As the night drew close across the shoulders of the world, Jordan leaned back against smooth bark and tried not to look down. They were perched high up in a Voyager Tree, at the point where the bases of its large, spreading branches converged, resting on the concave natural platform formed by their meeting. There was room for two – even three – people to lie down in comfort, and Norae explained that the trees were often used as safe havens by travellers, hence their name. Jordan thought ‘safe’ was relative – sleeping at the top of a ten-metre drop was not her ideal version of security, and the climb was a bitch. Still, it was better than discovering what manner of beasts might trawl beneath the canopy at night, hunting for their next meal.

The forest sang around them, nightbirds and insects and the fluting wind all joined in harmonious chorus. Sharper calls sometimes cut across the melody, but even they had their place in the refrain of life. Norae tilted her head this way and that, catching a sound, releasing it, testing the next. At last, content, she settled against the nearest branch, lounging beside a bristling array of weapons, one leg swinging to and fro over the side of the platform. She peeled a bright blue fruit with her dagger, handed her companion half of its soft innards. Jordan sniffed it, revelled in the floral honey of its scent, and swallowed it down in delight. Norae smiled, handed her another, and the dagger.

“Do not take too much of skin,” she warned. “If pith removed, whole thing falls apart.” She grinned, watching as the soggy mass oozed through her fingers. “Aye, like that.”

Jordan stuffed the whole in her mouth before it could disintegrate further and took a moment to work it into a manageable mouthful. She gulped it down, grinned back, and set about licking the juice from her fingers.

“Those are delicious! What are they?”

“Sky berries. Prolific in these valleys. Grow on shrub twice size of man. Pale blue leaves. Nice addition to traveller’s fare.”

She swung her pack onto her lap, dug out something that looked like an over-large biscuit, and offered Jordan half of that, too.

“Rationed,” she said with apology, “Last one.”

Jordan bit into it, smiling in surprise at the nutty crunch. It tasted of honey and ginger, and a stronger flavour she didn’t recognise. “What’s in it?”

Norae mentioned the things she’d already recognised, added dried meat, crushed to powder, and dried fruits to the list.

“Good for travelling. Can last long time on those.”

Something in the way she said it made Jordan meet her dark eyes over the hard biscuit. “You know, I didn’t ask… what are you doing out here in the middle of the desert?”

Norae’s expression went blank. “I…” She cleared her throat, “Am running.”

“From what?” Jordan said, but then caught herself, “I’m sorry, if you’d rather not say...”

But Norae shook her head. “Told your story, will tell mine. Am… exiled.” She spat out the word as if it were bitter on her tongue. “Am – was – Gryphon Knight. But father is Nalvadian Dre’Cor, disappeared not long ago. People say he fled, abandoned post. Do not believe it – she did something to him. Never liked him. Knew his sympathies lay with other Queen – even though he was faultless in her court. Tried to find out what happened to him…” She fisted her hands, scowling. “Questioned my honour! Stripped of Titles, cast out, and…” her voice broke on the last, “Took Thallo.”

“Who’s Thallo?” Jordan asked gently.

Norae wiped away a small tear. “Is – was – my gryphon. Well, property of Queen, as all gryphons, but was paired with me…” She swallowed, and then her head shot up, mouth hard. “Rider and gryphon pair for life – any fool knows! Will try to re-pair Thallo to another Knight, an apprentice... Thallo will pine self to death. Everyone knows what happens when gryphon loses rider!”

She punched at the tree bole in her outrage, her face twisted with unhappy fury.

“I’m sorry, Norae,” Jordan said lamely, unsure what the appropriate offer of sympathy should be. She didn’t dare ask if Norae meant an honest-to-God, actual gryphon…

“Going to get her back, though,” Norae nodded fiercely, as if Jordan hadn’t spoken. “Heard being stabled in Nova Azuros. Am going to rescue her.”

The words were both promise and plea. She shook herself and took a deep breath, abashed. “Sorry, Jordan. Did not mean for outburst.”

“Oh, no, please, that’s okay!” Jordan said. “Maybe… well, is there any way I can help?”

Norae perked up. “Hmm. Know how to fight?”

Jordan shook her head, and Norae frowned thoughtfully. “Wield magic?”

Again, Jordan shook her head, feeling the first flush of embarrassment creep into her cheeks... She’d offered help she couldn’t really give.

Norae shrugged kindly. “Well, good company, at least. And, if like, can teach you.”

“…teach me?” Jordan repeated, a flutter in her heart, “To fight, or to wield magic?”

“Fight.”

Jordan’s face fell. “Oh.”

Norae offered a gentle smile. “My kind of magic not be taught. Was born a Callkin, in my blood. But,” and she winked, “Kinds of magic can be taught. Although, never learned them. No need; am – was – Gryphon Knight. But you could learn some magic. If could find someone to teach.”

Jordan heartened with a wistful sigh. “I would love to learn magic.” It was true – she’d spent her entire childhood pretending she could command the elements, move things with her will. She’d lived on books and movies that celebrated heroes with impossible powers. Clearing her throat, she gave a wry grin. “I’d also love to learn to fight, though. I don’t have the faintest idea how to get home, and until I figure out how to do that, I’d rather not be completely defenceless.”

Norae nodded. “Very well. Be honoured to teach.”

They settled to companionable silence, looking out at the night forest far below. Shadows – some small, some too large for comfort – passed by beneath. Bright moonlight filtered through the leaves, ghosting against the inky blackness of thick tree trunks, and reflected by moonshrooms in a soft rainbow palette across the leaf litter. Norae pointed them out to Jordan, growing in clusters upon fallen logs, their bright crystalline caps glowing with faint, fractured colours.

“In daylight, hard to see,” Norae said. “Clear, like stream, or glass. Only under lunar light become those colours.”

Jordan stared in wonder – and noticed one that appeared to be stirring between its fellows. She pointed to it.

“Why is that one moving?”

Norae smiled, soft delight illuminating her night-dark eyes. “Not moonshroom. Is glass dragon.” She gave a happy sigh. “Do not often see.”

“A glass dragon?” Jordan frowned. “Is that some kind of lizard?”

Norae chuckled. “Exactly what sounds like. Here, watch.”

She raised one hand in the little creature’s direction, her fingers swirling like fern fronds in a breath of wind. Jordan inhaled – she could see it, the magic, shimmering at Norae’s fingertips. Mesmerised, she watched the Callkin’s hand dance – and didn’t even notice the tiny creature answering the summons until it alighted on Norae’s outstretched index finger. It clung there, lizard-like, curious, holding on with three-toed claws and gazing at them with a bright, powder-blue gaze. It was almost transparent – Jordan leaned closer, eyes widening as she realised she could see its minute, thrumming heart.

“Here,” Norae smiled, nudging her palm forward, “May hold her.”

Speechless, Jordan held out her hand, and the miniscule creature obligingly traded Norae’s finger for hers. It tilted its slim, delicate snout, blew a wisp of cool mist against her palm. She held it up to eye level and it stared back, unafraid. Then, it shook itself, raised miniature halcyon wings, and looked to Norae.

“Aye, may go,” the Callkin nodded. “Thank for sharing time. Fair winds, tiny friend.”

The little dragon huffed, content, and leapt from Jordan’s fingertip. It spread its wings wide, floated back down to the incandescent moonshrooms. Upon landing, it paused to look back up at them and blew out a small streamer of mist. Then, it tipped its delicate head and disappeared with a swish of its translucent tail, lost to a thicket of glimmering caps faster than its watchers could blink.

“Norae, that was incredible!” Jordan breathed, eyes shining as she stared after it. “ How the hell did you do that?”

Norae beamed. “Told you, am a Callkin. In my blood.”

Jordan turned to her. “Yeah, you said. But what, exactly, is a Callkin? I’ve never heard the word.”

Norae cocked her head, trying to decide if she jested. Her eyebrows quirked as she realised she did not. “True, then? No magic left on The Old World?”

Jordan nodded. “No such thing as magic – back home, that doesn’t happen. There are no wanderers or glass dragons, either. So,” she smiled, “Are you going to tell me what a Callkin is, or not?”

“Callkin is a type of Witchkin...” She broke off as she noted Jordan’s confused frown deepen.

“A witch…?”

Norae decided careful explanation was warranted. “No. Witch, as in traditional sense, is a user of magic – spell-casters, potion-brewers. Learn words, use recipes. Anyone can be a witch.”

She shrugged as she said it, implying that it was easy enough. “But Witchkin are made of magic. Flows in our veins, derivative of the elements of Andoherra.”

She drew a dagger from her boot, pricked her palm, held it up to the bright moonlight. “Nalvadian – my father – is an Earthkin. I am not, but trace of the element remains. See?”

Jordan looked closer. It wasn’t the darkness – Norae’s blood definitely had a greenish tinge.

Norae closed her fist. “The blood of a true Earthkin is more potent. When spilled, it is a rich, forest colour.”

Jordan exclaimed in surprise, remembering a finer detail from her dreams. Asbeth’s blood had been silver! Norae noted put her reaction down to simple ignorance.

“Different Witchkin have different coloured blood,” she continued, “Usually corresponding to whichever element is prevalent in their magic. Most are colours you would expect. Some are unusual, though – the Worldkin, for example, have silver blood-” Jordan nodded hard, her visions confirmed, “-because their power contains the very element of spirit. Are the only ones that do. Some Witchkin are stronger than others, but base nature remains truth – magic is in their blood. Witchkin may study to be a witch, too, if desire to learn conjuring, or potioncraft. Many do, especially from higher Orders.” She paused, then added, “But to call Witchkin merely witch is an insult.”

“Uh-huh.” Jordan cocked her head, processing. She’d seen enough fantasy movies to sum it up for her own benefit – witches equalled borrowed magic, potions, and spells; Witchkin, raw, elemental-based, true magic. “And… you are a Callkin?”

“Aye. Some animals of Andoherra respond to my summons, will do whatever I ask of them. All Callkin are different, though. Some are immensely powerful – for example, those who safeguard the Queen’s gryphons,” She dropped her gaze, “The ones who will force Thallo to accept a new rider…”

She ran an angry hand down the length of her face to push the thought away, flicked her beaded braids fiercely over her shoulder, and sighed. “For me, though, it is hummingbirds, geckos, and glass dragons.”

“Glass dragons are pretty cool…” Jordan offered. She no longer felt the need to ask to know that the Callkin meant exactly what she said when she mentioned her gryphon. “What other kinds of Witchkin are there?”

Norae accepted the milder subject choice, grateful to push problems from her mind for a little while.

“Many kinds,” she said, settling into her explanation, “But important ones are the true Elemental Witchkin. Five Orders – Earthkin, Airkin, Waterkin, Firekin and Dreamkin…” She paused, glanced furtively about, and her voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “Then, there is the Lat’Nemele… Almost always female, also called Sorceress of the Elements – because she may command them all. Enormously powerful, extremely dangerous. By tradition, the Lat’Nemele stands as Sword and Shield of the Queen, Guardian of the Royal House. Far back as Andoherra’s history goes, only ever been one in existence at any given time. Recently, was Calyx, but then, with her disappearance, Nerys stepped out of the shadows-”

“I know those names!” Jordan interrupted, astonished.

Norae looked at her sideways. “Thought you said you were not from Andoherra…?”

Jordan shook her head vehemently, consumed by agitated disbelief. “I’m not! But I’ve been having these… dreams… for the last couple of weeks – like, really vivid ones. There were women in them who wielded staggering magic. I saw the one – Calyx – threaten an entire room full of fighting people with a huge cage of lightning. There were tables floating and- wait…” Her jaw dropped, and she met Norae’s startled expression. “There was a man called Nalvadian in my dreams, too! He was throwing up shields of stone, hurling spears of rock…”

Her voice faded, and silence stretched between them.

Norae’s stared at Jordan as if seeing her for the first time. “How is this possible? Jordan, what you describe… happened. Twenty years ago.” Her mouth settled to a grim line. “Was there.”

Jordan was dumbstruck. She stared at her companion, helpless to explain.

Norae met her gape with a bemused expression. “Fifteen, I was, barely apprenticed to the Knights. Was an inquiry… Rador Gri’Svear, Grand Firekin, had been found murdered. His wife, Firekin also, demanded justice – loudly. Railed at the Queen and things… escalated. Some sided with the Firekin, demanding change of regime, ruler with a less lenient hand. Fighting was fierce – until Calyx stepped in. How could you possibly know, Jordan?”

Mute, Jordan shook her head. With trembling fingers, she reached for her pack, pulled out her sheaf of papers, and handed them to Norae. The Callkin leafed through, uttering small exclamations of amazement. She paused, caressing one of the portraits in fond remembrance.

“Asbeth, rest her soul… Was Queen, before. Only knew her from afar, really. I was so young, but she and my father were close. Was always kind to me.”

“Who is the Queen now?” Jordan asked, afraid she already knew the answer.

Norae’s face twisted with loathing. “The Firekin. Fayne Gri’Svear.”

Jordan blinked against the inevitable. “But… she is the one who murdered Asbeth-”

“WHAT?”

The word exploded from Norae, making Jordan jump. Papers fluttered as the Callkin lunged at her, caught her roughly by the shoulders. “Did you see this, too?”

“Y-yes,” Jordan stammered, holding her hands up in supplication. “That other woman, Nerys, held her still, but it was Fayne who swung the dagger and cut out her heart.”

Norae released her, hissing fury through her teeth. “I knew it! Oh, by Malevelyn, I knew it! My father knew it! But there was no proof – oh! How can this demon sit on the Throne?”

She leapt to her feet, paced the narrow platform in her agitation, speaking – no, cursing from the sound of it – in a language that didn't sound like any of Earth's dialects. Jordan rescued her fallen papers and watched her in silence, her own mind racing with the improbability of her dreams being rooted so firmly in reality. An alternate reality, perhaps, but reality just the same. She leafed through the pictures, through descriptions of scenes that she now realised had, in all probability happened. She sighed in unhappy confusion.

“Norae…?”

The Callkin paused mid-rant, blew out her breath in a huff, and turned her attention to the tremor in Jordan’s voice.

“Norae… why did I see these things? Why, when I am from Earth, and had no idea Andoherra existed…?”

Norae shrugged helplessly. “Could not hope to guess. Maybe Andoherra wants history known... Magic obeys own rules.”

“But… there is no magic on Earth.”

“Well, then…” Norae said, “Perhaps have some kind of connection to Andoherra, so could reach you...?”

They regarded each other, shadowed by unknown things.

A cool, fitful breeze danced around them. It teased at Jordan’s sandy blonde fringe, rustled the papers in her hands. Distracted, she glanced down, and found herself arrested by the deep, luminous-silver gaze of a long-dead Queen.