He waited for Vedas’s breathing to change, signaling sleep.
“We’ll do what he says,” Berun rumbled softly. “He’ll see that this route is best. Still, I was wrong to keep this from him.”
Churls closed her eyes. “Fine.”
The fire died down to coals. “Why?” she finally asked.
“I’m not sure,” Berun answered. “There’s something about him. I think you see it, too.”
Churls scooped dirt and doused the coals. “No. I don’t see anything.”
CHURLI CASTA JONS
THE 17th TO 19th OF THE MONTH OF CLERGYMEN, 12499 MD
THE STEPS OF STOL, KINGDOM OF STOL
The Steps began in the fertile southern plains of Stol, extending some seventy miles to the coast and more than four hundred along it. From a hundred miles away in southern Casta, the Steps had looked to Churls like nothing more than a smooth mountain slope. Closer, the scale was even harder to conceive. Ascending to a height of twelve thousand feet in seventeen evenly spaced, gently sloping rises, the Steps stopped abruptly at the ocean, shorn clean by a giant knife blade.
The elders had carved the Steps from the continent’s longest mountain chain, it was said. For what purpose, no one knew. Along with the Dras Alas Citadel in northern Casta, the crystal dome over the island of Osa, The Inverted Bowl in the central valley of the Aspa Mountains, and the Glass Plain in northeastern Knos Min, the Steps of Stol displayed the enigmatic power of the elders. Many believed spirits and enchanted men inhabited such places. Immortal black magic practitioners and corpse miners.
As a result, the Steps were largely uninhabited. One of Gorum’s friends, a scholar, had traveled southern Stol extensively. He claimed small, long-lived men lived upon the highest and most fertile steps, where unusually warm winds brought moisture in from the ocean. According to him, these men lived in a state of peace and primitive prosperity, knowing neither marriage nor jealousy. They shared their men and women, and Adrash smiled upon them. Even the rare Anadrashi who came through their lands was treated with respect.
Churls took the story with a grain of salt, for many of the tales she had heard differed markedly from the scholar’s account. Nonetheless, she had been to the central valleys of Stol. Gorum was right: better to take her chances with tall tales and wishful thinking than violent reality. At the very least, fewer men lived on the Steps. Churls believed in odds above all else.
It was said a man could stand at the edge of the highest step and stare down at the glass-smooth face of the cliff, counting the geological layers of the world. It was also said a man must be careful at the edge, for sudden gusts could take hold of him and carry him far out over the ocean. Capricious, the demon winds sometimes returned him unharmed, but most often spun him in the sky, toying with him as a child does a rag doll. Bored, eventually the wind dropped him into the ocean or dashed his body against the wall.
Churls considered such tales bullshit. Wind was wind, and only an idiot stood up on a precipice when the gusts were strong.
Many years ago, she had shared bread with an acolyte of the Placci, a small elder-worshipping cult in Anlala. She claimed the elders had created the walls as permanent testament to their power. “They will stand immutable until the elders return to claim their kingdoms,” she had told Churls.
Calves and thighs warm from walking uphill, she listened to Vedas tell a similar tale, and tried not to roll her eyes. Living in the city had filled his mind with so many ridiculous things. They walked a mere hundred feet from the edge. He could see for himself that the cliff face was not evenly cut. Shrubs took root in its crevices and huge sections had crumbled completely. Twice, they had to veer around immense rockslides. Though she never doubted some magical process had carved the Steps, she rejected the idea of their ensorcelment.
She had seen the Citadel at Dras Alas, and it too was crumbling away, eroded by wind and time.
So much for permanency, Churls thought.
‡
Each step consisted of a three-mile slope ascending seven hundred feet, topped by a two-mile stretch of grassy plain. Halfway through the first day, the clouds broke above them and warm winds blew in from the ocean, buoying their spirits and feet. By the time they stopped for the night, they had reached the base of the fifth step. Vedas, almost fully recovered from his illness, glowed with health and high spirits. For the first time in two weeks, he appeared to forget his anger over their course change.
His course change , Churls reminded herself. Berun had given Vedas the choice, after all. Thankfully, the man had seen the sense of her position. Not that being right had endeared her to him. Clearly, he was not the kind of man who forgave easily.
Churls observed him as they prepared dinner, and worried his good mood would dissolve when he woke to sore calves and thighs. Up until the Steps, they had traveled on relatively flat land. Climbing for so many miles, even at such a shallow grade, could take its toll on the fittest man.
The following morning, this proved true. Though he did not complain, Vedas looked like someone who had been run through a gauntlet. Exertion revived a slight cough, which he worked hard to conceal. The weather improved over the course of the day, blowing dry and warm, yet they still fell a mile short of the ninth step. After dinner, Churls read weariness and frustration on Vedas’s features. She noted how he grunted as he stood to relieve himself.
He was a beautiful man, she admitted—but this alone did not explain her attraction. He had stubborn pride, but none of the ingrained arrogance that made so many men insufferable around women. He had little experience beyond that of fighting, but he learned quickly. Her short bow had become a formidable weapon in his hands, and he was patient enough to hunt with it. His navigation skills grew every day. On several occasions, he had noticed the signs of dangerous beasts before she did.
Certainly, she grew tired of his superstitions and his prejudices, though they did not surprise her. She had never considered Anadrashi any less prone to the irrational than their devout opponents.
What was the difference between a man who believed in God’s love and a man who did not?
Nothing, as far as she could tell.
Why, then, did it feel as if there was something more to him? Why did he loom so large in her mind? She had seen beautiful men before. She had met talented, even genius men. It rankled her, being drawn as if by physical force to Vedas Tezul.
Who was he to warrant so much attention?
Berun believed in Vedas’s uniqueness, surely. He had not tried to convince her that this was the case—had only mentioned it the once—but his feelings were increasingly obvious. He watched Vedas whenever the man was not looking, and Churls wondered what the constructed man saw beyond the graceful flow of muscle under the slick skin of Vedas’s suit—the way the material clung to him, revealing more than it hid, emphasizing the rise and fall of his buttocks, the tensing of his broad shoulders.
She wondered what Berun saw in Vedas’s restrained smile. Thick, sensuous lips framing straight white teeth made whiter against the darkness of his skin? Or merely a smile?
She had to shake off her arousal several times a day. It was pathetic and moreover worthless, feeling that way. Beyond the occasional glance at her backside or chest—a meaningless gesture, yet another male’s inability to control his eyes—Vedas had never given any sign of returning her desire. Besides, she could not keep her big mouth shut. Each night, though she tried to keep the conversation neutral, she managed to offend him. He was so easily affronted, and she so easily discouraged.