by J. M. Lee
Kylan was with him. He clasped Amri’s arm and squeezed.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” he said. “You saved Onica’s life, you know. When we’re done on our quest, I’ll sing your song over the flames of the seventh fire.”
“I had help.”
That was an understatement, but there wasn't time to explain everything. Amri looked back at the storm wall behind them, cutting them off from the rest of the desert like a black-and-gold curtain. He could hardly believe they had survived crossing through. Then again, they wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for Erimon, and Onica could have died from her injuries if not for Naia.
“We’ll reach our destination soon,” Erimon said. “Up there, where the mountains come close like a hand, there is a pass. On the other side is an oasis valley.”
Amri squinted at the clouds and lightning. After how far they’d traveled, and at such speed, he felt as if it should have been farther away.
“The storm wall won’t enter the valley?” he asked.
“It never has before.”
“But the darkening—”
“It never has before,” Erimon repeated, with a hard look that dared Amri to ask again.
“Is the oasis where you were taking us?” Naia asked Periss.
“That was the plan,” Periss replied. All of his arrogance was strapped down, now that he was around his older—and much more likable, in Amri’s opinion—brother. Amri glanced out over the desert and realized something.
“But you only got us halfway,” he said. “Erimon and Tappa are doing the rest. I’d say we paid you more than you earned. How about you give Kylan back that firca, and we’ll call it even?”
Erimon arched a brow. “You made them pay you to bring them here?”
Periss shoved his hands into his elbows, crossing his arms tightly as if it could lock away the firca. But he soon crumbled under his brother’s disapproving grimace. With a huge grumble and sigh, he took Naia’s dagger from his belt and thrust it at her.
“But I’m keeping the firca. My skiff will need repairs, and I know someone who will trade his services for it.”
Then he stomped away and ducked belowdecks again. Naia made a rude gesture after him.
“It’s all right, Naia,” Kylan said. “Really. The firca was made to send the message with the Sanctuary Tree. It’s done its duty. I’ll make another one. After all, there seem to be plenty of bones around.”
“He’s such a . . . !” Naia growled. Still, she sheathed her dagger at her belt and turned to Erimon. “What’s his problem, anyway?”
The Dousan sandmaster shrugged one shoulder.
“He ran away three trine ago. He’d always been discontent with the Dousan way, but we never thought he would leave . . . then one morning, he left without a note. The only reason we knew he hadn’t been eaten by a pit-shark was that my skiff was gone.”
Amri snorted. “His first theft?”
“And apparently not his last . . .” Erimon’s pointed ears perked up when the crew hollered. “We’re arriving. Hold on to something and enjoy the ride.”
The ruby facets of the mountains were suddenly upon them, rising up on either side like the claws of a giant. Erimon took a whistle from his pocket and blew a chattering signal, sending the crew rushing to action. Tappa crested a dune, and Amri caught a glimpse of green and blue, nestled in a deep valley of sands like an emerald. He grabbed one of the hand-loops on the rail as Tappa went into a near free fall, gliding down the steep dune toward the oasis. Erimon shouted orders, calmly monitoring the Skimmer’s speed and strength.
“All tilt, spiral descent! Nice and easy for our guests, eh!”
The driver tapped at Tappa and clucked to her. She sang a deep MNNNUUUUU in reply and tilted, ever so slightly, and her course warped into an easy spiral descending toward the bottom.
Amri couldn’t take his eyes off the lush oasis waiting below, except to grin at Naia and Kylan, who returned the expression with eager excitement. The waters in the long lake reflected the sky, topaz and indigo. Growing along the waterfront, trees in amber and red and gold sprouted and bloomed, crowned with the roosts of flying creatures. Though the storm wall lingered behind them, Amri tried to put it out of his mind. At least for now.
The air was sweet with the scent of fruit as Tappa slowed, big body gently plowing into the soft sand that was prepared for her on the bank. While Erimon helped the driver with the reins and rigging, Amri, Naia, and Kylan climbed back belowdecks to find Onica was awake.
“How are you feeling?” Amri asked.
“Grateful to be alive. Naia, is this your work?” Onica ran her hands along her arms, where all the scratches and bruises had been healed. All that was left was dirt and dust from the sands. Naia helped Onica to her feet.
“For a friend, it’s never work,” she said. “Amri’s the one who saved you.”
Tappa groaned and opened her mouth, filling the chamber with light. The Dousan sailors tossed rope ladders out. As they climbed down and on to the sand, Amri wondered how Tappa felt about carrying passengers in her mouth. He saw Tavra on Onica’s shoulder and imagined what it would be like if she rode around on his tongue all day like they’d done to the Crystal Skimmer. Blech.
Amri lingered behind with Onica when Kylan and Naia went ahead.
“Thank you for coming after me,” Onica said. “Tavra told me what you did. It sounds quite amazing.”
Amri shook his head. It had been thrilling when it had happened, but now that it was over, all he could think about was how he wouldn’t have been able to do anything if it hadn’t been for Tavra. Her knowledge of flight and navigating the air. It was a daylighter’s skill in the daylighter world that had saved Onica.
“It wasn’t really me. It was Tavra. If she’d been able to do it herself, she would have been able to rescue you faster . . . Maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.” He coughed awkwardly. He felt as if Onica should know the part of the dreamfast Tavra had shared with him, even if by accident. “I saw what happened. In the storm, when you were with Tae . . . I’m sorry about your wings.”
Onica stood and put herself together. She’d lost her cloak in the storm, and now, through the opening on the shoulders and back of her jewel-tone tunic, the truth was painfully obvious. Where her wings would have been, there were only scars and uneven, long-healed ridges. She sighed, not in sadness but in remembrance, as if recalling a loved one who had died. The grief was still there, but she had accepted it.
“I had a dream, before I met Tavra. That a sun and a moon would eclipse over a storm at sea. In the dream, Tae was the sun. A silver-haired Vapra was the moon. Tae was excited to go, to find the Silverling to whom she would be bound. I was worried, that we would find danger by running off to follow my Far-Dream. But she and Ethri told me not to be afraid. Tae and I went in search of bad weather near Ha’rar . . . we found a storm indeed.”
Onica smiled, and the two of them followed Erimon’s crew down into the oasis below. Amri shivered. He could imagine Tae as a sun, with her radiant red-and-gold hair. And the other, a Vapra soldier, silver as the moon.
“I lost my wings that day. Tae thinks she is responsible even now. But she often forgets that it was because of the storm that I met Tavra.” Onica finished the thought as they stepped out into the light of the day. Shielding her eyes, she added, “Dreams do not always end as we expect. End and beginning are one and the same. That is what I learned that day, and a lesson I relearn every day since.”
Amri looked down, absorbing the Far-Dreamer’s words.
“Did Tae ever find her Silverling?” he asked.
Onica shook her head and replied, “The reckoning of that eclipse has yet to come.”
The Wellspring looked as if a part of the jungle had been plucked up by a big bird and deposited in the middle of the otherwise empty-seeming crystal sands. Had the storm wall
not lingered so close over the shoulder of the mountains, Amri pictured it being nothing less than a verdant paradise.
Erimon led the way with Periss at his elbow. The two brothers captured the attention of the red-cloaked Dousan they passed. In Erimon’s case, the greetings were warm, followed by bows of respect. Periss followed, jaw set tight, trying to ignore the surprised gasps as he was recognized.
Tents and canopies built from bones and hide were set up along the shore of the lake, temporary but sturdy shelters that Amri imagined could easily be dismantled, rolled up, and carried by only one or two Gelfling. In Grot, there was shelter everywhere, and one was never far from the trickling of fresh water coming down from the Sanctuary. Even on the ocean, there were storms and drinkable rain. But here the nomadic life was the only way to stay alive.
A row of Dousan bearing bones etched in patterns that matched their tattoos walked by. Out of the tops of the bones wafted a silvery smoke that filled the air with an earthy, woody scent. They did not look up as they passed, not even to acknowledge the visitors. Erimon stepped aside and bowed his head, the entire exchange transpiring in complete silence.
When the incense bearers had passed, Erimon continued down the footpath.
“The Wellspring is the only place where water flows in all seasons, and the mountains protect this haven from storms,” he explained as they walked. “It is here where the Dousan gather in times of trouble.”
“It is truly a time of trouble,” Kylan agreed.
“Indeed. Since receiving your message, and seeing proof of the song it told, Maudra Seethi summoned the sandmasters of the twelve Dousan xerics. We gather here in the Wellspring to meditate. The Skeksis have long ruled Thra, and their ways have become our ways in many regards. As a clan we must reflect on how we are to respond. How to change our rituals of the present and of the future.”
“Does this mean you’ve lit a fire?” Amri asked. He could hardly believe it, but maybe it was true. If the Dousan had already decided to stand against the Skeksis, then it would have been worth all the danger they’d overcome to get here.
Erimon tilted his head. “We light fires every evening. The desert is very dark at night.”
“No, not that,” Naia said. “We were asked by Aughra to travel to the clans and light the fires of the resistance. But it sounds as if you’ve received our message, and you believe the Gelfling must rise up against the Skeksis.”
“Indeed. We have heard of the troubles and seek answers.”
“That’s not what she means,” Periss interrupted hotly. But Erimon gave him such a cold look that he didn’t elaborate. The sandmaster warmed his expression when he turned to Naia.
“The Gelfling are in peril, that much is true. The Skeksis can no longer be trusted. The Dousan have always believed the answers are in Thra’s eternal song. An ancient sage brought us these traditions, when the Dousan first found the Wellspring. He taught us to meditate, to guard the rituals of the earth and the song of Thra. It is our way to guard those rituals as well, in his absence. In the tranquility of that meditation, if Thra wishes to speak to us, it will. It is all we can do, to surrender to that wisdom.”
Amri didn’t know what any of that meant, but Erimon said it so solemnly that he didn’t feel there was room to ask any questions. The Dousan sandmaster cleared his throat and broke the strange silence. He gestured at a tent nearby, a larger one without a torch lit in front. When Amri leaned down to peer through the front flap, he saw it was empty.
“Now! Night falls soon, and the desert is more dangerous then. In the morning, meet me at Tappa. I will take you across the sands again so you may continue your journey, knowing the Dousan are with you in spirit. In the meantime, use this tent, and the Wellspring itself, as your own. I must go and meet with the xerics, to prepare for Maudra Seethi’s arrival.”
Erimon gave them a deep bow and left them, and his brother, behind. They watched another row of Dousan incense bearers pass. They wore simple robes, moving one slow step after another. They did not look at the Gelfling strangers who watched them. They seemed completely unaware of their immediate surroundings, much less the storm Amri could see over the tops of the mountains. Had it been that close before? He remembered what Onica had said when they reached Cera-Na.
“Something is not right,” he said.
“Something, or everything?” Periss growled, as if the words were rocks stuck in his throat. As he stomped away, Amri couldn’t help but notice Kylan’s firca hanging at his belt.
CHAPTER 17
Amri was the first to explore the tent. It was made, like everything in the Dousan world, of bone and skin, though after riding in Tappa’s mouth and being inside skekSa’s behemoth ship, it seemed less and less strange.
The tent was sparsely furnished, with only a circular straw mat ringing a firepit in the center. A chute of rolled bark allowed smoke to escape out of the apex of the tent. Everything was built to be broken down and folded, easily stowed in the cavernous storage spaces inside the Crystal Skimmers or under the decks of the smaller sand skiffs.
“Is anyone else starving for a soak in that lake?” Naia asked. Her Drenchen skin was paler by the moment. Amri felt dry and itchy from the desert, but he couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Naia.
“I think I’d like to rest, if it’s all the same,” Onica said.
“I’d like to stay, too,” Tavra said. She moved to Onica’s knee as the Sifa took a seat in the cool shade of the tent. Amri imagined the two would like some time together, after Onica’s ordeal.
The lakeside wasn’t a sandy, shallow beach like the one in the bay of Cera-Na. As they neared, Amri saw that the basin was covered in tree roots. Ancient, huge, dried and woody, like a woven basket, with no shallows for wading. Instead, the depths dropped immediately into a deep, dark blue, the bottom of which couldn’t be seen.
Down by the water, it was easier to ignore the storm that hovered so close by. All Amri could do was pretend it wasn’t there and hope Erimon was right. The sandmaster had to be. He knew the Wellspring, knew the ways of the Dousan. Who was Amri to doubt him?
“This isn’t an ordinary lake,” Naia said, looking in. She sat on a root, dangling her feet in the water. The moisture crept up her legs, gradually restoring her natural greenish color. “But the water feels divine!”
Amri sat beside her. The water on his bare feet was cool. Now that he was closer, he could see cloud-jellies floating in schools deeper in the water, and schools of darting fish. Bubbles rose from below, big and voluminous, filling the water with minerals. The three of them soaked their feet and hands and sipped the lake’s rich, fresh waters.
From the lakeside, they watched more strings of incense bearers. They came in sets of three, six, and nine, never looking up, some wearing veils or their cloak hoods over their eyes. They walked in short, even steps, eerily silent. Sometimes they stopped, using a long ladle to pour sand in swirling designs that were soon blown away by the gentle wind that caressed the valley.
“Looks like they’re just going in circles,” Kylan said quietly. “Do you think it’s . . . normal?”
“Normal is a pretty relative term,” Amri pointed out.
Naia slowly crept deeper and deeper into the water, until she was standing on a root in a place where the water came up to her chin. The gills on her shoulders and neck opened in the water, and a big sigh of relief bubbled out.
“The good thing is that they’re gathering here,” she said. “The Gelfling are banding together. Even the clans that rarely do, like the Dousan xerics.”
“Don’t forget that the Sifa only gathered to run away,” Kylan said.
Amri jostled Kylan with his elbow, trying to get him to lighten up. “All the more convenient for us to reach them all at once and light that fire.”
“But we still don’t know what lighting these fires even means,” Kylan said with a touch of frustrat
ion. “We don’t know anything about that writing that appeared on the deck of the Omerya, or the colors of the fire. I don’t deny that something special happened. But why there? Why then?”
“Because the Sifa decided to join our fight. Why else?”
Kylan sighed irritably. “Aughra said fires of resistance, but we don’t know what that means, or why it happens. She just said things, as always, without telling us anything. Look around the Wellspring. Erimon may say the Dousan have joined us, but there’s no fire. No dream-etching. Just like when All-Maudra Mayrin said the Vapra fire was lit in Aughra’s dream-space.”
As much as Kylan’s over analyzing of everything could be depressing, something about what he said rang true. Erimon had no hesitation in believing and joining them, and even though they hadn’t met Maudra Seethi in person, Erimon seemed to know what he was talking about. But the incense bearers were not preparing the Crystal Skimmers for travel into the central region, where the Castle of the Crystal was. The tents were not being taken apart and stowed for departure. In fact, as evening set in, more Skimmers arrived.
“They’re not getting ready to leave,” Amri realized out loud. He shook his head. “But neither were the Sifa. They’re waiting in Cera-Na. For a signal.”
“A signal we don’t understand ourselves,” Kylan sighed.
Naia swam in the lake while Amri and Kylan just kicked at the water. The suns descended, and the Wellspring grew cold with night. The fires Erimon had mentioned flickered to life in front of the dozens of Dousan tents. Amri imagined looking down into the Wellspring from the mountains would seem like looking into a basket full of stars.
The Dousan, like other Gelfling clans, had a communal hearth near the back end of the lake. Two Dousan stood at a long plank bench, cutting open a pile of leathery-skinned fruits. The others of the clan, including those wearing the same style of cloak as Erimon—other sandmasters, perhaps—and some of the incense bearers, took the fruit silently, giving only a bow of thanks.
