S’bowynn sat at a small, singular sized table made of stone and iron, resting upon a matching chair of spiraled metal rods making the set appear delicate despite their years of use outside the Scholar District early in the morning. Before Arovdora fully rose from the horizon, S’bowynn had found a note rolled up in the chains that secured the front of the shop closed. Upon its removal, she read the letter from Derohn addressed to her, explaining that he would not be opening until later in the day in anticipation of the oncoming caravan.

She had stood in front of the store for an embarrassing amount of time while her mind wrestled between excitement and anticipation of the disruption of repetitive daily life, and the empty, anxious confusion that rooted her to the ground. Once she was able to shamble away from the locked building, she wandered aimlessly until Arovdora rose high enough to illuminate the gathering crowd of morning regulars in the town center, also looking around with an expression of slight confusion amidst the disruption of routine.

Few of the tables were empty, even in the early light, so S’bowynn claimed one for herself and in the hours that passed, she enjoyed her perch across from the Communication Building, where she could wait and watch for any hint that the vimova inside had received new information concerning the oncoming travelers. The crowd had since grown large enough to obscure the building and so she let her focus relax to come far off place in her mind, watching the swaying chaos of the gathered masses.

Hunger pawed around the edges of S’bowynn’s thoughts like a stray cat she was trying to ignore. If she gave in and searched for something to eat, she would forfeit her claim upon the table and there would be no hope of finding another comfortable location to wait. It had been so long since she had been able to see her prey that she started doubting whether the perch was still worth defending. Just as she weighed her options, she noticed a shift in the swaying of the crowd to one more direct and uniform in its direction. The mass had turned and begun to push against itself in the direction of the obscured architecture. All around her the crowd cautiously shuffled northeast and S’bowynn allowed herself to be pulled into the current, abandoning her rock amongst the waves. She stretched her neck in a feeble attempt to see above the shoulders and back of heads for any clue about where she was being pulled. Only as the huge timbers cast a shadow and passed above her, did she realize the crowd had shifted into Main Market. The wide road allowed the dense mass to spread out and S’bowynn found a familiar shape amongst the bodies. She carefully weaved her way through the thinning crowd.

“Derohn!” she called out. The familiar shape turned large, broad shoulders in recognition and Derohn responded with a smile.

“Couldn’t be without me for one day?” he asked playfully.

“I did just fine all morning,” she said, annoyed. “I was hoping to use your height now though. I can’t se a thing.”

“I see how it is,” Derohn smirked. She answered him with a groan as she caught up to him and secured a handful of his shirt so she wouldn’t lose him in the undulating mob. “I can’t see much either. I’m following the guard pikes.” He pointed to the metallic points reaching out from the crowd. “They came from the Com. Building. Guess we are going toward the gate.”

S’bowynn leaned her head so she could see around Derohn’s shoulder that was the same height as her eyes. “How many pikes do you see?”

He took a moment before he responded. “More than normal.” S’bowynn growled at him in frustration. “I don’t know much more than you. Not sure what you thought my height would help,” he chuckled. The blunt manner of his answers grated against S’bowynn to an unreasonable level before she remembered how hungry she was. She growled again. “Did you forget to eat?”

“I’m going to murder you,” she mumbled.

“You’d probably get away with it too in this crowd!” he laughed.

They drew closer to the main gate at the far end of Main Market. The crowd thinned out along the way, breaking off into small groups and claiming spots along the sides of the wide main road. Derohn led S’bowynn nearer one side of the street and with the crowd splitting, she saw the small squad of guards, still carrying their pikes, herding the crowd to the periphery, clearing the street from the front gate to Janoiah proper. Outside the gate, as always, non-permanent merchants settled randomly beside the road out of the city and at the main stable near the stone wall.

A group of yellow robed city officials stood at the edge of the forum under the Main Market archway, talking amongst themselves and anxiously glancing toward the front gate. Normally, only the tops of the arches and any billowing wind flags were visible over the shop roofs and the heads of the bustling crowds, but now that the road was cleared and being defended by the pike wielding guards, the gates stood majestically visible in either direction. For only a moment, S’bowynn realized how small Main Market actually was. It always felt so large with the buzzing traffic and streets filled with a plethora of smells and sounds, cartwheels bouncing over the cobble stones and conversations between visitor and shop keeps melding into a cloud of noise S’bowynn had always assumed was the quintessential thrum of vimova when they gathered en masse.

In its current emptiness, S’bowynn easily recognized the majority of the faces that lined the opposing crowd. She subconsciously tied each face to the store, shop, or stall they owned or worked at or envisioned each foreign merchant who happened to be in town during this event next to their distinct cart, even being able to recall many of the routes each one traveled. All of this information had been gleaned passively over the years and stored in a dusty corner of her mind she rarely visited. The amount she recalled both impressed her and gave her a deep sense of melancholy. She wondered how many of them recognized her, knew her, thought of her. In the unanswerable nature of her questions, her mind accepted the more negative feelings to fill the void and she was too hungry, and too displaced from the safety of her daily monotony to forcefully will herself into contentment.

A collective hush washed over the rabble like a wave against the rocks near the shoreline. S’bowynn spun toward the front gate and strained to gaze over Derohn’s shoulder. From where they stood, she could see the guards cluster at the gate’s boundary. She felt silly that she thought she might be able to hear anything of substance at the distance she was away from the guards, but she couldn’t fight her deep desire to try. She was so focused on the entrance that when the yellow robed group of city officials entered her peripheral vision having walked from the forum down the road, it startled her. Walking along with the city officials, more of the Elemenchya pullulates than S’bowynn had ever seen, carried blankets and baskets overflowing with bread and fruit. The procession stopped halfway between the gates near where Derohn and S’bowynn were standing.

From the front gate a parade of guards had formed a line and marched to meet the standing officials. Behind them, S’bowynn started being able to see a procession of vimova and wagons. Curiosity pressed on the back of her neck impatiently extracting each moment into eons despite her desire to satiate it. The guards met the officials and spoke, making no attempt to broadcast their greetings to the crowd. Bodies began to press uncomfortably close to S’bowynn in their attempt to hear the conversation they hoped explained the events playing out before them. The Elemenchya pullulates that had followed the officials down the center of the road now split apart nearer the sides of the street and offered what they carried to the escorted strangers.

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A higher ranked city official separated from the rows of yellow robed vimova and greeted an older stranger who led the procession. The man had peppered, silver hair and clothing that spoke nothing of his status at the front of the caravan. His clothing was the simple kind a farmer might wear, practical and fraying along the cuffs and elbows from years of use. Many from the caravan wore similar clothing and all of them seemed due for a wash to remove the dirt and soot that covered each one. After the two leaders spoke briefly and shook hands, they turned and led the caravan further into the city to the forum.

As the carts and wagons passed S’bowynn, she noticed they were also all covered in a light dusting of soot. She furrowed her brow as confusion set in. The dust from the plains that deposited itself in the city was usually a light brown in color, unlike the dark haze upon the travelers. It wasn’t until the aroma of smoke and burnt wood hit her that everything started to make sense. S’bowynn sharpened her focus on the faces of the vimova passing by her as they accepted blankets and fruit from the offered baskets without making eye contact with their bearers.

Black dust spread evenly across the vimova’s clothing and skin. Darker splotches told vimoval histories of hands guiding, grasping, pushing bodies in the shapes of hands and arms coming in contact with clothing and depositing thicker soot upon the threads. The only places that had been cleaned were where tears fell like rivers over the cheeks of children, women, and men alike. The skin hidden below the dust showed signs of severe light heat, flaking as the body tried to repair itself, or burns that have started to turn a glossy yellow-orange.

Before the reality fully set upon S’bowynn, Derohn’s booming voice jolted her attention toward him. “Sira!” He lurched forward so strongly S’bowynn nearly fell upon a stranger near her as her hand still clasped full of Derohn’s shirt yanked her onto the road. She regained her balance and followed Derohn who pushed his way through the scattering crowd. “Sira!” he called out again.

A petite woman with dark hair that spiraled in large curls thrown over one shoulder stopped her ghostly march through the road. She looked up sharply, quickly looking through the crowd for the man calling out her name. The moment she found him, her slumped shoulders eased, and a tired smile spread on one side of her face. She shuffled awkwardly in Derohn’s direction as her gait revealed she was very pregnant. Derohn enveloped the woman, who was easily a full head shorter than him, in his arms before pulling back as he noticed her body. “Rohnny,” was all she managed to say before she disappeared behind him.

Sira’s midsection bumped into the hulking man, and he eased his excited embrace, his arms seemingly levitating just above the tiny woman’s shoulders, hanging in the air with a fond delicateness. His breath caught repeatedly as his need to breathe fought with his excited awareness. His cheeks flushed and his eyes flooded with emotion. “Sira,” he finally managed.

“You remember the Briskin’s?” she asked with an infatuated smile, replacing her first one. After parting their embrace, Derohn offered her his arm and led her through the crowd and down a small road away from the commotion. S’bowynn followed them quietly into the stillness of the side road, linked by her curiosity. Outside a closed shop, the two found a bench. Derohn guided the woman gently to sit and delicately knelt in front of her, eyes locked on her as she moved as if entranced. S’bowynn found a spot off to the side and awkwardly watched their interaction. “The twins are a lot,” Sira sighed and placed a hand on her belly casually.

Derohn made a sound between a laugh and a choking noise. He clasped her hands in his and pressed them to his forehead. “Twins?!” A light sob escaped his lips before a smile spread across his face. He returned her hand to its resting place. “Dervin Briskin?”

Sira nodded and beamed her affection past the soot that covered places on her face. “He stayed behind with his family. They’re trying to save the house they built for us.” Sadness filled her eyes.

Derohn waited in silence patience while she collected herself. After she forced out a large, controlled breath he asked, “Sira, where are our parents?”

Sira sniffled and attempted to stop her eyes from filling up with tears. “They sent me off with this first group. Those who remained behind are trying to re-balance the cycle. I’m sure they’re only a few days behind me.”

“Sira…” Derohn’s voice changed, seeping with apprehension.

“Rohnny, please don’t start with me. I remember why you left.” Sira snapped. She shook her head lightly and a look of pity fell upon her face. “You didn’t see it. Fire came down from the plateau at dusk. The city was enveloped in darkness while Arovdora still hung in the sky. First the fences and grass started on fire before orbs of fire fell upon the barns. Then the houses were consumed. I don’t know if it was the smoke that choked out the sky or if Arovdora fled over the horizon.” She paused before lowering her voice, “It was Reyhvallo.” Her gaze was lost somewhere in her memories as she explained.

“What’s Reyhvallo?” S’bowynn let slip. The two turned in surprise and faced her. With both faces looking at her, S’bowynn could see the similarities in their eyes and the way they furrowed their brows identically at her interruption.

It only took a moment for Derohn to realize that S’bowynn had been there the whole time. He lowered his head and shook off his annoyance before taking a measured breath. “Sira, this is S’bowynn. She works in my shop. S’bowynn, this is my sister, Sira from Bouarj, where I’m from.”

“He learned from our father,” Sira added with an exhausted smile. “Reyhvallo is a story we share in Bouarj.”

“It’s only a story,” Derohn huffed. He stood and crossed his arms defiantly.

“That’s not what we believe,” Sira cast a sharp glare at her brother. “The story of Reyhvallo holds a special place among the citizens of Bouarj. The vimova there believe Reyhvallo blesses the cycle between the prey of the plains that live along the border in the forest along The Great Tiered Plateau, and the elemspawn fire-hawks, born from Reyhvallo’s favor, the predator birds that utilize the cascading light along the risen earthen border in their hunting. In Bouarj, we have a holiday celebration at the end of a harvest where we scatter our excesses throughout the forest in an effort to keep the prey population high. In recent years, the critters have been pushed out of their homes in the expansion of farms and as such, the fire-hawks have less to hunt. As the generational schism widens, less farmers participate in the tradition and the cycle suffers.” S’bowynn stood enraptured by the passion with which Sira retold the myth.

“It’s ridiculous,” Derohn grumbled.

“Mother doesn’t think so. She thinks Reyhvallo has become Voidtouched.”

“Mother can think whatever she wants,” he threw his arms dismissively. Derohn took a moment to pace in a circle and breathe out his anger before returning to Sira. “You’re here now and you’re safe. Come stay with me while we wait for Mom and Dad to show up. I have a room above the shop if you can manage the stairs. Or I can move things around to make it easier in a few days,” he gently picked up Sira’s hand.

Sira placed her weight into her brother’s hand and pushed against it to stand. Once she was stable, Derohn turned to face S’bowynn. “That’s enough. I’m going to need a few days to figure things out. If my parents are coming as well, the shop is going to get very crowded…”

“It’s ok,” S’bowynn interrupted. “Just let me know.”

Derohn nodded his thanks and turned to walk beside his sister through the side streets back to his shop and home. S’bowynn stood watching the siblings disappear into the city trying to decide what to do with herself. Questions filled her head, hanging off all the loose threads that dangled from Sira’s story. The way she told it felt like Sira assumed S’bowynn knew what she was talking about but many of the words and their meanings had been lost on her. She recognized some terms from her tangential interactions with Elemenchya and its dwindling population of followers, but she had never found the importance to memorize them.