This Red Sky

Chapter Five

The next few days were tense.

They avoided the Hartroad as they walked. Sonia did not mind picking through the desolate forest, if only to reduce the chances of meeting Falscha's brutish allies a little. The skin on the back of her neck prickled at the thought of Falscha's scheming with the men from the mountains. She watched the ground a few steps ahead of her feet.

Three days after the incident with Josef and his comrades, Sonia watched Falscha's back as they walked through a particularly thick patch of woods, listening to the seer whacking branches out of their path with the bone sword. Falscha moved gracefully, somehow able to pass by the grabbing fingers of the trees without them catching on her hair and the strange red cloak.

"There's a river this way," Falscha said conversationally, climbing over a limb and turning to offer a hand to Sonia. The girl ignored it, climbing over herself. "We can get some more water."

"Uh-huh." Annoyance bristled in Sonia's stomach. The day was blisteringly hot, typical of wild dragon country. Sonia's hair stuck to her forehead, dirt caking to her bare feet.

They were definitely approaching a river. Some of the white, skeletal trees were sporting tiny, persistent green leaves. The parched ground cooled slightly.

"I've been here a few times," Falscha continued. "Probably my favorite part of the way to—"

"I want some answers."

The seer stopped walking, turning around and looking at Sonia directly. The girl stood with her arms folded, willing her voice and face to stay firm.

"What do you mean?" Falscha asked.

"Who are you?" Sonia demanded. "What are you doing in Ost-Drachen? When you talk to Syralth, what does he say?"

"The Faithful call me Falscha Redcloak," the seer told her. She patted the crimson material over her shoulder. "They care nothing for lineage. They name a person after their most distinctive feature—'

"I don't care," Sonia said bluntly. "Who are you, really?"
Her heart jolted as Falscha took a few steps back, meeting her on the path.

"I have no surname, no family. I've always just been Falscha, Syralth's seer."
Sonia looked into the green eyes in front of her. She searched them for a lie, but could not tell what she was seeing. A certain feeling had dropped into the pit of her stomach again, and she stifled it as quickly as she could.

"Okay," she relented. "Go on."

"I followed Syralth back to Ost-Drachen. It was my duty to do so, as the mediator between the dragon and the human race," Falscha continued. "And now, I search for his holy artifacts."

Sonia broke the eye contact, looking down. "You haven't answered my last question."

There was a long silence.

"He tells me unspeakable things," the seer whispered. "Gods know unspeakable things."
"So you're a cultist?" Sonia's voice came out disgusted.

The seer had no response. Her thin face was set, frustrated.

"How old are you?" Sonia tried again. "You talk like you've been around for—for so long."

"Old." Falscha said shortly, and Sonia knew she wasn't going to get another answer. She wondered what kind of magic followed the seer, keeping her eyes bright and body lithe as the ages passed around her.

They continued in silence for a minute, side by side now. Falscha's cloak brushed over the thin carpet of fallen leaves. The trees grew less and less dry, their wood turning from white to springy beige with coarse dark green leaves.