“To do what?” asked the dragon suspiciously.
“I wish I knew. But Duvessa is convinced it impacts all of us. The entire tribe’s future hangs in the balance, and with it the Red Plains. Like I said, you’ll need to talk to her about it if you want to know more. But first, you three need to regain your strength. That means eat, sleep and drink.”
The tribe leader was not wrong there. Dalkeira was fighting to keep her multiple eyelids open, and they grew heavier with every passing moment. Sleep sounded wonderful right about now.
“So why did you not just tell us? Why the secrecy?” the dragon asked. Her jaw spread wide from a yawn she could not repress.
“You really can’t see? It’s not all about telling the truth. A leader learns it’s just as important to pick the right time to share the knowledge she holds. Since I wasn’t sure—and I’m still not—I wanted Duvessa’s confirmation,” said Aslara. “Besides, what would I say? ‘Hi, we just met, but I think you have an important part in the future existence of our tribe. Please follow me to unknown events and possible danger’? Would you have believed me? Do you now?”
“Not really,” Dalkeira said skeptically. “Though I suppose you could be right.”
Her distrust was subsiding now she had a more complete picture. And with her hunger eased, sleep was the sole competitor for attention within the dragon’s exhausted body.
“You should get some rest. We can speak more about this later, I promise,” said Aslara as Dalkeira’s head hung low. “Really, it will be alright. We'll get Trista back on her feet and then we can talk. Now rest. I will sit here and keep an eye on things.”
Dalkeira still did not like it much. Here she was with her own road to the west to follow, stuck waiting for her bonded human. But she felt tired. As tired as she was back in the desert when Decan carried her.
Family sticks together.
Unable to fight it any longer, she lay down near Trista’s table, determined to get to the bottom of all this winged river nonsense…tomorrow.
Trista felt heavy and light at the same time. The world floated around her. As she blinked, her shady surroundings came into focus. She tried to move her head, but even that was too much effort. Her vision blurred, then refocused. Slowly, she recognized the still body of Decan lying beside her.
I’m on a table too? she thought, confused.
She felt something press against her hand. It felt familiar, but she could not turn her head to see what it was.
A small silhouette appeared next to her brother and opened the boy’s mouth. The shadow poured something between Decan’s lips and disappeared again. Trista tried to follow the figure, tried to speak up, but slipped off again, back into the darkness once more.
The dark greeted her like an old friend; one she was reluctant to meet. She looked around. That other place had been much cooler. Here, the heat that had haunted them for weeks in the desert still clawed at her, harassing her to give up. The same heat that had destroyed her skin, and her hope.
Fire erupted around her. The laughter of black soldiers echoed in the empty space. The flames closed in, just like they had done before. She looked for a way out, but the fire did not want her to leave.
“Dalkeira! Where are you?”
Still no answer came. Trista sat on the ground, arms around her knees. She cried; cried for her parents, cried for her brother, for losing the most special thing in the world and for the inevitable to come. But the flames were unforgiving, inching closer, hungry for their prey, driven forward by the darkness behind them.
“Dalkeira? Anyone? Help me!”
A breeze swept past her face, cooling the tears on her cheeks. She looked up and saw nothing but flames moving in for the kill.
As if triggered by her stare, the fire rushed forward to consume her. Trista threw up her arms, knowing full well it would not stop the pain; then, unexpectedly, an immense gust of wind crashed into her. It hit her with such strength she had trouble staying upright. The turbulent force surrounded her with a thunderous roar. By the time it stopped, the flames were all but extinguished. Trista lifted her head once more to see who was there, but all she saw was darkness. From far away, a voice emerged from the nothingness.
“And who might you be?”
Trista blinked. She was back inside the hut. Branches of dried herbs swung gently above her in the lightest of breezes. It was darker than before; colder, too. The sound of a tiny night insect reached her ears from far away. She felt a cool touch on her skin and tried to move her head, but her body was still too heavy to make even the slightest of movements. She turned her eyes as far to the side as possible and saw a small shriveled hand loosely drawing patterns on her skin. Her eyes traced the wrinkled skin up the wrist, arm and shoulder, following a path toward the face. It was a small woman, busily drawing lines along her skin. Deep creases of age ran around the woman’s eyes. They were unusual eyes; eyes that despite their clouded appearance watched her closely. The face was surrounded by strands of silvery hair, complemented by a smile that was missing a few teeth. Trista tried to speak, but a warm touch on her shoulder stopped her.
“You’re alright, my child. Sleep. You’ll feel better in a day or two.”
“Is she back? Is she awake?”
Dalkeira’s familiar voice made Trista’s heart jump with joy. She was still there. Her ocean beauty had not abandoned her after all. She tried to reach out with her mind, but exhaustion prevented it. Forced to give up her efforts, she drifted back to sleep.
Laughter woke Trista from the darkness. She blinked, trying to remember how long she had been lying there. The hut was much lighter now; sunlight fell in through the open door. She lifted her head, surprised that her body was finally obeying her commands again, and slowly sat up.
Her muscles were stiff and cold, like they had not been used in a long time. Trista surveyed her arms, legs and the rest of her near-naked body, following the lines trailing the curves of her muscles. They circled her belly and curled around her breasts, reaching all the way up to her neck.
Carefully, she slid off the table, making sure her legs would not give way before putting her full weight on them. She looked at the table next to her, but noticed with shock that it was empty.
“It’s alright. He’s fine,” said Aslara’s soft voice. “He’s outside, probably playing with the other kids.”
The dark-eyed woman sat in the corner of the room on a sawed-off tree stump, calmly watching her.
Blood rushed to Trista’s cheeks at the naked state she was in. She looked around for her clothes and saw them lying nearby. Her legs wobbled as she tried to take a step. Realizing her intent, Aslara jumped up and handed her the clothes.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” said Aslara, though she sounded apologetic.
After getting dressed, Trista tested her legs once more, this time feeling confident enough to let go of the table and take a few steps. Aslara approached her with a small bowl of water.
“Here, drink this. You look like you could use it.”
Trista took the wooden bowl and slowly poured the cool water down her throat. She felt it slide all the way down into her stomach. Her eyes caught a familiar shine of color lying on the ground.
“She’s been sitting here for three days straight. Refused to leave your side, not even for food. I finally convinced her to eat something this morning; she fell asleep almost immediately after it. Poor thing.”
“Dalkeira listened to you?” Trista said in disbelief, trying to shake off her grogginess.
“Barely, and I must admit Decan helped. However, I am happy to say we’ve had a moment to talk.”
Trista wondered what that meant, but for now she was just glad the dragon was alright. She put her hand on Dalkeira’s muzzle. The dragon opened an eye and looked up at her.
“Good morning.”
“You are finally awake!” said Dalkeira with a sigh of relief inside Trista’s head. “How are you feeling?”
“I am, and I
’m glad you’re here. Go back to sleep. I won’t go far. We’ll talk later.”
Dalkeira’s head pressed against her hand. She recognized the feeling immediately from before.
“No, I want to stay with you,” said Dalkeira.
The dragon rose to her feet and shook her head before stretching her legs.
“Did you not sleep well?” asked Trista privately.
“I did, actually. Just deep,” Dalkeira’s thoughts replied. “I dreamed of the Taori…and a song. It was strangely soothing.”
Trista smiled. She let her hand run along the back of Dalkeira’s head before turning to Aslara.
“I want to see Decan. Can you take me to him?” said Trista.
Aslara took her arm and guided Trista toward the door. She had to shield her eyes against the sun as they emerged from the shadows. Dalkeira followed them out into the day.
Laughter greeted her again as Trista stepped carefully outside. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a group of children running after a ball made of grass. Multiple men and women observed the spectacle, laughing with the children who ran around, tripping over each other. The game looked like total chaos, but that did not seem to bother the players at all.
One of the boys had much lighter skin than the others, but was just as invested in the game as the rest. Seeing her brother run back and forth brought a smile to Trista’s face and a tear to her eye. Decan seemed to limp a little on the leg that had been bitten, but besides that was full of energy.
“You can sit here,” said Aslara, gesturing to a spot just outside the hut.
Aslara’s voice made Decan look up from the game. The commotion quickly drew everyone’s attention. The sound of the game died down as the villagers looked at the new arrivals. Dalkeira emerged from the hut and positioned herself next to Trista, clearly trying to look as majestic as possible. All conversation fell silent as people’s eyes turned toward them.
“Triss! You’re awake!”
The boy rushed over. Trista let Aslara’s supporting arm fall and took her little brother in a full embrace, laughing in relief. It had been a while since she felt so happy. They had done it, all of them. They had survived one of the most inhospitable regions Trista had ever seen.
Aslara clapped. “Everyone, after a few days’ delay I’m glad to officially introduce Trista of the waterclans. She and her family will be guests of the Minai for now. They don’t speak our ancient sounds, so please show them our finest hospitality and have patience with your words, or use the common tongue,” announced Aslara. She then repeated the words in her native language.
Decan broke off the hug and looked at his sister with a grin.
“How are you feeling?” asked Trista.
Decan spoke reassuringly. “I’m fine, really. The leg still hurts a bit, but Duvessa said it will get better over time as long as I keep it moving.”
“Duvessa?” said Trista, confused.
“The old woman. They call her a life listener, Triss. She helped me. Gave me all kinds of drinks.” Decan’s words spilled out quickly; he was clearly hyperactive from the game. “Some were really disgusting, but Duvessa said I had to take them if I wanted to get better. She helped you too, you know.”
Images of the wrinkled face and white eyes drifted back into her mind. She remembered Aslara had mentioned the name before, back at the Pillar of Life.
“Life listener?” said Trista, still trying to make sense of it all. “Why life listener?”
“I don’t know,” said Decan, shrugging. “I guess she listens to life?”
She must be some sort of a healer, thought Trista.
“She is, but not only that. I suspect she is much, much more,” replied Dalkeira privately.
“Well, I’m glad you’re alright, little brother,” Trista said.
“What about you?” asked Decan. “You’ve been on that table longer than I have. Are you feeling okay?”
Trista ran her hand lovingly through Decan’s hair.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I’m still a bit tired, but what I really am is hungry.”
Hearing the comment, Aslara signaled to one of the nearby men.
“Why don’t you sit down here for a while. You can enjoy the game and get some solid food in your stomach,” she said.
Trista gladly accepted. The game started back up and Decan hobbled back into the chaos again. For once, the temperature felt pleasantly warm as Trista sat in the shadow of the hut. Her muscles absorbed the warmth and melted into a state of relaxation, as if she had been frozen solid on the inside until now.
Observing the lines on her skin with renewed interest, she noticed that much of the damaged skin was already starting to heal. She felt flakes of skin drop off her nose when she scratched it. The layer of gray mud also cracked and fell off in some places.
Dalkeira positioned herself beside Trista on the ground, putting her head on Trista’s lap. Trista softly scratched the ridges of the dragon’s head. She felt Dalkeira relax under her touch.
“You’re much bigger now than when you hatched,” said Trista inside her head. “Even with so little food. I wish I could get you more food.”
“Do not worry. I will get bigger still.”
“I want to see that. I’m glad you’re still here. I…I was afraid you had left us.”
Dalkeira remained silent for a moment.
“Well, I am still here.”
Trista felt the dragon shift her head slightly, as if to find the perfect spot to lie still.
“And perhaps it is best if we stay awhile,” added Dalkeira after apparent consideration.
The suggestion felt strangely soothing to Trista. She was about to comment when one of the men returned to offer her some dried, sweet fruits in a woven grass bowl. Besides the fruit, there were slices of a baked, white root and some green leaves that looked suspiciously like seaweed. It struck her as odd to see seaweed so far from the ocean, but her stomach overruled her mind before the thought had fully formed.
There were twig-like things in the bowl as well, which had a salty and smoky taste. When she asked Aslara what they were, they turned out to be smoked lizard tails. Not that it mattered to Trista; she happily accepted everything and filled her stomach with whatever was offered. Between bites, she slipped Dalkeira whatever she wanted. It was clear the dragon needed it as much as she did.
The spectators fully invested themselves in the game again, their laughter returning soon after. More at ease—and with some food in her belly—Trista thankfully joined the others in following the playful match. Every now and then, she spoke with Aslara about the things she saw around her.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she said to the leading mother. As she spoke the words, Trista put her hand on Aslara’s arm and squeezed it gently.
“Don’t worry. I’m glad you pulled through. For now, take your time and regain your strength,” Aslara said tenderly. She put her hand over Trista’s to reinforce the words.
As they talked, no one noticed the figure in the back observing the new arrivals from a distance. Shiri’s eyes narrowed as she watched Trista and Aslara. One of the hyen’sta let out a rumbling growl. The other chuckled softly.
“Razza, Shuka, come on. Let’s go,” Shiri said harshly to her sha’cara. “We need to train.”
As both animals walked toward the base of the mountain, they each let out a soft whimper. It was clear there would be no rest for them today.
Chapter 24
Garden
“Why did they ask us to come? I should be up in the sky, not digging around in the dirt.”
Annoyed, Dalkeira scraped her claws on a rock to clean them and looked up. The blue sky was lined with white stripes, as if an enormous dragon had split open the cloud cover with its wing. The sparkling spectacle was like a special invitation.
“They didn’t; I asked Aslara if we could come,” said Trista. “I thought it would be nice for us to spend some time together with her and the other huntresses, but outsiders are no
t allowed to join the hunt. So she asked if we could dig up some roots.”
Trista used her spear to chip away the hard, red earth before pulling out a round, white and slightly dry root.
“A dragon is not meant to dig,” Dalkeira said stubbornly.
“You’re in a mood, aren’t you? This hunger is clearly doing you no good.”
“If they let us hunt with them, maybe we would not have to want for meat so much,” said Dalkeira. “All we get is plants and a lizard leg or tail if we’re lucky.”
Trista looked at the dragon, but decided to let it go.
“Where have you been going these last few days, anyway?” asked Trista, changing the subject. “I haven’t seen you around much.”
Waiting for Dalkeira to respond, Trista scratched the dried mixture of mud and herbs on her skin. It itched at times, a sign that her burns were nearly healed. But even with her skin much better, she had decided to follow Aslara’s advice and continued applying the mixture to protect her skin from the scorching sun.
After her recovery it had not taken long before Trista noticed she and Decan were the only light-skinned people in the village. Many had skin as dark as the baby they found in the desert, although others of the tribe were also lighter toned, like Aslara.
None of the Minai were too bothered by the influence of the sun god, and even Decan had developed a deep tan over the last few weeks during their travels. It was only her skin that had trouble with that fireball high in the sky.
Trista had wanted to make a hat of dried grass—something every ocean fisher in the waterclan knew how to do. But she had not needed to; instead, some of the Minai women had offered her and Decan enough fresh clothes to dress themselves. She had accepted the gesture with tears in her eyes. After all, their clothes were in desperate need of replacement.
“No place, really,” said Dalkeira, evasive.
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