As if called, Sgaile stuck his head through the doorway curtain. "Leshil, are you prepared? We should begin."
Leesil leaned in and kissed Magiere, quick and soft. "I'll be back in a couple days at most, and everything will be all right."
He let go and headed for the door. Chap got up to follow, but Leesil stopped him.
"No, you stay with Magiere and Wynn. We can't leave them alone among the elves."
Chap barked sharply twice in denial, and Magiere knew exactly how he felt. But the dog turned his eyes on her and then Wynn. He whined and flopped back down. There was nothing else to say, and Magiere sank to the floor beside Chap.
The curtain fell into place as Leesil left, cutting him off from her too abruptly.
Chapter Eighteen
Leesil spoke little with Sgaile as they jogged through the forest. They headed northwest for the morning, but by early afternoon, Leesil grew less certain of their course. The sky clouded over. With only hazy light and no sun, the forest changed in small degrees.
There were fewer flowers and more wet moss. Patches of it clung to tree trunks and branches overhead. The trees were older and gnarled, with bark darkened by moisture thickening in the air. For a while, a drizzle pattered against the leaves.
Sgaile cast off whatever weight crushed him upon volunteering for this task. He returned to his earlier self from their first journey to Crijheaiche. Perhaps, like Leesil, Sgaile was relieved to have anything to do besides wait in frustration for others to do something.
The forest grew ancient as theytraveled, its trees taller and thicker and wider, blocking out most of the sky. In the lingering false dusk beneath their leaves and needles, the forest seemed aware it had a pair of trespassers.
Leesil grew less aware of where he was-as if here the forest's manipulations pressed harder upon his wits. He often turned his head to look behind and couldn't recognize anything that he must have just passed.
Sgaile's shoulder brushed through a spider's web, glistening with dew. An eight-legged shadow scurried down the back of his cloak.
Leesil slapped it off, but when he looked down, there was nothing scurrying across the mulch into hiding. He wondered about their final destination as daylight faded even more.
Sgaile slowed and looked about. "If we keep on, we will reach the grounds well past midnight. Or we can camp and continue at dawn."
Sleeping in this dank and dark forest was less than enticing.
"Let's take rest and food," Leesil said. "Then move on."
Sgaile nodded and swung the small pack off his shoulder. "I have water, flatbread, and a little walnut oil."
"I have grapes."
They sat on a rotting log, sharing out what they'd brought. Leesil fidgeted as the damp soaked through his breeches. Sgaile removed a leather lid from a small clay pot, tore off a bit of flatbread, and dipped it in. He set the vessel between them, and Leesil did the same.
"This is good," he said, and held out the grapes. "I wanted to… to thank you for doing this, for trying to help Magiere."
"I care nothing for helping Magiere." Sgaile paused, shaking his head. "Pardon, I did not mean to sound… I do this for my caste. Brot'an'duive on one side and Frethfare on the other-this is not good. I serve my duty as adjudicator in the hope of bringing this gathering to a close, so my caste will be as one again."
Leesil kept quiet. If Sgaile really believed that ending Magiere's hearing-regardless of the outcome-would seal the rifts in his caste, he was blinder in his devotion than Leesil had first thought.
"We should focus on our task," Sgaile said, and once again his expression grew uneasy.
"Why the worry?" Leesil asked. "What's at this place with the special tree?"
Sgaile scowled at the casual reference. "The first of our people were buried there long ago. Allan'Croan are descended from them. We go there alone to seek guidance in choosing our name for life, when we come of age."
"How old is that?"
"When parents and child agree it is time."
"You did this? So you had some other name before Sgaile?"
"Sgailsheilleache," he corrected. "It means 'In Willow Shade, or Shadow'."
"And that's what your ancestors said you should call yourself?"
"We do not see or hear the ancestors," Sgaile answered. "It is something I saw… in the presence of Roise Charmune."
"So there was a willow somewhere nearby?"
"No. It was… something far off, far from this land… in the shade of a willow."
"Then what-some kind of vision? And that's all you saw… just a willow tree?"
Sgaile let out a sharp sigh.
Leesil knew he was somewhere close to the mark. Superstitious nonsense-and here these elves thought themselves so much better than humans.
"So, you call yourself by whatever you see. You're stuck with whatever comes up."
It was Sgaile's turn to be disdainful. "We are free to choose any name we wish, from whatever comes-in part, in whole, or not. Though what is experienced at Roise Charmune remains, just the same."
"Then what's got you so worried about all this with the branch?"
"As I said… we go alone. It is not proper for anyone else to be present. We do not even care to speak of our experience to others… but for the name we choose."
"I'm not going for any name, so stop dodging the question."
Sgaile covered the walnut oil and got up to tuck the jar into his pack. He stared a long while through the darkening forest before looking down at Leesil.
"You are half-blooded. None but my people go to Roise Charmune… and the ancestors."
Was that it? Leesil sighed. "So they reject me, and I go back. I'll find some other way to get Magiere and my mother away from your people."
"You must first gain hallowed ground before the ancestors accept or reject your plea."
As much as Leesil preferred Sgaile over the rest, there were moments when he'd had enough.
"Oh, dead deities!" Leesil got up, weary of cryptic answers. "Just say what you mean for once."
Sgaile's jaw twitched. "I would tell you more if I knew.But unless you reach hallowed ground… I do not believe you will come back."
Wynn sat on the floor trying to jot down the day's events. From the customs and proceedings to what she remembered of clan distinctions, she scribbled out everything that came to her. Later, when more time permitted, she would rework it into something comprehensible.
Magiere halfheartedly groomed Chap's long fur but kept glancing toward the curtained doorway. Chap lay with his head on his paws. Wynn could think of no words of comfort for either of them.
She was thankful for the strange quill gifted her by Gleann. The bulbed grip above its silver-white head was awkward in her small hand, but in her rush, she did not have to stop as often to replenish its ink.
The doorway drape swung aside, and Leanalham peeked in. "May we enter?"
"Yes, please," Magiere answered, and paused in grooming as Chap lifted his head. "Who's with you?"
" Osha," Leanalham said. "No one but your advocate may see you without a guard."
Leanalham carried in a tray of grilled trout with wild onions and two steaming mugs. She held a canvas bag tucked under one arm. Wynn smelled tea mingling with the scent of food. Osha stepped in behind the girl and set down a bowl of water for Chap.
Osha eyed both Wynn and Magiere, as if uncomfortable with his formal role here. Or perhaps like others who had been in Nein'a's clearing, he believed Magiere some monster of the dead and did not care for close proximity. Either way, Wynn had no patience for it.