In Thy Name

Chapter 13 - Healing and breaking

Sareb and the two Northern Gladiari reached Feihunnah, the last oasis along the route to Dalaïda, early in the evening of the second day. Stormwind had driven them mercilessly all day. As they approached the shimmering lake, a great dark mirror ringed with low shrubs whose flowers had already bade the sun good night, their wingbeats were slow and wearied, using the last of desperate strength.

They avoided the gravelly southern and northern shores, where trade caravans frequently camped, and made their camp on top of the cliffs at the western shore of the lake. Sareb climbed down the rock face and crouched on the rocks with fathoms of water before him. In the darkness, it could as well have been the sky, or the vast blackness of the sky beyond the stars.

The water gurgled softly to him as he filled his two large canteens, and once he held them heavy and dripping in his hands, he sat listening to the whispers of ripples die away. Tomorrow evening they would reach the mountains, and the next day they would enter Dalaïda, and then? He wanted to think that he would be coming right back, but for some reason he felt this was the last time for a long time that he would sit under an open sky, clear and unbroken as the surface of the water, the last time he would touch the rocks, gravel, and sand that he knew so well.

Even here where water coaxed greenery out of every crevice, rock was the most prominent form. Rock was the root of his people; it was right there in the name they called themselves to outsiders: al-Masun, people of the rock. He leaned back against the rock wall behind him, still slightly warm from the day's heat.

Rock beneath his feet. There'd be none of that in a day or two, not even sand. He was sliding toward the edge of the world, as far as he was concerned.

He closed his eyes and soaked it in, the slow heartbeat of the desert held in the rock.

He had wanted more, more than just scrounging for scraps, cobbling together spells and healing charms on his own. He should have known that more meant leaving everything that was known, safe, comfortable.

No. There was no safety or comfort for someone like him. All he was doing was trading one set of dangers for another.

He opened his eyes and rose. The canteens gave a hollow thump and slosh against his side. He started up the rock wall, gloves hanging from his sash, bare hands effortlessly finding handholds.

On top of the cliff, Stormwind and Frostarrow hunched by a tiny fire, hardly more than a burning brand. Still, it blazed brighter than any star. "What are you thinking?" Sareb hissed. "Do you want us to be spotted?"

"By whom?" Stormwind said. "We're leagues ahead of them, and anyway, we'll see them long before they see us, as long as we have a guard posted." She stared pointedly at him.

"What, I'm first?"

"We've been flying all day. You've been riding."

He couldn't deny her point, so he just took a long swig from one of the canteens and then threw them at the Tainian siblings' feet, then strode to the opposite edge of the cliff.

As his eyes re-adjusted to the darkness, the sand stretched before him, faintly gleaming under the stars. Somewhere out there, Teshem rode after them, under the same stars. Was he even now riding toward them, the squad travelling at night to avoid the heat? Even then, it was unlikely they'd catch up, but Sareb couldn't help scanning the horizon. His hand shifted toward the pouch where the beacon rock lay—but it was too risky. Better for Teshem to have no idea.

Gravel crunched under approaching footfalls, quieter than the desert Gladiari, who usually made no effort to conceal their movements. Sareb didn't move anything but his eyes; a glance at the tall, thick-chested figure told him it was Frostarrow.