When they entered the tavern the next morning, Sellâ was already there, curled up on a chair by the fire. The guards were already at their posts, so the room was otherwise empty. Despite the blizzard raging outside, the fortress maintained its normal schedule, never leaving a post unmanned.
The tradition seemed odd at first to Jasper, especially considering that there weren't any hostile forces threatening the valley. But when Ihra pointed out that the Harei Miqlat had escaped the Desolyton and Fey wars entirely unharmed, Jasper was forced to concede that perhaps their caution wasn’t so dumb after all. Based on Sellâ's map, it was obvious that the mountains held a population at least ten or more times larger than the province of Sappiya.
Sellâ waved the two of them over with a smile and held out her hand, expectantly. Fishing it out of his bag, he handed the map back to her. “Thanks. It's been a while since I’ve been home,” he lied.
She raised an eyebrow, but let it pass, settling back down in her chair. “I don’t know if you’ve looked outside, but a storm is raging. We're all stuck her for the time being.” She pulled a box out from under her chair and held it out to them. “Anyone want to play a game?”
The next few days were pleasant enough, although, by the end of them, Jasper was beginning to get more than a touch of cabin fever. Their time was mostly spent with Sellâ, but the guards sometimes joined in their games, more than happy for any diversion on the long cold nights. He was still puzzled by their almost obsequious behavior towards him; without fail they called him “my lord” and were ever eager to please.
Even the captain stopped by from time to time to make sure they were comfortable, but Jasper couldn’t figure out why they treated him so nicely. After all, it wasn’t like he could ask - at least not without possibly revealing that he was, in fact, a fraud. He slowly realized though that Kas̆dael had underplayed the importance of his fire immunity, his red skin at such a young age leading others to assume that he was the carefully cultivated scion of a noble house.
But despite how slowly the days passed, he appreciated them in the end. Jasper was able to quietly observe their customs, hear stories of their people, and pick up little details about the regions the guards grew up in. By the time the pass was finally cleared enough for them to leave, he was no longer totally ignorant of the land.
Finally, after almost a week of being trapped within the fortress, the pass had been cleared enough for them to leave. The captain himself informed them, pulling Jasper aside for a few minutes of quiet conversation. Then, not wanting to waste any time, lest they get trapped by another storm, they rode out of the gates at the first light of dawn. Sellâ tagged along with them, the three having agreed to investigate a few of the nearest ruins together.
The fortress of Dūr-S̆innu stood at the highest point of the narrow canyon that slithered through the impenetrable mountains. Behind the fortress, however, the land gradually opened up, spilling into a large, gently sloping plateau. The weather here was still quite cold, the ground covered in a thick blanket of snow, but the towering mountain peaks that surrounded them sheltered them from the worst of the raging winds. After a few hours of riding through rocky and wind-scorched plains, the road leading steeply downward, they finally emerged below the tree line.
Jasper could think of no better word to describe the scene that stretched out before him than magical. The slopes, although still draped in a fresh blanket of snow, were sheltered from the worst of the weather that ravaged the far sides of the mountains. The plateau was covered in trees, many the all-too-familiar evergreens that dominated alpine landscapes on earth. But another tree was also scattered throughout the forest. Its bark shone in the cold winter sun like silver, and its leaves were a gentle pink, like the flowering of cherry blossoms in the spring. Wherever these trees sprouted, the snow had melted away, and a rich blanket of deep green moss, spotted with hundreds of tiny mushrooms, wrapped in a ring around the tree.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”
“Hmmh?” He was startled out of his daydreams. “Yes, yes they are.”
“They’re called warodim trees, named for the color of their leaves. The Djinn have many legends about them, but the most famous is the tale of a girl named Damqa.” Sellâ fell silent, the tranquility of the empty forests only broken by the sounds of the hooves of their mounts clattering across the icy pavement.
After a few long moments, Jasper couldn’t bear it. “Well? Don’t leave me hanging.”
She flashed him a teasing grin. “Surely a native like yourself knows the story of Damqa better than me?”
He frowned as she laughed. “Like all good stories, they say that Damqa, despite being nothing more than a milkmaid, was one of the fairest maidens in the land. Many sought her hand, from village farm boys to rich merchants. Even scions of noble lines, bringing shame to their house, pursued the porcelain beauty.”
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“But Damqa eschewed all of them. Her heart longed, not for the radiant fire of Shamsha, which beat in her veins, but for the cold, still light of the moon. She wandered through the forests at night, singing beneath the stars, and unbeknownst to her, the stars watched her back.”
“One of them, a son of Selene and Shamsha, fell in love with her. He descended from the heavens, taking on the appearance of a fair elf. He approached the girl during one of her moonlit vigils and there, beneath the snow-kissed pines, he enchanted her with his songs.
‘Ah maiden fair, with silver hair,
with skin as white as milk
With ruby lips, and comely hips
Your hair as soft as silk
Come dance with me, my lover be
Beneath the stars above
Away, we’ll flee, across the sea
I offer you my love.’”
Sellâ paused, wrinkling her brow. “Honestly, I can’t remember the rest of the song; it’s been a long time since I have heard it.”
“In any case, the maiden’s heart was melted by the starry prince’s songs. She lay with him beneath the moonlight, sheltered beneath the pines. But despite the prince’s plea with her, to sail across the seas, Damqa did not want to leave her home, afraid to leave the craggy tops that were all she had ever known."
"So they stayed, but the prince had been right. There on the mountaintops, he could not long escape the gaze of heaven’s court. Furious with her son for running off with a mere mortal, a milkmaid at that, Selene - worshipped under the name Yarha by the Djinn - dragged Damqa’s lover dragged back to the stars. The lovely Damqa was left alone again and - unbeknownst to Selene and the prince - pregnant.”
“As her condition slowly begin to show, no longer did suitors seek her door. Spurned by those around her, Damqa ended up wandering through the frozen wilderness alone, beneath the light of the moon she had so loved. Eventually, the time for the child drew near. She gave birth to a girl, whose skin shone like silver, and from whose head faint strands of pink locks grew. But the child was weak, and died in the icy wastelands where Damqa had been exiled.”
“Weeping, she buried the infant in the shadow of the pine tree, wailing against her fate. Her cries attracted the attention of Selene who found, with sorrow, the grave of her grandchild. The child’s soul had already passed into the Sea of Oblivion so, unable to bring her back, the goddess blessed her grave so that her memory would never be forgotten. From her bones, the first warodim tree sprouted, a tree that would never wither or die, even in the greatest depths of winter, for around its boughs a perpetual spring flourished.”
Ihra had been listening silently to their conversation but butted in as Sella finished the story. “Is there any truth to the story? It’s so sad, the poor girl.”
Sella shrugged, her hair bobbing against her shoulders. “This is a land of many legends, and no one can say for sure which ones really happened. But I think this one is probably true, for that was not the end of Damqa’s story.”
“You see, after Selene blessed her granddaughter’s grave, she also took pity on the lass who had, for so long, loved her light. She descended from the heavens, appearing to the mourning mother, and offered her a boon.”
“They say Damqa became the first of the Moon-kissed, Djinn who eschew the sun’s heat for the moon’s soft light. She returned to her people, her former beauty enhanced ten-fold, as she spread word of her encounter with the goddess. Some followed her and received the moon’s blessing also, changing their very nature. The Moon-kissed are scattered, here and there, throughout the Harei Miqlat, but the bulk of their faction dwells in the northwest corner of the province. I’ve never seen it for myself, but my mother told me that in their greatest city, Dūr-Yarha, the tomb of Damqa can be visited to this day.”
“So, yes, I think the story might be true, at least in part.”
Jasper stared at the beautiful trees as they passed, now bittersweet monuments to lost love.
On the second day, they turned off of the main road, which would have led down to the settlement of Ya’ura, on the edge of the frozen lands. Instead, they headed west towards the frozen Lake Hurbas̆u. There, along the icy shores, were the ruins of an ancient colony of the Moon-kissed, that Sellâ had on her list. It was, admittedly, a bit of a detour, but Jasper didn't think his mission from Kas̆dael was particularly time-sensitive. The problem, whatever it is, had arisen a few decades ago; he figure a few more months wouldn’t make a difference.
There was a rugged beauty to the land, and as the elevation slowly decreased, there were more and more signs of life. Unlike the almost abandoned heartland of Sappiya, the tundral forests were dotted with small hamlets.
Most of the population was, surprisingly, farmers; apparently there was a type of root that grew beneath the snow and could be harvested with some regularity, but there was also a wealth of natural resources. Harvesting rich furs from the wildlife, mushrooms from the warodim trees, timber from the forests, and rare minerals from surrounding mountains, the Djinn dwelling in the frozen woodlands were surprisingly prosperous. Like him, they were largely unbothered by the cold, the fire within chasing away the icy tendrils of Imhullu.
Ihra was far less appreciative of the weather, although once Ihra found a formation in her rune book that allowed her to erect a temperature-proof barrier around her tent at night, her mood decidedly improved.
After more than a week of riding, Lake Hurbas̆u came into view. The lake was far larger than it had appeared on Sellâ’s map, its size really impressing on Jasper the sheer scale of the province. The shore stretched out of sight in both directions, the lake backing up all the way to the roots of mountains. Much of the surface was covered in large sheets of ice, speckled by large brown dots that, as Jasper grew closer, proved to be a creature that looked a bit like a giant otter.
But the lake, though beautiful, was a harsh environment. The winds tore down the mountain slopes and, unobstructed by any trees, raged across the frozen lake, making the region far colder than even a few miles back. A brisk snow started up as they rode across the hoar-seared sands, and even Jasper was greatly relieved when they spotted the welcome sight of humble homes looming out of the encroaching darkness.