Anaya cursed as her foot slipped on the gravel, sending loose pebbles skittering down the hillside. With a sigh, she planted her foot once more and reached for a low hanging branch to pull herself up by. All the while, a fluttering golden form whirled circles about her head, making shrill screeching sounds.
“If you wouldn’t mind shutting up,” Anaya said, glaring at the ethereal creature.
It flapped its wings twice and then landed on her shoulder, staring at her with its eerily human face cocked to one side. Then, it began to sing a low, mournful song that filled the wooded hills with a somber ambiance.
Anaya had not yet discovered how to control these creatures, if such a thing was possible. Instead, she had spent much of the last few weeks struggling to keep the things quiet so she wouldn’t be discovered. After all, she had just stolen a priceless artifact from the local mage’s tower, and she was certain the old man was not going to let her get away with it. For now, the best she could do was keep a low profile and wait for her people to return to the town of Tori Uyen.
It had been a year since the Makara had departed from the town, following the Trail of Lost Hope in search of their lost heritage. It was a pilgrimage the tribe made every year, but this year, Anaya had stayed behind. Against the wishes of her grandmother, the matriarch, Anaya had announced that she was staying in town to do some research of her own.
She was tired of traveling the open road. She’d been raised on stories of Makara pride, a time when her people were respected and had a kingdom all their own. It wasn’t so long ago. In fact, her grandmother had been alive when the Makara still held the citadel, so she absolutely could not understand why none of her elders seemed more intent on reclaiming their place in Andrysfal! Instead, they all seemed content to move from place to place, getting spat on by even the lowliest townspeople.
With another deep sigh, Anaya threw her pack over the final ledge, hoisting herself up bit by bit until she rolled over the edge onto her back and stared up at the sky. Or she would’ve been staring up at the sky, if it weren’t for that damned harpy fluttering directly above her face, peering down at her with its oversized golden eyes.
She swatted at it, snatching her bag up off the ground and slinging it over her shoulder. Then, she straightened herself and walked the short distance to the ridge peak. Below, she could see the well-worn road leading away from Torg Uyen. She followed it across the valley, past the lake, and out into the flatlands.
There were only a handful of travelers on the road today. Farmers and traders coming in to sell their goods and a handful of weary-looking individuals. The one thing she didn’t see was the long snaking tail of the Makara caravan.
She looked up at the sun and sighed with disappointment. Carefully, she moved to a scraggly little tree trying to make its way on the harsh exposed peak. She placed a hand on it, humming an old song her grandmother used to sing to her, and she watched the tiny leaf buds form, splitting open to expose delicate pale green leaves.
“They’re late,” she remarked to the tree, or perhaps the harpy.
She picked up a stick, scratching at the dirt with it while she thought. She’d come to this peak each day since she’d acquired the divining rods, hopeful that she would see the red-topped wagons of her caravan on the horizon. She wanted nothing more than to run to her grandmother, give her a great big hug, and tell her that she’d accomplished her goal. She’d taken the first step in bringing the Makara back!
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
She’d waited all this time and she finally had something to show for it. She wasn’t just some silly girl with fantasies of changing the world. She’d really done it! She’d really snuck into the mage’s tower and taken back the ancient divining rods that belonged to her people. And now… what?
Well, first of all, she’d discovered that the divining rods were enchanted with a strange kind of magic that she could not control. Namely, the harpies that continued to appear and disappear precisely as they pleased, often at the most inopportune times. As much as she wanted to bring the divining rods to her grandmother, lay them at her feet, and prove herself to her people… she also desperately wanted her grandmother to take them so she could get a good night’s rest. If anyone could set the harpies straight, it had to be her grandmother.
Gazing out over the open lands of Andrysfal once more, Anaya leaned on the stick, resting her chin on her hand. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could wait. If the trees were already filling with buds, her people were already several weeks late in their return. At first, she’d thought nothing of it, assuming that they might have stayed an extra day or two in one of their favorite trading towns. But now, she wasn’t so sure. She was beginning to grow worried about her grandmother. And she was beginning to fear for herself. She’d planned on being well away from here by now.
A butterfly fluttered past and Anaya watched with horror as the harpy lunged for it, making an appalling crunching sound as it devoured the insect. Anaya closed her eyes, wishing the ethereal being would return to whatever world it belonged in.
She drew out the divining rods, or rather one divining rod and one piece of twisted metal that had been a divining rod. She held them tight in her hands, focusing all of her energy on them as the harpy looked on with curiosity. The undamaged rod swung lazily back and forth but found nothing worthy of its attention. The twisted rod managed only a weak shiver before falling inert.
With a groan, she shoved the rods back in her pack and scrubbed her hands over her face in frustration.
“I just need answers. Can’t anyone tell me what I am supposed to do?”
This time, the harpy chirped happily at her and bobbed its head.
“Oh yeah? And what is it you think I should do? Go find them?”
Again, the harpy chirped and gave her an imploring look, its wide eyes unblinking.
Anaya scoffed. “You can’t be serious. I can’t just go walking the countryside by myself. They could be anywhere!”
But the harpy did not look away. It merely continued staring at her expectantly.
“And what about preparations? I have no food, thanks to you. And no money, no supplies. It would be suicide!”
The harpy emitted a low squawk, as if it understood all of her troubles, but simply didn’t see them as such a big deal.
“Fine. I will wait a few more days. And then, if they haven’t returned, we will go with your plan. Ha! I must truly be insane, taking advice from a magical being that doesn’t even speak! Perhaps this is why my grandmother always warned me about the old magic.”
The harpy made an indignant noise and ruffled its feathers, but it settled back on her shoulder seemingly satisfied with Anaya’s plan.
“Now, why don’t you just make yourself scarce so I can go find some food? I need some time if I’m to gather supplies, and it won’t do to have you flitting about drawing attention to us, you know?”
Carefully, Anaya began her descent of the steep hill, walking where she could and sliding where she had to. She used the stick to guide her way down, continuing to converse with the harpy as it wheeled about in the spring air.
As they neared town, the harpy landed on her shoulder once more, and then it seemed to fade. Slowly at first, and then all at once. Anaya sighed with relief. She wished she understood, but the only person she trusted enough to ask about the mythical beings was her grandmother. She dare not ask any living soul inside Torg Uyen for fear of being locked up, or worse, turned over to the mage.
No, it was settled. She would wait a few more days, and if the Makara did not appear on the horizon, she would leave Torg Uyen behind and go in search of her people. She had walked the Trail of Lost Hope every year since she was old enough to toddle along at her grandmother’s side, and she was certain she could find her way. If her people were out there, she would find them, and at last, she would bring them the lost divining rod that sang with the ancient magic.