ARELLIA

The sun is a smouldering ember on the horizon, sinking behind a rocky mountain as I sit stiffly by a dried-up yew tree. In this arid landscape, the early afternoon heat is scorching. The roots of the tree jut from the ground and snake over the earth like large, slithering pythons. Every breath I take makes my throat parched as if all the liquid in my body has evaporated. We are resting in a small ravine. The ground is covered with dull green grass and spikey shrubbery. This place is an oasis in the vast barren land we traversed through.

Dillon spotted bushes of wild blackberries in the area and decided it was best to camp here to let the mare rest. I try to mask my anxiety by fiddling with the fruit in my hand, dragging my fingers over the small bumps of the berry, but it is futile. Even the sound of passing wind makes me jump. We are only half a day's ride from the capital, heading towards the dunes of Laccresh and yet all is quiet. We have not spotted signs of pursuit. But, nothing seems to settle my nerves. Out here, the weather is harsh and prone to dust storms. Vegetation is hard to grow as the soil is too dry – though there are small villages that raise cattle and sheep between here and the capital, they are few and far between.

I had spent countless days at the palace studying the flora and fauna of remote parts of Illya, as well as other regions of this continent, yet when I need it the most, every ounce of knowledge and information I thought I retained had disappeared. I glance over my shoulder to the direction we travelled from. Everything out here seems dried up and empty, completely devoid of life. Yet, under the sinking sun, with the skies streaked with beautiful oranges and purples – the barren land seems to come alive. Insects chirp in the distance, their cries are like music to my ears.

We plucked all the fruit from this ravine. Thirty-five button-sized berries were all we managed to salvage. The rest had already been taken by the wild animals in the area. There is a sweetness in the air from the fruit, made even more potent by the humidity. It is almost unbearable.

Despite his gruesome injuries, Dillon had given me twenty berries. His flimsy excuse was that he had no appetite. It was a flat-out lie, of course. These tiny berries would never be able to fill anyone up, but I did not confront him about it as it would accomplish nothing. I chew my last berry slowly, savouring the syrupy sweetness, but it only makes me more thirsty.

Across from me, Dillon lies on the grass peacefully with his eyes closed, legs crossed. He hums a quiet tune every now and then. As though we are currently not being pursued by my brother's encroaching army. Armies. Dillon does not know my brother as I do. Despite his impatient and cruel nature, my brother is not foolish. With the dagger against my throat and riding off into the wild as we did, anyone would think I had been abducted. And by the man that killed my father. Why did I let him out? How can I trust him? As I watch him in the grass, I understand his intention. I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe deep, urging my nerves to calm.

"We leave soon. Night will soon fall and we cannot stay in this place, it is too exposed," Dillon says, fiddling with a stalk of grass beside him. He opens his eyes and turns his gaze to me. He seems better now that we have rested a little, but every second that passes, I notice how his skin pales and his breaths become more and more uneven. He can pretend all he likes but I am not a fool. I can see he is slowly dying.

"It will be dark and we have no torches," I start. Dillon notices the defiance in my eyes, but he does not react to it.

"I spotted small hills ahead, the rocky terrain will mask our tracks. And we will find somewhere to sleep there. Then, we move at first light," He sits up slowly, sighing.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Us," He corrects. "Hopefully, somewhere with water and clean cloth… and booze."

"There is nothing out here but sand and socks and if we keep riding this direction, we would get lost in Laccresh. We'd die!" I say. Dillon shoots me a glance, his gaze darkening. Perhaps, he is taking me to my death. Perhaps, I am just prolonging the inevitable.

"Then tell me, where can we go? You seem to know your way around this area– should we head back through Orris and take the merchant's route?"

I bite back a retort because I know he is right. If we travel back, my brother will be there. Any other direction and we'd be heading into small towns that are loyal to Illya. Dillon will be killed and I will be dragged back to my prison. Sensing my mood shift, Dillon stands awkwardly and hobbles to the mare. He strokes her side tenderly.

"But if we keep going, we will have to cross Laccresh. We are not prepared for that." I express my worries. Frustration builds within me at his lack of concern for the dire situation we are in.

"It's not just Laccresh that's out there, princess," He glances at me again. "We'll travel through the wastes. The Valley of Death."

A chill runs down my spine. Despite its sinister name, it is not the valley itself that is dangerous. The land is flat, the plains are dry with cracks within the earth as deep as the ocean. The desert is also prone to large storms of dust. There aren't many shelters along that path. The danger, however, lies in the small tribes that have taken refuge there. I have heard stories told by travelling merchants that due to the lack of resources in the valley, these tribes hunt and feast on travellers. I used to laugh and pretend they were nothing but silly horror stories, but now, I am not so sure.

"B-but, the tribes-" I hold my tongue and clench my fists.

"There used to be tribes, many years ago," Dillon says. "But the land has grown increasingly harsh. Storms are more frequent. I travelled through the valley not too long ago and saw nothing but rocks and sand."

I look up at him, comforted slightly by his reassurance. I have made it this far. But, without food or water, how long will we last?

As if reading my mind, Dillon sighs and says, "We may not have a choice but to stop by a small village and ask for help. Without water, crossing the valley is impossible."

"Someone will recognise me," I say. "It's terribly risky."

"It's a risk we have to take," Dillon unties the reins from a small branch and guides the horse away from the ravine. He grips the reins tightly. Without treatment, I fear Dillon may not last the journey. A knot forms in my stomach as a sense of impending doom wash over me. I hold back the rising panic.

"And if we die?" I mumble awkwardly, afraid to even consider that outcome.

"Then we die." This response causes shivers to rise. I try not to dwell on the thought so I take a deep, calming breath.

When I stand, a torrent of aches and pain shoots through my thighs and bottom from riding the horse. I limp towards the mare, wincing as I go. Dillon tells me I will get used to the pain. My only response is a solemn nod. I grab the wound on my arm tightly, wincing as a sharp pain shoots through me. I am not sure I will ever get used to pain, but I fear that without it, I will have nothing else. When Dillon turns away, I squeeze my wound until blood runs down my arms.

Soon, we ride out again into the open. The air is chill and crisp as the horse gallops down a dirt path. The sky is turning into a dark shade of blue, yet on the horizon, a small sliver of orange remains. As we move, I notice a small light on the hillside, frighteningly close. I push down my panic. Dillon grunts and pulls the reins. We turn eastward towards a rocky outcrop in the distance.

"Where are we going?" I ask, trembling from nervousness.

"We need to put some distance between us and them," Dillon says calmly. I manage a small nod.

"What if they catch us?"

"It won't be good. Whoever they are."

Fear hangs heavy in the air. I am too nervous to ask him further so I sit stiffly on the horse and focus on my breathing. I imagine my brother's army, marching over the hill. Or perhaps, bandits. I do not know which is worse. I try not to think of what will happen to us if we are caught. I do not know how to fight and with Dillon being injured, I fear death may be an inevitable outcome.

"If they are bandits, then they will not follow us through the valley." Dillon says.

"Then, let's hope they are bandits." I say softly.

I turn my head and continue to watch those lights on the hillside fade as we gallop farther and farther away. I watch until the sky darkens further. Until the light in the distance is nothing more than a flicker in the darkness, blending into the night like the stars in the sky.