Hello friends and lovers!
Sure hope Ina is okay!?!
It has been over ten years since I’d stood this high atop the Dune Wall and gazed out at the Jade sea, and these two fucking duenna couldn’t help but ruin it.
“If you would just show me the letter, the seal of the temple, we could–”
I’d approached the city from the south, chosen to walk the beach for the six miles that lay beneath the sands, until it eventually broke the surface and rose above the waves. Lyttoral itself started before even then, although the little villages insisted they stood apart from the city.
With every step closer I get, the fire at my core thrums hotter, helping me stave off the allure of sleep. But as I am delayed here it seems to seeth and curl around my heart more patiently than I.
The two armed and armored duenna had barred my path at the third incline, at the top of the third set of stairs that marked a sharp enough rise of the wall’s height that one was needed.
My sigh and glare silenced the sixth time she’d insisted this. She wasn’t short, neither were, but it was rare that I encountered someone who could meet my eyes and she was no exception. Easily a head shorter than me.
“I will wait.” Is all I had the patience for.
She pressed her lips into a thin line, and I turned back to gaze upon the waves.
It took about an hour for the duenna they’d sent to return. I caught sight of her first, and while she’d only managed a light jog when she parted, she was sprinting hard down the Dune wall toward us now.
A moment is taken for her to catch her breath before she speaks once she reaches us.
“The Sangoma wants to see her immediately.” She pants while resting both hands atop her knees and leaning against the barrier between us and the sea.
The leader of the three turns to me, “I can escort you to–”
“I know the way,” I cut her off and step to pass through the group. “Unless they’ve moved the whole temple.”
She holds out one hand to bar my path, but looks at the panting woman. “What about her weapon? Surely the Sangoma requested she–”
She shakes her head, then gets out, “Said to let her pass. No delay, said we’re to trust her more than we would our own duenna.”
I grind my teeth at that. I push past the hand before it can drop, and continue my trek along the wall.
The duenna had nearly panicked as I approached. I Can’t blame them. Travelers and traders often carried weapons along the road, and it was understood that they were to be stowed when in the city and they always entered through the main roads. But the Dune wall led right into the heart of the city, literally housing the temple and the breeding males of the city. No one used this path, not even those making deliveries exclusively to the temple, and I’d just marched right up like I owned the road. Over six and a half feet of unwashed and armed cunt demanding audience with the Sangoma herself.
I sighed. Just getting her letter had been a shock, I’d barely slept the next week while I debated whether I should come. But the month-long trek to Yundie port, then the two weeks of stormy seas, then the three week walk to Lyttoral… That had been the worst. Not the travel, that had been scenic and fairly uneventful beside the near shipwreck. But the anticipation. Of being back, of seeing these lands again. Of feeling Her again.
I will not sleep until I’ve watched the shore disappear over the sea’s horizon once again.
Sangoma was also annoying, even at her best. Her letter had not been written at her best. It was a tangle of pleas, half-truths, or total lies. I secretly hope it was all a lie.
I shift my bags as I move up another set of stairs, thinking of the past when I hear footsteps just behind me.
I sigh, debating how much I value my solitude. How best to scare this city duenna back to her post? I finally stop and turn on my shadow, my best scowl set in my features as I set myself to tower over this woman.
But there’s no one there.
I blink, glance about, but I am alone. I can see all three duenna still back at their posts. It’s enough distance at this point that their expressions are hidden, but they do seem to have decided to watch me leave. Was I imagining it? Waves spooking my senses?
I turn and pick up my pace. Hands clenched so tight I can feel nails biting into my palms.
There were a few more duenna guarding entrances and certain passageways. Most let me pass with nothing but a nervous nod, a few asked my name with raised hands, but once I answer they move too.
It’s like walking through a memory, or a bad dream. Everything is familiar enough that it feels right, but nothing is identical enough to feel comfortable. Like walking a path that’s slightly askew and tilting toward a cliff’s edge. Before I’m ready I am standing in the hallway of memories outside her chambers.
A vast mural stretches along both sides of the hallway, easily 30 feet on both sides. Grand carvings of stories, tradition, of instruction. Soft couches run along the middle and face outward, allowing any who wait to take in the display and meditate on its teachings. No duenna here to guard her chambers, not that there often were, duenna stationed here are to protect the men.
But for no one to be waiting? At all? Does she not have appointments? Even with the events described in the letter… The temple still has to attend to its duties since the disappearance.
I adjust my bags again, and walk the length of the hall, eyes fixed on the jade scaled curtain that covers the entry to the Sangoma’s chambers.
I don’t pause at it though, just push it aside in such a way that it rattles well as I enter.
Shelves are lined with books along the far wall of the circular chamber, colored portraits carved into the walls and domed ceiling around and above. Comfortable chairs with colorful cushions dominate the central area, an ornate glass and jade table in their midst.
The Sangoma sits at a small desk just in front of the shelves. She’s already looking up at me.
I almost don’t recognise her, thinking the woman I knew had retired and been replaced. She looks gaunt, large bags hanging heavy under her tired and darkened eyes. Like it’s been twenty or thirty years since I’d last seen her instead of the ten. A robe of knit blue tapestry inlaid with seashells and braids hangs over her hallow form. She is such a far cry from the plump happy woman I remember. Old rose gold hair has faded to a light gray with barely a hint of the old color.
“Emarial.” As she says it a glow seems to touch her eyes.
I don’t know what to say. Sorry it took me so long? No, I didn’t want to be back here. She has to know that. I’d almost tossed the letter into the fire. Considered heading farther south. So I defer to tradition.
“Honored Sangoma.” I reply, hesitating in the doorway.
She rises and approaches, then stops a few feet away, hands half raises as if to embrace.
Her nose wrinkles, “You stink of roadsweat and… did you bathe in nothing but seawater?”
I can feel the scowl on my own face, but it doesn’t grow beyond that as Sangoma looks up to me with a tired smile. I relax and give her a shrug and a tired smirk, “Only stopped walking to shit… No… well I guess I did have to sit down on the boat.”
“Boat? Did you not come by the Dune wall’s south path?” She moves back toward the chairs, motioning for me to sit.
“Faster to walk. Hard to get a ship to travel that way, contrary to their routes. Only sailed as far as Jenkita.”
“How…” She pauses her question to motion to the freshly steaming somethings and set of mugs on the table, I nod.
She begins to pour us cups, “How far south did you travel from?”
How far south did you run? I hear the extra context in her tone as a mug is slid across the table.
I glance past her and shrug. “Not far enough. Still got your letter.”
I reach into a side pocket and lay the crumpled, partially torn, more than a touch dirty letter onto the table between us. The Jade wax seal of the temple is still barely holding onto one edge.
Visible pain moves across her face like a slow rising tide. “It’s been over a year since I sent that.”
“I take it that this male… this Hitorra, wasn’t found?”
Sangoma’s rising tide gives way to a storm of fury and sadness and pain. “Worse actually. Another went missing two days ago.”
I can only blink, totally caught off guard. Sangoma averts her gaze to stare past me.
“Missing… Like…?” I start.
“Yes.” She nearly snaps, but decades of training must keep her tone level. “Gone. Disappeared. The city and temple duenna are combing Lyttoral as we speak.”
“I…” I almost apologize, but bite that off. This isn’t my fault. I will not apologize for choosing to leave. For getting as far away from Her as possible.
“What of this Hitorra? Did his disappearance mimic this latest?”
“A little.” Sangoma sighs, takes a very small sip of her own tea, and glances back at me. “Women saw Hitorra leave. But this last one… our youngest… it’s as if he vanished into the air itself. Zigdara was able to trace Hitorra’s path all the way up to that cursed forest before.”
I nod, “The Weaver’s Wood. And?”
“And what, Emarial? Would you have me send her into that place?”
It’s my turn to sigh. “Did someone actually see something take him over the border? Are the wards and wayshrines still in place? Has–”
“I don’t know.” She cuts me off. “I sent for Zigdara whenever word of your arrival reached me. It’s fortunate you arrived today, as she was about to leave.”
“Leave? To…?”
“To the north, to try and head them off.”
“Wait. Them?”
“A woman was found in this latest one’s chambers, she escaped in the confusion afterwards. She knew Zigdara by name and–”
A boil, a rage. I gently pick up the letter, but my hands do shake. “In this letter you inferred, quite heavily, that you believed this was a beast that had taken Hitorra. One that came from the Weaver’s Wood.”
She nods and shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “I… Their trail ended at a path that passes near the Weaver's Wood. We suspect a beast might have–”
“Suspect? Were there any markings or tracks? Was a wayshrine broken or damaged?”
She doesn't reply right away, instead matches my glare. “Not that Zigdara could find.”
I aim the letter at her like a knife. “Then what the fuck am I doing here?”
“I believe there might be multiple parties involved with the kidnappings.”
I crush the letter in my hand. “I don’t believe this.”
"I’ve not lied to you. I believe that a group took both of them. That they took a dangerous road on their way up to–”
I run my free hand down the front of my face. “And just so happened to get ambushed by a monster that hasn’t wandered outside those woods for… what… decade and a half? Very convenient.”
“C… Convenient? You think I want this?” She spits. “You think I want one of mine to be–”
“Don’t.” I snap at her, “Don’t you dare pretend this has nothing to do with your own hatreds. Did you even try to reach out to–”
“I asked you here to save–”
We’re both cut off by the sound of the scales being pushed aside. I turn to see a tall muscular woman looking between us in alarm. She still stands a few inches shorter than me, wearing an ashen shawl and baggy brown pants with tan leather wrappings around her ankles and wrists. A short blade hangs on her right hip. Many colored beads and little bones adorn her mane of curly hair.
“Honored Sangoma. Is… Is everything alright?” She asks while giving me a once over.
“Yes Zigdara.” Sangoma steadies her voice. “I’m glad they caught you before you departed.”
Zigdara nods and steps to the side of the door, resting a hand on the hilt of her weapon once her eyes see the handle hanging from my pack.
“It’s fine, I was on my way out.” I don’t even try to hide my scorn as I drop the letter on the table.
I get to the doorway before Sangoma’s shock cracks. “Wait! Emarial!”
Zigdara moves to raise her hand to stop me, but a glare drops her hand from my path. I shove the scale curtain aside and storm forward.
“Emarial!”
I’m half way down the hallway outside her chambers before she’s able to reach me.
“Are you such a coward? Do you so readily abandon your promises? Your vows?”
I reel back. The words stopping me as if I’d hit a wall.
I glare back over my shoulder. “An Odalisque to the Weaver swears no vows. And this isn’t something I ever–”
Both of them stand about five feet behind me. Sagoma matches my glare. “It is. You did. To me, before you left.” She cuts me off, fury shaking her voice as she motions back to Zigdara. “Tell her what you found.”
Zigdara shifts, but hides her discomfort as she asks, “Honored Sangoma… We’re trying to avoid spreading knowledge about–”
Sangoma shifts a fraction of her glare over her shoulder at Zigdara, then whispers harshly. “Emarial was.. is Sun Spoken.”
Zigdara purses her lips, turns her eyes to me, disbelief shrouded in trained composure. “The stench of the Weaver’s Wood was in his chambers.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How would a duenna of this temple recognise that?”
“I’ve stood within sight of its edge,” She grimaces, “It’s… not a smell one forgets easily.”
“It’s not. Describe it to me.”
“Sweet, but fowl. Like rotting honey but… acidic. Burns a bit. It was faint though, until we were unable to find our youngest I just assumed I was mistaken. I think there was some of the smell on the woman as well, but I can’t be sure.”
I don’t know how to respond. The smell would fade quickly, and would be impossible to verify.
“There was also a book.” Sangoma adds. “The woman had a book. She escaped with it but not before some pages fell out.”
I sigh and run my hands through my hair, “And? What was on these pages?”
“We don’t know.”
“You haven’t even tried to translate–”
“Yes.” She snaps, “We tried. But we can’t.”
Zigdara speaks up again before I can, “The women we brought in, experts I can vouch for, both say the words are… enchanted or some such.”
Like cold water on a fire, my anger sputters and dies. “What?”
I can almost see a smirk of victory on Sangoma’s lips. “The words shift between readings. I’ve seen it myself.”
I grind my teeth, try to stoke the anger back, then force out. “Why didn’t you start with that?”
A huff escapes her, calculated, “You hardly gave me the chance to get through all the details.”
She’s right. Even with the Amwella burning I am so tired… I haven't slept since I saw the shoreline. I don’t want to be here, would take any excuse to leave. I won’t apologize for it.
“Fine. Show me the pages.”
I follow them back into her chambers, but refuse to sit with cold silence as she retrieves a locked box from her desk. After pulling a key from around her neck she unlocks it.
I can’t help but snort at the box. It’s lined with symbols and carvings with solidified collared glass running amidst them. Alchemy wrought into the mixtures to produce wards, probably set to ignite if the box is forced open and engulf the contents in an unquenchable flame. So like her. Better to lose something precious than to let another take it.
Sangoma ignores me and pulls out two pieces of parchment, then lays them on the table in front of me.
I lean down. At first I only skim the words, whatever enchantment hides their meaning from these two doesn’t manifest to confuse my senses. Amwellian, no doubt about it. Only readable to Sun Spoken. Common Arudian dances across the page with little depictions and drawing all around. Some are simple doodles, but others seem to resemble…
Wayshrines? I look closer at the nonsense doodles and realize many of them seem to be… abstract. Strange amalgamations of creatures and shapes, nightmares from my worst dreams drawn out. An acrid sweet smell tickles my nose. It’s very faint, almost as if the ink itself is the source.
The flame tickles at my core. Stirring at the smell. I repress an eye twitch at the sensation. It’s only parchment, stop it!
The words themselves are mundane, descriptions of the wayshrines themselves. Only the mentions of their past pings my interest. It’s common knowledge that the Sun Spoken set them in place, but not that their construction was not our doing. Whoever wrote this would have to either have been there, met an older Sun Spoken who was, or…
“So?” Sangoma presses.
I ignore her and look to the other page. Everything is disjointed, like a morning journal mixed with odd thoughts. One paragraph spends four sentences discussing the plants reaction to the wayshrines, before going on a tangent about an old folktale about a family of field mice. Half remembered and ends up cutting off in favor of using drawings to describe the story.
“It’s definitely…” I pause, not wanting to give her this. “It’s just a journal. Nothing of importance.”
“But it’s… touched. Written by a Sun Spoken?”
“You're sure this was the woman’s, the one who ran?” I look up to Zigdara, “That these pages came from the same book?”
Zigdara shrugs, “No, but the same smell on them was in his chambers. Those pages were found just outside the temple, about where a duenna said her book broke a little and some pages fell out. Would be an odd coincidence even if they weren’t from the same book.”
I nod. “Would be.”
Sangoma opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. “Alright. Tell me everything. From the beginning. And we’ll see if It’s something I will help with.”
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Hello friends and lovers!
Sure hope Ina is okay!?!
It has been over ten years since I’d stood this high atop the Dune Wall and gazed out at the Jade sea, and these two fucking duenna couldn’t help but ruin it.
“If you would just show me the letter, the seal of the temple, we could–”
I’d approached the city from the south, chosen to walk the beach for the six miles that lay beneath the sands, until it eventually broke the surface and rose above the waves. Lyttoral itself started before even then, although the little villages insisted they stood apart from the city.
With every step closer I get, the fire at my core thrums hotter, helping me stave off the allure of sleep. But as I am delayed here it seems to seeth and curl around my heart more patiently than I.
The two armed and armored duenna had barred my path at the third incline, at the top of the third set of stairs that marked a sharp enough rise of the wall’s height that one was needed.
My sigh and glare silenced the sixth time she’d insisted this. She wasn’t short, neither were, but it was rare that I encountered someone who could meet my eyes and she was no exception. Easily a head shorter than me.
“I will wait.” Is all I had the patience for.
She pressed her lips into a thin line, and I turned back to gaze upon the waves.
It took about an hour for the duenna they’d sent to return. I caught sight of her first, and while she’d only managed a light jog when she parted, she was sprinting hard down the Dune wall toward us now.
A moment is taken for her to catch her breath before she speaks once she reaches us.
“The Sangoma wants to see her immediately.” She pants while resting both hands atop her knees and leaning against the barrier between us and the sea.
The leader of the three turns to me, “I can escort you to–”
“I know the way,” I cut her off and step to pass through the group. “Unless they’ve moved the whole temple.”
She holds out one hand to bar my path, but looks at the panting woman. “What about her weapon? Surely the Sangoma requested she–”
She shakes her head, then gets out, “Said to let her pass. No delay, said we’re to trust her more than we would our own duenna.”
I grind my teeth at that. I push past the hand before it can drop, and continue my trek along the wall.
The duenna had nearly panicked as I approached. I Can’t blame them. Travelers and traders often carried weapons along the road, and it was understood that they were to be stowed when in the city and they always entered through the main roads. But the Dune wall led right into the heart of the city, literally housing the temple and the breeding males of the city. No one used this path, not even those making deliveries exclusively to the temple, and I’d just marched right up like I owned the road. Over six and a half feet of unwashed and armed cunt demanding audience with the Sangoma herself.
I sighed. Just getting her letter had been a shock, I’d barely slept the next week while I debated whether I should come. But the month-long trek to Yundie port, then the two weeks of stormy seas, then the three week walk to Lyttoral… That had been the worst. Not the travel, that had been scenic and fairly uneventful beside the near shipwreck. But the anticipation. Of being back, of seeing these lands again. Of feeling Her again.
I will not sleep until I’ve watched the shore disappear over the sea’s horizon once again.
Sangoma was also annoying, even at her best. Her letter had not been written at her best. It was a tangle of pleas, half-truths, or total lies. I secretly hope it was all a lie.
I shift my bags as I move up another set of stairs, thinking of the past when I hear footsteps just behind me.
I sigh, debating how much I value my solitude. How best to scare this city duenna back to her post? I finally stop and turn on my shadow, my best scowl set in my features as I set myself to tower over this woman.
But there’s no one there.
I blink, glance about, but I am alone. I can see all three duenna still back at their posts. It’s enough distance at this point that their expressions are hidden, but they do seem to have decided to watch me leave. Was I imagining it? Waves spooking my senses?
I turn and pick up my pace. Hands clenched so tight I can feel nails biting into my palms.
There were a few more duenna guarding entrances and certain passageways. Most let me pass with nothing but a nervous nod, a few asked my name with raised hands, but once I answer they move too.
It’s like walking through a memory, or a bad dream. Everything is familiar enough that it feels right, but nothing is identical enough to feel comfortable. Like walking a path that’s slightly askew and tilting toward a cliff’s edge. Before I’m ready I am standing in the hallway of memories outside her chambers.
A vast mural stretches along both sides of the hallway, easily 30 feet on both sides. Grand carvings of stories, tradition, of instruction. Soft couches run along the middle and face outward, allowing any who wait to take in the display and meditate on its teachings. No duenna here to guard her chambers, not that there often were, duenna stationed here are to protect the men.
But for no one to be waiting? At all? Does she not have appointments? Even with the events described in the letter… The temple still has to attend to its duties since the disappearance.
I adjust my bags again, and walk the length of the hall, eyes fixed on the jade scaled curtain that covers the entry to the Sangoma’s chambers.
I don’t pause at it though, just push it aside in such a way that it rattles well as I enter.
Shelves are lined with books along the far wall of the circular chamber, colored portraits carved into the walls and domed ceiling around and above. Comfortable chairs with colorful cushions dominate the central area, an ornate glass and jade table in their midst.
The Sangoma sits at a small desk just in front of the shelves. She’s already looking up at me.
I almost don’t recognise her, thinking the woman I knew had retired and been replaced. She looks gaunt, large bags hanging heavy under her tired and darkened eyes. Like it’s been twenty or thirty years since I’d last seen her instead of the ten. A robe of knit blue tapestry inlaid with seashells and braids hangs over her hallow form. She is such a far cry from the plump happy woman I remember. Old rose gold hair has faded to a light gray with barely a hint of the old color.
“Emarial.” As she says it a glow seems to touch her eyes.
I don’t know what to say. Sorry it took me so long? No, I didn’t want to be back here. She has to know that. I’d almost tossed the letter into the fire. Considered heading farther south. So I defer to tradition.
“Honored Sangoma.” I reply, hesitating in the doorway.
She rises and approaches, then stops a few feet away, hands half raises as if to embrace.
Her nose wrinkles, “You stink of roadsweat and… did you bathe in nothing but seawater?”
I can feel the scowl on my own face, but it doesn’t grow beyond that as Sangoma looks up to me with a tired smile. I relax and give her a shrug and a tired smirk, “Only stopped walking to shit… No… well I guess I did have to sit down on the boat.”
“Boat? Did you not come by the Dune wall’s south path?” She moves back toward the chairs, motioning for me to sit.
“Faster to walk. Hard to get a ship to travel that way, contrary to their routes. Only sailed as far as Jenkita.”
“How…” She pauses her question to motion to the freshly steaming somethings and set of mugs on the table, I nod.
She begins to pour us cups, “How far south did you travel from?”
How far south did you run? I hear the extra context in her tone as a mug is slid across the table.
I glance past her and shrug. “Not far enough. Still got your letter.”
I reach into a side pocket and lay the crumpled, partially torn, more than a touch dirty letter onto the table between us. The Jade wax seal of the temple is still barely holding onto one edge.
Visible pain moves across her face like a slow rising tide. “It’s been over a year since I sent that.”
“I take it that this male… this Hitorra, wasn’t found?”
Sangoma’s rising tide gives way to a storm of fury and sadness and pain. “Worse actually. Another went missing two days ago.”
I can only blink, totally caught off guard. Sangoma averts her gaze to stare past me.
“Missing… Like…?” I start.
“Yes.” She nearly snaps, but decades of training must keep her tone level. “Gone. Disappeared. The city and temple duenna are combing Lyttoral as we speak.”
“I…” I almost apologize, but bite that off. This isn’t my fault. I will not apologize for choosing to leave. For getting as far away from Her as possible.
“What of this Hitorra? Did his disappearance mimic this latest?”
“A little.” Sangoma sighs, takes a very small sip of her own tea, and glances back at me. “Women saw Hitorra leave. But this last one… our youngest… it’s as if he vanished into the air itself. Zigdara was able to trace Hitorra’s path all the way up to that cursed forest before.”
I nod, “The Weaver’s Wood. And?”
“And what, Emarial? Would you have me send her into that place?”
It’s my turn to sigh. “Did someone actually see something take him over the border? Are the wards and wayshrines still in place? Has–”
“I don’t know.” She cuts me off. “I sent for Zigdara whenever word of your arrival reached me. It’s fortunate you arrived today, as she was about to leave.”
“Leave? To…?”
“To the north, to try and head them off.”
“Wait. Them?”
“A woman was found in this latest one’s chambers, she escaped in the confusion afterwards. She knew Zigdara by name and–”
A boil, a rage. I gently pick up the letter, but my hands do shake. “In this letter you inferred, quite heavily, that you believed this was a beast that had taken Hitorra. One that came from the Weaver’s Wood.”
She nods and shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “I… Their trail ended at a path that passes near the Weaver's Wood. We suspect a beast might have–”
“Suspect? Were there any markings or tracks? Was a wayshrine broken or damaged?”
She doesn't reply right away, instead matches my glare. “Not that Zigdara could find.”
I aim the letter at her like a knife. “Then what the fuck am I doing here?”
“I believe there might be multiple parties involved with the kidnappings.”
I crush the letter in my hand. “I don’t believe this.”
"I’ve not lied to you. I believe that a group took both of them. That they took a dangerous road on their way up to–”
I run my free hand down the front of my face. “And just so happened to get ambushed by a monster that hasn’t wandered outside those woods for… what… decade and a half? Very convenient.”
“C… Convenient? You think I want this?” She spits. “You think I want one of mine to be–”
“Don’t.” I snap at her, “Don’t you dare pretend this has nothing to do with your own hatreds. Did you even try to reach out to–”
“I asked you here to save–”
We’re both cut off by the sound of the scales being pushed aside. I turn to see a tall muscular woman looking between us in alarm. She still stands a few inches shorter than me, wearing an ashen shawl and baggy brown pants with tan leather wrappings around her ankles and wrists. A short blade hangs on her right hip. Many colored beads and little bones adorn her mane of curly hair.
“Honored Sangoma. Is… Is everything alright?” She asks while giving me a once over.
“Yes Zigdara.” Sangoma steadies her voice. “I’m glad they caught you before you departed.”
Zigdara nods and steps to the side of the door, resting a hand on the hilt of her weapon once her eyes see the handle hanging from my pack.
“It’s fine, I was on my way out.” I don’t even try to hide my scorn as I drop the letter on the table.
I get to the doorway before Sangoma’s shock cracks. “Wait! Emarial!”
Zigdara moves to raise her hand to stop me, but a glare drops her hand from my path. I shove the scale curtain aside and storm forward.
“Emarial!”
I’m half way down the hallway outside her chambers before she’s able to reach me.
“Are you such a coward? Do you so readily abandon your promises? Your vows?”
I reel back. The words stopping me as if I’d hit a wall.
I glare back over my shoulder. “An Odalisque to the Weaver swears no vows. And this isn’t something I ever–”
Both of them stand about five feet behind me. Sagoma matches my glare. “It is. You did. To me, before you left.” She cuts me off, fury shaking her voice as she motions back to Zigdara. “Tell her what you found.”
Zigdara shifts, but hides her discomfort as she asks, “Honored Sangoma… We’re trying to avoid spreading knowledge about–”
Sangoma shifts a fraction of her glare over her shoulder at Zigdara, then whispers harshly. “Emarial was.. is Sun Spoken.”
Zigdara purses her lips, turns her eyes to me, disbelief shrouded in trained composure. “The stench of the Weaver’s Wood was in his chambers.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How would a duenna of this temple recognise that?”
“I’ve stood within sight of its edge,” She grimaces, “It’s… not a smell one forgets easily.”
“It’s not. Describe it to me.”
“Sweet, but fowl. Like rotting honey but… acidic. Burns a bit. It was faint though, until we were unable to find our youngest I just assumed I was mistaken. I think there was some of the smell on the woman as well, but I can’t be sure.”
I don’t know how to respond. The smell would fade quickly, and would be impossible to verify.
“There was also a book.” Sangoma adds. “The woman had a book. She escaped with it but not before some pages fell out.”
I sigh and run my hands through my hair, “And? What was on these pages?”
“We don’t know.”
“You haven’t even tried to translate–”
“Yes.” She snaps, “We tried. But we can’t.”
Zigdara speaks up again before I can, “The women we brought in, experts I can vouch for, both say the words are… enchanted or some such.”
Like cold water on a fire, my anger sputters and dies. “What?”
I can almost see a smirk of victory on Sangoma’s lips. “The words shift between readings. I’ve seen it myself.”
I grind my teeth, try to stoke the anger back, then force out. “Why didn’t you start with that?”
A huff escapes her, calculated, “You hardly gave me the chance to get through all the details.”
She’s right. Even with the Amwella burning I am so tired… I haven't slept since I saw the shoreline. I don’t want to be here, would take any excuse to leave. I won’t apologize for it.
“Fine. Show me the pages.”
I follow them back into her chambers, but refuse to sit with cold silence as she retrieves a locked box from her desk. After pulling a key from around her neck she unlocks it.
I can’t help but snort at the box. It’s lined with symbols and carvings with solidified collared glass running amidst them. Alchemy wrought into the mixtures to produce wards, probably set to ignite if the box is forced open and engulf the contents in an unquenchable flame. So like her. Better to lose something precious than to let another take it.
Sangoma ignores me and pulls out two pieces of parchment, then lays them on the table in front of me.
I lean down. At first I only skim the words, whatever enchantment hides their meaning from these two doesn’t manifest to confuse my senses. Amwellian, no doubt about it. Only readable to Sun Spoken. Common Arudian dances across the page with little depictions and drawing all around. Some are simple doodles, but others seem to resemble…
Wayshrines? I look closer at the nonsense doodles and realize many of them seem to be… abstract. Strange amalgamations of creatures and shapes, nightmares from my worst dreams drawn out. An acrid sweet smell tickles my nose. It’s very faint, almost as if the ink itself is the source.
The flame tickles at my core. Stirring at the smell. I repress an eye twitch at the sensation. It’s only parchment, stop it!
The words themselves are mundane, descriptions of the wayshrines themselves. Only the mentions of their past pings my interest. It’s common knowledge that the Sun Spoken set them in place, but not that their construction was not our doing. Whoever wrote this would have to either have been there, met an older Sun Spoken who was, or…
“So?” Sangoma presses.
I ignore her and look to the other page. Everything is disjointed, like a morning journal mixed with odd thoughts. One paragraph spends four sentences discussing the plants reaction to the wayshrines, before going on a tangent about an old folktale about a family of field mice. Half remembered and ends up cutting off in favor of using drawings to describe the story.
“It’s definitely…” I pause, not wanting to give her this. “It’s just a journal. Nothing of importance.”
“But it’s… touched. Written by a Sun Spoken?”
“You're sure this was the woman’s, the one who ran?” I look up to Zigdara, “That these pages came from the same book?”
Zigdara shrugs, “No, but the same smell on them was in his chambers. Those pages were found just outside the temple, about where a duenna said her book broke a little and some pages fell out. Would be an odd coincidence even if they weren’t from the same book.”
I nod. “Would be.”
Sangoma opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. “Alright. Tell me everything. From the beginning. And we’ll see if It’s something I will help with.”
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