Wirrin was in the chair for three more days. Yern did all her walking for her. Vaulgat spent most of the time discussing what to do next. Despite Wirrin’s explanation that the only way to banish a Fiend was to kill all of its mages, a lot of the clan wanted to stay with the statue to defend it in case the Church sent more people.

‘If more of Tontaer’s mages were coming, they’d already be here,’ Mkaer had rumbled. Wirrin had repeated the thought, but someone had pointed out that if more than just War mages were on their way, they would be much slower.

By the time she could walk for more than a couple of minutes at a time, Wirrin was ready to leave on her own. Luckily, Vaulgat had decided to split up. The decision was entirely practical: the animals were getting bored of the sand.

About a third of the clan, including Taug and ten of the new mages, decided to head for Fauvat Faulget to find better grazing for the animals and stock up on feed while the rest of Vaulgat stayed with Ulvaer and started irrigating the surrounds from the still-bubbling spring.

‘She speaks to me, at last,’ Ulvaer rasped into Wirrin’s mind. She was alone in a small tent beside the healer’s wagon, the night before they were supposed to leave.

‘Yern?’ Wirrin thought. ‘Did she want privacy?’

When it was silent and Wirrin concentrated, she could feel that faint echo of Ulvaer’s power in the back of her mind. After three days of conversations with Ulvaer, Wirrin was fairly sure she was hearing Ulvaer speak to the new mages. It was just as indecipherable as when the Fiends spoke to each other, but it was interesting.

For the most part, Ulvaer didn’t tell Wirrin what it spoke to the others about, and she wasn’t expecting it to tell her what Yern wanted to talk about. But she lay on her rugs and thin mattress and let the faint feeling of Ulvaer’s power drift through her.

‘Oh, she is very sensible,’ Ulvaer rasped. ‘And quite enamoured.’

‘I’ve noticed,’ Wirrin thought.

‘You ought to be very kind to her,’ Ulvaer rattled.

‘I am.’

As Wirrin listened, that feeling faded away to nothing. She let her mind wander.

Yern’s footsteps were very soft in the loose sand of the camp, but Wirrin heard them. She reached out and unlaced the flap of her tent just before tentative fingers tested it. Slowly, almost silently, Yern pushed the flap open just enough to see in.

Wirrin looked back.

The shyolg didn’t have particularly strong family units, in Wirrin’s experience. Once a child was done breastfeeding, they largely spent time with whoever they wished to. But in her time with Koholshya, Wirrin had noticed a lot of kids generally gravitated toward their mothers.

Since Wirrin had arrived, Yern gravitated to her. She spent time with Taug and Osga, as an apprentice healer would, but it wasn’t quite the same thing. There was certainly no one in the camp that Yern addressed as her mother.

Yern crawled into Wirrin’s little tent and laced the flap closed again. Wirrin rolled onto her right side and pulled Yern against her, Yern’s face nestled into her neck. Yern sighed, but the tension stayed in her back and shoulders.

‘I don’t want you to leave me,’ Yern whispered.

Wirrin had never even thought about having children, the concept didn’t interest her at all. She’d always gotten along with children and teenagers, as she’d travelled around and stayed on farms or with fellow workers. It had been hard to get the hang of how to be kind to someone so young.

‘I don’t want you to die,’ Wirrin whispered.

Yern sighed. ‘Aut Vash, aut vash.’

The chief complaint of every teenager. ‘Og eshk aut Vash,’ Wirrin said. ‘Okt yask shyavt.’

‘Aut yask.’

It didn’t take long for Yern to fall asleep, relaxing in Wirrin’s arms. Wirrin wasn’t far behind.

Even in her current state, Wirrin was quite sure she could have made it to Fauvat Faulget faster by herself. They left the sand faster than they’d gotten to Ulvaer’s statue, but once they were back into the savannah, they slowed down significantly to let the animals graze.

Wirrin was just as sure that it was a more pleasant six days travel than three days on her own would have been. She couldn’t begrudge the animals wanting some fresh food after more than a week of dry feed in the sand.

The caravan moved as fast as the unhitched animals, slowing or stopping at times to let the shepherds catch up. Wirrin mostly rode on the healer’s storage wagon, driven by Taug and sometimes Yern, but there was no risk of falling behind when she decided to walk a while instead.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

On the second day out of the sand, Wirrin spotted a herd of wildebeest off to the northwest. A huge herd meandering across the scrub. She wouldn’t have taken much notice of it if not for Ulvaer.

‘That looks like a wonderful opportunity,’ Ulvaer cackled. It’s voice had an odd, reverberant quality to it.

The other mages in the caravan looked over at the wildebeest from whatever they’d been doing. Even with the creaking of the carts, the occasional animal noise, and the general chatter, Wirrin could hear that distant cackling and rattling and rasping.

‘Are you in a fit state to hunt, Wirrin?’ Ulvaer rasped.

Wirrin sighed and got up from the bench of the cart. ‘I doubt it,’ she grumbled, stepping down into the grass. Still, she joined the other mages headed in the general direction of the herd.

‘You could stay with the rest of them,’ Ulvaer rattled.

‘Could I?’ Wirrin grabbed her bow and pulled the string onto it as she walked. She was already starting to sweat, already starting to breathe heavily. Why couldn’t she just stay on the healer’s cart and let all the new mages hunt for themselves?

Wirrin didn’t join in as the other mages started running. She stomped along, flexing her bow and trying to take deep breaths. She certainly didn’t join the three mages who dropped onto their hands to lope like hyenas across the sand, spreading out to drive the herd closer to those still on their feet.

Why couldn’t she just leave them to their hunt? What did she care about showing off?

Wirrin’s arrow took a wildebeest just behind the shoulder, the back of the herd split away. One of the loping mages was already in position to start pushing the fragment of the herd toward the other mages.

Ulvaer cackled and rattled in Wirrin’s head, no reverberations this time. ‘They’re complaining about you.’

‘Good,’ Wirrin grumbled.

She ignored the rest of the mages and their oddly sharp teeth and nails, dragging the wildebeest down in shrieking and blood. She stomped all the way over to the wildebeest she’d shot, grabbed it by one of the horns, and started dragging it back to the caravan.

That was a mistake.

Wirrin spat blood into the sand as she dragged the wildebeest.

‘Now they praise you,’ Ulvaer cackled.

‘Weak convictions.’

Naertral laughed like a pond full of frogs.

Wirrin was about ready to collapse onto the ground by the time she got the wildebeest back to the caravan, which had stopped and started setting up camp despite the early hour. It wasn’t entirely the fault of the animals that they moved slowly.

Yern made Wirrin ride on the cart all of the next day, and kept a close eye on her the day after that.

‘They’re not here, either,’ Mkaer rumbled.

Wirrin had left the desert before the hetavatok last time. She’d only had Yolget’s impassioned description to go by. He hadn’t been too far off the mark. It was much bigger than Wirrin had expected, and louder.

In her time with Koholshya, Wirrin had noticed that the shyolg tended to be quiet. It wasn’t an etiquette that was rigidly enforced, but even young children picked up on it. There was a general subduedness to most of the people Wirrin had met in the desert.

The hetavatok was clearly the exception.

Hundreds of tents and carts and wagons were spread along the banks of the spring lakes, hung with lights and colourful banners of all sorts of designs. It clashed aggressively with the calm water and green desert. Instruments could be heard almost to the horizon, mixed with the chatter of people and animals.

There was no singing. Even the ektshyolg, who were more relaxed about the traditions of the desert, didn’t sing. The closest they got was rhythmic recitations of stories and poems, not quite as far as chanting.

A cheer spiked through the hetavatok as the caravan from Vaulgat reached shouting distance in the mid-afternoon of the sixth day out from Ulvaer’s statue. They started shuffling the wagons and animals into the general conglomeration, just enough separation that they could be located as an individual clan, but only just.

Under Yern’s severe frown, Wirrin collected her belongings from the healer’s wagon and was on her way into the huge camp when someone caught her arm, lightly.

Yern had turned her severe frown on Gotak, one of the mages, who’s hand hovered near Wirrin’s arm but not touching. ‘Wirrin, are you going?’

‘That was the plan,’ Wirrin said. ‘Off to meet some friends.’

Gotak retracted his hand, glancing confusedly at Yern’s impressive glare.

‘From Koholshya?’ Wirrin added, hoping she wouldn’t have to actually explain.

Gotak looked at her for a moment. ‘Oh, yes, I recall,’ he said. ‘How long are you planning to stay at the hetavatok?’

Wirrin shrugged. ‘I don’t really make plans. But I’m sure I’ll need more time to recover completely.’

‘He doesn’t know what’s going on, but doesn’t want to appear foolish,’ Ulvaer rasped.

‘I already told Herdok, at least,’ Wirrin said. ‘I’m going to talk to Koholshya. Talking to one of the ektshyolgtok will be the best way to get the word around.’

Gotak nodded. ‘Oh, yes. Sensible. Until next time I see you.’ He held out his left hand and Wirrin put her left palm on his.

Yern turned the glare back onto Wirrin.

‘Didn’t I say you could hang around until I leave?’ Wirrin said.

Yern kept on glaring.

Wirrin had only met a few clans in her eight months in the desert, and though she exchanged hellos and the odd introduction as she meandered through the hetavatok, she didn’t stop anywhere for more than an hour until she actually recognised something.

What she recognised with the absolutely massive storage wagon with one wheel of a completely different design to the other five. The massive harnesses were nowhere to be seen, but the elephants that usually pulled the wagon were in the water nearby, enduring being splashed by a big gaggle of children and calves.

‘As sure as the sun is high, that’s Wirrin,’ a man’s voice boomed across the hubbub of the hetavatok.

‘Ovt ishok ekshok, olg Yolget,’ Wirrin said.

Yolget, who was taller than Wirrin now, and solid with muscle, wrapped her in a too tight hug. ‘You remember how to speak, I see,’ he grinned. ‘And I notice that you’ve acquired an angry child.’

‘Yern, this is Yolget from Koholshya,’ Wirrin said. ‘Yolget, Yern from Vaulgat.’

Yern managed to smooth her face into a neutral expression as she held out her left hand to Yolget. ‘Nice to meet you, Yolget from Koholshya.’

‘And nice to meet you, Yern from Vaulgat.’ Yolget put his left palm on Yern’s. ‘Do you know my cousin, Taug?’

‘Oh, your aupt’tholgtok, Taug?’ Wirrin said.

Yern snorted. Yolget winced.

‘Yes, I know Taug,’ Yern said. ‘He’s teaching me medicine and such.’

‘Ovt ishok eksholg, olg gat Wirrin,’ a woman’s voice proclaimed from behind Yolget.

‘You remember how I said you could hang around until I leave?’ Wirrin leaned down to Yern.

‘Yes.’ Yern prepared a glare.

‘I may need some privacy, soon. Hopefully.’

Ishget, Yolget’s mother, wrapped Wirrin in an equally tight, but much softer, hug. ‘Wirrin it’s been far too long.’ She waggled her eyebrows.

‘Gross,’ Yern and Yolget said in unison.