“Say, Ginger.” Doran walked faster to catch up to him, hoping Ginger would slow down with him; Ginger might not want Naavah Ora to hear after the glare she’d shot him in her village. “What were they doing to you in that forest?”
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the cultists hadn’t been about to sacrifice Ginger. For all he knew, Ginger was one of the cultists—Doran had only heard snippets of information about these cults. He couldn’t imagine Ginger doing anything as despicable as that, but looks could be deceiving.
“I was to be sacrificed to our Lord.”
Ginger’s calm voice froze something inside Doran. No one should be this casual about dying.
“Why?”
Naavah Ora scoffed. “Because they’re demonic heathens who shouldn’t be allowed to play with forces they don’t understand.”
Doran glared daggers into her back. He slowed down further, hoping to put more distance between them. Ginger hung back with him.
“Because our Lord demands it,” Ginger said.
“I get that, but why does he want you to die?”
“The girls’ blood nourishes Him. It gives Him life. My blood would make Him strong.”
Naavah Ora was on them in an instant.
“You did what?” She was shorter than Ginger, but in that moment she towered over him.
“Calm down,” Doran said. “They didn’t kill him, did they? He’s right here, alive and with his blood inside his body where it belongs.”
“Are there other boys they could sacrifice?”
Ginger didn’t look outright scared, but he’d taken a step back. With her eyes wide and furious, Naavah Ora looked wild. Doran was surprised shy Ginger wasn’t more intimidated.
“No, it was just me. They would have killed me years ago if they’d had a choice.”
The resentment in Ginger’s voice took Doran aback. He’d been so calm until now.
Ginger blushed and looked away.
Naavah Ora breathed deep and stood down. “So the ritual was delayed. I didn’t realise they were so close already.”
Doran hated being left in the dark. “What’s going on?”
She turned around and walked back to her position ahead of them. “You won’t have to concern yourself with it. We can go our separate ways when we reach the city, and you can go back to doing whatever it is you do.”
He couldn’t have agreed more. He wanted nothing to do with their different magics. Also, Naavah Ora terrified him when she was mad.
Ash would love all this when they caught up.
“You’ll have to put up with me a little while longer,” Doran said. “Alt Võina is two to three weeks away, remember?”
“There’ll be smaller towns along the way. We can split there.”
“Sure,” Doran said. “There’ll be plenty, but they won’t give you the same options Alt Võina can. I’m guessing you want to go south. Z’rasie, specifically.” She slowed down for a second, but it was enough. He was right. “You can get there from anywhere, of course, but Alt Võina offers the fastest and safest transportation. Last time I was there, their antique-book sellers held all kinds of ancient knowledge.”
Her fingers flicked to the bag at her waist and he smiled. It had been an easy guess—the bag was the perfect size and shape for a book.
“Safe transportation sounds like a good option.”
Doran laughed. He’d got inside Naavah Ora’s head and figured her out. Now he just needed to understand Ginger.
My nightmares would have broken you.
Chapter 13
Naavah Ora
This wasn’t how Naavah Ora had expected she’d leave her clan one day, but she had to admit, it wasn’t all bad. The boy called 840 believed in everything wrong with magic, but he was curious too. She’d been told the sacrifices raised in the village were firm believers of their religion, yet 840 hadn’t tried to return to his cult. He seemed happy with not being sacrificed; or he wasn’t complaining, at least. From what her grandmother had told her, the girls they raised saw their sacrifices as an honour. 840 didn’t strike her as someone who’d been robbed of his purpose.
She worried about what 840 had said, but it put her mind at ease too. The cultists had come so close to destroying the world, to making her nightmares come true. If Doran hadn’t shown up when he did, they’d all be enslaved to the Dread King by now. It dizzied her knowing an accident had prevented their world from being corrupted. The threads that held their world together were fragile; 840 was living proof.
But what were the odds? The one year the cultists were going to sacrifice a boy, and Doran just so happened to walk into their small circle and ruin the ritual. Perhaps they were just lucky. She needed to know more. She needed books.
840 had to stay with them, at least until they were far enough away. Taking him to Z’rasie or Ceidir meant crossing two borders, or better yet, taking him to Hjeva would mean crossing the sea. There was a chance the cultists would try to find him, but they had no way of tracking him. Their ritual had failed. Raising another male sacrifice would take years, and even then the ritual likely had to happen at a specific date and time. Years from now, once another boy had grown up and been trained, was probably too late. Maybe she worried over nothing.
But didn’t know enough about cult rituals to make assumptions. She needed more information, and she needed books for that; books she didn’t have. She wouldn’t be able to do anything but speculate until they reached Alt Võina.
In the meantime, Naavah Ora had more immediate problems to worry about.
She didn’t know what to make of Doran. His light-heartedness was remarkable, given he’d come close to death only a few days ago. She couldn’t fathom why he’d wandered into the Verdaan forest in the first place. To retrieve a few relics? He struck her as a thief, and he struck her as potentially dangerous, but he wasn’t stupid. When he entered the forest, he’d known there’d be danger.
Hundreds of years ago, when the corruption had twisted the dryads into the creatures they were today, Naavah Ora’s ancestors had been forced to flee their home. Uncountable treasures had been left behind. To think Doran had marched into that very same forest and had emerged with not one, not two, but three such relics… Doran didn’t know the value of what he’d found.
It annoyed her how quickly he’d figured her out when she couldn’t do the same with him. She’d barely said ten words to him, but he knew where she wanted to go and her one weakness, if one could call it that: books. Old ones, especially.
She’d accompany them to the Vaskan capital, and then they could go their separate ways. They hadn’t been followed. By the time they reached Alt Võina, they’d have lost any cultists who might come after 840.
“Can we talk?” Doran asked.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
They didn’t need to be friends to reach Alt Võina. They needed to be patient.
“Go easy on Ginger,” he said. “He’s had a rough time of it too.”
Naavah Ora frowned. She hadn’t expected him to care
“You don’t know their cult. If they had killed him, we’d all be suffering eternal pain now.”