Aytesdee, the 8th of Falling, 768 A.E.

  Anthea huddled between Bedros, who sat on her left, and Makan, who sat on her right between her and Rolf. They were riding on a small fishing vessel to Miniya, as she had learned the outlying Elegian island settlement sheltered by the Empress’ Arm was called. She had endured three long Dees of walking along rocky shores filled with slippery rocks and whipping winds that blew sea spray from the crashing waves at them.

  Even Bedros was weary, subsisting on what occasional edible plant matter he could find. Fish was not an option for an herbivore, and being that he was of considerable size, he required a fair deal of grazing food. For nearly a Wayke since they had left Norsjalde, he had been underfed, and what extra fat he had around his torso had quickly begun to melt off. His coat was not glossy and strong as it had once been, but dull and ragged, especially around where he had been burned by arc-lances. He had taken to chewing on bits of pine boughs and mosses that he found even though they made his stomach ache fiercely. Yet even that aching in his gut was not so bad as the constant rumbling and the hunger pangs he felt when it was empty.

  Anthea, too, knew weariness the likes of which she had never felt before. Her Dees spent unconscious had left her weak, undernourished, and ill prepared for the rough trek to Miniya. She cast off into sleep at every opportunity and ate ravenously, trying to nourish her normally thin frame back to its regular size from its current bony state.

  On the evening of the third Dee out from their initial camp on the tip of the Empress’ Arm, they had come across a small fishing settlement that lay across a short gap of water from the island city of Miniya. The fishing village was an Elegian settlement. It was filled with a handful of men and an occasional woman – though they were often hard to tell as women from first glances because their hair was always cropped so short.

  Being Elegian, they had skin the color of cocoa, though some seemed to have a ruddier coloring, almost rusty. Their eyes were large and bright with brownish irises that matched their coloring. Most men seemed to wear their hair long, and the women wore theirs very short. That was an oddity to Anthea, almost a reversal of what her own people did. The exceptions seemed to be men who owned their own vessels, who would have hair of relatively short length, though still longer than the few women who worked alongside the men. Hair was, then, apparently a status symbol, and the differing lengths meant different things for each gender.

  In the small settlement, little more than a few crude huts and a couple docks and storehouses for the week’s catch, Makan had surprised her with his glib tongue. It had taken him but a few short Mynettes with the fishermen to convince them of their earnest need for passage to the island. Rolf had told her that he figured it had something to do with the brotherhood of sailors and fishermen that existed everywhere, no matter what race.

  Regardless of the townsfolk’s reasons for accepting, they had agreed to take four strangers of mixed heritages to the island – without pay no less. Of course, upon seeing the actual passengers, there had been a few nervous looks, a bit of tittering laughter, and some scratching of heads. They had kept to their word, and though they cast frequent looks at her and Bedros, they did so out of curiosity and not out of anger or hatred.

  “Miniya lies ahead.” The captain called back to them in accented Low Elegian, showing off a mouth full of uneven teeth as he smiled warmly and pointed over the bow of the ship. His skin shone like henna beneath the kiss of the sun – a warm and fitting color for someone of such an open nature.

  They were sitting in a row on the floor of the boat, which wasn’t entirely dry, but dampness was nothing they hadn’t endured before. As it was, Anthea preferred sitting on the cold, wet deck of a ship that smelled of fish to ever walking again, but when the captain announced that Miniya was near, curiosity overwhelmed her footsoreness.

  Makan saw that she was going to stand and helped her up. She saw in his eyes that he too was curious. Bedros and Rolf made to get up as well, but she shook her head at them. Both settled back into an uneasy slumber. Rolf, no doubt, had little interest in anything Elegian, as he and the Kerathi people still considered them something of an enemy. Bedros was had different reasons though; she knew that to him one city was much like another, and he longed to see the open plains his people roamed upon.

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  She moved forward with Makan holding her arm. His feet were sure and steady on the deck, while she constantly had to grab for the railing or Makan to keep from falling over. He never laughed or made fun of her for it though, which she found comforting. She wasn’t in the mood for such things, but her mood lifted when she looked out across the measure of the Inner Seas that stood between them and Miniya.

  For a moment, with the tang of salt in the air and the sunset a fire on the horizon, Anthea thought she knew what it must have been like to experience the Elegian Empire at its height. Miniya was a low-slung collection of buildings that clung to the coastline, but further back there were wooded cliffs ablaze with the colors of the Saysuhn of Orange, and even further back on the hill, there was a wide palace whose rounded towers looked like golden eggs glistening in the sunlight.

  The Daughters’ Palace glowed like a hill of mica before the sun, a shimmering jewel. Even if Rolf hadn’t proudly, though not tactfully, made mention that his people had burned Miniya to the ground many Yarres ago, she would have been impressed. He had filled her in on all he knew of the city and all that his people had done to destroy it, so it was heartening to see that something this grand still stood. When she realized that this was impressive structure was just what had been built to replace something that was supposed to have been much grander, she appreciated it all the more.

  In the distance, she couldn’t see the poor to shoddy workmanship of the waterfront buildings and lesser holdings of Miniya, buildings that probably wouldn’t have looked that poor if not set against the artistically wrought marble and limestone of the Daughters’ Palace.

  Miniya might not hold a candle to the well-maintained, lofty towers of Cenalium, each a scepter of glass and stone jutting high into the air with gossamer, spidery walkways stretched between them, but it was the most impressive city Anthea had seen since leaving her old home. It was of a foreign flavor to her, but she found the civilization it promised welcoming. Norsjalde, and Harsbrukke especially, had been far too archaic and crude for her. The accommodations were downright savage, and due to the scarce amenities, she’d not felt completely clean since her departure from Cenalium. The promise of more modern conveniences was a strong lure for her, but then realization sat in.

  “We have no money and little of worth.” She said quietly.

  “I know.” Makan said with a sigh. “It is unfortunate that our vessel did not survive at least. We could have sold it.”

  “How will we live? How can we eat or find a place to sleep?”

  “All will work out. Rolf and I will work to earn wages to pay for a passage to Aetheline. Even Bedros might find work here. I understand, from speaking with our kind captain and crew here, that Ox-Men are sometimes hired for stonework in this city, and across the empire as a whole.”

  “So, you all find jobs to keep food in our bellies. What then?”

  “We follow your lead, Anthea. Wherever the enchantment you spoke Waykes ago leads you.”

  “Even if the result is bad? I feel the enchantment taking me to this city, but I can’t guarantee what we will find.”

  “The Gods won’t lead us astray if we do all that our minds, hearts, and bodies can, and if we do what is right. Fallu has aided us already, and Gandahar is a constant encouraging hand pushing us along. Even Tulis and Marceaupo’s constant warring served to obscure our flight from Norsjalde.” Makan said. Then, feeling a profound poetic urge, he spoke one of the proverbs of his people. “Storms always end, and light always wins out over night.”

  “When it’s storming bad and overcast, there is no light.” Anthea said contradictorily, frowning solemnly.

  “Even on overcast Dees, the sun is always there, it’s just hidden for awhile. You must remember that it’s always there, even if it’s hard to find.”

  Anthea smiled for a moment, basking in the failing sun and the strength of will and optimism radiating from the man beside her. As for Makan, he stood there, his arm around her to help keep her near the rail, lest she fall. In that moment, he saw her as she was meant to be beneath the sun.

  So, like a flower, he thought to himself. Her face follows the sun, turning to let it soak in, just like a plant turns its leaves. His mind went beyond her and beyond the boat then to Miniya and the tasks that might lie between them and passage to Aetheline. Still, the image of her he had seen in that brief moment as the sun finally dove beneath the distance waves and mountains kept returning to him.