When Solongo woke it was not in the same place where she had left her body. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell by the heat against her skin. In the mountain peaks where she lived, the sun was hardly ever bold enough to do more than peek at her from behind the clouds. The ground was cool and kissed with snow even in summer. Tentatively, she peeled open a half-moon eye and was blinded by a harsh light. The deep blue sky rippled with heat. If not for a passing band of clouds, she might have mistaken it for water.

She had been stranded in the middle of a sea made of red rock and sand that spanned as far as the horizon. The Waste, as her people called it. A place so remote that she could walk for days without coming across another living person. Or for that matter, water. Solongo smacked her lips and realized that her mouth was painfully dry. The desert sun had cured her skin like leather by the feel of it; the wind had chapped it. Even with the sun beating down on her she still managed to feel strangely cold.

“Buguldeika?” Her voice was hoarse as an old crow’s as she called her spirit’s name. If she were still wandering away from her body, he would have had no choice but to appear. His silence confirmed her fears: she was in her own body. And she was lost.

How she had come to be in such a predicament, Solongo didn’t know. The last she remembered she had gone to clear her head by the caves near her ger, the dome-like dwelling that she called home. A village shaman like her could never find peace in it for long. There was always something needing her attention. Whether it be curing colds or singing blessings, consulting with spirits or wrangling runaway goats, someone came knocking on her door. Which is why she had gone to the caves to find a couple hours of peace. It was slowly beginning to come back to her. She had found a quiet corner, closed her eyes—and she must have become so relaxed that her soul wandered away from her body to walk in the spirit world. Solongo shook her head, chagrined; she wasn’t so new to her craft that she didn’t know better. It was the sort of careless mistake that a novice would make, leaving her body lying around like a pair of boots for anyone to make off with.

And that was exactly what must have happened, by the look of things. Whoever it was must have changed their mind about stealing her. After all, even the smallest child in any village knew better than to meddle with a sleeping shaman. Maybe they had panicked, or simply decided that she wasn’t worth the trouble. By her people’s standards Solongo’s looks were considered pleasant, but average. She was short and sturdy with a wide moon of a face and ochre colored eyes. Her thick brown hair fell well past her shoulders in an assortment of braids. One glance was enough to tell that she had come from herding stock; she wasn’t the sort of girl that would fetch a high price if someone was looking to sell her.

“Seven spirits,” she spat, pushing herself to her feet. They were as shaky as a newborn camel’s. Coming back to her body after days spent away from it never felt right, regardless of how she woke. She wiggled her toes and breathed a sigh of relief. Her boots were still there at least. They were fur lined and made from embroidered leather. Whoever had left her stranded had at least been kind enough not to steal them. Or maybe they had simply realized that they were made too snugly for their own feet. The same couldn’t be said for her plush fur hat or prized earrings. Even the simple strings of painted wooden beads decorating her deel were missing. There was no sense in mourning them, however. If she couldn’t find water soon, a missing hat would be the least of her worries.

Solongo stared up at the sky. Every desert child was taught to read it from the time they could speak. Earlier than that even. But what use was the sun in the sky when she had no idea where she was? A nomad would have fared better. They knew the desert like the palm of their own hand. Solongo’s own knowledge grew hazy the further she strayed from the peaks. She wondered if her spirit might be able to guide her, but calling him would take too much energy. The best she could think to do was to follow the outline of blue mountains wavering in the distance. That way was home, for all the good it would do her.

~~~

Solongo walked long enough for the sun to reach its zenith and begin to wane. She might have been walking a whole day or only an hour for the progress she made. The mountains didn’t appear any closer than they had when she began her trek. The distance was deceptive, taunting her forward until her feet could walk no further. Just when she felt tempted to give in to the sun and sand she saw a figure perched on an outcropping of rocks a little ways ahead. Dressed in a simple deel the same color as the desert sand, he had blended effortlessly into his surroundings. It was no wonder she had mistaken him for a piece of rock. As she drew closer, she saw that he was a young man, perhaps no older than her herself, at most sixteen. He had a boyish face, swarthy from the sun and unbearded. An unruly mass of dark hair framed his face like puffed feathers. Compounded by his beak of a nose, it gave him a birdlike appearance. If not for his light breathing he might have been crafted from the same stone of his seat. He sat with his back perfectly straight, his legs crossed neatly in front of him with his hands resting on his knees. As Solongo approached him, she noticed that his eyes were closed. Meditating, no doubt. Or maybe even sleeping. For all his rigid posture he looked perfectly relaxed and gave no indication that he noticed her staring. That he was another shaman she had no doubt. The stillness of the air around him confirmed it, as if the silence existed solely to accommodate him. That, and shamans couldn’t help but look a bit peculiar; she could have glanced at him once from across a crowded room and known him for what he was.

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“Excuse me…” she said in a hoarse whisper. She drew closer towards him. A lifetime of experience cautioned her against disturbing him—good manners too—but she hoped that he would be understanding. After all, besides answering to their spirits, a shaman’s first duty was to the people around them. In the place where Solongo came from, sometimes all that meant was offering an extra pair of hands to help them with their work, but she was a practical sort of shaman. She told herself that if someone interrupted her with a plea for help that she wouldn’t mind, no matter what she was doing. Offering help in and of itself was an opportunity for spiritual growth, whatever the kind. However, not all shamans shared her outlook.

The other shaman’s brows pinched together just perceptibly enough for Solongo to guess that he had heard her. That he had heard her and decided to ignore her like a fly buzzing next to his ear. One that didn’t merit enough attention to even bother swatting.

“Excuse me,” she repeated, raising her voice. It took more effort than she cared to admit. Her voice sounded like a stranger’s to her ears. It was rougher than the coating of sand clinging to her tongue.

Still no response, other than an aggravated hitch in his breathing. Seeing nothing for it, Solongo reached forward and tapped him on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but—”

The other shaman’s eyes popped open before she could finish her thought. They were deep set and owlish, so deep a black that they bordered on blue. They locked onto Solongo with a startling intensity, regarding her with the same sort of attention she might give to a bug that had dared to be squished under her feet.

“What are you doing here? I’m not to be interrupted!” he snarled, as if somehow she should have known it.

Solongo’s eyes widened indignantly. She didn’t like being interrupted any more than he did when she was trying to commune with her spirits, but she never would have yelled at a stranger for it. Especially not one who was in such obvious need of help. She was tempted to spin on her heel and look for someone else to ask for it, but the likelihood of finding anyone else was so laughably remote that she was forced to choke back her pride.

“Sorry to bother you…” she began. Her throat had gone so dry that her voice faltered.

“Not another word! Go!”

Solongo sputtered like an overflowing kettle. Her throat hurt too badly to raise her voice. Arms akimbo, she took what she hoped was a menacing step forward and prodded the other shaman square between his eyes. He tumbled backwards off of his rocky perch.

“I need help and you are going to give it to me,” she croaked, looming over him.

He stared up at her in shocked silence. His brows knit together as he took in her bedraggled appearance. Realization spread across his face in a ruddy flush of color that burned all the way to his ears.

“You…you’re not an attendant, are you?” He had adopted a far politer tone. Either he was cowed, or he had a naturally soft-spoken voice when he wasn’t yelling.

Do I look like one to you? Solongo’s expression implied.

“Oh,” he muttered, growing redder by the second. “That would explain it.”

With more grace than she expected from someone who had just been sent sprawling onto his behind, the young man sprang to his feet. Standing, he was only a little taller than Solongo herself. He was slender, built on fine proportions that she guessed wouldn’t become any brawnier with age. It was no wonder she had had such an easy time pushing him around.

“Are you lost?” he asked.

She didn’t have enough spit in her mouth to tell him that it was a stupid question; she settled for simply nodding her head.

“Ah. Well. If you ride that way for a couple hours—” He pointed towards a formation of striped rocks. “You’ll come across a…”

Solongo shook her head. “No horse.”

“You don’t have a horse?”

Again she shook her head, injecting as much misery into the gesture as she could manage. Maybe that would succeed where words had failed in making her point.

“How did you get all the way out here without a horse?”

She sighed. Of all the people she could have stumbled across in the desert, it had to be this one. Rude, unhelpful, and obtuse. Far be it from her to speak down wisdoms from any mountain top, but if someone staggered up to her in the desert asking for help, the last thing she would do is quiz them. She opened her mouth to tell him as much and felt the ground beneath her sway. The sky swelled before her eyes, surging like a roiling wave. Her body felt light and buoyant as it carried her away.

“Are you all right?”

Another stupid question. It was the last coherent thought she had before fainting.