GriffinSinger

1. Seer, Sand, and Secrets-1

Seer, Sand, and Secrets

The hot humid air of mid-afternoon pressed against Irenya’s face. Her clothes, constantly damp from the frequent showers, clung to her skin, chafed under her arms and at the back of her knees. Sweat trickled down her neck. The new straw hat, this one with a strap attached to save it from the wind’s thievery, made her scalp itch. Relief washed over her at the sight of the others reining in under a stand of large, spreading trees. Elaaron and Gedric were already drawing the usual maps in the dirt, earnestly discussing distances. She envied them. How could they be so impervious to discomfort? All I can think of is air-conditioning and a decent bed.

Julis appeared from nowhere, his endearment a reminder of more comfortable times at Ilkyrie. ‘Princess, enjoying the ride?’ His sweaty upturned face, thinner these days and streaked with grime, was scrunched against the bright overcast sky.

She cleared the stifled air from her throat before replying. ‘Yeah. Sure.’ She leaned forward and made a valiant but unsuccessful attempt to swing her leg over Nettle’s rump. Julis plucked her out of the saddle and set her down. Both her knees buckled and she would have fallen had he released his grip on her waist. A lifetime ago she would have sworn at him for laying a hand on her.

A guard arrived with a pan of water for Nettle. Julis prised the reins from Irenya’s fingers. ‘Go sit with Leachim.’ He pointed to deep shade under one of the trees. ‘I will refill your water flask and bring it over.’

She picked her way across knotted tree roots with as much dignity as her limbs would allow and stood with her back against the trunk. Leachim patted the ground beside him.

She slithered down and lay on her stomach among the roots and leaves, anything to relieve the ache of tired, bunched muscles. Days of solid riding had created a sense of distance between her and the murderous attack at Akkod Castle, but nothing would ever erase the memory of Aldine, gripping the handle of a long knife, slashing with all her strength at her husband’s murderer. From behind the musician’s lacy grille, Irenya had watched helplessly as the dance of death raged below. She could still smell the blood.

‘How far to the Sildahni town?’ She propped herself on her elbows and looked up at Leachim. ‘What are they like? Are they friendly?’

‘Hospitable. We will likely eat well, and you can admire them; they are a handsome race.’ A cheerful expression on his face, he added, ‘The women in particular. They will be delighted to see Elaaron. He was popular with them even as a boy.’

She rested her head on folded arms and closed her eyes. Her throat was sore. Not for the first time, she wondered what Elaaron had been like as a child.

The next day, Irenya fell ill. At first, she dismissed the stomach cramps and burning face, blamed the weather. Vomiting left her too weak to pretend. Leachim dealt with the practicalities and she found herself in a tiny room in a village inn. Her period started; she was not carrying Elaaron’s child. Relieved, she sank onto the narrow bed, grateful to be lying down. Her apology to Leachim for holding up the party brought a swift response; he laughed.

‘Not one unhappy face out there. Nothing like a few days fishing and sleeping and drinking ale to ease the saddle kinks. The locals are delighted to have guests for Summer Solstice. Julis has taken to visiting their farms, freely checking horses and livestock, garrulous as ever. Good for business, so many visitors.’

He measured two different powders into the jug of cool fruit tea and stirred, the spoon making dull thuds against the pitcher. He held her with his brown-gold eyes. ‘You wish Elaaron to visit you?’

‘No. Thank you for asking.’

‘Then I shall leave you in peace. In case the innkeeper’s daughter tries to sneak you some food, say no. That plump young lady appears to think me callous for disallowing you a pile of potatoes and spicy stew. Drink as much of the water as you can and all of the tea. It will help you to rest easy.’ He left, closing the door behind him.

The tea had a pleasant, soothing taste. From the internal pocket of her shirt, Irenya pulled out the treasured photo of Mikey and tried to picture how tall he’d grown. Much as she wanted to believe Aeryl’s bubble-of-time theory, she was more inclined to the obvious reality. He’d be two years now. She couldn’t work it out exactly, nor could she calculate the season in Melbourne. Travelling meant the calendar she kept wasn’t reliable. How much had his face changed? Had David prepared a birthday party? A cake and two candles. Would Mikey remember the word marmee? She closed her eyes. Her limbs were sinking into the mattress, sleep stealing over her, an irresistible downward spiralling. An image of Elaaron appeared. Smiling. But the smile wasn’t for her. It was for a beautiful dusky girl with hazel-green eyes, a maiden who wore a bead necklace. Blood-red beads …