“Out back there’s a well with a bucket attached.”
Ilythra nodded and went in search of the well. When she returned with her face scrubbed and hands cleaned, Mohan was finishing a plate of eggs and potatoes. His hair was properly arranged and his face bore no sign of his late night at the tavern.
He glanced up to Ilythra with a gleam in his eye. “Ah, at last, a woman who can cook.”
Liera blushed, transforming her face from pretty to beautiful.
This was not a woman Mohan should play with. She gave the Benai a warning look. “It does smell good. Thank you.” Ilythra accepted a plate and sat across from Mohan.
Mohan leaned over, speared a potato off Ilythra’s plate and brought it to his mouth, rolling his eyes with exaggerated pleasure.
“Be careful, my friend, that’s a good way to lose your fingers,” Ilythra warned.
Mohan snatched back the fork. “I’ve never met a woman who could eat like you.”
“Really? Pity.”
Mohan smiled and then winced.
So his night of revelry hadn’t been completely free of consequences. “My grandfather used to say I had a hollow leg.”
“Your grandfather was clever and accurate.” Mohan shrugged on his jacket. “Come on. You want to meet my family, don’t you?” He moved to the door, flung it open and rushed out of sight. Shouts of greeting carried through the open door.
“Thank you, Liera. It was as good as it smelled. You want help cleaning up?”
“No, you go meet Mohan’s family. I think it’s important to him.” Liera piled the dishes near a large washtub.
Ilythra smiled her thanks and followed the Benai. Several men surrounded Mohan, their dress as colorful as his. As Ilythra neared, she saw much embracing and kissing of cheeks. One of the men turned toward her, and Mohan followed his gaze.
He moved from the crowd to take her hand and pull her closer. “This is my friend, Ilythra.”
The men glanced to Mohan then back at her. A man with a thick mustache and a bright yellow shirt over tan pants reached to give her a bear hug and kissed her soundly on both cheeks. “Welcome,” he said. The rest followed suit.
Mohan nodded to the man with the mustache. “This is Aterin, my cousin.” He’d just finished introducing her to the rest of the men gathered when half a dozen children ran up to him.
“Mohan, you’re back!” the children chorused.
He laughed and dropped on to a knee. “Yes. For a little while. But if you don’t go do your morning chores, your mothers won’t let you hear the story I’ll tell later.”
With squeals of delight, the children scampered off.
“Story?” Ilythra asked.
“Traders aren’t the only ones who collect stories. Maybe if you’re a good girl, I’ll let you hear it too.”
* * *
Mohan sat in the shade of a wagon. A dozen children piled as near as possible to him. He loved their warm little bodies and expectant faces. He’d missed his troupe. Mohan cleared his throat. “On the banks of a river in the west lived a little worm. It wasn’t much to look at but it was good at what it did. Do you know what it did?” Mohan asked the children surrounding him.
When no answer was forthcoming, Mohan turned to the little girl sitting on his lap. “He ate!”
The little girl giggled as Mohan tickled her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ilythra approach and winked at her. She settled in behind the children.
“Well, this worm was different from all the other animals along the banks of the river. He had a dream. One day, he wanted to cross the river. He told his dream to a passing beetle. ‘It’s impossible,’ said the beetle. ‘You’re not a fish, you’re a worm, and worms don’t swim. You need to learn your place.’
“He told his dream to an ant that was busy moving a seed into his hole. The ant stopped and looked at the worm. ‘My uncle drifted down the river on a fallen leaf.’ The ant shook his head. ‘Never saw him again. Take my advice, give up on your dream and learn your place.’
“But the worm didn’t give up and every day as he ate, he dreamed of journeying across the river to the far bank. The other animals continued to scoff and began to taunt him, but the worm dreamed on.
“One day the worm became sleepy, so he made a cozy bed and fell fast asleep. When he awoke and emerged from his bed, he felt different. He stretched and caught a flash of color. Craning his neck, he saw that he had two beautiful wings. During his sleep, he’d transformed into a butterfly. A little worm no more, he soared over the grasses, waved hello to the ant struggling with its tasks and the beetle scurrying around in the dust. Finally, he flew over the waters and crossed the river to fulfill his dream.
“So the next time someone tells you to learn your place,” Mohan said, “remember the little worm and dream your dreams.” Mohan set the little girl aside and stood. “Now, off! I’m sure you all have things to do. I have a beautiful woman to talk to.”
The children scampered off.
“You’re good with them,” Ilythra said.
Mohan shrugged. “I like ’em.”
“That’s obvious. Nice story.”
“I stole it from the traders, turned it around a little, you know?” Mohan placed an arm over her shoulder. “Taking a break from your witchery?”
“Yes, or rather, Liera is.” They walked a distance in silence through the Benai camp. “It is still difficult for her. She was very close to her grandmother.”
Mohan nodded. The old healer would be missed by the Benai, but Liera was now alone. He couldn’t even imagine what that would feel like. Sympathy for the healer weighed heavy in his breast. Ilythra sidestepped to avoid a dog and then a running boy. He looked around, trying to see the camp from her eyes. The Benai had quickly and efficiently set up a small town. Children roamed freely in the area in the middle of the wagons. Two cooking fires burned in a large circle of land cleared of foliage. Benches and tables nestled between the two fires. Tripods stood over the flames, each with a large blackened kettle. She neared, eyeing the rocks surrounding the bare earth around one of the campfires. Mohan followed her gaze.
“They were already there. We’ve camped here before.”
Ilythra nodded. Between the wagons, men chopped wood or worked on their acts. Several older boys were outside the protective circle, riding the horses.
“Seems odd without Tarak here,” Mohan continued. “He didn’t say much, but he was a presence.” The ache he usually buried surfaced, swelling until it filled his chest.
“We’ll find him.”
Mohan nodded. He’d reminded himself often that had he remained on foot, he’d still be wheels and wheels away from Jartas. But the guilt wouldn’t leave him.
He cleared his throat. “Have you seen our pride and joy?” He waved toward the wagons.
Ilythra examined the vehicles surrounding them. The wagons were made entirely of wood, with sloping walls wider at the top than the bottom and windows at the sides and back. The long lances that attached to the horses rested on either side of a portable ladder that led to a small, bracketed porch. At their rears, some had cages with chickens and other fowl swinging between the wheels and hayracks for the horses. She neared a wagon. The front wheels reached just past her waist but the back wheels stood just past her shoulder. For a moment she looked so small and fragile, Mohan longed to protect her. Then he remembered who she was. She reached out and touched one.
“It makes for easier travel,” he said.
She nodded. “And changes the definition of the measurement. A rotation of this wheel would be a lot farther than that of an ordinary wagon.”
He patted the curved hub. “That’s why the Benai are so far ahead of everyone else.”
Ilythra smiled but continued examining the wagons. “Why do some have waxed cloth for a ceil
ing instead of a wooden top?”
“Preference. Sometimes status.” He grinned. “Inside, the ceiling is painted. When the light touches it, it’s truly a thing of beauty.” Pride was evident in his voice.
“Which wagon is yours?”
Mohan hesitated then pointed to a yellow vehicle not far away. “My uncle and his wife are using it now. I have no need until Tarak returns. Their oldest son just married and so he’s using their caravan. I think my aunt is hoping for grandchildren sooner rather than later.” Mohan glanced toward another wagon. Deep red with yellow trim. “Would you like to meet Taliba now?”
Ilythra took a deep breath. “Yes.”
Mohan grabbed her elbow and steered her to a set of yellow stairs. He paused. “Taliba is old and very wise.” He paused before the steps. What else should he tell her? What would Taliba tell her? He mentally shrugged. “Come.”
* * *
Before Mohan had raised a hand to the half door, a voice from within growled, “Mohan, you scamp. Get in here.”
The Benai grinned and led Ilythra into the small wagon. There was only one room, but cabinets covered every conceivable space. A short storage bench sat under one window and the other boasted a table with one chair. Sliding wooden doors toward the back opened on to a double berth for sleeping. Ilythra sniffed, a dusting of cinnamon tinting the air blended with a fragrance she couldn’t identify.
An old woman wearing a dark skirt and loose blouse rose and stretched on her tiptoes to kiss Mohan’s cheeks before turning to her.
“So you are the Ilythra.” Taliba’s dark gaze seemed to pierce through her. “It was prophesied that I would live to set eyes on you.” A smile rearranged her wrinkled face. “I suppose that means you’re a harbinger of my death.”
Ilythra couldn’t think of anything to say. The old woman had a magnetism she’d only experienced once before. Zeynel. She bent to kiss the old woman’s soft cheek. Wrinkles covered Taliba’s face in well-worn lines, but her dark eyes were alive, as though she was a young girl wearing the body of an old woman. A silver braid hung down her back past her waist. Silver drops stretched her earlobes and sent beacons of light across the polished wood when she moved. She seemed oddly familiar.
“I know you. Don’t I?”
“No, child. But I walk the paths as you do, and so we are kin.”
“You walk the paths of Teann?”
“Mohan, you may leave us.” Taliba spoke without taking her gaze off Ilythra.
He bowed his head and left the wagon.
“Yes, child.” Taliba’s dark eyes searched Ilythra’s face.
“But...” Was she Siobani? There was no stone song. She couldn’t be a keeper.
The old Benai waved a hand. “Those who seek Teann can find what they seek, but few do. Few are called and fewer recognize the voice. I can not go as deep as you, but I can walk the shallower paths.”
Maelys had traveled the shallows of Teann, but she hadn’t had the presence this woman had. “I’m thinking they may be deeper than you know.”
The old woman’s smile held a hint of satisfaction.
A thought like a lightning strike crossed her mind. “Did you know Zeynel?”
“Zeynel?” Taliba’s smile temporarily hid her eyes from view. “Yes, when I was a young girl our paths crossed. He is gone from this world now—but you, more than anyone, know that.” Taliba closed her eyes and inhaled. “You are the Ilythra,” she proclaimed. “Would you allow me to touch you?”
Ilythra nodded. Once before an old healer had asked to touch her, and she had the same feeling of unease. What could they see that she could not?
Taliba closed her eyes and neared. She stretched out her hands and, starting with Ilythra’s head, followed the contours of her body, never touching or varying her distance until she reached Ilythra’s feet. When she moved past Ilydearta, the old woman’s eyelids flickered, but she didn’t pause or make a sound.
When she finished, she stepped away and her eyes snapped open. For a moment, she met Ilythra’s gaze then glanced toward the bench. “Have a seat. Would you like something hot to drink?”
Ilythra obeyed. Her body tingled slightly. What had the old woman done? “Thank you.”
Taliba poured two steaming mugs full of liquid and passed one to Ilythra. The rich smell of cinnamon strengthened. “It would take me a long time to decipher the destinies that you cross, that you make and unmake, and you do not have a long time.” A melancholy smile touched her mouth. “It’s a pity.” Her voice seemed to gather strength. “Of the threads of destiny that surround you, three forces pull you the strongest. You are aware of only one. You will conquer another if you don’t underestimate its strength, but it’s the third, and on the surface the weakest force, that can be your undoing.” Taliba sipped her tea. “You are marked, Ilythra. Called from distances not even the Benai can measure, and we are an ancient race.” The old woman stared for a moment into Ilythra’s eyes. “I cannot tell you how to prepare for the third force but I can say if you are not prepared, you will die...and your quest with you. You are going into great darkness and you will be betrayed by yourself.”
Three forces? Did she mean the stones? She fought frustration. Why didn’t healers and wise women speak plainly? “How do I—”
Taliba held up one hand. “I do not see it, I’m sorry. I would tell you to trust nothing, but that would leave you alone, and there are things you can trust. I would tell you to trust your heart, but without your head, your heart will lead you astray. Be on guard, Ilythra. The line between friend and foe can be narrow.” Taliba sipped her tea as though she hadn’t just spouted confusion.
Ilythra’s head spun. How could she betray herself, and how to prepare for something unknown: A third force? She must be referring to the stones. There were three.
A smile rearranged the lines in Taliba’s face. “Go now, child. We’ll talk more later.”
Ilythra shook off the questions pounding in her head. She leaned forward. “Can you tell me more about Zeynel?”
A cloud seemed to dampen the light in Taliba’s eyes. “What would you know?”
Eagerness made her smile. It would be like regaining a little of him to hear another’s recollection. “Everything.”
“Everything would take a lifetime to tell, and time is short and growing shorter. He was Shamyrddin-enki.”
“That I know.”
“Did he tell you what a Shamyrddin-enki was?”
“A keeper of the path. He said he was sent by the One and he was the last of his kind.”
“I see.”
“Is there more?”
“No, he spoke truth, but I wonder if you understood it for what it was.”
“What do you mean?”
“Shamyrddin-enki are reborn.”
Hope fluttered in her chest. “But that’s...that’s...” Ilythra searched for the word. “Do you mean reincarnated?”
Taliba nodded. “I can see you have much on your mind. Any more would cause confusion. Please, come back and speak with me tomorrow.”
As Ilythra stepped from the wagon, the sun arced above toward its zenith. Its warmth touched her skin but didn’t ease the chill that gripped her bones. Reborn. That meant Zeynel could be out there somewhere. She glanced down at her ring. “It is...all I am. Guard it until the time is right.” Zeynel’s words, moments before he died. She needed to find him, but she couldn’t seem to move from steps. Shock. I’m in shock. Mohan appeared at her side and took her elbow. Without a word, he led her to the house. As she stepped into the kitchen, she met the Benai’s eye. “Thank you, Mohan.”
* * *
“Good morning.” A Benai woman nodded her head toward Ilythra in greeting, sending multilayered earrings jingling like tiny wind chimes.
The sun dappled the clearing, its light glinting of
f the metal cook pots and various buckles and jewelry worn by the Benai as they moved from wagon to wagon. Ilythra was up early helping to make tinctures, many of which she’d take with her. Liera had gone into town to check on a sick child, so Ilythra decided to find Mohan and perhaps Taliba. Restlessness grew in her limbs. She’d spoken to the wise woman; it was time to go.
Several more women and a few men nodded to her in passing as she moved through the campsite. Grasses trampled by many feet created a cushion over the hard soil. The Benai did not seem hurried, their movements methodical and slow. But not lazy. To think they were lazy, as some did, would be a mistake. The pleasant buzz of conversation was punctuated from time to time by children who ran from wagon to wagon, laughing with abandon.
She paused before a small semicircle of people gathered between two caravans. Two men stood over the group, balanced on the shoulders of three men. As she watched, the two top men somersaulted backward to land on the ground, raising their hands in the air. Ilythra smiled. What would it have been like to grow up in such a place? Family. Something she’d never really known. Her grandfather and she had loved each other completely, but they had been alone, with only Jith and Haboth as occasional company when they brought supplies to the island. Here there were generations of sharing. Roots, history. She rubbed Ilydearta through her tunic. At one time, she’d thought she’d find the Siobani quickly, return the stone and then settle down with her grandfather somewhere. She’d been naive.
Rounding a wagon, she saw Mohan perched on a barrel in the shade, surrounded by eager young faces.
“Now, watch.” Mohan saw her and winked.
Ilythra leaned against the colorful wood.
Mohan held up a coin, bit it theatrically and smiled. “Okay, ordinary coin. If you can get one from your audience, all the better. Of course, make sure it’s an audience that would have a coin.” As he spoke, he moved the coin across his fingers and back.
“That’s the trick I want to know,” a young boy with a scruffy cap pulled back from his face said.
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