The crisp morning air carries the scent of damp stone and faint traces of last night’s hearth smoke here. A rooster crows somewhere in the slums I left behind. Its cry echoes around the still half-empty streets. I wander, evading all the early risers rushing toward wherever they need to go. Someone slips and nearly crashes into me.

  “I knew I should have put on the other boots!” he mumbles.

  I watch him stumble away over the slick cobblestones that gleam dully under the pale light of the dawn. I step to the side, wait to be alone, and toggle my invisibility off. I don’t want to cause an accident. Who knows if there is a high-ranking mage somewhere that could sense me through it? I can’t stand out. I need to blend in.

  Shuttered windows open all along the street, like eyelids waking up from slumber. I hide my singed hair inside my hood, acting like I am just trying to shelter from the cold breeze. Nobody seems to care. A cinnamon and grey striped cat slinks across the path ahead. Some idiot decides to kick at her. She hisses at him before vanishing into a shadowed alley. Everybody walks past in silence, not caring much about the disturbance. The only sounds are the soft, rhythmic fall of boots and the drip of water falling from the eaves.

  Merchants are starting to set up their stalls. A few of the girls behind them look a lot like me. They have the same misty-grey eyes, oval-shaped faces, and gently narrowing jawlines. Their hair is black, though, almost always. I look at the brown strands of my hair, brittle, frayed, and uneven, shriveled and melted at the ends. Let us find a hairdresser. I want to blend in before Dogface and his crew start looking for me.

  The jingle of a bell above the door announces my entrance into the hairdresser’s shop.

  People look up briefly, then continue their chatter.

  “Yikes! What happened to you?” asks the shopowner, mouth half-open, nearly cutting too far into the curls of the client she is attending.

  “Just an accident,” I mumble, fidgeting with the hems of my sleeves. “I fell asleep too close to the hearth last night.”

  She gives me a long look. Then she smiles. “Don’t worry, honey. Let me finish up with Tinea, and then I’ll leave you prettier than ever.”

  “Okay.”

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror while I sit down. Jagged ends curl like brittle vines. Some strands are scorched like copper, others blackened. I pull my hood tighter over my head, trying to ignore the faint scent of burnt hair still clinging to me like an unwelcome shadow, mingling awkwardly with the smell of the floral shampoo an apprentice is washing another client’s hair with.

  The bell at the door jingles again. Two more women enter and sit down on the chaise of the waiting area beside me.

  “I heard your nephew got… engaged,” comments one of them, lazily fanning herself with one gloved hand, voice dripping like trying to feign concern.

  The scissors snip through the sudden silence.

  The other lady exhales through her nose loudly while pulling and adjusting her silky dress. “Regrettably, yes. He did, but just to some upstart, I fear, trying to reach above her station.”

  The first lady lifts her brows in delight. A predator smelling blood. “Oh, my dear, do not keep me in suspense. Who is she?”

  The second lady sighs, leaning back as if searching for something to hold her upright. “Just some country girl, I am told. She has no money or connections to speak of, but my brother approves of her because she reached gold rank at seventeen. He says we need to bind talented blood into our lineage. As if we were some high nobles,” she scoffs. “No, what we need are connections inside those noble circles. There are dozens of fine young noble ladies just as talented he could have chosen from.”

  The first lady snaps her fan shut with a soft thwap and gasps. “She is neither wealthy nor a noble?”

  The second lady pinches the bridge of her nose. “No, no… I don’t know what got into my nephew’s head. He is usually smarter than that.” She sighs dramatically, reclining further. “He talks about love and some nonsense as if that would matter. Should take her as a maid or a concubine and marry someone from a good family.”

  “It’s always the promising ones, right? They go to the academy for a few years, and instead of securing a respectable match, some upstart leads them on and gets their dirty paws on them.”

  “Exactly! She even thinks she can order us around because my nephew is the heir.”

  An academy, huh? A magical academy, from what they are talking about. They should have information about runes there. I wonder if they have a library open to the public that I can visit or break into. No, no! I need to get out of this city. It’s too risky to stay here now that I have decided to break away from The Crow and his gang.

  “A man will forgive a woman any faults if she is young and pretty.”

  The second lady sniffs. “Well, youth does not last, and I very much doubt she will remain so charming when she has to manage a household she was never raised to run.”

  The first lady giggles. “A little reality does wonders for misplaced confidence. Perhaps, in time, she will learn her place.”

  “One can only hope.”

  The hairdresser finishes with her current client and steps over to me. “Come, honey, let’s see what we can do.” She nods towards a chair beneath a water bowl with a gentle smile.

  I sit and watch myself in the mirror, my body stiff. The hairdresser unwinds my ruined strands with sure and practiced hands.

  “Such nice hair, what a shame.” She frowns but then smiles. “We will need to leave it a bit short to get to the hale part, but don’t worry, some short hairstyles are coming into fashion again in the southern provinces.”

  “Can you die it black?” I ask.

  She looks down at me, like she is about to encourage me to try something different, but then shrugs. “If you like it that way, sure, honey.”

  Warm water runs over my scalp. Soft fingers scrub gently, washing away the ash and the memories of blazing heat and merciless hands. The conversation drifts into a muted hum until I reemerge from under the tide, feeling clean and reborn.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “I heard that one of Count Avonia’s ships got attacked by rebels just a few days of travel away.” Count Avonia, isn’t that Kamoe’s father? Are they talking about the ship I came with?

  “What? Why did they let them come so far?”

  The hairdresser listens, too. She combs through my damp, fragile strands of hair, seeming distracted. The whole saloon is listening in.

  “I don’t know, but they are getting more brazen daily. I wonder what the legion is waiting for to root them out.”

  “As if they could,” mutters another client. The metallic snip of scissors punctuates her words. “My brother-in-law told us that they are stuck at the fortress next to the entrance of the abyss.” Ruined ends fall to the floor like scorched feathers. “The blumen are raiding again.” The saloon grows silent. Everybody looks at the speaker.

  Some people gasp. “You don’t say?”

  I drown the conversation out, trying to figure out where I heard about blumen before. The scissors continue to sing quietly, severing the damage, bit by bit. I know! It was in that racist book I found back in the town where I met Kamoe and Yuileen. The pale men from that place called the Underdark, whatever that is. Could it be related?

  “And finished,” announces the hairdresser. I turn to face the mirror, barely recognizing myself. The scorched remnants have been replaced by sleek, walnut-colored strands that gleam and shimmer in the light. “You said you wanted it black, right?

  “Yeah.” I touch my hair, reluctantly, about to tell her no, that I want it to remain how it is now. I sigh. Black will let me blend in and confuse whoever Dogface sends to look for me. Black is safe, like a shadow you can disappear into.

  Back in the street, no one cares about me. Not the peddlers, merchants, or those scrawny children standing in the corners that I am sure work for The Crow now. I wander past them, acting like I don’t even see them. I am just another Peruvian girl on a stroll. I smile after I am past. Where should I go to? I take the compass out of my ring and hide it under my cloak. Hmm. It points to the far side of the city. I store it again before someone grows suspicious of what I am looking at. Let’s find out where it points toward then.

  I pass through the rest of the market quarter, leaving behind the scent of spices and fresh bread. The needle still points north. I wander past big palace-like mansions, fine-trimmed hedges, gardens that smell of roses and jasmine, and creeping vines full of big violet flowers that cover marble columns and archways. The needle still points north.

  After what feels like an eternity, I’m in a craftsmen’s district again. The ring of hammers hitting on anvils echoes through the alleys, over weavers and potter wheels. Sawdust swirls at my feet as I cross another workshop, tightly packed against the next one, leaving no space between. I shelter in their shadow from the blazing midday sun. I check on the compass. The needle still points north. I keep it out, still hidden under my cloak, to let it guide me through the labyrinthic maze of nearly identical streets. The houses thin as I press on. I pass under another looming stone arch covered in moss and lichen, a gateway into the outer city. The needle still points north.

  I follow a road lined with hedgerows and scattered cottages, where children dart barefoot over meadows between sheep and goats. Dogs bark at my passing, and chickens flutter away before getting back to search for lost worms that try to hide in freshly tilled fields. The city walls fall further and further behind me. The needle still points north, following the direction of a dirt path that winds upwards into the mountains. The compass has led me out of the city’s grasp, where the air is free of stone and smoke, where I can see people looking for me from miles away. Golden rolling fields give way to a sparse forest. The road continues.

  I can hear voices coming from behind a bend in the road. I step to the side, between the trees, to walk parallel to it. It smells of pines and still-damp moss. The voices come closer. I crouch down behind a bush. A squad of armed people appears in my field of view. Metallic shields reflect the golden light of the afternoon sun that filters through the branches.

  I listen to them trudge closer, chainmail jingling with each step.

  “Another day in the cold up there would have turned me into a statue.” Says someone in a deep voice. They are so close now that I can hear their chainmail jingling with each step. They reek of sweat and damp leather. How long ago was the last time they washed themselves? “My joints feel like rusted hinges.”

  “Must be the weight of all that ale you keep drinking, Keal” says another man. Roaring laughter reaches my ears. “Maybe, if you cut back, you wouldn’t creak like an old gate.”

  “Listen here, you bastard,” growls the man they called Keal. “The only reason you’re still breathing is ‘cause I keep idiots like you from getting mauled by the wildlife.”

  “Ah, but it’s my sharp eyes and quick fingers that keep you lot from getting your throats slit in the night,” says the second voice. “You wouldn’t even know if something is stalking us.” I crouch deeper into the bushes, holding my breath. Should I toggle my invisibility on, or could they sense that? It has worked so far whenever I use it. Am I getting paranoid about it because of what Yuileen said? Maybe I don’t need it. Better not risk it. It’s not like they can see me here in the shadows anyway. “Besides, I don’t see you refusing the ale when I buy the first round.”

  Someone lets out an exhausted sigh. “I don’t care who buys the ale as long as there’s a tankard in my hand by sundown.”

  “Aye.”

  “Aye.

  “We should pass by the red-light district.”

  “Next time, those bastards should let us bring some girl up there if they want us to stay there weeks on end. A man has needs.”

  “Somebody knows why they even sent us there?” asks the second voice. “It’s not like the old man would let anyone get into Cherry-blossom Valley without an invitation.” Cherry-blossom Valley, isn’t that the place Kevin, The Crow’s new lieutenant, spoke about? I bet it is precisely where the compass is trying to take me.

  “How should any of us know what nonsense a noble will come up with? As long as they pay, they order, we obey.”

  “That place was cursed though, I swear it,” mutters someone who hadn’t spoken until now. “The wind howled every night, and I’m certain the shadows moved in the darkness inside the tunnel.”

  “Aye,” rumbles the first voice. “I bet those were the ghosts of poor fools who tried to cross without permission. You didn’t hear them whispering?”

  “I knew it!”

  The second voice laughs again. “You guys are pussies. At most, it was some lost Ice spirit that wandered too far. Or just the wind that blows at night.”

  “Say what you want,” rumbles the first voice, “but I saw a shadow moving where no man stood. And Ice-spirits are vicious. They hide until you're frozen to death before they devour you.”

  “Maybe up in the mountain peaks they do, but down here they don’t. They can barely keep themselves together here. Must have been some critter.”

  “You think some spirits or beasts were watching us, deciding whether we were worthy to leave alive.”

  Somebody snickers and another one swallows hard. “And what if they decide otherwise?”

  A loud clap echoes between the branches. “Then they can fight me for my seat at the tavern. Now, shut your gob and keep walking unless you want to give ‘em another poor soul to haunt the tunnel.”

  More laughter roars up. I watch them dragging their heavy boots through the dirt, slowly disappearing into the distance.

  It’s close to sunset already. I finally found what they were talking about. The road ends in a tunnel leading somewhere deep under the mountains. Another squad of armed fellows is guarding the entrance. Can I sneak through? Probably yes, it shouldn’t be that hard if I use invisibility. But I have no idea what waits for me inside. There could be wards, traps, or that man those soldiers seem to fear laying in wait. I don’t want to enter a closed space that narrows down possible escape paths. If they have just recently started guarding the passage, it could have something to do with the heist of the compass. After learning that The Crow lives in Minas Kalin now, I can believe everything. The timing is suspicious.

  I take my compass out. The needle quivers and points somewhere to the left of the tunnel, close to where two guards are roasting a boar over a campfire. I take a few steps to the side, careful to always keep a bush or a rock to cover from their line of sight. Now, the compass points even further left of the tunnel. Or rather somewhere far behind on the other side of the mountains. I look towards the snow- and ice-covered peaks bathed in pinkish hues under the setting sunlight. Can I get over instead of through the mountains? If there is something that I am good at, it is climbing. I have food, a tent to take shelter in, runes to keep me warm, break my fall, and step through the air. I have a compass to keep direction. I am as prepared as I could be. Let us get over the mountains. What could go wrong?