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..22nd Spring, 515
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..22nd Spring, 515
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Preceded by: Undiscovered Country (Part 1)
As Zhol awoke, everything was wrong.
At first it was just a sound, and at first he didn't notice: after all, the gentle flutter of canvas from above was hardly unfamiliar to someone born and raised in Endrykas. The firmness beneath him wasn't strange either; a bedroll and blankets was the bed he'd grown up with. Other sensations crept in, and those weren't unfamiliar either. There was something a little off about the scent of the air, and the gentle sounds of waking wildlife, but he breathed in grass and heard the chirp of birds; it as how morning was supposed to sound. This was how home was supposed to be.
The weight against his chest wasn't unfamiliar, either. He didn't have to move to know that Khara was lying there, curled as close against the side of his body as she could get, a scruff of his shirt gripped tightly in her fingers thanks to whatever nightmare she had been forced to endure. As Zhol lay still, he wondered if any dreams had plagued him; considering how rested and at peace he felt, he doubted it. The hand that had rested against his stomach all night slid upwards slowly, gently taking a hold of Khara's fingers, careful not to wake her and yet intent on compelling the sentiment that he wished he could have endured a restless night in her place.
It took a few moments more for his mind to stumble across the disconnect: to realise that the two concepts his mind had so readily accepted did not match at all. While home was with Khara now, it was the sentiment that had transferred across, not the surroundings and the sensations. Khara was of Wind Reach, and that meant mountains, tunnels, caves, a sometimes stifling stillness to the air, and the eerie silence of stone. Why was she here? How was he surrounded by Endrykas, and yet somehow in the arms of Wind Reach? Where was he? How was -
His barely awake mind fumbled it's way towards comprehension. The wilderness. The Unforgiving. Their journey beyond the normal scope of Wind Reach's hunters, exploring a valley that Zhol hadn't even thought to discover the name of, searching for new herds, new food supplies for the city. It had been Khara's task, to be flown out here to discover what he valley had in store, and Zhol had merely tagged along; but he'd helped, at least a little. They'd found some sort of small and unusual fanged deer; Zhol himself hadn't understood the significance, but Khara had been overjoyed at the discovery of an animal she had never seen before, and it was impossible not to find that excitement infectious. For one of the first times since he had arrived in Wind Reach, nearly two years ago now, Zhol felt as if he had contributed; he felt as if he had done something for the good of the city - the kind of something that others would recognise as a tangible benefit, rather than the unrecognised good that he did in the stables each day. No wonder he had slept so well; if Zhol had ever felt so fulfilled and at peace before, he could not remember it.
Part of him wished that he could lie here forever; most of him, in fact. His body pleaded for at least a few moments longer, limbs making themselves feel as if they were filled with lead, to discourage any foolish attempts at movement. There were things to be accomplished however, things that could not wait: after all, they had only until fifteenth bell to make their way back down the valley to reach their rendezvous with the Endal who was to fly them back to the city. Zhol hoped that Khara knew how to determine the time out in the wilderness; he knew that it was noon when Syna was directly overhead, but knowing the time only once a day was of little use.
With as much care as he could achieve, Zhol gently loosened Khara's grip on his shirt, and slid himself from beneath her, carefully tucking the excess blankets into her arms to leave her as comfortable as he could. He hesitated, reclined beside her, gazing down at the peaceful beauty of the woman he loved, wishing that there were some way to burn that image into his eyes so that it could be the only thing he ever saw. His heart squirmed, begging him to kiss her awake as he so often did when he awoke beside her; to gently ease her from her slumber so he could see that sweet smile as her eyes opened and saw him. Parts of him worried over whether Khara felt about him the same way that he did about her, but in those waking, smiling moments, there was no question in his mind.
As silently as he could, movements as slow and delicate as he could muster, Zhol crept from within their tent, and stepped out into the Unforgiving. The dimness struck him immediately; not the darkness of early hours, but the greyness of an overcast sky. He tried to work out where amongst the clouds Syna was hiding, but with no success. Silently, he wished that Lillah were here; a prayer from his Stormwarden sister to Zulrav could come in quite handy at a moment such as this.
Crouching briefly, he reached into the tent and tugged the bag of fuel from his pack. When the stable hands had first explained to him why they emptied the moss and manure from each mucked-out stable stall into large stone vats, Zhol had believed he was being pranked; but true enough, with wood so scarce in proximity to Wind Reach, the Inarta had embraced alternate fuels, and the mixture of dried moss and dried manure burned as nicely as any charcoal Zhol had ever used, and with almost none of the unpleasant odor that one might have expected. Whatever was responsible for the repugnant scent clearly vanished as the moisture disappeared.
Carefully, Zhol set about rebuilding the fire they had huddled beside for warmth the night before. The process was far simpler than it had been when he'd first learned to set a fire, back when he'd traversed the Unforgiving on his way to Wind Reach in the first place. Then, he had been taught to build structures, to construct a fire with layers and airflow; now he simply piled the fuel into a circle of stones and closed his eyes, wringing out his soul to seep res from his pores, and invited reimantic flames to dance their way from his fingertips into the camp fire. The wisps of dried moss crackled as they kindled the flames into more, Zhol's res and his focus encouraging them to seek out the larger fuel and bring the fire thoroughly to life. The faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his mouth at the irony of it all; three years ago, his reimancy had been nothing but terrifying, uncontrolled destruction, and now here he was using it for the most trivial of tasks. Quite the transformation, all things considered.
Satisfied that the fire would sustain itself without his attention, Zhol checked the crude structure that he and Khara had cobbled together: a simple frame above the camp fire, made of sticks, and ribbon, and twine; just enough to suspend Zhol's kettle, and boil the river water within. That was something else Zhol had learned on his travels. Boil the water before you drink, one of their guides had always warned. There's evil in these rivers, and the only way to kill it is with fire. A slow chuckle escaped him as he thought of it; strange that, now Khara had shaken loose those memories and he had endured recollections of the worst, his mind now sifted through the past in search of the rare joys that it had brought. In hindsight, the ordeal didn't seem quite so bad.
Once again, Zhol's mind turned back to the clouds above. He tried to remember how they arrived here, tried to recall which direction Syna had set in the night before. It was a foolish habit he supposed, but over there somewhere - a little to the right of where the sun set - was Cyphrus; Endrykas; his family; his lost home. He doubted that there was a sighting lens in all the world that would let him see far enough to witness his other loved ones; but as he closed his eyes, he pretended that he could; he pretended that he could see Dinah grumpily untangling the undergrowth from Niamh's tail, and grudgingly working it into a braid; he pretended that he could see Yahalla stubbornly refusing to let anyone near her with a brush until Etha sighed in surrender and agreed to do it; he pretended that he could see his sisters and brothers glaring angrily at his father each time they passed; he pretended to see Dardanus slumped with regret, staring off in the distance, wondering what fate had befallen the son he drove away -
"Dear Syna," Zhol uttered softly, his voice not as harsh as a whisper, a practised volume he had learned to use to avoid disturbing the sleeping beauty who shared his room. "Please watch over those I love who linger back in Endrykas: let your warmth shine on Dinah, on Lillah, on Yahalla, and on my mother; let them never feel that they are alone. Please watch over those I care for here in Kalea, and keep them safe as they stray beyond Wind Reach; most of all watch over Khara, who I love as much as you love the moon."
"Dear Leth, please watch over my family also; keep them safe from harm as they sleep, and when the moonlight falls upon them, please whisper my undying love into their dreams. Dear Semele, please watch over my family, my friends, and all those in Wind Reach who risk their lives so that I and the rest of the city can survive; let the ground be kind to them, and stay firm beneath their feet. Dear Eyris, please watch over those who struggle with indecision; grant them the wisdom to make the right choices, and to know that they have done, so that they will not be plagued by doubt as they sleep."
Zhol's voice faltered, the upturned hands that rested gently in his lap fidgeting as he reached the last, and newest part of his prayer. For most of his life he had prayed only for others, believing that he was too insignificant to deserve the gods' attention or interest. It was Khara that had changed things; an innocent observation as they had celebrated her birthday, a belief that unlike Zhol's father, who believed him to be some sort of curse from Ivak, Khara saw him as a gift from Priskil; with no knowledge of Ivak prior to his release and the Djed Storm, the people of Wind Reach had come to think of fire as an aspect of warmth and light. His stomach twisted at the knotted requests that always begged to be asked; the divine intervention that he wished he did not want.
"Dear Priskil," Zhol continued, a tentative falter in his words. "Please watch over me. Please guide my hand, and let my fiery nature bring warmth and hope to those I care for; let me be like your towers, bringing light, safety, and security into their lives. Dear Ivak -"
He hesitated, his throat trying to fight against his words.
"Let my love for Khara burn as hot and as eternally as yours for Kova, and grant me the strength to unleash an inferno of wrath against them -" He faltered again, an image of the blacksmith forming in his mind. "- he who has done her harm."
Preceded by: Undiscovered Country (Part 1)
* * *
As Zhol awoke, everything was wrong.
At first it was just a sound, and at first he didn't notice: after all, the gentle flutter of canvas from above was hardly unfamiliar to someone born and raised in Endrykas. The firmness beneath him wasn't strange either; a bedroll and blankets was the bed he'd grown up with. Other sensations crept in, and those weren't unfamiliar either. There was something a little off about the scent of the air, and the gentle sounds of waking wildlife, but he breathed in grass and heard the chirp of birds; it as how morning was supposed to sound. This was how home was supposed to be.
The weight against his chest wasn't unfamiliar, either. He didn't have to move to know that Khara was lying there, curled as close against the side of his body as she could get, a scruff of his shirt gripped tightly in her fingers thanks to whatever nightmare she had been forced to endure. As Zhol lay still, he wondered if any dreams had plagued him; considering how rested and at peace he felt, he doubted it. The hand that had rested against his stomach all night slid upwards slowly, gently taking a hold of Khara's fingers, careful not to wake her and yet intent on compelling the sentiment that he wished he could have endured a restless night in her place.
It took a few moments more for his mind to stumble across the disconnect: to realise that the two concepts his mind had so readily accepted did not match at all. While home was with Khara now, it was the sentiment that had transferred across, not the surroundings and the sensations. Khara was of Wind Reach, and that meant mountains, tunnels, caves, a sometimes stifling stillness to the air, and the eerie silence of stone. Why was she here? How was he surrounded by Endrykas, and yet somehow in the arms of Wind Reach? Where was he? How was -
His barely awake mind fumbled it's way towards comprehension. The wilderness. The Unforgiving. Their journey beyond the normal scope of Wind Reach's hunters, exploring a valley that Zhol hadn't even thought to discover the name of, searching for new herds, new food supplies for the city. It had been Khara's task, to be flown out here to discover what he valley had in store, and Zhol had merely tagged along; but he'd helped, at least a little. They'd found some sort of small and unusual fanged deer; Zhol himself hadn't understood the significance, but Khara had been overjoyed at the discovery of an animal she had never seen before, and it was impossible not to find that excitement infectious. For one of the first times since he had arrived in Wind Reach, nearly two years ago now, Zhol felt as if he had contributed; he felt as if he had done something for the good of the city - the kind of something that others would recognise as a tangible benefit, rather than the unrecognised good that he did in the stables each day. No wonder he had slept so well; if Zhol had ever felt so fulfilled and at peace before, he could not remember it.
Part of him wished that he could lie here forever; most of him, in fact. His body pleaded for at least a few moments longer, limbs making themselves feel as if they were filled with lead, to discourage any foolish attempts at movement. There were things to be accomplished however, things that could not wait: after all, they had only until fifteenth bell to make their way back down the valley to reach their rendezvous with the Endal who was to fly them back to the city. Zhol hoped that Khara knew how to determine the time out in the wilderness; he knew that it was noon when Syna was directly overhead, but knowing the time only once a day was of little use.
With as much care as he could achieve, Zhol gently loosened Khara's grip on his shirt, and slid himself from beneath her, carefully tucking the excess blankets into her arms to leave her as comfortable as he could. He hesitated, reclined beside her, gazing down at the peaceful beauty of the woman he loved, wishing that there were some way to burn that image into his eyes so that it could be the only thing he ever saw. His heart squirmed, begging him to kiss her awake as he so often did when he awoke beside her; to gently ease her from her slumber so he could see that sweet smile as her eyes opened and saw him. Parts of him worried over whether Khara felt about him the same way that he did about her, but in those waking, smiling moments, there was no question in his mind.
As silently as he could, movements as slow and delicate as he could muster, Zhol crept from within their tent, and stepped out into the Unforgiving. The dimness struck him immediately; not the darkness of early hours, but the greyness of an overcast sky. He tried to work out where amongst the clouds Syna was hiding, but with no success. Silently, he wished that Lillah were here; a prayer from his Stormwarden sister to Zulrav could come in quite handy at a moment such as this.
Crouching briefly, he reached into the tent and tugged the bag of fuel from his pack. When the stable hands had first explained to him why they emptied the moss and manure from each mucked-out stable stall into large stone vats, Zhol had believed he was being pranked; but true enough, with wood so scarce in proximity to Wind Reach, the Inarta had embraced alternate fuels, and the mixture of dried moss and dried manure burned as nicely as any charcoal Zhol had ever used, and with almost none of the unpleasant odor that one might have expected. Whatever was responsible for the repugnant scent clearly vanished as the moisture disappeared.
Carefully, Zhol set about rebuilding the fire they had huddled beside for warmth the night before. The process was far simpler than it had been when he'd first learned to set a fire, back when he'd traversed the Unforgiving on his way to Wind Reach in the first place. Then, he had been taught to build structures, to construct a fire with layers and airflow; now he simply piled the fuel into a circle of stones and closed his eyes, wringing out his soul to seep res from his pores, and invited reimantic flames to dance their way from his fingertips into the camp fire. The wisps of dried moss crackled as they kindled the flames into more, Zhol's res and his focus encouraging them to seek out the larger fuel and bring the fire thoroughly to life. The faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his mouth at the irony of it all; three years ago, his reimancy had been nothing but terrifying, uncontrolled destruction, and now here he was using it for the most trivial of tasks. Quite the transformation, all things considered.
Satisfied that the fire would sustain itself without his attention, Zhol checked the crude structure that he and Khara had cobbled together: a simple frame above the camp fire, made of sticks, and ribbon, and twine; just enough to suspend Zhol's kettle, and boil the river water within. That was something else Zhol had learned on his travels. Boil the water before you drink, one of their guides had always warned. There's evil in these rivers, and the only way to kill it is with fire. A slow chuckle escaped him as he thought of it; strange that, now Khara had shaken loose those memories and he had endured recollections of the worst, his mind now sifted through the past in search of the rare joys that it had brought. In hindsight, the ordeal didn't seem quite so bad.
Once again, Zhol's mind turned back to the clouds above. He tried to remember how they arrived here, tried to recall which direction Syna had set in the night before. It was a foolish habit he supposed, but over there somewhere - a little to the right of where the sun set - was Cyphrus; Endrykas; his family; his lost home. He doubted that there was a sighting lens in all the world that would let him see far enough to witness his other loved ones; but as he closed his eyes, he pretended that he could; he pretended that he could see Dinah grumpily untangling the undergrowth from Niamh's tail, and grudgingly working it into a braid; he pretended that he could see Yahalla stubbornly refusing to let anyone near her with a brush until Etha sighed in surrender and agreed to do it; he pretended that he could see his sisters and brothers glaring angrily at his father each time they passed; he pretended to see Dardanus slumped with regret, staring off in the distance, wondering what fate had befallen the son he drove away -
"Dear Syna," Zhol uttered softly, his voice not as harsh as a whisper, a practised volume he had learned to use to avoid disturbing the sleeping beauty who shared his room. "Please watch over those I love who linger back in Endrykas: let your warmth shine on Dinah, on Lillah, on Yahalla, and on my mother; let them never feel that they are alone. Please watch over those I care for here in Kalea, and keep them safe as they stray beyond Wind Reach; most of all watch over Khara, who I love as much as you love the moon."
"Dear Leth, please watch over my family also; keep them safe from harm as they sleep, and when the moonlight falls upon them, please whisper my undying love into their dreams. Dear Semele, please watch over my family, my friends, and all those in Wind Reach who risk their lives so that I and the rest of the city can survive; let the ground be kind to them, and stay firm beneath their feet. Dear Eyris, please watch over those who struggle with indecision; grant them the wisdom to make the right choices, and to know that they have done, so that they will not be plagued by doubt as they sleep."
Zhol's voice faltered, the upturned hands that rested gently in his lap fidgeting as he reached the last, and newest part of his prayer. For most of his life he had prayed only for others, believing that he was too insignificant to deserve the gods' attention or interest. It was Khara that had changed things; an innocent observation as they had celebrated her birthday, a belief that unlike Zhol's father, who believed him to be some sort of curse from Ivak, Khara saw him as a gift from Priskil; with no knowledge of Ivak prior to his release and the Djed Storm, the people of Wind Reach had come to think of fire as an aspect of warmth and light. His stomach twisted at the knotted requests that always begged to be asked; the divine intervention that he wished he did not want.
"Dear Priskil," Zhol continued, a tentative falter in his words. "Please watch over me. Please guide my hand, and let my fiery nature bring warmth and hope to those I care for; let me be like your towers, bringing light, safety, and security into their lives. Dear Ivak -"
He hesitated, his throat trying to fight against his words.
"Let my love for Khara burn as hot and as eternally as yours for Kova, and grant me the strength to unleash an inferno of wrath against them -" He faltered again, an image of the blacksmith forming in his mind. "- he who has done her harm."
"Pavi" | "Common" | "Nari" | "Symenos"
Dad Thoughts | Dinah Thoughts | Khara Thoughts
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This template was made by Khara, the letter Q, and the numbers 87 and 13.