Omens In Ashes

He awoke to another burning sky, the new dawn blazing upon the horizon akin to the glowing coals in the campfire that had warmed him throughout the night, taking the chill out of the open air. Kyanite shook the morning dew from his woollen blanket and lay it across his mount’s back to dry. A morning’s ride from the city, Kyanite could sense that Emanys was close, the wild esen in the air thicker here. He could almost reach out with his spirit, he thought, and touch it, as if the magical wall that enveloped the city lay only a few feet away, calling to the magic within him. The closer he got, the stronger the sensation became.

Half a season on his own in the grasslands had taken its toll. He was suffering from sleep deprivation, resting his eyes for no more than an hour or so before he was on high alert again. The grasslands were unforgiving and dangerous for a lone rider, even a trained warrior like himself. For as far as the eye could see, there wasn’t a tree or landmark in sight. The distant mountains were shrouded in mist, making north from south indistinguishable. A handful of stars still twinkled in the sky above and, from this, he was able to determine which direction he was headed.

Sunflower Woodash was the name of the girl who had gone missing during the last days of Blaze. Kyanite had travelled a long way to meet with her father, Jakai, to discuss her last known whereabouts. He had heard rumour of the missing girl while exercising guest rights with a smaller tribe, who called the west of Emanys home. A twelve day ride had taken him south to the place he needed to be and, before red skies gave way to blue, he was standing at the entrance to Jakai’s ger.

The old man sat hunched over a low fire, fears for his daughter’s well being had visibly aged him, carving deep lines across his furrowed brow. He had little to no information to share, stating only that his daughter had been watching the events of Rah’har with the rest of the tribe before she had gone missing. Most of the Fire Clan had been there, but he had observed nothing unusual that day.

“This is her cloak,” Jakai’s wife said, holding up an off-yellow half-cloak before setting it aside.

The woman had been clutching the garment throughout the entirety of Kyanite’s visit, only to abandon it when Jakai bid that she fetch his son. As he rode west, Kyanite would experience a pang of guilt for taking the treasured possession, but needed something to coax his hunting dog to check for the girl’s scent, if any remained. The young warrior wasn’t known for his tracking abilities, but he knew someone who was, a friend of his youth, Maseko Rain, a famed tracker for the Water Clan, and a good friend of Kyanite’s. If anyone knew how to find Sunflower Woodash, it was him.

Maseko was a hard man to find. He lived alone with no wives or children, keeping only a handful of hunting dogs for company. They approached Kyanite with their hackles up and teeth on show. Kyanite’s horse made a low, nervous sound and pulled its ears back.

“Easy,” Kyanite said, “easy girl.”

The mare stamped her foot, impatient, desperate to step back or run. Kyanite put two fingers to his mouth to produce a long, high-pitched whistle. “Maseko!” He called, “it’s Kyanite Blackwater.”

Maseko stood up from where he had been sitting in front of a small, makeshift fire pit and called off his dogs. “Blackwater?” He echoed, “Dravite’s boy?”

“His eldest!” Kyanite replied, voice loud and clear.

Maseko approached the horse to get a better look at its rider. He smiled. “So it is,” he said.

Kyanite grinned at his old teacher, a man who had taught him when he was only a boy. Even in those days, Maseko had seemed old, now he appeared ancient. After the death of Kyanite’s father, Maseko had taken his leave of the Blackwater tribe and remained a loner ever since.

“What brings you so far south in Harvest?” The old man asked.

“I’m looking for a girl, Sunflower Woodash,” Kyanite explained.

“Woodash…” Maseko said. “I’m not familiar with the name…”

Kyanite leaned back on his horse. “She went missing at the end of Blaze during the right of passage ceremonies.”

Maseko raised his shoulders in a shrug.

*Thanks for your help,* Kyanite signed.

The old man held up a hand as if to signal the man to stay and wait a moment. “I’ve heard news,” he said, “of a group that broke away from the Spirit Clan some years ago. They’ve been rumoured to have taken girls recently from the Shore People… maybe they have grown brave or foolish enough to take from their own kind?”

*Which way?*

“You can’t go after them like that, Blackwater. Come, Maseko will take care of you.”

Kyanite emerged from his old teacher’s ger some time later, his arms, upper body and face painted with camouflage. Even his hair had been blackened with a special mix of herbs and ink Maseko made himself. The old man readied his horse and bow, choosing to take Kyanite to the edge of the group’s territory before they unbridled their mounts and stashed their saddles in the tall grass, hidden beneath a long fallen tree.

*We go on foot from here,* Maseko signed, *and we do not speak.*

Kyanite bowed his head in silent agreement.

They tracked through the tall grass, crouched in order to stay out of sight. The sun dipped low against the horizon, and Maseko warned that they only had about an hour or so worth of light left. The pair continued on through the sea of golden grass until they had found what appeared to be a campsite, tucked away in a small valley.

*We wait until nightfall,* Maseko suggested.

*It will be harder for them to see us once they light the camp fires,* Kyanite agreed.

The pair watched and waited until the cover of darkness. Kyanite had counted only three men in the camp and a handful of women, most of which appeared to be Shore People. He hadn’t seen anyone that matched Sunflower’s description, but had a strange feeling that there was more to this camp than met the eye. The pair chose to split up in order to cover more ground, with Maseko going right while Kyanite flanked left.

Two of the three men stood guard, one on either end of the camp, while a third tended the fire pit, spit roasting what appeared to be a small hog. Kyanite ducked inside one of the tents to find himself in pitch darkness. He stepped heel first about the small space, using outstretched hands and the toes of his feet to feel around. The inside of the tent smelled of rawhide and tannin. He exited the tent moments later and got low to crawl to the next.

This one was lit from the inside by a single candle that flickered, close to suffocating in its own pool of melted wax. Two girls gasped and backed away from the entrance as Kyanite came in. They were tied to a peg hammered deep into the earth. Kyanite held a hand to his face to signal for the pair to remain quiet. He signed out Sunflower’s name and one of the girl’s eyes widened. She nodded and raised her hands to confirm who she was. *Your father sent me,* Kyanite signed, *I’m here to take you home.*

He looked about for something to cut the girls bindings with, having forgotten his dagger, which had been left back at Maseko’s camp. One of the girls pointed to a crude knife at the edge of the tent that looked as if it had been used to trim hooves. He worked fast to cut through the rope and pull it free of their hands before signing for the pair to stay low and follow him out of the camp and into the darkness.

As they headed for the treeline Maseko and himself had come from, Kyanite heard the old man groan. He turned to find Maseko had been captured by one of the men standing guard and was caught in the midst of a power struggle. “Hide!” He said, before snaking through the tall grass towards his old teacher.

Once Kyanite believed himself to be a safe distance from the girls, he got to his feet and sprinted towards the guard, who sat straddling Maseko with his burly hands about the old man’s neck. Kyanite shoulder charged the man, sending him tumbling into the grass. That was when the other two realised what was going on and rushed to help their fellow tribesman. Maseko scrambled to his feet and took up his bow to latch an arrow to the string. He sent it flying into the closest of the two runners and was just about to ready a second arrow, when one was returned, piercing him through the neck.

Kyanite stood in shock at the sight of his fallen friend. Was life that frail? Had he ever been so careless with his own as to run into a battle he knew he couldn’t win? The two remaining men shoved him to the ground and followed, heavy handed. Kyanite wrestled with one of the men while trying to hold the other in a headlock between his thighs. If he could just make one of them submit, he thought, he might have a chance.

A sudden strike to the temple saw his world spin and blood rush to the site of impact with such haste that it caused him to blackout. When he awoke, it was to a woman’s voice. Her face and hands were bloody where she had touched him and then herself in the ensuing panic. “Sunflower?” He thought he recognised her.

“You’re lucky, stranger,” she replied, “that I am a better shot with a bow at close range than your friend.”

Kyanite stumbled as he tried to sit up.

“Careful!” Sunflower warned, “you’ve lost a lot of blood. “I managed to stop the bleeding,” she said, “but I did not have the ability to save your friend.”

Kyanite frowned, the sharp pain in his head made it difficult to focus. He twisted to look at Maseko. So it was true… his old teacher was gone. “We have to take him home.”

“Let’s see if you can stand first,” Sunflower challenged.

She helped the man to his feet and explained that the rest of the girls had already fled the camp in fear of reinforcements. Kyanite was unsteady on his feet, there was no way, he thought, that he would be able to carry the old man from the valley. He doubted he would be able to get himself up the hill, let alone drag a dead body behind him.

Sunflower pressed a hand to his chest to steady him. “Our home is Emanys,” she said, “we are home, wherever we go, we are home.”

The words brought the man some solace, but he couldn’t help but think of how wrong it was to leave Maseko like that. He knelt down and straightened the old man’s body, which was already going stiff with his death. Kyanite broke the head of the arrow away and pulled it from his fallen friend’s neck. It had been an awful way to die. But Kyanite fought to convince himself that Maseko had not suffered. This made it no easier to bear.

“We left our horses at the top of the rise in the small copse of trees north east of here,” he explained. “Fetch his mount and bring it to me.”

Sunflower did as requested and returned some time later with both horses. She helped Kyanite lift Maseko onto his horse before climbing up onto Kyanite’s mare. He sat behind the woman and steered the animal in the direction of Maseko’s camp. Tonight they would make a fire for the old man and send him to the gods. Tomorrow their journey back to Sunflower’s people would begin. There was no time to waste.

Kyanite drove the small, sharp knife along the edge of the wood carving he had risen early to get a head start on the following day. Sunflower had used the thin peelings of wood that fell away from it to create a fire under the bed of branches they had piled up to lay Maseko on. She took up Kyanite’s offering to the man the moment it was complete, and lay the small, wooden horse against the old man’s chest before the flames engulfed his frail body.

*It was kind of you to make that for him,* she signed, both of them unable to speak.

*I wish there was more I could have done,* Kyanite replied, the movement and position of his fingers speaking for him. *Maseko was a good man… a great teacher.*

*I’m sorry.* Sunflower frowned.

The guilt weighed heavy on Kyanite. He knew he should have been better prepared for a fight, yet had allowed Maseko to face the danger alone. He made a quiet promise then that he would never allow himself to be so ill prepared in future. Kyanite would not risk the lives of any who chose to follow him. It was a harsh, bitter lesson, one he should have heeded long ago.

The ride back to Sunflower’s camp took the better part of the day. Kyanite was greeted with a hero's welcome, despite the fact that he was anything but. The woman’s father made good on his promise, gifting Kyanite the prized stallion from his herd before inviting the man to stay with them a while. Though he knew it was custom to allow them the opportunity to show their appreciation for the safe return of their daughter, Kyanite knew it was better to beg forgiveness than play the part of an unwilling guest.

He thanked the tribe for their generosity, traded with their craftsmen and foragers for supplies, then took his goods and got back in the saddle.

Kyanite made a beeline for the city, determined to make a purchase that was long overdue. The bow was made of the wood from a tree that grew on Mount Karames, a fine timber that was forgiving but strong. He negotiated and made a fair trade for the item, taking with it enough arrows to sharpen his skill with a little practice. The quiver he acquired was long and narrow, designed to keep the arrows housed throughout long journeys on horseback. Kyanite ran his hand over the fine leatherwork, studying the symbols tooled at both ends of the quiver.

He sheathed the arrows and slung the bow across his chest, which just so happened to be the easiest and most comfortable way to carry it through the marketplace. Once he had returned to his horse, the bow proved easy to store attached to the back of his saddle. He crossed the outskirts of the city then, returning to the wild grasslands that seemed to stretch out ahead of him like an endless sea. Not sure where his journey would take him next, he chose to venture west, towards the great divide that separated beasts from men.