Page 166 of The Last One
No amber glow or blue glow or any-colored glow gleams from that man.
It’s like…Like he was never there at all.
How is that possible? Is this some sort of magic? Is he a mage? Another agent of Elyn’s?
I look down at the dirt path.
Dead moths, dusty, smashed, and dragged beneath his shuffling feet.
Is there danger ahead?
Always. There is only death here.That’s what that second raven told me.
Are we finally headed to that danger?
The gnawing in my stomach answers.
Yes.
Shit.
51
After another full day of walking, Philia spots a town rising from the dusty mist like a vision…or a wraith. Jadon and I trip in our steps, trying to see what she sees, our legs wanting to break from under us, our minds telling us that this is like yesterday when we thought there was a shallow pooljust right thereor that thoseweregreen spots flashing above the daystar at twilightjust right there.
The landscape around us, though, continues to shift from dust and dirt to softer dirt, dirt deeper in color, and moist air, patches of green and living vines. Wildflowers replace brambles. Trees grow from twisted dead things to soaring living things holding bird nests and green leaves. And there are blue-breasted robins and shrieking yellow orioles darting in and out of those branches with twigs or worms caught in their beaks.
I want to smile and clap—green means water—but after days of walking, I no longer trust my eyes. I’m telling myself at this moment, right now, that I am not seeing what I’ve longed to see just a bit farther up the road. I keep blinking, but unlike the shallow pool and the green spots, this image isn’t disappearing.
“Is that it?” I ask, my voice shaky. “Is that Caburh?”
“That is Caburh.” Philia throws up her hands and twirls like a dancer.
It reallyisjust right there.
Caburh is protected by a perimeter of wooden logs stacked taller than five men. Though I can’t see past those logs, there’s smoke drifting from countless chimneys, and the noise of hammers, and the clucks of chickens, and the shouts of men. Wagons and carts pulled by horses, mules, and oxen carry fruits, vegetables, wool, and fur. Merchants and farmers stand in clumps around the big gate, inspecting and haggling, smoking, and laughing.
“We’re not staying here longer than we must,” Jadon says. “Let’s keep a low profile, get the armor, and get back on the road to Olivia.”
“The sooner we find her, the better,” Philia says.
“Couldn’t agree with you more.” My steps quicken. I can’t help it—I’m beyond excited and slaphappy after walking the plains of Vallendor. Giddy, I can almost smell the aromas of roasted meat and baked fruit and fresh bread, and I have to stop myself from giggling. There will be soap and honeycakes here—I know it. There will besoft things. I don’t even care what those things are.I can take a bath!
“Let’s head straight to the inn,” Jadon whispers as we pass through the crowd at the gates. “Let’s stay together as much as possible.”
“We’ll get to eat, right?” Philia asks.
Before Jadon can say, “No,” I say, “Yes. We need a moment to breathe, to eat something other than lentils and carrots. I need to reset.” The tugging in my stomach remains, but I can no longer distinguish tugging that indicates my amulet is near or tugging telling me that I’m starving and exhausted. I need respite to make the right decisions.
The streets that wind through this town are paved with gray cobblestones as round as turtles’ backs. Unlike Maford, more houses and shops have been built from stone than timber. Only a handful of homes and stores still have thatched roofs—most are made from stone or slate.
There aren’t many outdoor stands or carts. That space is reserved for rickety benches and weedy gardens. There’s space here, though that space is a bit fetidand buzzing with large black flies. The stink of rotting fish makes us gag. It iswildto me that Caburh, with its stone, slate, and cobblestones, smells worse than Maford—but then again, more people means more waste from humans, horses, livestock, and rats. I glimpse a river peeking from behind the town. The current is slow, and the water looks brown due to…everything.
Like the tanner on the outskirts that stinks of urine and blood.
Like the blacksmith shop belching clouds of black smoke and noise.
“The entire town isn’t this rank,” Jadon says, apologetic. “Therearebread shops and florists and… Well… The breeze makes things smell worse than they are.”
