A/N - So yeah, I totally didn't take a 9 month break. Sorry! If it's any consolation, this should update far more frequently now until we reach the end of the story, unless I actually drop dead or something.
Harry Potter and the Forests of Valbonë
Chapter Twenty Nine
Vocerr saw them to the door, his amber eyes glittering merrily in the bright sunlight outside. The blizzard had almost completely subsided now, to be replaced with a perfect summer's day. Already the snow on the ground was beginning to melt, making the rock slippery underfoot. He handed Harry a bag, weighed down with a canteen of water and several loaves of bread. He placed one hand on Harry's shoulder and beamed down at him.
"If you travel almost directly south for two miles, you will come to a small village with a river. Follow this river east and you will come to a town called Bajam Curri, from there you will know where to go."
Harry nodded thoughtfully, then hoisted the bag on his shoulder and titled Sternley ever so slightly in his direction. He adjusted Vocerr's sword and belt and then turned to face the Zana.
"What's the name of the village?" he asked. "In case I miss it."
"Valbona," came his reply. "Valbona village."
Harry gaped at him.
"Valbona? As in the Valbonë Valley?"
Vocerr grinned broadly and nodded enthusiastically, apparently pleased that Harry had understood the point so quickly. Sternley let out a dull groan.
"How far are we from Valbonë?"
Vocerr's grin, if possible, got wider. He grasped Harry by his upper arm, pulled him around the house to the opposite side of the mountain he'd scaled and pointed out the valley below. Harry's stomach fell. He recognised the direction the river took through the trees, recognised the rocky outcrops that topped the long slopes. Even Sternley let out a low, guttural moan of displeasure.
"How the hell did that happen?" asked Harry.
"We must have been turned around during the fight with the aurors," replied the hat. "We ended up going in a big loop, almost doubling back on ourselves."
Harry sighed deeply.
"If it's any consolation," Sternley began. "It's the last thing anyone'll expect you to do. Heading straight back into Valbonë, I mean."
"What, because it's absolutely suicidal? Completely choked with swarming angry goblins who want nothing better than to cut my head off?"
"Precisely."
"I have to say, Sternley," said Harry, his voice as patient as he could make it. "That doesn't exactly reassure me."
"No, it doesn't reassure me either," admitted the hat. "Now that I come to think of it."
Vocerr, who had been an impartial observer of this conversation, suddenly patted Harry firmly on the back and gave him a little shove.
"Off you go," he chided and pointed out a general direction. "The village is that way."
"Thanks," replied Harry bitterly, hoisting his bag and setting off at the heading he'd indicated. "Thanks a billion."
Harry was met at the edge of the peak by Ksheta, who he thought, from the numerous apple cores sprinkled around the place, might have been waiting there the entire time he'd been talking with Vocerr. She leapt to her feet when she saw him and seized him in a strong hug that would have been more appropriate for someone you'd not seen in a year, not a couple of hours.
"My friend," she said, holding him at arm's length and beaming.
"Hey Ksheta," he said and indicated the Sorting Hat. "This is Sternley. Sternley, this is Ksheta."
"Ah," she said, adopting a knowledgeable tone. "The talking cloth."
While Sternley spluttered indignantly on his head, Harry began to descend the mountainside with Ksheta. The slope was gentler than the one he'd traversed on his ascent, but taller. This side of the mountain was very different though; a thick copse of pine trees left the entire side in shade and fallen needles carpeted the ground. Interspersed between the trees were bushes, each flowering with bright red blossoms.
Even from here Harry could smell the overpowering scents of their perfume that mingled pleasantly with the smell of the woodland.
Harry knew in a few minutes that he'd be trudging back into Valbonë, slipping between the pines on his way back to the river and hopefully creeping unnoticed through a horde of angry goblins.
But for now, he was perfectly content to walk in the sunshine, listen to the birds sing and smell the roses.
"Tell me about Vocerr," said Harry as they walked.
Ksheta shrugged.
"Not much to tell. He is very old."
"Well he can turn into an eagle. You could have warned me of that."
"I did," she said, then caught his look. "Maybe you misunderstood me."
Harry thought back to her improving use of language in the time they'd spent together.
"That's possible," he admitted, though he thought the onus was rather on her. "Can you turn into an animal?"
Ksheta shook her head.
"It comes with age, I am too young by far."
"How old are you?" asked Harry, half wondering if she might slap him. He didn't know whether it was as impolite in Zana society to ask such a question.
"Four hundred and three years old, six months and four days," recited Ksheta.
Harry gaped.
"How old is Vocerr then?" he asked, dumbfounded.
The Zana merely shrugged.
"Who can say?" she grinned at Harry, as though amused by his surprise. "How old are you?"
"Twelve." he said.
"Twelve hundred?" she asked.
"No, just twelve."
Ksheta turned an astonished expression on him, her mouth falling open.
"But, you can't be," she exclaimed, looking him up and down. "You're too tall and strong and powerful!"
These words brought a blush to Harry's face, but he felt the slightest glow at the compliment.
"We must go back and tell Vocerr," she continued. "You're still a baby, he cannot expect you to do this task. He wouldn't have asked if he'd known how little you were!"
The glow died as quickly as it had come and the blush doubled in strength.
"I'm fine," he snapped, irritation creeping into his voice. "I have done this before."
Ksheta clearly realised that she had offended him and was gripped his shoulder with one hand as she walked beside him.
"I did not mean to question your braveness," she said, her tone low and regretful.
Mollified by her apology, but wishing to change the subject as swiftly as possible, Harry merely nodded brusquely in response.
"Tell me about the Zana," he said simply.
Ksheta tipped her head ever so slightly back and a wistful smile crept on to her lips.
"A long time ago, we ruled this land. We reclaimed it from the darkness by force, long before the goblins similarly ejected us. Long before it was broken by muggles and their wars and their strife. It's still hidden in there, after all these years. Albania; the Land of Eagles."
She smiled at Harry, a full-blooded smile of pleasure and he could do nothing but bask in its loveliness.
"And we thrived, for a long time, many hundreds of years. But perhaps, as a race, we prospered too much, were too naive. When the wizards arrived from the south, we saw their intelligence and welcomed them with open arms, expecting them to be as benevolent as we. We were hospitable and they were grateful and for a while it remained so. They were not like us, but pleasant enough, willing to tolerate and be tolerated.
"But then the Goblins arrived from the south and again we saw their intelligence and made the mistake of believing that it came hand in hand with benevolence. We were wrong. Where the humans were content to trade with us, to share in our wealth and happiness, the Goblins despised our success with all their hearts. They were envious, shallow and greedy.
"They conspired to make war and steal it from us and by the time that we realised their plans, it was far too late."
Her smile was sad now and she stared at the earth as she walked.
"I was born long after this, of course, but it was the beginning of the end of my people. There are only a handful left and we are hidden from the land, entrusted with the rivers, the mountains, the lakes and the plains. No longer do we walk among the people and bask in their affection, but are lost to mythology and act from the shadows, employing agents such as yourself to do the dirty work we are unable to.
"We love this land," she concluded, her voice heavy. "But this land stopped loving us a long time ago."
Harry swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and glanced at her again, unsure what he should say, what he could say to that sad story. It had lasted long enough to take them halfway down the mountain, Ksheta stopped at an invisible line on the ground, unwilling or unable to go on. Harry came to stop with her. They stood for a moment, gazing out at the landscape that rolled away before them, stretching from the mountainside off into the distance in the deep folds and slopes of shuddering forests.
Harry knew she would go no further with him.
"I'm really sorry," he said eventually. "About your people. It's really sad."
Ksheta fixed him with a piercing gaze.
"Everything dies, Harry," she said, her voice soft and deadly at the same time. Something else rang in her voice too, a sad note of bitterness. "Even history."
She kissed him again, as she had done on the peak and once more he was filled with a power and energy that coursed through his body.
"You must go alone from here," she said.
"I won't be alone," he replied, touched Sternley's brim and then his lips.
She beamed again and Harry dazedly thought it might be the most beautiful thing under the sun.
"I'll see you again, I think," Ksheta said, her voice melodic, like bird song.
"I hope so. Goodbye Ksheta."
"Goodbye Harry."
Once more Harry and Sternley continued their journey and once more Harry couldn't resist glancing over his shoulder for just one more glimpse of her vibrant red hair.
And although the sword was broken and Harry was off to face a basilisk, having Sternley back was an enormous weight off his mind; he felt as though the two of them, working as a team, were unstoppable.
After all, they'd fought a pack of oiks and won. They'd fought an army of goblins and won that too. Then they'd faced a hundred trained aurors and somehow, admittedly more by luck than judgement, eeked their way through. He'd climbed mountains, conversed with the Zana and flown a car half way across the world.
After all that, what was slaying a basilisk?
At least he'd done it before.
