1. Seer, Sand, and Secrets-5
567 Words
The Peaks were ancient volcanic cones, stumpy sisters struggling to keep their shoulders above the green tablelands of Ishter’s northern border. The river squeezed itself between them, smoothing the stony skirts that tumbled, rough and torn, to an unseen place far below. To the north, Midrash stretched before Irenya, a wasteland of rock and sand and scrub, vanishing in a shimmering haze as far as the horizon allowed. Her gaze followed the margin of green that marked the course of the Idris on its way to the sea, the Northern Flow, if she remembered the map correctly. The bountiful landscape of Ishter petered out no more than a few kilometres beyond the base of The Peaks. If Riadan wants Midrash, let him have it. Only a fool would venture out there.
‘Why don’t the Sildahnis live up here?’ she asked Leachim. ‘Doesn’t make sense when they could have all this.’
‘I agree, but it is all about politics and ownership. Many of the Ishterim do not want the Sildahnis this side of the border. They use the land—hunt here. There is no one to stop them, after all. What they want most is to claim this land as a princedom.’ He swept an expansive arm over the green vista. ‘Ah, here they come, and judging by the full panniers, they have been hunting and gathering. We will eat well.’ He pointed south to five riders who had emerged from dense riverbank growth. Hooting and whistling, the leader made straight for Elaaron. Dusky-skinned and black-eyed, his young face glowed with enthusiasm. The moment he opened his mouth, Irenya was lost. The clicks and nasal twangs merged into an unintelligible babble, which he accentuated with much waving of his yellow-robed arms. She failed to understand a single word.
Leachim leaned closer to her and spoke in a low voice. ‘The young fellow is Telo, the Chieftain’s nephew.’
The party moved off down the steep, twisting track. The Sildahnis burst into song, and Irenya discerned a happy pleasure, though no obvious rhythm in their rough, raw voices. As the company descended, the breeze died and the balmier air of the tablelands thickened with the musty smell of wet earth. The roar of the falls grew louder, drowning the chant. Irenya felt spray on her face. Julis shouted over his shoulder, but his words were lost in the noise. She emerged from a cleft in the rock face and belatedly realised where the path was taking them—behind the falls, into a wet, sepia tunnel, where the only sound was ceaseless thunder. Nettle followed the horse in front, stepping onto the rock ledge as though she negotiated such paths every day. Tea-coloured foam, laden with silt from the tablelands, floated in the air and settled on Nettle’s mane. Irenya kept her eyes firmly on Julis’s backside.
Once through, the path took them away from the falls and around the skirt of the eastern peak. The bushes thinned. Irenya stared at an oddity in the landscape far below, a collection of buildings that appeared to sprout from the desert floor. Descending the stone pathway took longer than she had expected. Eventually, the track rounded a final bend and flattened out, and the party rode into a seething mass of yellow robes, clacking bangles, earrings, and long necklaces—not a hostile face to be seen. Enthusiastic and excited, Sildahnis engulfed Elaaron and a great roar went up.
- Writer
