CHAPTER 41: THE PULL

The hills rose like worn knuckles from the earth, covered in stunted brush and pale grasses that whispered with each gust of wind.

Heat shimmered above the ground, distorting the horizon where sky met distant water. Apollo wiped sweat from his brow, feeling the gold in his veins pulse in time with something beyond his own heartbeat.

"We should head northwest," Thorin said, pointing toward a ridge that curved away from the sea. "Better cover, less exposed."

Renna snorted, planting her spear in the dirt. "Northwest is nothing but broken ground for three days. East ridge has water."

"East takes us too close to the trader roads," Thorin countered, his voice gaining an edge.

Apollo watched them, noting the unusual sharpness in Thorin’s tone, the rigid set of Renna’s shoulders. The argument felt different from their usual tactical disagreements, more visceral, somehow.

Renna stepped closer to Thorin, her eyes narrowed to slits. "You think I don’t know the terrain? I’ve crossed these hills a dozen times while you were still hiding in your forge."

Thorin’s face darkened. "And I suppose those crossings taught you everything? Like how to lose a hunting party in Varnwick?"

"That was different," Renna hissed, knuckles whitening around her spear.

"Different how? Because it wasn’t your neck on the line?"

Apollo glanced at his pack, where the relic lay wrapped in blue cloth. The weight shifted again, subtly, as if it were listening.

Nik and Yiv stood to the side, exchanging uncomfortable glances. Cale watched the argument with detached interest, fingers drumming against his thigh in a pattern that matched the distant rhythm of waves they could no longer hear.

"Enough." Lyra’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. "You sound like children fighting over the last sweet roll. We go north, then east once we’re past the scrublands. And if either of you wastes another breath on this, I’ll personally ensure you walk the rest of the way gagged."

Her words landed in perfect, awful silence. Thorin opened his mouth, then closed it. Renna looked away, jaw clenched. No one spoke for several heartbeats.

Apollo felt the weight in his pack settle, as if satisfied.

They continued walking, the group spread out in a loose formation. Apollo kept his eyes on the ground ahead, watching for loose stones and hidden depressions. The sun beat down from directly overhead, casting almost no shadows, a disorienting effect that made distances hard to judge.

By mid-afternoon, they’d stopped three times to check their bearings. Each time, despite their stated intentions to move inland, Apollo noticed they ended up angling back toward the coast. No one mentioned it. No one seemed to realize they were doing it.

When he paused at the crest of a small rise, looking back at their path, he could see the subtle curve in their route, a gradual arc bending inexorably toward the sea.

’It’s pulling us back,’ he thought, the realization cold in his stomach despite the heat. He glanced at the others, wondering if they felt it too, but their faces betrayed nothing beyond ordinary fatigue.

"We’re losing light," Cale announced as the sky began to deepen toward evening. "Need to find a place to camp."

They descended into a shallow dell between two rises, a natural depression that offered some protection from the wind.

The ground was sandy but firm, dotted with tough grasses and the occasional flowering weed. Apollo dropped his pack with a relief that was almost physical, feeling the separation between his body and the relic like the breaking of a tether.

As they set up camp, Cale paused in the middle of arranging stones for a fire. He tilted his head, frowning slightly.

"You hear that?" he asked.

Apollo listened. There was only the rustle of grass, the soft clink of Thorin’s cooking gear, the distant cry of a bird circling overhead.

"Hear what?" Nik asked, looking up from where he was unpacking his bedroll.

"Water," Cale said. "Running water. Like a stream."

Lyra straightened, scanning the dell. "There’s no stream here."

"I know that," Cale snapped, then seemed surprised by his own irritation. "Sorry. I just... I could have sworn I heard it."

Apollo inhaled deeply, testing the air. Beneath the dry scent of dust and wild sage, he caught something else, a faint but unmistakable brininess, like seawater carried on a distant breeze. He glanced at his pack, where the relic lay undisturbed.

They ate a simple meal as darkness fell, the conversation sparse and practical. Plans for tomorrow’s route, inventory of supplies, a brief debate about whether the strange birds they’d seen earlier were edible.

No one mentioned the sea, though it remained visible from their camp, a darker line against the deepening horizon.

Apollo volunteered for first watch. He sat with his back against a boulder, watching as the others settled into their bedrolls.

One by one, they drifted into sleep, Nik first, then Yiv, then Thorin with his usual snoring. Renna curled on her side, one hand still wrapped around the shaft of her spear. Cale lay on his back, arms crossed over his chest as if even in sleep he couldn’t quite let go of his vigilance.

Only Lyra remained awake for a time, her green eyes reflecting the dying embers of the fire. She studied Apollo across the camp, her expression unreadable. Finally, she too closed her eyes, her breathing slowing to the even rhythm of sleep.

Apollo waited until he was certain they were all unconscious before turning his attention to his pack. He didn’t touch it, didn’t even move closer. He simply watched the shape of it against the ground, the way the cloth bulged around the wrapped relic.

The night deepened. Stars wheeled overhead, cold and distant. Apollo felt the gold in his veins grow warmer as the hours passed, a slow heat that spread from his core to his fingertips. The relic seemed to respond, its presence in his awareness growing sharper, more defined.

He watched as his companions began to twitch in their sleep. Nik’s hands clenched and unclenched. Thorin muttered something unintelligible, his face contorting. Renna turned her head sharply, as if avoiding a blow. Even Cale, usually so still, shifted restlessly, his breath catching in his throat.

’They’re dreaming,’ Apollo thought. ’All of them. At once.’

As if in response to his observation, the pack moved. Not much, just a slight shift against the ground, as if the relic inside had adjusted its position. Apollo stared, heart hammering in his chest.

He wanted to reach for it, to check that the wrappings were secure, but something held him back, an instinct deeper than curiosity.

The night stretched on. Apollo found himself listening not to the sounds of the camp but to the spaces between them, the silence that seemed to pulse with its own rhythm, the absence that felt more substantial than presence.

Just before dawn, when the eastern sky had begun to lighten from black to deep blue, he heard it. A splash, distant but distinct, echoing from somewhere in the hills. A sound that had no business being there, so far from any body of water large enough to make it.

Apollo kept his eyes shut until morning, telling himself the sound had been in his head, even as the scent of salt clung to the air.