Ihra watched until Jasper’s head was finally swallowed up by the sea of blue-green grass that rippled endlessly beneath the gusts of wind whipping off the shores of Lake Yarhab. Only when the last sign of her partner was gone, did she turn to the task at hand. Fortunately, though she had never performed the ritual before, it looked relatively uncomplicated, even if the setup was a bit more arduous than she would have preferred.
Trimming the tall grass far enough back to provide her with a clean, open space in which to set up the ritual took more time than she expected, but Ihra wasn’t willing to rush it. Although she still had most of the ingredients Aphora had gifted her, Ihra had stopped in the market in a few of their stops, just to see what it could cost to replenish her supplies, and every time she had been positively horrified by the prices. Aphora might have that kind of money to throw around, but Ihra certainly didn't - at least, not yet. So she took her time preparing the ritual, carefully trimming down even the smallest blade of grass before she begin the delicate task of tracing the runes.
A few hours later, it was complete. The shape wasn't complicated; a seven-spoked wheel bound with two concentric circles, the hardest part of the task had been tracing the string of runes that adorned each of the wheel's spoke. In the center sat the “sacrifice.” Lacking a complete corpse, Ihra had been forced to compensate with a pile of dorēsah limbs, each one smeared as best as she could manage with the partially dried blood from the site of the slaughter. She could only hope it was fresh enough.
Then, with her preparations finally complete, she knelt in the center circle, closing her eyes as she opened herself to the unknown power. The energy responded quickly - Ihra had noticed that as she performed more rituals, the strange essence had become increasingly responsive - and flowed through her body into the ritual circle, spiraling down the spokes of the wheel until the entire formation was ablaze with power. With an ear-splitting boom, the sacrifice burst into flames as a torrent of dark smoke erupted into the sky. But rather than escaping to the distant heavens, the black cloud pivoted to the side like a living being, slithering its way through the tall grass in the general direction of the rocky crags that overlooked the river.
Wiping her hands clean as she stood up, Ihra tossed her bag over her shoulder and, grabbing her bow, followed the smokey serpent into the thickets.
It was easy enough to keep up with the strange smoke at first, but once she left the grassy plains behind, the going got rough. Not waiting for her to follow, the smoke wound its way above the river chasm, undeterred by any and all obstacles, but no such path was available to Ihra. Scaling up and down rocky cliff faces, she was often forced to push herself far faster than was safe, relying on her agility alone to save her as she leapt from ledge to ledge. And then, abruptly, the serpent stopped, hovering for a moment over a tall bluff, before the smoke unraveled, dissipating into the winds that whistled through the ravine as she wearily pulled herself up to the top of one of the higher hills.
Thank Selene, Ihra sighed in relief, pulling herself to the top of bluff with one final heave. But her heart sank as she glanced around the cliff, realizing there was no sign of a cave. Did the ritual fail? Did it run out of power?
After a brief and fruitless search, there was only one possibility, really. The cave must be somewhere below, closer to the riverbed. Damn it. But there was nothing to be done but go for it. Grumbling beneath her breath, she lowered herself over the side. The face of the bluff was nearly sheer, with only the smallest of ledges available for her to cling to, and whenever the gusts of wind that raced through the canyon rammed into her, she was tossed to and fro like a rag doll. But the wind was no match for her strength and stubbornly, slowly, she made her way down.
It was only when she was nearly halfway down the bluff, that she spied her goal. Hidden from view from the top of the hill by a large overhang, a wide cave opening yawned before her. Her hands clung to the stone with an iron grip as she swung back and forth above the river chasm, finally letting go and trusting her momentum to carry her to the ledge below. She landed hard, rolling to her side as her momentum pushed her forward, but she had made it. She was in the cave.
Ihra glanced nervously into the darkness, her suspicions confirmed when she heard the faint sounds of weak squawks echo from somewhere far below, but as looked back out at the river canyon, she realized she couldn't stick around any longer. Already, the light of day was beginning to fade, and she dared not face whatever birds were left by herself. The fight with the dorēsah patriarch had been tough enough, and while Ihra knew little of the birds’ habits, she was willing to bet that where there was a patriarch, there would also be a matriarch.
Suddenly afraid, she swung herself back onto the cliff and began the long, painstaking trek back to the top, shuddering a bit when the errant winds brought the discordant sounds of the dorēsah’s chirps and squawks to her ears. She only felt a sliver of relief when she reached the top, knowing how easy it would be for the birds to reach her if they became aware of her presence. But she had a task to fulfill, and fulfill it she did.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Slowly, Ihra worked her way back toward the camp, carefully marking her progress as she went. There was no need this time to rush this time, leaving her to truly appreciate how precarious her earlier flight had been. The terrain was rough; Ihra didn’t know much about rocks, but the stone that dominated the craggy cliffs was far too soft. More than once, her handholds beneath her weight, leaving little behind to grasp but sharp splinters, but she persevered. Night was fast approaching, and she didn’t want to be too close to the cavern when it came.
Her fears proved well-founded. Once the final rays of Shamsha slipped beneath the craggy peaks, it was not long before she heard the telltale shrieks of the dorēsah. It was nothing compared to the wild cacophony of the previous night - they must have slaughtered the majority of the flock - but she felt no confidence in taking on the beasts alone. She was sure she could handle one, but it wasn't like the birds were going to line up for a series of honorable duels. So she crept along slowly, hiding in the bushes whenever the thunderous slap of wings circled overhead.
Fortunately, the remaining birds, perhaps needing to tend to their young sheltered in the cave, stayed closer to the cave than the patriarch's horde, and slowly the cries and caws fell behind her, leaving her to navigate through the dark cliffs in relative peace. Still, Ihra didn't breathe easy until the welcome sight of a still faintly smoldering fire loomed through the dense grasses of the plateau. There was no sign of any further danger, but just to be safe, she waited in the bushes, keeping a watchful eye over their camp, and her mount, until the morning light came. Only then did she let herself fall into the slumber her body so desperately craved.
She still woke up before the rest of her party finished the miles-long track back across the plains. It was easy enough to snag a few fish from the river, whose succulent flesh was sizzling merrily in the rebuilt fire by the time they finally appeared. “Well, any luck?” She asked as Jasper slid off his horse. He loosely looped the rope around a tree beside Keresh, giving Dapplegrim plenty of space in which to graze on the sea of grass that surrounded them, before he joined her by the fire.
“Yep, I think we got what we needed.” He slid a fillet of fish off the skillet and promptly dug into it, not needing to wait for it to cool. Ihra couldn’t help but be a tad bit jealous as she was forced to wait on her own to reach a more acceptable temperature. In between bites, Jasper glanced up at her, curiosity sparking as he noted the deep bags beneath her eyes. “I saw the runic circle, so I’m guessing you tracked down the cave. Did you spend the whole night in the hills?”
Ihra shook her head. “No, but by the time I found the cave, it was almost dark and, suffice it to say, there were at least a few dorēsah left. Didn’t feel entirely safe to sleep till the day came.”
He looked a little guilty. “That sucks. We spent the night at the inn again, and that local bard sang another song. Some legend about a guy named Yahdiel? You know that one?”
She started to shake her head almost reflexively, but paused as an old memory surfaced, of the days before the orphanage. On one of the feast days of Hulmiṭṭu, her brother had taken her and his kids to Selene’s temple in Hargish. She was too young to remember the details, but there must have been something special about that particular feast of Hulmiṭṭu; that day a traveling troupe of priests from Sapīya’s capital was there and had put on a show for the children. “Actually, I do remember that story. He was…” she struggled to pull the details out of the past, “one of the human heroes in the war of the dragons, in the days before the empire was founded. Didn’t he supposedly kill a Sidhe on his own, and become a demigod?”
Jasper nodded, “That sounds roughly similar to what the bard said, although, in her version, he had a very important Djinn friend who shared all of his adventures with him.” He smirked. “That’s probably some local flavor, though.” He glanced over at Annatta, who had been entirely silent since they had returned to camp. “Did he have a Djinn sidekick?”
Annatta shook her head. “Probably not. The Djinn, to my knowledge, played no part in the war of the dragons. We settled in these mountains long before the collapse of the Mwyrani’s empire drove their former subjects north.” A grin broke her lips. “But whoever trained the young villager certainly taught her taught well. While there are many great epics sung in the empire, any bard in our lands who spins too many tales bereft of a Djinn hero will quite find themselves a talented, but hungry, beggar.”
Jasper snorted. “That seems a little vain.”
The Djinn simply shrugged. “So? The Djinn are the firstborn of Shamsha. Have we not earned the right to our pride, to place ourselves above our younger brothers?”
Jasper felt like pointing out that being created first was hardly a status the Djinn had earned, but held his peace. There was no point, after all, in risking the still tentative peace he and Annatta had brokered over such a meaningless quibble.
They did not leave the camp that night. With the location of the cave identified, there was little need to face the birds in the cover of the darkness, and Jasper even allowed himself to hope that a daytime attack would catch them asleep. Still, the distant cries of the dorēsah kept them on edge, the three taking turns keeping watch in case the winged beasts happened upon them.
Jasper’s watch came last, in the few final hours of bitter dark before the dawn. The moon had already finished her voyage across the sky as he took his place, nestling himself against one of the trees whose long branches trailed into the river below. The night was clear though, the sky ablaze with the light of thousands upon thousands of stars. Their light was reflected back by the slow-moving waters, whose tranquil surface formed a veritable mirror. It was an almost mesmerizing beauty, and Jasper felt a deep sense of peace overcome him as the myriad of problems that beset him on every side for a moment slipped away, carried off into the night by the river.