It had taken no small amount of doing to make sure Aya’s various trips went unnoticed. First there were the paladins, who, for all their apparent vigilance, somehow passed over her subterfuge. As for Sorore and Frare, Aya wasn’t quite sure - she’d debated on whether or not to bring them in on the offers of tutelage.
Ultimately, she chose to keep it to herself for now, not in jealousy or so she assured herself. The painstaking effort she’d taken to ensure that she did remain hidden took the better part of an hour. As for the reward, she wasn’t sure if it was worth it, at least not yet.
Most of the previous evenings had been long discussions with a cat who, while polite, responded to inquiries with indifference. ‘Ask Efrain’ was a common response whenever questions of history or of technique came up. The Madame spoke in broad strokes, and all in the context of nature, which did make a certain sense to Aya, but lacked substance.
She’d spent those evenings in rapt attention, however, only occasionally glancing at Efrain’s body, trying to see any sign of movement. Still, she often found herself wishing that it was him leading the lesson, confident that he could put her lingering queries to rest. Now, she was finally here, learning magic from the person she’d imagined about.
And he was asking her to boil water.
Perhaps not the auspicious start she imagined, but it would have to do.
Efrain raised one of the herbs up to the light for her inspection.
“Dracne,” he said, “very pungent, especially when you start heating it.”
She recognized it, though it was usually added to sour soups and flavouring meats.
“This will make tea?”
“Not particularly,” he said, “in truth, it will at best make boiled leaf juice.”
“Isn’t that what all tea is?”
The mask regarded her with a definite air of admonishment.
“Well, now I can see the need for instruction.”
He placed the herb bundle back down on the ground, and picked up one of the dishes.
“Let’s review from last night,” he said, “what exactly is magic?”
It took a moment for Aya to realise that this wasn’t a rhetorical question.
“Well, it’s… it’s a… it allows you to do things?” she said, vaguely remembering the definition Efrain gave in the waggon.
“Well, that’s a way to put it,” he said dryly, “in a broad sense, you’re not incorrect. We did touch on the issue last night, indirectly. How does one define magic? Is it a process, a technique, a method? Or is it something more defined, something that has a physical existence, or presence. The answer probably lies between.”
“So you don’t know?” Aya said, wondering if he would acknowledge the gap in his explanation.
“Of course I don’t. Anyone who says otherwise is an idiot or a fraud,” Efrain snorted, “what I do know is that magic existed long before us, and will do so long after us. There’s been many assumptions about its nature that have proven incorrect in that time, some disastrously so.”
Efrain sloshed the thin layer of water around the bowl.
“Perhaps even my assumptions about it are incorrect. If you continue your magical education, you’ll find there are many ways to view it in many lands. Some might be correct, others not so, most likely have at least parts that are true or useful.”
He set the bowl on the tips of his fingers, letting the fluid still.
“In any case, my personal thoughts on the matter are as we talked about yesterday. Memory, Intent, Emotion. Goal, process, energy,” he said, “those are the cornerstones of my method, and is what I’ll be teaching you.”
Plumes of white steam began to peel off the surface of the water.
“I remember heat, in the many forms I’ve encountered over the years. For this process, I think most akin are hot springs in the deep mountains, which stay steaming even in the depths of winter. That is what I imagine when I want to heat this water. That is Memory, it is the goal state you are to achieve. What do I want? Warm water for tea. And here we are.”
Aya nodded, picking up her own bowl of water, staring intently at the surface.
“Now, second. Intent. How do you achieve such a goal? What is the process? There’s rarely one way to do something, indeed, there can be as many as your imagination can conjure. Most people believe that this part is a mechanical process, but it’s actually quite creative. For me, I imagine hot blood, burning at first in my heart, then flowing down my arm, and that heat passing through my hand and the bowl into the water, raising the temperature.”
Aya could see it, could feel it, but still the water remained cool and still.
“And finally, the thing that drives the whole procedure. Emotion. Whatever you need to connect to the magic inside and around you, and drive it to your own end. Magic can be cantankerous, willful even, especially if it’s someone else’s. You need conviction, powerful emotions to drive strong spells, but for this, the joy of teaching for the first time in a long while.”
“So you can use any emotion?” said Aya, looking at the mirror surface of the bowl.
“Negative or positive. Sorrow as much as joy, rage as much as calm, all of them could be used as a potential catalyst. The more powerful, the more potential. However, remember that more powerful emotions are harder to control - when was the last time you acted rationally when you were frightened or angry?”
Aya tried not to think of the chilling fear of the fog monsters and the nights of terror they brought with them.
“So then, could faith be used?” she said, “you said any emotion.”
Efrain took a moment to consider, then nodded.
“I don’t see any reason it couldn’t. Faith, in the context of magic, should function like any other emotion. I suspect you already guessed as much, considering the lessons from your minders.”
Aya nodded, the paladins having confirmed as much during their brief sessions over the last few days.
“If you ask me, they're setting themselves up for failure,” Efrain said.
“Why?” said Aya, thinking of how strong the pair was.
“Because faith, while it certainly can be potent, is also fragile,” Efrain said, and perhaps seeing Aya’s confused expression hastily corrected, “that is to say, what happens if they cannot martial it? What if they see something that makes them doubt? What if some council from on high releases an edict that conflicts with their own understanding? All that work for nothing.”
Efrain set his own bowl down and folded his legs together.
“No, no. Faith cannot be the foundation. One can lose access to it easily, and it’s hard to get back. Anger, fear, joy, sorrow, all these are far more accessible. So, with that being as it may, try it.”
“Try it? Try- right now?”
“Yes,” the voice came without chuckle or sarcasm, “you know enough to try it. It might not be easy, but few things worth doing ever are.”
“A-Alright.”
Aya tried to get a grasp for something, anything. She imagined the flow of red-hot blood, she thought of steaming crockery on their stove. Still nothing happened. To stem the onset of dread, boredom, and frustration, she asked another question.
“But why would Niche and Lillian lie like that? Why would they use magic and then call it something else?”
“If you were building an empire, with enemies all around, would you deny yourself such a powerful tool?” Efrain said, “of course not. Empires are not made on scriptures and preaching alone, Angorrah knows this. However, its possible the paladins themselves might be confused - the theology on magic within the church is far from settled.”
“What does that mean?” she said, narrowing her eyes and willing the water to boil.
“If it was a simple matter of saying no magic period, then the paladins might’ve sorted themselves out by now,” Efrain said, “the scriptures on the subject are all over the place. Some espouse blanket prohibitions, others prescribe certain leniencies, others references older traditions that all went into the waters of the Black Tide Augury, or were lost in other ways.”
Aya’s head was spinning with all the words, although she thought that she had the general idea.
“I see your history is also something we have to work on,” Efrain said, “to make a long story short, the Black Tide Augury was many events, culminating in a flood that destroyed most original church texts.”
“Didn’t they keep copies?” she said, feeling something faintly tingling in her fingers.
“Yes. They were later destroyed by a priest named Noenea.”
“Huh.”
“He was, understandably, cast out of the church. Later, his students, or those who took inspiration from his preachings took control. Hence, most of the church’s modern thought. They, unfortunately for us, were opposed to magic and its use.”
“And that’s why they call it miracles now?” Aya said, digging her toes into the soft dirt.
“I suspect so,” Efrain said, “they were never going to give it up entirely. Condemning it on one side, while using it to mould your own bodies under a different name.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do you think that your minders’ strength is natural? Few men can wield such large swords with two hands, let alone one, and your paladins aren’t exactly the biggest.”
Aya squirmed at the veiled implications of the mage, though she could not deny what she’d seen on the rooftop of the church.
“But we’re getting off topic,” he said, “perhaps for another time. You appear to be struggling.”
“Yes,” she admitted, “what exactly am I supposed to do with this?”
The mage raised a soft gloved hand, and it came to rest on hers.
“Now, close your eyes please,” he said, “I’ll guide you.”
That darkness closed in around her as she felt a distant tugging sensation. Was he attempting to tease out magic in some hidden place? The darkness around her grew deeper as she waited for something, anything to happen. There was a purpose to it, an anticipation, like she was being led somewhere by signs left by a person long gone. Within the darkness was where she found something bright and blue. From it came forth a flow, swelling in response to her attention.
“There you go,” came Efrain’s voice, distant somehow, “now remember your lesson. Memory, intent, emotion. The water bowl.”
She did so once more, feeling the flow of the magic race through her, her heart thundering in time with its passage.
“Alright, you can stop now,” he said, and her eyes snapped open.
The water was boiling violently, large bubbles exploding in gouts of steam, nearly spilling onto her hands. With a yelp of surprise, she dropped the bowl, only saved from it splattering her legs by Efrain catching it.
“Well, you did it,” he said, “more effectively than I might’ve expected to.”
“I- I didn’t mean to do this,” she said, looking sheepishly at the steaming liquid as Efrain set it down to the side.
“Oh, I’m quite aware,” Efrain said, “Sorore went through several buckets before she got it right.”
She felt a little burgeoning pride pulling her chest up and out at the appraisal.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said, “she had a harder task, and in the middle of that fog as well.”
“Oh, sorry,” she said, chastened.
“Regardless, you’ve done well,” he said, “usually it takes a good few tries before a student gets a feel for it. Sometimes as much as a day or two. You children are certainly gifted, if nothing else.”
“So, what’s next?” Aya said.
“Nothing, we’re done.”
The disappointment at the blank dismissal was only deepened by the lack of anything fiery to show for her efforts.
“I hope you didn’t think we were going to skip to anything dramatic. One doesn’t jump to algebra before learning addition,” said the mage, “but your work doesn’t end here.”
“What’s ‘algebra’?” she asked.
“Oh,” said Efrain, “moving on. The point is that you need to lock fundamentals in. Boil the water to steaming, every morning. Probably would be best to do it subtly, understood?”
She nodded, excited at last that she would have something to do, independent of both the paladins and the children.
“Remember. The three building blocks. Memory, Intent, Emotion. The more you have those drilled into your memory, the easier more complicated things will be. Now, off with you. Not wise to keep you too long, I think.”
She nodded, thanked him, and set off along the path she trod not twenty minutes before. She felt above all conflicted - the sense of anticlimax was profound. But there was definitely that sense of pride, and burgeoning curiosity, that gave a little pep in her step as she slinked back towards the waggon.
Fortunately, it seemed her absence had gone unnoticed for the time being. She briefly spared a thought to how it seemed rather odd that the paladins, being avowed protectors of them, seemed to so easily be deceived. The thoughts clung to her as she clambered back into the waggon and slipped underneath the blankets.
Before she could drift off to sleep, however, she found a wide eyed Frare, with a grin that was visible even in the deep darkness of the wagon.
“So, what, did you do it?” he said, as quietly as he could, which was probably not quiet enough.
“Do what?” she said, turning away from him, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re not a very good liar, are you?” he said, huffing with what sounded like disappointment, “come on, tell me, what was it like?”
“About what? And no, I am not a good liar, maybe because I never had a reason. And still don’t,” she said.
“Whatever,” said the boy, shrugging his shoulders, “what are you going to worry about? Sorore’s fast asleep.”
“What makes you think I’d trust you?” she said.
“What?” he said, sounding genuinely hurt, “of course you can trust me.”
“I met you what… a week ago? I hardly know you,” she said.
“All right, fair. But you can trust me,” he said, “I just want to know what it was like. Please?”
She sighed as she settled into the blankets.
“Fine. It was disappointing,” she said, “I didn’t do much at all.”
“Oh,” he said, “well that’s boring.”
“I agree. Now I’m tired, and would like to sleep.”
The boy had already turned over, and had gone back to his steady rhythm of breathing.
Bonehead, Aya thought, though, try as she might, she couldn’t suppress a smile.
Aya slipped into the veil of sleep with ease, descending down through an inky blackness that consumed thought and time together. What she found in the darkness was a grand expanse of sand, dunes rising and falling into the distance as sand fell from her hair. As she watched, water began coursing through the troughs, pulling the sand with it until all the world was a river, flowing just past her feet. The sky was an endless expanse of blue, dotted by the occasional cloud, with no horizon seam between the endless sheet of glass below her.
Deep below her, though it should’ve been shallow enough to wade through, something coiled in the depths, moving at terrible speed. She could see many billowing fins and limbs, splayed in the dark, as if sails to catch some undersea wind. And eyes, so many eyes, stabbing through the depths with a blue radiance.
From them came a bubbling roar, echoing up from the abyss like rolling waves upon a shore.
She was awoken by a gentle shake of the shoulder, Sorore was pulling her up by the time she returned fully to consciousness, trying to recall all the details of the bizarre encounter
“Come on!” she said, “we’ve reached the hinterlands. They rode early through the morning. The commander said he wanted to reach the city by nightfall if they could help it.”
Aya struggled at the overwhelming sense of grogginess as she pushed her way to the front of the waggon. Outside, the morning was bright, the sun fully out and overhead to shine down upon a great expanse of flatlands. They were on the last of a set of steep hills, leading down onto a rolling series of narrow fields edged with forests and glimmering rivers.
Far, far to what must’ve been the east, stood a tall ridge of mountains made purple by the haze. They jutted south into a distant blue-green sea, craggy slopes trailing down into the lagoon below. It was still a half-day’s journey away, but even so, Aya could see the city - a forest of multi-coloured buildings, some laid into the mountain side, most following the gentle slope spilling down into what must’ve been the Emyaka, that mythical lagoon.
This was ‘home’, Aya thought, this was Karkos.
It had taken no small amount of doing to make sure Aya’s various trips went unnoticed. First there were the paladins, who, for all their apparent vigilance, somehow passed over her subterfuge. As for Sorore and Frare, Aya wasn’t quite sure - she’d debated on whether or not to bring them in on the offers of tutelage.
Ultimately, she chose to keep it to herself for now, not in jealousy or so she assured herself. The painstaking effort she’d taken to ensure that she did remain hidden took the better part of an hour. As for the reward, she wasn’t sure if it was worth it, at least not yet.
Most of the previous evenings had been long discussions with a cat who, while polite, responded to inquiries with indifference. ‘Ask Efrain’ was a common response whenever questions of history or of technique came up. The Madame spoke in broad strokes, and all in the context of nature, which did make a certain sense to Aya, but lacked substance.
She’d spent those evenings in rapt attention, however, only occasionally glancing at Efrain’s body, trying to see any sign of movement. Still, she often found herself wishing that it was him leading the lesson, confident that he could put her lingering queries to rest. Now, she was finally here, learning magic from the person she’d imagined about.
And he was asking her to boil water.
Perhaps not the auspicious start she imagined, but it would have to do.
Efrain raised one of the herbs up to the light for her inspection.
“Dracne,” he said, “very pungent, especially when you start heating it.”
She recognized it, though it was usually added to sour soups and flavouring meats.
“This will make tea?”
“Not particularly,” he said, “in truth, it will at best make boiled leaf juice.”
“Isn’t that what all tea is?”
The mask regarded her with a definite air of admonishment.
“Well, now I can see the need for instruction.”
He placed the herb bundle back down on the ground, and picked up one of the dishes.
“Let’s review from last night,” he said, “what exactly is magic?”
It took a moment for Aya to realise that this wasn’t a rhetorical question.
“Well, it’s… it’s a… it allows you to do things?” she said, vaguely remembering the definition Efrain gave in the waggon.
“Well, that’s a way to put it,” he said dryly, “in a broad sense, you’re not incorrect. We did touch on the issue last night, indirectly. How does one define magic? Is it a process, a technique, a method? Or is it something more defined, something that has a physical existence, or presence. The answer probably lies between.”
“So you don’t know?” Aya said, wondering if he would acknowledge the gap in his explanation.
“Of course I don’t. Anyone who says otherwise is an idiot or a fraud,” Efrain snorted, “what I do know is that magic existed long before us, and will do so long after us. There’s been many assumptions about its nature that have proven incorrect in that time, some disastrously so.”
Efrain sloshed the thin layer of water around the bowl.
“Perhaps even my assumptions about it are incorrect. If you continue your magical education, you’ll find there are many ways to view it in many lands. Some might be correct, others not so, most likely have at least parts that are true or useful.”
He set the bowl on the tips of his fingers, letting the fluid still.
“In any case, my personal thoughts on the matter are as we talked about yesterday. Memory, Intent, Emotion. Goal, process, energy,” he said, “those are the cornerstones of my method, and is what I’ll be teaching you.”
Plumes of white steam began to peel off the surface of the water.
“I remember heat, in the many forms I’ve encountered over the years. For this process, I think most akin are hot springs in the deep mountains, which stay steaming even in the depths of winter. That is what I imagine when I want to heat this water. That is Memory, it is the goal state you are to achieve. What do I want? Warm water for tea. And here we are.”
Aya nodded, picking up her own bowl of water, staring intently at the surface.
“Now, second. Intent. How do you achieve such a goal? What is the process? There’s rarely one way to do something, indeed, there can be as many as your imagination can conjure. Most people believe that this part is a mechanical process, but it’s actually quite creative. For me, I imagine hot blood, burning at first in my heart, then flowing down my arm, and that heat passing through my hand and the bowl into the water, raising the temperature.”
Aya could see it, could feel it, but still the water remained cool and still.
“And finally, the thing that drives the whole procedure. Emotion. Whatever you need to connect to the magic inside and around you, and drive it to your own end. Magic can be cantankerous, willful even, especially if it’s someone else’s. You need conviction, powerful emotions to drive strong spells, but for this, the joy of teaching for the first time in a long while.”
“So you can use any emotion?” said Aya, looking at the mirror surface of the bowl.
“Negative or positive. Sorrow as much as joy, rage as much as calm, all of them could be used as a potential catalyst. The more powerful, the more potential. However, remember that more powerful emotions are harder to control - when was the last time you acted rationally when you were frightened or angry?”
Aya tried not to think of the chilling fear of the fog monsters and the nights of terror they brought with them.
“So then, could faith be used?” she said, “you said any emotion.”
Efrain took a moment to consider, then nodded.
“I don’t see any reason it couldn’t. Faith, in the context of magic, should function like any other emotion. I suspect you already guessed as much, considering the lessons from your minders.”
Aya nodded, the paladins having confirmed as much during their brief sessions over the last few days.
“If you ask me, they're setting themselves up for failure,” Efrain said.
“Why?” said Aya, thinking of how strong the pair was.
“Because faith, while it certainly can be potent, is also fragile,” Efrain said, and perhaps seeing Aya’s confused expression hastily corrected, “that is to say, what happens if they cannot martial it? What if they see something that makes them doubt? What if some council from on high releases an edict that conflicts with their own understanding? All that work for nothing.”
Efrain set his own bowl down and folded his legs together.
“No, no. Faith cannot be the foundation. One can lose access to it easily, and it’s hard to get back. Anger, fear, joy, sorrow, all these are far more accessible. So, with that being as it may, try it.”
“Try it? Try- right now?”
“Yes,” the voice came without chuckle or sarcasm, “you know enough to try it. It might not be easy, but few things worth doing ever are.”
“A-Alright.”
Aya tried to get a grasp for something, anything. She imagined the flow of red-hot blood, she thought of steaming crockery on their stove. Still nothing happened. To stem the onset of dread, boredom, and frustration, she asked another question.
“But why would Niche and Lillian lie like that? Why would they use magic and then call it something else?”
“If you were building an empire, with enemies all around, would you deny yourself such a powerful tool?” Efrain said, “of course not. Empires are not made on scriptures and preaching alone, Angorrah knows this. However, its possible the paladins themselves might be confused - the theology on magic within the church is far from settled.”
“What does that mean?” she said, narrowing her eyes and willing the water to boil.
“If it was a simple matter of saying no magic period, then the paladins might’ve sorted themselves out by now,” Efrain said, “the scriptures on the subject are all over the place. Some espouse blanket prohibitions, others prescribe certain leniencies, others references older traditions that all went into the waters of the Black Tide Augury, or were lost in other ways.”
Aya’s head was spinning with all the words, although she thought that she had the general idea.
“I see your history is also something we have to work on,” Efrain said, “to make a long story short, the Black Tide Augury was many events, culminating in a flood that destroyed most original church texts.”
“Didn’t they keep copies?” she said, feeling something faintly tingling in her fingers.
“Yes. They were later destroyed by a priest named Noenea.”
“Huh.”
“He was, understandably, cast out of the church. Later, his students, or those who took inspiration from his preachings took control. Hence, most of the church’s modern thought. They, unfortunately for us, were opposed to magic and its use.”
“And that’s why they call it miracles now?” Aya said, digging her toes into the soft dirt.
“I suspect so,” Efrain said, “they were never going to give it up entirely. Condemning it on one side, while using it to mould your own bodies under a different name.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do you think that your minders’ strength is natural? Few men can wield such large swords with two hands, let alone one, and your paladins aren’t exactly the biggest.”
Aya squirmed at the veiled implications of the mage, though she could not deny what she’d seen on the rooftop of the church.
“But we’re getting off topic,” he said, “perhaps for another time. You appear to be struggling.”
“Yes,” she admitted, “what exactly am I supposed to do with this?”
The mage raised a soft gloved hand, and it came to rest on hers.
“Now, close your eyes please,” he said, “I’ll guide you.”
That darkness closed in around her as she felt a distant tugging sensation. Was he attempting to tease out magic in some hidden place? The darkness around her grew deeper as she waited for something, anything to happen. There was a purpose to it, an anticipation, like she was being led somewhere by signs left by a person long gone. Within the darkness was where she found something bright and blue. From it came forth a flow, swelling in response to her attention.
“There you go,” came Efrain’s voice, distant somehow, “now remember your lesson. Memory, intent, emotion. The water bowl.”
She did so once more, feeling the flow of the magic race through her, her heart thundering in time with its passage.
“Alright, you can stop now,” he said, and her eyes snapped open.
The water was boiling violently, large bubbles exploding in gouts of steam, nearly spilling onto her hands. With a yelp of surprise, she dropped the bowl, only saved from it splattering her legs by Efrain catching it.
“Well, you did it,” he said, “more effectively than I might’ve expected to.”
“I- I didn’t mean to do this,” she said, looking sheepishly at the steaming liquid as Efrain set it down to the side.
“Oh, I’m quite aware,” Efrain said, “Sorore went through several buckets before she got it right.”
She felt a little burgeoning pride pulling her chest up and out at the appraisal.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said, “she had a harder task, and in the middle of that fog as well.”
“Oh, sorry,” she said, chastened.
“Regardless, you’ve done well,” he said, “usually it takes a good few tries before a student gets a feel for it. Sometimes as much as a day or two. You children are certainly gifted, if nothing else.”
“So, what’s next?” Aya said.
“Nothing, we’re done.”
The disappointment at the blank dismissal was only deepened by the lack of anything fiery to show for her efforts.
“I hope you didn’t think we were going to skip to anything dramatic. One doesn’t jump to algebra before learning addition,” said the mage, “but your work doesn’t end here.”
“What’s ‘algebra’?” she asked.
“Oh,” said Efrain, “moving on. The point is that you need to lock fundamentals in. Boil the water to steaming, every morning. Probably would be best to do it subtly, understood?”
She nodded, excited at last that she would have something to do, independent of both the paladins and the children.
“Remember. The three building blocks. Memory, Intent, Emotion. The more you have those drilled into your memory, the easier more complicated things will be. Now, off with you. Not wise to keep you too long, I think.”
She nodded, thanked him, and set off along the path she trod not twenty minutes before. She felt above all conflicted - the sense of anticlimax was profound. But there was definitely that sense of pride, and burgeoning curiosity, that gave a little pep in her step as she slinked back towards the waggon.
Fortunately, it seemed her absence had gone unnoticed for the time being. She briefly spared a thought to how it seemed rather odd that the paladins, being avowed protectors of them, seemed to so easily be deceived. The thoughts clung to her as she clambered back into the waggon and slipped underneath the blankets.
Before she could drift off to sleep, however, she found a wide eyed Frare, with a grin that was visible even in the deep darkness of the wagon.
“So, what, did you do it?” he said, as quietly as he could, which was probably not quiet enough.
“Do what?” she said, turning away from him, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re not a very good liar, are you?” he said, huffing with what sounded like disappointment, “come on, tell me, what was it like?”
“About what? And no, I am not a good liar, maybe because I never had a reason. And still don’t,” she said.
“Whatever,” said the boy, shrugging his shoulders, “what are you going to worry about? Sorore’s fast asleep.”
“What makes you think I’d trust you?” she said.
“What?” he said, sounding genuinely hurt, “of course you can trust me.”
“I met you what… a week ago? I hardly know you,” she said.
“All right, fair. But you can trust me,” he said, “I just want to know what it was like. Please?”
She sighed as she settled into the blankets.
“Fine. It was disappointing,” she said, “I didn’t do much at all.”
“Oh,” he said, “well that’s boring.”
“I agree. Now I’m tired, and would like to sleep.”
The boy had already turned over, and had gone back to his steady rhythm of breathing.
Bonehead, Aya thought, though, try as she might, she couldn’t suppress a smile.
Aya slipped into the veil of sleep with ease, descending down through an inky blackness that consumed thought and time together. What she found in the darkness was a grand expanse of sand, dunes rising and falling into the distance as sand fell from her hair. As she watched, water began coursing through the troughs, pulling the sand with it until all the world was a river, flowing just past her feet. The sky was an endless expanse of blue, dotted by the occasional cloud, with no horizon seam between the endless sheet of glass below her.
Deep below her, though it should’ve been shallow enough to wade through, something coiled in the depths, moving at terrible speed. She could see many billowing fins and limbs, splayed in the dark, as if sails to catch some undersea wind. And eyes, so many eyes, stabbing through the depths with a blue radiance.
From them came a bubbling roar, echoing up from the abyss like rolling waves upon a shore.
She was awoken by a gentle shake of the shoulder, Sorore was pulling her up by the time she returned fully to consciousness, trying to recall all the details of the bizarre encounter
“Come on!” she said, “we’ve reached the hinterlands. They rode early through the morning. The commander said he wanted to reach the city by nightfall if they could help it.”
Aya struggled at the overwhelming sense of grogginess as she pushed her way to the front of the waggon. Outside, the morning was bright, the sun fully out and overhead to shine down upon a great expanse of flatlands. They were on the last of a set of steep hills, leading down onto a rolling series of narrow fields edged with forests and glimmering rivers.
Far, far to what must’ve been the east, stood a tall ridge of mountains made purple by the haze. They jutted south into a distant blue-green sea, craggy slopes trailing down into the lagoon below. It was still a half-day’s journey away, but even so, Aya could see the city - a forest of multi-coloured buildings, some laid into the mountain side, most following the gentle slope spilling down into what must’ve been the Emyaka, that mythical lagoon.
This was ‘home’, Aya thought, this was Karkos.
