Wavebreaker_Book II of the Stone War Chronicles_Part 1_Trickle

by A. J. Norfield

  “You’re right. You don’t look like much. You shouldn’t be any trouble. Fine, you may come without bonds or blindfold. But know this: the moment you think about causing harm, or try anything funny like betraying my trust—the trust of the village—you’ll have to answer to them,” said the woman, gesturing at her two companions. “We will hunt you down before you can reach the first Taori.”

  Trista walked through the maze of shrubbery, the baby closely pressed against her. The netting that held the unconscious Dalkeira had been bound around the necks of the two striped creatures, which were now dragging her along through the dirt.

  Trista had made a futile attempt to convince the woman to release Dalkeira, only to be met by silence. When she tried again, the woman had offered to place her and the baby in the netting as well. Trista had swallowed her words.

  Both the large, striped creatures and the desert woman were walking slightly behind her. Trista felt three pair of eyes burning into her back.

  “What kind of animals are your sha’cara? What do you call them?” asked Trista, trying to build some trust between them.

  “What do you know about sha’cara?”

  “Nothing, apart from what Aslara explained to me. They’re companions that share a strong bond with their humans, but I thought Aslara said you only have one sha’cara in your life. But you seem to have two. Unless they’re sha’crows, like Thulai.”

  “You sure ask a lot of questions for someone in need of help,” said the woman.

  “Just trying to make conversation.”

  “Don’t, and stop playing dumb. Everyone knows they’re striped hyen’sta,” snapped the woman. “Anyone can spot them on the plains from miles away if they care to look.”

  “We’re not from around here. We came from beyond the Endless Sands,” said Trista in an effort to be open about herself.

  “Lies. No person crosses the Endless Sands. They all end up fleshless bones.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I keep hearing, and yet here we are.”

  One of the striped hyen’stas let out a chuckle.

  “Shut it and keep walking,” commanded the woman.

  Trista was unsure if she meant the hyen’sta or herself. She decided not to try her luck any further and focused on soothing the baby and making sure not to trip over the many twigs and roots.

  The woman walked slowly, perhaps deliberately delaying their journey to the village. Trista fought the urge to break out into a run and find her little brother, but without knowing where to go it would be a waste of energy. So she forced herself to walk slowly and carefully while she tried to keep an eye on the two hyen’sta trailing behind her with Dalkeira in tow.

  They closed in on the base of the mountain and spent some time moving along the foot of it. The sunlight dappled the red stone. Dry grass was scattered up the sides in irregular patches. The mountain rose up high, towering above them like a fierce guardian of the landscape.

  Trista became aware of the sound of people. The murmur of voices, tapping and the laughter of children.

  As she entered the village, Trista felt strangely uneasy. It had been a long time since she was surrounded by so many people. She saw children playing, chasing after one another, and animals that were a lot like the chickens back on the island. To see so much activity within these dried-up lands was surreal.

  Pieces of conversations reached her ears, but none of the words made any sense. Men worked on a number of dwellings constructed from branches, mud and grass. Others prepped food; the smells made her mouth water.

  The buzz of activity overwhelmed Trista; she had to use all her willpower not to slump to the floor and stay there. She tried her best to keep the image of Decan being rushed off by Aslara firmly in her mind, to force her feet forward. Her emotions had drained her as much as the walk itself. Her eyes had trouble focusing and she felt her head start to spin.

  Shouting from above drew her attention as she fought to keep her eyelids open. Wondering if she was already dreaming, she saw a lot of the huts were not on the ground, but built into the side of the mountain. She had not noticed them until the sound made her look up. A gathering of walkways snaked across the red stone wall, supported by long poles tied together. A combination of natural caves and manually cut rock seemed to act as basic housing.

  The raised voice Trista heard belonged to an elderly woman, casually sitting twenty feet off the ground with her feet dangling over the edge. It seemed she had been weaving a basket from long grass when a few children raced past her, chasing a chicken that had fled up the walkway. The walkway shook so hard that the woman’s basket and materials nearly tipped over the edge, resulting in the stream of angry words thrown after the kids. Still, she seemed more concerned about her things falling than herself dropping off.

  Some of the women were wearing clothes of a similar style to Aslara and Trista’s captor. Others had much simpler outfits. The men mostly worked shirtless, their different shades of skin glittering sweatily in the sun. It was the opposite for the children, who wore little more than long shirts and lacked any form of pants or footwear.

  One of the older children ran further ahead into the village after seeing Trista’s captor. The settlement stretched out into a narrowing canyon, shielded from most prying eyes. A moment later, Trista saw Aslara approach them with long strides.

  “Aslara! Sa oled tagasi!” The woman pulled off her turban and scarf as she rushed past Trista to get to Aslara.

  It was the first time Trista saw the face of her captor. She was the definition of stunning. Hazel-brown eyes and lightly-tanned skin. Fine cheekbones, with full lips that showed a dazzling smile. She was not at all what Trista had expected after hearing the strong words the female warrior had uttered. Long, straight, dark hair emerged from under the turban. It looped back through a metal ring, which kept it together, and dropped down behind the woman’s neck.

  Trista shifted her feet to keep standing upright. A haze of exhaustion slowly flowed over her.

  Meeting halfway, the stunning Minai woman took Aslara’s hands and rested their foreheads together. Now it was Aslara’s turn to smile. The loving gesture brought a sparkle to her eyes.

  “Ita blei sa tagasi juba, ma lanmou,” said the woman.

  “I am too,” replied Aslara. “But please use the common tongue. We have g—”

  Trista’s captor bit her lip in a smile then brushed a quick kiss against Aslara’s lips, whose smile in turn briefly flashed into a grin before she softly pushed the woman back.

  “Shiri, you know I don’t like you stealing kisses in front of everyone.”

  Shiri took a step back and looked playfully sad.

  “I couldn’t help myself. I’m just so happy you’re back so soon,” said Shiri with a smile.

  “As I was saying, I see you’ve met our g—” started Aslara again, when her gaze fell on the wobbling Trista and motionless dragon in the net. “No, Shiri, what have you done?”

  As Aslara rushed over to Trista, Shiri’s expression darkened.

  “Are you okay?” Aslara asked Trista.

  “I found her wandering the shrubs. Her winged friend attacked us, so I took her down,” said Shiri before Trista could answer.

  “I’m fine,” lied Trista, ignoring the other woman's interruption. “But I’m not so sure about Dalkeira.”

  Aslara pushed the two hyen’sta out of the way. Neither of them even uttered a rumble of disagreement as they let Aslara check on the dragon.

  “Why did Dalkeira attack you? Did you even bother to introduce yourself first, Shiri?” said Aslara sternly.

  “Look, I wasn’t taking any chances. I thought she might be Karnis’h! And it’s my duty to keep this village safe,” Shiri said defensively.

  “It’s my duty too, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have to stop and think. You’re always jumping to conclusions; and how could she be Karnis’h? Look at her. You’re my Second. You should know better,” Aslara reprimanded her, gesturing at a few of the nearby men t
o help carry Dalkeira to one of the huts.

  Second?

  “We’ll move her out of the sun. She should be awake before morning,” said Aslara to Trista.

  “You’re going to lock her up?” Trista managed to choke out.

  “Not exactly, but I imagine she won’t be in the best of moods when she wakes. And I don’t want anyone near her until either you or I have spoken to her. I don’t want anyone getting hurt,” said Aslara. “Best to get her out of the netting while she sleeps as well, don’t you think?”

  “What about my brother?” mumbled Trista, almost too afraid to ask.

  “Oh, of course. I'm sorry. He’s holding on for now. Our life listener is doing the best she can, but it is still too early to tell. I’ll bring you to him right away, but first let me take that little one off your hands.”

  Aslara carefully took the baby from Trista’s cramped fingers. Trista’s hands felt strangely empty and painful without her. Now that she was finally here, she did not feel like leaving the baby behind at all.

  Am I really going to trust a group of strangers with this child?

  Aslara called one of the women over.

  “Yes, Akima Matri?”

  As Aslara explained the situation, the woman’s face broke out in a grand smile. The child changed hands again as the short, rounded woman skillfully took her in her arms, speaking soft words of comfort.

  She shifted the baby to a more comfortable position and walked away. As she did, she bared her well-filled breast to see if the child wanted to latch on. The other children, who had stopped chasing the flightless birds to watch the event unfold, now rushed over to the plump woman to get a glimpse of the newly arrived child. It looked so natural, Trista’s heart swelled with relief.

  “Don’t worry. She’s one of our den mothers. The child is in great hands,” said Aslara, who noticed Trista’s gaze following the child.

  Trista had no idea what a den mother was, but Aslara’s reassurance was good enough for now.

  “Come. Let me take you to Decan.”

  Instead of going further into the village, Aslara led Trista along the edge of the settlement. There on the outskirts was a hovel, larger than the others. Outside lay all kinds of herbs drying in the sun. There were little twig cages, mostly empty apart from a few that held a tiny bird or two. A small herd of goats wandered aimlessly around the hut. Here and there hung small bones tied on strings, gently rattling against each other in the wind. A thin trail of smoke curled out of the top of the roof.

  Trista’s tired mind jumped from one sight to another, trying to keep up with everything around her. A question floated up to the surface as she followed Aslara into the strange structure.

  “You called her your Second,” she remarked. “You’re telling everyone what to do. And that woman, she called you…Akin Matri? Like it was a title. You’re not just a member of this tribe, are you?”

  Aslara smiled like a child caught with a secret.

  “Akima Matri. It means leading mother. The Minai is my tribe to lead.”

  As she processed this new fact, Trista’s eyes adjusted to the darker surroundings. The scent of herbs lay so thick in the warm air that she tasted it on her tongue. Her mouth burned from the exotic flavors invading her senses and her eyes stung from the smoky air. She rubbed her eyes and forced herself to look around. There, to the side, was Decan. Her knees almost gave out. Lying on a table covered with straw, her little brother lay frighteningly still.

  I’m too late. He’s dead, I’m certain of it.

  She approached the table, using her hands to make her way through the low-hanging herbs and bones. Decan looked awfully pale in the dim light. Trista felt herself struggle for air. The dizziness in her head grew stronger. Her vision began to spin, deforming everything she saw.

  She touched Decan’s skin and felt it was unnaturally cold. Someone had removed his clothes. Lines of white were painted across his skin, from the feet all the way up to his heart. The cold touch of his skin brought back the image of her dead father and mother. Their lifeless bodies had also been unable to return the warmth of her touch.

  Trista gasped for air. She could not breathe, like someone was choking her. Her mind gave up trying to make sense of it all. With no idea which way was up or down, the ground called her tired body toward it. Trying to keep hold of the table—and keep Decan in her sights—she slid to the floor as her exhausted body finally shut down. The world disappeared into the distance, its light moving away from her fast. From somewhere at the end of the dark tunnel in front of her eyes, Aslara’s voice called her name as her head was caught by gentle hands before it hit the ground.

  Chapter 23

  Slumber

  Dalkeira woke up with a splitting headache. During their travels in the desert dehydration had often given her a nagging pain in her head, but this was something else. This felt like someone had driven an axe straight into her skull. She groaned and tried to move. As she slowly rose to her feet, recent events crept back into her mind.

  Trista! Those creatures!

  Bewildered, Dalkeira circled round to shake off the net, only to find out she was no longer tangled up in it. Her muscles felt stiff and the left side of her body was sore. She roared, her voice rustling the leaves from which the roof was made.

  “Where am I? What have you done to me? Where is Trista?”

  She spread her wings and beat them to test their strength. The movement threw up a cloud of dust and knocked over a bowl of dried flowers on a table nearby.

  “Oh dear, oh my, there’s really no reason to make such a mess of things, you know. They’re perfectly safe,” said a soft voice from the corner.

  It was immediately followed by a shrill call from the same direction. “Oh maai.”

  Dalkeira spun around and hissed. She lowered her stance, ready to pounce on anything that tried to surprise her. But nothing happened. A small figure simply stood there, waiting. Behind it, a large, black bird fluttered its wings and stared back at Dalkeira with dark, beady eyes.

  It was not exactly what the dragon had expected. This was not the tall warrior who had bothered Trista and pinned her down. This frail specimen was small—very small, actually, barely half a head taller than Decan. The woman was old, too; face all wrinkled and missing a few teeth, her dark skin a strong contrast to her near-white hair.

  If she wanted to, Dalkeira was sure she could snap her in two without any effort at all—and she was pretty sure she wanted to. She took a step forward, head low, wings half open, ready to clamp her jaws around the first body part that came close enough.

  But the woman remained perfectly still. She let Dalkeira get as close as she wished. Then the dragon saw why. The woman could not see her. A blindfold of deep red cloth was tied around her head, covering her eyes. Dalkeira raised her head to face level and flicked out her tongue.

  “You have one chance to tell me where Trista, Decan and the baby are. I suggest you use it.”

  She stared intensely at the blindfold as if her gaze could pierce into the silver-haired woman´s eyes behind it.

  Yet the old woman remained perfectly still, as though watching her. The dragon’s anger slipped away. The woman had an alarmingly serene feel to her.

  Dalkeira felt a small wrinkled hand slide over the bottom of her jaw. The touch was unexpected, but instead of lashing out, the dragon found her muscles relaxing from head to tail. A pleasant warmth flowed through her as the woman slid her hand along her neck.

  “You must be thirsty, my child. Why not have a drink?”

  Using all her willpower, Dalkeira shook her head and jumped backward.

  “How did you do that? What kind of trickery is this?” exclaimed Dalkeira.

  The woman took a step forward, raising both hands.

  “It’s alright. No one will hurt you here anymore. You’re safe here. None of the Minai would ever hurt a winged ancient one.”

  “Stay away!” hissed Dalkeira, confused. “I alone will decide when I am safe!
Now, take me to Trista!”

  “Are you sure you don’t want some water first, my child?” asked the woman calmly.

  “Stop calling me your child, old woman! You cannot even see who is in front of you, let alone know who or what I am!”

  “Oh dear, oh my. Yet, you’re still throwing a fit, aren’t you?”

  “Oh maai,” called the raven.

  “I can see plenty clear,” said the old woman. “I easily see your form doesn’t hide the youth of your mind, even if you are one of the ancient winged sha’cara. But don’t be offended, my child—when you become my age, everyone in the world seems a little young.”

  The woman let out a chuckle, but Dalkeira remained silent.

  “Suit yourself, my child. Please, follow me. I’ll take you to the red-haired woman.”

  The old woman walked over to a small door in the corner and opened it. The dragon was surprised to see she had no trouble moving around, despite the fact her eyes were covered. Dalkeira heard a quiet conversation outside, but it was too soft to hear the words. Following the woman, the raven disappeared through the door as well.

  For a moment, Dalkeira stood alone in the silent room. Reluctantly, she walked over to the door and stepped outside.

  The sky was filled with stars. The air had cooled again, as it often did during the night. Dalkeira was glad the sun was not there to greet her; perhaps she should have taken that drink after all.

  The village unfolded between her and the mountain. Next to one of the huts, the dragon saw two familiar sets of ears and eyes stare back at her. Behind them, the beige desert woman stood silently with spear in hand.

  “It’s okay, Shiri. She’s calmed down…somewhat. You can let Aslara know I’m taking her to my hut,” said the elderly woman as she shuffled on.

  “As you wish, Duvessa,” replied Shiri, observing Dalkeira with a look of disdain.

  Dalkeira was even less pleased to see the woman and her two pets and let out a low rumble in her throat. In response, a chuckled growl was thrown her way, one that was certainly meant to add insult to injury.