Veshyia of Akor looked upon the rune bones, poking at them with a long, gnarled finger. Concern as written across a weathered, lined face, yet eyes still sharp were narrowed as she contemplated what lay before her.
There was uncertainty when there should be none. The bones should have spoken to her in words unmistakable; the message, tough, was confused. Much as it had been for her other divinations, all spoke, if they spoke at all, of uncertainty. They should have been able to peek forward though the mists, to unveil something, anything. Except they had not.
She withdrew her hand from the runes and looked up at the woman seated across from her, tall and young and proud, with keen dark eyes and long dark hair, her face fell and fierce to behold. She was studying Veshyia in a manner that reminded the old woman of a hawk studying what could be its prey.
“I can not say,” Veshyia replied at last. “The bones are not speaking to me.”
The woman, Ivkarha by name, leaned forward. “All spoke highly of you,” she said in a low voice. “You are one whom they said nothing is hidden from, that your divinations are never wrong. Are you not she?”
“I am the one of whom they speak,” Veshyia replied, “But today it would seem the bones, the entrails, the visions, the incantations, all of them refuse to speak.”
A frown and a moment of consternation passed across Ivkarha’s face. “I need answers,” she said.
Veshyia tapped a finger against her lips. “It is as if some agent is working to obscure that which you require. There may be a way, if you are willing to take a risk.”
“State it,” Ivkarha replied in an instant, without hesitation.
“Give me your hand then,” Veshyia told her.
Ivkarha extended her hand, and Veshyia took in her gnarled old ones. She produced a knife with a blade of black glass, slicing it across the palm of Ivkahra’s hand. Blood oozed forth from the wound and Veshiya squeezed drops of it over the rune bones. They sizzled as the blood dripped upon them.
Veshyia released Ivkarha’s hand and once more poked at the rune bones. Her body shudder and her eyes rolled back and a voice unlike her own issued forth from her mouth, a deep and echoing voice that creaked with an age long past.
“The way is closed, and closed it shall remained,” it intoned. “Walk not the way, for he is mine, claimed and bound.”
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“I care not for your warnings, your threats,” Ivkarha responded to the other worldly force. “Tell me that which I need to know.”
A laugh issued from the old woman and her body shook. “Very well. Upon the Stairs of Night, to the Uttermost Stars should you tread, and there you shall find waiting that which you seek, and that which you fear.”
“There is nothing I fear,” Ivkarha retorted, fiercely, proudly. “Az-Ashar guides my way, protects me.”
“Fool,” hissed the voice, “You seek to walk where even the gods dare not in your pride. And it shall be your undoing.”
“Then if so I shall be undone, yet I think not. You speak from fear, I perceive. Soon shall we meet and your fears realised. Now begone,” she ordered, and her voice held such authority that the presence fled from the old woman.
Veshyia shuddered as she was released, her body feeling the weight of age upon it. “You dabble in dangerous matters, girl,” she wheezed. “Never before have I encountered one like that, and nor do I wish to again.”
Ivkarha laid two large gold coins down before Veshyia. “I had not expected it to be so,” she said, “And for that I apologise.”
“Did you at lest find out what you sought?”
“In a manner of speaking, though the answer was in riddles.”
“As it ever is.”
“Tell me, have you heard speak of the Stairs of Night that led to the Uttermost Stars?”
“I do not think I have, no.”
“Then my seeking continues,” Ivkarha responded, rising to her feet, collecting up her sword. With that she turned and left Veshyia’s tent, emerging back out into the soul sapping heat and bright sun. Around her spread a small camp of colourful tents, ringed around a pool of water. Tall trees rose up about it, and the air was heavy with humidity. Beyond the camp spread thick jungle, densely packed, and only around the reed shrouded pool was there much in the way of a clearing. The only way in was via a small path cut through the jungle, crowded on either sie by walls of vibrant green.
The camp was mostly quite, with few people to be seen; a handful of women in vivid robes of blues and greens, reds and yellows, bracelets upon bare arms, were sitting and talking before one of the tents, while two older children were playing with a dog. Of the men none could be seen, but for one who lounged outside of Veshyia’s tent, and he appeared not to be of the camp, for where they were dark of skin and hair, he was pale, his hair to the point of white, wearing a lose shirt of brown, lacking any colour. A spear was in hand and sweat was upon his brow.
“I need more answers, Thalas,” Ivkarha told the man as he rose to his feet. “I need one versed in lore, a sage or scholar.”
The man, Thalas, scratched at an unshaven chin, were a long scar could be seen. “The city of Ishura lies but a few days travel away, and if any place were to have such a one in this steaming jungle, it would be there. Paraba’s Breath, but you chose an uncomfortable place to come, Ivkarha. I’m melting away in this heat, my fine form ruined.”
“Aye, well, you are the cause of all this. You can blame none but yourself.”
Thalas sighed expansively. “You are a hard woman, Ivkarha.”
“I shall be as hard as I need to be. Come, we have far to travel and little time in which to do it.” Thus saying, she strode off, heading into the dense jungle along the narrow path.