Chapter 3
The Search for Speed
The stream had become his only constant through the dark. Calen waded through it at least three times during the night, each crossing deliberate, knowing even as he did it that water wouldn't obscure whatever sense the giant possessed. It simply kept finding him.
By dawn Calen had stopped believing that distance mattered. What mattered was the next hour. And the hour after that. But he wasn't sleeping. He wasn't eating properly. His body was burning through itself at a rate he couldn't replenish, and with each passing hour, his pace slowed incrementally, inexorably.
The landscape had changed. The moorland's empty rolls had given way to rougher country—low hills covered in gorse and heather, with scattered patches of forest beginning to claim the land. The sun was climbing toward its zenith when he heard the sound: the faint rush of moving water, more substantial than the streams he'd been crossing.
Calen followed the sound, pushing through a stand of twisted hawthorn until the ground dropped away beneath his feet. Below him, perhaps fifty yards distant, the river Stin snaked through a valley. The water was dark and churning, swollen with spring melt, the current violent but passable at this stretch by a simple wood bridge. Beyond the water, on the far bank, the land rose in low hills dotted with smoke.
A settlement. Perhaps thirty or forty buildings clustered around a central green—barns and a smithy with thin smoke rising from the chimney. In a paddock near the largest barn, perhaps a dozen horses grazed on stubbled grass.
Calen remained frozen at the ridge's edge, calculating how much time he had left. The giant was barely visible now on the far moorland—a dark speck where the horizon met sky. Three leagues back, perhaps four. When he fixed his gaze on that distant silhouette, he could feel the weight of attention returning—that same persistent, unwavering awareness that had marked him since his escape from the castle. It hadn't lost him, despite the forest, despite the darkness. And it wouldn't.
His discovery of the settlement came with mixed feelings. The possibility of shelter and other people immediately instilled a small sense of hope. However, after remembering the giant had so carelessly and easily tracked a path of destruction through the town the previous day, he knew that there was nothing anybody down there could do for him.
Suddenly he was struck with realization—he had to cross the river here. He couldn't afford to get stuck between the raging river and the giant. But if he crossed the river here then that would put the settlement in the path of the giant.
There was only one thing for it; he needed to be faster. On horseback he might be able to put enough distance between the settlement and the path of destruction. He would have to steal a horse. The thought made him feel queasy. He had never stolen anything before. But, he reasoned, this would be like stealing a bucket of water to put out a fire. Ultimately it was a small evil to ensure the safety of the settlement at large.
He descended from the ridge carefully, staying in the gorse and heather and moved towards the bridge. The paddock remained distant, but visible. A young boy was working near it, mending fence with practiced efficiency. Twelve years old, perhaps.
As Calen crossed the bridge he watched the farmhand at work. The boy finished his repairs and wandered toward the barn. The settlement seemed peaceful, unaware of what moved behind him on the distant moorland.
Calen moved toward the paddock.
The horses noticed him immediately—ears perking up, eyes tracking his movement with the wariness of animals that sensed something wrong. The chestnut mare moved to the far side of the paddock but didn't bolt. Her coat shone with copper light. Long legs. A lean frame that suggested endurance. Someone here had cared for her well.
He made soft, soothing sounds, the sounds a horseman made when approaching a nervous animal. "Easy," he whispered. "Easy, girl."
The mare's nostrils flared, testing his scent. She allowed him to approach. His fingers found the leather of her halter on the second attempt, and she didn't resist. He guided her toward the gate.
The hemp rope looped through the gate's latch was weathered and soft. His hands fumbled with the knot, but only briefly—each second stretched long. Any moment, an adult could emerge from the barn or the house. Any moment, someone could notice the stranger leading their horse away.
The rope gave way. The gate swung open.
Calen led her through without closing it behind him. Running back to secure it was wasted motion. He led her away from the settlement, along the river, making sure his direction of travel erased any doubt that the giant's course would intersect with the settlement.
Only when a treeline had begun to obscure the paddock did he attempt to mount.
His blistered feet gripped her sides. The motion jostled his already exhausted frame, and he slumped forward against her neck for a moment, his hands buried in her mane, catching his breath.
The mare shifted nervously beneath him, but she didn't buck. Calen forced himself upright. His legs were weak, but they would hold. He was still breathing. Still moving.
He urged her forward with pressure from his heels. She moved into a walk, then a trot. The motion was jarring at first, each stride testing muscles pushed past their limits, but then something shifted. The rhythm steadied. His body ceased its constant protest. For the first time since fleeing the castle, Calen wasn't moving on his own legs—he was being carried.
The ancient oaks and pines grew so close that Calen had to duck against the mare's neck to avoid low branches, and the canopy was so dense it seemed to be late afternoon rather than mid-day. Ahead, somewhere in the depths of the forest, lay distance. Leagues that separated him from the settlement. Leagues that separated him from the thing that pursued him.
His breathing, which had been ragged and labored for so long, began to find a more natural rhythm. The mare's steady pace ate distance—real, substantial distance—without demanding anything from him but balance and presence.
The sun moved across the sky with the indifference of celestial mechanics. Calen's eyes, which had been burning with exhaustion, began to feel heavier. Not sleep—he couldn't allow himself that, not yet. The mare's warmth beneath him, the steady percussion of her hooves against the earth, the vast emptiness of the forest stretching in all directions—these things had a peculiar, almost hypnotic quality.
He didn't remember when his eyes closed.
When he opened his eyes again, it was night.
The mare was still moving, but her pace had slowed to a careful walk. The forest had thinned somewhat, and through gaps in the canopy, Calen could see stars. The road looked well traveled. The temperature had dropped, and the air carried the smell of water—not the river, but something else. Something closer.
Ahead, a shape resolved itself from the darkness. Stone. A building. The mare slowed further, her ears pricking forward, perhaps sensing an opportunity for rest and grazing.
A cottage. Solid stone walls. A faint glow from a window—candlelight, warm and welcoming.
The mare stopped near the cottage's small trough and started drinking. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a door opened, and a figure emerged—a man, older, moving quickly. His weathered face was creased with concern as he looked up at the mare and the exhausted boy slumped against her neck.
"Where did you come from?" the man said, but he wasn't waiting for an answer. He was already moving, his hands reaching up to steady Calen. "Come on, lad. Easy now."
Calen felt hands on his shoulders, felt himself being lowered from the mare's back. His legs buckled when they touched the ground, and the man caught him, half-carrying him toward the cottage.
Inside, there was warmth. A woman was there, her gray-streaked hair pulled back, her movements quick and efficient. She was already moving toward him with clean cloth and a blanket, her sharp eyes assessing him with practiced efficiency.
"Get him to the bed," the man said. "I'll tend the horse."
Calen wanted to ask questions. Wanted to tell them what had happened to him. But his body had other priorities. The moment his back touched the bed, the moment warmth began to seep into his exhausted frame, consciousness released its grip entirely.
He slept.