at the mountains. “We better hope there’s an access point to the Kingdom—and soon. The one thing I can tell is that that range curves right into the ocean. I don’t know how we’re going to get through it, and there will be no swimming. The surf is very high this far south. We could get trapped.”
Trapped? Try “eaten by ogres.” Winning one skirmish is very different from battling hordes of them for the rest of our natural lives.
As my mind spirals into anxiety, I know I must reconnect with the immediate issue at hand. We need water—
And that’s when it dawns on me.
“What is it?” he says, as if I’ve mumbled something.
“I … ah.”
Taking off my pack, I pull out the compass in its satchel. As I reveal the golden instrument, I can feel Merc staring over at me, and I’m glad he makes no comment.
Even though I have no idea why this would work, I picture water, clean, cool, fresh water that’s safe to drink. When the image is so clear in my mind that I can smell the bracing scent, and see the shimmer on its surface, I flick the top open and hold my breath.
There’s no reason to think this could help our situation. But I just manipulated fire, for fate’s sake. Asking this old instrument for directions like it’s a native to the territory and can communicate, can’t be any more unreasonable—
After the map pops free of the face, the center arrow begins to spin, faster and faster, and the direction markers likewise start to move, in the opposite way. A vibration registers in my hand and travels up my arm, tingling my wound on its way to the center of my chest. From there, the energy is sent out in all directions, through my body—
All goes still.
I have to blink my vision clear: The arrow has oriented itself forward and to the right, and the directional markings show the N to be at the base of the instrument and a little to the left.
I point forward and toward the cliffs. “We go that way. For water.”