The Other Side of the Sky - Amie Kaufman Page 0,102
the long, winding highway of the river, while others chose the higher ground that would not flood in the wet season. The village we seek is not far from the easternmost curve of the mountain range.
Though usually I feel at home among the dangers of the forest-sea, my spine tingles as we walk through the mountains. The sensation of being watched follows me, and I catch North glancing around more often than usual—he feels it too.
About an hour from the village our path emerges from the dense forest to meet a proper road. At the fork, we pass a migrant camp, consisting of little more than a pair of covered wagons and a handful of travelers. Rarely do such bands come as far southeast as the temple—they have most likely been cast out of their own village and are seeking refuge nearer the river.
Despite my drab attire and my unadorned face, I feel their eyes on me, their gazes as thin and sharp as their hungry faces. Even in their own village, they were likely little better off than beggars, to judge from their clothing and meager possessions. Though the adults say nothing, a child sitting on a half-rotted log holds out skinny little arms and calls a blessing in the hope of getting a bit of food or a coin from the travelers.
“We must keep walking,” I whisper to North, eyes burning.
North’s steps slow anyway, as though he didn’t hear me.
“Please, North …” My voice quakes. All I want to do is whisper a blessing back to the poor creature, but the longer we stay here, the more we are in danger.
But North’s jaw tightens, and he digs through his pack for the little pouch of dried povvy that Matias packed among his rations. He walks back toward the camp, halting a few steps away from the child and holding out the little pouch. The boy, arms already outstretched, grabs the packet as soon as it comes close enough. Not until he looks down at his hands, tugging at the pouch’s opening and smelling the pungent spices, does he seem to understand. He lifts his face toward North’s, and for a moment they are both still, watching each other.
The child murmurs something, voice very quiet, and then dashes away into one of the wagons, to hide his find or share the bounty with his family.
North’s face is cold and stony when he catches back up to me, and we begin moving again in silence.
I keep my eyes on the path in front of us. “In your land, no one goes hungry.” It isn’t a question.
North finally lifts his head, and the sadness on his face nearly stops me dead. I cannot imagine what it must be like to live in a place where the very idea of someone going hungry is an impossible concept—but I can imagine how devastating it would be to encounter it for the first time in the eyes of a beggar child.
My own eyes are burning by then, and I find myself saying to him, “We are helping them, North.”
“How?” he asks, a strange note of bitterness in his voice.
“To unravel this prophecy is to help them—to bring into being a new world, a richer world, where no one, no one, has to know what it is to look at hunger for the first time.”
He stays quiet for a long time, until I begin to think that perhaps he won’t respond at all. It’s after I’ve snuck my fourth or fifth look at his profile that he sighs. “Forgive me, Divine One, if I don’t believe that prophecies fill empty bellies.”
I was already bracing myself, I realized, for that. For the reminder that he does not believe—in prophecy, or magic, or me.
But then, more softly, he adds, “It’s hard to take comfort in someone else’s faith, Nimh. I wish I could.”
“What did the child say to you back there?” I ask.
North’s brow furrows a bit, and he shrugs. “Nothing that made much sense.”
I try out a little smile on him. “Maybe it would to me?”
“He said that a dark magician lives to the west, along these mountains. He said that she is very powerful, and not to go there.” North’s eyes flick toward me.
“Oh.” I frown, trying to ignore the little chill settling at the back of my neck. “I know of no dark magicians in this region, but then …”
“But then?” North prompts me when I fail to end the sentence.