Ravod’s eyes linger on mine and I freeze. His expression is open and warm. It almost makes me lose my breath all over again.
The sound of hooves turns my head as two stable hands approach, each leading a beautiful horse. Instantly, Ravod’s cold mask slips back in place. He strides toward a large black mare, the same one from when we met in Aster. She whinnies happily when she sees him.
I mount the other horse, a bay gelding. Ravod takes an apple piece from his pocket and feeds it to his mare before he mounts with effortless grace.
“Shall we?” he asks, taking the lead toward the main gate. I watch him, before heaving a sigh and following.
* * *
The trip down the mountain takes less time than I remember, but perhaps it’s only the shift in my nerves. Ravod and I have slipped into silence; the only sounds are the wind whistling against the mountainside and the clapping of horseshoes against the road.
The sun has reached its peak by the time we fully descend into the plains. I expect them to be much the way I left them: dry and dusty. But I stifle a gasp at what lies before me.
Brown grass and dull rocks scatter the path ahead, uninterrupted but for a few gray, skeletal trees. The emptiness is somehow even more chilling than it was from the training grounds high above.
Ravod turns his horse off the road, and I follow. I watch him intently as he takes a deep, quiet breath and exhales. The deathly expanse doesn’t seem to bother him. I begin to wonder if his idea to leave High House was more for his benefit or mine.
Ravod halts and dismounts, and I copy him. My legs ache as I hit the ground.
I had nearly forgotten how vast the plains are. But oddly, High House looks larger than ever from here, shrouded in the clouds above us. Its grandeur in the distance makes for a stark contrast.
“What happened here? Does Cathal know?” Surely if he did, he would have commissioned Bards to come and work their Tellings to make it better. This stretch of land is so close to High House, I’m surprised I didn’t see it when I first came. I’m even more surprised that Cathal—or anyone—would be okay with these conditions. It’s completely uninhabitable, as if a massive weapon detonated here long ago, withering the roots of anything that tried to grow. It is worse, even, than the desiccated portions of our pastures in Aster. And everyone knows we have one of the poorest villages in Montane. We are a blight upon our great nation.
Or so we were told. What I see now is that this desolation is Montane.
“Cathal is aware,” Ravod answers, and I struggle to interpret the hardness of his tone.
“How can you stand it?” Anger coils inside me as my horse sniffs the ground timidly, looking for something to eat. But there is nothing but dust. “To live in such luxury while knowing that places like this exist?”
“We’re not here to discuss me,” Ravod says, a frown tugging at his mouth.
“Well, I know how much you enjoy being aloof and mysterious, but do you mind explaining to me what we’re doing out here, then?” I ask, facing him.
Ravod’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
“Mysterious? Really?”
“You’re not going to contest that you’re aloof?” I raise an eyebrow in turn.
Ravod rolls his eyes. “I can be sociable when the situation calls for it.”
“So, never?” I can’t stop the corner of my mouth turning up as I tease him. For the first time in a long while, something feels comfortable. Fun, even.
There’s even a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of Ravod’s delicate mouth, just enough to cause the dimples on his cheeks to reappear. The sight is a tiny burst of lightning in my chest.
“I wasn’t always a Bard. I wasn’t even always in Montane…” He trails off, his amusement vanishing as his eyes turn distant. He gazes across the ruined landscape into a different time and place, his expression shifting between faint vestiges of thoughtfulness and longing. I watch him silently, wondering where he’s gone and wishing I could go wherever he is.
“Ravod?” I step closer. “Hello?”
He shakes his head as he comes back to the present. “Sorry about that,” he says.
I have to ask. “Where did you go just now?”
“I was thinking about my…” He clears his throat. “About the place where I grew up.”
“Where did you grow up?”
Definitely the wrong question. His face snaps back into his usual steel trap of expressionlessness.
“We should focus on the task at hand,” Ravod says. “I want to see what comes to you naturally, without prompting from me.”
“I can perform any Telling I want?” I ask.
“As long as it accomplishes what I ask, yes,” Ravod replies. “Let’s see you turn the wasteland into a meadow.”
“A meadow?” I take a hesitant step forward. The glare of the sun blurs the plains. “But how? There’s nothing here.” Kennan always had me manipulate or draw from what was already in place. Is it even possible to create something new?
I close my eyes, feeling the world around me as it is. I think back, summoning all the lessons I learned over the last week to tap into my ability to alter reality.
Starting the Telling feels a bit simpler now that Kennan isn’t interfering with Counter-Tellings. The sensation of wading through a murky swamp to find my focus is gone; my thoughts crystallize with greater ease.
The seeds of doubt she planted are less easy to be rid of, however. I start to feel the telltale warmth in my fingers, but nothing more. I can’t draw it out further. I’m almost afraid to try, worried that I’m only setting myself up for another failure. I flex my fingers, shifting my weight back and forth between my legs.
What Ravod is asking seems even more advanced and spectacular than parting the water back in the cavern. It makes Kennan seem downright reasonable.
“Focus on what you’re trying to accomplish.” I hear Ravod’s voice and open my eyes. “If you want a meadow, try thinking about something that reminds you of meadows.”
“That doesn’t seem a little roundabout? Why not just think of a meadow?”
“Too literal.” Ravod shakes his head. “That kind of thinking conjures illusions, nothing more. Spoken Tellings are impermanent, but still alter the truth of what’s around us. Tethering the Telling to something real will lend it a basis in reality.”
I consider his words and close my eyes again. My breath slows; my heartbeat shifts and syncs with the current of everything around me. I listen to wind in the dead grass and feel the ground beneath my boots. I anchor myself in the moment before I reach out within my mind for something to tie it all together.
I need to think of something that reminds me of meadows. Living in Montane my whole life, I’ve never even seen one. The only reason I even know about them is from stories Ma and Pa used to tell.
They used to describe verdant fields, peppered with colorful wildflowers, where birds soared overhead and gallant nobles courted beautiful maidens. Maybe the stories themselves were too whimsical to have a basis in reality, but the memory causes the tips of my fingers to grow warm again.
Then it stops, like before. I growl at myself, frustrated.
“Try again.” Ravod’s voice is calm and patient. “You can do this.”