Trickster. I would have to be careful with him, then. To the godling before me, I only nodded. “I shall.”
The godlings turned about and barreled back the way they had come. The gremlin hesitated for a moment, interested in me, but then took off after his companions. They vanished among the boughs as though they had never been.
“I am no trickster.” The runaway godling poured from my pocket, taking again the form of a horse, but this time his head came only to my hip, as though the chase had stripped him of courage. “They don’t even know what they hunt.”
“A trickster would say the same thing.” I planted my hands on my hips.
He lowered his head in a bow. “I gave my word, Star Mother. I will take you to Nediah.”
My body softened. “You know it?”
“I know all mortal cities.”
I paused at that, impressed, but Yar and Shu had put doubt in my mind. “Why are they hunting you?”
The horse looked away and did not answer.
Pressing my lips together, I looked skyward and twisted my ring. I desperately needed both a guide and protection. What better protection could I ask for than that of a godling?
Unless he was indeed a trickster. He seemed harmless, but appearances could be deceiving.
“I want an oath,” I said. “A covenant. That you will do as you say and bring no harm unto me.”
The horse looked alarmed. I did not know if it was from my requirement or from my assumption that he might be villainous. Either way, he bowed his head. “I give you an oath that I will see you to Nediah in return for the aid of your starlight. I will not hurt you.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, and he shuffled back, as though I had uttered something far more shocking.
Curiosity bloomed. I had many questions, but I started with the easiest. “What is your name?”
He shifted, still a horse, but even smaller than before, his ears reaching midthigh. From the way he cowered, he couldn’t possibly be dangerous . . . unless he was a magnificent actor. Godlings lived a long time; they could easily master such a skill.
“Ristriel.” He spoke so quietly I barely heard him.
“Ristriel,” I repeated, holding my bags close. “We best be on our way.”
Nodding, Ristriel walked ahead of me, starting me on the long path to Nediah.
CHAPTER 10
We walked for a long time. It was like I indeed traveled with a small horse and not a godling, for our conversation was limited, interspersed with long stretches of silence. But the silence soon became comfortable, and I found I didn’t mind the quiet. I was simply happy to have a companion.
Lagging a few paces behind, I studied him. He was the blue of early night, but whenever we passed beneath the shade of a tree, he took on a more violet hue, sometimes darkening to black. He slowed every now and then to ensure I kept up. His gait was fully equine. His ears twitched on occasion, but he stopped only once to scan our surroundings. I wasn’t sure if that was to reassess our direction or to listen for his pursuers. When I asked, he didn’t answer. When I pressed, he said, “I am making sure we are not being followed.”
Yar and Shu. I mentally repeated their names in case I should need them. Celestial beings have always been more honor bound than mortals, or so they seemed in scripture and my own experience, and Ristriel had given me an oath.
I could trust him, for now.
Ristriel never took me to the road, or to any man-made paths. We stayed in the forest, once crossing a wide pasture that must have belonged to a rancher, given how the grass had been cut, but I didn’t see him or his herds.
We slipped into the woods once more, and I asked, “Why are those godlings chasing you?”
He looked at me with large, dark horse eyes as deep as a well. When I did not look away, he confessed, “Because I ran away.”
The strangeness of the answer pricked me. “Ran away? From what?”
The godling turned his muzzle forward.
“Will you not tell me?”
“You will be safe from harm.” His voice was soft as a midnight breeze. “Especially with that ring on your hand.”
I glanced at the golden band Sun had given me. When had he noticed it?
Seeing that I would not get much conversation today, I hummed as we walked to occupy myself, calling up folk songs and lullabies from memory. Even the song sung to me in Endwever came to my lips, and it softened my heart toward those people. My people, however misguided.
When the Sun began to sink in the sky, I took a break on a fallen log and stretched out my calves. “Will we make it to a town before dark?”