“They’ll stop at the slab,” Karin said absently.
“It’s far—”
Iyana started and stopped as she turned to look. She had only walked a short distance since cresting the rise Karin examined now, but already the leaning stone appeared much closer than she had thought, the desert playing its tricks in a way she didn’t mind now. And it wasn’t the one slab, she saw now, but a cloister with a spur that looked like a fin. There were similar cloisters beyond it, and she could see the wagons pulling in behind their mules, the riders stepping down from their horses as the caravan made camp beneath sheltering stones that could house giants.
There was a howl or a bark, and Iyana spun back toward the south. The foxes had been joined by another pack. They now numbered nearly a dozen, and they planted their feet and joined their voices to the wind. They sounded like adolescent hounds, but there was a certain beauty to it that Iyana was beginning to appreciate despite the way it roused the hairs on her arms and along the nape of her neck.
“A challenge?” she asked. But already the largest of them had moved off, scaling the dunes. The pack followed, tails flicking.
Karin smirked, but she felt a twinge beneath it that made her own heart beat faster. She thought to dip into the Between and see his tether thrumming, but tossed it aside. Even as her strange sight became clearer, its uses seemed less so. What was the point of seeing such things, like life threads twisting up out of sight?
“Are we followed?” Iyana asked.
“Of course,” Karin said. “That doesn’t concern me.” He wiped his black bangs away from his face. It still amazed her that no silver had yet to settle there. “I’d be following strangers come to my lands. It’s only dutiful.”
“We’re not strangers,” she said, and firmer than she had expected. He met her eyes, brows tilting.
“Tell that to them,” he said.
“I will.” And she meant it. “They haven’t attacked us. They haven’t tried to frighten us off or intimidate us.”
He smiled, then, and there was something in it that made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. The wind picked up and the rain with it, and there was a distant peal of thunder.
“That’ll come closer,” Karin said. “Come. Let’s get dry. Or stop getting wet, at least.”
They began to walk toward the leaning slab and the company beneath it. Iyana could smell the ozone as Creyath worked over the makeshift fire pit the soldiers had dug, trying to get the damp wood lit.
“Why did you react that way?” Iyana asked, slowing as they passed under the the great shelf where the mules milled among the horses that would have them as company. The animals chuffed and twitched their tails as they passed, likely thinking they had come to hitch them back to the wagons and drive them out into the storm.
“There are many ways to intimidate and to threaten,” Karin said. “It’s true that the folk of the desert—wherever they’re from, truly—have not come against us openly. Perhaps they cannot, yet. Maybe they’re gathering even now to do so. But they have made themselves seen. And they’ve made themselves unseen in ways only I can see.” He shook his head and then wrung the water from his hair. “For all we know, they led us into that gap knowing right where it would put us.”
“You said you saw one of them,” Iyana said. “Or thought you did, on the edges of the bowl.”
“I saw him.” Karin spat. It was strange to see him do it. “They’re no different than those desert foxes, always on the periphery. Always watching. Close enough to strike and far enough to run.”
It made sense that Karin would see it that way, but Iyana wasn’t so sure.
“Or,” she started as she passed further under the half-arch, “perhaps they’re simply scared, or wary.”
A grunt was the only reply, and Karin moved off. He did his thinking on the move. Much as he might like to be dry, he’d have the whole place paced backward, forward and side-to-side by the time night fell.
As for the place, Iyana was pleasantly surprised, all things considered.
The shelf, which loomed nearly half the height of the rocky cliffs above Westhill, leaned in such a way that the worst of the pour was kept off them, the rain forming rivers on the underside that ran in the wrong direction and glowed in the reflected yellow light that burned below it. She followed the golden river down to where the base of the stone met a confusion of jagged rock. These were darker of hue, more blue-black than the obsidian of the southern Valley. They sparkled, and as she drew closer, Iyana saw that it was not merely the work of water and flickering flame, but rather that of myriad white chips that shone through the translucent surface like a canvas of tiny stars.
“Least we’ve refilled our skins and casks.” She recognized Talmir’s voice and turned to see him staring at her. He nodded curtly. “You can remove your hood, now, Iyana.”
She did, flushing. Around her, the party members finished spreading feed for the horses and arranged themselves between the wedge the wagons formed and as close to the licking flames as they could. Most were bare-chested. Even the few women among them had stripped to match them. Jes leaned against a wagon wheel, as she was wont to do, holding her bandaged forearm. Iyana saw the red-haired Faeykin climbing into the back of the covered wagon. Verna. She tried to keep the name committed. The older one followed her, and Iyana was caught between wanting to follow and wanting to do anything but.
The fire was warm against her shin, so she bent and rolled the cloth up tighter. She’d change soon enough, when the rain relented. Now, she concentrated on warming herself as she found a place next to the young soldier named Ket. He scooted to the side, glancing at her sheepishly. He offered a small wooden bowl, which she took graciously and drank from.
“Venison?” he asked, holding up a cut of dried and salted meat.
“Later,” she said with a smile. She saw some of the other soldiers glancing their way with smirks and knowing smiles. She looked at Ket with renewed interest, but he blinked away from her bright eyes and she flushed because of it.
Creyath stared at her over the open flame, his eyes burning with an inner fire the pit could not match. There was a time not long ago when Iyana might have felt uncomfortable under that amber stare. Now, it warmed her. It felt solid and strong. A thing known in a land that was anything but. He looked back down into the blaze with the hint of a smile.
A flash of lilac lit the underside of the slick gray stone and drenched them all. A few men scrambled, and more than a few horses, though Creyath’s black charger stayed rooted. Iyana sighed and watched the sky over the animal’s profile, delighting when the next spider web of purple light arced across it, splitting the plane in all directions before fading. There was no crash to signal the lightning. It was a storm of silent fury, and they watched it like children, regaled for as long as it lasted.
Even Karin stopped his pacing awhile to look, and for something other than danger for a change.
“Perhaps the rain was worth it,” Iyana said. That drew a laugh, and even a halfhearted cheer from the place Jes rested. Iyana felt a pang for her. She thought to offer help, but the stubborn scout had refused further attentions by the party’s healers.
The thought prompted a new question and a new swell of panic as Talmir finally sat down among them.
“Where is Sen?” Iyana asked. Talmir cast about and some of the soldiers did as well, though their search was halfhearted. The captain sighed and made to stand, but Iyana stayed him. “I’ll go.” He frowned, but she didn’t give him a chance to raise further complaint, making for the north-facing wagon.
She knocked on the upraised board and felt a fool for doing so. After a moment, the older Faeykin with silver streaks in his black hair parted the canvas flap. “Trying on clothes?” Iyana asked, cursing herself inwardly as her joke was rewarded with a flat look. She peered behind him and saw Verna locked in some form of meditation. Her hands hovered over one another, and she could see the beginnings of a pulsing yellow-green light gather between them.
&nbs
p; “Yes?” the Faeykin asked, impatient. Courlis. That was his name. She didn’t like him, and now she remembered why.
“I was looking for Sen.” A blank stare. “Do you know where he is?”
“Around back,” Courlis said, nodding sharply behind her. He withdrew, pulling the canvas down rather than letting it drop on its own, and Iyana was filled with that stony rage only the Ve’Ran name could call up. She closed her eyes and counted, clenching and unclenching her fists. She knew she was more frustrated by the exclusion than the rudeness. She could abide strange. Landkist were meant to be strange. But how was she ever going to learn more than the Faey Mother had taught her if her own kind considered her too low to turn their noses at?
Frustrated, she turned away from the wagon, peering through the shadows of the partial cave in the direction Courlis had indicated. At first, she saw nothing. Then, as she scanned to the left, she saw the beginnings of what looked to be a natural stair. Or, if not a stair, then a tumble of loose stones that resembled the fangs of some long-dead beast. It wound around the side of the leaning slab, up behind the base and—she guessed—into the open.
Iyana followed it, thankful no one tried to stop her. Rolling her sleeves up, she navigated the slick stones carefully and ducked under the slanted stone, wincing when she found the sky brighter through the heavy cloud cover than she had expected.
She stood still and steady for a beat, and then another. She tickled the Between and it tickled back, and when she opened her eyes she saw everything in much the same way as she had before, save for one small difference.
Ahead, where the toothy, rooted tumble curved to the right, she saw a slab far smaller than the great one and larger than those that formed the walled trench around her. It formed a tunnel of sorts—a cave at the back of the lonely spur, and in its shallow depths, she saw a green light emanating.
“Sen?”
The light flickered and swelled, and Iyana walked forward, emboldened.
She had to duck her head to dip into the cavern, but once inside, she was surprised at how far it went. It seemed the spur concealed the entrance to some deep chasm. To her right, the cave came up against the sheer wall the great slab made. To her left, it sloped down, the ground covered by hundreds of loose rocks before dropping away into a black and endless depth.
Sen was there, glowing green with that form-fitting aura that was unlike anything else she had seen. He was fussing over something, and she crouched and moved forward to see what. She edged around his right side and nearly gasped.
Below him and above the chasm of untold depth was a shallow depression in the cliff face. In its center was a loose circle of black stones ringed by a pool of water. And atop the jagged pedestal was a purple flower, deeper than midnight—dark and bright all at once. It had sharp petals that cut the darkness and seemed to call out a challenge to the deep lands below, and at its center was a red tongue with tiny wings that reminded her of a dragonfly.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Sen said, his voice carrying clear in the green- and purple-lit dark. “How life can cling, given the chance.”
Iyana looked from the flower up to Sen. His eyes, so much like hers, were piercing instead of soft. He studied the flower in fascination, but she wondered what he saw in it.
“Beautiful,” she said. His eyes flicked her way before settling back, and he ran his green-glowing hand just around the edges of the bloom, careful not to touch.
“You’ve been avoiding me, Iyana Ve’Ran,” he said. It did not sound like an accusation, just a statement of fact. But it felt like one, and Iyana knew it was the truth.
“Your fellows don’t make it easy,” she said, lowering herself into a seated position among the loose stones. She should have felt frightened, perched so close to the edge of the chasm, but the little flower wasn’t, so what right did she have?
“I am not them,” Sen said.
“And what are you?” Iyana asked, her tone showing that she was through with his riddling ways. He paused his examination of the desert flower and seemed to weigh the question.
“I am life,” he said. “Just the same as you, but not the same as they.” He tossed his head toward where the caravan sat gathered around their yellow fire.
“They are life as well,” Iyana said. “So is that.” She nodded at the flower.
“Yes,” he said. “But they do not wield it like we do. Bend it.” As he spoke, he passed his hand around the purple head. It followed him like a snake might, dancing in a bobbing pattern as he pulled it along.
“Strings,” he said, almost absently.
“Tethers,” Iyana said. He seemed to regard her with a look of appreciation, then.
“No matter what they tell you,” he said, “you are no mere healer, Iyana Ve’Ran. You are a master of life.” It sounded strange to her.
“My lessons with Ninyeva only progressed so far before the end,” she said, trying not to think on it. The images were never far from her mind, but she kept them from the front.
“I hear she battled the White Crest himself before that end,” Sen said, sounding awed. “Before her end, and his. I heard she had a lot to do with the state the Sage found himself in at the end. That it was her hand that weakened the shell enough for the Ember King to crack it.”
“I was there.”
“I know,” he said. “I heard that, too.”
She met his eyes, green on green, looking for a challenge that wasn’t there and apparently raising her own.
“I believe you,” he said. “You mistake me, Iyana. I believed in the Faey Mother as well.”
“Did you know her? You trained among the Faey, yes? You lived among them for a long time. You are not of Hearth, like the others, but from the Scattered Villages.”
Sen was silent for a space too long.
“I knew her, briefly,” he said. “Too briefly.”
“She wouldn’t teach you,” Iyana said, catching an impression. It was strong and sour, and Sen’s eyes flashed. He looked older, then. But the look passed quick enough.
“But she did teach you,” he said, dropping his examination of the flower and letting it droop. It looked more ordinary, now, but still beautiful. A silent sentinel against the dark, and not one sent from the World Apart.
“Not enough,” Iyana said with a sigh. “If you’re looking to learn her secrets from me, you’ll be disappointed. I have little to offer.”
“Now, maybe,” Sen said. He did not sound disappointed. “Perhaps I can teach you, and in so doing, learn.”
Iyana did not know what to say, so she said nothing.
“There are tethers everywhere,” he said, gazing down into the dark. “You know that much.”
“It doesn’t feel like it out here,” Iyana said.
“Oh, but that is where you are wrong.” He sounded firm. “Take this beauty here. Could I have traced its tether among the hundreds, thousands, and hundreds of thousands of similar plants in the Valley?”
“I suppose not,” Iyana allowed.
“Out here,” he continued, “life needs to be strong. It needs to last, or else wither.” He passed his hand over the flower again, and again it seemed to follow him.
“How are you doing that?” Iyana asked, unable to keep the question in.
“Tethers can be touched,” he said, and the purple flower bobbed and swayed at his whim. “Pulled.” He jerked his hand and a petal tore free. It went spinning and tumbling into the depths. His brow furrowed in concentration, and the green aura around his hand turned sickly, bits of black and yellow infusing it at the edges like wisps of steam. As she watched, the same coloring tinged the flower from clinging roots to stem before the top went black.
Iyana felt sick, though she knew it was just a flower. Sen watched her.
“Won’t you try to heal it?” he asked. He did not sound mocking. “To put it back together?”
“I can’t.”
He leaned back. “You know you can’t?”
She did.
; “That is the power we can possess,” he said. “A hurt there’s no coming back from.”
“It looks like you’ve got it all figured out,” Iyana said. “What would you need Ninyeva’s gifts for?”
“Ah, but this is just a desert flower,” he said. “To bend and break this and things like it—those scaled mongrels from before, beasts and lesser fiends of poor persuasion—that is no gift.” His eyes flashed and his green outline flickered. “But to weaken the White Crest, one of the great powers of the World.” His eyes widened. “That is a power that could threaten the Eastern Dark himself. A power that could stave off the World Apart. A power to protect.”
Iyana regarded him with a sinking feeling that mixed disgust with anger and came up pitying.
“Is that why you keep your tether so close?” she asked. “Why you wrap it about yourself as you do? So that others cannot use it against you?”
His brows drew together. “One can never assume what one might come against. There could be others like us. Lesser, but no less dangerous because of it. You should guard your tether as well, Iyana. I can show you how.”
“Whatever that thread grants me,” Iyana said, “I use it to heal. To mend. You might think it a paltry and misguided effort, but I think it’s the only good thing left to do in a World obsessed with the thing you’re chasing.”
She stood and stepped around him, cutting a wide berth.
“I wish you luck in finding what it is you’re looking for, Sen,” she said.
“There are others in the desert,” he said, stopping her just short of the cave mouth. “Not the nomads. There are others digging in the wrong places. Pulling on the wrong threads, as you think I’m doing. You’ve felt it. I know you have. I’ve seen you staring over the western rises in the nights. I fear Creyath’s flames may not be enough to stop it.”
With that, she left him. He did not try to stop her.
It was brighter outside than it had been, despite the onset of evening. The clouds had begun to lose their battle with the desert dry and were slowly clearing, and the west was again bathed in the golden-purple haze that now reminded her of the flower Sen had ruined.
The Midnight Dunes Page 7
