Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 46
only the occasional star, and feeling acutely the touch of this
stranger's hand. It was at once intimate and solitary. He
cleared his throat and said, "What's your name?"
"I am the lady Calandria May. Turcaret was my
travelling companion, but I am not in his employ."
"Oh." So she might be Castor's equal; Jordan felt
uncomfortable to be holding her hand. She was his superior, so
she could take his, but he could never have touched her so first.
"Careful." She stepped him over another fallen log. He
hadn't felt or heard her hit it, but then he was concentrating on
staring up. He didn’t remember this log from a few minutes
ago, and his footing was much rougher now. Round stones
rolled under his shoes and long drooling fronds of grass wet his
thighs. He smelled the metallic tang of moist earth, mixed with
many green and fetid odors.
The strip of starlight was disappearing. He kicked
himself for not looking up when he'd first come this way, to
judge now where they were. They were not on the path.
"We're not on the path," he said.
"Yes we are," she said in the same calm, even tone with
which she had pronounced her name. Jordan stumbled over a
root; her hand pulled him leftward, then back, and he felt tall
brambles tug by. By instinct he had looked forward, and his
free hand was out to ward him. When he looked up again, the
stars were gone.
He craned his neck to try to see behind him--futile,
naturally. His mouth was open to protest that they really were
off the path, but her grip tightened, and she pulled him ahead
with renewed speed. His warding hand brushed something
slick--a tree trunk, he realized even as he snatched his hand
back with a gasp.
"Steadily now, Jordan," she said.