For the first time in his life, Callen felt fear. The gate of Tallybush did not keep people in or out but heralded where you were with well-crafted carpentry and letter-work. Callen felt as though it may have well been the edge of the world, or the edge of a cliff at least. One more step and he would be the furthest he had ever been from home: the verdant green hills speckled with thousands of multi-hued flowers, near constant blue skies, the air like warm bath water. It was a place where you could lay comfortably anywhere and spend an afternoon watching fat bumblebees on their lazy routes from flower to flower. A place of warmth, love, and safety. He looked down at the letter he clutched in both hands that was addressed to his parents and turned it over to check that it remained sealed. The dark green wax held an image of the Greenbriar sigil: a bee hovering near an aster. It was the first time he had ever made use of the seal. It was also the first time he had ever written home. He went over the letter in his mind to be sure he had covered everything: how his uncle Cosman passed away, that it was peaceful though unexpected. The healer in Tallybush had diagnosed it as a weak heart, that cannot always be seen. That, most unexpectantly, Callen has decided to continue on the journey to bring his brother, Royvan, home. Alone.

  He looked up from the letter and out at what lay beyond the gate. Heavy grey clouds curled across the sky; the cool air pricked his exposed skin. The road snaked down between the hills, winding through the valley, and held little traffic. He had been hoping to see some carts to indicate traders or families heading one way or another. It appeared too far for him to travel alone, and yet it was but a fraction of the distance he needed to go to Veridian Reach. He felt a small seed of apprehension plant itself in his gut. That he wouldn’t see a familiar face for seven months unnerved him.

  He started as he heard someone clear their throat. To his side he saw Randon, the Greenbriar ambassador that resided in Tallybush. Randon held the reigns of two horses, one that was his uncle’s, that were leading a wagon with a large chest covered in the back. It appeared that he had been standing there a while and Callen felt the heat rush to his face.

  “I’m sorry,” Callen said sheepishly and handed over the letter. “Thank you for returning home with him.”

  “It is my pleasure, Master Callen. It is an honor to guide one of the Turas family back home,” Randon said solemnly. He tucked the letter in his cloak and drew the hood over his head. “Safe travels on your journey.”

  Callen watched as the wagon crested over the hill on the road heading west, tears welling in his eyes as the loss of his uncle seemed finalized. Cosman had been a strong, stern, and sturdy just like Callen’s father. Without him, Callen did not feel as steadfast.

  He dashed the tears away with the back of his hand and pushed his shoulders back, turning to the northeast road, jaw clenched with determination. His foot caught on a rock on his first step and he stumbled forward. Callen stood up quickly, eyes darting back and forth to see if anyone had noticed when he heard the thunder groan above him. He rubbed the snout of his horse for comfort, a dappled grey gelding with a distinct dark patch between her eyes. There was reassurance that at least Clover was still with him.

  _____

  Callen’s determination turned to unease when he saw how dark the sky was becoming. It was a dusky blue with violent red and orange streaks that spoke of an earlier storm. He withdrew his map and started grinding his teeth when he realized he would not make it to Burlywood before nightfall, he had left too late from Tallybush. It would still take him the better part of tomorrow to get there. There was a dense wood to one side, an open valley to the other. He was completely alone. He snicked at Clover to stop and swung out of the saddle, leading her through a slight opening through the trees. Apologies poured out of his mouth as thin branches scratched him, he could only imagine how uncomfortable she must be. Once they got far enough that he couldn’t see the road he navigated to a clearing that would be able to accommodate them both and began to clear the debris out.

  He debated whether to remove Clover’s saddle and packs lest he need to evacuate in a hurry but ultimately decided she would be more at ease with it off. Then he debated whether he should start a fire. There was a damp chill in the air but it was tolerable, meanwhile a fire would draw attention. He coaxed Clover to lie down and spread a thick wool blanket over her back before settling down against her belly with his own. He rummaged through his pack for his water skin, a hunk of dried meat, and an apple for Clover. It was not much in the way of a meal. He would have to get more provisions for her in Burlywood in case this happened again. His uncle had said they wouldn’t need to set up camp for several weeks and part of Callen felt like he had failed his uncle’s spirit already.

  Clover was fast asleep and Callen curled alongside her, thankful for the warmth she provided, and tried to follow suit. As soon as his eyes closed the night exploded with sounds, snapping them back open, his heart racing. The nightbugs came alive with their chirrups; toads were croaking, the trees seemed to dance back and forth too fast in wind he couldn’t feel. Shrubs looked like shapes of people and he jumped to his feet, hand on the hilt of his sword. He heard the sniggering of an anonymous woodland critter rustling in the undergrowth. It was too dark to identify anything, the shadows too indecipherable. With deep breaths he sat back down, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping the blanket over his head. He gazed up at the dark sky and tried counting the stars to distract himself.

  “The night sky is blue,” he muttered to himself. He relaxed marginally, repeating it a few more times. It was something his eldest brother, Royvan, would tell him when they’d camp outside as children and Callen would get scared of the dark. ‘The sky is always blue, it’s just a bit darker at night. Nothing bad can happen when the sky is blue.’ He smiled warmly at the memory.

  When he woke the next morning, Clover was no longer beside him. He scrambled up, panicking, until he saw her a short distance away nibbling on grass. He sighed and then snorted abruptly. He had slept poorly, waking at what seemed like every possible noise, but was undisturbed when his horse got up and moved.

  At midday Callen came upon a river. He felt his skin prickle and glared upwards. A slight drizzle tickled his face. He rubbed his hands over his cheeks to urge warmth to return. It seemed unfair that it should rain the first two days he traveled alone.

  Across the water he noticed a faint golden glow flickering through the tall grass. There was an odd pile of grey leaves just outside the patch of grass. He hopped out of the saddle and guided Clover across the bridge and left her under a tree with a wide canopy in case the rain increased. When he went over to investigate the source of the light, what he saw shocked him. He turned around and began throwing up the meager contents of his stomach. It wasn’t leaves. It was little people the size of his palm ripped in half.

  Once he calmed down, he made himself turn back and look more closely. There were twenty-three halves and his stomach churned at the thought of the half of someone’s body missing. He had never seen one of the nyxa before and was distraught that this should be his first encounter. He began digging a hole with his hands. The earth was pliable near the river’s edge and came up easily. Shaking, he reached out and tried to pick up a torso but it disintegrated at his touch, the dust tumbling away. He blanched.

  Unsure with how to proceed he decided to investigate what had originally caught his eye. The grass towered over him as he entered the patch. The wind whipped the stalks against him and he swatted irritably at the grass dancers that flew across his face. These ones were large, their bodies looked like puffy balls of corn silk with little sticky cups for legs. They floated around the stalks, making laps at him. One slowly cartwheeled in front of his face and he blew at it. It cooed excitedly as it hurtled away and disappeared. He brushed the grass dancers off his cloak and pushed through the last clump, plucking one off his face, and gasped.

  Laying prone at the water’s edge was the small form of a nyxa, presumably still alive. It was shrouded in a shimmering gold miasma that flickered dimly. Upon closer inspection he saw the faint outline of gossamer wings, short hair splayed around a sweet, cherubic face. He picked her up as delicately as he could and covered her with his other hand to keep her warm from the rain as he made his way back to Clover. The drizzle had become a deluge in the short distance to the large oak. Callen looked forlornly back at the bodies that fell apart at the pressure of the water and seemed to disappear. Since he was unable to make a fire with the rain, he tucked her in an inside pocket of his cloak and mounted Clover. If anything, maybe someone at Burlywood would know how to help.

  The rain began to dissipate as he rounded a corner and onto the road to the village. When he saw the amber glow of civilization in the distance his heart leapt, even Clover began to pick up speed. He pulled her back, concerned about what the jostling might due to the nyxa. Peeking into his pocket he found that she was still motionless. Callen pulled her gingerly back onto his palm to investigate. He held her against his ear but couldn’t tell if she was breathing. The gold haze blurred any fine details so he couldn’t be sure if her chest was rising and falling. He also wasn’t sure if nyxa even breathed like humans. Uncertain on how to proceed he tried shaking her gently. He felt guilty as her limp form wiggled back and forth as if it were boneless. She looked like a dead frog.

  The idea of a little corpse in his pocket unsettled him and he questioned that anyone in the town would be able to help. He hopped out of the saddle and walked a short distance to the nearest copse of trees and plucked a nice, big leaf and slowly wrapped the small body in it. He held the makeshift coffin out in front of him and tried to think of some final words for her but he wasn’t a godly man and he didn’t know what procedures nyxa followed in death. Just as he was about to place the bundle on the ground she burst to life in a fit of bell-like chimes and a great flutter of gold dust. She began looking around frantically and when she realized she didn’t know where she was, she fluttered aggressively in Callen’s face. He swatted her away like the grass dancers.

  “I’m sorry!” He cried, holding his hands up defensively. “I didn’t realize you were still alive. I’m not trying to hurt you.” She made more contentious tinkling noises and when he didn’t respond she flew over and grabbed his ear. It tickled.

  “Where are my people?” She demanded. Her voice sounded like a human woman’s would have, to his surprise.

  “They were dead when I found you,” he replied.

  “What? Oh. Oh, no,” she started backing away, fear tight in her voice.

  Callen shook his head, shaking his hands to steady her. “No, no, no. I wasn’t the one that hurt them,” he said. She hesitated. “Listen. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have had ample time to. Why would I kill them and not you? Why would I make you a nice little coffin and speak over your grave? I found you by the river, the others were long gone when I arrived and their bodies crumbled away in the rain.” She hovered just out of arm’s reach, fear or uncertainty immobilizing her. “I thought you might need help,” Callen continued. “I’ve never met one your kind before.”

  Her light grew dim and she dropped suddenly from where she was hovering. Callen lunged forward to catch her, striking his knee hard on the ground. After a moment she zipped back out away from him. He figured she must be weakened from whatever ordeal had previously occurred, and the sympathy burrowed deep, for just the previous day, he knew what it was to unexpectedly be alone. The rain was increasing now, no longer tickling his skin but pelting it. He swiped at the hair plastered to his forehead.

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  “Listen, I know you’re scared. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t also frightened to travel alone. Why don’t you come with me to the next town? We can dry off and rest, and then determine the next step.” For a long moment she didn’t move or speak. Callen glared up at the thundering clouds then over to poor Clover who stood docile in the storm. “I cannot stay out here much longer; I need to get to the next town to stable my horse. How about this? If you decide you want to accompany me, just follow this road. We’ll be at the next town before nightfall.”

  The nyxa didn’t seem inclined to answer and so he gave her an exasperated nod before departing. He soggily climbed into the saddle and kicked lightly at Clover’s sodden haunches. Once they had crested the small hill he glanced back and saw the hazy gold orb unmoved. He sighed before cold, wet fingers deftly drew his hood over his head, settling his gaze on the empty road in front of him.

  The faint glow of Burlywood twinkled on the horizon. Clover seemed to notice the lights at the same time for she grew restless, aching to be closer to the light and warmth. He was about to kick her into a run when a bright streak flew before them. He pulled back on Clover’s reigns, inspecting the nyxa as she drew closer.

  “I remember what happened, and I know that you were not involved,” she said. Her voice shook with emotion. “But I am alone and I know not where I am.”

  He squinted against her light so close to his face.

  “Would you like to come with me?” He asked. “I won’t hurt you.”

  She came even nearer and his eyes began to tear at the brightness, but he could see her tiny arms hugging herself. It was such a human gesture that it took him aback. He could see the outline of her face as she scrutinized him.

  “I am inclined to believe you,” she said. “You carry Eldos in your eyes.” Callen wasn’t sure what that meant but he smiled broadly.

  “Here. Why don’t you come in out of the rain?” he asked, pulling his hood open. She flew in and he could feel the light touch of her wings beating against his ear. He laughed as it tickled him and she zipped out again.

  “Sorry. It tickled.”

  “Tickled?”

  “Your wings.”

  “Does that cause you pain?”

  “No, I just didn’t expect the feeling. Maybe you could sit further inside?”

  She entered again and he didn’t feel her wings against his ear. She barely weighed anything when she finally settled into his hood. He prodded Clover forward, relieved to continue moving as well as the company.

  “Where are you headed?” Callen asked after some time, he felt odd not facing the person he was speaking to.

  “I’m headed to Boreal Fernglade,” she said. “It’s north of The Andorhals. But that is all I know.”

  “I’m not certain where Boreal Fernglade is but I’m also heading north of The Andorhals to Viridian Reach. When we arrive at the inn, we can look at my map. If they’re close we could travel most of the way together if you’d like.”

  “I would be very grateful if you would accompany me. My intended and his people are relying on me to arrive before winter. I am sure you will be rewarded handsomely for your aid.”

  He waved his hand dismissively then realized she likely didn’t see the gesture. He grimaced.

  “I need no reward. I would merely appreciate the company. I’m Callen Turas. Of Greenbriar.”

  “You may call me Wen,” she replied. “Of Brightwater Hollow.”

  Wen sat on his shoulder under the shelter of his hood watching the road ahead as they continued and Callen tried to remember anything he might have read about nyxas in his species’ lectures. He knew they were of magic, the glittering specks pulsating from her made that obvious, but he couldn’t remember any practical things such as if they needed to eat, or sleep, or bathe.

  “Wen?” He paused, embarrassed. “Do you eat?” He heard a chorus of gentle bells that he took as her laughing. His cheeks flushed further.

  “Yes,” she said.

  He nodded then realized it was another pointless gesture. “What do you eat?”

  “Mostly berries,” she said. “I love berries. But mainly nectar, vegetation, small water insects.”

  Callen nodded again and inwardly cringed.

  “Callen? I am tired.” There was a hint of timidness in her voice and Callen realized he’d been insensitive. He had found her near death, then told her all her companions were dead and now she travelled with a stranger. She seemed to tentatively trust him but her alternative to not going with him was going alone. She was probably scared and exhausted. He couldn’t imagine her small form making it to the next town safely, let alone to the Andorhals and beyond.

  “Of course,” he said, pulling open his cloak. “There’s a pocket inside that may be more comfortable.” She hesitated.

  “Just so you know, I sleep for a long time. So don’t try to bury me alive again, please.” She started towards his pocket but then zipped back to his ear. “Oh, and I’ve put a hex on you so if you try to do me any harm while I’m sleeping all of your fingers will fall off.”

  “What –”

  She dove into his pocket and he noticed her glow dimmed. This must indicate she’s asleep, he figured, and felt guilty when he realized he’d almost been the one to kill her before.

  _____

  Callen found The Lucky Shoe shortly after arriving in Burlywood. He left Clover with the stableman and she happily trotted into the well-kept barn where a large trough of hay and warm stall awaited her. When he opened the door to the inn a blast of heat began to thaw his cheeks. There weren’t many patrons but it was still early in the day. He headed over to the proprietor, a middle-aged man with a plump, rosy face and a large moustache and asked for some dinner of whatever he had available and one night’s lodging, then told him he was housing his horse in the stable.

  “Right away, sir. That will be five coppers. We have mutton stew in the cauldron, and your room will be upstairs. The second door on the left,” he said, dropping a key into Callen’s open hand. Callen’s mouth watered at the thought. He deposited seven copper pieces in front of the man.

  “Could I also have any berries if you have them and some Greenbriar mead?”

  Callen sat at the table nearest to the fire. He left his cloak on, cognizant of Wen still asleep in his pocket. The warmth soothed his aches and damp skin. A serving girl brought over the bowl of stew with three large chunks of bread and a large glass of the sweet amber mead from his home. He could have wept at the luxury after the past two days. The chunks of mutton melted as he took a bite. It was accompanied by some carrots, leeks, and potatoes in a savory brown stock where everything congealed together as he hungrily spooned it into his mouth. He wiped the bowl clean with the chunks of bread and waited until after his meal was done to savor the mead. He missed home as soon as he took the first sip.

  The serving girl returned with a small wedge of cheese and a bunch of grapes, apologizing that they didn’t have any berries. He gave a warm smile before handing her a half-copper piece and wrapping the items in a cloth. Callen entered his room and looked around appreciatively. It was a basic room, but it was clean. He dropped his pack in a corner and took off his cloak, draping it carefully over the back of a chair. The proprietor had been kind enough to fill a bucket with warm water so he was able to wash the grime of the previous night off himself and change into fresh under-clothes.

  Callen rested on the edge of the bed and ran his hand along the fresh linen. He could smell the delicate floral fragrance emanating from the fibers and longed to put his head down though it wasn’t even dark outside but his gaze fell upon his cloak. He grabbed one of the clean cloths and scrunched it up into a bowl-shaped nest on the end table next to the bed. As he was about to reach into his pocket his hand drew back as if it’d been bitten. He remembered her last words and wondered if taking her out would be considered an attempt at harm and he’d end up losing all his fingers. He grimaced, reflexively wiggling them to make sure they were still attached. An idea came to him and he brought the cloak over to the table, inverting the pocket from the outside so he didn’t have any contact with her. Gingerly, he pushed until she rolled out of the fabric and into the nest he built. Callen released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and made a dome over the nest with another cloth. Next to her bed he unwrapped the cheese and grapes in case she was hungry when she woke. Content, he drew the curtains closed and crawled underneath the covers, gripping them tight and rolling back and forth to wrap himself completely. He was asleep within moments.

  The next morning, Callen woke up to a blinding light. He bolted upright and rubbed his eyes which only made them sting more. When he opened them again, the room was still dark but Wen was hovering above the end of the bed. Was she just standing on my face? He wondered to himself. Wen flew over to his shoulder.

  “Thank you for the food. I’ve never had cheese before,” she said and he pulled back the curtain to welcome the dull grey light of morning before the sun rose. He investigated the remains. It looked as though she barely touched the grape and about a crumb was missing from the cheese. “But this much could feed the entirety of Brightwater Hollow and we’d still have enough for the birds.”

  “We won’t have to worry about your food for the journey, then. That’s a relief,” Callen said, wrapping the cheese back into the cloth. “How about we look at the map?”

  Callen lit the lamp on the bedside table and reached over to his pack to grab the map, unfurling it delicately, smoothing it out over the blanket. Wen perched on it, walking around as she scrutinized the major land holdings and elegantly sketched geographical terrain. She seemed to have difficulty locating where they were.

  “We’re here,” Callen said, pointing to the tiny, neat script that scrawled Burlywood. It didn’t seem so far from Greenbriar and yet it felt like ages since he’d been home. His finger traced the route his uncle had marked for them until it landed on Veridian Reach, at the very north of the continent. It seemed like an impossible distance to cover before winter. “This is where I’m headed.” He looked more closely but the map didn’t read Boreal Fernglade anywhere. He doubted the cartographer would know of nyxa holdings.

  “I will find a way to contact the cuithe once we’re past the mountains. Traveling with you and your horse will greatly shorten my journey,” Wen said. Callen detected the melancholy lacing her words.

  “You must miss your people. Are you heading home? Do you mind if I ask what happened?” He asked.

  “We were ambushed by a group of humans,” she said. “I’m meant as a bride-gift to the great son of Osol, to rid their home-tree of the rot that has begun.”

  “They live in a tree?”

  “They are among the most prestigious cuithes. The whole clan resides in the grandest evergreen of the glade.” Callen began to wonder how he was supposed to find a single tree in the vast forests beyond the mountains, and felt foolish for not considering that her kind would not live in towns.

  “You’re marrying into this family so you can prevent this tree from dying?” That any being could marry for such a thing astounded him.

  “If marrying means binding oneself to a new clan, then, yes.”

  “How can you do that? Magic?”

  “I don’t know how to translate it to your tongue but female nyxa have something called an oshi. The power of the oshi depends on the bloodline, and I’m of Astarothos,” she explained, sounding morose. “So, my oshi can do powerful things.”

  Callen’s face burned. “Ah. That’s not so different from human women. They are responsible for carrying on the lines of the great families. Why does it upset you?”

  “It is a noble cause, and I am fortunate to be entrusted with it. But after my sister was bound and she relinquished her oshi, she was no longer herself. I am afraid to share that fate among strangers.”

  Callen nodded. He assumed most women felt that way when marriages were arranged for the benefit of either house. He recalled when Royvan’s intended and her father came to meet their family. Cressa’s honey-brown eyes locked onto him and never wavered, though, she may be an exception. Anyone could tell she was instantly smitten. Her continuous letters to Callen’s mother complaining Royvan was not writing to her had been one facet that prompted this journey, for he was not returning letters home either.