I saw a bevy of quail, and Quon stealthily pulled a bow off the side of his pack, inserted an arrow, crouched down, and then disappeared into the tall grass, sneaking up on them. I thought there was no way he’d get anything without a shotgun, but he returned ten minutes later, running up to us with one large quail.

“Congratulations,” I said. I was relieved to know I could eat dinner tonight without my imagination running away with me.

When we reached a forty-foot swaying rope bridge over a gully, we took it one at a time, not sure how much weight it would bear. The road curved up to more rises ahead. Beyond them I could see more high hills and a few mountains, notably the grim flanks of a jagged mountain to the west, which Mason called Mount Peirasmos. When we hit high spots, I could catch glimpses of valleys between mountains, at times seeing where the red road appeared to cut through gaps in the hills, often alongside the long sourceless shadow. But there was much terrain I couldn’t see, my view blocked by the higher hills and mountains, especially Peirasmos. What lay beyond them, where I couldn’t see? Where were we going? Was I the only one who didn’t have a clue? And how could I find out without giving myself away? I had to try something.

“So,” I said, loud enough for all to hear but trying to sound casual, “what’s everybody looking forward to most on this journey?”

The moment I spoke, I regretted it—it sounded so silly. But Quon, the quiet one, spoke up with a zest that surprised me. “Home,” he said. Malaiki turned to him with a strong affirmative nod. Home must be an English word she understood. I wondered what it really meant to her and to Quon.

My question wasn’t exactly the discussion stimulator I envisioned. The group seemed to buy silently into Quon’s answer, offering no others.

Home? What was home to them? Or to me?

And if it was home we wanted, why were we traveling away from where we’d come?

We trudged up a slope, steadying ourselves on the branches of stout hemlocks. At the top the road began bending through sandstone boulders and rock pillars scattered here and there.

While the others stopped and rested, I stepped out near a wide ledge to take in the view and get my bearings. We were closer to the lowlands, where the many roads were now more clearly etched on the landscape.

Everyone was eerily quiet as a wave of light seemed to wash all around us, as if someone had lifted a veil from the sun, a veil I hadn’t known was there.

“Look behind you,” Mason said, pointing, his voice quivering.