Description: Chapter 1STORIES OF THIS PLACE CANNOT KEEP THEIR SHAPERowan awakens at dawn.Cold, fresh wind, a wind from the north. He sits up, combing his hair with his fingers so the wind can rush through it. Rubs at his eyes. He''s filthy. A month ago he wouldn''t have let his hands get this dirty, let alone touch his face with them. They''ve been trekking for days through pine woods, along a barely-there trail, cliffs dropping off straight into the sea on their right-hand side.He''s packed into a small clearing, nestled tight as a sardine in a can. To his right the Whetung brothers snore gently. Yonah has a dirty bloody bandage around one arm, and Yishay is missing part of an ear: injuries sustained in the slaughter back at Kalmar.To his left is the old woman from the resistance meetings. She has proven surprisingly tough, and seems very attached to him. She doesn''t talk much, and he wonders sometimes if she is senile; every now and then he catches her staring at him, eyes gleaming like a sparrow''s. There''s Bob, just at the edge of the clearing; even in sleep his face is etched with worry.No sign of Sigrid. Ever since that stupid song he played last night she''s been mad at him. Maybe it''s just as well.And Ari? If it weren''t for Ari, none of them would be alive.Ah, there he is, ahead of the game as usual. Rowan spots him silhouetted between two trees, shading his eyes and looking out to sea. The water on the horizon is a clear blue that is almost white, lit by sun rising through the woods behind them. Closer to land, however, the ocean looks almost black. It, and everything here, lies in the shadow of the great mountain.They''ve been skirting its foot, working their way slowly around it to get to its southern slopes. Here, Ari says, the Render and his supporters are encamped.They escaped Kalmar under cover of night in a constellation of small, black, keel-less leather boats, landing in a small cove north of the city. They set the boats adrift, and began the long hard trek around the immense volcano. There are about two hundred of them, all ready and willing to join the resistance against Brandr. Eight of the company are children, none of them younger than ten or eleven. Younger children wouldn''t be able to keep up. Younger children are back in Kalmar, and no one here knows how the citizens there are faring, now. Many people here have left family behind: Sigrid and her younger brother have left their mother; the Whetungs have sisters, and Yonah''s girlfriend decided to stay behind. Some people, like Bob, have no one.Rowan remembers: sitting on the stone quay, probably in clinical shock he figures now, counting seals as their sleek heads disappeared beneath the water''s surface. Remembers hearing something hushing toward him across the harbour; soft splashing. Thinking it was the seals come back, or Brandr''s forces come to kill him, he didn''t care which. But it had been Ari, Yishay, and the old woman too, in one of the little boats."I thought you''d gone back to hell," was all Ari had said. He''d held out his hand and Rowan had climbed into the boat.Carefully now, so as to not disturb the others, Rowan rises and makes his way to Ari.Ever since Kalmar, Ari has taken the lead. That first night, he managed to convince the escapees huddled together in the rocky cove to follow him on this search for the Render, despite the fact that some of them - the Whetungs, for two - don''t feel certain that the Render is even alive. "Brandr would have had him assassinated years ago," Yonah asserted."He has tried," Ari said, nodding. "He has tried many times. And failed. I will take you to him now."Shock, disbelief, blooming hope: Rowan saw all these emotions on the other faces."Why has Brandr pretended to be him all this time?""To weaken the true Render''s power. To confuse the forces in the south. And it has worked, has it not?"Agreement."How many does he have with him?" This was Yishay."An army.""Are they all as good as you?"Some laughter."No," Ari says. He was not boasting, nor was he modest. "But they are fighters."It is Ari who manages to hunt and snare the most game, although there are others - the Whetungs among them, the old woman, and Sigrid, to Rowan''s surprise - who are able to hunt too. Ari who finds the berries and roots that they can eat, and teaches the city-born to catch trout in falling pools.The Render''s encampment is in constant motion, Ari says, but he seems certain he will be able to find it. When Rowan looks at Ari''s hardened face, his sinewy muscles, his skill with weapons, it makes sense that he would have been raised in something like the guerilla encampments of a Che Guevara. Rowan pictures a place like something from a cheesy martial arts movie. In the midst of this "cloud forest" - what is that, a place with very tall, green trees that touch the clouds? - there are obstacle courses made of swinging vines and bamboo fences. Clearings where warriors are instructed in sword and hand fighting. A sort of montage of training, resulting in an army of Aris. Of renegades."Looks like it might be a nice day."Ari keeps staring out to sea. "A storm is coming.""Ah." Ari is always right. " Shows what I know."At their feet the land drops off in a steep cliff. The terrain here is rough: the escapees have been climbing up and down along the coastline, following headlands and fjords. In places the trail has been so steep it is more like climbing a cliff than walking. Ari insisted that although this route adds miles, a more direct trek inland would end in an impenetrable tangle of forest. And of course they have to skirt the vast base of the volcano, which rumbles and threatens almost every day. "Why do you think the Render makes his place there?" Ari has said. "One can only approach it from the south, up a river that flows too precipitately to be navigated. Or from the east, through a single mountain pass. Or this way. The hard way."Rowan''s body aches with the hard way. He wonders how some of them - the old woman, some of the younger escapees - how they keep up. But they do. They all find reserves in themselves, day after day; hit a wall but keep going. Over and over again.The tide is out, and a strip of rocky beach stretches from the cliff to the lapping ocean waves. To their right is a great rocky cape they''ve spent the past few days walking around the edge of. From here, Ari says, they will be able to strike inland a little, skirting the great buttresses of the mountain and coming around to the south and east, to the cloud forest. The rock all along this coast is a deep reddish purple, mysterious as the heart of a garnet. It looks old, this rock, and tough, like the muscles of some old beast of the giants that laid down here to die and simply became the land.In this silence, Rowan asks the question that has been churning a hole inside of him."Ari, why didn''t you tell me the Render was from my world?"Ari shifts position, clears his throat. "The Render wanted to tell you himself. But the delay in getting you to him...""The Antilians all seems to know.""And they know what I am." Ari raises his arms. The tattoos that Rowan remembers from his whole life, that shifted and changed over the months and years, are still fixed in their sword shapes."You are... marked?"Ari nods."Marked for what?"Ari looks uncomfortable. "I have speculated. He has told me to stop speculating."This seems incredible. "You don''t know?""It is something to do with the heart and nature of this land. But stories of this place, Rowan, they cannot keep their shape, they do not stick..."At that moment all questions are driven from Rowan''s head. Out of the rising light on the beach below, a herd of wild horses suddenly emerges. "Look!"They gallop along the beach, forelegs flinging foam into the air, tails streaming. As they come level with Rowan and Ari, the sun rises just high enough to touch their tossing heads and manes with golden light. It takes Rowan''s breath away.In the midst of the horses, one of them, a white one, whinnies and rears up, hooves climbing the air.It has a horn in the middle of its forehead.Ari sees it at the same time and convulsively grips Rowan''s hand."A unicorn!" Tears push into Rowan''s eyes."What is it?""A unicorn."It is not just a white horse with a horn. The creature has feathery hair growing about its forelegs and hind legs too, and its mane and tail are very long and thick; its whiteness almost glows, opalescent, the shadow of a rainbow. It runs with the horses, light as feathers, as foam, as if it emerged from the froth and tease of the tide itself. The herd closes in around it, opens again; it surges ahead as if playing, then falls back, joining the horses again.They watch the herd until it gallops around a bend and out of sight."That is a mutation of some kind."Rowan breathes again. "That was... beautiful." Inadequate, inadequate word."You have seen one before?""No!" Rowan stops himself from saying of course not. "You have centaurs here, you''ve told me. Don''t you have unicorns?""I have never seen one before." Ari''s voice is full of wonder. "Or heard of one. What is it?""It''s a..." Rowan tries. "A mythical beast. It... it allows itself to be touched only by the pure of heart and body." For some reason it is making him think of Ophelia. Don''t, don''t do that. Nothing but trouble comes from thinking of Ophelia; trouble, in the form of unwelcome gushes of emotion. But if anyone could touch a unicorn, it would be her; that''s what he thinks."It is strange," Ari says.It''s the most hope Rowan has heard in his friend''s voice for a long time."Ari, what will we do when we reach the Render?"Ari sighs. "I believe we will attempt to defeat Brandr.""Defeat Brandr? But he has... how many men fight for him? He has the whole North country under his thumb.""And the south, too, is against the Render.""Why? Isn''t he fighting against their enemy?""Yes. But in the south they believe that Brandr is the Render. All that Brandr ha

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