Chapter 8

NOW

"Nightlights," Nathyrra hummed, hands on her hips as she observed the stringy stalks of fungi.

I took the cavern in, barely concealing my awe at the sight before us.

The cavern Nathyrra had lead us to gave off a dull green glow from the flora. It was large, maybe 80 feet across, with the ceiling too high for me to make out, despite the steady illumination.

Within, there were tall, strange tube-like fungi, which grew in clusters throughout the chamber, reaching from the floor and disappearing out of sight above our heads. They illuminated a scattering of small orange and red toadstools, which I'd rested my pack upon — the Mirror of True Seeing carefully wrapped in my cloak on top.

I rested a hand gently against the wrapped bundle, caressing the soft material of my cloak, remembering the Seer's words of warning.

We'd reported to the Seer, updating her on our discovery in the avariel's cursed city, pausing only long enough to restock on potions before setting out again. Before leaving, the Seer had grabbed my wrist, warning me gently that the Mirror was too much power for any one person, before releasing me with a soft smile. I'd offered a weak explanation that it might be a good bargaining chip with the Illithid before we'd set out for their trading post, Nathyrra taking point.

We'd left the neighbouring island —the Maker's Isle, Valen had reminded me — untouched, admitting with as much command as I could muster that we simply weren't ready to face an army of Golems.

Nathyrra hadn't taken it well.

The drow had narrowed her eyes, warning me that the Valsharess would have no such fears before Valen had stepped in to defend my 'tactful decision'. I hoped that the surprise on my face hadn't been obvious. After a few clipped words between them, we'd left the cursed island behind, travelling on Cavallas' boat straight for Lith My'athar, lulled to sleep by the softly lapping water.

That had been over a day ago.

Now, my legs ached from the long, silent march through the Underdark. My hands were beginning to shake from exhaustion, sleep staved off by adrenaline for too long. I'd pushed myself too hard trying to prove that I could keep up with the drow and tiefling. If we stumbled across any of the Valsharess' troops now, the best I could hope to do would be to stay awake to watch the fight.

I don't know how much longer Nathyrra had intended to keep up the gruelling pace before I'd told her we had to stop and recuperate.

Hours later, she'd lead us to this cavern.

In the centre of the cavern were three massive grey mushrooms, giant forty-foot pillars with large caps on top. Walnut-sized spores littered the muddy floor around us, softening our footfalls. A bubbling pool — a mother fucking hot spring, if the steam and eggy smell were anything to go by — gurgled to one side. Water filtered from the spring, through stringy lengths of the glowing fungi, to a small but beautifully clear pool nearby. Valen knelt beside it, filling his canteen, humming gently under his breath.

"I can see why you wanted to set up camp here," I admitted to Nathyrra with a nod around us.

I spoke in hushed words, but the quiet of the Underdark made even my whispers sound garishly loud as it bounced off the stone walls around us.

She nodded in reply, rolling her eyes as if to say 'obviously'.

"We won't be the only ones that think so," Valen warned, wiping the water from his lips.

Which is why, later that day — night? — we'd climbed the stringy fungi Nathyrra had called Nightlights. I'd downed a potion of Cat's Grace when their backs were turned, giving it a moment to kick in before we climbed and positioned ourselves atop the larger of the mushrooms — Zurkhwood, Nathyrra had told me. The climb had been relatively easy, the drow first climbing the naturally ridgy underside of the caps, before helping myself and then Valen atop, using the Nightlights as rope. The caps of the three hulking mushrooms were close enough that we could easily step from one to the other. But, once my butt had firmly planted in the middle of the first cap, I hadn't dared get close to the edge.

Hair wet and cheeks rosy from our individual dips in the hot spring, we ate a hearty mushroom soup, made from some of the spores Nathyrra had collected on the ground. Now, she sat cross-legged, separating her beautiful long hair as it dried in perfect white waves. I ran a couple of fingers through my brown mess with a jealous frown.

Breaking the silence, I offered up middle watch — trying to damper the eager edge to my tone as they easily agreed to give me the worst of the three watch allocations.

I didn't sleep much before Valen woke me with a surprisingly gentle hand on my shoulder with a curt nod. He let me know his shift had been uneventful before lying down beside the bundled up drow, with his back to me. I piled my blanket onto my pack and waited for a few moments before grabbing my cloak and the valuable artefact within.

I forced myself to look straight ahead as I manoeuvred from one cap to the other, taking up a position as close to the edge as I dared, to better see the cavern's opening. The Underdark beyond was a black wall of nothing.

Once confident that Valen's breathing had slowed, I pulled the mirror onto my lap. My face, tinged green from the fungi's illumination, stared back at me, a black halo of darkness my backdrop.

I gently caressed the surface, the mirror rippling as my face disappeared in waves, only to be replaced with an entirely new scene.

It was daylight.

Light streamed in from the windows into our living room, the floor freshly cleaned and drying in the morning's rays. The pillows were plump and perfect, propped in their spaces just-so.

It was quiet.

I felt a pang of homesickness at the sight before me, my lips curling up in a bittersweet smile as I touched the spot on the couch where I used to always sit.

I clasped at my chest, over the spot where I knew my ring sat.

Then, footsteps.

My head shot up, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the cavern again, squinting in the direction of the cavern entrance.

Nothing.

The footsteps came from the mirror.

I looked down again.

A man I didn't know walked into the living room, manila folder in hand. He placed it down on our dining table carefully, readjusting the fake tulips in the centre.

They didn't belong there. I frowned, taking in this stranger.

He turned around, before making his way to the front door. The mirror knew I wanted to follow him, and it did.

When he pulled the door open, I saw the little logo stitched into his suit and with a pit in my stomach knew who he was.

I took a steady breath in through my nose, biting my bottom lip.

The real estate agent stepped back and waited to show my house.

I clenched my eyes against the image, shaking my head in frustration as a couple of tears escaped.

I knew this was a possibility. I knew.

I just wish they'd waited a bit longer for me to find a way home.

I took a deep wavering breath, opening my eyes to an entirely new image.

My parents were enjoying the sunlight, walking along the track near their house. My border collie plodding along excitedly at their side, tongue lolled in a doggy-like smile.

I could see the boundless energy in him as he zigzagged across the path, pulling the lead to its limits.

"Tell him to heel," I admonished the image with what was supposed to be a laugh, but came out more of a sob.

I slapped a hand to my mouth, closing my eyes against the tears that threatened.

My mum muttered something to my dad, eyes on my dog and they laughed. Her hair was overdue for a colour, now embracing more of the grey than brown, and she'd lost some weight, but the sight of her smile brought fresh tears to my eyes. Dad's grey eyes sparkled as he laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Then, footsteps.

It took me a moment to realise it wasn't coming from the mirror this time.

My head shot up and my stomach dropped, tears drying on my cheeks.

I threw my cloak back over the surface of the mirror, stifling the light that shone from the happy image within. Cautious of making too much noise, I gently placed it beside me and willed my breathing to even out. I dropped onto my stomach to better see the new inhabitants of the cavern.

Some of them held torches, swinging them around this way and that as they took in what the space had to offer.

I blinked slowly, letting my eyes adjust.

Orcs.

A group of them.

I held my breath.

None of them were looking up.

They moved quietly into the space. Some dropped their packs and rested on the colourful toadstools, but most moved towards the pool of clean drinking water, uncorking their drinking flasks.

Conscious of making any noise, I shimmied back on my stomach until the light from their torches was gone.

Nathyrra was awake when I reached her side, dull red eyes narrowed and head tilted in question.

I held up my fingers, five and one.

Please think I mean six people, not fifty-one. I bit my lip.

I mouthed the word orcs to her, before waking Valen with a hand on his shoulder and repeating the process.

Guttural grunts in a language I didn't understand — my money's on orcish — reached our ears as they got comfortable, thinking the cavern uninhabited.

I crept to my pack, the spongy surface dampening my footfalls as I reached for my bow and pulled an arrow carefully from the quiver. I dropped to a knee, shuffling closer to the edge so I could see the group below.

They'd finished filling their flasks and were milling about. Some stretched, some chatted, and some simply waited, kicking at the spores underfoot.

Nathyrra crept to my side.

"Red stools," she whispered lightly in my ear, a hand cupped against my face to keep the sound from travelling. "They'll burst. Poison."

She couldn't have told me this when I was resting against one earlier today?!

I trained my arrow on one of the stools with the most orcs near it.

I waited.

I pulled the bow taught.

One of the orcs offered a curt command, and the others all froze.

I froze too, arms straining.

They still didn't look up. Instead, they picked up their belongings and began a steady march back out of the cavern, flasks full and ready for the next leg of their journey.

I relaxed, loosening the arrow as I watched their retreating backs fade into the blackness beyond the cavern.

I waited, alert in case it was some kind of ruse.

"My turn for watch," Nathyrra whispered a few minutes later, standing behind me.

I placed my weapon on the cap's surface, standing and turning towards her. She held my cloak in one hand and the mirror in the other, passing them to me without a word.

Nathyrra shook her head slightly as she turned away.

She returned to the furthermost mushroom to complete the remainder of the night's watch.

Valen offered no input, lying on his back and closing his eyes.

I curled up under my cloak, heart hammering. From the fight that we'd just avoided or from being caught using the mirror, I don't know.

When I eventually fell asleep it was to dreams of my parent's walking on an endless track, laughter in their eyes, under the light of a bright beaming sun.

THEN

Sweat dripped into my eyes.

I blinked against the salty sting, rubbing the back of a hand across my forehead. The cold chill in the air did nothing to help regulate my temperature, it only made my lungs burn.

We'd been walking for hours, my legs and chest aching in protest to the gruelling, never-ending pace that Farghan had set us. His large white dog padded silently by his side, neither of them showing an issue with the walk.

I'd accepted the money for a new bow off Drogan earlier that day, promising to hunt a deer for the school, before grabbing my meagre belongs and making a beeline for the herbalist's shop. Farghan had welcomed me in, noting that I was earlier than we'd agreed the day before with a frown.

I'd apologised before telling him of the task Drogan had set me.

"You need a bow?" He'd asked.

"I need help."

I'd placed the accumulation of Drogan's and Emma's coins on the bench he'd been stripping feathers on. He'd looked over the coins, fingers scratching his stubble before he'd offered me a smile. "That and half our haul."

Now we walked. And mostly uphill…

We slowed every now and again for Farghan to pull some plant from the ground, roots and all, his dog continuing on ahead, used to these kinds of distractions. Each time he gathered one in such a way, he handed it to me with a Wikipedia-esque description of the flora. Then, he would tell me how many more he needed before our return, leaving me to keep an eye out.

Occasionally he'd quiz me on the benefits or known locations of some of them, with the enthusiasm of a teacher in their first year of schooling.

I was pulling out more weeds out than I would have liked, but I was starting to successfully identify the more common ones. I even found a couple of new ones which I recognised from Emma's notes, showing them off with a triumphant smirk and a raised eyebrow, before storing them in a small sack he'd provided for the trip.

So far, most of our journey was pretty similar to my flight to Hilltop, just with a lot less panic and better company than the ghost of Emma.

We stuck to the main road, bordered on both sides by moss-covered stones that grew in size the further we walked.

Every now and again I'd catch a glimpse of a large bird — Emma's hawk? — circling ahead, dipping in and out of the treeline silently.

But we'd yet to do any actual hunting. The word 'deer' hadn't even been mentioned since we'd left.

It continued like this for the remainder of the day, and as the cloudy sky started to turn orange with the setting sun, Farghan lead us through a craggy pass, across a trickling stream littered with rocks, and into a sudden wall of pines. HIs dog lopped off ahead of us without a sound.

The canopy of trees overhead became denser the further we progressed, only the occasional ray making its way through to the forest floor. I pulled Emma's coat tighter around my neck, protecting myself against the brisk air, autumn leaves and pine cones crunching underfoot.

"Welcome to the High Forest," Farghan stated simply.

I tugged uncomfortably at my new quiver's strap, with a grimace.

He continued quizzing me as we walked, and I would keep an eye on our surroundings for anything that I could harvest. We stopped only when we heard the bubbling of a stream ahead.

Once we were close enough that I could smell the dampness of the stream, we set up camp.

The routine felt like a mimicry of that fateful night with Emma.

I closed my eyes against the threat of tears, before tilting my head back and taking a deep breath. I could hear the birds preparing for bed, bringing a ghost of a smile to my lips at the memory of Emma pointing above us with a smile on her face. When I opened my eyes to the sight of the overhanging branches of the evergreen pines, birds hopping from place to place, I felt calmer.

Only when we were done did Farghan mention our planned quarry.

"I take it you can't use that thing," he stated, motioning to my bow, which I'd propped against a tree.

I gave a flat smile and a shrug.

He didn't seem put off or surprised by my admission and simply picked up his bow, jutting his chin in the direction of my own, for me to do the same.

For the remainder of the evening, he walked me through the proper stances and poses required for firing a bow, lining me up perpendicular to a nearby tree. I held an arrow in a three-fingered grip, just as he showed me, lined up the tree briefly, and then let go. It hit the tree with a wobble, stuck for a moment, and then fell to the ground.

"Focus only on the bow and your target," Farghan tutted. "Don't see or hear anything else."

I took a deep breath. Closing my eyes momentarily.

I tried again, this time pulling until my shoulders ached, before letting go. It flew wide, but with far more force.

"Ignore everything else," he said forcefully.

I gritted my teeth, kicking a pinecone in his direction. "The only thing distracting me here, is you," I snapped.

"And I told you to ignore me," he shrugged.

With a groan I got back into position, taking a deep breath and focusing on the bow. I breathed through my annoyance until it washed away. I focused on the tree. I pulled back the string. I shot.

It hit a tree. One about a meter away from the one I was aiming for. But it went the distance.

I grinned.

With a jolt of enthusiasm, I grabbed another arrow. I felt confident in a way I hadn't when training with the militia, holding that bulky sword with the too-long hilt in my hand. Misha seemed at ease, and I'd thought the issue was me. Maybe it was just the weapon…

I pointed the bow to the ground, nocking the arrow with a gentle grip, mindful of my stance. I took a deep breath, pulled back until it hurt, and let go.

It hit the tree — the right tree — with a gentle thud and stayed there.

Farghan gave a nod and then continued about gathering firewood as I emptied my new quiver with enthusiasm. I was happy to note that more were hitting the tree than missing.

When I was finished, and the sun was almost completely set, I took in the spiky mess of the trunk with pride, admiring the close scattering of arrows.

Farghan sat with his back against another trunk, chewing on some dried fruit.

The shadows the fire cast danced around us.

"Well," Farghan admonished. "You're going to need those arrows to hunt that deer tomorrow."

I frowned at him, as he started settling in for the night, his dog coming to rest by his back with a huff.

With a sigh, I started gathering the arrows.

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

A double-spread of Jane's messy handwriting with numbered instructions interrupted here and there with little stick figure drawings.

Shooting a Bow:

Stance: Prior to shooting the bow: Stand upright with feet shoulder width apart. Feet at 90 degrees to the target.

Grip: Keep a relaxed grip on the bow handle.

Place the Arrow on the Bow: Turn the bow so it's horizontal and the arrow rest is facing upwards. Place the arrow on the shelf of the arrow rest. A crudely drawn scribble of an arrowhead with annotations. Push the nock of the arrow onto the string between the two nocking points, ensuring that the cock fletch (the odd coloured one) is pointing upward. Bring the bow back to vertical.

Finger Position: Position the fingers on the string with the index finger above the arrow and two fingers below

Draw: Do not grip the arrow with your fingers. A drawing of a small stick figure with a scar down his face and a deep frown - Farghan. Pull back the string using your back muscles, not your bicep/arm. Another angry stick figure, this time with arrows sticking out of the ground, all around his feet. Pull back the string so that the index finger of the pulling hand is under the chin, and the string touches your nose and lips.

Aiming: Using your dominant eye, look down the arrow and align it with the target.

Release: Relax your grip on the string and allow fingers to slip backwards. Another stick figure drawing, this time giving a thumbs up, with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. After shooting, maintain your body's position.

Continue shooting baddies until they're all dead.