Chapter Text
Riffa was on guard duty when the woman stepped out of the sky.
For a moment, he froze. It was his third duty that year, and while he gave his responsibilities his full attention, part of him had not really believed anyone would ever trespass. The purpose of sparring was for guards to be physically and mentally prepared to react when they needed to, but what training could truly prepare you for a hole in the world? Not even mirage oases could compare to that.
But only for a moment. She was still far off, and Riffa had time to whistle in warning. Then he gathered his spear and took careful aim. By the time the woman resolved into view, he could see she had red hair like his cousin Musel.
Raising his voice, he called, “If you come any closer I will kill you where you stand.”
Her voice seemed as clear as if she were standing beside him. “If you try to loose that spear you will find it does not carry.”
The elders had warned him about any number of things trespassers might do. They usually came alone, he’d been told, but they could deceive him with lies or pierce him with weapons crueller than any sword. Or even call fire from the sky to strike him down. Riffa knew his duty. If he died at this woman’s hands, it would be no worse a death than countless of his ancestors had suffered.
She took a pace forward. Riffa hurled the spear.
The spear came to rest a body length ahead of him, hovering harmlessly in the air.
Riffa gaped, but only for a moment. He grasped the shaft of the weapon and struggled to retrieve it, but it stayed fixed, as if an unseen ghost had it tight in its grip.
“Are you going to try to kill me again, merad?” the woman said, almost exasperated. She continued to walk forward.
“What did you call me?” Riffa asked. She ignored him. “You have no right to be here. To trespass is death.”
“Trespass, hmm?” The woman continued forward until she could almost touch the tip of the spear. “I have no quarrel with you, and would rather not shed your blood. If I give this back, do you promise not to use it?”
“No truce with the farborn.” Riffa clucked at the sand. She was not worth his spit.
The woman looked disappointed. Then she tapped the spear in the middle. It split in two pieces as if melted in a blacksmith’s forge. For a moment, both pieces hung in the sky; then, she seized the tip, and the harmless shaft fell to the sand.
Riffa wondered what a woman who could disarm her enemies and shatter their weapons without drawing a blade wanted with a dead city, but that was not his concern. He untensed in relief as his squadron, summoned by the guard whistle, emerged into a ring around them, spears at the ready.
“By the Dragon’s arm,” the trespasser muttered, “you are as stubborn as they say.” She gave an appraising glance up at the city walls, as if figuring how long it would take to kill them all where they stood. She dropped the speartip and pressed it into the sand with her boot. Then she raised her hands and slowly turned about to take the men in. “Word of my sept, I mean you no harm.”
“What is it that you mean, then, trespasser?” Captain Stanas demanded.
“That is the second time you have called me that,” she said. “Do you live in the city?”
“Of course not,” said Riffa. “It is a place of power.”
“It is truly empty, then?”
“Yes,” said Stanas. “And it will stay that way.”
“If no one lives there, who are you to tell me I am trespassing?”
“We are the Only Dedicated,” Riffa recited. “Defenders of the Wellspring. Keepers of the Covenant.”
The woman nodded, not condescending, but clearly not comprehending, either. “What is this wellspring that you defend?”
“Do you mock us?” Stanas thundered. “You dare to intrude upon that which is sacred, and you claim not to know? Enough—”
He reached for his spear, but Riffa could see that he, too, was stymied by the woman’s unseen bonds.
“If you will not let me pass, give me something to take back to my sept,” she said. “Tell me of this spring.”
“Is that what we are to you?” Riffa demanded. “Fodder for a gleeman’s tale?”
She looked at him with something like sorrow. “Merad,” she repeated. It meant as little to Riffa as trespasser clearly did to her. Then she blinked. “My name is Desun. Sept Juhall. Griffin Concord.”
Riffa looked to Stanas, but when his captain said nothing, Riffa responded. “I am Riffa, son of Haris, son of Bakir.”
“And all your comrades here, they are—the same as you? Only Dedicated?”
“Yes.”
“Do not answer her questions,” Stanas began. Riffa ignored him. Not only was Desun vastly more capable than any one of them, maybe a dozen of them together, but these were simple questions. There was never any harm in speaking the truth.
Desun paused, then rolled up the sleeves of her shirt to reveal bare arms. Her skin was pale, like one who had never seen the sun. For a farborn, Riffa thought, she did not seem to mind the afternoon’s blistering heat. “Do you know anyone who has markings on their arms, here?”
“Not her arms,” said Riffa. “Her ankles.”
“Her ankles?” Desun repeated, rapt with attention.
“My cousin, Musel. She has been far to the east, to the ports where the Thanmy trade. One of their women decorated her with their inks.”
“The Thanmy. What sort of image did they make?”
“What do you take me for?” Riffa snapped. “I am not the sort of fellow who gazes upon my cousin’s feet!”
Desun actually laughed. “My apologies, Riffa son of Haris. I meant no disrespect.”
It almost sounded honest, but Riffa could not so easily forget who and what she was. “To trespass in the city is worse than disrespect. It is vile.”
Desun tilted her head back to the sky, as if looking for inspiration in the sun’s glare. “Is it safe to drink of the water?”
“Of course,” said Riffa. Was she dehydrated after her journey? “Do you need a waterskin?”
“Do not fetch her anything,” Stanas ordered.
“No,” Desun said. “Have mercy on my ignorance, but why should it be permissible to drink from the lake, but not to enter the city in the same valley?”
“The lake was placed here by the Creator for our sustenance, at the beginning of time,” Riffa said. “The city was built by unfaithful humans, who betrayed the Covenant.”
“Yes, but what harm is it to you if I enter? I am not of your people.” Riffa paused, uncertain what to make of this, and Desun went on, “You tried to kill me with a spear! If you have never been to the city, why do you fear it so?”
“He knows his duty,” said Stanas. “This may be a strange concept to you farborn.”
Riffa sighed. “One more question, then I’ll leave you in peace. How many days are there in a week?”
“Seven,” Stanas said. “Are all the farborn as dim as you?”
Riffa thought this an odd insult to levy at a woman who could appear from nowhere. But Desun ignored the captain, turning to Riffa instead. “Riffa son of Haris, I see you are a man of truth. If you wish to speak with me again, my aunts and I will return to this place in a week and three days’ time.”
“You will not!” Riffa raged. “If you are foolish enough to warn us, we will summon every spear in the valley to stand against you!”
“And you’ll get about as far as you did this time,” she said. “Word of my sept, we will not try to enter the city.”
“Then what do you want? There are enough lakes among the farborn that you have no need for ours.”
“Only to speak of old stories,” Desun said. At Riffa’s skeptical glance, she went on, “Is that so strange? You remind me of my nephew. In another Age, we could have been brother and sister.”
Riffa pushed away thoughts of Musel. “We defend the Creator’s gift. You freeze men in bondage and walk out of the sky. We are nothing alike.”
Desun stiffened, and another fiery crack in the world opened before her. “Ten days, spearman,” she repeated, and then she was gone.
Rhizophora Wed 15 May 2024 10:03PM UTC
Comment Actions
primeideal Thu 23 May 2024 12:49AM UTC
Comment Actions
Morbane Sat 18 May 2024 08:25AM UTC
Comment Actions
primeideal Thu 23 May 2024 12:53AM UTC
Comment Actions
Isis Mon 20 May 2024 12:37AM UTC
Comment Actions
primeideal Thu 23 May 2024 12:53AM UTC
Comment Actions