Gillion watched as Anice approached. He fiddled with Amorada nervously, twisting her around on his hip as he watched that small speck in the shape of a woman get larger and larger, the morning sun shining down on them in choked rays from its place in the sky. It made the golden reeds sparkle and the clouds take on a similar hue, but this morning, Gillion could not feel peace. A thick fog had settled over the field, a blanket of mist and mystery that shrouded the trees in further darkness. What awaited him in the forest? What awaited Anice? He was unsure enough about finding the creature, but now he had to protect this woman as well? It would be his fault if anything were to happen to her.

  “I see you shaved!” Anice yelled from a distance. “It looks good on you, Easterner!”

  He reached up and scratched the stubble already starting to grow from beneath his chin. It was increasingly itchy. Anice brought a large sack with her, filled to the brim with all manner of fruits, dried meats, and hardened bread. She wore pants today instead of the skirt he had seen her in the day prior, and she wore leather gloves over her hands. Gillion felt unprepared. All he had on him was his sword and cloak, which was all he needed up until now. He figured that he could just hunt for his food.

  The two met right at the edge of the forest, where the trees weren’t yet as big and the animals were more scarce. This was the point where Gillion had first broken through the trees and spotted Pondfall those few days ago, and today, he would take the trek back through the forest, in almost the exact direction he had come from. It unnerved him to know that he might have missed the domain of a sorcerer so easily. Despite his guilt for bringing Anice along, he had to admit she was necessary. He would never find his way through otherwise.

  “Nothing to say today?” Anice said. “No more insults for my father? Demands for me?”

  “Has your father placed any enchantments on you?” Gillion asked. “Any protection at all?”

  “You really know nothing about sorcery.” Anice said. She pulled the glove off her left hand, revealing a thin, silvery ring placed over her middle finger. Gillion’s skull trembled when he looked at it, his teeth chattered and clacked against each other painfully, forcing him to turn away and clutch the sides of his head. “My father doesn’t place enchantments on people. Curses are the practice of Witches and Old Song Heretics. My father is a sorcerer, Easterner. A much more dignified practice.”

  “Are not all Old Song abusers the same?”

  “Hardly.” Anice looked toward the treeline and lifted her nose to the air. “Sorcerers follow the rules of the Old Song. Witches and Heretics do not." She turned to the trees, breathing in deeply, then turned her head to the side. "Easterner. The smell of Old Song reeks from that stone.” She pointed to a large, moss-covered boulder hiding just within the trees.

  Gillion stepped forward, walking past Anice and placing a hand on the stone’s bumpy surface. It didn’t feel like a rock. Something from within it thrummed in a melodic, rapturous tune, and it was warm to the touch. Gillion leaned in closer, looking at those perfectly round bumps that covered the entire surface of it. They were hand-carved. Put there intentionally by some stone carver a long time ago.

  He turned to the forest now, to the trail of large boulders leading deeper into the tree’s bowels. The mist was blocking his sight for most of it, but just there in the distance he could spot the next one, sitting peacefully against a large tree, covered similarly in that deep green moss. The girl, Camola, had told him that in her dreams she had followed the rocks. Wherever they had led, that’s where he would follow.

  “I… promised a girl that I would bring her brother back.” Gillion said, turning to Anice and giving a pained smile. “And a mother, that I would bring back her son. I cannot do it alone.”

  Anice looked to the floor and kicked her feet, causing a large cloud of dust to kick up into the foggy air.

  “I cannot smell Old Song like you Littani can. My homeland is devoid of it. Blackened Death made sure of that. I need your help navigating these woods if I am to keep my promises, but I will not force you to enter with me.” Gillion walked up to Anice, bending down and looking her in the eyes. “Will you aid me, Anice, daughter of Absalt?”

  “Hm.” Anice kept looking at the ground, avoiding the vagabond’s gaze. “Will it be dangerous?”

  “You are the daughter of a sorcerer. You should know better than anyone the dangers of Old Song trickery.”

  Anice stepped up to the boulder, tracing her fingers along its edge and feeling the cool, soft moss covering it. The smell of Old Song, at least, to her nose, smelled of stone and brush, of earth and insects and very old trees, and she would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy its aroma. “I’ve been smelling Old Song since the day I was born. My father used it to help pull me out of my mother, you know.”

  Gillion almost grimaced at the topic.

  “My people cannot sell in town while their children are missing.” She continued. Gillion kept his mouth shut about the events of the previous night. It would only serve to panic her if she found out the townsfolk weren’t just banning them from town, but also planning on burning them alive. “So, I will help you, Easterner. On one condition.”

  Gillion breathed a sigh of relief. “Praise be, Anice. Thank you.”

  “You have to tell me your name.”

  Gillion paused. His face darkened, and the light from the sun seemed to have left his countenance. He hadn’t told anyone his real name since that day on the battlefield, where his house and home were torn away from him. Who was Gillion, Son of Lord Haldon, if there was no Lord Haldon? Just Gillion. Something about that seemed awfully disappointing to the large man. “Why?”

  “I’m curious.” Anice said. “And my father asked me. You know sorcerers. They think that if you can get someone’s name, you can better understand them.”

  Gillion looked to the forest, to the thick fog that showed no signs of relenting, to the tall trees that weren’t yet so deep and wide, to the bushes and grass and leaves that were damp with condensation. He breathed in deeply, smelling the earth and the pine and nature, and he let the cold fog coat the inside of his nose.

  Lying was seen as heretical to Blackened Death, that grinning deity from the east. In the old legends, it was said that the only way to trick Blackened Death was to lie about who you were, to trick him into thinking it wasn’t your time just yet. The heathen kings of old did this to prolong their reign, and when Blackened Death uncovered their ruse, he cursed them to wander the earth in search of similar liars and frauds amongst the ranks of humanity. This was the way the story was told to Gillion, Son of Lord Haldon, in some great snow-covered hall in the east. He trembled as he readied himself to commit heresy.

  “My name is Narann.” Gillion lied. “From the eastern lands shrouded in storm.”

  “Narann.” Anice said, smiling. “It’s a fitting name, wouldn’t you think?”

  “Yes. Fitting.” Gillion gritted his teeth and looked to the floor.

  “So, Narann, where must we go?” Anice said, bringing him back into reality.

  “A girl named Camola told me of her dreams. Nightmares I can only assume were brought on by some petition of the Old Song.” Gillion turned and pointed toward the next large boulder, silhouetted against the encroaching mist. “A nightmare in which she followed the rocks into the trees, until she came across a house that smelled of manure.”

  Anice grimaced. “We won’t come out smelling like cow shit, will we?”

  “I cannot guarantee it.” Gillion said, smiling. He started off toward that next large rock, reaching it in only a few strides. Anice had to almost jog to keep up.

  The journey through the forest was filled with wet brows and damp clothes. The morning fog did not do much to welcome the two intruders into the trees, and the farther and deeper they went into the forest’s depths the more it felt like they were being pushed away. The boulders were difficult to find, and oftentimes the duo had to rely on Anice’s sense of smell to track where they were going. They found themselves veering off the path by a large margin on multiple occasions, treading across incorrect trails or finding themselves lost amongst the trees, but as the day went on they figured out a system to keep themselves on track.

  Anice would keep her nose open for any trace of Old Song, and Gillion would keep his eyes open for any boulder that made itself visible to them. He would call out to her if he spotted one, then she would take the lead, walking nose first toward any suspicious rock that smelled even slightly similar to the scent of Old Song. The day went on like this, the two making what little small talk Gillion’s social skills allowed him to make while searching relentlessly for stone after stone. They couldn’t be sure if they were following the right path or if they had been treading in circles, the fog and mist made that knowledge almost impossible, but they continued on nonetheless. The only sign that they were making progress came in the form of Gillion stepping foot-first into a deep pit of dirty brown marsh water.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  It was midday when Gillion made that first descent into the thick, stew-like sludge. It made his skin crawl as he could feel living creatures slinking around in the hole beneath his foot, and he groaned as he pulled his leg back up and out of it. Anice howled in laughter as she watched the large man wipe the mud off of his trousers.

  “It’s funny to you, is it?” Gillion growled, ringing out the leg of his trousers as best as he could. Hard work, when it was still wrapped around his leg. “Where did this damned bog come from? I caught no sight of it upon entering Aglamand.”

  “Did you come from the forest?” Anice asked, calming down from her laughing fit.

  “I came from the east, the direction we’ve been heading.” Gillion squinted and looked out ahead of him. In front of the duo the fog began to part, revealing a vast, flat landscape filled with overgrown, mossy trees and stinking marshes. He saw vines overhanging the wide, watery fields, and mosquitos the size of his thumb buzzed by, skittering just on the surface of the water. “I saw no marsh or bog on my way in.”

  “There shouldn’t be a marsh this far south. At least, none that our maps mark.” Anice said, reaching down and cupping some of the bogwater in her hands. “The scent is undoubtedly Old Song.”

  “Can it conjure something like this?” Gillion asked.

  “The Old Song can do many things, but I’ve never seen it create land.” Anice trembled as she spoke, causing her voice to quiver. “This is the work of a powerful sorcerer.”

  The two trod forward lightly. Every step they took on the marshy ground was met with instability and give, and too often did they slip on the slick, almost slimy grass beneath their feet. There were no more stones for them to follow. Instead, they relied completely on Anice’s nose to guide the way through the bog, and now that the fog had been swept away by the noontime breeze they could clearly make out their surroundings.

  Gillion saw the bodies in the water first. Lying just beneath the rippling surface of the swamp lay hundreds if not thousands of men, each clad in their own rusted armor, and each sporting the colors of the great houses of old. Gillion could even see the banner of House Haldon, though it had been some time since they’d used the design seen in the water. Instead of the red cloth, black eagle, and serpent, the flag depicted only the snake. These were banners from before Haldon’s Harrowing. He had only ever seen them amongst his father’s collections.

  If Anice saw the bodies, she made no mention of them. Gillion didn’t think it wise to frighten his guide into panic, so he kept his mouth shut and kept trudging along. He glanced upward to the sky. The sun was in the same position it was in when they had first encountered the bog. That had been at least two hours ago now, and Gillion was increasingly worried about its reluctance to move along its usual route.

  “What’s that?” Anice asked, startling Gillion and pulling his attention away from the sky.

  She pointed just ahead, toward a colossal, leering face poking up out of the water. The face’s eyes were bulging and wet, and its mouth was impossibly wide, stretched and cracked and revealing a dozen more teeth than there should have been. Its bottom jaw lied somewhere deep within the depths of the bog, making it seem like the strange head existed only as its top half and nothing more. The sight made Gillion’s heart leap in his chest, and his hand rocketed down toward where Amorada sat on his waist. He pulled her half out of the sheath before he realized that the visage was made of cracked stone and brick instead of flesh and bone, and he breathed a sigh of relief at not having to fight a man of that size and strength.

  “I wonder who put it there.” Anice said, walking up to the edge of the water. Gillion grabbed her gently and pulled her away from the surface.

  “This is a good place to rest.” He said, trying to lead her away from the bodies still visible in the water. “We’ve been walking for hours now.”

  “Alright.” Anice said, pulling herself free and slinging her pack off of her shoulders. The Littani woman reached inside her bag and produced a large cloth tarp, the same ones the other Littani used as their tents, and laid it out on the ground. “Would you like to sit?”

  Gillion looked down at the cloth, shrugged his shoulders, and started to step onto it.

  “Wait!” Anice said, holding out her arms to stop him. “No shoes on the blanket, idiot!”

  “But…” Gillion looked quizzically at her, furrowing his brow. “It’s already on the ground.”

  “The side that’s supposed to be on the ground is on the ground. This is the side we sit on.” She huffed and pulled out two small, wrapped packages, placing one in front of herself and one in front of Gillion. “What’s the point of sitting on a blanket if it can’t even protect you from what’s on the ground?”

  Gillion grumbled and pulled off his shoes, dropping into a seated position just across from her. “Should I start a fire?”

  “For what? Food’s already cooked.” Anice pulled back some of the paper covering her own small lunch, and began to nibble at the bread beneath. “My father thought that you might have brought nothing, so he made you one as well. Don’t let it go to waste.”

  Gillion looked down at his own sitting before him. He reached down and grabbed it, peeling back the brown paper and staring at the soft bread beneath. The aroma of garlic and goat’s butter wafted up in the air around him, and he could see the pinkish white meat baked into it. There was more flavor packed into the smell of this small roll than there was in any of the meals he had cooked for himself over the years.

  The first bite was an explosion of salty meat and chewy dough. It was both buttery and flaky, and when it fell apart in his mouth he could feel himself salivating for the next bite. “What does your father call it?”

  “It’s not his recipe. It’s Littani.” Anice said, scarfing down her own. “ We call it Falsahen. False meat.”

  Gillion ate his Falsahen gratefully.

  When the two were finished, Gillion turned back to the swamp around him. Somewhere in the distance he thought he could make out the sound of frogs and insects, and the sight of birds flying high in the sky put him at ease. There were animals around here. Living beings not made of Old Song, not conjured up by some dark sorcerer hiding just out of sight. This was where he truly belonged. Amongst the trees and the grass, amongst the swamp and the stillness. No battlefield for him. No town. No Pondfall or Littani caravan. Just him and the trees.

  “So why'd you do it?” Anice asked, reminding Gillion that he had company.

  “Do what?”

  “Why’d you make those promises?” Anice crumpled up her paper and threw it behind her back. Gillion watched as it landed in the water, nearly hitting a frog. “You don’t know if you’ll actually find those kids.”

  “It was what I was taught to do.” Gillion said. Anice was right, wasn’t she? He really had no clue if he could actually find them, let alone save them from whatever it was that was taking them. He managed to harm the creature all those nights ago, but he had struck out instinctively. What would he do if he couldn’t rescue them?

  “And you always do what you were taught?” Anice asked. She stared at him now, her dark brown eyes boring holes into his face. Something about her gaze made him nervous. “Doesn’t seem like any real way to live. I don’t even listen to my father half the time.”

  “I… suppose it’s who I am.” Gillion scratched his neck guiltily. “In the east, it’s said that to not live truly is to insult Blackened Death. I will live the way I know how to, or I'd have to apologize to him.”

  “You worship that charred skeleton?” Anice asked.

  “We don’t worship him.” Gillion said. He reached down and unhooked Amorada from her place on his hip, spinning her around in his hands. “It’s more of a rivalry, I believe. Between him and anyone who lives. My old tutors always explained it to me like it was a game.”

  “Well, you listen to all his teachings.” Anice said. “We Littani don’t worship any gods. We only give reverence to the Old Song.”

  “I thought the Littani worship the sea.”

  “Why would we worship the sea?” Anice said, scoffing. “Sure we give it food every fifth month, but that hardly counts as worship. And a goat every now again, just to make sure the tide comes in on time. And half of our gold.”

  “How is that not worship?” Gillion asked, chuckling.

  “Because we don’t speak to it!”

  “So speaking to it is a requirement for worship.” Gillion said. “Even though we don’t give Blackened Death any sacrifices, the fact that we speak to him means we worship him?”

  “I’m glad you understand.” Anice said, smiling. She rose from her position on the floor and stretched. “You worship an ugly corpse. We worship the Old Song. So there.”

  “Hm.” Gillion rose and helped Anice clear off the tarp, folding it up and packing it tightly into her pack. “Would you like me to carry the bag for a little while?”

  “And risk you stealing my belongings? No thank you.” She said, slinging it over her shoulder. “Besides, I want you unencumbered. If something attacks us, I want you fighting.”

  “Of course.” Gillion said.

  “Where do we go now?” Anice asked, brushing off the back of her pants. “There’s no real path forward from–”

  Gillion grabbed Anice’s pack and pulled her to the ground, scrambling to get behind a large tree himself while staring wide-eyed into the distance.

  “What are you doing?!” Anice hissed. She started to get up, but paused when she looked at Gillion’s face.

  All jubilance was gone. He glared now with a ferocity saved only for survival, glancing around him while chewing on the nail of his thumb and gripping Amorada by the hilt. Anice glanced in the direction where Gillion stared and saw nothing. She lifted her nose to the air and breathed in deeply. Still nothing.

  “What do you see?” She whispered.

  He raised a finger to his lips to silence her, then turned to look back toward the distance. He scanned the horizon, eyes hopping from old, twisted tree to old, twisted tree. He searched the distant fog, still there in sight but just far enough away to make the distance seem hazy. He looked in the treeline, then down to the bodies in the water as they stared wide-eyed at the freedom just above them. What could he see, Anice wondered, what could he see hiding just beyond the sight of her eyes?

  “Narann, what do you see?” She whispered, fear growing in her chest. She could feel it now, that great drum beat in her rib cage. The sweat trickled down the sides of her face as she trembled in the mud.

  Gillion turned back to her, eyes wide and jaw clenched. “The head.” He whispered.

  “What?”

  “The stone head in the water. It’s gone.”