Storm Rider Lasniniar Collection

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Wind and Sand

Iarion stood at the southern edge of the Rolling Hills, his companions at his side. The air had grown steadily warmer since their departure from Melaquenya, and the grass beneath their feet became dry and brown. It had taken them several days to navigate through the hills. Now an endless stretch of sand lay to the east, west, and south of them. They had reached the desert.

Iarion squinted against the glare of the sun. The air seemed to shimmer with heat, even though it was only a few hours past dawn. The sand began in a flat expanse before rising in dunes that had been shaped by the wind. Strangely, the undulating shapes reminded him of the ocean.

“Well?” Barlo asked, breaking the silence. “Are we going to cross it or not?”

Iarion blinked, startled from his reverie. He had been asking himself the same question. “It’s so... vast,” he said. “I can see no end to it.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Barlo said. “We can’t see past those dunes. It could end just on the other side of them.” He paused for a moment, considering. “Or it could go on forever. There’s no way to tell, really.”

Iarion gave him a sardonic look, a trickle of sweat working its way between his shoulders and down his back. “Thanks. That’s very helpful.”

“It cannot go on forever,” Silvaranwyn said in a soft voice, reminding them of her presence. Both Iarion and Barlo turned to look at her.

“Why not?” Barlo asked.

“Iarion’s vision showed him a swamp south of here.” Her tone was matter-of-fact.

“But what if the vision was wrong?” The words seemed to tumble from Iarion’s mouth before he could stop them. He had felt so certain when he had woken from it, but every moment that passed since his collapse made the vision seem more like a distant dream.

“It was sent for a reason, Iarion,” Silvaranwyn said. “Do not let doubt cloud your judgment. We already knew the desert was here. The swamp must be somewhere on the other side.”

“How can you be so certain?” Iarion asked.

“Close your eyes,” she said. Iarion gave her a confused look before complying. “Breathe deeply, in and out. Let any thoughts that try to get your attention simply drift by. Focus only on your breath.”

Iarion frowned. It was easier said than done. At first, his warring thoughts bombarded him, trying to get his attention. He shooed them away. His mind gradually became still. Time lost all meaning, and his discomfort from the heat seemed to fade.

“Good,” Silvaranwyn said. Her gentle voice seemed to come from far away. “Now, if you listen very closely, you should hear a sound in the stillness.”

The suggestion seemed ridiculous, and for a moment, Iarion was tempted to laugh. But when he brushed his reaction aside and focused, he did hear something. A low hum seemed to vibrate from somewhere deep inside him. He listened in wonder.

“Very good,” she said. “Now anchor yourself in that sound. Let it fill you. When you feel completely centered, try to feel which way the sound is pulling you. Hold out your arm and point in that direction.”

Silvaranwyn’s words washed over him. Iarion embraced the humming sound, allowing it to fill him until he felt as if his entire body was vibrating with it. At first, it was all he could feel. But then he sensed a gentle tug. It felt as if he were a scrap of metal being drawn by a lodestone. He raised his arm, swinging it out to point.

“Open your eyes.”

Iarion obeyed, blinking in the bright sun. He looked down at his outstretched arm. It pointed south, beyond the sand dunes.

“Even though your vision did not come from the Quenya, it is pointing you in the same direction,” Silvaranwyn said. “Either way, we are meant to go south.”

“How did you do that?” Iarion asked.

Silvaranwyn smiled, shaking her head. “You did it, not me. I only guided you. I have learned to tap into the Quenya’s call, even when the connection is weak.”

“So you feel the same pull,” Iarion said. Silvaranwyn nodded. “Will I always be able to do that?”

“If you can reach that level of stillness and focus, yes. But know that other forces can interfere with your connection. When we were in Saviadro’s domain, I could sense nothing. Also, if you spend more time communing with the Quenya, your connection will become stronger and you will not need to go into a trance to find it. It will always be part of your thoughts.” Silvaranwyn’s last words were wistful.

“Well, I guess we have the answer to Barlo’s question,” Iarion said, changing the subject.

Barlo mopped his face with a tartan handkerchief and rolled his eyes. “About time.”

The sun beat down on them from overhead. The heat was oppressive. It felt like an enormous weight, trying to crush them into the ground. They shuffled southward through the sand. Sinstari walked beside them with his head hung low, panting.

No one spoke. Every breath seemed to steal the moisture from their mouths. Iarion’s throat was parched, but he drank from his waterskin sparingly. The sands continued to stretch as far as the eye could see, and the Rolling Hills had disappeared into the distance hours ago. His scalp itched with sweat and sand, and his tunic and breeches stuck to his skin.

Silvaranwyn and Barlo seemed to fare no better. In fact, Barlo seemed a bit worse for wear. He had removed his helm and cloak, but he refused to take off his chain mail armor. He struggled under its weight, his ruddy face turning red from the sun.

Despite the pull from the Quenya Iarion had felt earlier, his sisters’ words continued to nag at him. If they did find the dragon from his vision, how was he going to face it? And the dragon had only been one of the dark things he had seen. He had no plan for dealing with any of it. And there was still the vision of him killing Barlo.

Am I sending us all to our doom?

Even if he was, he felt powerless to stop it. It was all he could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The thought of trying to change direction to turn back seemed like too much work.

Every time a dune rose before them, he hoped that this time, they would find the end of the desert on the other side. But the sand just kept going and going. He saw the shimmering image of water off to the east and forced himself to ignore it. They had come across several such illusions already. No matter how close they tried to get to the shimmering water, it kept moving farther away. He idly wondered what kind of magic had created the illusions and for what purpose. They seemed nothing more than a cruel joke.

“Iarion,” Silvaranwyn croaked, clutching his arm and pointing.

He stumbled to a stop, turning his head to follow her arm. A darkness stretched across the southern horizon. It hung low over the sand. He squinted at it for a moment, uncomprehending. They were standing still, but the darkness seemed to be getting closer. Was this some new form of magic?

A hot gust of wind whipped at his hair, stirring the sand around them. A stab of fear penetrated his fogged mind, screaming in panic.

“It’s a storm!” he said, turning to the others. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know!” Silvaranwyn cried, her silver eyes wide with fear. “We can’t outrun it and we have no shelter.”

Barlo snorted. “There’s shelter all around us.” Both elves looked at him in confusion. Barlo sighed. “The dunes?” He looked at them expectantly for a moment before shaking his head. “All we need to do is settle down on the leeward side of one of the dunes and cover up with our cloaks. There’s a big one right over there. We’d better hurry.”

Barlo scrambled through the sand toward a giant dune to the west of them. Iarion, Silvaranwyn, and Sinstari stumbled after him. The wind continued to rise as the storm moved closer. Iarion heard a shrieking sound in the distance.

“Do you have a spare cloak?” Barlo shouted over the rising wail of the wind.

Iarion shook his head in confusion. “What?”

“A spare cloak! Do you have one?”

“I—I think so...” Iarion unslung his pack and began rifling through it, pulling out both his regular cloak and a spare. Barlo snatched the spare from him.

“I’m smaller than you,” he said. “I’ll use it to cover both me and the cat.”

Barlo lay on his stomach and tucked the bottom end of the cloak around his boots, wriggling them deep into the sand to anchor it. He beckoned to Sinstari, who slunk over to lie beside him. Once the wildcat was settled, Barlo threw the rest of the cloak over both of them, hiding them from view. Iarion could make out the movement of Barlo’s fingers, tucking the edges of the cloak under his and Sinstari’s bodies. Iarion shook his head.

I hope this works...

There was no time to argue or come up with another solution. He turned to Silvaranwyn. She was already on her stomach, following Barlo’s example. She exchanged one last look with Iarion before covering her head.

The sky above them was growing dim. Iarion hurried to prepare his own makeshift shelter. The wind was already trying to tear the edges of his cloak from his grasp. He huddled between his friends as the shrieking built to a crescendo overhead, hoping the fabric would be enough to protect them.