The Hills of Home (The Song of the Ash Tree Book 2) by T L Greylock Page B

between our worlds.”
    “And does it still?”
    “So we believe. Long has it been since my people sought to make such a journey. But it is important that you can find your way here alone. Tomorrow brings much uncertainty. If the battle goes ill, I may be unable to help you on your journey.”
    “But what am I looking for?”
    They circled lower for a better look and Raef could see clouds of vapor rising from the mountain’s cauldron. “In truth, I do not know. We do not venture here. As long as you keep your bearings, reaching the lake on foot will not be difficult. Crossing the water and climbing the mountain is another matter.”
    “Then let us hope I am not on foot.”
    They turned back to the west and met with Annun and Thannor at the foot of Finnoul’s mountain. There would be no goodbyes, though Raef would have liked to thank Ylloria. Raef knew what purpose the two alfar were there to serve. He handed the ancient sword to Finnoul, stripped down to his bare skin, pulled on the ragged clothes he had arrived in, and did not flinch away when they began to beat him.
    Their strikes were hard, but their precision would keep Raef from suffering serious damage. To the eyes of the Guardians, he would appear bruised and forsaken. Raef endured the beating without a sound, then folded and returned the borrowed clothes to Finnoul, who completed Raef’s transition by drawing her knife lightly across Raef’s chest. Blood welled, staining the fabric of his shirt, and then began to trickle down, but the cut was not deep.
    “A little blood tells a good tale,” Finnoul said, her gaze appraising Raef’s appearance. Finnoul hefted the strange sword. “I will have this for you when we meet again.” Raef dragged his hands in the dirt and smeared the damp earth on his cheeks and neck. Finnoul grinned. “You are ready.”
    Finnoul left Raef atop a bald hill in the forest. The sky had grown grey and flat, the air thick and warm, and the trees that spread before them promised dark places. “You will have to walk from here. I dare not take you closer.” Finnoul pointed down a thickly treed valley that meandered below them. “A stream runs its course there. Follow it and they will find you.” Finnoul looked as though she might say more but instead she nodded.
    “Until tomorrow,” Raef said. He turned from Finnoul and the orange kin and began his descent into the narrow valley. The sound of water soon reached his ears and he followed it until the stream was underfoot. It was a tiny, rambling thing filled with small silver fish that fled from Raef’s shadow and chased the spots of sun that filtered through the trees to the water’s surface.
    The sun was reaching its peak when Raef felt certain he was being watched and followed. He kept his gaze on the streambed in front of him, but his ears told him of two hunters, one to his left and one to his right. Raef wandered on, pretending obliviousness, kneeling to splash water on his face at just the right moment to give one of the hunters a chance to approach from behind. The sword landed against his bent neck just as he expected.
    “Midgardian.” The voice was full of satisfaction. “The gods have returned you to us.”
    Raef stayed low and turned slowly, hands out to show he was defenseless, the blade sliding against his skin. He did not recognize the face that peered down into his. A pair of feet splashed through the stream and the hands of the second hunter grabbed his shoulders and shoved his head down. Raef held still as his hands were bound and murmured a feeble “Where are you taking me?” as they pulled him to his feet. The hunters did not answer as they shoved him forward, each keeping a hand on Raef’s arms.
    They plunged through the trees, leaving the water behind, and it wasn’t long before Raef, though he kept his head down as a show of meekness, saw other warriors join them, silent, light of foot, deadly shadows flitting between the trees. One must have run ahead