The carcass hangs tied to a stick held over my shoulder, surprisingly heavy.

  “Didn’t know the desert had rats,” Finna says.

  “Hyrax,” Rworg says.

  “Bless you,” Finna says.

  Mandollel sighs. “Leave the dumb jokes to Rworg. Hyrax is the name of the animal. This one is pretty far out from their usual habitats, but the meat is good. Lean, like the rabbit, and it has an even stronger flavor.”

  Finna chuckles and keeps walking.

  I’ve never seen a hyrax before. I’m excited to get to taste one. It looks a bit like a squat and beefy rabbit with smaller ears and pointy tusks jutting out of its mouth. Its feet have weird pads with grooves that seemed to stick to the rocks. When I found it, it was hanging upside down on a rock, keeping still to avoid being noticed.

  Good try.

  The spot Finna picked for us to camp is to the east, farther into Kerthar. We’re moving slower now. Mandollel scans the area and makes us change direction once and signals us to stay low every once in a while. I can’t make out any of the patrols, except after squinting for a long time in the direction he points out.

  Such an infuriating guy, even if I have to admit I’m starting to like him. And at the very least, I’m grateful he’s on our side. I feel sorry for the Kertharians who have to fight us with him and Rworg on our team.

  Traveling like this is exhausting. I’d much rather run, trot over the terrain, bound over rocks and roots. Now we walk, creep, watching the horizon and Mandollel.

  There’s some kind of lake to the north, but we veer south, away from it. Nestled between gently sloping hills is a coin sized puddle of water. It’s a spring, pumping water up from somewhere deep from the earth.

  “Before you get your hopes up, the water is not suitable for drinking,” Mandollel says.

  “That’s why we came here,” Finna says. “No one else does.”

  As we get nearer, I smell the sulfur. The vegetation changes near the spring, mostly disappearing entirely. Squat plants with sturdy stalks and thick, waxy leaves dot the surrounds of the spring. The water isn’t clear. It looks like there’s milk mixed into it. The smell isn’t too overpowering, but combined with the cloudy water, the effect is pretty nasty.

  I yank a leaf from one of the plants. It's squishy when I press my fingers into it. I grab another. It’s impossible not to squeeze them, snap them in half to see what’s inside. I’ve never seen a plant like this. There’s water inside the leaves.

  Finna is doing the same thing. She stares at Mandollel and brings the leaf to her mouth, licks the wet inside. Her face twists and she spits, sticking her tongue out and pressing her eyes closed. She opens a single eye to look at Mandollel. “Why did you let me do that?”

  He shrugs. “It’s not poisonous, so I thought maybe you wanted to experience it for yourself. You would have licked it just to spite me, anyway.”

  Finna throws the leaves over her shoulder. They land in the spring and cause ripples to expand around where they land, bubbles on top of the water pop. The smell of rotten eggs rises up and wafts over us all.

  “Please, don’t,” Rworg says, eyes watering. He has his arm pressed to cover his nose, waving the air with his other. “They’ll smell us coming all the way in Krakkea.”

  Once the fumes disperse, the place is surprisingly nice. We’re covered from being seen by the hills and there are some trees growing further from the spring that afford shade from the sun. Far back west, the auroras still hang on the sky, the green and red muted and dirty against the clear blue.

  “Are those going to be there permanently?” Finna asks.

  “No. The runes in the stakes should burn themselves out in a couple of weeks. Mana running through runes erodes them. It’s the same with all enchanted items created with runes. They only last as long as the runes do.” Mandollel says. “Now stop distracting yourself. Feel the warmth in your fingertips.”

  “I feel the growling in my stomach,” Rworg says.

  Mandollel has been trying to teach Finna how to channel for a while. I have to admit I’m getting hungry, as well. They sit around the weird metal pot, her with fingers on it, he looking on from the side, giving instructions. I have been listening in and trying to do the same things Mandollel tells Finna to do, but I get none of the same reactions she seems to. I can’t feel anything tingling or flowing in my veins, nor the pressure inside my temples.

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  Finna scrunches her face and presses her fingers on the pot with a small “hngg” sound.

  “That doesn’t help. Relax your face and your hands,” Mandollel says. He watches her grunt for a moment more, tapping the tip of his nose with a finger. “Ah. Imagine you’re picking a lock. If you press, you’ll just snap your hook pick. You’re lifting a single pin, not trying to force the lock. Precision is more important than exertion.”

  Finna considers it and drops her shoulders. She closes her eyes and her touch becomes lighter, her fingertips only brushing against the runes Mandollel drew on the pot’s surface earlier. They start to flicker and glow.

  Rworg hoots. He takes a step closer, arm raised for a congratulatory slap. Mandollel waves his hands at him, teeth bared, arms forming an X shape.

  Finna doesn’t react to the silent commotion around her. She has her eyes closed, all of her focus on the pot. I lean forward to see the runes more clearly. Their glow is getting steadily brighter. The light still flickers, like the flow of mana is choppy instead of a constant stream.

  Mandollel places a hand on her shoulder. “That’s excellent, Finna. Let me finish it to get the temperature right. I want it low to simmer the meat.”

  Finna pulls her hands off the pot and blinks her eyes. She licks her lips and sees Rworg and me staring down at her. “Don’t you two have something better to do?”

  Rworg picks her up, hands under her arms, like you could pick up a toddler. He laughs, mouth wide open in a huge grin, spinning her in the air. “A great—!”

  Finna kicks him in the upper belly, below the ribcage. Rworg’s laugh turns into a puff of air on her face and he drops her. Finna lands on her feet as Rworg stumbles back a step. Just one though, and he’s still smiling.

  “Careful, you two. His inside can still be healing,” Mandollel says.

  “It’s his own damn fault if he sprains a spleen, acting like that.”

  “Mandollel did say his spleen was fine, so kicking a bit lower would have been safer,” I say, pointing a knife at Rworg’s belly. It’s not fair they have all the fun. I’m part of the team too.

  Mandollel puts his fingers on the pot and sighs. “Don’t tell me you are going to be like this too?” he says under his breath.

  I beam at Rworg, who beams back.

  Mandollel and Finna practice the whole time the meat simmers. He invents new exercises and Finna does them. She doesn’t complain or argue, just does what he says. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s Mandollel who is teaching her or is it because she’s being taught something? If I told her to do something, I bet she would bite me.

  Rworg’s stomach is growling so loudly I fear the Kertharians are going to find us by that alone, but finally, the meat is done. It’s lean, just as Mandollel said. Pungent. I’m not sure I like it. Finna wiggles her fingers in the air as she chews.

  Mandollel slaps her hand out from the air. “Learn to write your name first,” he says.

  She yelps. “I was just going to draw a face.”

  Mandollel’s face is serious as he waves his hand in the air, dispersing the faintly glowing squiggles that hang in the air. “There’s no telling what you might have drawn. Runes are dangerous.”

  “It was going to be a face.”

  “Anything can be a rune. The fundamental… no wait,” he stops, licks his lips. He starts again, voice serious, gaze sweeping over us all. “This isn’t a lecture. Pay attention, all of you. Nothing is as dangerous as magic. You can kill yourself by only planning to cast a spell.” Finna opens her mouth, but he raises a hand. “Don’t argue with me. This time, just believe what I say. Don’t mess with runes. Don’t channel mana into anything without knowing exactly what it’s supposed to do.”

  The camp is quiet for a moment. I swallow the piece of meat still in my mouth, the bone in my hand hovering before my face.

  “All Kertharians know how to channel,” Rworg says after a moment. He has a far away look on his face. “I don’t. Too thick muscles.”

  The tension breaks. Finna snickers and Mandollel rolls his eyes skyward.

  She takes a large bite of meat and munches as she talks. “Kertharians really do?”

  I thought she ate everything she had already, but notice a piece has gone missing from the stone before me that I used as a platter. Well, the meat was too gamey for me, anyway.

  “At least the city Kertharians. Krakkea is a magocracy.” Pronouncing the last word takes a moment for Rworg.

  I organize the syllables for a while. I knew Kerthar isn’t a kingdom, as the last king was deposed in the year 635 by wizards. The year has stuck in my head from Gran’s lessons. I always liked to hear that story when I was a kid. Lots of explosions.

  From what I saw in Tenorsbridge, being a king and trying to tell wizards what to do doesn’t sound like a good idea. “The wizards still run everything here? It’s been over a thousand years since the Kerthar XVI was ousted.”

  “Who?” Rworg asks.

  Mandollel groans and snatches a piece of meat from Finna’s hand just as she’s about to bite into it and places it before himself. “The last king of Kerthar. A petty, diminuative man, and an even more insignificant king, if I remember correctly. Finna, I know that channeling builds up an appetite, but just nibble on some hard tack.”

  “But it’s booooriiiing!”

  “Just like history,” Rworg adds.

  “I’ll take the moment of peace and quiet while you work on the tack,” Mandollel says and moves his finger to point at Rworg. “And your brain could use the exercise as well. It would do good to remember something about your past. Except, well, I guess the Kertharian kings are not really part of your history, are they?”

  “They are not.” Rworg sits, legs crossed under himself. He looks comfy. His muscles must act like pillows. “We have never had kings.”

  I grab a hard tack too and dip it into the water. Don’t want to break a tooth this early into the mission. “Mandollel told us his story, so why don’t you tell us something about yourself as well? Where do you come from, actually?” I know next to nothing about the lands east of Kerthar. The stories and lessons didn’t reach much further than Krakkea.

  Both Mandollel and Finna perk up. Rworg rubs his chin. The sound is like gravel on gravel. I don’t know if Mandollel can grow a beard, but I’m going to look ridiculous if I don’t get to shave the wisps off soon.

  “I could,” he says.

  “You never have before,” Finna says. “We’ve tried to get you to talk on every trip.”

  Rworg shrugs a shoulder. “Make-believe worlds don’t suit real stories.”