Sunsets were supposed to be soothing. Quilla used to love to watch sunsets, especially when she and Garet watched them from the balcony in his apartments. But right now, the sunset was nothing more than a nauseating mix of oranges rippling over the water. And the clouds didn’t help. They looked too much like Volgs.

  With a sigh, she turned away. She shouldn’t be so close to the edge of the trees anyway. Too easily spotted. Not that they were in a particularly well hidden location, but at least they had the cover of the trees.

  She leaned against the trunk of the spruce beside her on the side facing away from the beach and rolled the Volg’s horn round in her hands so the point curved upwards, then down, then up again, and so on. She’d been doing this for a while now. Anything to pass the time. No. Not to pass the time. Just to distract her. The time was irrelevant.

  She’d liked the feel of the horn at first—not the literal texture of it, but rather the feeling it gave her, that of triumph, of winning over the source of her fears. Yet she hadn’t really triumphed. Vern had. Quilla had spent most of the time cowering in fear, and even when she had stood her ground, she hadn’t actually done anything. She didn’t deserve a trophy.

  She should throw it in the water. As far out as she could so there wasn’t much chance of it washing ashore.

  But that would require leaving the cover of the trees. Besides, maybe she wanted to keep it after all.

  So she kept turning it in her hand. Most of the blood had soaked into her gloves now, though it was still somewhat stained, and there were still small bits of viscera clinging to it. Brain maybe? Probably. It hardly mattered.

  She pulled off her gloves and stuffed them in her pockets. Kneeling down, she grabbed a handful of snow. There wasn’t a lot of it, and it was mixed with needles from the trees, but that was fine. Then she started rubbing the snow and needles over the horn. As the snow melted from the heat of her hand, it washed away some of the blood, as well as the viscera dislodged by the scraping spruce needles. It took a couple more handfuls of snow and needles, by which time her hands were freezing and not melting the snow as easily, but she got the horn mostly clean. It was still a little stained, but it wasn’t going to get any cleaner without a proper scrubbing.

  She stood up again, and hastily re-donned her gloves, then held the horn up to her face and rolled it around again. It was almost bigger than her head. If she were to really start a collection, where would she keep them? After a while, they would start to take up a lot of space.

  She chuckled to herself. That required she—or Vern more likely—kill a lot of Volgs. How much likelihood was there of that?

  With her role as Catalyst—whatever the fuck that entailed—it was actually pretty likely. If she wanted to stay alive at any rate.

  She looked over at Annai and Vern. Annai was seated on the back of the wagon, dangling her feet off the side, though at that moment, the pony decided to take a few steps forward, jerking the wagon and nearly knocking Annai over. The pony then resumed grazing on some grass or moss or something.

  As Annai righted herself, Vern, who was seated against the trunk of another nearby tree, laughed. “Now it moves!”

  Jakka had found the pony in almost the exact spot it was in now with the wagon partially overturned. The pony had stubbornly refused to move even a step other than to kick out when Vern had briefly approached it. It was clearly still spooked by the Volg, and after both Jakka and Tarm trying to get it to move, it had clearly had enough by the time Vern approached it.

  So they had decided to let it be for now. Here was as good a location to wait as any. Tarm and Jakka righted the wagon, then went to investigate whether they could continue with their plans or would have to go back to Arnor City to come up with a new idea.

  “Stay out of sight as much as possible,” Jakka had said. “If we’re not back or haven’t sent word by nightfall, leave and go back to Arnor City.” He bowed low to Annai. “Your Highness, pick a word.”

  “A word?” Annai said.

  “Yes, any word, though not one you would expect to hear in regular conversation. Make it a little more unusual.”

  “Um…” Annai frowned and looked about. “Oh!” She pointed to a shrub. “Juniper!”

  Jakka bowed again. “Very good, your Highness. We may send word instead of coming all the way back, but if we do, the message will contain the word juniper, so you know it’s from us. If you receive a message without that word, return immediately to Arnor City.”

  Annai nodded rapidly.

  After yet another bow, he and Tarm set off.

  That had been several hours ago. It wouldn’t be long till dark now.

  “They’re not coming back, are they?” Annai said.

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  “Probably not,” Vern said.

  Annai looked up sharply. “What? Really? But…”

  “Yeah, really. You said it yourself.”

  “Yes, but I...I was hoping you would reassure me I was wrong. That’s why people ask questions like that, don’t you know? They want reassurance.”

  Vern groaned. “Surely, by now, you’ve realised I’m not the reassuring type.”

  “Yes, I have. But I thought maybe… Oh forget it.” Annai crossed her arms and looked pointedly away from Vern.

  Quilla put the horn in her bag, then headed over to Annai. “They still have a bit of time. I’m sure they’ll make it back.”

  “Don’t encourage her,” Vern said.

  Quilla didn’t answer and sat beside Annai. “Even if they don’t, it’s going to be okay. We’ll get through this together, like we said.”

  Annai sighed and leaned her head on Quilla’s shoulder. “This is what life’s going to be like from now on, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is,” Vern said. “You need to get used to it and learn how to survive. Otherwise, ‘now on’ isn’t going to last long and then you’ll be dead.”

  Straightening up, Annai glared at Vern. “I get that. Believe it or not, I do. But it takes time, all right? Besides, I’m...I’m worried about Jakka.”

  Vern rolled her eyes. “Jakka took a stupid risk. I tried to warn him, but he was convinced he could talk us through this. Now he’s probably dead. Serves him right.”

  Annai jumped off the wagon and to her feet. “At least he’s trying to do something. You just wanted to run straight back to Arnor City like a coward.”

  “Because my job is to keep you alive, your bitchiness, and wandering into the heart of the enemy is not the way to do that.”

  “Jakka said—”

  “I don’t give a fuck what Jakka said! He was wrong, and you know it. You said it yourself. He’s not coming back. Neither is Tarm. And that’s because they’re both probably dead.”

  “All right, that’s enough!” Quilla jumped to her feet and moved between Annai and Vern before they could come to blows. “It’s not quite dark. We’ll give Jakka and Tarm until it is before we start pronouncing them dead, all right?” She glared at Vern.

  Vern glared back for a moment, but then nodded. “Yeah, sure, we’ll give them all of the quarter hour or so before it’s dark.”

  Quilla turned to Annai. “And you, let Vern be. She’s doing her job.”

  Annai’s lips twitched, but she also nodded. “I’m sorry. I’m just scared.”

  “I know,” Quilla said, “but we can’t let our fears control us. Or something.” She sat on the side of the wagon again and sighed. It was good advice, but she felt like a hypocrite giving it. It seemed like everything she did these days was controlled, at least in part, by fear.

  Annai started to walk away.

  “Where are you going?” Quilla called after her.

  “No farther than you went. I just need a moment.”

  “Okay.” As long as it kept Annai and Vern from arguing more, it didn’t matter. And as long as she stayed in sight.

  Annai stopped just before the spruce tree Quilla had watched the sunset from and gasped. She backed up several steps. “Uh, Quilla! Vern!”

  Vern was already on her feet, rushing forward as a man came around the tree. He was carrying an axe and looked somewhat muscular, although certainly nowhere near the size of someone like Tarm.

  Vern slid to a stop in front of Annai and motioned her back. Annai turned and ran back to Quilla.

  The man held up his free hand. “Hey, hey! It’s all right. I’m not here to harm you. Vern, it’s me, Callum. Remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember,” Vern said. “What do you want?”

  “Jakka sent me. To escort you and the Catalyst back to the camp.”

  “Did he? Why didn’t he come himself? Or Tarm?”

  “They had to row out to the ship to coordinate with the captain. To make sure everything is ready to go as soon you get there.”

  “I see.”

  “He didn’t say the word,” Annai whispered to Quilla.

  “Shush,” Quilla whispered back. “Do you have your sword?”

  Annai nodded slowly.

  Vern and Callum stood there silently for several moments, watching each other.

  “Come on, Vern, it’s me! Would I lie to you, after the time we had together last year? Remember that night? That was one amazing night. Think I’d jeopardise the possibility of a second go?”

  Vern chuckled. “Oh yeah, that night. That was certainly quite the night.” Her stance relaxed and she approached the man. “It’s not that I’m accusing you of lying. I’m just being cautious. It’s my job. You understand?”

  He grinned as she put her arms around his neck. “I get it. You think before you leave on the ship, we might get a chance to...you know?”

  Vern leaned in as if to kiss him. “No.” Then she grabbed the sides of his head and twisted.

  They were too far away to hear the snap, but Quilla could almost feel it. She shivered as the man’s body to fell to the ground, his eyes staring out lifelessly.

  Annai gasped.

  “Truth is, Callum,” Vern said, “I don’t remember you or that night at all. So you must have been incredibly unremarkable.” She strode over to Quilla and Annai. “Quilla, unhitch the pony from the wagon. Annai, gather as much as you can carry from the wagon.”

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