Page 57 of Shadowvein

“Thank you.” I offer him a small bow. “Your guidance is appreciated.”

He returns the bow, then hesitates.

“The men from last night are gone.” His voice is quiet. “Nothing left. Not enough for even the crows.”

I remain silent.

“Strange winds blow from the mountains these days,” he continues. “Old stories resurface. Names we were told to forget.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “Even the Authority seems unsettled.”

He pauses, and draws in a deep breath. “You won’t find your answers in Ravencross if you walk like a ghost. But if you do what you did last night … people will start to remember. Some with fear. Most with hope.”

His gaze holds mine. I offer nothing in return, and whatever name he suspects me of wearing, he keeps it to himself.

Ellie watches our exchange with clear frustration at not understanding the conversation.

“What was that about?” she asks, once he’s moved beyond hearing range.

“He warned of increased Authority patrols on the main path to Ravencross. He suggested an alternate route.”

“What else?” Apparently she sensed the undercurrents of the conversation. “What else was he telling you?”

“He mentioned unusual activity in the mountains. The Authority increasing their presence without clear reason is cause forconcern. It means the caravans will be stopped more often, which delays their journeys.”

“You’ve been gone for a long time,” she says, mounting her sandstrider, and settling into the saddle. “How do you expect to find information that’s still relevant?”

A fair question. “Information in Ravencross flows through established channels—merchants, innkeepers, traders. The faces change, but the system will persist.” I guide my sandstrider toward the northern path. “If any of my former … associates survived the purges, I hope that they or their successors have kept up certain rituals.”

“And if they didn’t?”

“Then we adapt. Freedom requires flexibility.”

We take the ridge path as suggested, climbing higher into the foothills through increasingly dense forest. The trail narrows in places, forcing us to proceed single file. I search through the shadows between trees, monitoring our surroundings for signs of danger or pursuit. These mountains once carried magic. I remember it—subtle, living, threaded through root and rock. But it’s gone now. Burned out by the Authority during the purges, leaving nothing but memory.

We’ve been riding for almost an hour when Ellie speaks.

“There’s something I don’t understand. How are we communicating? I obviously don’t speak the language everyone we’ve met speaks. Is that how you usually talk? How do we understand each other?”

It’s a question I’ve been waiting for, and expected her to ask sooner.

“Whatever brought you here has created a connection between us.” I choosemy words carefully. “Magic sometimes bridges gaps that would otherwise exist. In this case, language.”

“So, it’s not that I’m speaking your language or you’re speaking mine,” she says slowly. “It’s that we understand each other, regardless of the words we’re both using?”

“In simplistic terms, yes.” The truth is far more complex than I’m willing to explain. “It’s limited to our direct communication. You won’t understand others speaking to you, nor they you, unless I translate.”

She falls silent, but I can sense her processing what I’ve said and, more importantly, what I haven’t said. Her mind moves quickly,tooquickly. Her perception has proven uncomfortably keen since our first meeting. It’s not her intelligence that unsettles me, but the way she zeroes in on things most others miss. Her eyes narrow slightly, catching the light filtering through the leaves above.

“So, I’m dependent on you for every interaction I have.” The statement holds no question, only a quiet resignation tinged with frustration.

The thought should please me. Dependency creates leverage, and ensures her cooperation for as long as I need it. It keeps her tethered to me. Instead, I find myself oddly dissatisfied with her conclusion.

“For now. Languages can be learned, given time and practice.”

The path descends gradually, the forest thinning as we near the valley where Ravencross lies. Through breaks in the trees, glimpses of the settlement appear, although from what I’m seeing, it can no longer be called a simple settlement. Stone buildings are clusteredalong both sides of a river, connected by multiple bridges, smoke rising from chimneys.

We pause at the treeline and look down. Ravencross spreads across the valley floor, larger than I remember. The changes are visible even from here. New construction on the eastern bank. Multi-story buildings of stone and timber arranged in orderly grids.

Authority order. Authority design.

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