“Now, this woman was Airydh, one of the hidden people. And the pool was sacred to her kind. She was their priestess and because of that, once every full moon, she took the form of a mortal to drink the sacred waters and bathe in light reflected off the pool’s surface to gather life for her grove.
“Frustrated, the man haunted the pool every night waiting for the woman to reappear. He neither ate nor tended to his father’s flocks, drinking only from the pool’s cool waters. Gradually, he grew mad with love and a desire he couldn’t quench.”
Sara noticed Savion had relaxed his vigil, sheathed his sword and stepped closer to the fire.
“One evening, as the moon was at her full, his vigil was rewarded when the woman approached the pool and glided into its depths. Her skin glistened with the light of the moon, her hair flowed around her body. The man stood transfixed but remembered what happened the last time he tried to approach her so he waited. When she left the pool, clothed in a gown of light, he followed her to a grove of Rinai, but when he neared, there was no woman among the white trees.
“The man howled, cursing the moon and the stars. He swore he would have the woman or no one would have her.” Zeynel’s slow gaze circled eager faces licked by the fire’s light.
“One more moon cycle he waited by the pool before the woman returned, one more time he watched her bathe. Then as the woman left, he stole ahead, knowing she would go to the Rinai grove. There, behind an old oak at the edge of the trees, he saw her approach. Shadows swayed though there was no wind. The copse, lit by moonlight, seemed to hold its breath as the man stepped forward. His clothes were rags and hung from his wasted body, his eyes were bright as though he saw by a hidden light.”
Sara watched the traders and sensed caught breaths.
“The woman, clothed in light, paused and tilted her head. ‘I have sensed you, mortal man. Return to your people. I am not for you.’ Her voice was like the whisper of leaves disturbed by a breeze.
“The man licked his lips. ‘But I love you,’ he said.
“The woman walked deeper into the grove. ‘Then protect my sisters.’ She raised her hands into the air and transformed into a Rinai, her branches gracefully falling around her white trunk.
“In a rage, the man took an ax from his belt and raised it to the nearest tree. But the old oak, a cousin of those—” Zeynel pointed to the stunted trees at the edge of the firelight, “was the wise guardian of the grove, so he stretched out a branch and stilled the man’s arm. ‘You are foolish, desiring to possess what you can never own. For eternity, Rinai will always be in your sight but never yours to touch.’ The oak’s deep voice boomed in the darkened glen. Then there, in place of the man, grew a vine, dark green with a bright blue flower that only blooms when the moon is full. These vines grow at the foot of Rinai groves but never close to their trunks. And in every Rinai grove, you will find at least one oak.”
The traders nodded, a new sparkle in their eyes, looking like they’d just finished a satisfying meal. “Well done,” Aric said. “Well done.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The dry rocky ground continued to rise as if striving to reach the clear blue sky. Stately pines replaced the scattered groves of scrub oak, their trunks larger than a man could span, sentinels to the path that continued up the heights of the mountain. Cool air lifted strands of her hair as Sara slipped the bags off their horses. She folded their greased cloth carefully and stowed it in her pack with the flint and food supplies. Zeynel rubbed Mairi’s nose, whispering something in soothing tones.
“I don’t like just letting them go. It doesn’t feel right somehow,” Sara said.
“They know how to get home.” Zeynel moved to his horse, Theilan, scratching between his ears. “Tobar will be watching for them.”
Sara glanced back the way they came. “It’s a long way.” Six days. Has it only been that long? But time and distance were funny things. She knew that better than most and at night, the moon continued to emerge from the darkness. She was now rounding toward fullness. “Ready?”
Zeynel swatted Theilan’s rump, then moved to Mairi. The animals trotted away from the mountains as though eager to get away from the forbidding terrain. He left the gear they couldn’t carry behind a boulder, then shrugged on his pack, settling his cloak around his shoulders.
“After you.” Sara gestured toward the narrow path leading up the mountain.
* * *
Nerves stretched taut, Sara followed Zeynel as they skirted a large boulder that blocked more than half the path. Sara scanned the mountain, alert for any movement, and shrugged toward the obstacle. “Must have happened after the traders came down.”
Zeynel nodded.
Where were the Zorcani? Even if the Heleini had been fooled by the horse tracks leading toward the Rabishi lands, they had to expect Tobar would eventually come after his son. But if there was a guard out there, she didn’t see it. The narrow path hugged the mountainside, weaving through forests and rocky outcroppings. Soon, a vista opened before them; Sara paused, taking in a deep valley where tall yellow grass bent before the breeze and trees bare of leaves crowded a small river. On the other side of the river, angry clouds skirted deep purple mountains, their summits capped in white. A shiver unrelated to the wind rippled her skin and with it the memory of a nightmare. For the last few nights, she’d awakened in a cold sweat, her hand unconsciously reaching for her sword. She couldn’t remember any details of the dream, only a malignant sensation and fear. Was it the red man? Just that morning she’d double-checked to make sure her defenses were intact. They were.
She gripped Ilydearta as though it were a talisman to ward off evil and breathed in its steady hum. Suddenly, she sensed a change in the stone’s resonance, a strange doubling as though the hum echoed off the mountain and returned twisted. She opened her mouth to call to Zeynel but the phenomenon faded then disappeared. What in the...? Sara glanced down at the valley once more, before following Zeynel up the dusty path.
The nights had grown cold and that morning they’d woken to frost trimming the landscape. In the shadows along the path, rock outcroppings still sheltered patches of white, hiding them from the warmth of the sun. Gusts of wind tore down the mountainside path, throwing dirt and sand into their eyes as the sky darkened. Their breath puffed through the scarves they’d wrapped around their faces as the temperature plummeted. Ahead, the sheer cliff continued with no relief or shelter in sight. Sara examined the heavy clouds piling overhead. Snow, a lot of it, and soon. Worry prickled at her spine. It was ironic. They’d decided to winter with the Heleini to avoid crossing these mountains after the snows fell, yet here they were anyway.
She glanced at Zeynel, who was a few paces ahead. Without a word, but with his gaze on the sky, he stopped, rummaged in his bag and took out a length of rope. Sara grimaced as she wrapped the thick cord around her waist and watched as he did the same with the other end. Gentle, as though caressing the earth, the first flakes danced toward the ground.
* * *
Sara shivered, no longer feeling the cold. She couldn’t see Zeynel. But for the tautness of the rope, she could have been alone in a world of white. With a hand on the rock face and another buried under her arm, she continued blindly up the path on numb feet. The wind kept the path free of snow but piled it against the rock wall, where they walked.
She felt the rope slack and slowed down. A dark shape appeared through the white blur. Zeynel pointed ahead to a stone overhang near a rock outcropping, deep enough for both of them and a refuge from the storm. Sara nodded.
The noise from the wind dropped as they entered the shelter. The ground was almost dry. Sara pulled out the oiled cloth and wedged it between the outcropping of boulders and the ledge above them. It would hold if the snow didn’t pile up too much. She gathered snow to build a low wall, closing them in their shelter. The rock overhang allowed t
hem to move around in a low crouch, bumping into each other in the confined space. Zeynel pulled a bunch of dry twigs out from underneath his cloak.
“What’s that?” Sara asked
“Sage brush. Excellent for fuel.”
“Where did you get them?”
Zeynel shrugged. “I started collecting them day before yesterday.”
How had she not noticed? “What would I do without you?” Sara sighed and looked around for sizable loose stones. As soon as Zeynel had the brush burning, she spread the stones on the outskirts of the fire. They’d heat up and keep the shelter warm for a while even after the brush was gone. She leaned toward the newborn flame, her nose and cheeks burning, and then glanced at Zeynel, noting the way he held his hands and maneuvered around the shelter with mincing steps.
She leaned next to him, her back against the cold mountain. “Okay, let me see how bad they are.”
Without a word, he pulled off his mittens. Sara took his hands in hers. His fingers were glossy, the tips red and blistered.
“Now your boots.”
He obeyed, removing the tall leather boots. Sara examined his toes. Only his big toe worried her. It had a purple tinge to it.
“Put your hands under your arms. Skin to skin. I’ll tend to this first.”
Sara rummaged through her pack, a memory returning with force.
The kitchen was moist with steam. A breeze blew through the fragrant vines, cooling her skin. Her grandfather’s face had held an urgency and desire for her to know.
“Sara—never mind.”
“Grandfather, I’ll remember. If the pepper is hot on your tongue, it’ll warm your skin, but dilute it with an inert substance so it doesn’t burn and further damage the tissue. If you don’t have access to a pepper, add a little oil to the meat of a baked potato and apply it to the affected area.”
Willam smiled. “Very good. But don’t forget, that cure is for minor frostbite only.”
“Yes, if I faced major frostbite, I might be more worried about dying than losing a few digits.”
A cloud passed over Willam’s face but he pointed toward the liquid-filled jars. “No, use my formula and your skills and you won’t die or lose any digits.”
She swallowed a lump in her throat as she pulled a vial of golden liquid from her pack. While she was in Shayner with Maelys, she’d re-created as many of her grandfather’s herbal cures as she could remember. This one was special—it was the last one he ever taught her. “You’re in luck, Zeynel. I happen to have an old family recipe with me.”
* * *
“We can’t stay here. There’s no more fuel.” Sara stared in frustration at the wall of white outside their shelter.
Zeynel sat, legs crossed, humming. His eyes opened. “What does Teann tell you to do?”
Sara turned around with a sharp retort on her lips but reined it in before it escaped. “I don’t know. All I know is I’m tired and cold. We can’t stay here and going out there is suicide.”
Zeynel reached for Sara’s hand. “Sit, child.”
Sara settled next to him, the cold rock leaching warmth from her body.
“A decision must be made.”
“Then make it.”
“No, child, the time for following is long over. It is your decision.” Zeynel took a deep breath. “Perhaps it is easier for the ancient to practice patience because we’ve had long years to see the ebb and flow of things. But you will learn—you will have to. There is an old saying of my people: no crowd waits at the gates of patience. Sara, in all things there is Teann but you cannot rush your understanding. Close your eyes. All this time I have led you down the paths of Teann. Now you must lead. Listen for it. See it with your mind.”
“How long did it take you to understand Teann?” Sara asked.
Zeynel smiled. “Understand? I’ll let you know when it happens.”
Great. Sara closed her eyes, weariness descended; she was tired and she was afraid. She only wanted a warm bed, a cup of tea and a good book. Was that so much to ask? She could feel Zeynel’s presence next to her. He waited. The storm continued to rage beyond their shallow haven. Sara reached for the pendant.
You fear. No words were spoken in any language she recognized, yet Sara understood the message. She forced her eyes to remain shut. Was she afraid of letting go and jumping into Teann by herself? When she’d meditated before, she’d been an observer. When Zeynel led her, it was different. She became part of the universe that she observed. She took a deep breath.
No time like the present. The darkness behind her eyes shimmered. For a moment, there was vertigo, then she was part of the stars wheeling in the sky. She felt the delicacy of a single violet in the deep forest. She knew the journey of the mountains as they wore down into the sand of a thousand seas.
The roar of the wind mellowed into a gentle hum. The sound was all around her and in her and she was the sound and it was her. She felt her pulse slow, her breathing becoming deep and powerful. She heard the harmony in the storm, felt its strength ebb and flow as it took and gave life, part of a perfect cycle. And then she was the storm. A fierce joy filled her heart. Freedom as she soared with the wind, power as she thundered down mountains and roared across valleys. A chord of dissonance jarred her nerves and sapped her strength. Her heart skipped a beat and lost its rhythm; she edged away from the sound. She was part of Teann, eternal and endless. It was so much different than anything she’d ever experienced before, even that first winter, when she’d attempted to time her travel by the winter storms. She could see now that had been like a child playing in a puddle. She longed to continue along the path, discovering the beauty and wonder of creation, but she recognized she could lose herself to the pull. Slowly, she sought her body. The cold slapped her with a fist full of needles. She opened her eyes and gasped.
Zeynel looked at her, pride obvious. “Well?”
Sara stood. Like the first time she had meditated using the stone, she felt different somehow. Smaller and yet, deep, full. As though having touched creation, she was more a part of it. She picked up her bag and then gestured to the wall of white. “Time is short and the storm will not rage for long. Every moment counts. We go out there.”
With the rope between, they stepped out into the blizzard. Ice stung her eyes as they maneuvered through snowdrifts. Sara focused on Zeynel’s blurry shape, scant paces ahead. Before too long, she could make out more than Zeynel’s contour. Was it her imagination, or had the storm lessened? A moment later, the wind faltered, gusting at intervals to offer a shallow reminder of its former power.
They walked through a sea of graduated white as the wind dusted the path with drifts of snow for what seemed like an eternity. Zeynel passed a piece of dried meat back to Sara. She held it in her gloved hand then took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. How much longer to the Zorcani camp? It was impossible to tell how far they’d traveled in a world with no landmarks. She scanned the rocky mountain slope above the trail then to the charcoal-colored clouds moving with stately grace across the pale gray sky. “This is just a window. Good weather won’t last long. Let’s start looking for a shelter.”
Zeynel nodded and without pausing stride cut a sage bush from the mountainside and shoved it under his arm.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“The storm is only resting. When it returns, it will be angrier than ever.”
Sara reached for her sword, searching the mountain for the source of the voice, uncomfortably aware of how exposed they were on the open path. Overhead, on the rocky slope, a form wrapped in a heavy woolen coat blended with the white landscape. The form neared. Black eyes gazed at them between the folds of a heavy scarf wrapped around the speaker’s head. Sara’s mind went to Ilydearta, but she felt no reaction. She glanced at Zeynel, who watched her. Sara shook her head once. The figure stood still for a moment before
pointing to a haphazard series of rock steps leading from the trail to the mountain slope.
“My home is not far, and you’re welcome to share it.”
A woman’s voice.
The woman turned as if to leave, then over her shoulder added, “I know every nook and cranny of this mountain. There is no other shelter within reach.” She nodded meaningfully toward the sky. “By nightfall, you’ll be dead. It’s up to you.” She started back up the narrow trail.
Sara glanced at Zeynel. He shrugged and together they followed the woman up the mountain.
Their host struggled through snow well past her knees but without faltering. Before long, she scampered up a rock outcropping before disappearing into a low cave. Sara and Zeynel followed.
“It’s not much but it’s home,” the woman said as she unwrapped her white scarf, revealing a careworn face with clear, almost translucent pale skin. “Please, take off your wet things.”
Sara’s hands immediately began to burn from the warmth. She removed her gloves and boots and placed them by the fire. The cave was small but almost cozy. A fire pit had been scraped out in its center. Soot blackened the craggy ceiling and, where the firelight reached, tiny natural crystals winked like distant stars. Leather bags and many baskets hung from nooks along the wall below several bundles of dried leaves and grasses. Herbs? Toward the back, rolled bedding sat next to a large slab of what looked like sandstone.
Kneeling before Zeynel, Sara eased off his boots, inspecting his feet for further damage then gently rubbing the cool skin until it warmed under her hands.
“You know, I could get used to this.” Zeynel leaned back and closed his eyes.
“Don’t count on it.” Sara rummaged in her bag for a vial of liquid and looked toward the woman, who was watching her with interest. “Thank you for your hospitality. I am Sara and this is Zeynel.”
Journey of Awakening Page 23
