Page 106 of Minor Works of Meda

He nodded and went to the wolf’s chest to get breakfast. We sat on opposite sides of the small boat, the pigeon nestled up against one of the benches to keep the cage from jostling too much with the sea.

“Can you heat these up?” Oraik asked, turning to show me a basket. Inside were diamond-shaped pastries, a soft cheese wrapped in flaky dough. I blinked at him, then glanced down at the compass to adjust our course.

“No. It’s too much power.”

“Don’t be serious. It can’t take much,” Oraik said. “They’re no good cold. Don’t make me eat them cold.”

“Oraik…”

“Fine,” he muttered airily. “But it seems very rude to make your blood sacrifice eat cold food. Isn’t that right, Taavi?”

“Don’t name the bird,” I warned him.

Time passed. The sea undulated. Oraik talked.

“Land,” he announced on the third day, looking with curiosity at the hazy shape forming on the horizon. “It’s not—is that Doregall?”

“It ought to be,” I told him. We’d been sailing long enough. It had seemed like the safer of the two stones Oraik could open, with the whole of the Protectorate evidently going after Colynes, and in any case I couldn’t be certain which stones were still standing, apart from his mother’s homeland.

“Ah.” I heard his soft breath. He got up from where he’d been sitting beside me. Oraik crossed the deck and stood there, at the edge of the wolf. The wind ruffled through his clothes as he stared out across the sea.

Doregall, as it came into focus, was rosy forests and high craggy cliffs. I saw a crumbling watch-tower emerge from a stand of trees, and a delicate pale city peeking up behind it.

“I’d like to go ashore,” Oraik said quietly.

“We don't have time.”

“I know. Not now,” he said. His voice was still soft. Tender? “But someday. I’d like to go.”

“You might not find much cheer there.”

“I know.”

He stayed like that, staring at the island, until we were finally past it and in the channel.

From there we swept off the Etegen and into a broad river mouth. It would take us towards the Doregall stone, on the small strip of continent which had once belonged to Doregall. I got more nervous as we drew closer. I could feel the pull of the Ward now, and yet nearly everything in me wanted to turn back, instinct clamoring to live.

Surely the witches inside the Ward had all learned to put limits on their castings, as I’d been doing, after the first stone broke. Or the second, or the third. Surely I’d not kill anyone by bringing down the Doregall stone. Even if it did bring the Ward one step closer to breaking entirely.

It was dark. We pulled the wolf to one of the banks and spent the night. The stone kept its steady drag on my heat. I could feel how it ached to consume me. I don’t know how I ever slept through it.

Then morning came.

The Doregall stone lay on the left bank of the river, where we’d slept, within walking distance. It was as tall as two people put together. Moss covered its bottom third; tall golden grasses licked around the base. Mountains ranged on either side of us, here and through the Ward. We were in a river-valley, standing on the border of one world and the next.

I was staring moodily at the stone when Oraik rose to his feet. The prince covered a yawn.

“Well?” he asked, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. “Are we doing this?”

I nodded slowly. There was no sense in delaying now.

“You don’t have to come with me, you know. To the other side.”

“And miss it?” Oraik asked. “You must have lost your mind.”

“It’ll be dangerous.”

“Ah, I wonder what that will feel like,” he joked. “I’m not letting you go alone. You might need somebody with charm. Anyways, how would you get home?”

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