103. Messengers of Peace: Epilogue

His decision to bow to Skâra outraged both the Xalyas and the Honyrs, but once Dashvara explained that he was doing it out of conviction, they didn’t dare mention the subject again. At least not in front of him. And so, the next day, after spending the night at the Temple, he knelt before the pillar of Skâra and left the sacred building with his naâsga so that the Essimeans could cheer them and celebrate the peace between the two peoples. They gave them gifts, not to the Honyrs but specifically to the Immortal King and the Arazmihá. Dashvara gave half to Skâra and indirectly to Todakwa in order to show him that, despite the obvious support he received from the Essimean people, he had no intention of taking advantage of it other than to consolidate the peace.

With the rest, he paid for the boat for the sibilians, bought food for the journey north, gave gifts to the Honyrs and his brothers, and gave the Cilian priest who had seen him deny the Eternal Bird a beautiful steppe cloak made of horsehair. As the Titiaka priest looked at him in amazement, Dashvara explained:

“I spent three years in the Tower of Compassion, foreigner, and I deeply respect compassion. You showed it to me when you saw my dying soul, and for that, I am grateful.”

The priest’s disciples were staring at the Arazmihá and her mortic face, but then one of them turned to Dashvara for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, as if thinking: What is this savage saying to my master? The priest, however, bowed his head ceremoniously and accepted the gift, saying:

“May Cili continue to light your way.”

Dashvara smiled and replied:

“Skâra and Cili are like the sun, foreigner: they light, burn, warm, and blind. And the Liadirlá flies, changes its path, gets burned, goes blind, falls, and takes flight again… A real dance,” he joked. “But worth it.”

He shook his head, amused, at the priest’s bewildered expression.

In other words, foreigner, whether the Eternal Bird flies singing to Skâra or to Cili matters not: the important thing is that it flies.

He left the priest there to ponder on the Immortal King’s lucidity and turned to Kuriag. He had not spoken with him since Kuriag had asked his forgiveness for allowing his torture four days ago. The young elf approached the crowded street of the Temple. He was surrounded by Ragails. Dashvara counted them. There were twelve of them. No one was missing. Even Captain Djamin was there, he noted with relief when he saw the serious face of the elite warrior. The Ragail’s eyes scanned the crowd as if he expected Todakwa to play another trick on them at any moment. He also looked tired and disgruntled, anxious to return home and leave this inhospitable steppe inhabited by barbarians. Although he wore a thick cloak, he struggled to keep still in the icy wind, his teeth chattering and his shaven face flushed with cold. After glancing at the other Titiaka warriors, Dashvara mentally confirmed, The steppe isn’t for you either, Ragails.

Finally, Kuriag Dikaksunora stopped in front of Dashvara and looked around nervously at the street full of curious eyes. He looked very uncomfortable. Lessi accompanied him and was the first to break the silence by addressing Yira and gently taking her left hand.

“I understand you at last, sîzin. I am so happy for you. I hope we’ll always be good friends.”

The Essimeans were getting restless, probably wondering if it was acceptable for anyone to touch the Arazmihá. Yira smiled.

“I hope so too, Lessi. With all my heart.”

Kuriag was pale and agitated. Not surprising, given that he was facing the man who had killed his cousin. And yet, there was no anger in him. In fact, there was such an innocence about him and Lessi that Dashvara marveled again at how much a pure heart could suffer without losing its purity. Or barely. Finally, the young elf nodded ceremoniously to the Immortal King and declared:

“Thank you for the gifts, Lord of the Xalyas.”

Not knowing what to do, the young Titiaka had opted to retreat behind formalities and a serious and distant tone. Dashvara smiled.

“It was only natural, Excellency. To tell the truth, I still feel indebted to you. I haven’t forgotten all that you have done for us and I want to do everything I can to repay you.”

Like returning his cousin’s head, for example? he thought, ironic.

He cleared his throat and said:

“All in all, you bought us for over ten thousand dragons.”

Kuriag Dikaksunora frowned and shook his head as if he felt uncomfortable just hearing him mention that.

“It doesn’t matter,” he assured. “I bought you knowing that I would set you free. You owe me nothing. Really. The best reward is knowing that my wife’s people will finally live free and at peace.”

He said the last words with a hint of doubt, as if he could not believe that the steppe would really live in peace from now on. Dashvara smiled, and under the intrigued gaze of the Titiaka, he took off the shelshami and said:

“It would be an honor for me, Excellency, if you would accept this stone.” He untied the pearl from the black scarf and handed it to the Titiaka. “It belonged to my father. It is a desert pearl. They say they are extremely rare.”

Captain Djamin frowned but did not move as a curious Kuriag picked up the pearl. Examining it, he let out an incredulous exclamation.

“By Serenity,” he gasped. “It’s… it’s a seren crystal! My father had a very similar one that he bought for six thousand dragons.”

Dashvara struggled to suppress a pout of amazement. Really? Six thousand? He shrugged in good humor.

“Well, if it’s valuable, so much the better. You can sell it or throw it in the ocean. It’s yours.”

He could see Kuriag’s protests coming, but he was wrong: the young elf was too stunned to make any objections. Dashvara exchanged an amused look with Yira and was about to walk away when, reacting, Kuriag took his eyes off the gem and said:

“Wait.” His voice sounded authoritative. He blushed. And, under Dashvara’s questioning gaze, he explained, “You’re forgetting the marks. The counter-seal. I have to apply the counter-seal to you to officially release you.”

Dashvara couldn’t help it: he burst out laughing, incredulous.

“That won’t be necessary,” he assured.

“Yes, it is,” Kuriag replied. Dashvara frowned, and the elf admitted, “They are marks with a special pattern. Normally, they are renewed every year. If they are not… nasty things happen.”

Dashvara stared at him. Devils, and he was telling him that only now?

“What sort of nasty things?” he asked in a dull growl.

Kuriag flushed.

“You… you’d rather not know. But I could easily dispatch one of my men to apply the counter-seal to you. Unfortunately, all our carrier pigeons escaped during the… the night of the Bushkia Baw and… I can’t send any messages from here.”

Dashvara sighed loudly.

“And you can’t undo the magic yourself?”

Kuriag Dikaksunora opened his mouth, hesitated, caught Captain Djamin’s gaze, and choked.

“No. I can’t.”

He was lying. Dashvara watched him, his eyebrows furrowed, as the young Dikaksunora grew more and more nervous and assured:

“Really, I can’t. It takes a lot of skill to properly disable the marks.”

Now he sounded sincere. Dashvara nodded mentally. Well, all right. What you want is to make sure you get out of here alive and well as soon as possible. Your caution was unnecessary and is a bit insulting, but… He glanced mockingly at Captain Djamin and nodded again more firmly.

“It’s fine. I will order that you be escorted to Ergaika with carts to carry all your belongings, and from there, you can send carrier pigeons, return home, and send us the counter-seal. You have my word as a Xalya.”

Kuriag swallowed.

“Good. Thank you,” he murmured.

Captain Djamin looked satisfied. Dashvara was about to walk away but stopped to add:

“It would be an honor for me if you and your wife would agree to share dinner with me tonight in the Honyr camp. We can…” he smiled, “talk about Eternal Birds, Ancient Kings, and whatever else you want, Excellency. You will tell me that the Eternal Bird no longer exists, and I will tell you otherwise. I will also be honored if Captain Djamin and Asmoan of Gravia agree to come.” And, seeing Kuriag’s slight hesitation, he hastened to say, “You know my Eternal Bird, Kuriag Dikaksunora. I may make mistakes, certainly, I have made mistakes and I know I will continue to make mistakes, but my soul is not that of a traitor. And I can assure you that, even if you consider us savages, hospitality is a sacred law on the steppe. My clan, the clan of the Honyrs, will welcome you as a brother whenever you come to visit us. Let dishonor fall upon him who does not respect such a fundamental law. There is no treason,” he insisted.

Kuriag had a sad and emotional expression.

“I believe you,” he assured. “I have come to know you, Dashvara of Xalya. I know that honorable principles guide you, I cannot deny that. But this is… well…” He shrugged and sketched a smile. “The other day, Asmoan and I were talking about justice, and we were debating whether it should be guided by the heart or by reason, and… at some point we came to the conclusion that, while I am a steady river, you are a river that easily overflows. No offense meant…”

“Believe me, I assume it perfectly,” Dashvara assured in a cheerful tone. “We’ve followed different paths of education. And you’ve broken free of yours better than I have, I’m afraid.”

“Not quite,” Kuriag muttered.

Dashvara looked at him curiously and decided to be sincere in turn:

“Not quite maybe, but enough to make a savage like me call you brother without hesitation. You know? I don’t think I’m wrong in saying that you’ve taught me far more about the Eternal Bird than I’ve ever taught you,” he pronounced, bowing his head respectfully, and smiled at Kuriag’s astounded expression. “At any rate, I can’t complain about the two Titiaka masters I’ve had. I hold you both in high regard. I really do. But don’t tell Atasiag: it would go to his head,” he joked.

Kuriag laughed, flushed. His expression became comical in its joyous innocence. He opened his mouth, seemed to suddenly remember something, and then bowed his head and said:

“It will be an honor to accept your invitation, Immortal King.”

If there was irony in the appellation, Dashvara did not perceive it, and he wondered if the young elf still believed that he had really resurrected in Titiaka and a second time in the Feather. In any case, there was definitely something supernatural about the whole affair, since he had twice survived the red snake venom… And all because of those damn magic powders I randomly swallowed in Rocavita, Dashvara laughed inwardly. Or at least that was the only explanation Tsu had been unable to refute. He bowed and replied:

“The honor is mine, brother.”

The Agoskurian scientist and the captain accepted the invitation, too, and Dashvara finally left with Yira. Throughout the day, he wisely followed the religious ceremony held in honor of Skâra and his two envoys. They dipped their hands in the icy river, drank a glass of blood from the best horse of the year, and returned to the temple to sit for an interminable time, so that the priests could read the signs in their every movement, and thus make sure that, although the winter was going to be hard, the spring would be early and the summer would be prosperous. Dashvara restrained himself from questioning their assertions and whispered to Yira with a slight gasp:

“And you’ve been putting up with this for two weeks, naâsga?”

The sursha cleared her throat in amusement. Dashvara admired her patience. He breathed in the fresh air of the Temple, closed his eyes, opened them again to see the priests, and… sighed.

“All we need is for the Essimean to start sacrificing children in our honor.”

Yira shuddered slightly, and as the priests continued their prayers, she stated in a low voice:

“They tried on Skâra Hill, but I told them that Skâra would not need sacrifices as long as the Arazmihá was with them.”

Dashvara arched his eyebrows.

“Unbelievable. And they listened to you?”

Yira’s eyes smiled.

“I am the Arazmihá.”

Dashvara sighed again and eventually got fed up with the ceremony. When, at last, Todakwa invited them to eat in his imposing house and the priests stopped tormenting their heads with their songs and blessings, he was about to explode. If he had been told that he had to endure this for two weeks, the Essimeans would not have found him at dawn. Fortunately, he had an engagement with Kuriag Dikaksunora, he had invited him to get to know the Honyrs, and this turned out to be the perfect excuse to cut the celebrations short. They clarified the alliance with Todakwa, bowed several times, received a few more blessings, listened to the sibilian leader’s terse thanks for the ship, and finally left.

Several dozen Honyrs who had accompanied them and two hundred Xalyas left Aralika. Along with them came two dozen heirs of the Eternal Bird who, though most of them had been slaves all their lives, were adventurous enough to hope for a better life with the Honyrs. Not surprisingly, the majority did not move. These steppians had their lives established, and the Xalya Dahars either no longer mattered to them or reminded them of old enmities with other steppe lords. So they showed no intention of leaving, and Dashvara made no effort to convince them either, for the simple reason that they had not bought enough food supplies for so many people.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

As they rode eastward, crushing the thin layer of snow, Dashvara noticed that several of his brothers who had remained at the rear of the procession looked deep in conversation. They talked, shook their heads, and then fell silent for quite some time. Before they realized that Dashvara was watching them, he turned his gaze forward, a little nervously, for he was convinced that his brothers were talking about him.

Yes, of course, since you’ve spent the day receiving blessings, hymns, and lavish feasts, you now think they’re all talking about you, huh? You are full of yourself.

He pulled Sunrise away from the procession, stopped her, and patted her on the neck, whispering:

“Soon you will have a refuge in the north, daâra, and you will not be cold. In the spring, you will graze and grow strong. And you will see what it is to live free on the steppe. Yes, you will,” he murmured.

They were not far short of the Honyr camp when, seized with a sudden anxiety, Dashvara approached his brothers and said:

“Captain.”

He was dismayed by the reserved looks his brothers gave him. Liadirlá… What the hell was happening to them? The Captain cleared his throat.

“Yes, son?”

Dashvara hesitated, confused. He could not remember what question had brought him to Zorvun.

Pff, Dash, you fall apart at the drop of a hat. React, wake up, show some firmness! Your Eternal Bird tells you that you have done the right thing in kneeling before Skâra… Stop doubting: it is all over. Peace reigns in the steppe. Now make sure to bring peace to your soul.

“My son?”

Dashvara blinked and looked at the captain. The captain was watching him with serene patience. After a silence, Dashvara huffed and grunted:

“I know what I have done. Now the Essimean people are well disposed towards us. Something that was unthinkable a month ago. And Todakwa… well, I didn’t cut off his head, I didn’t fulfill my father’s revenge, I’m a bad son. But I can live with that. As long as there is peace on the steppe, what does it matter if I have to go and say to the Essimean ‘Skâra shalé’ from time to time? What the hell. The customs of the Essimeans are debatable, but the precepts of Skâra are not bad. And I did not kneel before Todakwa, but before Skâra. No, Captain: I do not repent of what I have done.”

He fell silent. The captain rubbed his forehead, smiling.

“I think we all get that, Dashvara.”

The lord of the steppe arched his eyebrows and looked at his brothers before shaking his head in confusion.

“Then why are you looking at me so strangely?”

“We’re not looking at you strangely,” Zamoy protested.

Dashvara gave him a skeptical expression, and he noticed that his brothers looked away uncomfortably. Zamoy was the only one to clearly and abruptly state his thought:

“You’re the one acting strangely. First, you lend your sword to the sibilian for him to kill you, then you convert to Skâra and send all the gifts to the four winds… And now, you accept that death-priests come to preach us stupidities, and you even accept that Yira stays in Aralika during the whole winter. I really didn’t expect that last one. As far as I know, it’s your naâsga, right? Or are you, too, going to stay with the Essimeans, Dash?”

Dashvara looked at him in disbelief and finally understood his brothers’ concern. He would have burst out laughing if he hadn’t seen them all so anxious. He assured them:

“By the Liadirlá, I wouldn’t stay with these priests for a thousand horses! If I allowed the priests to come to our lands, it was because I allowed any Essimean to come to our lands. As for Yira…”

He darkened and looked up to the head of the procession. There, the sursha was advancing alongside Lessi, Kuriag, Asmoan, Api, and two priests of Skâra who were escorting her. He noticed that the two demons were keeping their distance from Yira, especially the Agoskurian. He resumed:

“My naâsga…”

He smiled at his brothers and said:

“It’s her decision and I respect it. She hasn’t told me why, but I’m sure she has her reasons. In the spring, I will go to Aralika, and we will return north together. Don’t worry, brothers. She’s still a Xalya.”

He saw them nod and exchange glances. They couldn’t really understand him, but knowing that he wouldn’t be staying with the Essimeans to play the Immortal King made them almost sigh in relief.

Four months, Dashvara thought, thoughtfully.

Four months and the snow would melt, the grass would grow, the steppe would be covered with colors… and life would be reborn.

* * *

“My lord, my lord!” a distant voice shouted.

Dashvara laid a gentle hand on the sheep’s forehead, stopped shearing, and looked up. Youk rode up the flowery slope, towards the river and the yurt, and kept repeating:

“My looooord!”

With an expert leap, he dismounted, and the sheep bleated, agitated. Dashvara clicked his tongue, soothed them, and raised a hand to greet the boy. When they had traveled north to Faorok, pragmatism had led the Xalyas to divide themselves among the various Honyr families. They had dispersed as needed. There had been many unions that winter and a continuous movement from yurt to yurt. The Xalya children and teenagers now had new families and someone who could quietly teach them everything a good steppian should know. And, well, before any Honyr had the idea of pushing Youk away because of his tattoos, Dashvara had gone to meet him and asked him if he would be able to put up with a philosopher lord. The boy’s face had lit up with happiness.

Dashvara smiled as he remembered. He had no regrets at all about welcoming the boy into his yurt. His enthusiasm for everything amazed him, he learned eagerly, and although he still felt easily ashamed at the slightest mistake, that didn’t stop him from making plenty of them, and well, let’s just say that the boy’s presence alone—added to his herd, the union ceremonies, and the various meetings with the tribes near Faorok—had given Dashvara the most pleasant winter in years. Only the presence of his naâsga could have made him happier. And he would soon go meet her, he rejoiced.

The boy came up to him panting, and Dashvara said patiently:

“I thought you’d stopped calling me lord. What’s the matter, boy? Did you get bitten by a saravy?”

Youk exhaled sharply.

“You won’t believe it! I mean, if you see it, you will… but you have to come and see!” He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled before shouting, turning to the herd of horses grazing freely a little ways away, “Sunrise! Quick, quick, quick!”

He was elated. Dashvara sighed. One of Youk’s problems was that sometimes he just forgot to explain what was going on.

“Take it easy, kid,” he soothed him. “Calm down and don’t make me nervous. Sunrise isn’t going anywhere: she’s going to stay and graze on the grass. What do I need to see?”

Youk huffed, as if it were obvious.

“Well, who do you think, the Arazmihá! She has arrived at the lake. And she’s not coming alone.”

It was as if he had been hit on the head with a hammer and shown a paradise at the same time. A wave of amazement, haste, joy, and worry swept over Dashvara. But… but there were still two weeks to go before…

“Liadirlá!” he exclaimed in a trembling voice. “Youk… kid… stay here and look after the flock, will you? Don’t let any sheep escape, there’s no need for you to shear them, I’ll do it afterwards, and above all, don’t ride Rocdinfer while I’m gone, that stallion has a bad temper and he’s not ready, and, if I don’t get back before dark…”

“I’ll scatter them all with a shout and set the yurt on fire,” Youk replied with a broad mocking smile. “Don’t worry, Dash, I’ve been herding since I could stand on my own two legs.”

Dashvara nodded, rolling his eyes, and said in an equally mocking tone:

“Do not forget to pray, unfaithful soul, or the Arazmihá will punish you. But, tell me, just one thing. Yira is doing all right, isn’t she?”

“Wonderfully,” Youk assured. And he followed his lord as Dashvara was already hurrying away from the herd to fetch Silver. The horse hadn’t been ridden for several days and was in better shape than Sunrise. Behind him, the boy kept on talking, “Ah, I must not forget the jug of milk for Okuvara! Hasn’t he come yet? He said that today Tsu would not give him lessons and that he would come by here to teach me how to play the flute. You don’t know how much Tsu’s teaching him. It’s amazing. Magic stuff is so weird. I don’t know how he can retain so much. And by the way!” he added cheerfully. “There’s another piece of news, but the captain asked me not to tell you about it, because you might just fall off your horse if I do.”

Dashvara glanced at him, frowning. He hesitated to ask him for an explanation, but then decided to be patient, climbed onto Silver, and said:

“A Xalya never falls off his horse. And if he does, he does it on purpose.”

He smiled and raised his hand to Youk in greeting before trotting the horse off to the northwest.

The great lake was barely an hour from where they were, and the itinerary was easy: to get there, all one had to do was to walk down the slope following the river. More than one Honyr had already deserted Faorok to the south in search of new pastures, but most of the clan was still settled around the big lake and near the river. There was still snow in the lower mountains of Esarey, but below, it had melted completely. As a result, the steppe had been transformed into an ocean of scents and colors: flowers of all kinds covered it like a coat, white, blue, yellow, red… It was a real sight. Compared to the lands of Xalya, this region was pure life. It was another steppe. And a friendlier steppe, no doubt.

Dashvara made the journey to the lake, picturing in his mind the smiling black eyes of his naâsga, her hair as white as the clouds that glided across the sky that day, her unearthly face, alive and magical, and he heard again her sweet, joyful voice as if he were already holding the little sursha in his arms. He longed to see her again. He still did not understand what madness had made him accept so calmly Yira’s decision to stay in Aralika during the winter. No matter how much he thought about it, he could find no reason why Yira would have preferred to stay longer with the Essimeans. He had endured Makarva’s attempts to get him to take an interest in Ladli, Shire’s granddaughter, with impatience and irritation… Dashvara had come to understand that his brothers thought the sursha would not return. Of course, he hadn’t listened to them. And he’d been right, since Yira hadn’t even waited for Dashvara to go to her and she’d traveled to Faorok before the appointed date. Dashvara smiled. His heart had not doubted for a second that he would see her again.

The lake of Faorok was surrounded by trees. It formed a curious border between the Red Desert and the steppe. On one side was an irregular terrain of reddish stone bristling with impassable rocks. And on the other side… was the home of the Xalyas.

He waved at more than one Honyr from afar and rode around more than one herd before spotting a group of horsemen riding south. Dashvara’s heart stopped for a second before it began to beat more strongly. The closer the distance got, the bigger his smile grew. As soon as he recognized his naâsga among the riders, he became unable to focus on the others. Vaguely, he knew that the captain, Atok, and several Essimeans were with her, but that was all. His eyes devoured the figure of the sursha. Finally, he dismounted, the others walked the last few steps and… he saw the little creature tied to Yira with a white cloth. Astonishment filled him. Without a word, he helped her to the ground, his heart pounding. His gaze went back and forth from Yira’s smiling eyes to the little creature sleeping soundly against her. Finally, the sursha let out a muffled, slightly nervous laugh.

“Did your tongue freeze, Dashvara of Xalya?”

This one huffed, and he felt like a blissful idiot when he asked:

“It’s… it’s ours, isn’t it?”

Yira laughed.

“She’s our daughter,” she asserted.

“Our daughter,” Dashvara repeated, smiling broadly. “Liadirlá, that’s… that’s so wonderful,” he murmured.

He did not ask her at that moment why she had wanted to stay in Aralika all winter. Nor did he ask her how a girl could be born in less than nine months. He would ask her more questions later. At that moment, he simply took them both in his arms, kissed his daughter’s head and kissed his naâsga’s forehead for a long time before murmuring:

“Ayshat, naâsga. Ayshat for coming back.”

Finally, aware of the others, he wondered what the hell they were staring at, looked up, and saw them all smiling. He rolled his eyes. You’re all very happy now, but you still tried hard to offer me more naâsgas over the winter, brothers…

Among them, besides Zorvun and Atok, were Kodarah, Sirk Is Rhad, Atsan Is Fadul, and Shokr Is Set. But there were not only people from his clan. There was also a Titiaka—probably the one who was supposed to bring the famous counter-seal—as well as two Essimeans: a priest and… Ashiwa of Essimea? But it was not the presence of Todakwa’s brother that left him speechless. When he saw the young woman smiling from the top of her mount, he gently stepped away from Yira, not believing his eyes. Instead of being dressed in luxurious Titiaka clothes, she was in a simple white tunic and a thick steppe cloak, but it was definitely her. Before he could say anything, Fayrah jumped to the ground and said:

“You were right, sîzan: Lanamiag Korfu was a fool. When he learned that Atasiag had concealed a necromancer, that idiot accused me of being a witch, threatened to repudiate me, and even admitted to me that he had ordered your murder. A fool,” she asserted. “So Father paid me the boat to Dazbon, and I stayed a few weeks in a very nice house and went to visit Zaadma and Rokuish and their triplets, they are lovely, and the people there are very kind, but… Nowhere is better than home,” she admitted in a whisper. “So, I came back to the steppe and… well, in the last few months I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, sîzan. I hope… I hope you will forgive me. I only thought I was following my Eternal Bird.”

Dashvara shook his head, smiling.

“You don’t know how glad I am that you are back, sîzin. There’s nothing to forgive. All I can say is… welcome back to your clan.”

He kissed her forehead gently and thought:

The only thing you forgot to bring me was Lusombra, Essimeans. But I guess everything can’t be perfect.

Between brothers and Essimeans, they exchanged news. Apparently, the Shalussi still had quarrels among themselves, and the Essimeans were doing nothing to resolve them. It was said that Lifdor of Shalussi had become a bandit.

“Strange pastime for such an honorable man,” Dashvara scoffed.

No one had heard from the Akinoas: since they had regained their freedom, they had gone north and did not seem to have any intention of returning. The captain commented:

“And it looks like young Kodarah wants to do the same. He says he’s going off on adventures to the east with Api and Tahisran to look for a certain magical little girl. He’s going to be our legend hunter,” he said with mocking pride. “Miflin is already composing a heroic ode in his honor.”

“I do what I want with my life, Captain,” the Hairy protested.

“Of course, my boy,” the captain assured. “I won’t be the one to stop you from following your Eternal Bird.”

Dashvara could not avoid looking at Kodarah with sincere surprise. He would have never guessed that the Hairy had an adventurous spirit. He himself had intended to travel to Mount Bakhia this summer, as soon as their herds got a little closer, but… would he go off to have adventures in the eastern lands, after all the trouble he’d had returning to the steppe? No way. Kodarah, however, was younger and was apparently dying to see the world.

“When are you leaving?” he asked.

“In two weeks,” Kodarah answered excitedly. “We’ll cross the Red Desert to the Kingdom of Deygat, in Iskamangra. Then we’ll cross the entire empire and get to the Bayland. Then we’ll go all the way to the Fire Republic. That’s where Tahisran comes from, so we won’t get lost. And maybe we’ll meet that ternian girl, Shaedra. She’ll help us look for the faerie. I mean, the girl. It won’t be easy to find her, Zamoy says I’m crazy… but I don’t care, I’m going with them,” he said.

His voice vibrated with anticipation. Dashvara could only wish him good luck and a safe journey. He had a feeling he wouldn’t see the Hairy again for a long time, but, as Namamrah said, every Eternal Bird makes its own way through the wide sky of life.

Dashvara nodded to himself, paused contemplatively, and turned his eyes to Yira and his daughter. He watched them for a moment before deciding that he now wanted to be alone with them and to be able to talk at length and enjoy their presence and fill the void that the absence of his naâsga had caused… His impatience was growing by the second, so, pointing with his thumb in the southern direction, he declared:

“I have some sheep to shear, my brothers. We shall meet again soon to have this famous counter-seal put on us…”

The farewells were made quickly and in a serene hubbub of voices. Fayrah assured them that she preferred to stay by the lake and that Shire Is Fadul had offered to take her in. As the riders rode away, Dashvara took Yira back into his arms, and after looking down at the little creature and admiring her for a few moments, fascinated, he asked:

“What did you name her?”

Yira pouted innocently.

“She was born at night, so… I named her Zrifa. It means night in the language of my homeland.”

Zrifa had just woken up and opened her eyelids. A red glow shone in her dark eyes. She let out a babbling. Dashvara smiled warmly. Yira whispered:

“She was born small but strong. I guess since her mother was a sursha, she couldn’t have been born bigger. Surshas give birth earlier than humans, but Zrifa really came early. Apparently she was burning to see her father,” she smiled. She bit her lip and, turning serious, she admitted, “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to deliver anything alive. It was one of my greatest fears and as soon as I knew that… Well. I preferred to stay at the Temple. Daeya and Fayrah have been very helpful to me over the months. And Atasiag has sent me all sorts of gifts. I heard that Kuriag has hired him as his High Councilor.”

Dashvara gazed at her, drinking in her words. Then he smiled.

“Kuriag certainly needs a good advisor so that the civilized don’t eat him alive.”

They fell silent. A fresh wind swept across the steppe, carrying with it the scent of flowers, the sand of the Red Desert, and the distant sound of bleating. Then Yira remarked with amusement:

“Didn’t you have some sheep to shear?”

Dashvara nodded vigorously.

“Oh right. Yes. That’s true. But there’s no hurry. I’ll show you the yurt, it’s a bit austere at the moment, but we’ll fix it up little by little. Youk lives with me. I hope you don’t mind. He is a very nice boy. Liadirlá, I know what I’ll do. I have some wood left. I’m going to make a crib for Zrifa as soon as we get there.” He paused. “Can I hold her?”

He took the little colt in his arms. She had gone back to sleep. Dashvara preferred not to ask Yira about her fears, since they no longer existed. He didn’t want to think about the past: the only thing that mattered was that his Eternal Bird was flying in peace and not alone.

They spent the way back home talking about everything and anything. Night fell before they arrived, and Dashvara looked pensively at the stars and the Constellation of Scorpion. Then he heard Yira breathe in softly, looked down, and saw the cloud of alurhias that had just passed them. It swirled around, and suddenly, butterflies of light appeared, and the alurhias moved away a little before returning. Dashvara rolled his eyes as he saw Yira playing with them. When he saw lights landing on him, he shook his head and protested:

“It doesn’t count. They’re harmonies, not real alurhias.”

Yira smiled.

“I swear these ones are not harmonies.”

Dashvara gave her a skeptical look, and when Yira started blowing away the bugs that had landed on her, he laughed heartily.

“They are messengers of peace, naâsga. They don’t do any harm, on the contrary. They only bless you.”

Yira snorted loudly.

“I’ve had enough blessings for my entire life, Dashvara of Xalya,” she growled. “Get these bugs off me. I don’t want them anywhere near Zrifa.”

Dashvara laughed and did his best to scare the alurhias away before resuming the walk towards the distant light of the yurt. To their home.

Dashvara Trilogy, final scene [https://download.tuxfamily.org/kaosfantasy/img/dashvara/final-scene-600px.jpg]