While Nothing remained silent, she listened and watched, guessing that Sunlight and Gali were sister and brother, having the same almond-shaped eyes and light-copper skin, and the second young man, Ginger, sand white like Nothing, was courting one of them. Or trying to. Perhaps, she thought, the pilgrimage to the Shrine of All Gods was a quest to determine which sibling would have him.
That night they made camp in a mossy clearing of alders, surrounded by several large boulders streaked with golden veins. They shared food, and Nothing made a quick fire with crisp fallen alder branches, their gray bark a glorious contrast to the vibrant red wood. She pretended to strike flint as she whispered to the spirits, for the pilgrims’ sakes—and Sky’s peace of mind. After they’d settled and eaten, Gali brought out a ceramic flask and passed it around. His sister and their friend sipped, then breathed heavily out over their tongue as if to give a taste of the vapors to the forest spirits. Sky thanked Ginger as the flask was handed over, then did the same. He turned to Nothing. “It’s a smooth liquor, with bite.”
“Dreams of  Wheatseeds,” Gali said, “distilled from the golden wheat we grow down in the south.”
Nothing saluted with the flask and carefully sipped. It tasted of nothing, and that made her smile a little. But her gasping breath turned more to a cough, and tears sprang to her eyes. After she hurriedly passed it to Gali, Sky rubbed her back in circles.
“Will you sing?” Sits in Sunlight asked.
Nervously, Nothing glanced at Sky and nodded. She swallowed once or twice, until her throat felt recovered, then sang a serenade the Second Consort often crooned to herself. Its rhythm and dialect were old, with odd stop-starts lending it a melancholic quality. And it suited Nothing’s soft, high voice.
When the song faded, the three pilgrims brushed their hands together in appreciation.
Nothing slept curled beside Sky that night, her back against his side and his arm as a pillow. In the morning, for the first time in a while, Sky smeared blue paint over his eyes and dotted it in an arc on Nothing’s forehead. The pilgrims reapplied their black stripes, and Nothing, for the sake of friendliness, quietly offered to rebraid Ginger’s straggling hair. He accepted gratefully, and she made quick work of the thick, dark-brown waves, pinning it atop his head in a knot. She plucked a flower from a root cluster to tie against the base of his fanned hat so that its stem bent over his head and the petals caressed his forehead and temple like gentle kisses as he walked. It was charming, and she hoped whichever sibling he favored liked it too.
They parted ways with the pilgrims two hours before sunset, when they reached the Crossroads of Heaven.
These crossroads were marked with four shrines shaped like the Four Living Mountains, and Nothing felt a bite of annoyance that the Fifth Mountain would be so ignored just because it had a demon instead of a spirit. She scowled as the rest paid their respects and knelt in the center of the crossed dirt roads. She dug a shallow hole and spat into it, whispered, “I have not forgotten the Fifth Mountain,” then quickly patted the earth back into place.
All four of her companions were staring at her, though they could not have heard what she said.
“Heia,” Sky said, hauling her up.
Sits in Sunlight said, wide-eyed, “Best luck, both of you,” reaching to take the sleeves of her brother and friend.
Ginger blew Nothing a kiss, shaking his head in amused worry, and Gali nodded to Sky before going off east.
Sky didn’t release her for several long moments, until she jerked free. “What?”
“I told you. Normal people don’t spit into the center of crossroads, especially when surrounded by four perfectly good shrines.”
“They were leaving. We don’t have to worry about them anymore.”
“You’re still a nuisance,” he grumbled.
Nothing crossed her arms over her chest and stomped angrily down the Cedar Pilgrimage trail. The day was warm, the sun pressing against the back of her neck. She wanted to stop already to camp and be just herself—Nothing! Not Heia the girl running off to be some demon-kissed’s consort against her family’s wishes!
Sky strode behind her and stopped at her side, keeping to her pace. They didn’t speak until the sun had dipped below the canopy and Sky chose a bent tree to mark their shelter. The sky was clear, purple with emerging stars, and they spread the oilcloth over the ground. “I’ll hunt again in the morning,” Sky said. “We need fresh meat.”
“We need to get there.”
“If you have wings you haven’t told me about, Nothing, we can get there faster.”
She glanced sharply at him.
He was not smiling but scowling as he handed her a piece of hard cookie he’d traded for with the pilgrims. As she munched on a corner, enjoying the slight sweetness, she tried to relax. It didn’t work, and she sighed, then started to sing again.
This time she chose a hopeful maiden’s chant, filled with rhymes for silk and descriptions of suitors. She forgot a few of the words, and Sky murmured them for her. It was good to sing, even something that never would describe her life. When the song ended, Sky sang a low working song. His forefingers tapped in the off-rhythm, and she wondered if it was because he’d learned the song with a weapon in hand.
The stars gleamed in the sky, along the narrow strip of it visible exactly over the road, like a seam in the rain-forest canopy.
Just then Nothing heard a shuffle of leaves, a loud shush of ferns that could not be ascribed to the wind. She stood slowly, peering into the dark rain forest. Shadows played across the waist-high sea of curling ferns, and the gray-moon-pale trunks of alders were like thin spirits.
“Oh,” said Sky, resigned. Nothing glanced to see him turned toward the north approach of the road. Down it lumbered a huge creature.
But Sky seemed unafraid, so Nothing quashed the thrill of panic, despite the creature’s size: it was bigger than a grizzled bear! Bigger than a small family’s barn.
Nothing smoothed her hands down her hips, wishing she had armor instead of tunic and trousers. Sky did not stand, and he reached over to tug at the hem of Nothing’s jacket. “Sit. Be welcoming. This is no threat to us.”
“What is it?” Nothing whispered, reluctantly allowing herself to be pulled down into a crouch.
“It’s a great alder spirit.”
“A great spirit of this forest!” Nothing whispered, glad to finally meet one. Greater spirits were stronger from linking their power with smaller spirits, or becoming the focal spirit for a large community of spirits. They held not only their own connection to the aether, but those of their flock as well.
The spirit walked slowly, having no need to be nimble or quick. It was bulbous with fat and muscle, its skin gray-white and patched with vivid white lichen and moss in spirals and teardrop shapes. Huge red catkins dangled from its belly and down its wide thighs, while smaller upright catkins grew like tiny cones off its shoulders. Green oval leaves fell like hair down its head and neck, and its eyes were gashes of red wood, its mouth the same. “Hello, The Day the Sky Opened,” it said in a creaking, windy voice. “I thought I recognized your singing.”
“Alder spirit,” Sky replied firmly. “Join us, if you like.”
“I like!” The alder spirit stretched its gash-mouth wide in what Nothing supposed was a smile. Then it bent its knees and sank down to its haunches across the fire.