The Midnight Dunes

by Steven Kelliher

  And then she saw beyond them.

  Even without her gifts, the shared emotion of the company would have been apparent—that secret sharing that can only come from being a part of something. That can only come from having it taken away. What she and the other Valley children saw now, looking beyond the pairs and trios of father, mother and child light and dark, swarthy and wind-brushed, spoke to a part of them they had left buried here. It spoke to the part of them Captain Talmir Caru had spoken to that night below the unfinished gate and the broken arch of Hearth’s white shell.

  She knew it could not be a sea, but even still, the effect was the same. Iyana stepped by the reunions and brushed off the stares of the nomads and their children. She ignored the flicker of the firelight on the black diamond walls that glowed like the eyes of drakes or Night Lords yet somehow looked beautiful. She looked beyond, and in the place of a cave of cowering things, she saw a sparse and sprawling land that may well have been the greatest treasure she would ever know.

  The waves lapped at the shore with a cadence that recalled the lake she had grown up above, the swaying pegs of the rotted timbers below her home rocking her to sleep even as a forgotten mother sang rhymes her sister had never committed to memory.

  Iyana walked forward, and none tried to stop her. It was all black and blue and startling white, far as the eye could see. The underground lake that could be an ocean stretched for leagues, and she wondered if it could even reach the lands where Linn and Kole were now. She wondered if the shimmering surface of the blue-black swells she stood before fed the roots beneath Center that made the trees there grow taller than should have been possible.

  If she had thought the cave mouth and ensuing tunnel had been large, and if she thought the horses in their milling, starlit basin had taken comfort, the land she saw before her stretched enough to suggest a breadth and scope she could scarce believe.

  There were islands carved of the same melted rock that made up the borders and the shore. There were great stalagmites and stalactites that joined together and spilled their bases out to cover the water with slow stone in places. She could not see the skylights in the roof but knew them to be there, as the blue-white glow from the starlit canopy high above lanced down and spilled like the water itself, carving edges smooth and jagged.

  But it was the columns she truly marveled at. In the center, suspended in time and position, was a tower of rock that joined the roots of the desert to the top. She knew it must be made of the same black melt the rest of the land called skeleton, but its surface was awash in glittering diamond—chipped white stones that grew like armor and emitted a glow like moonlight too close. The same white gems could be seen all around, even clinging to patches on the shallow shore on which she stood now, her boots already soaked through with the water that was as warm as a drawn bath.

  Iyana felt the tugs all around and blinked. She turned around and saw the rest of her caravan—her family, as it were—arrayed, and none looked any less awed. Even Sen and the Faeykin, normally so aloof, stood transfixed, green eyes dimming as they left all thoughts of the Between behind, so caught up were they in the here and now. She saw Creyath stepping slowly into the lapping waves until he was knee-deep, the nomads watching the Ember with an intense curiosity, and she saw Talmir standing apart from the old man who’d brought him and who smiled at his back, the bronze star on the captain’s chain the only thing moving in time with his breast.

  Behind the caravan, she saw the desert people that might have been their cousins—their brothers and sisters and parents and children in another life—stand or sit before the fire that now seemed a paltry glow. Their eyes shone with a light not unlike the glittering moon stuff she felt on her back now. It looked a lot like pride. Even Ceth stood apart from his fellows and stared at their staring.

  But the spell could only last so long, and soon enough, the strangeness set in for both sides—a feeling only the children could ease, and so they did, chittering and twirling between the newcomers as their parents looked on, caught between amusement and the protectiveness all mothers and sires shared.

  The old man stepped forward, and the children switched from Talmir, Ket, Mial and the rest of them to ring him like they were his flock and he their shepherd. “Pevah! Pevah!” they called up to him, and he smiled at them each in turn and made them feel special for doing it.

  “Some say that is the pillar by which the whole World is held up,” he said, resting his hands on the shoulders of the two youths who hugged his sides. He looked more tired than Iyana had seen him during their trek, and though he had no reason to lie and she had nothing to compare him to but a monster of storm that had taken her teacher before her time, he did not seem Sage-like in the least.

  How could this man be of the same ilk as the White Crest? How could this man, stooped and unsteady as he moved to sit on a flat ledge beneath one of the thick pillars, share anything with the Eastern Dark, no matter how removed?

  “Come,” he said, waving for them to join him. “Come, come.” Talmir blinked and picked up the pack he’d dropped, and Creyath rejoined them, trailing the hissing remnants of lake water. One by one, the rest complied, moving unsteadily toward the warmth of the fire and picking seats or else standing among the arches, pillars and smooth, carved seats in the cavern floor. They looked as if they were moving through a dream.

  Jes and another soldier allowed themselves to be led down an adjoining corridor by one of the red-sashes, their burden the First Runner, pale and lolling. The rest watched them. As the spell dropped and the two companies renewed their acquaintances and their budding suspicions that had settled only long enough to stay violence, tension crept in to the mixed company, and Iyana was sorry to see it.

  The old man seemed to sense it as well. He opened his mouth to speak and met as many eyes as he could on both sides, the firelight drawing lines only the children ignored as they moved among both sets as freely as the strange and conjured breeze did.

  “As you can see,” he said with a smile, “we mean you no harm.” And then, to Ket’s questioning look, “If we had wanted it, we could have struck the lot of you down dumber than that lovely view there did.”

  It was a threat, of sorts, but Iyana smiled as shoulders relaxed on both sides, knowing the truth of it and what it signified.

  “We have food, and we have drink,” he went on. “That is a fresh ocean, there,” he waved toward the water at their backs and Iyana found a seat among the children, who giggled and prodded at her dirty trousers. “Though it does tend to get that sulfur taste now and again. A bit burnt on the edges, that stuff.” One of the mothers—a dark one with a red sash tied around her waist—shot forward fast as a striking serpent and snatched one of the children away, doing little to stop the laughter that trailed after.

  A young girl who was lighter than the rest sat very close to her. Iyana smiled down at her, but she was too busy touching their forearms together. They were similar enough to be sisters, and now she smiled up, her blue-gray eyes recalling Ceth’s.

  Iyana shared the look, but there was something odd niggling at the corners of her mind. She observed the gathering, noting the children flitting from spot to spot, the members of the Valley caravan sitting or standing with more ease with each passing breath, and the warriors that ringed them all or else sat among them before the flames and beneath the arches and melted crescents of obsidian.

  So few. There were so few of them. Now that she looked, Iyana could only spot a few faces she had not already met under the bright and blinding light of day. Though she had not spoken with any, she had observed them all, committing their tethers to memory on the long, aching walk through the sun-baked sands. Looking now, it seemed that those who had come to fetch them had been most, with just a few left behind to mind the children.

  The old man spoke as the caravan was served with stone bowls of fresh water that ran cooler than that Iyana had stood in moments before. His hands moved along with his mouth as he described their surr
oundings and explained the way liquid fire had made it all and left its white treasures behind. His own people watched him, expectant, while Iyana’s sat and listened, enthralled and—in more than one case—dozing.

  The only sounds other than the conjured stories, the whispered suggestions of the lake at their back and the mix of crackling brush in the pit before them was the occasional whimper of Karin in the alcove they’d placed him in. Iyana looked that way and made to rise, but Creyath caught her eye and shook his head, his calm doing its work on her. She settled with effort and exhaled. She had done everything she could for him today. Any more and they might lose her to an exhaustion a hair below sleep and above death.

  “So you see,” the old man was saying, “the desert is not as empty as it might appear. Even the very wood you see burning here was gathered just beyond.” He pointed behind them and Iyana turned to look. She could not see what he meant, but the shining white pillar with all its crusted gems threatened to steal the thought away.

  “How?” Ket asked.

  “The lake recedes,” the man the children called ‘Pevah’ said. “The Mother pulls it back like an indrawn breath, exposing the bridges and pathways.” He sounded wistful. “There are so many paths. So many nooks and caverns. And so many ways the stars and the light of the day reach down, the Father blessing even the children who hide in Her warm embrace. There are circular chambers that fill completely. You must take care not to be caught in those. And there are those that fill only half and no more. You can survive the night in these. Higher up, there are fertile shelves touched by the sky and all its wind, the soil brought from far away and made rich by worms and insects. And our firewood grows there and reaches up to touch the sky through the web and lattice of melted stone above.”

  He went on for some time, and Iyana found herself swaying along to the tune of his voice. The children nestled into the arms of their parents or protectors—it was difficult to tell which was which in such mixed company. After a while, Iyana began to wonder why the old man spoke as he did, and then it struck her.

  All the while, both sets eyed one another, and with each passing beat and each pathway referenced—each secret in the caverns beneath the swaying sands above—the tension eased until it passed almost completely. Now when their hosts looked at them, it seemed to Iyana that they truly looked. Creyath smiled in the flickering light, and hosts both young and old—though none approached even Mial in gray, an unhappy reminder of the straits they must have been in—watched him like a myth come real. It made Iyana sad to see it even as she watched the Ember with pride, and as she thought it, she sought out Captain Talmir and was unhappy to see that his look had changed as well.

  There was no Ember fire here, despite the warmth. No Embers ushered them beneath their melted halls to show them what secrets they had left buried in the sands. Talmir had the look of a man who realized he had brought more power than he had found.

  But the Red Waste was among them. Iyana had to look closely. She had to see beyond the words and easy manner. She had to find his eyes in the ruddy red glow and see the fire that burned behind them. But it was there, and as was the case when she had invaded the mind of Braden Taldis uninvited, the noticing got her noticed.

  Pevah stopped talking and switched his eyes to her before she realized she had slipped into the Between. She blinked and breathed out. But now she had the attention of more sets, and she held them all in a pregnant silence. She felt fear being regarded so by a man who had shown nothing but a clever tongue and a welcoming façade. She did not think it a lie, but seeing his look now as her mind had brushed against his, she thought him a dangerous thing, and she thought him something else.

  It was then that she knew she sat in the company of a god. He might not call the skies to do battle on his behalf. He might not rage like the tempest he birthed. But the Red Waste had earned another name before he had taken this one. And Iyana found that she both wanted and feared to know how.

  The tension had returned quicker than it might between friends, but the old man broke it with a smile.

  “No harm, child,” he said, and Iyana had to believe he meant it. She smiled weakly and glanced away from Talmir’s probing look. “No harm at all.” He leaned back as Ceth approached him from the back. The broad-shouldered warrior she knew to be Landkist bent low and whispered to him, and though she could not hear the words, she knew the look.

  Pevah whispered back with a smile, and when Ceth raised complaint, he did so again and without one. Ceth rose, stiff and stepped before the old man, who began to question various members of the caravan as to their goals, starting with Ket. The young man sputtered and spat at first, and Talmir urged him to speak truly.

  Iyana ignored the empty conversation and watched the Landkist move throughout the company. He touched members of his own clan and did not distinguish between those who bore the swarthy skin of the deserts of the paler flesh of whatever lands he had come down from. One by one, he touched them, and she thought he took special care to circumvent those with children close by or nesting. Their looks—a mix of shame and gratitude—showed her enough about the man.

  As he moved off toward the curved stair, those he touched—eight in all—stood silently and moved to join him. Iyana was not the only member of the desert caravan to watch with interest, despite the old man’s prattling and the easy laugher he had managed to draw some of her company into. Creyath’s amber eyes tracked them as well, and Iyana looked from him to Ceth, her eyes going wide as the Landkist touched his hand to the chest of one and then the next, on and on until they nodded their thanks and began the climb.

  Ceth stood at the bottom and watched them head for the surface without looking back, his face showing something much like regret. Even anger, slow and simmering.

  “Where are they going?”

  Iyana did not realize the question had been spoken aloud until all other conversation stopped. She did not realize she had given voice to it until all eyes had turned her way, Ceth’s included. She swallowed.

  “They have a charge, child,” Pevah said. He said it with all the hidden guilt Ceth’s face showed plain.

  “A charge,” Creyath said as much as asked.

  Ceth, uncomfortable under the growing attention, made a sound under his breath and passed through them once more, disappearing down a corridor to the right and away from the place Karin rested.

  “You have many questions,” Pevah said. “We have answers, though I fear we may not have as many as you seek. But you are tired. In spite of my sprite and spry demeanor,” he laughed, though it sounded hoarse, “I am as well. Come. Come.” He stood and eased the tension from his muscles. “You are safe. Let us not trouble tired minds with fresh worry. Plenty of that on the morrow.”

  At Pevah’s direction, the nomads gathered up the young and brought them down the tunnels to the left. The old man followed and waved for them to do the same, and after many an exchanged glance and a few shrugs, Talmir spoke.

  “He’s right,” the captain said. “Take what rest you can. These lands seem well-protected. They would know.”

  The men and women under his command—even those who might be more suspicious than most, like Jes and Mial—acquiesced with little resistance.

  “Rest tonight. Questions tomorrow,” Talmir said, following the direction of one of the dark women. Most of the company followed, but Iyana stayed behind awhile, watching the embers burn low in their ring of stones as the waves lapped at the shore, the soft and drifting spray cooling her back through her sweat-soaked shirt that was a sight dirtier than anything she owned in the Valley.

  “He did not say answers.”

  She nearly jumped before she recognized the voice as belonging to Creyath. The Ember still leaned against the pillar, arms crossed. His Everwood bow leaned against his leg, and he stared into the fire as if willing it to last.

  Iyana looked askance at him and he turned toward her, his expression unreadable.

  “Questions on the morrow,” Crey
ath said. “Keep watch for answers.”

  Her mind repeated it like a mantra that followed her into sleep and left its unsettling echoes upon waking.

  There was a burning that had nothing to do with the gashes that scored his back. He felt it in his veins, and though it made him want to rage and scream and thrash and curse, Karin watched it pass through him and go on its way. He hid from it, waiting in the corners of his own heart, whimpering and afraid. The first was like a serpent, its yellow tongue testing the nooks and nests within. It did not find him. It did not choose him.

  Karin had had this dream before, and even as the relief he felt at seeing that winged drake pass him by and seek another with which to coil and burn departed, the feeling of loss rose to supplant it.

  The fire did not choose him.

  There was another sting that felt like a fresh burn before he recognized it as a splash of cold, and Karin started awake, his stitches opening in places as firm hands gripped him and pushed him back down. His first words came out a croak and he tasted blood in his throat. His head pounded like a hammer on an anvil, and though the filtered light was dim it sent lances into the backs of his eyes so that he had to squeeze them shut.

  “Not so quickly,” a gruff voice was saying. “Not so cold.”

  He thought he recognized it as belonging to one of the members of their desert caravan—one of the Faeykin, perhaps. The one with hair more gray than silver-white.

  “He needed to be woken. And now he is awake.”

  He knew this voice, and its pleasant lilt brought a creeping smile to his face and a swell of relief that did much to ward off the panic that threatened as memories from the previous day came back in a white-hot rush.

  “You should use your tether next time,” the older man said, rising and brushing stray stones from his robes. Some of them landed on Karin’s bare chest and settled there, nesting between the creases in the bandages.