“Giants with a nasty side,” she added.
“What do you mean?”
“Folks don’t come here a lot for a number of reasons. Some of the lore has to do with old souls and magic; that might or might not be true. What is true is that a short time after entering these lands, it quickly becomes all the same—no landmarks, nothing to tell you are making progress. Even with a needle pointing the way, it plays with your senses. The second thing’s the dust storms, which come out of nowhere and sometimes last for days.”
“And I thought you knew nothing about this place. I’ve heard about those dust storms though,” he said.
“I said I knew nothing about the Desperate Lands, and I don’t. All I have are old stories filled with myth. But the dust storms—I think it best we keep them in mind. They say it’s impossible to travel in such storms. Provisions and a place to wait them out are a must.” She glanced over at the pack mule. “Let’s keep her safe and close.”
Some time later they found a group of spires pressed closely together and decided it would make a good place to rest for the night. The sun dipped behind the spires, and a most pervading coolness swept in. They built a fire—meager as it was—from the scarce bits of shrub they could find to ignite. They brushed the horses down and fed them. By the time they were finished, the night made its arrival.
They ate the dried provisions they had carried along. Brenna looked up at the sky. “The stars are beautiful, and so bright. But this all feels so odd, somehow.”
“It’s the quiet. Not even the crackle from the fire,” he said.
“Yes, even the fire is quiet.” She snuggled beside him. “I can almost hear the sand-watchers whisper to each other.
*****
The next day took them deeper into the Lower Dry Wastes, moving south again. They met no one: no animals, no birds, nothing but the giant spires watching as they crossed. By afternoon of the second moon rising, they came upon a group of spires with footholds of a sort, which allowed them to climb and look to the far horizon. They still had a distance to go but could see the gray outline of hills telling them they were approaching the Desperate Lands.
They rode until evening set in, made camp, ate, slept, and were on their way again as soon as the light permitted. By midday the spiral giants lay behind them, and the air went from dry and clean to wet and musty.
Trees and vegetation began to appear once again. Somewhat farther east, small hills cropped up. They were in the Desperate Lands. Swamps were by far the main theme of the landscape and seemed to cover just about everything. There were also numerous cypress trees with their distinctive bulge at the base where they dipped into the water. The other trees looked less like trees than collections of mangled driftwood sticking out at odd angles, gnarly and ancient; no roads here, any more than there were trees in the Upper or Lower Dry Wastes.
All they could do was follow the direction given by the needle until, hopefully, they would reach the coast.
Neither of them had ever been inside this strange and forbidding place. They knew nothing of what to expect, other than the scattered bits of folklore they had gathered from their research. They guessed there might be people indigenous to the area, their greater concern being for those who might have chosen this inhospitable place as somewhere to hide.
They accepted the need to be on their guard, moving along slowly with considerable caution and paying special attention to everything that made a sound or moved. Even with the needle to give them guidance, it was a process of constantly having to alter direction as they found themselves up against a swamp that refused to allow passage. The needle got its workout, pointing north, south, even west. No matter; they knew they had to continue east to reach their goal.
It was imperative they keep out of the water. It was murky and appeared deep in many areas; unlike the barren wastes, here animals slithered about and dove into the cover of the swamps, rivers, and ponds as the travelers approached. How many or what kind of animals slid from their view into the murky basins was impossible to ascertain, as they slipped away with the urgency of snowflakes yearning to become droplets on a hot stove.
Moss hung from the big cypress trees, long strings of it, brushing against them and the horses as they made their way slowly along trails that were nothing more than a way to pass between the trees. More than once they needed to avoid a snake or two that mimicked the hanging moss. Insects of a variety neither had ever seen skimmed the surfaces of the water; airborne insects of a different kind swarmed their faces and moved on without biting, perhaps not used to the idea of human blood.
Their horses remained skittish; the sounds they were hearing from the swamps were unusual and sharp to their ears—short shrieks or quick splashes of water, both nightmares to horses who liked to know their surroundings.
There would be no stopping here. The gray misty canopy was dark even at midday. No moons, no sun blazing in the sky, and therefore impossible to tell if the sky above was full of cloud or sunshine. As the afternoon wore on, the oppressive dampness and dusky gloom became even more invasive. Shadows on top of shadows, the trees pressing in on them; each spot of light that made it down through the canopy felt like finding a tiny nugget of gold in the deep bowels of an old deserted mine.
“How long before we get out of this?” Devyn asked.
“I wish I knew.”
He rubbed Fury’s neck. “It’s okay, boy. There’s no way we can camp here for the night, and there’s no going back.”
The packhorse followed Devyn, and Brenna was at the rear as they moved along in single file. “All we can—”
“There’s a clearing up ahead,” he said. “We’ll stop there and assess what’s best to do.”
A few paces ahead they came into an opening. Their world brightened up as the setting sun came shining without being obscured by the thick cypresses of the swamp. They moved to one side of the open area where a stream ran by, its water clear and sparkling.
Devyn dismounted. “Real grass and vegetation. Finally, something other than soft wood steeped in bog water.”
Brenna gestured for him to stop talking. “I think we have company,” she whispered.
Devyn drew his sword. He pushed the horses to one side.
A large black jaguar emerged from the northern part of the field. It came to a stop as soon as it spied them, its head down, its stance—ready to pounce.
Devyn stepped forward. “He doesn’t appear to like us.”
“I think we have bigger trouble. To your left,” Brenna said.
Devyn glanced to his side. There stood two women, their hands pointed toward them. Another woman emerged from the woods; her hands were at her side. “You’re on our lands. Put down your sword, or die where you stand.”
“We didn’t mean to trespass. We’re on our way to the coast, and we mean you no harm,” he said.
The lone woman tilted her head to the sky and laughed. The other two chimed in. The horses reared and moved closer to the river. The lone woman pointed at the swamp. “Did you come through there?”
Brenna answered her. “Yes, we need to find a lost temple. We didn’t know this was your land. We’ll be on our way.”
“Oh no, dearie. It’s not so simple. Fine horses and provisions, and much more it would seem.”
Brenna raised her hand. The lone woman raised hers, and Devyn fell to his knees, his hand to his throat.
“Stop, stop,” Brenna pleaded.
The lone woman lowered her hand. “Your feeble magic will do you no good here. Here the magic is mine, and my sisters’.”
“It’s imperative we get to the temple; we’re on a journey to understand the last prophecy,” Brenna said.
“What do you know about prophecy, dearie?”
“Well, I’m a caretaker, and prophecy has not been revealed for two turns of the seasons. We need to find out why.”
“Oh, a caretaker; two, it would seem. We sense as much from your auras; it spreads out before you like the aroma of a boi
ling stew on a simmering fire.”
Brenna glanced at Devyn, who had made it back to his feet. “Will you help us?” he asked.
The old woman laughed and turned her attention back to Brenna. “I’m known as Asrah. Tell me your names.”
“I’m Brenna, and this is Devyn.”
“And he’s a caretaker like you.”
“Well… I was to be the caretaker of the chalice for this season; but the chalice has disappeared.”
All three of the women laughed. The horses did not rear this time, perhaps getting used to the high-pitched laughter.
Asrah spoke again. “The chalice was missing long before it was deemed lost.”
Brenna and Devyn exchanged another glance, and Brenna approached Asrah. “Asrah, if you know this much, then you know that there’s a prophecy that must be understood. It appears to affect us all, including you.”
“Now, now, dearie. The world my sisters and I live in scarcely needs the people who dwell on your side or any of the lands to the west. We’ll survive even after you and your kind are gone.”
“Then why do you know about the prophecy if it has no bearing on you?” Brenna asked.
The other two sisters approached. Devyn was outside the circle doing his best to keep the horses from bolting. The big cat had not moved from its position.
One of the sisters spoke. “A smart one, it would seem, sister. Perhaps there’s more to these two, other than horses and supplies.”
Glances were exchanged among the three sisters, and Asrah spoke. “It has been decided you two will join us this evening.”
It was not lost on Brenna that what they had received was anything but an invitation. She noted that Devyn’s slight shake of his head told her he was thinking the same.
“Come along. Your horses will be safe.” Asrah looked at Devyn. “Purta is well fed.” She motioned to the big cat, still at his position in the north part of the field, and he took his leave into the underbrush.
They followed the three sisters, moving along by the river, a path that appeared little traveled but wide enough to allow the horses to remain comfortable. A short walk brought them to another open field; to one side there was what looked like a large cave entrance into a long row of jagged hills. Asrah bade they follow as she entered. It was not at all what Brenna expected. It turned out to be a passage that extended but a short ways before it took a sharp right turn and brought them out the other side of the hills. And there on the other side was an expansive meadow, a garden where crops filled row upon row, growing in spite of how early the season was, a barn, and a single-story bungalow that was sizable and appeared well constructed.
“Put your horses there.” Asrah pointed toward the barn.
Devyn nodded at Brenna. “I’ll take care of it. You ladies get acquainted.”
That wicked laugh filled the evening air, and the horsed reared yet another time.
Brenna followed the three sisters into the bungalow while Devyn was left to tend the horses.
Inside, a fire burned in a huge fireplace, and oil lamps lit the large main room. Off to one side appeared a similar size room that looked to be a kitchen. A hallway went down the other side, rooms on each side, certainly a lot more than a simple shack in the middle of nowhere.
The walls were adorned with carvings of birds and animals; other parts of the walls held shelves, where bottles containing all different colors of substances sat. Chairs circled the huge fireplace; they were expansive and looked to be comfortable, covered in wool. The arms were carved with different designs—one a sword, another a hand on fire, still another an eagle’s head.
“Sit, dearie. Meinn, make us some tea, while I get to know Brenna here. Sapta, go check on her husband to make sure he doesn’t lose his way.” Brenna could sense the menacing tone in Asrah’s direction to Sapta.
“My husband won’t run off, if that’s what you’re thinking.” So Asrah knew Devyn was her husband. She did not remember sharing such information.
Asrah offered the slightest of smiles. “It does us no harm to be cautious in these lands. Now, tell me again where you’re going and why.”
Brenna could think of no reason to hold back on what she knew. It was apparent that these women possessed considerable skills, a powerful magic being one of them; if they had wanted to kill them, it would have been an easy task. So Brenna shared what she knew.
“I’m sure my husband will show you the scroll that contains the prophecy when he comes inside.”
Devyn entered as she finished her comment. “The horses have been fed.”
“Any trouble?” Her question was more about him than the horses.
“No, they’re happy to be out of the swamps.” He took a furtive glance at Sapta.
Brenna read no alarm in his voice. All his parts appeared to be where they belonged.
“Come join us at the fire,” Asrah said, beckoning.
Devyn took one of the chairs. She noted he had left his sword in the barn; his dagger was still at his side. He must have come to a similar conclusion as she.
“Would you mind showing Asrah the scroll of the prophecy?”
He reached inside his pocket. Before he could deliver the parchment, Asrah spoke. “I don’t need to see the last prophecy. I know what it says. We’ve been waiting to see if anyone would cross over into these lands to attempt to find answers.”
“And has anyone?” Devyn asked as he returned the small scroll to his pocket.
“Yes, there’ve been some before you. None have returned, and none of them will.”
“Should I assume the same applies to us?” Devyn asked.
“That depends, dearie. Let’s have a cup of herbal tea and talk about a few things.”
Brenna decided she might as well trust the tea. She took a sip even before Asrah took hers. “We know there’s a temple, somewhere along the coast, we hope, in the old city of Arapendia. We have read that the old prophecies are written on the stones that make up the temple.”
“The journey you’re about to take is a dangerous one. No one can enter the city who is not a caretaker.” Asrah looked at Devyn as she spoke. “And that’s assuming you ever reach the city. Entering the temple is even more precarious.”
“I don’t believe that I’m a caretaker,” Devyn said. “I have no magic without my sword.”
“He-he. We’re so easily swayed by appearance. Your kind once believed the sun moved around our world. It’s not always what it seems. Yes, you need a catalyst for your magic, but it can as easily be that dagger you are wearing, or the sword, or both. You have come to believe it’s the sword. That’s your own shortcoming, having accepted what first appeared to be true. You’re a caretaker, whether you choose to believe it or not.”
“I told him as much myself,” Brenna said, wondering, Is she inside Devyn’s head? How does she know this?
“He’ll need to find his caretaker, should he make it to the temple. The city itself might not be welcoming,” Asrah added.
“Have you sisters ever been to the temple?” The bungalow erupted with their laughter. Brenna doubted she would ever find that laugh anything other than the squeal of a hyena pack fighting over a dead carcass.
“No, dearie. We’re less than welcome in the temple. Perhaps because the temple is as lost as the city itself. We can roam outside the city with our cat as our guide, but the temple is another matter.”
It appeared to Brenna she was about to say more.
Asrah picked up her tea. “There’s something in the temple. Something we need. Perhaps we can strike a bargain. Our cat likes you, Brenna; that he did not kill your husband’s at once perplexing and intriguing.”
Asrah’s long, worn fingers tapped the edge of the cup she held. “You might just live to see the chalice again.”
Brenna and Devyn were not offered a bed. Food was served where they sat in the chair. Once or twice they ventured outside with their hosts even as the conversation continued. Amaris was bright on their first visit outside, and
on the second visit Balac had taken his place as the night drifted along.
The sisters gave up little more, explaining that any further information was contingent on the two travelers getting what the sisters requested.
What little the conversation told them of the prophecies, it was apparent that the sisters knew much more than they were willing to share. Sleep came at last to each of them in their comfortable chairs, warm fire, and what they could discern was as close to hospitality as they were going to get from the sisters.
Chapter 19
In Search
Brenna sprang awake. A sharp increase in the crackle of fire insisted on her attention. She quickly deduced its source; no doubt an action triggered by the sisters, the tossing of a few pieces of wood onto the fire, a rise in energy to orchestrate that it was time for their departure.
The Last Prophecy Page 20