Circles of Stone. Ian Johnstone

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      “The great Leo Tsu warned us that the way is shadowy and indistinct, that it is dim and dark. But within, he said, is the essence.”

      THIS WAS A NEW kind of forest. It was lower, thicker and darker than the majestic woods in the Valley of Outs and it pressed in on all sides, smothering sound and clawing at clothes. Naeo and Ash pushed on through the dense undergrowth, panting from the exertion. To make matters worse, their route took them across a range of hills: it was only midday and already, this was the fifth they had climbed.

      “I’m not saying that Essenfayle isn’t the best of the bunch,” said Ash, pausing for breath and pulling a stray leaf out of his hair, “I’m just saying that the Three Ways have their place too. And together, you have to admit that the Three Ways are more than a match for Essenfayle. The Reckoning proved that.”

      Naeo turned to him. “And I’m just saying that you’re very sure of yourself.”

      “What’s wrong with that?”

      “Nothing. I’m sure of myself too. And you’re wrong.”

      “Ouch,” said Ash with a grin. “Feisty one, aren’t you?”

      Naeo shrugged and carried on climbing.

      “I’ve been wondering,” persisted Ash, setting out after her, “how come you’re so pushy? I mean, Sylas is confident in his own way, but—”

      Naeo wheeled about. “Did you ask to come because you were short of someone to talk to?”

      Ash looked at her blankly and shook his head.

      “So stop talking,” snapped Naeo. With that she turned and continued her climb.

      Ash pulled a face. “This is going to be such fun,” he murmured.

      They climbed for what seemed an age: clambering over tree roots and boulders; squeezing through bush and thicket, scrambling up banks thick with leaves. The forest hummed and squabbled and squawked around them, the air humid and close. This was the highest hill so far, but with ravines and steep slopes on either side, they had no choice but to carry on, no matter how hard the going. At one point they stopped and ate some lunch, but Ash again found his attempts at conversation futile. Naeo ate quickly, then gazed off into the forest, weaving the bootlace between her fingers, crafting her cat’s cradle until he was ready.

      As they resumed their climb, Naeo felt a familiar ache inching upwards from her lower back, following the contours of the black scar. The pain was never far away, but it had become more persistent in the past days, and had only worsened with the effort of the climb and the constant rubbing of her pack. She adjusted it so that it hung from her front, but even then, the pat, pat, pat of her loose hair grew unbearable and she soon had to ask Ash to stop. She foraged around in the undergrowth and found two suitable twigs, then coiled her hair behind her head and slid them through it to hold it fast.

      “Lovely,” said Ash, sarcastically. “Are we expecting company? Making a public appearance perhaps?” He made a show of looking around.

      Naeo gave him a steady look. “Just a sore back,” she said, setting out again.

      “Well, of course,” he said, shaking his head in bewilderment. “The wrong hairdo can be a devil for your back.”

      It was well into the afternoon before the ground finally started to level off and they allowed themselves to believe that they were nearing the top. They noticed the forest begin to lighten and then, to their relief, they saw a break in the branches and twigs and the grey glow of the open sky. Within moments they were dragging their weary limbs into a clearing and hauling their packs gratefully from their shoulders.

      They looked out on a dismal view. Gone was the winter sun and the bronzes and reds of a forest clinging to autumn. In their place they saw a brooding, melancholy scene: a blank wall of grey sky descending to a granite horizon; the rolling, featureless terrain of minor foothills sprawling out on to an empty dust-swept plain as far as the eye could see.

      “Ah, the Barrens,” said Ash with a dramatic sigh. “A tonic for the soul!”

      Naeo did not smile. The deathly landscape brought back distant memories that were all too real. She remembered the last, terrifying days of war; she saw the surge of armies and the heavens burning with fire; she felt the thunderclap of explosions and the raking sting of howling winds. But most of all she remembered the voices: the screams, the sobs, the last murmurings of despair.

      Her eyes filled with tears and she turned away.

      If Ash noticed, he did not show it. He was looking up, trying to make out the position of the sun through the cloud. Finally he shook his head. “We’re going slower than we expected,” he said. “We’ll have to get a move on if we’re to get to the Circle of Salsimaine on time.”

      “So what do you suggest?”

      “Well, we’ll have to pick our feet up, I suppose.”

      Naeo crossed her arms and gazed out over the lowland hills, tracing the folds and undulations, valleys and dells. Ash was right, it was their first morning and already they were falling behind.

      She rocked thoughtfully for some moments and then she frowned, her eyes exploring the terrain.

      “I think we can do better than that,” she said.

      Ash raised his eyebrows. “How? Don’t tell me you want to fly. I’m not flying again in a hurry.”

      “No need,” said Naeo, walking off down the slope. “We have Essenfayle.”

      “Well, yes, we do, but how does that—”