Of Caverns and Casters ✓ [TLRQ #1]

Chapter 18 - Sean

The cold night air rushes past me as I race to keep up with Riveirre. I don't understand why she can't just lay low. Especially since she's already screwed up once by getting involved in something that wasn't her business. She doesn't understand, not just the language that she should have learned, but also the world she's been thrown into.

And she'll never understand me—my world is logic, and that's something she clearly struggles with sometimes. But it doesn't matter; we can coexist as long as we need to, and then we can go our separate ways.

I just have to hope she doesn't run around asking for trouble that she doesn't need the entire time I have to deal with her.

I catch up as she ducks back around a tent, out of sight of the Traders. Before I can ask what she saw, the wind carries the Ufir's booming words to my ears. I peer around the tent.

The campfire paints the shadows darker and the people red. His arms reach to them in supplication. "...can't keep on like this, brothers! Winter hit earlier than we've seen in generations, and the season can only get harsher. We're not prepared!" He stalks back and forth across the clearing, eyeing the crowd. "The cart that fell today is the third we've lost this month! First the landslide, then the bear, and now the foreign girl! The gods of the mountains are against us." He sweeps his arm in a wide gesture. "Look at the rags of our women and children, listen to the growls of your stomachs, feel the weary ache of your feet, and tell me it is not so!"

"But what can we do?" someone cries.

His voice rises higher. "We leave the High Valleys."

Murmurs of discontent ripple through the group. My brow draws as well. The only thing past these mountains is bedtime stories and hogwash. The mountains don't end. Hidden in the crowd, a single voice exclaims, "That's madness!"

The Ufir's eyes scan the group, but he seems unable to find the source. "It's our only choice. It's not the first time our people have done it when we've hit hard times. Eight Ufirs before me, we traveled from these mountains, down into the Outerlands. We are still here."

"What's in the Outerlands?" a woman's voice shouts.

"Warmer temperatures." The Ufir radiates confidence despite describing a myth. "Plentiful game. No snow."

His gilded promises create a few hopeful rustles among the crowd.

"Are there people?"

"No."

Whispers of worry spread in the crowd.

"But we can't trade anything else this season anyway!" the Ufir continues. "We need all we have for ourselves, and villages won't bargain with their essentials this time of year. The Outerlands are our only hope."

The thick clouds begin dropping a heavy snow.

"We march for the Outerlands!" the Ufir says. "Aye?"

People in the crowd shiver. The snow melts wet and cold against my skin.

"Aye?" he repeats louder.

Quiet agreements course through the group until they build into a resounding chorus. "Aye!"

The Ufir keeps talking, but my attention is elsewhere. On the fringes of the group, people have begun peeling away.

I curse under my breath and duck out of sight. "We need to go."

"What? Why? He's still talk—"

Rather than explain, I grab her wrist and hurry away. She jerks out of my grasp, but to my relief, she keeps pace. Tired and worried voices rise behind us. Riveirre yanks me around a tent and onto the ground. Facedown in grass, snow, and shadows, we wait, my heart pounding in my ears.

Footsteps draw closer. My brain yells at me to run, but it's too late for that. I just have to trust that Riveirre has half a clue about what she's doing.

Snow crunches right in front of us.

The offending pair of feet don't hesitate; they shuffle off, hurrying to get out of the elements. Relief floods through me. I can't hear their steps anymore. I go to get up, but Riveirre grabs my wrist, fingers digging into my skin, and I flatten. My breaths count the seconds. Eighteen breaths later, another group passes us. Seven breaths, one more person. Fifteen—

Riveirre taps my shoulder, offering me a hand up, and we're off, running from shadow to shadow.

We burst into our tent. I lay flopped on the ground, recovering my breath as water rolls off my skin. In the corner of my eye, Riveirre wraps up in her purple throw, hair pulled back down, nose and cheeks cherry red. She looks more like a little girl than a sixteen-year-old.

My heart gradually slows its hammering. I swear I've run more this week than in the last eight years of my life.

She sits cross-legged like a kid in their year-one classroom, and her dark, deep eyes watch me. "What was the Ufir saying?"

I push up. "They're going to winter in the Outerlands."

Long lashes flutter in confusion. "The Outerlands don't exist." Her fingers peek out from her blanket to play with that chain she always wears around her neck.

"They don't seem to think so." My shirt is clinging to me where it's wet. I tug it off.

Riveirre looks away, cherry cheeks turning beet. "They also think magic is real. There's nothing outside of the mountains of the High Valleys. What would that even look like?"

"Flat, maybe." I pull another shirt on. But the Outerlands exist only as a geographer's nightmare. There are no methods for measuring flat land without a nearby incline to reference; there's never been a need for one.

"You know as well as I do that a whole expanse of land can't just be flat. Even if the Outerlands is a place, it's not a place beyond the mountains." A fisted hand tightens her blanket's embrace. "If it existed, we would know. Someone would have gone and come back by now."

I snort. "Undergrounders are too interested in finding new caves to worry about anything that might lie beyond the mountains. Topsiders are too poor. The Traders would be the ones to know, and as you pointed out, they're not the most reliable source."

The fiddling at her neck grows more agitated. "How are we supposed to get to Xela now?"

"They'll still take us there. It should be on the way. They already think the 'gods of the mountains' are against them; they're not going to risk me cursing them and making it worse."

"You can't do that, though."

"They don't know that." Her head's still turned. I go ahead and change into a dry pair of pants as well. "I figure they'll drop us off along the way."

"You're sure?"

No. How can I be? "We'll be fine, Riveirre. Get some sleep." Tomorrow will be just as grueling as today.