Eammon picked up his pace as soon as he crossed the tree line, his much longer stride making it so the others would have to jog to match. Red was the only one who did, though—Lyra and Fife kept to a leisurely walk, and Raffe and Kayu seemed content enough to stay with them. Eammon stalked quickly to the gate, rapped once on the wooden wall, then stepped back to peer through narrowed eyes at the carvings.
Red reached him and leaned against the wall, out of breath from trying to keep up. “Your legs,” she panted, “are entirely too long.”
“Blame the forest.” Eammon put a hand on her shoulder, moved her gently aside to look at the carvings her back had hidden. The markings didn’t seem to follow any sort of pattern Red could make out—some were curved and flowing, others spiky and nearly runic. None of them looked like keys.
The others reached them, squinting against bright sunlight after the shade of the Wilderwood. Raffe’s eyes tracked over the marks, a frown turning down his mouth. “Where was this carving you spoke of again?”
“I don’t remember.” Barely leashed irritation in Eammon’s voice—all of them lived on a shatterpoint. “We’ll ask Valdrek. If I can describe it, he’ll know where it is. He can read the wall.”
“Read the wall?” A new concept to Red. Her brow arched.
Eammon cut his hand toward the wall in question. “The marks are a map, sort of. A history. When the explorers ran out of paper, before they figured out how to make their own, they started carving things they wanted to remember on the walls of the Edge instead. It’s a complex pattern, a language all its own. I can make out parts of it, but I’m not fluent.”
Red’s eyes widened. She looked back to the strange carvings with renewed interest, trying to find meaning in all those waving lines. She’d only ever thought of the carvings as decorative, but it made sense that they’d be more than that—those in the Edge made do with what they had, and resources like paper were prohibitively expensive even on the rest of the continent.
Kayu traced one curving line with a manicured finger. “Doesn’t look like anything but shapes to me.” She shrugged at Eammon. “But you’re the forest god, so I trust you. Though trusting gods seems to be a fraught thing, of late.”
“Gods who show their true selves are fine by me,” Raffe muttered. “It’s the ones who try to hide you have to look out for. On all the shadows, it seems like I can’t walk two feet without running into something out of a story anymore.”
“I think I’m at least three feet away,” Lyra said.
Raffe blanched, swallowed. “I mean… of course, it’s not… I didn’t…”
“Need a shovel?” Lyra jostled his shoulder playfully as she stepped forward, joining Fife by the door. “Don’t worry, Raffe. Just because you prayed to me doesn’t really make me a god.”
“What does make one a god?” Kayu mused, like it was an intellectual exercise.
Lyra tapped a thoughtful finger against her collarbone. “You have to believe you’re one, first,” she said finally. “At least, that’s what I think. Magic and prayers aren’t enough if you don’t decide your own divinity.”
“When this is over,” Raffe murmured, “I’m never discussing religion ever again.”
Fife snorted. “I’d also prefer to avoid it.”
“Sorry, dear,” Lyra said, ruffling his reddish hair.
The gate swung open, revealing a pleasantly surprised Lear. “Wolves! And Fife! And the Plaguebreaker! And…” His eyes tracked from familiar faces to unfamiliar ones. “… friends?”
“We do have those, shockingly enough.” Eammon stepped forward, he and Lear grasping elbows and clapping backs. “This is Raffe and Kayu.” He didn’t offer titles.
“Welcome.” Lear dipped his head, satisfied with the bare-bones introduction. If the Wolves trusted someone, the Edge did, too. And though Red still wasn’t sure how far that trust went in Kayu’s case, it was clear they’d have to deal with it in order to find Neve. “Valdrek is in the tavern, since I assume that’s who you’re looking for.”
“Imagine that.” Red grinned. “How’s Loreth? Congratulations, by the way. Marriage looks good on you.”
The other man smiled back, running a hand over his hair. The thin line of a tattooed ring snaked around his finger. “Thank you kindly, Lady Wolf. She’s wonderful.”