Page 6 of These Immortal Truths
He must see the uncertainty in her face, because his next words are soft. “Time can heal, and it can break. Learning to recognize both will serve you well.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know. It’s why I’m leaving you with someone who can teach you.”
She doesn’t like the idea of being handed off to a stranger—itfeels too much like being uprooted all over again—but she feels helpless to do anything else.
The world is too big, too unknown, for her to venture into it by herself. She doesn’t even know where she’d start.
She tries to remember if there was ever a time she felt so hopelesslylost.
“If you’re not going to eat, then perhaps you should at least get some sleep. You’ll need it for the journey.”
Anna nods, setting the strip of food aside in her pack for tomorrow. She curls up on the ground, pulling the blanket he provided her up to her chin, and turns away from the fire. On the pale bark of the trees, shadows dance. Once, she would have found it hypnotic. Now, it’s just another reminder of the impossible. “What’s your name?”
“I told you, I have many names.”
The answer is as infuriating as it was the first time. “Which would you like me to use?”
He is silent for so long, she almost gives up on the hope of him answering. Then, as her eyes grow heavy, she hears his voice over the crackling fire. “Khiran. You may call me Khiran.”
It’s a strange name. She tests it silently; lips parting around the syllables and tongue curling around the ‘r’. It tastes of things she has no hope of understanding—of old magic and uncertain futures.
They travel for five more days.
Anna’s feet ache, but they do not blister. Pain is as constant a companion as the man leading her. It makes her legs tremble and her back throb. She’s not sure how her body doesn’t give up on her completely, but it doesn’t. She follows him, pain filled step for step, until he stops at the edge of a forest not too unlike her own.
There’s no one else in sight.
“I’m afraid this is where I leave you. Eira isn’t overly fond of my presence at the moment.” He gestures to a small footpath weavingthrough the trees. “The trail will lead you to her home. She’ll take you in.”
Her hand fists in the fabric over her chest, heart drumming in her ears. “How can you be certain?”
Khiran glances at her hand. Anna has the uncomfortable feeling that he too is thinking of the skin hiding beneath the cloth. “It’s what she does. She will not turn you away.”
The trail is not all that different from the ones she used to travel back home. Still, she hesitates. “Why doesn’t she like you?”
“It seems her fondness for stories doesn’t match my own. Now go, before the sun sets. She won’t be happy if you find yourself lost.”
Anna doubts she’ll be happy at all, but when she turns to voice her concern, she finds Khiran gone. Vanished between one blink and the next. It feels just as impossible as the first time.
The forest looms ahead of her like a shadow, the sun at her back a burning reminder that time will not wait for her to find courage. She passes the tree line, her footsteps soft on the bed of mulched leaves. The shadows grow longer, the forest darker. Anna is afraid of the unknown that lies ahead, but has learned to fear the darkness more.
Her strides quicken. She doesn’t know how far she has to go, but she knows she’s running out of time to get there. She is at the mercy of the last echoes of sunlight when the trees thin into a glade. The path winds through the tall grasses, following the curved lines of the creek cutting through the landscape, to a modest cottage at the center. Candlelight spills from the cracks in the shutters, proof that there’s life within its walls.
Anna falters, unsure. It’s only the chill on the breeze and the moonless sky that ushers her forward. Her hand lifts, ready to knock, when the door swings open. The face that greets her is weathered with age, thinning gray hair tied back and showing off sun spotted skin. Beneath her thick, wiry brows, she scowls. “What is this, then? You don’t look sickly enough to risk the forest at night.”
Anna trembles, hands wringing in front of her. “He sent me.”
Cornflower eyes narrow. “Who?”
“Khiran,” she murmurs, wincing. “At least, that’s the name he gave me.”
The change is instant—suspicion melting into curiosity. “Did he now?” Her aged fingers grip Anna’s chin, examining her face. “Hm. Yet he didn’t bother to bring you himself?”
“He said he wasn’t welcome.”
Her scoff is loud in the quiet between them. “He isn’t. That hasn’t stopped him before, that traitorous gossip,” she says, but the words lack bite. Her chin tilts, eyes narrowing. “Instead, he sends you to my door alone and desperate, knowing I won’t refuse you if you have nowhere else to go.”
