This is Chapter 6-1 of a serial fantasy novel.
Dim light filtered through the branches overhead, creating a patchwork of shadows below. The soft, flowing motion calmed Junelight. Anxious to leave, she’d woken well before dawnbreak, unable to return to slumber. So she had come out to the muster point way out at the edge of the encampment, perched herself on a pile of rocks and tried to let the smells and sights of the woods sooth her.
The forest had a proper name: it was called the Callipsus in every official mindmap or book. The Falsesparkers were much more vague about it—sometimes it was the Mother Root, or Great Leaf, or “the field,” depending on context. Largely undeveloped, the Callipsus covered an enormous, roughly triangular stretch of Roythan territory. It was an ideal hiding place for many. It was also a cage: two of the forest’s three main borders were mountain ranges, which came together in jumbled highlands to the west. The third border was the sprawling Roythan municipality of Pinedeck, whose influence and infrastructure rivaled any mountain’s inconvenience for those on the run.
The idea of a cage helped keep her heartbeat steady. In her long months of pursuit, patience had been the toughest skill to hone. Her net was closing. The processes were slow, but reliable. Still, any chance to move faster was impossible to ignore. So much so that she almost stood up and bounced on her heels when she saw the cart come round a corner on the path.
It was a simple contraption, as were most Falsesparker innovations. Four wheels, a flat space for supplies and a crude bench upfront for the handler. A scrawny dwarf-ox was tethered to the cart with a leather harness. The cart came to a stop next to her rock pile, and two Seedwind looked up at her. The fluffy haired one, Swinn, held the reins.
“Ready, witch?” asked Mossalea.
“Yes, let’s go,” replied June.
She hopped from the pile, landing soft, quiet and crouched in the back of the cart. She longed to be rid of the infernal leather clothing, but had to admit that it made movement a lot sharper. Her Culdurian garb, currently stashed in a hide satchel on her back, would have rippled and snapped from such a jump.
Mosselea had spun in her seat to face June, gaze fierce and stony. Swinn was half turned, eyeballing her, biting his lip. June let herself flop backwards out of her crouch, landing with a thud on her butt among various crates and sacks.
“I would have rather gone alone as well,” June tried, “but the babysitting was something of a compromise with your leadership.”
Mossa snorted, but her expression softened a mite. The boy gave a small bobbing nod and glanced at his leader.
Slow steps then, June thought.
The girl patted Swinn on the shoulder twice, then slithered down into the flat area, to sit facing June with her back against the riding bench. The reins snapped and the cart lurched forward. The shoot-lead said, “It’s three suns until we reach Point Starfire. We go on foot from there—too close to the witch-town for wheels. If you’re swift, you can leave Starfire at sun’s rest and be at their town before the next.”
“Three days by cart, one day on foot.”
Mossa nodded.
“I guess I should get comfortable then.” She poked at a few sacks until she found a soft one, and lay back against it. The girl watched her for a time, then made herself busy with slicing strips from large patches of leather, sharpening her blade after every dozen or so.
The ride was jolting and bumpy, but after a while June found a bit of rhythm in it and allowed herself to doze. Her crystals kept a basic cycle of Bodyanchor Artwork running at all times, lest one of them feel compelled to get stabby, but she wasn’t too worried about that. More concerning would be running afoul of some of the nastier creatures that sometimes prowled the deeper parts of the Callipsus. But given that this was a well traveled Falsesparker route, that was also a remote possibility.
No, it seemed utter boredom might be her most formidable challenge.
“Do you guys play any traveling games?” she asked, after some six hours had rumbled away in hoofstep, windgust and insect rattle.
She’d expected some biting response, or nothing at all, but Mossa said, “Seedwind aren’t usually cartbound. We can outpace them over medium distance. But if we’re escorting, sometimes we see if we can outpace it without touching the ground.”
“Without touching the ground?” said June.
“Branchwalking, yes. I suppose witches have travel games?” Mossa had long finished slicing strips and was going through some kind of extensive stretching routine. June noticed that she never turned her back—impressive.
“Where I’m from,” said June, “we might take turns describing the scent of something we’ve seen recently, or that everyone can see now. Whoever guesses right first gets to go next.”
“You have a hunter’s nose, then?” Mossa said, arms uncurling from a complicated knot from behind her head.
“Those of Culdur are well attuned to the bouquet of the world, morseo than say, those of Royth, who would put more faith in what they can see than in what they can smell. Straightforward, but so terribly limiting. I can smell the river to our right, can tell how fast it’s moving and if it’s clean. And I can do it with my eyes closed. Though we don’t really hunt in manner that your people do.”
“But you hunt now, isn’t that right? One of your own,” said Mossa.
“Not quite what I’d call ‘my own,’ but yes—another witch.”
Mossa came onto her hunches and actually grinned a little. “I’d very much like to know how one hunts a witch.”
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