Chapter 10
Their small company moved in single file: horses laden with supplies, the guards walking beside them, and the nobles in the lead. Rhyosyn rode slightly ahead, a parchment map unrolled against her saddle pommel, her eyes narrowed at the twisting ink lines.
She frowned, muttering to herself. “We’ll need more provisions before we reach the capital. If we turn west along the pass, there should be a village—”
Her eyes flicked up, catching movement at her side. Al had drawn closer, craning his neck to glance at the map.
Rhyosyn’s tone snapped sharp, as cold as the wind. “Boy, why do you regard my map? It’s not as if one such as you could comprehend it.”
Al raised an eyebrow, utterly unbothered. “Maps aren’t hard,” he said with a dry grin. “We even manage to train our first lieutenants to read ’em eventually. Yours can’t be that complicated.”
Evan, walking her horse a few paces behind, snorted hard enough to earn a glare from Rhyosyn. Idris bit her lip to hide a grin.
Rhyosyn’s jaw tightened. “You mock our charts?”
“Not at all,” Al said easily, resting a hand on the saddle horn of the packhorse beside him. “Just saying—lines are lines, roads are roads. Give me north, scale, and a compass, and I can find my way anywhere on Earth.”
“Earth,” Rhyosyn repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. “Is that your world?”
“Last I checked,” he said, smirking.
The redhead’s eyes narrowed again, but there was a flicker of curiosity beneath the irritation. “And you expect me to believe your soldiers—your men—can read maps fit for a quartermaster?”
“Not all of ’em,” Al said. “But enough. Marines don’t get lost. We just get temporarily misoriented.”
That earned a genuine laugh from Evan, who shook her head. “Sounds like something my sergeant used to say.”
Rhyosyn glared at her, but the edge had dulled. She looked back down at the parchment, then—perhaps despite herself—angled it slightly toward him. “If you’re so certain, Marine, tell me where we are.”
Al leaned in, scanning the curling inked lines and careful notations. “You’re here,” he said, tapping a finger along the ridge. “Head north another mile or two, and you’ll hit your pass. Wind’ll be rough there.”
Her eyes flicked up sharply. “How do you know that?”
He nodded toward the terrain ahead. “See how the trees thin out? And how the grass grows in waves along the ridge line? That’s windward exposure. Means a pass.”
Rhyosyn blinked, caught between disbelief and reluctant admiration.
“Like I said,” Al murmured, straightening up. “Maps ain’t hard.”
The guards exchanged a glance behind him, both smiling faintly. Rhyosyn said nothing more, but her ears were tinged faintly red beneath her hair.
The trail curved upward toward the ridgeline, sunlight glinting off their armor and the far peaks beyond.
And though the air was thin and cold, Al felt lighter than he had since the dungeon.
The climb to the pass took most of the morning. The air grew colder, sharper, carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. Their horses’ hooves struck sparks off the stones, and the wind rose as they reached the crest—a narrow shelf of rock overlooking a sweeping valley.
Al slowed and turned in the saddle, eyes narrowing as the view opened before him.
The valley stretched out broad and green between two long, parallel ridges. Mist pooled in the folds of the land like old breath, curling above a ribbon of river that snaked lazily through the center. In the far distance, sunlight glinted on what looked like distant farms—terraces of cultivated fields fading into the horizon.
It hit him all at once. The long spine of the ridgeline, the gentle river curve, the way the morning light burned away the mist. His chest tightened.
The Shenandoah.
He hadn’t thought of it in years—training weekends down in Virginia, long drives through the valley, radio static giving way to country songs about home and memory. But there was no mistaking it. That shape, that sweep of land—it was too specific, too familiar.
His throat felt dry.
“Something wrong?” Idris asked from behind him.
He didn’t answer right away. “Rhyosyn,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he intended. “Can I see that map again?”
The red-haired mage turned, startled by his tone. “Why?”
“Just humor me.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she handed it over all the same. “Fine. It’s not as if one such as you could comprehend it.”
Evan stifled a grin behind her hand; Idris outright snorted.
But Al wasn’t joking anymore. He smoothed the parchment against his thigh, eyes tracing the familiar coastlines, the winding river valleys, the mountain ridges.
His heart sank as the truth clicked into place.
There it was—the long valley between twin ranges, the looping river cutting down from the north. Faint names inked in curling hand marked towns that no one here should know: Winchester, Front Royal, Harper’s Ferry.
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The Shenandoah. Exactly where it should be.
He looked up at the valley again, then back down at the map, the two matching like puzzle pieces across centuries.
“This can’t be right,” he murmured.
Rhyosyn frowned. “What are you babbling about now?”
“This isn’t your map,” Al said, his voice tight with disbelief. “It’s mine. Or—” he hesitated, the words feeling too large, “—it’s from my world. The names, the rivers… everything. This valley down there—” he pointed past her shoulder “—it’s called the Shenandoah. And it shouldn’t exist here.”
The wind pressed cold against them, tugging at cloaks and hair. The valley below gleamed under the pale sun like an echo of another age.
Rhyosyn’s face had gone still, her green eyes reflecting something between wonder and unease. “Perhaps,” she said softly, “your ‘American magic’ has left more of a mark than we thought.”
Al folded the parchment carefully, his hands trembling just a little. “Or maybe,” he said, “this isn’t another world at all.”
The silence that followed stretched as far as the valley below.
Rhyosyn stared at him, eyes narrowing, the wind tugging strands of crimson hair across her face. “You speak nonsense, Marine. You claim to know this land though you have never set foot upon it.”
Al didn’t answer right away. He pointed instead toward the broad valley below. “See that ridge running straight down the middle? Long and narrow, like a spine. That’s Massanutten. It cuts the valley in half all the way south.”
The nobles followed his gesture. The ridge did look unnatural—too straight, too deliberate—as if the world itself had been split open and left to scar over.
Pryce frowned, suspicious but unable to deny what she saw. “You name it so easily. Yet you cannot know our geography.”
“I told you,” Al said quietly, “it’s my geography.” He turned slightly, pointing eastward. “And there—beyond that ridge, near the foothills—you’ll find a cavern. Big one. You’ll hear it before you see it. The air hums in there, like stone music. That’s how we knew we’d reached Luray.”
“Luray?” Rhyosyn repeated, frowning at the strange sound of the name.
“Yeah,” Al said, the wind tugging at his jacket. “We called it Luray Caverns. A place of echoes. You hit the stalactites, they sing back. Every note perfect. There’s nothing else like it.”
The nobles exchanged uncertain glances. The word cavern carried weight—dungeons, ruins, forbidden places.
Lady Pryce folded her arms. “Impossible. Those caves are sealed, and none but the crown’s surveyors knew their reach.”
Al smiled faintly. “Then it won’t take long to find out, will it?”
Pryce’s lips thinned. “You suggest we go chasing echoes on your word alone?”
“I’m not asking,” Al said simply. “You wanted proof. That’s where it is.”
Rhyosyn studied him for a long moment, her green eyes sharp and assessing. Then she turned in the saddle, calling to the others. “Mount up. We’ll see these caverns for ourselves.”
“What?” Pryce snapped. “You can’t be serious—”
“Serious enough,” Rhyosyn cut in. “If the Outlander lies, we’ll know. If he doesn’t…” Her gaze flicked toward Al, thoughtful now. “Then the Triumvirate will want to know how his world and ours share the same bones.”
The air between them went still. Even the horses seemed uneasy.
Al exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders as he met her stare. “All right then,” he said quietly. “I’ll lead the way.”
He turned his eyes down the valley again. From this height, the world below shimmered under morning light—green fields, winding rivers, the long ridge of Massanutten cutting the heart of the valley clean in two.
“East,” he said, half to himself. “Just east of that ridge.”
The wind carried his words down into the distance, toward the unseen hollow of stone and echo that waited for them.
Rhyosyn’s horse stamped and snorted. Pryce muttered under her breath, clearly displeased, while Catrin silently checked the edges of her blade.
They had seen enough of Al Tanim to know he wasn’t one for elaborate lies. And that made the truth all the more dangerous.