didn’t answer. In a while, Kan’s anger burnt out in that silence like a fire deprived of oxygen. That was for the best. By the end of the day, he felt empty and tired, he lost all his interest in fortune-telling and adventures but at least he managed to stay on good terms with Vlada.
Kangassk decided to call it a win and get an extra dose of science to lull himself to sleep that night. Encyclopedia of No Man’s Land was helpful as always. The ability of dry scientific texts to drive anxiety away was undeniable. The bookish world without mysteries, magic, and wonders seemed so safe, so predictable, so quiet. The horrors were no longer scary when given names. The journey didn’t seem that dangerous with all the tips and directions. Page by page, sentence by sentence, the old textbook did its job: it quenched fears, silenced doubts, and made its reader sleepy along the way.
“White Region (W.R.) anomaly is a result of a failed magic stabilization experiment that used dozens of little stabilizing Horas placed close to Hora Tenebris. The first experimental stabilizer was placed in what is now the centre of the W.R. Its sudden explosion created the anomaly – “white gloom” – that exists in the W.R. to this day. Possible explanations for the experiment’s failure: insufficient size of the Hora, lack of the antipode, placement in close proximity to the magic source.
An hour after the catastrophe the W.R. had been covered by a substance of undefined nature that could be registered neither by magical nor by physical instruments. To human eye that substance looked like a dense fog covering the land. The explorers who entered the fog reported a peculiar vision disturbance: the gradual disappearance of colours and contours of objects. The disturbance intensified as they moved toward the centre of the Region. The effect of one colour – white – swallowing everything resembled a reverted darkness, hence the name of the phenomena. Upon leaving the white gloom area the explorers’ vision returned to normal.
“White gloom” effect makes the detailed exploration of the W.R.’s central area impossible. Only the periphery of the Region is mapped.
The only animal species living there is sylpha (Silphys vulgaris), the sole representative of the True elves (Elvenidae) family. Sylphas are small creatures about the size of a sparrow. They belong to the class of air spirits (Airae), feed on the fruit of southern juicer (Pirum mali) and the seeds of witch's pseudofruit (Pseudospermum veneficae), the northern relict. Sylphas are capable of stabilizing wild magic and using it for hunting and self-defence (see "Omnis Fauna", book 2 "Fauna of No Man's Land", page 334, published by North-South company)."
The last line of the resume did the trick. The heavy book fell out of Kan's hand as he went to sleep as fast and sweet as a baby.
…Kangassk looked at the sleeping city, golden in the morning sunlight. The unnamed hope faded under his heart and let the more mundane feelings take over. Whatever he had hoped for, it did not happen. Soon, Tammar disappeared from view as they entered the forest. The road, wide and well-trodden, snaked at the feet of the ancient pine trees.
"This town's name is Tammar. It's the biggest town in the Calid Region," Kan told himself, hammering the info into his memory. "I shall not miss it on my way back."
He didn't even wonder whether he would return. He knew he would.
They didn't have to enjoy the road for too long because no roads led to where Vlada wanted to go. Soon, they had to make a turn, leave the well-trodden path and enter the woods.
Separated from the pines with a bushy undergrowth, there lay an old oak forest as beautiful and spacious as a fairy-tale temple. The oaks grew freely, each a thick column with a gorgeous crown of boughs making sunlight fall down in slanted rays. The forest floor was soft with young grass and bright yellow flowers. Beyond doubt, chargas enjoyed their every step. The thick grassy carpet must have been a great change after all the dusty road littered with sharp little stones.
They didn’t hurry. Vlada had accounted for everything. They had to make their last camp by the very border of the White Region because camping beyond that point was not possible.
As the day drew on, Kangassk started to notice the first signs of the vision disturbance: a white leaf here, a white patch of grass there. The further Vlada and he went into the forest, the more uncanny white spots they saw and the bigger these spots became.
“It reminds me of snow,” said Vlada with a careless smile. She even stopped her charga to take a better look at the ancient oak crowned with white gloom. “An oak silvered by snow! Very poetic.” She turned her face to Kan. “Alas, things are going to get real ugly, real soon… Let’s camp here. And since we have some extra time on our hands, how about a little swordplay? I promised to teach you, remember?”
The lesson was long… It reminded Kangassk of his training with an old Wanderer who had stopped in Aren-Castell once and spared some time for a certain boy-freak too persistent to ignore, too useless to take as an apprentice…
Vlada was way more gentle with Kangassk than that Wanderer, old Osaro, had been. She still smacked him with her wooden sword whenever he failed to dodge or parry but did her best not to hurt him too much. Kan wasn’t even sore by the end of the lesson yet that experience was enough to prove once again that him surviving back then, in the fight with the caravan raiders, was pure luck. Every gentle nudge, every careful smack of Vlada’s wooden sword would have been fatal if they fought for real and he missed dozens of them.
Later, when they were washing the dust and sweat off their faces by the icy cold stream, Kangassk tried to crack a joke.
“I feel like a little green tomato now,” he said. “Someone tuck me into a felt boot and put me out of sight until I cease being a greenie!”
To his surprise, Vlada laughed, giving him that wonderful silver laughter again, the one he had always enjoyed so much.
“Do tomatoes grow in Kuldagan?” she asked.
“Suuuure,” Kan drawled, nostalgic. “With so much sun, everything can grow there if you just shelter it properly and give it enough water. Once I didn’t and the sun fried my tomatoes. Then I became so protective of my little indoor garden that my tomatoes often turned out green. Evergreen. That’s where an old felt boot came handy…”
They kept sharing silly memories and making jokes all the way back to the camp, all bitterness between them erased, everything made well once again. The chargas who had been guarding the camp in their absence went hunting as soon as they had returned, leaving the humans alone with the cold cauldron and unlit bonfire. Kangassk waved his dragonlighter above the dry firewood and kindled a fire without accidents this time. Having been warmed up by swordplay, chilled by the icy cold water, then warmed up again by the fire felt amazing.
The darkness of the young evening thickened around the little camp with a fiery heart where wayfarer soup quietly bubbled in the cauldron and two tired but happy people enjoyed their rest. Kangassk stretched on his woollen cloak beside the fire and asked Vlada to “entertain the tired warrior with a story”. He made his voice sound so overly hoarse and solemn to imitate a classic fairy tale hero that it earned him another moment of Vlada's laughter.
"Oh which story does your noble heart desire, my lord?" she played along.
"Tell me the tale of the White Region, my lady," he replied with all proper dignity.
"There is no tale, only dull scientific reports." Vlada shrugged. Her voice was her own, casual again. Obviously, their make-believe game was over. "You read the summary of them yourself, as I recall. Do you have questions?"
"Yes. You said no one goes there? Really? No one at all?"
"Nowadays, no one at all. Many explorers lost their lives there. The Region was marked as impassable and then almost forgotten. There is nothing valuable in the white gloom. Why risk your life for nothing?"
"Why didn't the explorers return? What killed them?"
"Most likely, falling from a great height did. White Region is as full of holes as ripe cheese. Nobody knows where the holes end or whether they end at all. The further you go the thicker the white