The bridge was glorious, but to Riley, it just looked fragile. When they reached the other side, she knew they were in Kisten. They travelled with the company of soldiers and logisticians bearing medical supplies. The road forked ahead. The company turned south, and Riley watched them go. She kept stealing glances to the north, before turning Sugarsnap and heading that way.
There were armed guards stationed at the gateway to the Unnamed Foothills. Stern-looking men stood watch over the wasteland, wearing heavy plate and holding pikes. Cora bid them adieu, but Riley could think of nothing worth saying. Her mind was focused on the gray hills ahead.
“I have seen nearly every inch of the kingdom, but that was my first time in Kisten. It was rather brief.” Alexander’s words seemed like a candle trying to fight the night.
The foothills were ominous and stony. The rocks bent and swirled around them, wind solidified over eons. It felt like walking on a different planet, or a different time. The road had been eaten long ago by the gravel and sand. The trail was marked by plinths or piles of balanced stone. It seemed stone was the only material with enough fortitude to outlast the wind.
“I lived in that castle for the first thirteen years of my life and I’ve never crossed that bridge,” Cora said, “There’s just no reason to. Or there wasn’t.”
The further they rode north, the stronger the wind. Riley breathed air like none she’d breathed before, and looked at stones she’d never before seen. The trees in Switforst hadn’t been like trees at home, but they were still trees. Here there were scrubby bushes twisted and trembling in the never-ending wind. “Is it like this down there? In Kisten I mean?”
Alexander replied, “I’m told it’s thin forests, with skinny white trees on the hills. They’re full of thorns, and make sweet fruits filled with seeds. Have you ever had a fig?”
Cora answered, “I have, we imported them. It was one of the only things to come out of Kisten, if I remember. They don’t make things there, like we do in Terndowns,” her voice hitched, “At least that’s what I’ve heard.”
The horses picked their way over the loose stones. No one wanted to walk today, and so they rode. The sky was clear and the sun was shining cold. Every bit of heat in them seemed to blow away in the wind. The hills looked small, but it took forever to scale them, following the switchbacks. At the top of each, they would pause to take a drink. Another always followed.
It will be at least another day of riding, Riley thought, feeding Sugarsnap.
She was grateful that Lady Maribelle had insisted they take grain for the horses as well as rations. There was no fodder, no grazing here. She wished she would have asked for a pack mule or a donkey as well. But that would have slowed their departure.
The wind never stopped. Alexander’s tent blew over. The sand would find its way in every crack, every fold, every pore. There was no wood for a fire. The night was spent in near silence and total darkness, punctuated by Ruskin’s mournful howls.
Riley watched the sun rise over the rocks. They cast blue shadows and the gray shined gold in the morning light. Breakfast was cold. They rode west now, snaking their way between the hills.
A break for lunch. More cold food.
The afternoon sun was in their eyes for hours, but when they crested the last hill, the sight before them brought no relief.
The land glowed aggressively white, then pink, reflecting the sunset back to her.
There is no life in this place.
Everything was dry and cracked. White emptiness stretched in a circle before her, as though there was nothing else left in the world.
Riley said, “We should break for camp here, in the hills. I want to have the morning sun before walking through that.”
“I don’t care what light we have, I am not looking forward to it,” Alexander replied.
Ruskin barked his agreement.
Lissie’s voice was somber. “Past that salt—” she paused and took a breath. “Is my homeland.”