Rhiana prodded a thumb between her breasts and drew a finger slowly across her throat. Then she laughed and turned away. Ramus shook his head, picked up his backpack and went to where Nomi was retying straps across her saddle.

“That food was something to remember,” he said.

“I can still taste it,” Nomi said. “Rhiana, though . . . she's a strange one.”

“Lots of Serians are.” Ramus helped Nomi tie a pack onto her saddle.

“It's going to be a long voyage,” Nomi said.

“Longest ever. For us, at least.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

Ramus shrugged. “Lots of Voyagers have gone missing over the years. At the Guild, I once heard a count of over three hundred. Who's to say some of them aren't still traveling, somewhere?”

She looked at him intently, eyelids fluttering as happened when she was angry or confused. “That's not going to happen to us, Ramus.”

Ramus noticed the rope charm he'd given Nomi hanging from her saddle, tied within easy reach. She hasn't packed it away, he thought. He looked at her, but she had already looked away.

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

RAMUS DID NOT speak to Nomi again that afternoon, though she fell back and rode beside him in silence several times. The quiet between them felt good, and he did not wish to risk spoiling such a feeling with misplaced words. Besides, if there had been anything important to say, one of them would have spoken.

They rode through a gentle rain shower, and as the water turned warm Ramus wondered what else would fall. Occasional squirm-storms on the Pavissia Steppes brought down insects and flies, and sometimes even scorpions, shell-spiders and small snakes. He knew a Voyager who had been paralyzed for life by a scorpion sting, the creature having tangled in her hair when it fell from a dark, cloudy sky. Such storms were almost unheard of this far north, but something about this voyage already felt different. He would not be surprised if the land changed for them.

The trail passed beneath their horses' hooves, the sun dipped to the west and this first day of their greatest voyage drew to a close. The Lowkie farmstead, the group's destination for tonight, kept a field free from planting so that travelers could make camp. Payment was a small fee and news from outside.

As the sun kissed the western horizon, Ramus noticed a Lowkie marker beside the trail. “Three miles,” he said. “We've come a long way.”

Lulah had been riding behind him for a while, bringing up their rear. “The Lowkies make good root wine,” she said. It was the first and last time she spoke to Ramus that day.

As the farm came into view, nature's sounds were changing, day giving over to night, and though the journey so far had been trouble-free, Ramus felt as if they had been traveling forever. He was saddle sore and aching, and trail grime was already hardening in the creases of his skin.