‘What tribes?’ Lyan continued stubbornly.

His gaze lowered, he drew his hatchets, tested their edges with his thumbs, hooked them back into his belt. ‘There are stories,’ he began slowly. ‘Only stories. The further north we go the less I know of things.’ He took a steadying breath. ‘The Silent People’s territory ends north of here because they are afraid of those lands. As were my people.’

‘Who lives there?’

He cast her a quick bleak smile. ‘No one knows. We call it the Vanishing Lands. That is because those who venture there are never seen again. None have ever returned.’

Lyan halted. ‘And we are walking into it? You would … I would take Dorrin to such a terrible place? I would rather take my chances with this sea.’

Kyle halted as well. ‘Believe me, you would not. I know more of this sea than the north – that is why I would avoid it.’

‘There will be ships! Surely one will be headed south, away from these dreadful lands.’

‘There is only death on that sea. All agree it is cursed with madness.’

‘A few days on a ship will see us free of here!’

Kyle raised his eyes to the darkening cloudless dome of the sky. ‘There will be no ships coming south out of the Sea of Terrors.’

Lyan dropped her pack and waved a dismissal. ‘How do you know? Have you seen this? Countless ships are entering it now. Heading north even as we speak! Yes? Do you deny that?’

‘No, I do not deny that.’

‘Then why are you even arguing? They will come south again.’

Dorrin came and stood between them; he looked from Lyan to Kyle.

Kyle shook his head. ‘None of them will ever return.’

She laughed. ‘Oh, come now. Listen to yourself: “None will ever return.” Some will.’

He drew a sharp breath.

Dorrin announced loudly, ‘We need to camp. It’s late.’

Kyle clamped his jaws shut. Lyan glanced away. She clenched and unclenched her gauntleted hands.

Dorrin headed for the nearest hilltop. Kyle watched him go. After a time, he murmured ruefully, ‘Wise beyond his years.’

Lyan hitched up her pack and followed. ‘I’m glad one of us is.’

*

There was little talking the next morning. Kyle walked ahead and apart. He thought through yesterday’s conversation. How close could they get to the sea? And what of water? They were in desperate need. Yet the narrows could sometimes reverse their flow and seawater would wash into the basin. It was unhealthy to drink much of it, although some claimed it was the water itself – run-off from the great icefields and snows of the north – that carried the curse.

They passed the scene of an old attack: grass grew through the spokes of burnt cartwheels; tiny scavengers had gnawed the leather of scattered rusted equipment. A skull half bare of flesh grinned from the dusty dry earth. Its hair was long and black. Kyle scuffed dirt over it before Dorrin arrived.