Soulwoven

Chapter Eleven

~11~

Moonherb was a small, parsley-like plant that grew close to the ground and blossomed into clouds of round white flowers. It liked dark places, like the roots of trees or the rotting undersides of old logs.

As the sun rose on the 10th of Openmonth, Dilanthia Lonecliff squatted in a copse of trees and stuffed handfuls of it into a pouch on her belt.

She plucked it all and crammed a full head into her mouth to chew. It was bitter, and it stung her gums, but it would make her cramps subside, and she would chew it all bloody day if she had to.

“I have the worst luck,” she muttered. It had been nerves more than cramps that had made her miss her shots the day before, but the cramps hadn’t helped. Someday, she’d show the cityfolk what she could do with a bow.

She was going to have plenty of time to.

The copse was wet with dew and soft with moss. The first hints of light had just appeared in the sky to the west, and soon, the sun would be shining on Harlunn’s wall. Its stones would shimmer like water.

Dil had never crossed the wall, but she knew a way over it. It was easy to find, if you knew where to look.

She had slept in the camp of the cityfolk the previous night, after a quick trip home to retrieve her pack. The night had been cold and crisp, and the morning was still so, but she’d been warm in a tent with the soulweaver.

Her name is Ryse, she reminded herself.

The older girl had been friendly, kind, understanding. They all had, in the end. Even the Aleani.

Dil’s stomach fluttered under the cramps, and the dew left cold streaks on her legs as she strode back toward the tents.

Finally, she was leaving Lurathen.

The grass rustled around her thighs as she crossed from the trees back into camp. She spotted Cole standing over a smoky fire in the predawn light, watching the edge of the glade. As she came out of it, he turned quickly away and slipped in the wet grass.

In spite of the moonherb filling her mouth, she laughed.

She had the cityfolk out of camp by dawn, just as Lurathen was beginning to rise. With the five of them strung out behind her like ducklings, she walked through the quiet, wide-avenued outskirts of town and up a path cut into the steep, dirt-clad face of Woodguide Hill. Her cramps diminished into a dull ache. Her body warmed as her muscles woke up with the walking. It was going to be a good day. She could feel it.

Two hours after sunrise, she stopped at the top of the hill to check on the party’s progress. She’d been so pleased all morning that her cheeks were beginning to ache from smiling, but as she looked out from the top of Woodguide Hill, she caught a glimpse of the sun rising over the valley of Lurathen and sobered.

The faded roofs and lazy smoke of the city looked like a painting, all smudges and faded colors and motes of dust held suspended in yellow light. For a moment, looking back at the nest of streets and houses that had dominated her entire life, she hesitated. Harlunn’s wall glimmered in the sunlight. Easthill and the Waterfront spat dark smoke skyward from their workshops and foundries. Wallwalk and The Gate crawled with people, and dozens of long pennants snapped in the wind atop the tall keeps of Redpath and Graydawn.

A part of her whispered, This place will never be the same for you.

Absentmindedly, Dil reached for a round pendant of gray stone that hung from her neck. She rubbed her thumb over a groove hollowed out in one side of it, traced its spidery network of scars and scratches with her fingers.