Hen went to him and pulled him into a hug, Jak’s slender form almost disappearing into him. Eventually, his arms appeared, snaking around Hendrik’s middle. “I’m so glad you’re alive,” Jak said, muffled by the folds of Hen’s plain but thick merchant’s garb.
How strange and wonderful, to see the evidence of Hendrik’s life before the Heart Wood. Abstractly, of course, Dagan had known it existed, heard the stories and assumed pieces of it would still be here waiting for him. Now that they were here, though, faced with the inside of the walls, the cobbled streets, the friends and lovers, it seemed so much more real.
He was so glad that a good memory had met them first.
“Introductions once we’re indoors, I think,” Jak said, disentangling from Hen.
Maya nodded. “I’ll meet up with you at the Lantern.”
“You’re leaving?” Piret frowned.
“Been gone almost a whole day. Don’t want anyone asking questions.” Maya gave her and Hen a nod, clapped Kajja on the shoulder, and started down an alley without another word.
“Come on.” Jak left his little fire and started in the opposite direction. “Look like you belong, if you can, but we shouldn’t meet anyone at this time of night.”
“Any trouble?” Piret asked.
“None,” Jak replied. “It makes me nervous. Let’s move.”
Jak hugged Piret and Kajja briefly, then gave nods of acknowledgement to the scouts. As they followed him, the street opened up, gray cobbles and limewashed walls as far as the eye could see. The moon wasn’t quite new, and without Jak’s fire they returned to darkness again, broken up only by the occasional lamps where pathways intersected.
It felt like being inside an ant hill. Dagan had seen drawings and descriptions of them, what they looked like on the inside of their great mounds: endless tunnels and chambers, all busy. These streets were quiet, apart from the odd voice from the shadows or behind the shuttered windows, but they showed evidence of heavy use, ruts in the cobbles from wagons, piles of straw or hay, worn benches of carved stone in front of some of the bigger buildings, corded and wrapped bundles of gods-knew-what behind low stone courtyard walls, troughs of water for humans and beasts, the odd donkey-pile in the middle of the path.
And the smell…wasn’t good, no. It changed as they followed Jak silently and quickly through the narrower streets—alleys, Hen called them. Shit from the piles, then something like onions cooking, then the scent of animals and straw, then piss and ale. In spite of the dark sky above, liberally sprinkled with silver chips of stars, the City felt strangling of a sudden.
After a few moments, during which Dagan’s senses were entirely overwhelmed, Jak shooed them all through another wooden door and into a low-ceilinged, large room with at least two stories stacked on top of it. The atmosphere was smoky but well-lit by blazing coal fires and tallow candles, and Jak, Hen, Piret, and Kajja set about closing the thick curtains over the chunky glass windows. The three scouts stood in the center of the room, shifting from foot to foot on foreign, cut-granite floors, utterly lost.
“There’s soup in the pot,” Jak said, once the building was apparently secured to his satisfaction. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. You’ll be here a day or two while we wait for Sister Eva.”
“She’s well?” Hen asked, striding to the fireplace with a surety of movement that Dagan suddenly envied.
Jak shrugged off his hood and cape. “Well enough. She’s been looking for the source.”
“The source?” Piret asked.
“Of the evil thing. Of the dark god beneath the Great See,” Jak elaborated.
“We have theories on that.” Kajja took off her cloak, as well, and everyone followed suit.
“Tell me everything,” Jak said, angular face gone serious.
“First, this is Bartolo, Head Scout of the Heart Wood,” Kajja gestured.
Jak extended a hand. Bartolo clasped it easily, apparently used to this tradition.
“Gareth, my second,” Bartolo stepped aside, leaving Gareth to clasp Jak’s hand. “And Dagan,” Bartolo went on. “Junior member of our expedition.”
Jak reached for Dagan’s hand. His lips tugged up into a small, almost knowing smile when their eyes met. “Well. Hello, Dagan.”
Dagan chuckled. “You’re even prettier than I expected.”
“Hands off, Jak,” Hen said with a little laugh of his own.
Dagan couldn’t help the flush of pride that cut through the numbness that had been setting in. Yes, he could get used to this possessive side of Hen. Very easily.
Jak’s smile was almost knowing, somehow. “I only said hello.”
“Yeah, you even made that sound flirty.” Hen’s smile reached his flashing blue eyes, a sure sign that he wasn’t worried in the least.
“If you three are done being boys,” Kajja interrupted. “We have a god to topple.”
*
Sunlight crept around the edges of the curtains by the time they caught Jak up on everything Kajja and the others had discovered in the Heart Wood. She showed him her notes, and he showed her where to hide them under the floorboards for safekeeping. The central hearth-room was crowded with all of them, but no one wanted to sleep apart from anyone else, so blankets were set up in corners and alcoves.
“What is this place?” Hen asked as they rummaged through their packs.
Jak, who sat near the fire still, said, “It used to be a meeting-house for the farmers. Where they decided who would plant what and when and who was growing feed for animals or for humans. That sort of thing.
“It all comes directly from the See now, so there’s no need. And the farmers don’t have time, anyhow.”
Dagan shook his head. “They don’t have time to plan for sowing and harvest?”
“By design,” Jak replied, glancing up at them. “If you don’t have time to organize, you definitely don’t have time to ask questions. That’s how the See likes it.”
So many people, barely held back by stone walls, and yet they were subjugated one and all. Surely, their strength was in numbers. Surely, they could’ve freed themselves by now.
Jak must’ve seen something in Dagan’s face, because he laughed—it was a strangely bitter sound, from such a sweet-looking boy. “You think we must be fools. Or worse, weak.”
