“We can’t stay here,” Sa’ida muttered, giving up her vain attempts to hold her cloak closed against the strong wind. Kerian agreed.
The priestess sought the boundary of the archaic ward. Arms outstretched, palms held outward, she walked slowly forward. Her attention was so concentrated on her work, she lost track of her footing and slid awkwardly on the loose gravel. Kerian leaped forward, grabbing the back of her cloak. It was undignified, but it saved Sa’ida from a nasty tumble. As her racing heartbeat slowed, the priestess gave her a look of gratitude. More cautiously, she resumed the search.
Kerian knew exactly when Sa’ida found the boundary because she stiffened abruptly. She remained frozen in place for half a minute then turned back to Kerian with tears running down her face.
“Bring me the embroidered bag,” she said, still weeping.
In one of the priestess’s cloth bags, Kerian found a small pouch made of white muslin. She knew better than to open it, but as she hefted it, she felt within several small, hard objects, a few softer pieces, and a light substance that crackled beneath her fingers. The bag itself and its shoulder strap were covered with fine stitching in several shades of blue shot through here and there with silver. The Lioness was no needleworker, but even to her untutored gaze, the workmanship was astonishing, the individual stitches so small and fine it was hard to discern one from another. There was something odd about the design itself, though. it seemed to mutate and alter while she looked at it. The intricate pattern of flowers and silver leaves wavered like a mirage in the desert, the stitches crawling across the muslin and rearranging themselves. They formed words but in no language the Lioness had ever known or seen. Once more the pattern shifted, the silver threads flashing brightly though only starlight fell upon them.
“Sosirah”
The priestess’s stern voice jerked Kerian out of her daze. She gave the bag to Sa’ida, then went to stand by Eagle Eye’s head. The griffon bent down to nuzzle her, trilling a worried note. She laid a reassuring hand on his neck.
Sa’ida clutched the bag to her chest with her right hand while holding her left hand high. Over the noise of the steady wind, Kerian heard her chanting. it sounded more like a recited list of words than a song or poem. Nothing happened for a time; then the wind ceased blowing.
Twenty yards away, dust still streamed around a wind-sculpted boulder. Above, clouds were driving over the peaks; below, the twisted trees were bent by the punishing air. Where the two women and the griffon stood, all was calm. Eagle Eye tossed his head and trumpeted loudly, sensing the unnaturalness of it.
Kerian led him across the stony ground, coming up behind the murmuring priestess. Was it a trick of the early-morning light or was there a faint luminescence around Sa’ida’s head? When Kerian looked directly at her, the glow vanished, but if she cast a glance to one side or the other, the priestess’s head was indeed enveloped in the palest of firefly babes.
The murmuring ceased, but Sa’ida did not move. Her eyes were squeezed shut.
Kerian had to call to her several times before the priestess replied. When she did, it was to ask about the wind. “The wind has died around us,” Kerian answered. Couldn’t the priestess feel that for herself?
“Very well. We can proceed.”
Sa’ida kept her eyes closed and held the bag hard against her chest with one hand. Effectively blind, she held out a hand to Kerian. The Lioness brought her to Eagle Eye’s side and boosted her onto the pillion. Cinching her into place, Kerian moved with unusual caution. It felt as though they were inside a delicate bubble, and if she moved too quickly or abruptly, the bubble would shatter, allowing the wind to bluster through once more.
Leaning close to Eagle Eye’s head, she whispered, “All right, old monster. Gently we go.”
Rather than driving them into the air with bounding leaps, Eagle Eye simply ran straight down the length of the spit and directly over the edge of the cliff. With powerful, deliberate wing beats, he arrested their plummet and sent them arrowing forward.
Kerian had to admit it was as smooth a takeoff as she’d ever felt. Of course her heart was in her throat and she was very glad Sa’ida’s eyes were still closed.
“Not too high,” the priestess whispered.
Kerian kept them just high enough so Eagle Eye’s wing-tips didn’t touch the ground on the downstroke. They edged upslope to the gray ridgeback. Normally topping a peak would expose them to strong drafts, but in their current protected state, Eagle Eye sailed over as softly as a dandelion seed. Not only had Sa’ida calmed the natural wind, her spell affected the breeze of their passage as well. The feathers lay flat on the griffon’s neck, and no breath of air stirred Kerian’s hair.
As Eagle Eye descended the far side of the ridge, Sa’ida slowly opened her clenched fingers, easing her grip on the spell bag. Her eyes opened. At once wind teased their ears and tugged at their clothes, the natural breeze of flight. Eagle Eye, relieved to be out of the unnatural calm, shook his head and chuffed a loud exhale.
Sa’ida sagged against Kerian, drained. The elf woman eased Eagle Eye into a climb. When they left the pass behind and entered the valley proper, they were flying a thousand feet above the ground. Kerian asked Sa’ida how she had defeated the ward.
“The ancient spellcasters made a mistake,” the priestess said, leaning close to Kerian’s ear so she didn’t have to shout. “They tied their barrier to the wind. As long as it blew, the ward remained in place. I had to make a hole in the wind, that’s all.”
If she’d had any doubts before, Kerian knew at that moment she’d brought the right person to Inath-Wakenti. Compassion and cleverness were rare among the wise folk the Lioness had known and even more rare among humans. Gilthas would be in good hands.
False dawn came. Sunrise was still an hour away and would be hidden behind the high eastern ridge for longer than that, but the sky began to blush with new light. More of the terrain was visible to Sa’ida. The meandering line of Lioness Creek flashed beneath them, and Kerian pointed out what few other features there were, dwelling especially on the scattered masses of snowy quartz: individual monoliths, long walls with pointless gaps, the incomprehensible groupings of gargantuan stone. Did the holy lady know their significance?
Sa’ida did not. Flying a thousand feet above them, no rhyme or reason to their arrangement was apparent. She suggested they might be the foundations of still larger structures of wood, which had decayed after so long. In the coastal districts of Khur, it was common to build on stone pilings.
Kerian shook her head. The monoliths were too large and erratically spaced to have been the foundation of any building. Sometimes hundreds of feet separated them. No wooden beam could span such a gap.
“It’s like the gods were playing dice,” the Lioness said. “They cast the huge white blocks into the valley then left them where they lay.”
“Maybe they were.”
Kerian glanced back, but Sa’ida’s lined, brown face betrayed no humor.
Several small, bright lights appeared on the ground ahead of them. Kerian tensed. Sa’ida wondered if they were the will-o’-the-wisps she’d mentioned. A few worried seconds later, the priestess felt her relax.
“They’re our campfires. Hold tight, Holy Mistress! We may arrive in time to discuss breakfast!”
This bit of irony was lost on Sa’ida, but she would understand soon enough. Food was so scarce in the valley many elves “discussed” meals rather than ate them.
Sa’ida held on as Eagle Eye lowered his head and dived toward the distant fires.