Hot Obsidian
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Carried by the wind to the foot of the Tower, that song made people wake up. They no longer stared up in silence, waiting for Milia to fall; they stirred, they cried, they cursed the Tower and those who condemned the innocent child to death. Only the three Chiefs remained unmoved by the song.
“What a horrible sorcery!” they said. “We were right to condemn the child. Just imagine what would have happened if the little witch had a chance to grow up!”
Only the gloomy warriors clad in white didn’t acknowledge the powerful song. All of them had been deaf from birth; that was why they were chosen to follow the girl. They threw Milia off the Tower, just like they were ordered to.
No one saw the child’s body fall but everyone saw the fall of the Tower itself. In roar and thunder, torn apart by huge cracks, it crashed to the ground, centuries of endless toil and howling songs turned into rubble and dust in a single moment.
The city was spared – by pure luck or the will of the gods, who knows. The only victims of the fall, by a strange coincidence, were the three Chiefs and the deaf guards. Blinded by freedom, inspired by hope, people searched and searched for Milia’s body, some even believed that she had survived the fall but no, the girl was never found.
Why did the Tower fall? Did the gods have a hand in it? Who knows.
Sometimes, heavy things just collapse under their own weight, Towers and cults alike.
As to the people awakened by Milia’s song and the Tower’s crash, they did learn their lesson. Technology, magic, and faith, when they are not balanced by other things, make unstable constructions and you need balance first of all to reach the sky where the gods dwell.
Unbalanced things always fall.
“Jarmin fell asleep again, poor thing,” said Milian. “I don’t think he’s heard the ending.”
“Yeah, he probably hasn't…” Orion scratched his neck. That sunburn on his skin was itchy. Or maybe he was feeling unsure of what he wanted to say and the subconscious gesture just betrayed that. “What’s important, is that you have. The tale was for you, Mil. Some thoughts are better told this way, you know.”
“Ah, I get it now,” Milian nodded. “That’s why you called her ‘Milia’, huh? And the tower… it’s the Order, right? You think it’s going to fall.”
“Glad to know we’re on the same page,” Orion nodded, his face unusually serious.
“And the reason is?” Milian looked him in the eye.
“Fanaticism,” was Orion’s answer. “Our glorious leader is one step away from the point of no return. Well, at least I think so. But the problem is that I have no idea what to do about it.”
“Yeah… me neither,” sighed Milian.
They walked the rest of the way to Aldaren-Turin in silence.
Ramayana’s caravan spent one day and one night in the city. Juel’s team took this time to rest and have fun. Aldaren-Turin’s market was nowhere as impressive as Torgor’s but the boys enjoyed it all the same. Some things they bought there were unique to the city and would surely make great mementoes in the future. Some books, written by the locals, were one of a kind. Handwritten and clumsily bound in cheap leather, they narrated stories only the author and a few of their friends had ever read. Taking these books on a journey into the big world seemed an interesting idea to Milian, and his friends quickly joined the fun, making the local unappreciated writers’ day.
Jarmin was a little child and children of his age are special to Kuldaganians: they are the only people allowed to swim in city fountains. It doesn’t even matter whether they are freaks that broke the Ancestors’ purity taboo or foreigners that look even more alien. They are kids and childhood is holy. So Jarmin spent the day in Aldaren Turin’s fountain, his flaxen hair looking funny among the bald heads of the descendants of Rami and Otiz, neither of which had hair on their body, brows and eyelashes excluded.
Local dlars’ walls were thick enough to keep the rooms cool even in the fiercest heat of the day and warm even in the fiercest cold the night, so everyone enjoyed the best rest possible. Speaking of walls: only Aldaren-Turin’s city wall was made of monolith; all the walls inside were plain aren concrete. The descendants of Rami and Otiz were no different from other Kuldaganian citizens in that matter.
Monolith interested Pai greatly. He wouldn’t shut up about the Wanderer’s “magic” that they used to manipulate the aspects of aren, the “magic” that worked in the unstable zone somehow without exploding. He tried to ask around, hoping to learn more, but had no luck. Definitely, a Kuldaganian city was no place to learn the Wanderers’ ways.
Pai found some consolation after the caravan had left Aldaren-Turin, though, for they now followed an ancient road paved with rune-inscribed stones enchanted to keep the sands away. Since they had stepped on that road, Pai did little but staring at those runes, absolutely fascinated by them.
For the rest of the team, the journey was as mirthless as before. Thankfully (most likely due to Irin’s constant vigil and excellent marksmanship) no bandits bothered the caravan. At some point, Ramayana Arnika-Vadro approached Irin and asked him to stay and work for her. He refused but did that so loudly and hastily that there were no doubts about how much he actually wanted to accept the offer.
When the lights of Border came into view, it was early evening with only a few stars in the sky. The collective light of the city’s oil lanterns and firefly jars made it look like a gate to the dark unknown beyond. A gate to the No Man’s Land.
Milian felt his heart sink at the sight. The image was more that it seemed. It felt like approaching a point of no return, an unseen border beyond which nothing would ever be the same. The boy could not explain the dread it was giving him and had no words to express the feeling; but the others must have felt something similar for they were all grim despite the comforts and curiosities the city could offer.
The team left the city the next morning on the backs of ten chargas that stepped so softly on the firm ground that replaced the shifty Kuldaganian sand beyond the border.
Chapter 9. Road to Tammar
Having killed a master, kill their apprentice as well, even if the apprentice is just a little child, for children grow, children learn, and children can hold a grudge. The child you’ve spared will become a warrior or a mage and come after you to avenge the master. Think of the future, always.