As they had before, they returned to camp at dawn again. It was quiet, but the few Midans who were awake turned their eyes when Brocus called out from the red flats. Atop his horse, he shouted triumphantly: “We have it! We have the Sword of Sparhh!”

The search party members moored their horses, and already, word had spread. Soldiers swarmed to the pavilion, where the search party lingered – the Sword still in Heror’s possession.

The Midans stared in awe at the mystical weapon. And not long after the sun rose, the chattering crowds parted, and Raldu approached, with the djauul Shaail at his side. Raldu first acknowledged Adjaash, then Brocus, and then Heror. He glanced down at the Sword, then eyed Heror again, holding out his hand.

Heror nodded and silently handed over the Sword. Raldu grabbed the handle and tilted the sword within his grasp, observing its intricate details. He watched the morning sunlight shine off the winged designs and the obsidian hilt and the cool silver blade – and then he smiled warmly and looked at the search party again.

“Well done. All of you,” he said, his eyes jumping from member to member. “I knew my trust in you was well placed.”

Now Raldu turned and faced the crowds of Midan soldiers that clamored around the mess tent. He raised his voice.

“Everyone!” Raldu yelled, granting pauses so that Shaail could repeat his words in Midan. “There has been a development that I would like to address, but I will not address it yet! Please – go about your business and do your tasks today. And meet here at the camp’s center at mid-afternoon! There, I will have words for you!”

Now the chatter started to fade, and the crowds began to disperse. Raldu turned back to the search party. At the front of the group, Heror and Adjaash could no longer hide their exhaustion.

“Rest,” Raldu told them. “And come back here at mid-afternoon. You all deserve to bask.”

Heror returned to his tent, supply pack in hand. He ate from his rations and drank from his canteen. And then he fell asleep. It was a sound and timely sleep, with no nightmares or dreams. And soon enough, he awoke to light inside his tent. As he groggily sat up in his bedroll, Adjaash stepped into the entryway.

“I figured I’d come get you,” she told him with a small smile. “It’s time to go.”

They returned to the pavilion at the camp center, and under the afternoon light, the crowd of soldiers had once again gathered. They left a path for Adjaash and Heror to make their way to the center of the pavilion. When the pair ventured under the shade, the rest of the search party was waiting for them, along with Raldu and Shaail. In his hand, Raldu still carried the Sword.

“Ah, good,” Raldu said as they approached, silver-gold hair rustling in the breeze. “We can begin.”

Raldu stepped up onto a table, and all at once, the chatter in the crowd ceased. Shaail loomed behind him, once again ready to translate his words. Raldu let his violet eyes span across the encampment from end to end, and after a moment of silence, he raised the Sword into the air.

“The search party has returned!” he announced. “With the Sword of Sparhh!”

The crowd needed no translation for this. All at once, the mass of Midans erupted, and cheers flooded the camp. Some looked on in shock, while others patted their chests and stamped their bows, sending rolling rumbles through the grounds.

Raldu waited for the excitement to subside. And then he continued, leaving pauses for Shaail to translate.

“For thousands of years,” he began. “The Kingdoms that oppressed us, enslaved us, raped us, murdered us… used this as their symbol! This artifact, even when it was not in use, gave them power. And they presented it as an instrument of cleansing, under the guise of Godliness! But we know the truth. And the truth is this: The land – the world – will not be clean, until those who have wielded that power over us so ruthlessly… will be stripped of it, just as they tried – and failed – to strip us of our dignity, and our resolve!”

There was another eruption of cheers, and now Raldu shouted above the furor before it could even fade.

“How many of you had ancestors who were killed? Enslaved? Displaced? Robbed in daylight? How many of you were forced to live in squalor, away from the fertile land you claimed first, and called your own?”

And now there were yells of confirmation and affirmation. Raldu continued.

“How many of you were once compelled to believe in a promise that was only meant to mislead you?? To steal your spirit… from right under your nose??”

More yells and shouts.

“The destruction of this Sword…” Raldu continued. “… will be the first step toward ensuring that those who do evil will no longer have the power to remain. And it will be the first step toward ensuring… that we have the power to truly make a lasting change! For our loved ones and for others… who have suffered and still suffer every day, because of the unworthy and what they do! When this Sword is gone, its absence will be a symbolic evolution – a representation of our strength that so many underestimated. But its absence will just as much be a shift… away from outdated, obsolete Gods, and to the people – us – who claim and grasp the power we have!!”

More shouts. This time, Raldu waited for the air to calm, and quiet to return.

“We’ve advanced farther and farther south past the border,” he continued. “The line is moving every day. In a few days time, we will destroy this Sword. And then all of you will be sent south, to join the fight with your brothers at arms! I ask that you…”

Raldu’s speech continued, but Heror did not hear it. He was in a daze; on his thoughts, he drifted away. Raldu rallied the men, as he was so good at doing. It was loud. Louder, it grew. Elders prayed to their deities aloud, giving gratitude for favor. Young djauul archers promised swift retribution for their ancestors’ fate. Riders thrust their bows into the dirt, marking this land as theirs again – as Raldu’s words carried on. And then the speech ended, and the men slowly dispersed.

It was then that Heror went away on his own, down the riverbank to the south, in the light of the early sunset. He went until the noise of the camp was gone, and then he crossed the river. He sat, resting his back against a tree.

Not long after Heror sat down, he heard footsteps trudging down the way. As he looked, he saw Adjaash stepping from the gravel to the stones. She crossed the river and approached, in the warm-lit evening shade of the trees. Their eyes met, and then Heror dropped his gaze back to the ripples of the river.

“You alright?” Adjaash asked softly, as she stood over Heror.

Heror said nothing. He let the back of his head rest against the knots in the trunk behind him. Adjaash waited for a moment, then let out a sigh and sat beside him, crossing her legs.

“You’ve barely said a word since we left the tunnels. What’s wrong?”

Now Heror took a deep breath and lifted his eyes. In the sky, feathered cirrus clouds caught and dispersed the evening sunlight in waves of amber, red, and icy blue.

“I thought when I touched the Sword, I would… feel something. Anything…”

Heror trailed off.

“But I didn’t feel anything. It’s just a sword.”

Adjaash eyed him for a spell, then leaned over and picked a smooth pebble from the shore of the river. She twirled it between her fingers.

“Why is that such a bad thing?” she asked.

“Because it was supposed to be more than that,” Heror lamented. “It was supposed to be…”

He trailed off again.

“Supposed to be what?”

Heror was silent. Adjaash thought to herself. A light breeze rustled her hair.

“Is this about… what you were asking the other day, when we were fishing?” she recollected. “About what I believe? About what we should believe?”

It was quiet. A flicker pecked at a tree far above, then glided across the river, its high-pitched calls echoing in the air. Adjaash looked his way.

“Was this supposed to be some kind of answer for you?”

Heror gave Adjaash a glance, then turned ahead again. There was the discontent of self-loathing in his face, as if he’d been misled and then came to wisdom. Sobering, painful wisdom.

Adjaash watched as Heror consternated in silence. Then she smiled lightly to herself and dropped her eyes. She felt the smooth ribbons of the stone beneath the pads of her fingers. A strand of brown-silver hair drooped over her face.

“I think you’re trying to find meaning in the wrong things,” she told him.

Heror let out a small huff of a laugh through his nose.

“You sound like Thaeolai.”

“Hm?”

“Oh… nothing…”

“You’re so focused on trying to find ‘the answer,’” Adjaash lamented, “that you forget to find meaning in what’s in front of you.”

Adjaash paused. Heror could hear light exasperation in her voice. He glanced at her, and she met his glance.

“If you spend your whole life waiting for something…” she went on “… you forget to live…”

Adjaash went quiet, and her eyes sank as soon as the words left her mouth – as if she’d reminded herself of something. But her words stayed with Heror, as he sat by the river with his back against the tree.

For his entire life – even over the past couple months since he’d left Cephragon – Heror had been waiting for things. Waiting for a chance to find his family. Waiting for a chance to fight for something meaningful. Waiting for a sign that all of these things – any of these things – truly mattered.

And yet all this waiting left him as conflicted as he’d been at the very start. He didn’t feel better off because of it.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

After a minute of silence, Heror tilted his head in acknowledgement and let out a sigh. His right hand instinctively searched for a twig that he could fiddle with nervously. He found one by his boot, then grabbed it and started to scrunch it between his fingers.

“I suppose I’ve never been very good at that. Just… living…”

Heror’s voice brought Adjaash back to her senses. She gave him another look. Then she smiled, cleared her throat, and brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

“Me neither,” she said with a conceding grumble.

Heror eyed her, raising a brow.

“But you’re the one who gave the advice,” he pointed out with a smirk. “You’re saying you don’t follow your own advice?”

“Just because I share wisdom doesn’t mean I have to be wise,” Adjaash muttered with a shoulder shrug.

“Actually, I think that’s exactly what it means,” Heror retorted with a laugh.

“Alright, well, once you stop falling off your horse, you can judge me on my wisdom.”

“I don’t see the connection there.”

“Sight is a gift reserved for the wise.”

Heror again let out a small laugh, and Adjaash grinned. They looked at each other for a moment, then Adjaash dropped her eyes again, while Heror looked ahead. The sky was slowly growing darker, redder. The shade of the trees deepened. The crickets began to chirp.

They took in the sounds for a few minutes. Then Adjaash spoke again.

“Do you remember a moment where you were just… living? Back home? Just enjoying life?”

Heror let out another small laugh – this one sadder, somber.

“Those moments were always in short supply.”

“Just one,” Adjaash persisted. “There has to be something.”

Heror let out a rough sigh. And cautiously, his mind went back to Cephragon. There were moments – little ones. On the docks at dawn with Thaeolai. Fishing and rowing and sparring with Ucankacei. Listening to Ucankacei’s stories of the Kingdoms while the old man sat outside to meditate…

“When Ucankacei would tell me stories…” Heror decided to divulge.

“Who’s Ucankacei?” Adjaash questioned.

“He took me in when I was young. We never had much, but… it was a little easier after he took me in. He always prayed and meditated in the early mornings. He was always up late, up early. He never needed much sleep. Sometimes… before I went to the docks… I’d join him out there, and he’d tell me stories about the Kingdoms. Stories of brave warriors who came from nothing and went on to change the world. Warriors who traveled across mountains and deserts and ashlands and stormy plains, and fought trickster Gods and wicked men…”

Heror’s voice faded. He shook his head with another small laugh. He blinked, and then his tired eyes fell on the stream, as it reflected the scarlet skylight above.

“I was idealistic, maybe to a fault,” he recollected. “But I enjoyed those stories when I was younger. I’d close my eyes and get lost in the details. I’d try to paint the pictures in my head. I grew up inside walls, so… they always reminded me there was more outside.”

“You wanted to be one of those warriors?” Adjaash guessed with a teasing smirk.

“I suppose,” Heror offered with a chuckle, recognizing his young naivete. “But what boy doesn’t?”

“But that doesn’t even count,” Adjaash noted. “Even there, you were dreaming about a life you wanted to have.”

Heror acknowledged her with a sad smile and nodded.

“Sometimes… that’s all I could do.”

He paused. His smile faded for a moment. But then it returned.

“When I was very young – maybe eleven or twelve – I’d spar with other children from the mahallas, with crude wooden swords. Sometimes they were actually sticks. That was when Ucankacei started teaching me the basics, so I’d win often. And when I won, I would raise my sword up high and make these declarations: ‘I am Trichus, vanquisher of evil.’ Something ridiculous like that. And I’d live out those dreams in the little ways that I could. Sometimes we’d make teams and play ‘siephalls and pirates’, and I always wanted to be the pirates. Ucankacei wouldn’t have liked it if he’d known, but… It was my way of being the rebel… the liberator, I guess…”

He glanced at Adjaash, and the two smiled at each other for a short moment, before Heror turned away to the river. The twig in his hands was just about broken, so he twisted it into two and tossed it aside.

“Do you have a memory like that?” he asked Adjaash, gently.

Adjaash blinked, and then her eyes went ahead as she thought. Her smile faded a bit. When it came back, it was weaker than before.

“Spending time with my sister Ashbashenu. By the river.”

She winced – as if she hadn’t said that name in years. And then her chest lifted as she exhaled sharply. Her eyes fell. She spoke again. Each word felt strained.

“But that was… a long time ago…”

Heror watched her – seeing her pained expression – and he decided not to pry any more. But there was one question on his mind – one he felt was permissible to ask.

“What was Torwa like?”

Now Adjaash glanced at him. She offered him a small smile, as if thankful that he’d given her a safe excuse to reminisce.

“Everything was more colorful.”

They were silent for a time. It was getting dark. There was a red glow above the trees, and the last of the sun’s light shined through the trunks. Up above, in the heavens, stars dominated the expanse. It was the night of a new moon.

“Thinking about it a little more…” Heror pondered. “I think the most I’ve lived…”

He looked at Adjaash again. She looked back, amber eyes glowing ever so slightly in the dark.

Heror continued: “… is out here.”

Adjaash smiled a bit wider. And then they sat in the silence of the young night, to the sounds of the crickets. As they lingered, Heror could feel something pulling him. He felt Adjaash inching closer to his side. Eventually, she spoke again, her shoulder almost touching his.

“So… I have a question.”

Heror’s breath jumped in the silence. He offered her a glance.

“When we were in the tunnels…” Adjaash went on “… before those things attacked us… you mentioned you had something you wanted to say to me?”

“Oh…” Heror said in a half-laugh, feeling his cheeks redden in the dark. “I was hoping you forgot about that…”

“Nevermind then…”

At first, he expected that to be the end of it – but then he felt Adjaash’s shoulder press against his. She turned and leaned over him from the side. Her intent amber eyes met his, and he found that he couldn’t look away – paralyzed by her gaze.

She said, with confidence: “I think I know.”

And then she leaned in, closed her eyes, and they kissed. And after the first kiss, they both came back stronger. Heror closed his eyes and slowly slid his hand up to cradle her neck. Their lips parted and pressed, parted and pressed, parted and pressed – in a timeless cycle. Mouths and tongues speaking only through touch.

After a few minutes, she pulled away ever so slightly. They were laying together now – Heror’s back still against the trunk, his hand around her waist. Their eyes were locked between them, and after a moment, Heror opened his mouth, as if to speak – but he could only let out a small laugh, as if the moment itself had been long overdue. Adjaash smiled back. She kissed him again, and then she rubbed her nose against his and smirked.

“You’ve still got sand on your face,” Adjaash muttered.

“So do you…” Heror cooed, running a hand up her cheek.

Adjaash smiled. They were idle for a moment longer. And then she gently pulled away and slowly rose to her feet. She started to kick off her moccasins.

“I’m going to wash off in the river.”

“Oh…” Heror fumbled, looking up at her. “Alright…”

Adjaash glanced back at him. She smirked and raised an eyebrow, amused that he hadn’t gotten the hint.

“You’re welcome to join me,” she said with a guiding, teasing voice.

“Oh,” Heror said quickly, and now he understood.

Adjaash turned back toward the river. She slipped off her linen pants and pulled her poncho over her head, then dropped it to the side, leaving on only her necklace. The dim starlight shone off her bare soot-colored skin and slender body, and there was a quiet glint of iridescence in her loose, flowing hair. She paced into the waters, and at the sight, Heror too was drawn to the river.

He stood and started to undress, when he felt the weight of his kinship cloth inside his shirt pouch. Carefully, he pulled the cloth out from beneath his tunic. He held it for a moment. Thoughts that had left him long ago now came back, and for a moment, he froze. And then – without unrolling the cloth – he set it down gently on the gravelly soil. He took off his shirt and placed it over the cloth, so the cloth wouldn’t get lost. And then he slid off his boots and his trousers and stepped into the shallow waters, feeling the cool rush of the ripples.

Adjaash submerged in the middle of the stream, and when she surfaced again, she brushed wet hair out of her face and rubbed her arms and shoulders, feeling a cool breeze. She turned and saw Heror resting against the riverbank, submerged below the waist, and she made her way back toward him.

As Adjaash drifted back within reach, Heror brought a hand to her thigh. He slid his hand gently up to her lower back – fingers tracing the curve of her spine – and then he pressed his palm and pulled her to him. She wrapped her legs around him and settled. Her fingers snaked through the curls in his hair. He encased her in his arms, and they kissed again. Just as their lips moved, so did their hips. She closed her eyes and felt the waves. His mouth grazed her neck, and she craned her jaw upward – soft moans and breaths mingling with the whisper of the water.

When they were done, they laid together against the edge of the bank, listening to the song of the crickets – legs interwoven as their feet rested in the silt below the shallow water, letting the light waves lop against them. Heror held Adjaash against his chest, feeling the crown of her head against his chin. He ran his hand up and down her smooth skin, from her back to her shoulder blades – slowly, gently – and he could feel her leaning into him as she started to drift, her eyes closed in a blissful slumber.

He wouldn’t have minded if this moment lasted forever. And for a time, it felt as though it did.

What felt like hours passed, and eventually, in the deep of the clear and starry night, Adjaash opened her eyes again. Heror saw the light glow of her irises in the dark. She adjusted her neck and leaned into his shoulder, and for a moment, they glanced at each other, their eyes meeting.

“Should we go back?” Heror whispered.

Adjaash thought for a moment, then smiled, closed her eyes again, and nestled her head against Heror’s clavicle.

“I could stay here a little bit longer,” she replied.

Heror smiled and closed his eyes, and he held her tighter. He only knew now how much he’d wanted to feel her. With one hand, he held her to him. And with the other, he ran his flat palm across her body – from her back to her shoulders and back down again, to her hip and her thigh. From her thigh, to her back again, and up to her shoulder, to her arm, down to her forearm and her wrist, to clasp her hand…

But when his hand snaked down toward her right hand, he felt something. He ran his fingers over it again: A narrow indent rising and wrapping around Adjaash’s wrist. Another pass overtop it, and he realized that it was not a bracelet. It was embedded into the skin; it felt almost like a brand. At some points along the brand, Heror could feel scars running across it. He had never noticed this before now.

“What’s this?” Heror asked softly.

Adjaash opened her eyes and blinked, and then Heror felt her tense up. He glanced down toward her face, and he saw sudden panic in her expression – as if she had remembered something terrible. After a moment, she sat up in a rush and froze. Heror sat up and leaned against the bank with his arm, watching her with concern.

“Adjaash?”

This time, Adjaash did not lift her eyes to meet his. She stared into nowhere, pupils darting left and right as thoughts clashed. Her chest started to heave. Her breath and pulse started to quicken. Her throat contracted as she swallowed a lump. And then, she closed her eyes, shook her head abruptly, and started to stand.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, a light tremble in her voice. “I…”

She paused, as if she didn’t want to go. But then she rose to her feet.

“I can’t,” she said, voice fast and hushed.

Then she ducked her head and hurried out of the river. She picked up her pants and moccasins and slipped her patterned poncho back on over her torso. And then she walked down the bank to the north with haste, leaving Heror alone by the water.