As soon as they stepped out of the house, Jareen felt the absurdity of her costume acutely. Walking down the spiral stair with the weight of her armaments, the scabbards protruding at her waist, the plan felt hopelessly ill-conceived. It was made worse because Coir was carrying his unwieldy sack over his shoulder and she carried her satchel, marring the image of two strolling warriors. Already, she regretted this plan. Yet it would be hard to hide the strangeness of an Insensitive and a human, no matter how they arrayed themselves. They could hardly be a more conspicuous pair, but at least now they were mostly covered by dark silks, mail, and helms.

They encountered no one on the stair, and as soon as their feet touched the ground Jareen pushed the pace. Music sounded from ahead, harps and flutes near the greensward fountain at the base of the tir itself, a common gathering place in the evening. From there, a path could take them east toward the outskirts of the city. It was the shortest route but also the most used, so Jareen struck off along a more winding, narrow trail that looked like it may head east. She did not know this part of the city—Tirlav had avoided it on their walks—but so long as she kept east, she should reach the wall.

Once, a vien and vienu walking together saw them approaching, but they slipped away down another path. In the night time below the canopy of the city, with only fireflies and the occasional lamp for light, they might actually appear to be two warriors, if no one took the time to notice Coir's unusual proportions.

She had to guess at their route, and they passed near a smaller sward in the east of the city. A few vien and vienu strolled past them along the path. Jareen stepped into the lead, shielding Coir behind her. The revelers passed them by, well into their cups and songs. One of them glanced at Jareen, her eyes lingering too long, but the vienu said nothing and did not falter in the song.

Coir and Jareen kept to the deep shadows beneath the gildenleaf trunks that grew along the outer trail. The farther east they went, the fewer souls they saw out and about. A few souls wandered in solitude, taking diverging paths when the false warriors approached.

The hedge of thorns and trees that grew atop the earthen wall of the city was impenetrable except for the four gates set at the points of the cardinal directions. Passing through the gate was undoubtedly the most dangerous moment, for there were always sentries.

At last, their path joined another, and ahead was the rising wall of the earthen embankment with the great dark hedge atop it and the massive trees towering above all. The ring path circled the entire city within the wall, but after following the winding paths, she was not entirely sure how near they were to the eastern gate. It should be on their right hand side, though, so she headed in that direction, her heart pounding as she wondered what they would do once they reached it. Was the whole absurd endeavor only leading to their near-immediate capture? The canopy still extended overhead, and the path was merely a lighter darkness to follow.

It did not take long to reach the gate. The massive tree through which the tunnel passed rose ahead, lanterns hanging from delicately carved posts, casting pools of light at the entrance to the tunnel. A single vien sentinel stood there in plain sight, a short tuft of feathers rising from his helm. He was no doubt the commander of the sentinels on duty, and while only he was in view, Jareen knew he was not alone. The wall of hedge and earth and trees was full of nettings and platforms. The High Tir had not been threatened by direct attack since Isecan's own assault in the myths. Jareen wondered if that had ever truly happened. Regardless, the Synod kept sentinels at every gate.

She stopped well away, trying to calm her nerves. This part of the plan felt like the most ludicrous. Coir's confidence had persuaded her at first, but now she trembled.

"Nothing for it," Coir whispered. Jareen glanced at him, amazed at his calmness. He certainly was no stranger to risk, but her heart was racing. She did not move.

"Shall I?" he asked.

"No," she said.

She paused a little longer, but she could not come up with any other ideas. They could not hack through the hedge or even climb over it—not without time and rope and knowledge which they did not have. The gates were the only option.

"Remember what you carry," Coir said.

She did. Reaching into her sash, she removed the sealed tenae and approached. The sentinel commander must have heard her steps, for he turned his head and looked in their direction, but he stood in the light and they beyond its pale. When she was close enough to be confident, she swung her arm back and threw the tenae. It struck the path, bounced one, and then rolled within two yards of his feet. The sentinel looked down at it and frowned. Rather than calling out into the dark, he looked up and over his shoulder.

She heard a series of short, sharp notes like a whistle. The commander appeared to consider this, then he stepped over and picked up the tenae. Cracking its seal, he slid out the paper and unrolled it, holding it up to the lantern light.

The gradations of confusion that washed over his face might have been comical in other circumstances. He stood transfixed, staring at the paper. He hesitated for so long that he might have read it ten or twenty times over. At last, he looked up, staring into the dark. Slowly, his hand rose to his neck, and he lifted a whistle to his mouth. A series of sharp notes followed, and then he hurried away from the opening of the tunnel and away from the path down which Coir and Jareen approached.

"Here we go," Coir said, stepping forward. Jareen went with him. They hurried their pace, not quite a jog but no leisurely walk, keeping their heads down and their shoulders hunched. Within the lantern light, they could see nothing in the darkness around them, but in mere paces the open tunnel swallowed them.

On the other side, more lanterns burned, but they saw no one. Through they went, and into the darkness beyond. Jareen could hardly believe it. It was hard not to break into a run on the other side, but she refrained. Ten yards turned into twenty and twenty into a hundred. The eastern path stretched ahead, running through the heartwood toward the southern border of Lishni. Somewhere to the north a clear voice sang, and the nightbirds with it.

"Fine luck," Coir muttered at last. "Fine luck, indeed."

If anyone knew of luck, it was Coir, with his escape from Drennos and his acceptance into Findeluvié. She hoped his luck would continue to hold.

"The ancients of the Empire said that luck often saves a man, if his courage holds," Coir continued in Noshian. "But in this instance, I think it was less luck, and more a flaw in the Synod's own methods. It stands to reason that those who are not given freedom of will must be especially prone to deceit."

"Now is not the time for philosophy," Jareen hissed. "Silence." The sibilance of Noshian would carry far in the night, and Vien had better ears than the humans. The last thing they needed was to be overheard from the trees.

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Despite her rebuke, she had to admit that Coir's plan had succeeded beyond hope.

In Hormil's house, he had laid the paper and pen out on Hormil's own little writing table. It was an old-fashioned writing table, near to the ground and not to be used with a chair, so Jareen sat before it upon folded legs.

"Now, here is what you write," Coir had said. "But feel free to correct any errors of usage."

By Urgent Order of the Synod: the bearers of this tenae, messengers from the Mingling, are afflicted by the Nodroth and are expelled from the city. Let them pass with haste. Do not draw near. Do not watch. Let there be no delay, that the affliction not spread.

"This won't work," she'd said.

"Would a Vien falsify an order from the Synod?" Coir had asked.

"No, of course not." Such an idea was unconscionable.

"That's why it will work."

***

She was hungry and tired when the pre-dawn greyness crept over her surroundings. Coir plodded next to her, his head low. She grasped his arm and he startled.

"It will be light, soon. They will see us for what we are."

Coir looked around, blinking.

"Do you know where we are?" he asked.

"Still in the heartwood of the High Tir, I should think."

"This trail is wider than most I have seen in Findeluvié."

"It is," she agreed.

"I suppose this is a common trail to take supplies to the Mingling. Have you ever been east before?"

"No."

No matter how much they inquired of the heartwoods about the Mingling, its supply routes, and its companies, they had learned little to nothing useful for tracking the Malady, their questions often ignored entirely.

"Well, as you say, we can't stay on this trail in the daylight." Coir looked around, sighed, and struck off north into the woods. Had she said that? She could hardly remember. Tired and wishing she could rest, Jareen followed him.

Though the Vien called the divisions of their land "heartwoods," it was not a fair descriptor. Everything near to Vien habitation was cultivated. Groves of mango, banana, pomegranate, copses of pineapple, kiwi, and other fruits made the forest more of a shaded farm than anything else. Spice trees like nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves, lended their aromas by day and night. In some places, clearings could be found for vegetables that required more sunlight, but just as often the Vien gardened these in hanging glass containers high in the canopy where the light was stronger.

The Vien grew in layers, cultivating plants of differing heights and complementary soil needs together. Such agriculture was honed over millennia in the strange climate of Findeluvié. Even their aesthetic parks of wildwoods were tended with care. Where no drought or frost killed, the plants grew to unusual size. Jareen had always considered it a natural phenomenon, a boon of climate and skill. Now, she questioned if that was all it was. She could not deny that something unnatural was happening. Or did she simply not understand it yet? For if the Current was real, must it then be natural?

Embrace or no, all this cultivation required constant tending and meant that the Vien dwelt among their orchards, often in houses raised in the trees. Many worked in the cool of the night, but that was not a rule. Already she heard voices in the groves.

"We should find a place to hide."

"What about there?" Coir asked, pointing at a grove of low hanging mango trees.

"No," Jareen said. "They look ripe. Come." Beyond some low pawpaw, she could see a dense arbor of kiwi vines in flower. The thick vines grew in a dense leafy mass, and bees hummed around the flowers. There would be little reason for any Vien to meddle with them at this stage of growth. Once there, they pressed in among the lattices of woven branches that held up the vines, reaching the back of the arbor. Beneath the shade of the vines, she lowered herself down. Coir nestled in a few yards from her.

"We will wait here," she said.

***

Through the day, they heard singing and speech. Near midday, a couple sat and drank wine under the pawpaw trees, but none entered the kiwi arbor. Jareen wished they had picked mangos earlier, for she felt nauseous from hunger. She had slept little for days, and so dozed and drowsed for most of the afternoon. When night fell at last, the first thing they did after making sure no one was near was walk to the mango grove and pick fruit. They ate and walked, picking anything ripe they passed. What would have felt like a crime in Nosh was nothing there; there was no shortage of food in the Embrace, and no traveler was begrudged a ripe fruit as they passed by.

Night after night they traveled thus. After moving a short distance north, they followed whatever path kept eastward, finding dense growth to shelter in during the day. If there was pursuit, they saw no sign, but it would have taken tens of thousands to scour every footpath in the heartwoods, and the Vien who dwelt in the groves may have stared at the armed figures curiously in the night, but nothing came of it. Thrice they were hailed in greeting by vien as they passed, and each time they ignored the hails, pretending to be warriors with a purpose. They stank—especially Coir—despite bathing fully-armed in a stream and being rained upon. The canopy prevented the rain from reaching the ground at first, but for hours after the water dripped from the leaves and branches.

From the second day onward, they smelled smoke. Then they could glimpse the sky, they saw that it was hazy. Day by day, the smell of smoke increased, until there was a yellowness to the daylight. Jareen's nose ran constantly, and she coughed so that the muscles in her sides grew sore. The forest had grown wilder. Now there were stretches between cultivated groves where trees and undergrowth grew wild. Grazing muntjacs startled at their approach. The sound of singing fell away in the wild in-betweens. Jareen supposed they were in Lishni, maybe even nearing Miret. The eastern heartwoods were the least populated in all the Embrace. Even so, she forbade Coir to speak except it be urgent, for anyone would recognize the oddity of his voice if they heard it.

On what must have been the eight or ninth night, they entered a rain storm. Entered was as close as Jareen could think to describe it, for it was like walking into a steady pour from one step to the next. It was a warm rainfall, at least, and washed away some of the filth of the road, yet it did not wholly clean the air. By morning, the rain still fell, and the ground had grown soft with the moisture, moss squelching underfoot. Deep banks of fog hung between the trees, smelling strongly of smoke.

"I have never known such a rain in the Embrace," she said, her throat raw.

"Are the woods burning?" Coir asked. "In a rain storm?" Jareen didn't respond. It smelled like it.

Dawn was weak that morning, the rising sun lost in rain clouds and smoke. The path had narrowed to little more than a track, and they had to walk in single file. The woods were so deserted that they pressed on even after daylight.

"That is an odd tree," Coir said, pointing to a fat, crooked trunk with a mass of growths protruding from its bark. Jareen squinted at it.

"I have never seen the like," she said.

It was just the first of many strange trees. She heard unusual birdsong as well, even in the rain. Rain water rushed across the path or sat in puddles ankle-deep, brown from the soil. They drank the rain caught in cupped leaves. They plodded on for much of the day in silence. Jareen had now lost count of what day it was since they had fled the city.

"I think we should stop and rest before going further," Coir said. "I think we are coming to the Mingling."

Jareen's eyes watered constantly, tears joining the rain running down her face, and her nose stung. It was doubtful she would find much rest, but she agreed, anyway. They found a thick canopy of fronds to shelter beneath. Water still dripped on them, but they were soaked already. Despite the rain, smoke hung thick in the air. She tried her best to rest, and eventually she lay her wet scarf lightly across her face and lay down, arms folded above her belly. The scarf helped a little, but not enough to make breathing comfortable. She waited, feeling for the babe to move. There was an assurance in the movement, knowing the babe was alright despite the toil of their journey and their danger. She waited, each moment that passed increasing her anxiety. She felt a kick.

All was well. As well as could be.

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