The intensity of Soren's anger was foreign to her and Soren was momentarily caught between relief and rage. In her moment of indecision Coratel spoke up. His voice was a hoarsed crackle of desert exhaustion. “How could you leave us. How could you leave this girl in the desert to die?!” He stumbled the last few feet as he said this descending the ridge. Freyyala looked up at him before he had even begun to speak and there was a cold fire in her eyes Soren could distinctly feel even from a distance.
“We could be dead. We should be dead. Look at her. LOOK!” he pointed to Soren and she felt her cheeks heat in the cool desert night. Freyyala said nothing. Reaching into her cloth robe, she pulled out something about the size of Soren’s two fists put together. The woman sat down and pulled out one of her daggers silently. She didn’t look at either of them as she deftly worked the knife around the strange fruit. Finally she spoke
"Must survive on own." Freyyala’s strange phrase seemed to swallow Coratel’s fury whole. The man looked back at Soren then back at Freyyala unsure what to do. For her part, Soren was too exhausted, simply holding out her hand for the waterskin. They had precious little water and Soren was truly scared they might not make it to the next way-stop.
After he handed the waterskin to her, Soren dropped the twelve droplets of water and Freyyala raised an eyebrow but didn’t take her eyes off the fruit that she was carving. She drank a small mouthful then watched the woman carefully cut around the small bunches of short needles poking out all over the thing. She worked with an intensity that surprised Soren. Finally, laying the dagger gently on her leg, she handed a third of the fruit to Soren, then after a brief pause, to Coratel as well. She pointed a juicy finger to Soren saying,
“Lucky.” Then she pointed at Coratel,
“Very lucky.” Then pointing to the fruit she said,
“Shukkar, fruit. Powerful.” And she pointed to her mouth saying,
“But, carefully.” Then she motioned to her head. She made a strange gesture with her knuckles against her temples. She looked like she wanted to say more, as if she were trying to find the right words. She looked at Soren apprehensively and they both felt older than they had just a moment before. Soren paused before eating the fruit. Coratel had already started into his with the mindlessness of the damned. She sniffed at the pale green pulp in her hand. It smelled sweet and spicy like one of the spices her mother loved to cook with.
She looked back a Freyyala who began taking slow deliberate bites of her fruit, chewing with mechanical diligence and keeping eye contact with Soren. Soren had to look away and finally bit into a small corner of the pulpy fruit. She was surprised at the sweet explosion in her mouth. She tasted a spicy undertone that reminded her of a dish her mother made with chickpeas and coriander. She took another bite, this time savoring the taste of her father’s leather polish and the smell of… newly scythed hay. She vacillated between Coratel’s abandon and Freyyala’s control as she ate. With each bite, Soren felt herself falling deeper and deeper into, something. The tastes of the Shukkar fruit brought intense feelings of nostalgia, a feeling Soren, in her few years hadn't really felt before. The world remained somewhat blank for Soren yet still she remembered. She remembered the Elephant tree and the smell of freshly turned earth. She remembered the way the metal tools clinked together in the wind on cold winter nights.
Everything around her was solid and tangible yet she could feel a strange woozy strength beginning in her head and trickling down. She felt it slowly bleed through her whole body. At first, she was afraid of the new sensation. A primal fear of poison flooded her as the strange strength began infusing her tired and sore limbs. Yet she didn’t feel sick or nauseas. In fact she felt good, really good. Then scared again, she should not be feeling this good. She felt giddy and it frightened her. She began to feel lightheaded as she ate at the last of the fruit. Its effects were immediate, invigorating every fiber of her body. Just as she thought fear would grip her again, this time completely, she looked at Freyyala and froze. The woman had a smile bordering on maniacal as she ate with tiny slow bites. The woman looked over at Soren and smiled even wider,
“Slow is best. Like water.” She said. It was enough to quell Soren’s fears. She stood and began to stretch her muscles though not completely sure why. She looked up and recognized the feral look she saw in Freyyala’s eyes. Coratel too looked wild, even a bit deranged.
“This is amazing!” he proclaimed through sticky lips.
Then, without a word all three were standing as one, as if a single command had been made of the party. All anger and mistrust had disappeared. The group was one and Soren knew all three of them would protect one another with their lives. It was as if they were one being, a single entity with one driving purpose. “Follow the wind” The Desert commanded it of them. Soren heard it as a tangible order, one she would follow to her death if necessary. Looking at the others, their proportions kept changing making caricatures of them. Yet there was no doubt they had heard the same directive.
“Run?” Freyyala asked, though Soren knew it wasn’t really a question as the three of them looked out onto the desert night. Soren stood easily, where only moments before she was sure she’d never rise again. Her body felt loose and limber like she had just stretched and was ready for a long day of work. A small grin was stretching her face and she could feel giddy anticipation wash over her again as the three began to jog out of the dune.
They ran the rest of the night and all of the next day. Their pace never slowed and no rest was even considered, not even by Coratel who seemed to take a keen enjoyment from the Shukkar fruits effects. Soren regularly heard him laughing to himself as he raced on, changing his footwork as he ran as if it were a dance. Soren had never felt anything like it in her life. The fruit had changed something in her. She was sure she would never tire again, yet the feeling was manic and somehow out of control. She felt the very winds around her a chariot of invisible power, carrying her ever onward. All three laughed wildly as they ran through the heat of the day. At one point towards late afternoon they had reached an outcropping of rocks that broke the unending scenery of dunes. As they approached, Soren’s mind worked through the haze of the Shukkar fruit. Something was telling her to slow, to approach carefully. Then, she heard Coratel smack his foot hard against a half-buried rock, poking out of the sand. She heard an audible crack as one of the bones in his foot broke.
The sound seemed to echo over and over in Soren’s mind, as if she knew something was terribly wrong yet she couldn’t quite remember what or why. The big man didn’t slow or show any signs of pain. In fact, for him it was as if nothing had happened at all, a huge grin remained plastered over his face. Soren was dimly aware of how wrong it all was before she too continued on, laughing as she ran through the rock formation, jumping from boulder to boulder pell-mell with abandon. She jumped out into a dune below the last boulder of the outcropping and ran as fast as she could through the desert. Freyyala kept pace next to her, Coratel only a short ways off, the group ran on, hour after hour as the suns marched their way into the western horizons. By the time it got dark, the effects of the fruit were finally beginning to wear off.
They continued to run, though Soren could tell the pace was slowing. A few miles further they were still walking, though their pace had dropped considerably. Finally Freyyala said,
“Come. Not far.” And waved the two on past the silhouette of the largest dune Soren had yet seen. It dwarfed everything around it. Looking up at it in the distance, Soren thought it might actually take her a day to fall from. They reached the bottom crest of the massive dune half an hour later. Freyyala turned directly perpendicular to the edge of the dune. From there she began to walk towards another much smaller dune to their left. she walked on and Soren saw another outcropping of rock formation, nestled in-between this and yet another dune. Freyyala walked past a number of small boulders, before disappearing behind one of the larger boulders to the left of them. Soren smelled the moisture in the air and relief washed over her.
Past the large rocks, chiseled down from wind and sand, a grotto dug deep into the rock wall. Twelve steps led down into a large cool room. In the center against the far wall, a trickle water poured from a crack in the wall. It dribbled down and into a wide shallow pool. Freyyala had just finished her ritual when Soren entered the room. She bent to her knees and did the same. Taking a small drink of water as she finished. Soren dimly realized her whole body had begun to shake and spasm slightly. As she sat there the twitching grew with alarming intensity. Soon she was convulsing on the floor violently. Freyyala didn’t move to help her, only watching disinterestedly sipping water. Coratel came into the grotto with a smile on his face and a limp in his step then he saw Soren on the ground. He immediately went down to help her, only to realize with horror his own body had begun to shake, more and more violently. Soon the two of them were convulsing uncontrollably on the ground. This lasted for about ten minutes before Soren finally began to regain control. She continued to shake with inconsistent spasms as she sat beside the pool sipping water. She was so tired she wasn’t really sure she was still conscious and knew she would lose consciousness in earnest at any minute as she sat there. The last thing she remembered was Coratel pushing Freyyala away from her trying hoarsely to tell the woman not to touch her. Then she was on the winds once again, floating through the air with wild abandon.
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*
She’s been flying for a while now. Below is an oddly distinct desert, more rock and sandstone than dunes. The sky above is impossibly dark blue, almost black and the ground below her bathes in a deep red. As fast as she’s moving, the world looks like a sea. Strange undulations that move of their own accord. Ahead of her, she sees a huge formation jutting into the sky. She moves towards the massive stone structure. On a whim she drops down to its base before racing right up next to the side. She’s close enough to feel the heat radiate from the rock as she falls upwards. She comes to the top more feeling the absence of stone than sight. A quick flip and her moment is somehow stopped at once, a strange lack of whiplash leaves her hair blown yet unharmed. She comes to a rest atop the massive thing, unsurprised to find the figure of Litaelim standing in its center. Her thin robes billow and snap in the winds. She faces her suddenly realizing, though it is day, neither the suns shine in the sky and neither she nor Litaelim have shadows. The old woman says nothing but smiles in an unfamiliar way, creases around his eyes grow in crescent patterns and she seems to magnify them as she watches his face. Somehow this is Litaelim and also not her, an uncanny valley mask of the woman. Soren tries to speak but cannot make sound for some reason. Her mouth moves like a gasping fish yet no sound emanates. The figure of Litaelim continues to smile at her, the creases around his eyes growing impossibly huge as if his face is made of foil. She begins to panic then. Her heart racing with a strange sense of vertigo and she looks out over the side of the massive plateau suddenly fearful of the height. How did she get here? how was she supposed to get down? Where she had just fearlessly raced the winds, Soren now sees a deadly drop capable of killing her sure as anything. The feeling of vertigo increases tenfold as the figure of Litaelim begins to walk towards her. Now however, it isn’t Litaelim but something else entirely.
A dark shadow begins to descend upon her, the shadows from her childhood nightmares only now, the thing doesn’t stay in her periphery. This time the inky visage is right in front of her. It is a Huella-Cull but not Caracara. This is another, or perhaps that is simply another mask. In this dangerous dream, her antagonist could be anything and anyone. Though ephemeral, the thin robes that had been the light gray of Litaelim’s are now shadow made tangible. There is no face or arms nor legs only varying shades of dark that fill to black where the center of someone’s chest should be. Soren backs up terrified and, a moment too late realizes she is already slipping over the edge of the Plateau. She begins to fall backwards with uncontrolled movement. To her horror, the shadow thing begins to chase her, following her down as the side of the plateau races past them. It’s going to catch her before she reaches the bottom, she thinks. Soren turns midair to face away from the shadow, towards the rapidly approaching ground. The last thing she hears before hitting the ground is a guttural scream from behind her. Her back explodes with pain as the shriek sounds in her mind. Instantly, Soren snaps open her eyes to the grotto and the peacefully bubbling water next to her.
*
Soren woke screaming "CARACARA!" with an unknown pain encasing her in agony. The Huella-Cull does not reply and even through the haze of her pain she knows this is somehow wrong. The loudest of these pains, her back. Breaking into a cold sweat, she knew the thing almost had her, she avoided it by a hairs breadth. It was then that Soren realized she was being watched. Freyyala quietly studied her from the corner of the room with a strange look. Soren saw her hide something within the folds of her Stole. Soren’s mind fell back to her pains. She tried to call out to Caracara again but again there was no answer. She felt like she had been through the flood all over again. Every muscle she possessed ached with acute clarity.
Soren managed to sit up, back propped against the low wall of the artificial pool of water. She reached behind her trying to feel the pains on her back and whinced. Freyyala finally stood looking concerned.
“What dream?” she asked, Soren replied instinctively
“What did I dream you mean.” She corrected then covered quickly saying,
“It was nothing.” She winced again as her back rubbed against the wall. Freyyala stood and made her way towards her. Coratel was still asleep in the opposite corner, he looked to be in a similar position as Soren. Freyyala held out a flat rock with some sort of mush on top. The woman motioned rubbing the stuff on her arm.
“For pain.” She said. Soren took the rock and sniffed at the green blotch on it. The stuff smelled like mint and clove and chamomile. She recognized many of the scents though at the moment, could not remember how. The salve worked almost immediately on her agonizing legs and feet. Finally, she was able to twist around and cup small handfuls of crisp clean water into her mouth. When she turned around she saw Freyyala was rubbing some of the green medicine on her own legs. She sat down next to Soren and took out the thing she was hiding. It was another of the Shukkar fruits. Soren groaned audibly as she saw the thing. Freyyala smiled and said,
“Yes. More run. much more run.” there was a strange whispered excitement in her voice. Soren couldn’t work up the same feelings, though she wasn’t as disappointed as she thought she’d be to see another of the fruits. Freyyala spent a much longer time preparing this fruit. She methodically removed each tuft of small pins around the flesh, careful to keep as much of the flesh around the pins as possible. She used her hands this time instead of her dagger to remove many of the small needles. It took longer but there was noticeably more of the meaty flesh when she had finished. When she finally took the fruit and cut it into three sections Soren was looking over at Coratel incredulously. Though sleeping, the man looked to be in bad shape. He had taken off his boots while he slept and Soren saw a mangled mess of black and blue where his big toe should be. She could see from where she sat how swollen the foot was.
Freyyala caught her eye, and looking back at Coratel’s foot she said,
“Should leave now.” Soren shook her head,
“We cain’t leave him.” She said, then took what was left of the medicine on the flat rock and brought it over to the sleeping giant of a man. She put a hand on his shoulder and was flooded with images. A swirling mess of black and white, images, mostly trees and the face of a young woman. She yanked her hand back as if hurt. Coratel awoke at the same time. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his face immediately contorted in agony as he weakly moved to grasp his foot. He barely made it half way before he fell back with a growl. Freyyala tisked behind them and Soren heard the ‘shink’ sound of her removing one of her daggers. Startled and fearful Soren stood and faced the woman. Yet Freyyala was taking her sheet by one of the edges. She took the dagger and cut a long strip of the material before looking as Soren and sighing saying,
“move.” Against her better judgement, Soren moved back. Freyyala bent down and grabbed the mans foot. Coratel growled again in pain saying,
“what are you doin-” he was cut off by his own gasp as Freyyala took the broken toe and snapped the bones back into place with a grinding noise that made Soren wince. Soren watched between her hands as Freyyala cut a small line on the side of the toe and let the swollen blood drain from the toe. Finally she took the strip of cloth and smeared the last of the medicine she had made on it before wrapping the toe tightly in the bandage eliciting another groan of pain. She looked back at the big man who had a cold sweat across his brow.
“Thanks.” he murmured weakly before laying his head back. Freyyala nodded then handed each of them a slice of the Shukkar fruit. Coratel groaned in a tone strikingly similar to Soren's. Freyyala smiled a fraction but otherwise didn’t respond. Looking at Soren she said,
“Drink water.” and motioned to eat a bit then drink, before eating again.
“Helps.” She offered, showing them how. Just before she'd bit into the Shukkar fruit once again, Soren thought she heard the faint voice of the Huella-Cull connected to her. The sound was so soft it could have easily been the wind outside. Without another thought she began methodically chewing the pulp once again. An hour later the three of them were once again running with wild abandon. This time Soren felt she could control the waves of euphoria a bit better. She managed to keep herself from jumping high into the air each time she crested a dune. This time she didn’t sprint ahead only to turn back and sprint back to Coratel who was once again, slowly bringing up the rear. Slow to Soren at least, anyone who had not just eaten Shukkar fruit would only see three sprinters flying over the desert. She managed a consistent if fast pace that matched Freyyala’s own and kept her heart from beating with a dangerous ferocity this time.