The darkest moments have come. Both myself and my travel companions have made our way up the mountain, and we made some distance. Things are challenging at the moment, because Jarl has been completely silent. Gudrun has been watching him, while I have had to take a silent lead of our travel plans.

Six days into the eighth month, and the threat of snow became more realized. A bitter cold whipped through the forest, with the mist and fog clinging in the air. When Emerys released a long breath, a vapor billowed in the air. She almost smiled.

According to Gudrun, this frost has arrived here early.

There was nothing like an early frost–especially when she and her companions remained in a complicated silence. Emerys often took the silent lead, watching the stars when she could, and learning the navigation techniques on her own. 

A day later, Jarl finally spoke. The crew had eaten pieces of the travel bread, but they had foregone the fire. It was here, overlooking a specific glacier, where he asked a question.

“What are your theories about the other worlds?” Jarl asked. “And the great plane.”

“Well,” Emerys’ neck shivered. She wasn’t sure how to proceed. “Think of the individual realms as steps in a latter. As far as I know, there are seven realms. We are in the third. My realm is the second, and your realm is the third. Or rather, this realm is the third on the great plane.

“Over time, I think it’s likely people will be able to shift to any realm, but at the moment, as people are still learning about their powers, they’re more-likely to find themselves in a neighboring realm. So my guess is that your son either found himself in my old world, or he went into the fourth realm.

“If I had more ideas on what the kingdom was like, I would likely be able to parse out which realm your son went to, although to varying degrees of success. Based on the fact that your son died from stealing bread, or at least according to the fortune teller, there is a case for your son finding himself in Rathos.”

“What would you suggest?” Jarl said.

“If we could gather more information on how he died, I think that would help as well,” Emerys said. “The monarchy of Rathos had a very specific way of killing people.”

“Tell me more about Rathos, then,” Jarl kicked a stone to the side, his eyebrows furrowed. If one looked too closely at his face, they would see the lines of sadness in his eyes.

“Rathos was somewhat north,” Emerys said. “An isle, if you will. Unfortunately, from words by scholars, their current king rules with a heavy hand, and it’s all because he usurped his brother to get power. According to letters which were preserved and sent to Pelios, he made claims that his brother was unsuitable for politics for years before the executioners came to the palace. Afterward, he had everyone from the revolution killed. He even made stealing food a criminal offense, punishable by death. When in most cases, if you steal in Pelios, you’re banned from working for a year, since you broke some important social contracts. There are nuances to that, of course.”

“Okay,” Jarl said. “And what do you think the chances are that you could find out more in this world?”

“That depends on many things,” Emerys said. “But however you want to treat the rest of this quest, I will understand.”

Jarl nodded. “Thank you. I suppose I won’t be the best travel companion, nor have I been. And I’m sorry.”

“Jarl,” Emerys said softly. His apology stung, leaving her with a sympathy she had trouble working with. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. You lost a family member. And I’m so, so sorry I couldn’t bring him back to you in time.”

“Helja won’t be happy with this,” Jarl said.

“Are there any chances we could find a messenger’s guild here?” Emerys said. She then tore out a paper in her journal, and offered Jarl the ink. “You can take this. Write her a letter, if you can.”

“You would do that?” Jarl asked.

Emerys nodded grimly, “For your sake, yes.”

She took a pause as Jarl found a stone, writing a letter which spanned across both sides of the parchment. When he finished, Emerys took the letter back. She turned to Gudrun.

“I don’t suppose you can make some twine out of some plant roots, can you?” she asked.

Gudrun shook her head. “I’m a healer.”

“Right,” Emerys said. “Either way, your letter is safe with me. I promise.”

Jarl nodded. His body and face contorted, tears marring his expression. Emerys remained close to him, her heart racing. She glanced at Gudrun, who–although sympathetic–remained distant. Emerys then turned back to Jarl.

“Do you need a hug?” Emerys asked. Her entire body shook. For a moment, she thought Jarl would refuse. Instead, Jarl took her in his arms. Emerys held onto him. “Whatever you need in this time, I will try to get for you. I promise.”

For that response, Jarl’s grip only tightened.

As Emerys set up the campfire, she nodded at the others. This time, the fish felt different, for some reason. Not because she despised the fish. But as the fog became heavier in the forest and the mountains, a grim reality continued to set over the company.

Even though she had never met Petar, a part of her sympathized with him. Knowing he had been a thief, it made things worse. In some ways, she saw a part of the boy in herself, even if she’d never met him.

The night brought another bout of silence between the company, but it was for the best. Emerys couldn’t bear to think about breaking it. Not to tell fireside stories, not to make an odd quip, and not to ask questions about their world.

She did, however, work on both new world languages. Although it had been a quiet week, Gudrun still worked with her on honing both languages. At some points, Gudrun remained aggressive when addressing errors. Emerys would not get far some days, unless she had used perfect grammar and intonation.

Some nights, she even practiced journaling in the languages. She would then turn it into Gudrun, if only those were about some random facts about the world. There was something terrifying about using another language, though. In some senses, using her native tongue to write had been a key reminder of where she was from. But as she became comfortable using the new languages, she would use them to write more-often–even when Gudrun wouldn’t be looking.

It’s almost as if this world is becoming a part of my identity now, and that idea is both exciting and chilling. The more time I spend here, the less I want to ever make my way back into my old world.