Desert Winds

The dust swirled so thickly that Po’a thought he might have gone blind. He leaned in closer to his steed’s neck, the warm strong muscle a simple reassurance. This noble Blood Stallion had seen far worse, he was sure. Still, he could not imagine living in this inhospitable environment by choice- better to face the jungles of his home than this barren place! If the Crimson Courier had not sent him, and if his revolutionary ideals were not as strong- by the Wanderer! He would not have come. He could taste sand even through the thick scarf that the Naraya village people had given him. He grimaced and patted the icon of the Wanderer that hid under his shirt. He wasn’t far from his destination, if he had kept a straight course. Frankly, the horse had done more navigating than him, in this dust storm.

Po’a blinked awake. How he had managed to fall asleep he could not say, but his recent sleepless nights must have contributed. The horse had stopped, so he slid out of the saddle and glanced around. They were standing in the protective shadow of a tall stone, an unfamiliar shape that was nonetheless comforting. He stepped closer, and ran his fingers across the surface. To his surprise, it was rife with carvings. He could not decipher the Flame dialect, but what little he could read was strangely calming. “As the traveler and their steed are peaceful, let them rest long in the shade of this word,” read the carvings. He glanced over at the Blood Stallion, who nickered quietly. They were definitely peaceful, out here in the wastes. It didn’t take long for the rest of the storm to dissipate. He muttered quiet thanks to his horse for finding this place, then saddled up again.

He squinted into the distance. He relaxed a little when he saw the silhouettes of stone structures, not too far away. He had arrived at Zikaya, and could finally banish the thought of being forever lost in the mesa's wastes. Three figures appeared on what looked like the main road of this town. He raised his hand in a gesture of goodwill, then slid from the saddle. He tried to remember his Old Red greetings.

“Konraid!” he called. The three figures raised their hands in greeting to meet him. The centermost woman spoke out, a delicate accent altering the vowels.

“Worry not, kiʃ. We speak your common tongue.”

“What do you mean by ‘kiʃ’?” he asked. The strange sounds were clumsy as he spoke.

“The kiʃ is the ibex, friend, a durable traveler… and stubborn, too.”  She smiled warmly. “We have awaited your coming for several weeks, and we have heard much of your troubled journey.” He winced. His encounter with the guardsman convoy had delayed him, and had forced him to travel far from known roads.

“My tardiness is a disrespect, konraid, and I apologize-”
“Do not worry, kiʃ. Your very presence is a great honor.” The man standing to his left tugged at his beard as he spoke, though the wispy thing did not look like it could take much more tugging.

“Come in, please,” said the woman to his right. “It is rude of us to keep you standing. Dran will attend to your horse.” The wispy-bearded man stepped to the Blood Stallion, guiding it into one of the stone buildings. Po’a followed the two women into another, smaller structure.

The space was furnished in the sparse but comfortable style he had seen in Naraya. A dense carpet covered the stone floor, and cushions littered the space. Delicate incense perfumed the air. He took a careful seat, and accepted the tea that was offered him.

“If you have heard of my travels you might know my name, but I am called Po’a.” His hosts nodded quietly, and sat before him.

“I am Disa, and she is Shiya. We speak for all our people, Drata willing.”

“I come as an envoy of the Crimson Couriers. I have been sent to request your support on behalf of those who oppose the tyrannical authority of the current dictator.” Disa smiled again.

“Do not worry, friend Po’a,” said Shiya. “We are already at your back.” Po’a’s brow furrowed.

“What convinced you and your people that we were worthy allies?”

“Be not so doubtful, friend,” said Disa. “One of your own spoke to us several days before you arrived. Truth be told, she foretold of your arrival.” Po’a’s frown deepened.

“But who..?” He trailed off as a figure burst out from another doorway. The figure ran straight for him and embraced him, nearly knocking him from his cushioned sitting place.

“Po’a!” she cried. “It’s been too long!”

“Bi’ok..?” He was stunned. His childhood friend had been gone for years. She had disappeared once her Flame beliefs had been outlawed. No one had been able to tell him where she’d gone. Disa and Shiya smiled at their reunion.

“I’ve been staying with these people, Po’a, and they’ve been so kind, but by my ancestors! It is good to see a countryman again!”

“But what have you been doing here all this time?” Her face became more serious.

“Studying, for the most part. Shiya is as wise a scholar as Disa is a charismatic diplomat. Flames, Po’a, if you only knew… for such a small town, Zikaya contains such a wealth of knowledge!” He took a moment to think this over.

“And have you been in contact with the Crimson Courier?”

“Not until recently,” she admitted. “They wanted to see what I’d learned, if I’d found any… any magic.”

“Magic?”
“Yeah, the runic stuff. It’s not some kind of conjuring trick, see, it’s like a… it’s a sort of complicated energy conversion.” Her brow creased in thought. “It’s hard to explain without being able to demonstrate.”

“Well, I’m sure I’ll see eventually-” he started, before she cut him off.
“No, no, hold on.” She traded some quick Old Red with Shiya, who nodded and ducked out into a doorway. She returned with a strange object, which she called “noaparod”- the “Giving Back Stone”. It resembled a large, flat stone, like those from the rivers of his childhood home. One surface was covered in strange patterns of carvings, and the other was covered with an incomprehensible mess of runes.

“Here, take this- mind the complicated side, now- and press gently on the other side.” As he did so, a subtle heat began to emanate. Curious, he slapped at it, and nearly dropped the rock as a gout of flame erupted from the back face. He carefully handed it back, Shiya’s laughter filling the space.

“How does it work? What’s it for?”

“It’s somewhat hard to explain, but to put it simply… If you fix this to something like a shield, or a buckler, and the rock is struck, it gains the energy of the strike.” She ran her fingers along some of the carvings as she spoke, flipping the stone over. “On the other side, that energy becomes a simple flame, with its brightness dependent on the strength of the blow it received.” She smiled gently at his visible confusion. “I’m sure you’ll see more of these artifacts over the coming days, and it’ll become clearer to you.”

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and stood carefully. He bowed deeply to his hosts, then clasped Bi’ok’s hand.

“I’m sure we’ll meet again soon, friend,” he said. “But for now, I must go on to the next town. My friend’s potent diplomacy has saved me valuable time not spent convincing the people of Zikaya to join our cause. However, I must insist on using that time to reach my next destination.” His hosts nodded, unsurprised. These were trying times that demanded haste. “I thank you kindly for your hospitality and your pledge of support. Goodbye, friends.” He bowed again, then stepped out of the small building, thoughts swirling in his head.

As he climbed on his rested mount, he smiled. To think! He had come for a handful of allies in the mesa, and had found so much more! Allies, an old friend, and- Holy Wanderer! Magic! He laughed openly, and his mount seemed to echo him, whinnying quietly. He rode out of the stable towards the next town, his scarf askew, chuckling into the wind. ​​​​​​​