53 Harvest, 385 - Reishada, Ogrekill, Charan

Another sunrise crested Reishada’s ornate walls, the warm light flowing down to puddle on the streets and sidewalks. It was a warm morning, a breeze filled with the dry scent of fallen leaves teased across the caravansary, rustling across the tents and snapping loose bits of canvas taut. Howard sat next to the fire, he had brought the coals back to vibrant life and added more wood until he had a roaring fire. He scratched at the stubble on his chin as he looked out over the city that was just beginning to stir.

It had been nearly a month since he had left his home in Iowa and traveled more miles than he could account for. The fire danced in the breeze, brown eyes distracted. They were alive. That was the important part. They were alive. Alive though they may be everything was strange in this place. Magic and monsters. Mysteries and danger. Something about the place made Howard feel like he had finally, truly, come home.

He held out one hand, studying the callouses of hard work, the scars of too many fights across his knuckles. He had never been an eloquent man, that was for Cark. He had never really been a deep thinker, not a spiritual man like his brother, nor a smart man filled with brilliant thoughts and all the answers. He had more questions than answers most days, but since he came here the questions had just piled up even more. The fire snapped and crackled as it ate away at the logs he had put on it.

She stepped out of her tent, shaggy brown hair glowing with honey colored highlights glowing in the morning sun. Her bright blue eyes caught the light next, gleaming like a cloudless summer sky as they scanned the caravansary. She caught sight of Howard and a smile flashed quickly across her lips, dimples flaring to life for an instant before the smile vanished. “Wake early.” She said. “Hungry? I cook, you eat.”

Howard smiled up at her. “Yep.”

Amien nodded her head and started gathering the ingredients and supplies she would need to cook for the camp. “Sleep well?” She asked as she pulled some of the coals away from the main bed of the fire to an area she could set an iron grate on.

“Yep.” Howard answered. “You?”

Amien put a pan on the grate to warm. “Little one snore.” She said.

“Who is she?”

The farspeaker smiled, dimples flashing again. “She Alsaian. From old stories. Ask Tamesh. He tell good story.”

“You tell me.”

She shook her head and glanced over her shoulder, blue eyes serious. “No good. Tamesh tell. He tell good story.”

Howard watched as she cut a large sausage into the pan adding an onion and several other vegetables. The smell that wafted out of the cast iron pan teased his nose and had him salivating. As the camp stirred around them, Howard watched. She moved with easy grace the motions familiar and concise. Her knife flashed in the morning light as she chopped potatoes, adding them to the pan. By the time she added the eggs the whole company had gathered around the fire, the smells coming out of the pan had drawn them like moths to the flame.

The tiny woman wrapped in a thick cloak emerged from Amien’s tent. She stood for a long moment, looking around. Those strange yellow eyes flitted over each of the gathered people, from the orckin to the shadairian and back over to the humans. Amien handed her a small bowl of fruit and she settled down on the ground cross legged.

There were a hundred things he wanted to ask, but Amien hadn’t answered his questions and the stranger seemed quiet and apart from all the others. Her eyes looked tired, haunted and terribly sad. It pulled at him, the sadness in her eye.

“Mornin’, Miss.” He said as he moved to sit next to her. Her yellow eyes darted toward Amien before meeting Howard’s. She seemed nervous.

“Good morning.” Her accent was different than any of the others he had heard since coming here.

He was quiet for a long time. “Sunrise was beautiful.” He said at last.

“I always enjoyed the sunrise in Alsais. Since I left, I guess I haven’t really watched the sun rise. Maybe I should.”

“Yep.”

“It's so much colder here than Alsais. I would have thought it would be warmer in the southlands. It’s harvest season, isn’t it?”

“Reckon it is, seems like.”

“Reaching out to the world feels like reaching through cotton. I can feel the Weave, feel the Balance, but I can’t touch it anymore.”

She was speaking to herself as much as she was speaking to Howard. Her eyes had fallen to focus on her bowl of fruit. She picked up a small berry and popped it in her mouth. Howard’s eyes skipped over to Amien who was still cleaning up after cooking. The alsaian was silent for a long moment before she spoke again.

“All of my life I have felt it. All of my life the Weave has been a part of me. I could feel it, could reach for the possibilities and bring them into being. It was like breathing. I could feel the Balance of the world. Not perfect but stable. Grandmother says that it hasn’t been truly balanced since the First Tear. It has been stable though. No change.”

She ate another berry, popping it into her mouth and chewing carefully. Howard sat next to her, his own plate nearly empty. He didn’t speak, but he listened. Howard was not a man who knew what to say, he was not a man with all the answers.

“Until recently.” She continued. “Recently there was a terrible shift to the balance and now it is in flux.” She silently stared into the fruit bowl for a long moment. “The very Weave trembles with something. I don’t know what, but it trembles. The Balance shakes. The World is changing. The Sleepers have awakened.”

Taleka fell silent again, staring into the bowl of fruit. The silence between them stretched longer and longer, spooling out. It could have been awkward, both of them searching for something to say to break the ever expanding silence. Instead, the silence was patient, waiting, ready for her to speak. Ready for him to listen.

And she spoke.

“The Grandmothers sent us away. A pair of us. We were to let the Others know about the Sleepers. Then something happened. We were cut off from the Weave.” She reached one hand out fingers passing through the Weave. The sense of spiderwebs brushing against her skin, of potential waiting to be tapped, was absent and its absence sent an ache tearing through her. “She was afraid.” She shook her head, her hand making a fist. “It’s frightening, you know? Not being able to…” She trailed off. She glanced at Howard. His brown eyes were focused on her. She had his attention, he was listening.

“You spend your who-” She stuttered, stumbling for words. “I-i-it’s like breathing. It’s like touching the soul of the world. Like grabbing a lightning bolt.” She ran the long fingers of one hand through her hair. “You understand?”

“Reckon my brother’d say it was like talking to God. I ‘spect bein’ cut from it’d be like bein’ cut from God.” His drawl was slow and confident.

“Being cut off from God.” Taleka mused, “That’s a good way to say it.”

“Yep.”

A smile flickered across her features, “She was scared. I don’t blame her. It’s terrifying, being cut off. The worst part is that I can still see it, it’s right there.” She reached out again, fingers passing through the Weave. Her spirit longed for the touch of it. She sighed, hand falling to take another fruit from the bowl.

“You scarit, too?”

She had been looking at the bowl, concentrating on the food, but her yellow eyes shot toward Howard’s. “Yep,” She said. He smiled, his deep brown eyes crinkling and a dimple winking to life in his right cheek. They both laughed.

It didn’t last long, but it was like a warm updraft. It cradled her and lifted her up, bolstering her spirits for a moment. “Have you heard of my kind, before? Alsaians?”

“Nah. I’m not from around here.”

She nodded, popping the last of the fruit in her mouth. “Tell me about where you’re from.”

“I’m no storyteller.” He protested, looking at Amien, watching her as she finished cleaning up after breakfast. “I’m a simple man.”

The farspeaker came and sat down next to Howard, a broad smile on her face. “Tell simple story then, simple man.”

Howard arched one dark brow, he was silent for a long moment before he began to speak. He told them of his home, his world, his family. He spoke and they listened.