The sun’s rays crowned the distant mountain peaks with a halo as they rode toward the small village. The sky was quickly darkening, the clouds hung heavy with the threat of rain as a cool northern wind from the upper plateau chased after them, gnawing at their ears. The cold gale couldn’t pierce his skin but as the first drops of rain begin to dance across his back, Jasper couldn’t repress a shudder.
They reached the village before the dams of heaven fully burst, and as they approached, Jasper could the creaking rumble of waterwheels born aloft on the gusting winds. The village was small, a few houses clustered around a row of mills perched by the river bank where the village’s bounteous harvests of grain were ground into flour. A few other industries were dotted amongst the houses, one which made Jasper’s eyes light up with joy. A tavern.
The heaven’s gates opened as they rode into the small courtyard. He barely took the time to toss the reins to the stableboy, before he dashed inside, but even that brief moment was enough to thoroughly soak every fiber of his being.
Still, as he stepped through the door, his spirits lifted immediately. The savory smell of roast pork nearly overwhelmed him, accompanied by the merry sounds of song and laughter that filled the small tavern. The villagers gazed at the newcomers with curiosity, mixed with a touch of caution, but the mood relaxed as the leader they had met earlier in the day waved them over.
“Please, have a seat, my lord. The maid will bring you something to eat.”
Conscious of the trail of water he was leaving across the tavern floor, Jasper sat down awkwardly, feelings his clothes squelch beneath him. But almost as soon as he had sat down, the maid indeed appeared, bringing plates piled high with thick slices of succulent ham and a large serving of some sort of grain-based mush which, despite its unappealing appearance, proved to be quite tasty.
The leader waited patiently as they dug into the food, only speaking once the bottoms of their plates begin to appear. “Were you able to track down the creatures hunting our flocks?”
Jasper responded quickly this time, not wanting to give Annatta the opportunity to speak for him. “Not yet, but we found tracks of the creature. We believe they might be…” he hesitated, struggling to remember the unfamiliar name.
“Dorēsah,” Ihra whispered, and he shot her a grateful smile.
“Yes, dorēsah. Do you have any caves around here that might serve as their nest?”
“No,” The leader started to shake his head but paused as another thought hit him. “Well, not anywhere close,” he amended himself. “About twenty miles up the river, it runs through a small range of hills. There’s probably a few caves up in those bluffs.”
“Then I guess we’ll have to check them out. Tomorrow, though.”
Sinking back into the hard wooden bench, Jasper sipped the warm beer the maid had brought him as he let the music wash over him.
Upon the distant frozen shores, our sacred lands long lost
We gathered round the gis̆ātu, whose fire emblazed our hearts
Until the stars, they tumbled down, until the night grew long
And the sacred fire that warmed our souls sputtered and was gone
Arose a hero in our midst, the mightiest of Djinn
Anointed prince of all our kin, the warrior Nūradīn
With lustrous locks of raven hair, with eyes as sharp as steel
He gathered ‘round the 'ruly tribes and brought them all to heel
Across the endless gulfs of void, he chartered our new course
And led our people to a land twas filled with mead and horse
The hallowed halls of As̆rukkat, the waters of Yarhab
Lord Shamsha blessed our people then, and altered all our lot
Enthroned as king, he reigned o’er all, the bringer of new life
The ‘ruly tribes’ revolt he quashed, brought peace from all the strife
But in his heart, a shadow grew, a sigh of discontent
The azure halls of As̆rukkat he abandoned for his tent
When Nūradīn wandered ‘yond the hallowed peaks of Miqlat
In fallen realms, in eldritch runes, e’er ease and rest he sought
The shadows cast upon his heart, no lover’s touch could blot
No Mwyrani could stay his hand, no Sidhe his mind besot
On down the coast, down to the south, forgotten paths he trod
Through valleys dark and caverns deep, across the frozen sod
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Before the elf, before the Fey, laid claim to their great lands
Lord Nūradīn wound his way to the final stretch of sands
Obliv’on’s shores, the frozen sea, the end of every soul
The waves that all men sink beneath, their tombs the icy floes
The silent heavens hid their face as Nurādin drew nigh
And there, in land unknown to all, he breathed his final sigh
But Obliv’on’s icy waters rejected his request
They cast him out upon the shores, did not grant his bequest
The clouds were split, the Warrior came, Lord Nūradīn he took
The waters burned, the mountains caved, the earth beneath him shook
Lord Nūrādin in Shamsha’s halls enthroned forever reigns
And guards o’er all his lesser kin until the end of days
O Winged Lord, Gis̆ātu’s heir, arise to our aid
May all our enemies be crushed and by your blows unmade.
The bard was nothing more than a young woman from the village, some farmer’s daughter lucky enough to be graced with a special class. But despite her lack of training, her high, clear voice carried a certain subtle charm, like the halcyon cries of a nightingale. Despite his exhaustion, he found himself listening with rapt attention, his interest only sharpening as he realized what the song hinted at. Did the Djinn come from some other world? Were they not natives? It was an intriguing idea, but he wasn’t certain if he was understanding it properly. Maybe I am just reading my own situation into it.
His mind drifted back to the revelations about his mother, and he felt a twinge of anxiety surge up immediately. Yeah, I’m probably just worried about that. Not wanting to lose himself down that particular rabbit hole, Jasper excused himself from the table and, after tipping the young bard, headed straight to bed. And despite the endless stream of obtrusive thoughts that threatened to undermine his rest, exhaustion won the battle that night.
The morning was still young when they set out from the tavern. The uncommon rains had turned the pounded dirt and gravel of the village roads into a swampy mess, the mud splattering high across their cloaks as their mounts thundered out of town.
Even pacing their mounts at a steady trot, the journey to the hills took much of the day. But their destination soon loomed in the distance. The hills they were headed toward stood out against the endless plains, reminding Jasper a bit of the sudden eruption of the Black Hills in the flat expanses of the Dakotas.
Their progress slowed as they reached the base of the hills. The easy plains quickly grew rough and treacherous, sharp rocks peaking through the tall grasses that covered the region. Craggy bluffs, dotted with twisted trees, overlooked the rivers winding path, offering stunning vistas, but they also presented a problem.
“This is a lot bigger range than I expected,” Jasper observed. “How are we supposed to track down just a few animals in all of this? Especially with how treacherous the terrain is.” He patted Dapplegrim’s flanks fondly. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
Annatta shook her head. “You’re right. This terrain is too rough to keep pressing forward, but there’s always another option.” She chewed on her lip as she scanned the rough hills. Then she reached a decision. Hopping off her horse, she bid them follow her. “If we can’t go to the dorēsah, we’ll make them come to us. Hurry up,” she snapped, “we only have a few hours before dusk and much to prepare.”
Annatta’s plan was simple enough. While Ihra and Annatta ventured into the hills on foot to hunt the many beasts that roamed the crags, Jasper stayed behind to prepare the place. He had objected at first, but begrudgingly had to admit that Annatta was right - his skills were ill-suited for quiet hunting, and his essence was better saved for the coming fight.
Instead, he prepared the trap. Finding a reasonably flat bluff overlooking the river, he cleared the thick grass away, using carefully controlled fire to burn the hill clean. He secured their mounts a good distance away from the space, not wanting to risk the chance that the birds would target them. The rest of the time was spent whittling rows of thick wooden stakes, which he planted into the soft loam, as he waited for the women to return.
Night was fast approaching when he finally saw the tips of their horns emerge above the grass, before the rest of them came into a view. But they bore no carcasses on their shoulders.
“No luck?” He asked in surprise. Even in the darkening gloom, he could still see a herd of wild goats gamboling across the slopes on the other side of the river. How had they not gotten a single kill?
But Ihra just laughed. “No luck? It was the most successful hunt of my life.” She nudged Annatta in the ribs. “Alright, you had your little joke. Go on now, and open the bag.”
Jasper’s eyes bulged as the Djinn drew one carcass after another out of her bag of holding. The item, clearly far more valuable than the one they had taken from Nabul, expanded easily as they dragged a small mountain of dead goats and deer into the clearing he had made. They worked quickly, rushing to get the bait in place before the last rays of the sun were swallowed up by the hungry night.
It was nasty work. Annatta insisted that the more blood there was, the better, so they were forced to rip into the carcasses, splattering the cold, viscous blood across the clearing while the meat and guts were carefully positioned over the treacherous stakes. By the time they were done, Jasper’s clothes were drenched in a myriad of foul liquids and slime, his appearance perfect for a part in some two-bit horror show.
But they had no time to clean up. The three ran in a mad dash for the tall grass beyond the clearing, as hidden in the thick clouds gathering above, they heard the heavy beat of wings.
Whoomph. Whoomph. Whoomph.
Jasper held his breath as he peaked through the grass, a spell simmering at the edges of his fingertips. The dorēsah were massive, at least for flying birds. While they were certainly no match for a dragon, the winged beasts were closer in size to elephants than to the villagers’ tsussîm. Wicked black talons gleamed in the moonlight, cruel daggers nearly a foot in length, and a strange, sharp-looking horn extended from the base of their skull, curved above their head like some sort of weird, futuristic space helmet.
The dorēsah descended into the clearing slowly, the noise of their ponderous wings overpowering the other sounds of the night. At first, they were cautious, taking tentative nips at the proffered feast.
Jasper was on the balls of his feet, ready to spring into action, but Annatta held him back, shaking her head quietly. “Wait till they take the bait,” she whispered. He sunk back into the grass, and the three bid their time, as they waited for the moment of opportunity. The tentative bites turned into a frenzy as the birds finally flopped down into the clearing.
As the birds settled down on the slaughtered carcasses, the hidden stakes tore into them, ripping into their belly and tearing at their flanks. But they were unable to enjoy the fruit of their success. The three fell to the ground, writhing in pain, as the dorēsah’s screeches tore through the night.
Get it together. Somehow, he dragged himself to his knees, ignoring the pressure of the sound waves as he cast his spell. Shooting Star, he screamed, though it was faint to his deafened ears. The small orbs of fire shot forward, more slowly than usual, as the sound pushed them back, but they broke through, slamming into the crowd of wounded birds. The dark skies lit up as a ripple of small explosions spread through the clearing.
For a moment, the hideous screaming was overwhelmed and the three pressed their advantage. Jasper charged toward their quarry, spamming Shooting Star with his right hand as his other hand prepared the Scourge of Despair. Just a few more feet, he thought, and I’ll be in range.
But he never got there.