Nightsworn | The Whispering Wall #2

Thirty: The Barrens

"Storms are coming." Yddris craned up at the sky, and then went back to peeling carrots with deft flicks of his knife. Jordan eyed the angry clouds above them with trepidation. They'd only been travelling for a few days, and had a long way to go yet. He didn't want to be caught in whatever that indigo mass was carrying. He turned back to the pot and gave it a stir. Earlier in the day Koen and Astra had gone out hunting and caught several small black animals that strongly resembled marmots, which Jordan had tried and failed to skin before his tutor had taken pity on him. The party had agreed that Yddris could help cook as long as Jordan didn't let him anywhere near the pot, an arrangement that suited them both.

A little way away, the rest of their group sat around the wagon and chatted. The previous few days had been a slightly surreal experience for Jordan; he was so used to having his days and his mind cluttered by dozens of wildly different tasks that spending hours upon hours simply trudging along, with only conversation or surroundings to occupy him, was unnerving. It was boring, but energising. His body was exhausted, but it was a clean exhaustion, from hard walking rather than fear or lack of sleep. His mind had not felt clearer since he'd fallen through the portal.

"Are we going to get caught in them?" Jordan asked. He tore his eyes from Astra, who was conversing freely like he'd never heard her do before. He seemed to be the only one in the group she wouldn't talk to, except when it was necessary – to change places in the wagon or pass her something while she cooked. Everything she said to him was purely functional, and watching her laugh at something Chip – a complete stranger - had said stung a little.

"Hopefully not." Yddris peered up again and threw another carrot onto the pile he'd made beside him. "If it catches us in the last couple of days, though, we'll have done pretty well."

"How long do they last, normally?"

"End of every dark season, storms blow down through the districts from the North Wastes. They move pretty quickly, don't normally stay in one area for more than a week or two. Couple weeks' grace and then the Guildtown usually gets a sea-storm from the east, as well. Those generally aren't as bad though, since it has to get through the Whispering Wall and over a mountain chain before it hits. Lasts a couple of days. Some years it just doesn't have enough force to get far enough inland to start with."

"You didn't strike me as a weather expert."

"Need to be, living here. As Unspoken we travel a lot. Knowing when the heart of a storm is going to hit and where can be a case of life or death."

"They're that bad?"

"Some years, aye." Yddris stretched and started on the potatoes. They were limited in fresh supplies and by the second week would probably be living on hard bread and cured meat, no matter how well they rationed the fresh food. "But even if it's a good year, it's a daft bastard who finds himself in a mountain pass when a gale gets up."

Jordan had never been all that fond of the wilderness. Even though it was a damn sight better to be travelling on the plains than stuck in the Reach and all that came with that, the openness made him uneasy. Ren seemed to disagree; she regularly went out hunting around the camp and brought back wriggling beetles or grubs she'd dug up from between the grass roots. She'd dump them in Jordan's lap, looking pleased with herself, and then gobble them up with a sulky huff when he didn't eat them.

Of Arlen's dire predictions of bandits, he'd seen no sign. Demons had been regular visitors, usually skinny thralls drawn by the smell of the cooking pot, but they were easily repelled by the nets Hap and Koen set every night. Since the Marrowhawk they'd encountered only one other larger demon at close quarters, a young Firebull that Yddris had chased off to Chip's enthusiastic cheering. Others they only saw from a great distance. Jordan was starting to get more nervous about the lack of people than he was about danger from demons. Grace had always been the one who came home with muddy hands and bleeding knees, while Jordan had preferred his bedroom and the bustle of a town centre. Aside from drawing he had never had a dazzling variety of interests and only went camping on family trips or at Grace's behest. Civilisation had always felt safer to him.