The two decided to set off to cross the bridge across the Barlmay that same day. 

They went on after looking into the distance for several minutes in all directions. 

The fog was clearing ever so slightly, but it did not make much of a difference. Still, no shape was seen, or sound heard that could indicate any further danger, and so they were back on the road, now with many new thoughts to keep them busy. 

Croaking frogs and small chirping birds brought little comfort. And so, the rest of the day passed by quietly, not a human figure in sight. 

Approaching the river, the land became ever wetter. Pools were deeper and vaster, and the border between land and water blurrier. Reeds were tall here – some as tall as trees. They had big plumes hanging down droopily. 

The mist thinned out and granted them a view into the north. The Barlmay river lay out before them much like a sea. 

Their path led to the Barlmay Bridge; a five-kilometre-long steel construction made several millennia ago. 

The day progressed into the late afternoon, and the sun was setting already, and when it touched the peaks of the western mountains, the two decided they could not possibly traverse the Bridge before the dark would fall over them. 

But resting here was no use, for the cold, harsh steel brought no shelter for them and no food for Piyar. So, they decided to walk through the night. 

Their strides became shorter, and their heads hung low. 

Throughout the night, small lights passed one by one. Lanterns, accompanied by small groups of shadows. People travelling south. Some had carts or rode horses; others were by foot. But all were slow, as if having all the time in the world. 

It reassured them that they were just Dokians on their personal missions, no soldiers on the hunt. 

The night was dark and threatening. Maybe even more so than their pursuers. It was filled with both quiet and terrible sounds. Water sloshed far below them against the pillars and itself. It seemed to consume them slowly. 

Then there were the cold winds that howled in the great bearers of the Bridge and sang them through the darkness. They also blew away the mists, granting them a clear view of the sunrise when it finally came. 

The dreadful night had worn them, and when the light came, their bodies were empty and their feet sore. The lack of lights had made them stumble several times, but Yorell would not light any lamp. 

By morning, they had reached the end of the bridge, and they rested.

Past the Barlmay lay a dike, across which the road went on. 

The marshes were still untraversable, so deviating from the road was not yet a good idea. Nevertheless, the bushes here were taller and thicker, so they made their way down the slope of the dike when they could and found a sheltered spot to rest in. 

They slept for several hours in a small open space below evergreen brambles, wrapped in their cloths. 

In the early afternoon, their journey continued, but only for about two hours, for they came upon a group of scouts. 

Luckily, they had kept close to the bushes by the lower slope of the dike. But it would be impossible to pass this blockade unseen. 

It was a group of at least twenty Kosocian spies, all mounted and clad in dark green uniforms. They were hooded and had shotguns on their sides. 

They just stood there, perhaps deciding their next move. 

Yorell pulled Ma’an down into the bushes as soon as he noticed them. 

They looked in silence before Ma’an spoke: ‘Why are they standing there?’

‘Maybe they think they should have found me already. They could have seen us, and then lost us when we slept,’ Yorell whispered. 

It was difficult to hide with Piyar by their side, but they were still far enough away to not be seen.

‘I can distract them to let you pass,’ Ma’an said, ‘I’ll take Piyar, and I’ll talk to them.’ His eyes were set on the people in the distance, seeming confident, but his hands trembled.

‘Are you sure? They may have seen us together and ask you about me,’ Yorell answered.

‘They may, but by then you are already far in front. I have a feeling they are expecting another company to cross the bridge, which means we will be trapped if we wait here. Pass them quietly, then I will take Piyar. I’ll meet you when they are out of sight, okay?’ Ma’an looked at Yorell, who nodded.

‘If you’re sure about it. Please be careful, don’t get hurt,’ he said.

‘Do not worry. I’ve had stranger encounters,’ Ma’an said, ‘whenever you’re ready.’ He took Piyar’s reins from Yorell and made ready to go up the dike.

‘I’m ready,’ Yorell said, and he retreated further into the bushes. 

Ma’an smiled at him. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

Ma’an drew near to the group of scouts calmly with Piyar by his side. 

He focused on Piyar’s hooves on the coarse dirt when he saw the big horses in front of him move onto the road, their riders tall and alarmed by the bold approach of the small stranger. 

Ma'an had never felt this frail.

They took their arms into their hands, and one of the riders advanced towards him. 

‘State your name and purpose,’ the scout said to him. It must have been the leader, seeing the additional colours on her uniform. She spoke Dokian, though with a heavy accent.

‘... I am Ma’an. I am a traveller,’ Ma’an spoke. 

All eyes were now on him, just as he wanted. 

He looked out over the group of tall, armed people confidently, though it took him effort.

‘Ma’an the Traveller. And what is Ma’an doing here all alone? You seem rather vulnerable, such a small foreigner,’ the leader said, referring to his height, as she wondered how to proceed.

‘I’m managing, thank you. Just travelling north. What about you?’ Ma’an asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. 

She looked down at him from her grey horse. 

Ma’an looked back.

‘Kizhie le Yanha. Head of the third division of the Imperial Troops of Kosoci. We are looking for Aya Yahre Cir, who is to be sentenced to death by the High Court of Kosoci. You have been seen with a companion on the Bridge – where did they go?’ 

At that moment, multiple barrels swiftly turned to point at him.

‘I do not know any Aya Yahre, so I am afraid I cannot help you,’ Ma’an said.

‘You do not? Then who was your companion, and where have they gone?’

‘I came here alone. My only companion is this animal,’ Ma’an patted Piyar’s neck and held onto her mane for a little support.

Kizhie raised her head. ‘Where did you come from?’ she asked.

‘Enhemh, a town in the Otnoih of southern Timehan,’ Ma’an said. 

Kizhie raised her eyebrows, and several of her scouts exchanged troubled glances.

‘You do not know where that is?’ he added.

‘Do not try to fool me, foreigner. Where has Aya gone? You will be taken to Cire in any case, so lying is no use.’ She signed to the scouts behind her, who promptly came forward and blocked Ma’an’s way back towards the bridge.

‘There is no need. Again, I do not know any Aya. You must have confused me with someone else. How did you see me on the bridge anyway if I did not see you? I think I would have noticed such a group.’

‘That is not my concern. Our eyes do not deceive us, Ma’an, and the Court will know. We will take you to our base at the Crossings, where you shall be interrogated by the general. Give up your weapons. Now,’ she said with a commanding voice.

‘Aren’t you far away from home, Kizhie? Kosoci is at least a week away, is it not?’ Ma’an asked, completely disregarding her.

‘We do not have time for this. Bind him, and disarm him,’ Kizhie said, and two of the riders dismounted. 

When one approached, Ma’an turned towards them, and with the discreet twitch of his finger, the scout tripped. 

They fell on the ground, but quickly got up, their eyes wide and confused.

The tension shot through the whole group as they thought Ma’an had resorted to violence, but none was hurt. Everyone was on edge, the scouts even more so than Ma’an. Kizhie was not spared from unease. 

The fallen scout rose quickly and grabbed Ma’an by the arm. "...!"

But as soon as they did, they shrieked as if tickled, and then, with a startled smile on their face, fell back. 

The second scout went to check on them. 

Ma’an had become too scared and failed to control himself, despite this being one of the less decisive encounters in his journey. He was sure this would end well; he knew what to do. Creating time, that is all that was needed. Getting away was secondary. 

And yet his thoughts were with Yorell constantly. Yorell, or Yohre, or Yaya, whoever he may be. 

Horses were approaching from the south and Yorell was somewhere in the marshes, all alone. 

Ma’an could cry only thinking about it. And now he had created conflict. Not on purpose – he had not meant to cause anything more than a trip – but when he was touched, he reacted out of fear. Now, he was about to be shot, or at least be brought down by violence. 

He had to think quickly and somehow make it out of the group of horses. If, by some chance, their strong horses did not catch up to him and Piyar in seconds, there still were the firearms that would not let him get far. In short, there was no escape from using keiïa. 

He planted his feet firmly on the road and bent his knees slightly. He looked at the three bullets already on their way towards him. He managed to divert them without moving a muscle – the first part of his fragile plan. 

The bullets bent around him and landed in the earth. More would not follow for several seconds, for the realisation had to set in, giving him a little more room to think. 

He lifted his hands; still unsure what path would cause the least harm to every living thing involved. He decided, and made a subtle but swift movement with his hand, breathing out slowly. 

With a bang, a thick curtain of sand was spewed out of the soil, the cold ground bursting open. The sound is what scared most, but the sand, grass, and ice flying up into the air was what caused the most confusion, and thus a way out. 

In the noise of hooves, yells, and neighs that ensued, Ma’an seized the opportunity. The two dashed past and continued their road.

Ma’an’s attention shifted to Yorell. He climbed upon Piyar with much effort, and she galloped forth. He kept scanning the left of the dike, hoping to see a glimpse of the poor wizard he’d left alone with his thoughts. 

A couple hundred metres away from the scouts, he saw a glimpse of the dark of his coat within the closest strip of greenery.

‘Yorell! Come, quick!’ he yelled. 

From the bushes came Yorell rushing. He sprinted up the dike, looking south to see nothing but still shapes in the distance. ‘What did you do?’ he asked, out of breath.

‘Nothing special, come, let’s go. They won’t be held back for long,’ Ma’an replied. 

Yorell mounted Piyar and sat behind him, and they ran off. 

Piyar flew along the road swifter than ever. The marshes went by, and land became more solid. 

The road split several times in the direction of villages in towns lying either at the Barlmay or in the fields.

‘Aya Yahre?’ Ma’an asked eventually with a smirk playing on his lips.

‘Did you tell them my name?’ Yorell exclaimed, worried.

‘Dear, I did not even know you had that name!’ Ma’an laughed. 

Yorell blushed. ‘Sorry. I don’t have it together right now.’

‘It’s fine. We’ll talk more later when we’ve got these scouts off our backs. I don’t…'

'...?' Yorell looked to Ma'an.

'... I don't think they’re coming just for you anymore.'