Falling Off the Face of the Earth
Episode 3 of Falling With Style
A Story of the Second Realm
By R.J. Davnall
Copyright 2012 R. J. Davnall
Cover photograph by Axel Rouvin
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The Second Realm
Van Raighan's Last Stand:
Episode 1: I Can See Clearly Now
Episode 2: You Can't Go Home Again
Episode 3: A Hole In Her Mind
Episode 4: Touching the Void
Falling With Style:
Episode 1: Wild Hawk Down
Episode 2: She Stoops to Conquer
https://itsthefuturestupid.blogspot.com/
Contents
Falling Off the Face of the Earth
About the Author
Falling With Style
3. Falling Off the Face of the Earth
The dream of being squeezed in a cold, damp, bony fist faded. The aches remained, up and down Pevan’s back and neck. So, for that matter, did the skeletal fingers, rendered in grey-brown wood. She opened her eyes and let the headache back in, mercifully reduced. She’d escaped logic burnout, so it would be hours rather than days before she got back to full strength, but it still hurt.
The muted colours of the wet forest formed a soft contrast to Van Raighan’s thin, angular body. The thief – she’d told herself to stop thinking of him that way – crouched a few feet away, watching her, a hefty branch under one grimy hand. Fresh rain that must have fallen while she slept had plastered his hair to his head and his clothes to his skin. That and a narrow, pointed face combined cruelly to give him the look of a drowned rat.
From the chill feel over the crown of her head and down the back of her neck, Pevan concluded she probably looked no better. At least the pursuing Noncs hadn’t caught up while she’d slept. Testing the limits of her recovery, Pevan reached out mentally for a spot she knew a couple of miles away, began the process of spinning up a Gateway. It came easily, blessedly so in comparison to the still-fresh memory of the last, desperate Gate that had provided their escape.
She let it go and watched Van Raighan – Chag – notice she’d woken. His face opened in response, for a brief instant guileless in its smile. She thought of the strange vision he’d shown her, of her as his lover, and couldn’t suppress a shiver. Well, she was cold and wet. Shivering was only natural.
If I’m still here when you wake up, will you take it as proof of my good intentions? He’d asked that just after making clear what he thought of the vision. If Pevan hadn’t actually agreed to the bargain, she hadn’t protested it. All the man had asked was a chance to have her hear his side of the story. He’d not only not taken advantage of her, he’d stayed despite the fact she was obliged to arrest him and bring him to justice.
It was either proof of his good intentions or proof that she wasn’t clever enough to figure out his tangled plot all by herself. She couldn’t keep the wry twist from her lips. He responded with, “Feeling better?”
She pushed herself up to sitting, grunting in pain. A groan would show too much weakness. “Better enough.” What to say next? “What was it you wanted from me?”
He looked down. Slowly, deliberately, he took his hand away from his stick, folded his arms on his knees. “Come and meet the people who talked me into... well, everything, really. I can’t explain this the way they can.”
“I’m not prepared to think of that as harmless.” She narrowed her eyes at him, just long enough to worry him. Then she smiled. That seemed to worry him more, which felt good to see. “I’ll come, but I don’t fancy the idea of taking my eye off you.”
The brightness in his smile was brittle. “I don’t suppose I can ask more than that.”
“Where are we going, then?” Pevan wondered if she sounded any less fragile. It was hard to be cheery when she was this cold and wet. Somewhere nearby, a bird chirped, the sound hanging plaintively in the air. She sympathised.
"North. Across the Wilds." His face told her he shared her opinion of the idea. Still, as the Noncs had shown them, the Northern Wilds were the best place to hide from First Realm society. Pevan didn't try to fight the twinge of unease; it would also be the best place to kill her without leaving a trace.
He hadn't killed her while she slept. She held onto that thought. Chag's behaviour since she'd caught up to him had been too odd to fit any simple explanation. He wanted her; perhaps he also needed her for something. She could accept the possibility of him being honest without trusting him outright. A facetious smile came easier this time as she made a show of looking over her shoulder, where she thought North probably lay. "There's a lot of North up there. I need something to aim for."
He straightened up. "For now, just head due North. I should start to recognise the terrain eventually. We didn't go too far East or West of Federas, did we?"
"A few miles East." Pevan rubbed her arms. "Will that be a problem? How far do we need to go?"
"About a hundred miles." Chag smiled as he said it, but his smile faded at exactly the same rate her blood cooled.
"You want to go right to the North border?" Pevan found herself stepping forward. Chag cringed. Another thought hit her, and the resulting shiver tripped her anger into a dark, icy pit. "You want to go to the Second Realm."
Face expressionless, he nodded. "You know my... allies are Wildren. We need to go through a Sherim the Gift-Givers aren't likely to be watching. I know the Sherim and the route, if you'll trust me. It's no more dangerous than any other Sherim."
"You're asking a lot."
"I'm offering a lot, too." He met her eyes. "Even if you're not interested in my Witnessings, I can give you an alternative to the Gift-Givers."
Holding the little man's gaze was harder than she'd expected. Some deep pain lay in the foundations of his intensity, and the rain added the semblance of tears to his grim countenance. "I'll go." She wanted a threat to follow it with, but besides dragging him back to Federas and losing her chance at his secrets, she had nothing over him.
He nodded again, gravely. "Thank you. I'm sorry I can't offer better assurances."
"We'd better get moving." She glanced upward, eyes narrowed against the heavy drips from the trees. They'd be the better part of three hours crossing the Wilds, and the day was running out. "You're sure you can find your Sherim?"
"I'm sure. I practiced it pretty heavily." His eyes finally softened. "Hah. I was so excited to be learning a second Sherim. Most Gifted back home don't even know two routes. You probably know, what? A dozen Sherim and thirty routes?"
"Two and seven. More than enough to defend the town." Pevan spun a Gateway from the forest floor beside him to somewhere high in the valley above. Her head barely ached, a welcome pay-off for her uncomfortable nap. "Better hope the Noncs are gone."
"Haven't heard any shouting since you went to sleep." Chag dropped lightly through the Gate, curling himself to land neatly on the far side.
Pevan followed. Beyond the Gate, without the shelter of the wood, the wind sprayed her with rain that prickled and sapped the last of her warmth from her. She ignored the discomfort, scanning the half-familiar sweep of Cloverleaf Valley to find North. Chag waited patiently, but she could feel his eyes on her.
She pushed open the next Gate and jumped through before he could react. By the time she had her feet on the ground, on the ridge at the head of the valley, the little man was rising out of the opening, the angle of his jump precisely adjusted to miss her. She shot him a glance that she hoped looked mildly amused - if she had any chanc
e at all of looking anything other than sodden and miserable. "You know your stuff."
He grinned, despite looking sodden and miserable himself. "I might not have much field experience, but living in a quiet town gave me plenty of time to practice. With Rissad being such a strong Gatemaker, I spent a lot of time doing Gateway manoeuvres with him."
Before them, a steep-sided valley gaped. They'd crossed it in desperate flight earlier, scrambling up the heathered ridge with the cries of the Noncs at their heels. One of their pursuit had fallen to his death while running down the sharp slope opposite, but she couldn't make out his body. Her snatched rest told as she Gated easily across to the far side, letting Chag go first again. Better to treat him as a colleague despite his history, if they were going to risk the Second Realm together.
They pushed on northward, into the teeth of the rising weather and falling night. Moving in short hops cost Pevan little in the way of fatigue, and she was surprised to find that despite the reputation of the Northern Wilds for wildness, reality stayed stable. Chag asked occasional questions, about life in Federas, or Rel, or missions she'd been on, but she resisted being drawn. Wind and the rustling of wet grass became the dominant sounds of the journey.
As they fell into a steady gate-jump rhythm, monotony threatened. The terrain began to flatten out, valleys growing broader, hills less pronounced. Occasional