They feared the dark, now. Rightly so, Sojo thought, as they’d heard something moving beyond their camp almost every night since Eastgate. They were quiet as a whisper, whatever they were, and left little for tracks in the sun-baked earth. It was becoming more sandy as they progressed, but even as the soil loosened the only markings to be found were indistinct. Fairly useless still, according to Eyn.

And the local vegetation didn’t seem any more inclined to grow than crops in the parched soil. Brehen had found the Scouts’ plant, a little green bulbous thing with hard ridges and deep roots, and had changed the horses to packed oats. Now the countdown had really started, and within a month they would either have to find a new way to keep supplied or turn back.

The stress was mounting, but with the trouble at Eastgate the party was actually holding together better than before. It seemed a midnight escape and the tough decision to refuse the farmers had somehow helped: they had all felt their commitment to the journey reconfirmed as the sun rose that morning. Brehen abandoned his evening hunts in favour of checking over the horses neurotically, Eyn was mapping their course using every trick she’d been taught, and Mirrel would be bouncing between the two to double check ration levels every night as their dinner simmered over the small fire. There was a sense of fragility, still, but she’d take it over being at each other’s throats.

Sojo felt she was contributing the least now that the ability to speak with strangers wasn’t in demand, and she’d made it her goal to draw the rest into conversation at every occasion. And with better results than she’d expected. As it turned out, Brehen had an hour-long lecture ready at all times on the utility of various meat and cheese combinations, and she’d gotten him and Mirrel to actually agree on the right way to smoke meat for travel rations.

Eyn had been left out for the first while, until Sojo had steered the talk towards effective butchery methods and the types of knives best suited, at which point a three-way argument had ensued lasting the better part of the afternoon. All of them had been nearly hoarse from the lengthy debate, and Sojo had marked down a mental win for the week.

As the sun set under crimson skies, though, the conversation always petered away. There was little for nightly storytelling, as the encroaching shadows breathed with unseen visitors in the minds of those on watch. The pre-dawn moments were what scared her the most. She only lit fires on half the mornings, as they were delving into less desirable rations, but the glimmering stars in twilight reminded her of the reflecting eyes she’d once seen.

On this morning, Mirrel had already crawled out of his tent. He looked tired and complained through every day’s march, but she knew he wasn’t sleeping well. They sat together as the stars faded beneath the rising blue, taking solace in keeping each other awake and being able to ease their attention to the night’s noises.

“I haven’t forgotten, you know,” Mirrel spoke softly.

Sojo watched the last glimmers of a star fade beneath the coming dawn. “And what are you remembering? You know that we’ve spoken a few times, right?”

Even with the sun hidden, she could see the flash of teeth from his grin. “I do seem to recall being pestered for conversation.” He shifted in the sand, turning to face her slightly. “You never told me about your travels. Every time I’ve asked, you’ve started lecturing from that history book of yours, slow as a snail.”

“It’s not my fault I’m a little slow. I haven’t read out loud to people often.” She felt a grin of her own rising, as conversations with Mirrel seemed to cause. She gestured toward herself, trying to parody elegance. “I prefer to converse, as a matter of fact, not read from histories without any left to disagree.”

“Be that as it may, you’re still a rather lousy orator. But you’re dodging the point.”

She huffed, but he just squinted at her and waited. She was tempted to let him wait. The morning was cool, but comfortable enough with a couple layers, and the unbroken landscape made an amazing show every morning as colours swept across the sky. She was starting to focus on another star, trying to catch the moment it slipped from view, but he kicked lightly at her and squinted harder.

“Oh, fine then. There’s not much to tell.” She leaned back, resting on her elbows. “My family has a history of travel, on my mother’s side. It was a tradition that before you settled into a trade, you’d take a trip somewhere that no-one in the family could tell you about. Sate your curiosity.

“My father’s side wasn’t too happy about that. They’d never left the capital, even claimed to have had relatives in the city when it was still named Myranel, and they were proud of that. It made for some tension between the families. So my mum and him decided to go somewhere, take a trip. They told the families they were going to find their way to Bluefield since nobody had voyaged east in a while, and set off within a week.”

She looked over at Mirrel, checking to see if she was straying too far from his question, but he hadn’t moved an inch. She met his eyes, and continued. “What they didn’t say was that they weren’t coming back.”

“My parents told me they were tired of the families bickering and decided to just get away from it. Bluefield seemed pleasant enough from what they’d heard, and what they’d heard was that it was named for the fields of blue flowers that grew like weeds. That was it. They gambled their future on some notable vegetation.

“But they’re still happily living there, so I suppose it worked. I was raised with stories from both sides, of long travels and distant lands, but also knowing the city of your birth with amazing intimacy, and never got the chance to really understand either. Not surprising, then, that I always wanted to lead an expedition like this.” Mirrel’s grin had faded a bit, though he was still paying attention. She decided to pick up the tempo a little.

“When the Eastern push was announced last year, I figured this could be my chance to travel, and get that experience I’d heard so much about. The shame was that I couldn’t afford to go. My parents get along, but tailoring and clothesmaking isn’t a lucrative profession by any stretch. Enter to the stage, my grandmother.” Sojo sat up, enjoying the taste of the words as she spoke. The sky was getting bright, and she no longer felt such a strong urge to speak in whispers.

“She’d decided to take one last trip, in her old age, and came to visit my parents. It’d been years since they scampered off, and they’d been sending letters for a while once the families had calmed down. She’d brought a decent chunk of my aunts and uncles as well, and for the first time I got to hear the stories firsthand, and ask as many questions as I could think of. It was amazing, getting told outrageous stories that I wouldn’t have blinked at as a child, and every now and then even something I could believe.

“When they were getting ready to leave, my grandmother told me she’d heard that I wanted to go east. She gave me enough money to get started, and helped lend me the reputation to get funding for the rest. It’s how I could arrange the expedition.”

Mirrel nodded. Sojo would bet that’d answered a few questions he’d been holding in the back of his head. “So then, this is your first trip?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to let on when we were meeting and discussing travel plans. I thought it might be discouraging, or that you’d think I’d be a liability along the way.”

Mirrel hummed and nodded, but didn’t reply. Finally he looked away, and glanced at the sun cresting over the sands. “I’ll wake the others. Looks like it’s time to go.”

-

As they walked, Sojo watched the sky return to a full blue. The purple hues were visible on the horizon, but never as pronounced at sunrise. The group was faster in the mornings than they’d been at the beginning of their trip, wanting more time before sunset to make camp, but it was hard to feel any kind of haste when your footprints were the only markings of your passage.

There were no mountains, no hills or valleys, no trees or shrubs or even particularly tall grasses at this point. Houses, roads, farmers fields, signposts, passing travellers, there was nothing! A month ago she would have thought it enough to drive her mad, trekking through an endless expanse of dried grass and unbroken skies, but now… Something she carried with her rejoiced with the passing miles, and she found herself smiling at every painless step.

The wind had finally returned, as well. She wasn’t sure if it was the distance they’d marched that had broken them through or if the slow change of seasons was bringing back the wind, but it was at their back as often as not.

Sojo stretched out her arms, feeling the breeze linger over her skin – now fully darkened, not burning – and carrying with it fine-grained wisps of powder sand and dust. In this void of life, the sound of wind blowing through grass stalks played a melody over the rhythm of her feet.

She turned to Brehen, walking at his spot beside the horses. “I never thought I’d be so thankful for just a breath of breeze,” she said, stretching her hands overhead.

“It’s a pleasant change, though cooler weather would have been welcome with it,” he answered, running a hand through his hair. He’d cut it shorter with Eyn’s help, but hadn’t done more than trim his beard since they’d left. Another month of growth and his family wouldn’t recognize him.

“There’s something to the warmth though. It burns, but it burns with energy! Makes me feel like I could walk for days without rest,” she called out. She closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun, revelling in the heat streaming down.

“Well some of us still sweat in the desert,” Brehen retorted.

“Wait, what was that?” Eyn called out.

Sojo turned to see her sit up in the wagon. Eyn crawled to the front and studied her up and down. “You aren’t sweating,” she accused. Before Sojo could respond, Eyn rolled backwards and out of sight.

“Ummm, what was-”

“Here!” Eyn called out, throwing a full waterskin at her. She yelped and deflected it, relieved when it landed unharmed. “Oh, uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to throw it so hard.”

Sojo picked it up. “It’s just water, right? Why the sudden interest?”

“Enjoying heat, not sweating, and feeling energetic are the signs I was taught that someone’s about to die from lack of water or a sun-fever.” She hopped down from the wagon and jogged over.

“So you’re saying that if I feel great and have a good mood, I’m probably dying?” Sojo batted weakly at Eyn’s hands as she felt at her forehead.

“Pretty much, now hold still,” Eyn said. Sojo opened the skin and took a swig as Eyn obsessed over her hairline. “Alright, you don’t feel too warm.” Eyn frowned, and poked the skin again. “Keep drinking, and hop in the wagon for a little bit. Once you finish the skin, if you don’t puke it back up then you’re probably fine.”

Sojo stared at the bulging waterskin. “Finish it? I’m not sure I could do that in half a day!” She sloshed it in her hands, and thought about trying to down that much water in one go. “Nope, that won’t work. Try again?”

Eyn threw her hands up. “Fine then, finish half of it and go lie down. If you die, I’m not to blame.”

“Much better,” Sojo said, and started drinking again. She slowed her pace, letting the wagon draw closer, and felt at her forehead. It felt normal to her, if maybe a little warm from the sun. Was that a bad thing? “Ehn, at least I’ll die comfortable,” she muttered, and climbed up the wooden slats.

She stood up in the wagon, using the extra height to gaze at ever more distant grass and sandy soil. In the early days of the expedition, standing could show things hidden in the distance, but now the drooping horizon was only more of the same. It was also safer on the paved road, she thought as the wagon juddered over clumps of grass.

She crouched down, and then flopped to a seat on the wagon floor. As she drank, an idle curiosity struck her, and she stood again. Far ahead of them, far enough that it was almost indistinguishable from the line of the horizon, it seemed like there was a ripple in the earth. The whole affair shimmered and bent under the rising heat of the sun, but…

“Hey Eyn, you have good eyes. Can you take a look at this?” She heard the wagon creak as the woman climbed on. “Look ahead there. Do you see anything?”

Eyn peered forwards, shading her eyes with a hand to block out the partially-risen sun. “Maybe? It looks like a trench dug into the ground.”

They exchanged glances, but didn’t comment further. Before long Brehen forced Eyn down for the sake of the horses and they continued on, but Sojo could feel the question niggling at her. By noon it was closer in the distance, but the trough still remained unexplained.

It wasn’t until late afternoon that they finally reached the depression, or remembered the admonishments of the Scouts they’d passed. As the sun slipped lower in the sky, they stared down hundreds of feet of steep slope, cutting the desert like a bowl a hundred miles wide. They’d reached the Sink.