The third day of travel went smoother than the second, without sign of threats other than the ever-present blistering glare of Azrom. Deros — despite the extra sleep — was well-exhausted from the beginning, and others noticed right away. Thalamon ordered minimal use of his farsense and makar, while Palamera fussed over him about it and insisted he eat and drink extra, handing him a pouch of salted nuts and dried berries, telling him to return it empty to her by the end of the daylight. She made sure to frame it as an order, for his health under her authority as a Hospitaller. When he asked if she saw so closely to the health of the rest of the party, she just rolled her eyes and rode off. He regretted it almost immediately, though. Perhaps matters had just made him grumpy.
The terrain was much the same as the prior day, if less peppered with vegetation and wildlife. The ups and downs of the hills became less steep and plentiful. Dunes were occasional and sometimes there were recognizable rocky formations. A bit past midday, he made out the Great Fang in the distance to the north, a formation of weathered sandstone that was a known landmark, though it was the first time he’d ever seen it. Supposedly a great battle was fought around it, but he didn’t recall the details.
Aerion at one point dropped back to gossip a bit with him, claiming to have vaguely overheard an argument between the Hospitallers in their tent the night before, and Deros’s name was thrown in right around the time Palamera stormed out, looking quite annoyed. Deros endured Aerion’s ‘scintillating’ theories without comment and soon begged off to scout far to the rear. Ultimately, the less he knew the better, there. The last thing he wanted was to make Palamera suspect he had eavesdropped. That was a common concern around those with his ability. He could only imagine how Aerion would abuse it if he had the talent.
After they made camp once more, even Eursett got in on his ‘health’ issue — much to his surprise — brewing up some herbal concoction as a tea for him to sip after dinner, ‘to help his energy in the morning’. He was expecting some foul taste, but it was quite pleasant, almost sweet, though he was certain there was no sweetcane extract used. Other than that, he had no idea what plant or herb could taste sweet. Regardless, it was relaxing. He slept well and deeply, even with a watch in between.
As they took on the fourth day, he felt much more rested and energized. They continued over a less and less hilly landscape with more frequent flattened spaces and general barrenness, with dunes also common. They passed the Three Sentinels: gnarled old dark-barked trees of great rarity, their spiny leaves just beginning to grow, rising high above the grazing ability of froul, though they didn’t frequently come so far south. Scattered in the sand around them were bits of charred remnants, where ancient pyres had been burned before the sacred icons of life. Long ago, people had settled into the area — some sort of semi-permanent tent dwellers — back when water more reliably filled the immediate northern dip known as Stone Lake. There would be water there for a good while due to the rains, but it was an unnecessary detour they were clearly skipping.
Most just veered slightly around the trees, though he spied Ryza go between and under them, reaching a hand out to touch each briefly. Whether she muttered some prayer or another, he didn’t know. If others had touched the trees as well, he hadn’t seen, from his trailing vantage. For his part, Deros merely passed close, to admire them. They were beautiful — curled dark wood curling right out of the sand with nothing else in sight, trunks like some shriveled old artifacts refusing to be lost to time. They were determination of spirit given form. In the vast network of upper branches, just budding with tiny green darts, he chanced to make out a small bird nest, well hidden in the tangle. If it held eggs, he’d likely never know, but for some reason, he believed it did.
A little further on from that, they took a wide berth around a lowland of sand peppered and veined with dark blue, a growth known as sandbloom that one could smell in the air even at a distance, much like the smell of pondscum and stagnant water, but stronger. It was a common hazard in areas of drainage, as nearly all Hamaleen would have some reaction to it. Even with it just within eyesight and downwind, Olarius, Urchon, Aerion, and Daexo were sneezing and running of the nose from it. Aerion’s reaction was just due to scent sensitivity, but Daexo was unusual as Blessed to be so allergic. The others had no strong reaction, though most would if they tried to trample through it. It would coat and stick to everything visibly. As it was, the wind sometimes visibly carried thin clouds into the air.
They made camp in the twilight by a singular, nameless great block of sandstone perhaps three stories high. Thalamon and Bariaki demonstrated its climbability by going up for a look first thing, though it wasn’t traversable by aloga.
Around a small fire, they ate a meal of flatbread and gravy with dumplings and roots, free of any meat. As soon as the pot was off of the fire, a large kettle was placed on it by some cooperative effort of Eursett and Daexo. The latter poured hot tea for everyone, a vaguely sweet drink that was also strong of mint, with what seemed a dash of cider.
As they all sipped quietly, Urchon suddenly ventured, “Would anyone care to hear of Elserel and the fall of the Guideway? I learned to speak and perform a few poems from a lovely man and a bard of the south, years ago. This is my favorite. I just read it again, last night in my tent. It’s relatively short, called a zoepinnia in their arts, that are mixed in with a variety of other performances.”
Enthusiastic support erupted from the gathered, with the most coming — by far — from Aerion, who cheered and whistled. Thalamon nodded his assent for the matter, if not quite enthusiastic about the departure from quietude.
Grinning as she met Aerion’s eyes, Urchon made a sign with her hands, to beg their restraint. “Easy, easy! Don’t get excited until I actually pull it off. It’s been a while. I know I cannot do it to the justice of the one I learned it from, but I can do my best, hmm?”
Palamera asked, “What is the Guideway? I know Elserel was a goddess of Alnaseria…”
Urchon quirked her brows conspiratorially at Palamera as she rose and took out a large pouch from her coat. “That will I answer in rhythm, dear lady…”
She pulled a strange-looking orange object out of the pouch, like a ring the size of a large man’s spread hand, but two portions fattened out into ovals, with holes pockmarking both. Closing her eyes, she put her lips to one of the thinner parts, her fingers wrapping over the thicker and covering the holes. It was clearly something like a flute. Firelight danced across her poised face in the silence of the sandy plains stretching all directions, with the stars — especially of Keramus — shining above.
She began to play, resounding a peaceful, serene tune in whistles of notes more to a pipe than a flute. But it had a similar quality to the greatcane specialty of the north, as one portion of it could resonate an undertone. The gentle notes reminded Deros of home, which even just days out from he found he missed, in some hypocrisy of his will, like his brain and body were in rebellion to where its mind had forced it, into bizarre and foreign, barren lands. It worked perfectly though, as a mix of wonder, alienation, and comfort, to take him away to the distant time of Urchon’s story.
A final thin note faded, and Urchon lowered her instrument to speak in a rolling rhythm, her cadence that of one mystified, her hand sweeping and gesturing as she acted out her narration:
“Atop the spires, walls of glittering white,
gazed out one vested in robes likewise;
The spoils of royalty, glory, majesty,
draped and covered her, hair to foot.
Rising forever, the borders kissed sky,
above all the world and the lake at its shore;
While waiting and weeping, the brood of its maker,
scried from a window, its fate playing out.”
All the gathered stared spellbound as she rounded the fire slowly, met their eyes, and spoke vehemently of the mythical past, voice growing more and more aggrandizing.
“Ages before but just youth to her living,
she'd walk that bridge of rock, soil, and green;
Thinking, 'What fool, war-like brigand or rival,
dared lay waste to such beauty and peace?'
The gold trees of the Founder, her mother-of-grand,
rowed the stretch from those walls to dry land;
From that window was an arrow, out piercing the lake,
rolled-out carpet — gold-lined — for the Mastery of Man.
And even it brought her great galloping wonder,
as she gathered bright flowers of spring's sweet bloom;
Down that stretch rode the princes of southerly splendor,
atop four-horns and dressed in bronze — jewels of honor.
So Serasam and Elserel met to eyes,
kindling a fire of love to burn bright;
In the shadow of branches, gold-feathered and ancient,
all love from before and come after was made.”
As she spoke of love, a smile came to her lips, and joy crossed her features, but all too briefly, as deliberately she posed and let it fade slowly even after the words ended, looking out to the dark sky and then down, down… gazing to the fire and the ground, her features cast in the shadows and her eyes becoming hidden, brow drawing down in grief and melancholy.
The instrument came once more to her lips, and she made a striking, sad dirge, saturating their anticipation with a sense of loss. Regret. Doom on the horizon. And her eyes did not rise.
Finally, she lowered the whistling ring, and her eyes came up part-way, brows stitched together in an expression of grave recollection. She continued, dark and ruthless in tone:
“And so out before her was her every sorrow,
joys of the Guideway burnt out one-by-one;
Her children fell to the heathens of envy,
who ravaged the path with their endless hands.
The trees were all burning, the leaves turned to ashes,
old gates all but one had been taken, bloodied;
The shame of their prowess, crushed like berries,
flowed to the waters — staining — aside.
At the last gate, a last stand of blood made a ferry,
across thinner liquids than legacy's pride;
The lake and the city, that hour, stood defended,
led by Serasam's hate-filled wrath.
Blades, like a storm, did flow all around him,
cut waves of the horde like thread-bare chaff;
But an arrow of cowards finally found purchase,
through the neck of a champion, ne'er met equal.
As the last dread arrow did fell her husband,
Elserel screamed in terror and agony — woe;
Out cast her hands as her tears dropped asunder,
and all of the heavens and lands did quake.
Sparks of power were alighted in dark recesses,
unknown and awoken for the madness to bear;
Bear she could not so all else paid the bounty,
of greed, of blood spilt, of the ruins of joy.”
By the end, she was gesturing in anger, lecturing, the final words with a clenched fist. But she released it and stared at them all as if they might be responsible. But there was only subdued anger or sadness in answer — Daexo was grimacing on the edge of his seat, about ready to rise and take up spear then and there, while Aerion had his eyes closed, shaking his head, a few tears down his cheek. Palamera looked stricken by the story, eyes watering, but her eyes never left Urchon.
With that, Urchon went back to the instrument, piping out an excited, energy-filled tune meant to supplement the talk of battle and destruction. Everyone more so endured it, imaginations stewing. Deros mostly felt sad, but obeyed the performance, absorbing it as it was and remaining patient for the final act.
Urchon began it very abruptly, as if continuing a note, while she stalked around the fire, calling the story out in violent, wild tones and movement.
“So the waters arose and the land was ashaken,
as the air vibrated with tremulous might;
The froul screamed fear and the vandals right with them,
and all to the keening of Elserel's anguish.
To the dirt did they pitch, bleating and moaning,
ears and eyes bleeding deaf and blind;
But nary was spared what was crushed in her sight,
as the land — yes itself — bore the penalty's price.
In the dusk was made dust all the foes of the morning,
as rock and water was tossed, swept, and broken;
Cracked and splintered and crushed and buried,
all was well swallowed deep by the lake.
Founder’s great bridge was drowned for grief's sake,
And further so no other invader could try;
Felling the towers across trampled flowers,
so the strip of her memory was stripped from memory.”
Gradually, her cadence calmed, as her audience had to struggle with the ambiguity of the victory. Urchon paused at the end, putting a finger to lips in a thoughtful expression, before continuing in an even — if still dark — voice.
“So too did she perish, felled from the sky,
dead before landing from the dirge in her mind;
From the fear and the grief and the anger and the power,
her life was sewn into the end of an age.
All power diluted, the gods lost their luster,
Almost forgotten, old blood faded out;
But Elserel made a refuge, a recluse, a haven,
that saw her grandmother not building in vain.
So the city was protected by the walls and the water,
from the masses what seek it to plunder and ruin;
From the banks do they envy and wonder at the glitter,
of that last dodging bastion for wisdom and lore.
But let it be known, she who sheltered the towers,
whose body rolled down to the cliffs of the shore;
That there did she spare two trees leaved agolden,
which, as a sign still stand, to love not forgotten.”
She left a long pause, wearing a small, sad smile. There were some exclamations around the fire at the final point. Palamera sobbed and wept, with Aerion still tearing up blatantly. Daexo just stared silently at the fire, even his eyes being perhaps a bit wet. Ryza was still watching Urchon enraptured, serious and her eyes squinted almost in a frown as if working out a puzzle. Deros himself wiped tears from his eyes at the idea of the two trees still standing, like eternal representations of the two lovers. The trees, at least, were known to be reality and apparently like none other in the world, never spawning saplings but also never dying. The twin trees, along with the glittering walls of the city, were stamped on the coins of Alnaseria, and also were a common feature and motif in art from the region.
Before anyone could begin clapping or the like, Urchon took to her music again, returning to notes much like the beginning, that of peace and tranquility, though whether it was imagination or intent that made it altogether sadder, Deros couldn’t say.
Finally, she finished and bowed, while everyone summoned up a clamor of clapping and cheer for her performance, the less melancholy like Thalamon and Olarius leading the others. Daexo clapped the loudest, even getting everyone else to stand for it. Urchon took it in stride as she made her way back to her seat, looking exhausted and sweating, even in the cool air. She consoled Aerion with an arm around his shoulder, looking rather pleased in particular with his reaction. Despite Aerion’s appearance to not take anything seriously, Deros wasn’t at all surprised. His friend was quite passionate when it came to story and song, his humor at least something of a veneer that got shredded by it.
Deros saw Palamera still affected, and so he went over to do much as Urchon had, putting his arm around her along with his fur cloak for the excuse of warmth. She very gladly leaned into his chest with a sigh, all but buried under the cloak around her.
“Is it true?” She queried him, in a whisper. “The story? Elserel and the Guideway?”
At first, Deros just made a noncommittal noise, pondering, eyes on the smoldering fire. Finally, he whispered back, “We’ll never know, love. Some part, at least. The bridge of land certainly isn’t there, and apparently, there are indications it once was.”
“If it is true, it’s part of why we are here,” Eursett intoned loudly, causing Palamera to jump, then shift as though agitated. Staring right at them, Eursett continued, “That inaccessible island city was a bastion, indeed. From it, all the knowledge of the gods sprang out from darker times, including the Medicine Oratarsa, Healer’s Principles of Surgery — all true practice of the old sciences. The Observatories, the Hospitals, all of it. Coming forth, to tame a savage land and reclaim civilization, in a great diaspora. A peaceful one.”
“Down there,” Ryza said softly, “everyone claims ancestry from her. And from Founder. The blood of the gods, they say. Righteously. But not all are right, in deeds. Heads rolled, to make it all. To tame. Trust you that, and heed the voices from afar on the higher winds. They could not put it to paper, nor lie.”
“Have you seen it, Ryza?” Palamera asked. “Have you been to the Shining City On the Lake?”
But Ryza did not answer, or even react at all, as she always hadn’t about her time before Miracle Springs, with little exception. Lying on a blanket with her head resting on the leg of her husband, she just watched the horizon.
Soon Thalamon had turned the hourglass, and they all rose to — most of them sleepily — finish the tasks remaining before bed. Deros had to fend with pouting to rise from his spot, which he relented to quietly for another fraction of the hour before insisting to rise again — and once again she clung on as if he’d have to drag her along, grunting like the warning of an animal — if playfully — that he had no business deigning to depart. Without thinking he planted a swift kiss on her lips, which stunned her enough for him to slip free, but ultimately embarrassed them both as Eursett still sat right there, nearby. Though he really shouldn’t have to feel it, though it really was stupid and silly, there they were, acting as if they were ten calendars younger, caught the fool under watchful parental eyes.
Aggravated, his jaw clenched down at nothing and he met no one’s eye. Instead of voicing rashly about what vexed him, though, he stalked off and let it go. He was tired and needed rest, and not at all did he need his blood pumping or guilt from some outburst. He skipped most things and turned in well before the hourglass would be spent. After only a bit of tossing and turning, exhaustion carried him into a deep rest.
Daexo woke him for his watch, the one right before the last of the night. After splashing his face with a bit of water, Deros grabbed the hourglass and took it with him up the rise of sandstone. It was not much of a climb, with just one small section not being a traversable slope. He left the aloga tied to a rope already wrapped around a rock and climbed up, exploring the top under lamplight and with a slight improvement to his vision through makar’osa, which gave him almost the eyesight of the day. It woke him up enough that he somewhat wondered if he’d be able to sleep the remaining hour that would be left after his watch was done.
He settled down to sit on a blanket at the edge of the cliff, cloak wrapped around him against the cold wind, as he gazed out on a vast, open horizon, for the most part rather flat, with some mild curves. Keramus was half fallen behind the plain, and no moons were out.
He was surprised to hear movement down the way he’d initially come up — when he directed his senses strongly to it, he quickly identified it as a person. Soon thereafter, from the amplification of an exhale, he concluded it to be Palamera. That he hadn’t seen her moving below meant she’d left her tent while he was doing his circuit around the cliff.
Deros didn’t otherwise react as she crested over the top and stepped across the rock toward him, trying oh-so-hard to be stealthy. When she was closer, he called softly, “I know you’re there, night thief,” with some amusement, then turned to her with a grin.
She sagged a bit, letting out a breath she’d been holding, clearly disappointed in not succeeding in her impossible task of sneaking up on him. She was certainly dressed for the cold, with a robe and cloak bundling her, even an entire thick blanket thrown over, also including a thick woolen hat over her head and ears.
“Drat! I thought I was doing well,” she exclaimed as she closed the distance between them. She soon settled down next to him. “How long did you know?”
“Before you came over the edge, Beautiful. Could I call myself much of a sentry, otherwise? You should’ve tried Daexo if you wanted to test such prowess. I’m the advanced course, I’m pretty sure.”
“I think you mean Gorgeous,” she teased in mock admonishment, as she wrapped her blanket entirely around her. “And I’d agree you’re quite a course.”
He chuckled at that, her meaning ambiguous, or perhaps dual. “Did Daexo wake you, bumbling about? He certainly did Bariaki.”
She shook her head, eyeing him a moment, then gazing out on the starlight glow of Keramus, face peeking out from a mass of fabric. “Fretful sleep. I’ve been awake.”
A pause stretched, with her seeming withdrawn or trepidatious, so Deros pressed, “Nightmares, worries? Dealing with Eursett?”
Palamera made something of a face and maybe a shrug, a blend of uncertainty in her manner. Her eyes flitted all around before finally, she took a deep breath, and with her lips pressed together met his eyes. “Honestly… I couldn’t stop thinking about being with you. And I… I don’t mean just…” She trailed off, shook her head slightly, and held his gaze, with a feeling like she was making herself not look away.
Her meaning was as plain as the hidden day. Deros swallowed, ambushed by the sudden admittance, and feeling a fluttering in his gut. He tried to say something, without just blurting anything, but the consideration was a clock that was suddenly ticking too fast, her eyes the winding.
No, damn it! It’s simple. Honesty, raw, returned. This isn’t hard.
He took a breath, eyes dropping from hers, but only briefly. “I know the feeling. In general — I’ve been exhausted enough for such frustrations to fail twisting me sleepless. But I’d rather you in my tent. And mine. Always.”
Nodding slowly, she reached a hand out to take his, fingers interlacing. “We could. Put up a spare tent. Or… bring more blankets up here…”
Deros found himself tempering his own attraction to the idea, though the reasons were a suddenly risen tangle in his mind. “N-now? I’d- that would be a dereliction of duty! I’m a sentry.”
“After. Or another time.” She watched him with eyes slightly narrowed in consideration. “Do you truly want what you said, Deros?”
The tangle in his mind became a knot, but he turned more fully toward her and took her hand in both of his. “Of course,” he said into her eyes, with certainty. “But we’ve been resisting that want for how long, thanks to the machinations of others? And… agreed to wait the remainder.”
“I am tired of waiting, I am tired of those machinations and I just want you. I want to be free to sigh in your arms without some stupid fear of offending others.”
“Eursett, you mean.”
“Eursett can go jump down a pit!”
Trying not to laugh, Deros grunted doubtfully at her outburst. He looked down to her hand and ran his thumb over her fingers. Overall, her hands were soft, but the harder work of the recent days had caused some blistering in the palm.
“I know you feel the same,” Palamera continued more softly. “I saw it clearly, earlier.”
“As I said… wants and feelings rage. But I think to after. Think after, Palamera, to the consequences following. More tension with the one, and dealing with these surly attitudes from the rest. But beyond that, when we return, and word spreads like fire on oil? Nonsense from our families.”
“I have. Thought and thought and to the other? Listened. You think I’ve been deaf the whole time? It was a shock, all the Azakan brazenness and sexuality. At first. Well, it still is, but… I can’t dislike it. They celebrate sex openly! They’d clap us on the back, wouldn’t they? They’d cheer. Healer and Founder, they would. And I am not sure I’ll feel heat on my face again after Ryza talked with me about the subject. She had a-advice, and it was fairly enlightening.” At that, she cleared her throat and glanced away.
Damn it, Ryza. Damn it, all you bastards. Not even a five-day, and they’d corrupted her thinking. Whatever Ryza had put in her head was probably exactly what was turning in it to keep her awake. It gave him mixed feelings, as Palamera identifying with such an influential aspect of his own identity was probably an ultimate blessing. Not all Hospitallers did — in fact, most were fanatical to every principle of their creed, written and otherwise.
It was enough that Deros found the will of his arguments eroding rapidly. She’d already been considering it carefully. The whole matter was not going to be a bad thing in the slightest. He felt a rising excitement. Deros and Palamera, the adventurous lovers…
“So be it,” he breathed, then kissed the top of her hand. “We will be together. I don’t know about tonight. We’ll have to… arrange for… privacy…”
Palamera leaned over to kiss him — once, twice, and a third time in a lingering lock and embrace, their eyes closed as both savored the intimacy in the night’s quiet solitude.
When their lips parted, Palamera kept her covered forehead on his. With eyes tilted down and a sudden small smile, she said, “There is a renowned inn at Many Sands. It’s my understanding we are almost guaranteed to rest and recuperate there for at least a night. One room is reserved for dignitaries. Urchon will surely allow us the honor in her place if you would care for privacy.”
Even just the tone of her voice was a cue to Deros. He dipped his head down, and down until she was more or less forced to meet his eyes. He made sure they were squinted in accusation. Facing a guilty smile upon contact, Deros said, “You little scamp, you had that planned out! Was all this talk of tent-love to tease? Or to test?”
She gave him a little push of admonishment, eyes widened, but a curl of her mouth betrayed playfulness. “Quiet with that! Tent-love. What a horrible combination of words. And of course I had to hear your thoughts about it. As for sharing a tent… I thought we could do a lot of that on the way back.”
Deros chortled indulgently at that. Caught suddenly in the spirit of daring, he teased, “I really should just take you right now.”
“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows at him challengingly, teasing right back. “Will you now, Sentry Master? And keep an eye out? I’m no expert, but I think it requires your undivided attention.”
Grunting in his throat, he did look out to the landscape, before also forming makar’osa to enhance his hearing. Nothing, as ever. “Yes, I should get up from this warm mutual spot, do a circuit or two around…”
Palamera made quite an adversarial sound to this and adjusted quickly to drop her head to his chest, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “You. Are not going anywhere! Understood, warm body?”
He made a very exaggerated, long-suffering sigh as he wrapped his arm and cloak around her, ensuring as much depth of warmth as he could muster for her. She ultimately curled up to lay her head and torso in his lap, and, after a time, fell asleep. Deros rationalized his vantage to be just perfect anyway for his duties, with a view of the camp and the horizon in every direction.
So Deros let the sand of the hourglass fall, dreaming awake about the inn, and the one lying in his lap then wearing nothing but her tattoos on a soft bed, where they’d conclude all the pressures built up against their joining. It was hardly much more waiting compared to what they’d faced already, but it was suddenly agonizing for the anticipation. He certainly had something to look forward to — assuming the trip otherwise remained as mundane as the mission hoped. Ironic, that suddenly he was indeed hoping entirely the same.
The third day of travel went smoother than the second, without sign of threats other than the ever-present blistering glare of Azrom. Deros — despite the extra sleep — was well-exhausted from the beginning, and others noticed right away. Thalamon ordered minimal use of his farsense and makar, while Palamera fussed over him about it and insisted he eat and drink extra, handing him a pouch of salted nuts and dried berries, telling him to return it empty to her by the end of the daylight. She made sure to frame it as an order, for his health under her authority as a Hospitaller. When he asked if she saw so closely to the health of the rest of the party, she just rolled her eyes and rode off. He regretted it almost immediately, though. Perhaps matters had just made him grumpy.
The terrain was much the same as the prior day, if less peppered with vegetation and wildlife. The ups and downs of the hills became less steep and plentiful. Dunes were occasional and sometimes there were recognizable rocky formations. A bit past midday, he made out the Great Fang in the distance to the north, a formation of weathered sandstone that was a known landmark, though it was the first time he’d ever seen it. Supposedly a great battle was fought around it, but he didn’t recall the details.
Aerion at one point dropped back to gossip a bit with him, claiming to have vaguely overheard an argument between the Hospitallers in their tent the night before, and Deros’s name was thrown in right around the time Palamera stormed out, looking quite annoyed. Deros endured Aerion’s ‘scintillating’ theories without comment and soon begged off to scout far to the rear. Ultimately, the less he knew the better, there. The last thing he wanted was to make Palamera suspect he had eavesdropped. That was a common concern around those with his ability. He could only imagine how Aerion would abuse it if he had the talent.
After they made camp once more, even Eursett got in on his ‘health’ issue — much to his surprise — brewing up some herbal concoction as a tea for him to sip after dinner, ‘to help his energy in the morning’. He was expecting some foul taste, but it was quite pleasant, almost sweet, though he was certain there was no sweetcane extract used. Other than that, he had no idea what plant or herb could taste sweet. Regardless, it was relaxing. He slept well and deeply, even with a watch in between.
As they took on the fourth day, he felt much more rested and energized. They continued over a less and less hilly landscape with more frequent flattened spaces and general barrenness, with dunes also common. They passed the Three Sentinels: gnarled old dark-barked trees of great rarity, their spiny leaves just beginning to grow, rising high above the grazing ability of froul, though they didn’t frequently come so far south. Scattered in the sand around them were bits of charred remnants, where ancient pyres had been burned before the sacred icons of life. Long ago, people had settled into the area — some sort of semi-permanent tent dwellers — back when water more reliably filled the immediate northern dip known as Stone Lake. There would be water there for a good while due to the rains, but it was an unnecessary detour they were clearly skipping.
Most just veered slightly around the trees, though he spied Ryza go between and under them, reaching a hand out to touch each briefly. Whether she muttered some prayer or another, he didn’t know. If others had touched the trees as well, he hadn’t seen, from his trailing vantage. For his part, Deros merely passed close, to admire them. They were beautiful — curled dark wood curling right out of the sand with nothing else in sight, trunks like some shriveled old artifacts refusing to be lost to time. They were determination of spirit given form. In the vast network of upper branches, just budding with tiny green darts, he chanced to make out a small bird nest, well hidden in the tangle. If it held eggs, he’d likely never know, but for some reason, he believed it did.
A little further on from that, they took a wide berth around a lowland of sand peppered and veined with dark blue, a growth known as sandbloom that one could smell in the air even at a distance, much like the smell of pondscum and stagnant water, but stronger. It was a common hazard in areas of drainage, as nearly all Hamaleen would have some reaction to it. Even with it just within eyesight and downwind, Olarius, Urchon, Aerion, and Daexo were sneezing and running of the nose from it. Aerion’s reaction was just due to scent sensitivity, but Daexo was unusual as Blessed to be so allergic. The others had no strong reaction, though most would if they tried to trample through it. It would coat and stick to everything visibly. As it was, the wind sometimes visibly carried thin clouds into the air.
They made camp in the twilight by a singular, nameless great block of sandstone perhaps three stories high. Thalamon and Bariaki demonstrated its climbability by going up for a look first thing, though it wasn’t traversable by aloga.
Around a small fire, they ate a meal of flatbread and gravy with dumplings and roots, free of any meat. As soon as the pot was off of the fire, a large kettle was placed on it by some cooperative effort of Eursett and Daexo. The latter poured hot tea for everyone, a vaguely sweet drink that was also strong of mint, with what seemed a dash of cider.
As they all sipped quietly, Urchon suddenly ventured, “Would anyone care to hear of Elserel and the fall of the Guideway? I learned to speak and perform a few poems from a lovely man and a bard of the south, years ago. This is my favorite. I just read it again, last night in my tent. It’s relatively short, called a zoepinnia in their arts, that are mixed in with a variety of other performances.”
Enthusiastic support erupted from the gathered, with the most coming — by far — from Aerion, who cheered and whistled. Thalamon nodded his assent for the matter, if not quite enthusiastic about the departure from quietude.
Grinning as she met Aerion’s eyes, Urchon made a sign with her hands, to beg their restraint. “Easy, easy! Don’t get excited until I actually pull it off. It’s been a while. I know I cannot do it to the justice of the one I learned it from, but I can do my best, hmm?”
Palamera asked, “What is the Guideway? I know Elserel was a goddess of Alnaseria…”
Urchon quirked her brows conspiratorially at Palamera as she rose and took out a large pouch from her coat. “That will I answer in rhythm, dear lady…”
She pulled a strange-looking orange object out of the pouch, like a ring the size of a large man’s spread hand, but two portions fattened out into ovals, with holes pockmarking both. Closing her eyes, she put her lips to one of the thinner parts, her fingers wrapping over the thicker and covering the holes. It was clearly something like a flute. Firelight danced across her poised face in the silence of the sandy plains stretching all directions, with the stars — especially of Keramus — shining above.
She began to play, resounding a peaceful, serene tune in whistles of notes more to a pipe than a flute. But it had a similar quality to the greatcane specialty of the north, as one portion of it could resonate an undertone. The gentle notes reminded Deros of home, which even just days out from he found he missed, in some hypocrisy of his will, like his brain and body were in rebellion to where its mind had forced it, into bizarre and foreign, barren lands. It worked perfectly though, as a mix of wonder, alienation, and comfort, to take him away to the distant time of Urchon’s story.
A final thin note faded, and Urchon lowered her instrument to speak in a rolling rhythm, her cadence that of one mystified, her hand sweeping and gesturing as she acted out her narration:
“Atop the spires, walls of glittering white,
gazed out one vested in robes likewise;
The spoils of royalty, glory, majesty,
draped and covered her, hair to foot.
Rising forever, the borders kissed sky,
above all the world and the lake at its shore;
While waiting and weeping, the brood of its maker,
scried from a window, its fate playing out.”
All the gathered stared spellbound as she rounded the fire slowly, met their eyes, and spoke vehemently of the mythical past, voice growing more and more aggrandizing.
“Ages before but just youth to her living,
she'd walk that bridge of rock, soil, and green;
Thinking, 'What fool, war-like brigand or rival,
dared lay waste to such beauty and peace?'
The gold trees of the Founder, her mother-of-grand,
rowed the stretch from those walls to dry land;
From that window was an arrow, out piercing the lake,
rolled-out carpet — gold-lined — for the Mastery of Man.
And even it brought her great galloping wonder,
as she gathered bright flowers of spring's sweet bloom;
Down that stretch rode the princes of southerly splendor,
atop four-horns and dressed in bronze — jewels of honor.
So Serasam and Elserel met to eyes,
kindling a fire of love to burn bright;
In the shadow of branches, gold-feathered and ancient,
all love from before and come after was made.”
As she spoke of love, a smile came to her lips, and joy crossed her features, but all too briefly, as deliberately she posed and let it fade slowly even after the words ended, looking out to the dark sky and then down, down… gazing to the fire and the ground, her features cast in the shadows and her eyes becoming hidden, brow drawing down in grief and melancholy.
The instrument came once more to her lips, and she made a striking, sad dirge, saturating their anticipation with a sense of loss. Regret. Doom on the horizon. And her eyes did not rise.
Finally, she lowered the whistling ring, and her eyes came up part-way, brows stitched together in an expression of grave recollection. She continued, dark and ruthless in tone:
“And so out before her was her every sorrow,
joys of the Guideway burnt out one-by-one;
Her children fell to the heathens of envy,
who ravaged the path with their endless hands.
The trees were all burning, the leaves turned to ashes,
old gates all but one had been taken, bloodied;
The shame of their prowess, crushed like berries,
flowed to the waters — staining — aside.
At the last gate, a last stand of blood made a ferry,
across thinner liquids than legacy's pride;
The lake and the city, that hour, stood defended,
led by Serasam's hate-filled wrath.
Blades, like a storm, did flow all around him,
cut waves of the horde like thread-bare chaff;
But an arrow of cowards finally found purchase,
through the neck of a champion, ne'er met equal.
As the last dread arrow did fell her husband,
Elserel screamed in terror and agony — woe;
Out cast her hands as her tears dropped asunder,
and all of the heavens and lands did quake.
Sparks of power were alighted in dark recesses,
unknown and awoken for the madness to bear;
Bear she could not so all else paid the bounty,
of greed, of blood spilt, of the ruins of joy.”
By the end, she was gesturing in anger, lecturing, the final words with a clenched fist. But she released it and stared at them all as if they might be responsible. But there was only subdued anger or sadness in answer — Daexo was grimacing on the edge of his seat, about ready to rise and take up spear then and there, while Aerion had his eyes closed, shaking his head, a few tears down his cheek. Palamera looked stricken by the story, eyes watering, but her eyes never left Urchon.
With that, Urchon went back to the instrument, piping out an excited, energy-filled tune meant to supplement the talk of battle and destruction. Everyone more so endured it, imaginations stewing. Deros mostly felt sad, but obeyed the performance, absorbing it as it was and remaining patient for the final act.
Urchon began it very abruptly, as if continuing a note, while she stalked around the fire, calling the story out in violent, wild tones and movement.
“So the waters arose and the land was ashaken,
as the air vibrated with tremulous might;
The froul screamed fear and the vandals right with them,
and all to the keening of Elserel's anguish.
To the dirt did they pitch, bleating and moaning,
ears and eyes bleeding deaf and blind;
But nary was spared what was crushed in her sight,
as the land — yes itself — bore the penalty's price.
In the dusk was made dust all the foes of the morning,
as rock and water was tossed, swept, and broken;
Cracked and splintered and crushed and buried,
all was well swallowed deep by the lake.
Founder’s great bridge was drowned for grief's sake,
And further so no other invader could try;
Felling the towers across trampled flowers,
so the strip of her memory was stripped from memory.”
Gradually, her cadence calmed, as her audience had to struggle with the ambiguity of the victory. Urchon paused at the end, putting a finger to lips in a thoughtful expression, before continuing in an even — if still dark — voice.
“So too did she perish, felled from the sky,
dead before landing from the dirge in her mind;
From the fear and the grief and the anger and the power,
her life was sewn into the end of an age.
All power diluted, the gods lost their luster,
Almost forgotten, old blood faded out;
But Elserel made a refuge, a recluse, a haven,
that saw her grandmother not building in vain.
So the city was protected by the walls and the water,
from the masses what seek it to plunder and ruin;
From the banks do they envy and wonder at the glitter,
of that last dodging bastion for wisdom and lore.
But let it be known, she who sheltered the towers,
whose body rolled down to the cliffs of the shore;
That there did she spare two trees leaved agolden,
which, as a sign still stand, to love not forgotten.”
She left a long pause, wearing a small, sad smile. There were some exclamations around the fire at the final point. Palamera sobbed and wept, with Aerion still tearing up blatantly. Daexo just stared silently at the fire, even his eyes being perhaps a bit wet. Ryza was still watching Urchon enraptured, serious and her eyes squinted almost in a frown as if working out a puzzle. Deros himself wiped tears from his eyes at the idea of the two trees still standing, like eternal representations of the two lovers. The trees, at least, were known to be reality and apparently like none other in the world, never spawning saplings but also never dying. The twin trees, along with the glittering walls of the city, were stamped on the coins of Alnaseria, and also were a common feature and motif in art from the region.
Before anyone could begin clapping or the like, Urchon took to her music again, returning to notes much like the beginning, that of peace and tranquility, though whether it was imagination or intent that made it altogether sadder, Deros couldn’t say.
Finally, she finished and bowed, while everyone summoned up a clamor of clapping and cheer for her performance, the less melancholy like Thalamon and Olarius leading the others. Daexo clapped the loudest, even getting everyone else to stand for it. Urchon took it in stride as she made her way back to her seat, looking exhausted and sweating, even in the cool air. She consoled Aerion with an arm around his shoulder, looking rather pleased in particular with his reaction. Despite Aerion’s appearance to not take anything seriously, Deros wasn’t at all surprised. His friend was quite passionate when it came to story and song, his humor at least something of a veneer that got shredded by it.
Deros saw Palamera still affected, and so he went over to do much as Urchon had, putting his arm around her along with his fur cloak for the excuse of warmth. She very gladly leaned into his chest with a sigh, all but buried under the cloak around her.
“Is it true?” She queried him, in a whisper. “The story? Elserel and the Guideway?”
At first, Deros just made a noncommittal noise, pondering, eyes on the smoldering fire. Finally, he whispered back, “We’ll never know, love. Some part, at least. The bridge of land certainly isn’t there, and apparently, there are indications it once was.”
“If it is true, it’s part of why we are here,” Eursett intoned loudly, causing Palamera to jump, then shift as though agitated. Staring right at them, Eursett continued, “That inaccessible island city was a bastion, indeed. From it, all the knowledge of the gods sprang out from darker times, including the Medicine Oratarsa, Healer’s Principles of Surgery — all true practice of the old sciences. The Observatories, the Hospitals, all of it. Coming forth, to tame a savage land and reclaim civilization, in a great diaspora. A peaceful one.”
“Down there,” Ryza said softly, “everyone claims ancestry from her. And from Founder. The blood of the gods, they say. Righteously. But not all are right, in deeds. Heads rolled, to make it all. To tame. Trust you that, and heed the voices from afar on the higher winds. They could not put it to paper, nor lie.”
“Have you seen it, Ryza?” Palamera asked. “Have you been to the Shining City On the Lake?”
But Ryza did not answer, or even react at all, as she always hadn’t about her time before Miracle Springs, with little exception. Lying on a blanket with her head resting on the leg of her husband, she just watched the horizon.
Soon Thalamon had turned the hourglass, and they all rose to — most of them sleepily — finish the tasks remaining before bed. Deros had to fend with pouting to rise from his spot, which he relented to quietly for another fraction of the hour before insisting to rise again — and once again she clung on as if he’d have to drag her along, grunting like the warning of an animal — if playfully — that he had no business deigning to depart. Without thinking he planted a swift kiss on her lips, which stunned her enough for him to slip free, but ultimately embarrassed them both as Eursett still sat right there, nearby. Though he really shouldn’t have to feel it, though it really was stupid and silly, there they were, acting as if they were ten calendars younger, caught the fool under watchful parental eyes.
Aggravated, his jaw clenched down at nothing and he met no one’s eye. Instead of voicing rashly about what vexed him, though, he stalked off and let it go. He was tired and needed rest, and not at all did he need his blood pumping or guilt from some outburst. He skipped most things and turned in well before the hourglass would be spent. After only a bit of tossing and turning, exhaustion carried him into a deep rest.
Daexo woke him for his watch, the one right before the last of the night. After splashing his face with a bit of water, Deros grabbed the hourglass and took it with him up the rise of sandstone. It was not much of a climb, with just one small section not being a traversable slope. He left the aloga tied to a rope already wrapped around a rock and climbed up, exploring the top under lamplight and with a slight improvement to his vision through makar’osa, which gave him almost the eyesight of the day. It woke him up enough that he somewhat wondered if he’d be able to sleep the remaining hour that would be left after his watch was done.
He settled down to sit on a blanket at the edge of the cliff, cloak wrapped around him against the cold wind, as he gazed out on a vast, open horizon, for the most part rather flat, with some mild curves. Keramus was half fallen behind the plain, and no moons were out.
He was surprised to hear movement down the way he’d initially come up — when he directed his senses strongly to it, he quickly identified it as a person. Soon thereafter, from the amplification of an exhale, he concluded it to be Palamera. That he hadn’t seen her moving below meant she’d left her tent while he was doing his circuit around the cliff.
Deros didn’t otherwise react as she crested over the top and stepped across the rock toward him, trying oh-so-hard to be stealthy. When she was closer, he called softly, “I know you’re there, night thief,” with some amusement, then turned to her with a grin.
She sagged a bit, letting out a breath she’d been holding, clearly disappointed in not succeeding in her impossible task of sneaking up on him. She was certainly dressed for the cold, with a robe and cloak bundling her, even an entire thick blanket thrown over, also including a thick woolen hat over her head and ears.
“Drat! I thought I was doing well,” she exclaimed as she closed the distance between them. She soon settled down next to him. “How long did you know?”
“Before you came over the edge, Beautiful. Could I call myself much of a sentry, otherwise? You should’ve tried Daexo if you wanted to test such prowess. I’m the advanced course, I’m pretty sure.”
“I think you mean Gorgeous,” she teased in mock admonishment, as she wrapped her blanket entirely around her. “And I’d agree you’re quite a course.”
He chuckled at that, her meaning ambiguous, or perhaps dual. “Did Daexo wake you, bumbling about? He certainly did Bariaki.”
She shook her head, eyeing him a moment, then gazing out on the starlight glow of Keramus, face peeking out from a mass of fabric. “Fretful sleep. I’ve been awake.”
A pause stretched, with her seeming withdrawn or trepidatious, so Deros pressed, “Nightmares, worries? Dealing with Eursett?”
Palamera made something of a face and maybe a shrug, a blend of uncertainty in her manner. Her eyes flitted all around before finally, she took a deep breath, and with her lips pressed together met his eyes. “Honestly… I couldn’t stop thinking about being with you. And I… I don’t mean just…” She trailed off, shook her head slightly, and held his gaze, with a feeling like she was making herself not look away.
Her meaning was as plain as the hidden day. Deros swallowed, ambushed by the sudden admittance, and feeling a fluttering in his gut. He tried to say something, without just blurting anything, but the consideration was a clock that was suddenly ticking too fast, her eyes the winding.
No, damn it! It’s simple. Honesty, raw, returned. This isn’t hard.
He took a breath, eyes dropping from hers, but only briefly. “I know the feeling. In general — I’ve been exhausted enough for such frustrations to fail twisting me sleepless. But I’d rather you in my tent. And mine. Always.”
Nodding slowly, she reached a hand out to take his, fingers interlacing. “We could. Put up a spare tent. Or… bring more blankets up here…”
Deros found himself tempering his own attraction to the idea, though the reasons were a suddenly risen tangle in his mind. “N-now? I’d- that would be a dereliction of duty! I’m a sentry.”
“After. Or another time.” She watched him with eyes slightly narrowed in consideration. “Do you truly want what you said, Deros?”
The tangle in his mind became a knot, but he turned more fully toward her and took her hand in both of his. “Of course,” he said into her eyes, with certainty. “But we’ve been resisting that want for how long, thanks to the machinations of others? And… agreed to wait the remainder.”
“I am tired of waiting, I am tired of those machinations and I just want you. I want to be free to sigh in your arms without some stupid fear of offending others.”
“Eursett, you mean.”
“Eursett can go jump down a pit!”
Trying not to laugh, Deros grunted doubtfully at her outburst. He looked down to her hand and ran his thumb over her fingers. Overall, her hands were soft, but the harder work of the recent days had caused some blistering in the palm.
“I know you feel the same,” Palamera continued more softly. “I saw it clearly, earlier.”
“As I said… wants and feelings rage. But I think to after. Think after, Palamera, to the consequences following. More tension with the one, and dealing with these surly attitudes from the rest. But beyond that, when we return, and word spreads like fire on oil? Nonsense from our families.”
“I have. Thought and thought and to the other? Listened. You think I’ve been deaf the whole time? It was a shock, all the Azakan brazenness and sexuality. At first. Well, it still is, but… I can’t dislike it. They celebrate sex openly! They’d clap us on the back, wouldn’t they? They’d cheer. Healer and Founder, they would. And I am not sure I’ll feel heat on my face again after Ryza talked with me about the subject. She had a-advice, and it was fairly enlightening.” At that, she cleared her throat and glanced away.
Damn it, Ryza. Damn it, all you bastards. Not even a five-day, and they’d corrupted her thinking. Whatever Ryza had put in her head was probably exactly what was turning in it to keep her awake. It gave him mixed feelings, as Palamera identifying with such an influential aspect of his own identity was probably an ultimate blessing. Not all Hospitallers did — in fact, most were fanatical to every principle of their creed, written and otherwise.
It was enough that Deros found the will of his arguments eroding rapidly. She’d already been considering it carefully. The whole matter was not going to be a bad thing in the slightest. He felt a rising excitement. Deros and Palamera, the adventurous lovers…
“So be it,” he breathed, then kissed the top of her hand. “We will be together. I don’t know about tonight. We’ll have to… arrange for… privacy…”
Palamera leaned over to kiss him — once, twice, and a third time in a lingering lock and embrace, their eyes closed as both savored the intimacy in the night’s quiet solitude.
When their lips parted, Palamera kept her covered forehead on his. With eyes tilted down and a sudden small smile, she said, “There is a renowned inn at Many Sands. It’s my understanding we are almost guaranteed to rest and recuperate there for at least a night. One room is reserved for dignitaries. Urchon will surely allow us the honor in her place if you would care for privacy.”
Even just the tone of her voice was a cue to Deros. He dipped his head down, and down until she was more or less forced to meet his eyes. He made sure they were squinted in accusation. Facing a guilty smile upon contact, Deros said, “You little scamp, you had that planned out! Was all this talk of tent-love to tease? Or to test?”
She gave him a little push of admonishment, eyes widened, but a curl of her mouth betrayed playfulness. “Quiet with that! Tent-love. What a horrible combination of words. And of course I had to hear your thoughts about it. As for sharing a tent… I thought we could do a lot of that on the way back.”
Deros chortled indulgently at that. Caught suddenly in the spirit of daring, he teased, “I really should just take you right now.”
“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows at him challengingly, teasing right back. “Will you now, Sentry Master? And keep an eye out? I’m no expert, but I think it requires your undivided attention.”
Grunting in his throat, he did look out to the landscape, before also forming makar’osa to enhance his hearing. Nothing, as ever. “Yes, I should get up from this warm mutual spot, do a circuit or two around…”
Palamera made quite an adversarial sound to this and adjusted quickly to drop her head to his chest, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “You. Are not going anywhere! Understood, warm body?”
He made a very exaggerated, long-suffering sigh as he wrapped his arm and cloak around her, ensuring as much depth of warmth as he could muster for her. She ultimately curled up to lay her head and torso in his lap, and, after a time, fell asleep. Deros rationalized his vantage to be just perfect anyway for his duties, with a view of the camp and the horizon in every direction.
So Deros let the sand of the hourglass fall, dreaming awake about the inn, and the one lying in his lap then wearing nothing but her tattoos on a soft bed, where they’d conclude all the pressures built up against their joining. It was hardly much more waiting compared to what they’d faced already, but it was suddenly agonizing for the anticipation. He certainly had something to look forward to — assuming the trip otherwise remained as mundane as the mission hoped. Ironic, that suddenly he was indeed hoping entirely the same.
