When he rolled off his bed the next morning, the entirety of the company had already begun packing.

Azhar noticed him first, “Good, you’re awake mouse. Get packing.”

Cirin yawned in jaw snapping fashion, to which Azhar merely shrugged and went about his business. Cirin was always the fastest packer. He finished just as his companions did. Azhar led him out the door as he declared as much only to find a crossed armed Ferah waiting outside.

“Ferah,I tought ya said ya undastand?” quarrelled Azhar.

Ferah forced a smile, “Not till you and ya friends enjoy a full meal and bath. I’m not having da folks at da bazaar tink any less of me afta all dese years.”

“A bath?!” shot a smiling Taba, pushing her way past the wall named Azhar.

She glanced at the man grinning back at her, and instantly reared her head away, “Unless we must leave dis instant dat is.” She tapered.

Ahzar sighed, “Fine. We’ll stay fa dat. Da road to da bazaar be a long one afta all.”

“So we’ve decided dat ta be our destination?” mused Manama. She met Azhar’s sharpened gaze, “Ya ready ta face ya demons, ‘old mon’?”

Azhar nudged his head at Ferah, “An old friend convinced me ta.”

Ferah led her guests to a bathhouse two floor lowers and after that let them feast in the banquet hall on the fifth floor.

Since it was free, Cirin made sure to indulge himself in the foods he had never tried. Mountain goat kebabs and cheese, a strange variety of poached forest fowl eggs, and even a black gelatinous cube that was supposedly a dessert. He had to spit that cube out. To think something so sweet could be eaten was beyond him, though looking at Sol, he realised that there were those who still enjoyed it. He edged his eyes at Taba, the now fat faced noble was no exception.

Ferah offered the lot of the a selection of fine fruit drinks following the desserts. Once Azhar refused for them, she instead showed them to the lobby.

Cirin squinted when he got here. It was nearly empty. No one would have believed how bustling it was the day prior.

There, he found himself staring at the strange statue once again.

“Ya be curious about it?” Asked Ferah.

Cirin turned to her, then his distancing comrades as they paced towards the exit.

“Everyting in dis lobby be new and clean, but dat statue…”

“Tis an owl one.” Remarked the woman, “Da people I got it from had a newer version commissioned so dey tought ta dispose of dis. Luckily, word reached me befa it happened and I gladly offered ta give it shelter here.”

Ferah formed a smile as she noticed the boy still staring at the work, “But ya probably mo curious about who dis statue is of.” She laughed.

Cirin did not need to nod this time for her to answer.

Ferah pointed to the first of the two figures, “Da woman was a renowned fortune tella, her name was Hannah. The man,” She shifted her arm, “was a famous swordsman of da red gale style. His name was Jafna.”

Cirin studied the aged thing for a while longer. He spoke with his eyes still glued to the rock, “Friends of yours?” he posed.

Ferah strayed from answering long enough for Cirin to think she hadn’t heard the question. When he started moving, she stopped him with a grip on his shoulder. He turned to her the moment she pointed at Azhar by the main entrance, “And his.” She revealed, “Dough knowing him, he probably won’t tell ya as much. Listen, a man who’s tale is known by most uddas is eida a man who boasts or a man who’s lived a life worth knowin’.”

Cirin paused under her grip, “What?” he hushed.

“Use ya ears, ya eyes, and find da answers befa dey be forced upon ya. Dis may not mean much now, but one day ya will undastand. Take care of old Azhar fa me.” She patted Cirin on the shoulder and let him go.

Cirin acknowledged the woman and made his way to his companions. Every few steps, he couldn’t help but glance back at her. He thought he’d heard everything from the conversation last night, but her words just then made him think there was more to it. And whatever it was, she was right, Azhar would never tell him.

The searing sunlight singed his eyes the moment he escaped the inn. He noticed much of the guests the day prior had vanished since then. He smiled as he craned his head to the unfortunate spot across the road. Most snakes were gone to.

Toftof was speaking up Azhar quite a bit as the man in question flung his bags onto the pack snake.

“What do ya mean she convinced ya?” began the man.

“She just did, Tof.”

“Mana and I have been trying ta convince ya fa weeks, and dis woman says one word and ya listen to her?”

Azhar finished the last of his bags, “If ya agree wit what she wants why argue?”

“Dat dun be da matta, Azhar, it’s da message dat it leaves behind.”

“And what would dat be?” said Azhar.

“Dat ya consida what she says mo important dan da word of ya own allies. Who’s ta say ya want come across anudda of ya friends ya trust mo and decided ta attack us based on what dey say, eh?”

“Ya rememba dat ya tried ta kill me. And it wasn’t dat I trust her mo, I just agreed wit her reasoning.” Azhar sighed and led the man to the front of the snake, where he quickly pat the snake twice to go. Once the snake started to edge forwards, Azhar continued, “Dere be nowhere safe nearby fa who we intend ta protect, Tof. Da Bazaar be da safest place as of now. Da only problem be reaching it.”

Toftof paused his portest, “Jegga? Ya tink we’ll cross him?”

“Most certainly.” Confirmed Azhar, “His men aren’t da kind ta act on dere own. Someone hired him ta kill Sol, he’ll surely try ta finish da job.”

“doesn’t help dat da sands between here and da Bazaar be his territory.” Remarked Toftof.

Azhar glanced the way of Toftof, “Dis is starting ta remind me of why I ta avoid da bazaar.”

“If Manama be remembarin correctly, you and ya two friends tricked and bested Jegga on ya way to da mountains.” Chimed Manama.

“A matta he surely hasn’t forgot.” Azhar stopped mid-way and sentence, “Look, we can save da reminiscing till afta we reach da bazaar. Udda wise ya lot goinna convince me ta turn back.”

There was quiet for a while after that. Nothing more than the chirp of birds and relentless creep of snakes. By an hours’ time, they had bested the ramp leading out of the forest valley.

“What of Nero’s guards?” prompted Toftof at the top.

“Spoke ta bot of em. Just a couple of louts hired wit good Galokin coin.” Sighed Azhar, “Dough one was adamant dat a certain wild haired boy tried some trick on him.”

Cirin feigned a shrug when the man turned to him.

“What trick can I do, old mon?”

“Dat be what I like ta know, mouse.”

“Nero ordered one his guards to kill Cirin.” Countered Catherine, “So Cirin tried engaging the man in conversation to distract him long enough to survive. I’m sure whatever ‘trick’ this man believes Cirin to have pulled off is simply a means to justify his incompetence.”

Azhar’s gaze remained on Cirin or quite a while longer. Then he shook is head and shrugged his shoulders.

Azhar spoke as he moved to the head of the pack, “I be overthinking dis, eh?”

Cirin responded by expanding the distance between them even more. Soon, he found himself walking by the back of the second pack snake alongside Manama, who usually took up the rear.

He narrowed his eyes the moment he saw what sat on the back of that snake.

“Get of da snake.” He demanded of the girl.

“You were doing it wrong.” She shot back.

Cirin tilted his head. Clearly he was the one walking, and she was the one sitting when they were both required to walk.

“We’re supposed ta be walking.” Roared the boy.

“Not dat, da spell ya tried to cast yestaday.” She narrowed her golden specs with her chin balanced on her knuckles, “Ya tried ta use my eyes witout my permission, ya thick-headed thief. ‘Do you consent’?” she quoted scornfully, “Dose are just words if ya dun use da magic behind it.”

Cirin turned to Manama for confirmation.

The woman nodded, “She’s right.” Hummed the fortune teller.

“Den how do I do it?” mused Cirin.

“Why should I attempt ta teach an inane incompetent such as yaself?”

“Ok.” Started the boy, “Say, fa instance, da udda day if dat man hadn’t shown up.”

Taba lifted her head off her hands. Her mouth formed an immediate frown.

“Dey said dey were going ta kill me first. But what den?” continued the boy. He lifted his hand and dragged it across his chin. He smiled as he sagged his head down, and pointed to the girl with his other hand, “Had I been killed, ya would have surely been next. Forgive me fa assuming ya ability ta come up wit plans isn’t as imaginative as ya use of words, but I’d bet ya would have died witout so much as a blip of an idea.”

“Dat’s not true!” she protested.

“Isn’t it? My plan was ta use a ‘place between you and I’ ta knock the man into a daze and make use of da confusion.”

“Rada cleva.” Laughed Manama.

“What would you have done?” He asked of the girl.

“I would have… I would have convinced dem of my family’s wealth. Long enough fa me ta escape and use my magic.”

“Clearly dey had a betta benefactor dan you. Isn’t Nero da prince of Galokin?” pestered Cirin.

Taba frowned even harder.

“Alright. Enough.” Said Manama. She reached for Cirin by the shoulder and tugged him close. That caught both Taba and Cirin by surprise, for the next moment Manama had her free hand jab the center of Cirin’s back like a spear.

He coughed and fell forwards. Breathing heavily as he regained his senses, Cirin dared look back Manama. He clutched his head as it began to throb erratically.

“What ya do to me mon?” he blurted.

Catherine steps intruded upon them. She tossed her eyes to Cirin the moment she got there.

“Manama, you didn’t.” she said shaking her head.

“He’ll tank me latta.” Said Manama

Cirin attempted to stand up, but faltered to the ground once more. All at once what felt like fire streamed through his body. To his toes, to his fingertips, the fire made him clutch him stare at his palm.

Something was there. Something that wasn’t him, but resided there all the same. He breathed and the sensation vanished as if it were never there.

Catherine support Cirin to his feet, “You alright?” she asked him.

Cirin managed a glance and gawked at a series of glowing blue tattoos that flourished on her skin. He turned to Manama and saw the same set curl below her eyes and forehead. Finally, He dared a glance at Taba and saw what was a myriad of gold and blueish patterns nearly covering the whole of the girl’s face.

His head throbbed once more, and he slammed his eyes shut to make it go away. It did, and when he pried those eyes open, the luminescent marking on all three of his companions had vanished.

“You had markings, all of you.” He dared.

Catherine shot a smile towards Manama, “Welcome to the world of natural magic, Cirin.”

It was the second day since they had left the Grand Valley Inn. In that time Cirin had no short of question for Catherine about what he had experienced. He even cut his training sessions early to pursue his query. Luckily for him, Catherine even happier to answer.

“Does dis mean I can trow fireballs and conjure lightning?” beamed the boy.

“Not quite.” Explained Catherine, “As I said, this is natural magic. And unfortunately you do not have much of an affinity for it.”

“But-”

“You saw our markings? They tell you how strong of an affinity that user has has with natural magic. Everyone sees them. But most only see them the moment they awaken the ability to use such magic. Those gifted, such as I.” she said pointing at herself, “Can train to see it at all times.”

“And casting fireballs?” prompted Cirin.

“Not possible.” Laughed Catherine, “Despite popular belief, those who research magic have found that this type, natural magic, is a weak form of magic, but one that possess the uncommon trait that it can be attempted by anyone.”

Cirin glanced at Taba, who was talking with Azhar at the edge of the camp that night.

“What about da magic she uses?” quandered Cirin.

“Not natural magic.” Said Catherine, “Something entirely different. Unusual. What she uses is an enigma in the magic world and frankly, we haven’t an explanation for how it works. But do not be dissuaded!” She avowed whilst holding up her finger, “Natural magic can be powerful if you manage to master all the schools and use them with each other in creative ways. For example, one cannot conjure a fire with it, but one can force a rock to move just fast enough without touching it against another rock to fashion a spark. If you then transmute the air thickness around the spark, it will erupt into fire.”

“Force a rock?” He said slowly, “Is dat what ya used against Zazabarra dat one night?”

“Hah, that was a clever use of air transmutation, object manipulation, and mimicry to first thin the air between his hand and the ground, force Barra’s fingers loose, and finally convince the handle to move as my finger did. Actions such as those require a lot of thought, and more so hardened control over my ability.”

Cirin fell on his bum and leaned back. He puffed at his hair, “Dis is boring.” He declared.

“Huh.” Catherine pushed her hands to her hips and leaned towards the boy, “I thought you’d be more enthused?”

“I was, but dis be sounding mo and mo about scholarly tings. I dun enjoy dat.”

“Preposterous! Who doesn’t positively adore the finer points of higher learning?” she traded her brimming face for a dull one as she realised the answer to her question had just rolled his eyes. “Fine. Stick to your blade swinging, but remember, a skilled magic user will always best a swords master.”

“So you tink ya can beat da old mon?” queried Cirin.

Catherine straightened her back, “He is an exception.” She confessed, “But imagine how much stronger you’d be if you knew how to use natural magic as well as fight.”

“Does it tire ya?” asked Cirin.

“Apart from mental rigor, no. But It has its limitations. For one you can only use it so much in a day before it forfeits itself until the next time you awake. Normally you cannot tell how much more you can cast, but if you’ve trained yourself to appraise ones markings, you can use a mirror to appraise your own. The more you use this magic, the more the markings disappear until you refresh them the next day.”

Cirin found himself glancing at the noble in the distance, now laughing of all things as she yapped on with his master, “What about Taba?” he postured, “She bound by dose limits to?”

“No.” answered Catherine.

“Ya mean she can cast all she wants and ta no end?”

Catherine nodded, “In the world I hail from, those who possess her kind of magic are feared the most. As my old master used to say, if ever I were to find myself in a duel with someone who possessed such power, I’d do well to run away. And if not that, find a way to beat them quickly.”

Cirin stretched out further, now resting with his head on his hands.

“Beat em quickly, huh?” he pondered. For the past few days, besides wondering about magic, he had also thought up of ways to best Taba. She was dangerous from afar, so distance would have to kept at a minimum, yet at the same time she was practicing a sword style that let her keep Cirin a ways. It was the perfect complement to the way she used her magic. He’d need a way to overcome that. Here, he’d though learning magic to counter magic was the solution, but the more he listened to Catherine’s talk on the matter, the more he became discouraged by it. There had to be another way.

“You aren’t thinking of fighting her, are you?”

Cirin tossed his head to the side, “No.” he lied.

“Because if you were, I’d stop such a duel immediately.” Warned the girl.

Cirin glanced at her with the corner of his eyes.

“Magic is dangerous Cirin.” She continued, “I know you two do not get along, but I will simply not allow such misgivings to lead to duel involving magic. That’s not just out of concern for your health either.” She tossed her eyes at Taba and puckered a smile, “I’ll admit, I’ve taken a liking to her to.”

Cirin rolled to his side, “You and everyone else.” He whispered.

Yet another day tumbled by, and with it, the view of the mountain’s edge came to view. The company set up camp by a small cave a little ways from the main road. There was a clearing before the cave entrance for the snakes, while the actual members of the party huddled inside. It didn’t happen often, especially in this part of the mountains so close to the desert, but it was raining and heavily so.

Cirin glared at the cavern edge and hugged his knees as the relentless rain played stills in his ears.

“Focus, Cirin.” Urged Manama.

Cirin nodded, pouncing his eyes from drenching drops to the tattooed woman beside him. Her braided hair was the last thing he spied as he shut his eyes.

“Now dat da magic be unlocked fa ya, ya should be able ta freely initiate da place between you and I. First, ask fa consent.” She instructed.

“Manama.” Started the boy, “I wish to meet ya in private, do you consent?”

“No, why should I?” she laughed.

Cirin threw open his lids, “Ya said to ask fa consent.”

“Cirin, one does not simply give consent if asked fa it. Be clever. Convince me.”

Cirin found himself smiling as he spotted a yawning Azhar hunched by the other end of the cavern.

“Well.” He began again, with a notably louder voice, “Rememba dat time in da stable wit El-”

“I consent.” Snapped Manama.

Once again, Cirin’s world flashed a vivid black. Everything, including the intrepid drops evanesced. A lone figure sat cross legged and in front of him.

It was Manama. He blinked. Thought it wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. She was younger, a lot younger. As if she had reversed to Catherine’s age.

“Surprised?” humoured Manama’s younger voice. “Dis be slightly mo dan what ya might call an introduction, but very little people know of da tricks behind a place between you and I. Ya have ta practice mo ta masta it. But when ya do masta it, ya should be able ta change ya appearance inside.”

Cirin shook his head and lifted his shoulders, “Ta what end?” he asked.

“Deception, Cirin. If used as method of interrogation, some people prefer ta talk dose dey may know mo personally. Now fo da true test.” She concluded, “Stand up.”

Cirin did just that. He held his breath and flanked by way threw his eyes at Manama.

“Ah, just as expected. Ya be my prisoner.”

“But I initiated dis.” Said Cirin.

“Doesn’t matta in a place between you and I. Dat is what ya must be most careful. It is also my first trial fa ya. Find out why I am da one sitting and you are not.”

To that Manama rose to her feet and Cirin sank out of the darkness. He awoke seconds later. The tip tap of rain was the first thing he heard. The earthy aroma of wet rock the first he smelled. The boy had returned to reality.

He found Manama staring at him, expectedly.

“Second ting ya must know.” She started, “Da person who lacks control awakes after da person who has it. Sometimes minutes latta. If I can tink of a few ways to make use of dat, I’m sure ya can do betta.”

Cirin nodded. That would prove useful indeed. The rain persisted for much of the day. Even though the perpetual pour masked the sky, it was that night had fallen by the chill that followed. Rain was his constant enemy, though not an often occurrence it was the one factor that prevented the young swordsman from training. So, to make up for his stolen time Cirin made due overcoming Manama’s trials. He’d repeat the place between you and I with her over and over again, yet every time she would be the one sitting.

At one point, a curious Catherine approached them with her hands held behind her back.

“Did he figure it out?” she asked.

Manama laughed, “hehe, I dun tink he will.”

“I dun get it!” puffed Cirin, “Dis is pointless mon, I’d radda be training if it wasn’t fa dis damned rain!”

“Is dat so?” quipped Manama, “Den ya should be happy ta know ya not da only who can’t train.” She slid her darkened eyes to Taba, to which Cirin nearly grinned since the girl seemed just as outraged by weather as he. She was glaring at the ceaseless pour with her head perched on her hands.

Then he noted a peculiarity regarding the distance between himself and the girl, and, more importantly, between the girl and Manama. One of them was closer. He blinked. Could it really be that simple?

Cirin shot up.

“Ya figure it out?” lauded Manama.

Cirin paced to a position between Taba and Manama, “We’ll see.” He said as he sat down. “Do ya consent Manama?” he started.

The fortune teller smiled, “I do.”

All light vanished as if a lone candle had been snuffed out. Manama blurred into view ahead of him. She was sitting. He glanced at himself. He was to.

“Dis type of magic.” Began the younger Manama, “It be not something ya get betta at tru repeated practice. It be something ya need ta tink on ta improve.”

Manama leaned forwards and got up. Cirin nearly jumped when she did. They were still there. Still in a place between you and I.

“I’m da one sitting.” He hushed, “I’m da one sitting!” he repeated. “Dat’s it? I just need ta be closer to Taba? No spell? No incantation?”

Manama shrugged, “Magic be a simple ting, Cirin.”

Cirin smiled to that and began to rise, when he considered his position. He balanced his eyes on Manama.

“Who’s Hannah?” he asked.

Manama’s oft jovial smile shifted into an upturned one, “Cirin ya dun need ta do dis.”

“No. I tink I do. Who is she?” he continued. “I won’t stand up till ya answer.”

“Ask Azhar.” She pleaded.

“Ya know he won’t answer.” Sniped Cirin.

Then Manama did something he had never seen her do before. She started biting her nails

“What ya want me ta say, eh?” she started, “Tell me what ya want ta hear? Tell me who ya tink she is.”

“She’s.” Cirin choked on the words. He swallowed and tossed his eyes down, “She’s someone important.” He said at last, “She had a statue built of her, and fa some reason da old mon won’t speak of her around me.” Cirin snapped his ruby eyes back to Manama, “She was da old mon’s sista.”

Manama tilted her head, “Now how do ya know dat? Who told ya?”

“I overheard it.” Revealed Cirin, “But what else is she? I saw da statue, she must’ve been someone important.”

“Ya be fixatin’, Cirin.” Blurted Manama.

Cirin lowered his eyes, “I need ta know.”

“Den look at me.” Bellowed the woman.

He didn’t refuse. He couldn’t. The way she said that, the way she demanded that of him, made him follow the order if only out of curiosity.

Manama had shifted form. Her braided locks had turned to free flowing dark brown ones. Her tattoo’d skin, pierced and light, morphed into an unblemished darker one. Her clothes were different too. No longer were they the uncouth rags that Manama loved to wear. No, she bore a single white and yellow dress. She was shorter too.

The whole of the desert glinted in her eyes, a shimmering beige.

“Dis is how she looked in life.” Hummed a melodious voice. Her voice. “Does it do anyting fa ya? Does it stoke da fire of ya memories?”

“Mine?”

“Yes yours.” spat the woman, “Gaze upon da dead you made me conjure, boy. Does it make ya happy? Is dis what ya wish ta see?”

The woman paced forwards as she spoke, “It is da image of dose we love most dat stain our minds, not our enemies. I still rememba her voice. Da way she walked.” The woman edged closer, “Her smell.”

Cirin’s arms moved back on their own. His mouth formed a disjointed frown. His eyes swelled and burned.

“Manama?” he managed.

“Dis is who she was. Everyone loved her. I loved her. She saved me. She was everyting ta me. And one night…”

Manama stepped closer, even closer. Cirin flinched.

“She was gone.” Echoed a voice as quiet as her steps.

He could almost smell her if she’d taken another step. Before she could, Cirin leapt to his feet.

The rain had stopped.

His blood red eyes flickered to the woman in front him. She was a sleep. He fell back on his arms. His breath was heavy.

“Cirin?” prompted Catherine, “You were in there for a while, you alright? It seems you’ve bested Manama’s trial to.”

“The rain’s pouring no mo, are we leavin?”

Catherine tilted her head behind her, “By the way Azhar’s packing, I’d say so.”

“What about Manama? Will she be awake for it?”

Catherine leaned in and placed her hand on his shoulder, “Cirin, if she’s sleeps for awhile, we’ll wait for her. What happened in there?”

“We talked.” Admitted Cirin, shaking the scholar’s grip off, “Noting.”

Cirin bounded to his feet. From the corner of his eye he spotted Taba trailing after Azhar as if she were lost weasel pup. Then he saw Sol. It seemed Toftof had been entertaining him, but despite the man’s best efforts the boy had returned his eternal gaze to Cirin. The object of the prince’s attention smiled. Ofcourse he was staring at him.

“Ya tink I should tell da prince about da place between you and I, and well, all da udda magical tings?”

“You could.” Shrugged Catherine, “though I doubt he’ll have any use for it.”

“Why’s dat?”

Catherine tapped her temple, “I can see it remember, one’s capability for magic. Sol, well, he has even lower of a potential for it than yourself.”

Upon thinking how Sol would have reacted to such a revelation he felt his own heart sink, “Maybe he need grow into it?” wagered Cirin.

“It’s not something that changes with age, Cirin.” She was blunt at the worst of times, “some people are born with such little ability on the matter that they’d hardly be able to complete one tenth of a spell before the power leaves them. Though most are unawares to the existence of magic, so the innate inability harbours a lack of tragedy.”

Cirin cocked his head and Catherine sighed.

“He won’t miss it if he doesn’t know about it.” She explained.

“Den he won’t learn about it.” Nodded Cirin.

Sand. For an eternity of steps there existed nothing but the stuff. Only one days travel was sacrificed to reach the mouth of the mountain pass, where the company beheld the place in which the endless sands met the titanic mountains.

Though the sands possessed mountains of their own. He could see it even as they entered the windy turfs. Dunes as high as towers crested the horizon. Cirin found himself counting the desert greens to pass the time. The first bits of the desert harboured signs of scattered rocks and dry plants, but after half a days walk, the only green anyone saw was that in sol’s eyes.

Sol was by the fortune teller now and Cirin had no intention of joining them. He’d lost the right to. Manama hadn’t talked to him since. When they’d pause for short breaks, Cirin would drift into the place between you and I and partake in another of the voice’s teachings.

Then on the days where they’d stop for longer periods, Cirin would duely practice those methods, mostly at night when most were asleep and not watching. Though that in and of itself was a rare occurrence. They had re-entered the desert and that meant sandflows.

Swirling, rushing, streaming. An instant golden ocean. Cirin could only gawk at the sands the moment those flows began. It happened more and more the company delved into the desert. Nearly twice a day by the third day in.

After one such sand flow, Cirin found himself forced of the snake at Azhar’s behest.

“Ya betta not tire da snakes mo dan dey be, mouse.” He barked.

Cirin reared his eyes to the remaing duo on the snake he had be ousted from. Sol was there and he was fine with that, but so to was Taba.

“Why’s she get ta stay den?” he prodded.

Azhar swooped Cirin up under his armpits.

“Humpf.” Said the man to himself, promptly plodding the boy back on his feet.

Azhar then leapt on to the snake before Cirin could so much as utter a word and hoisted Taba up by her back and legs.

Azhar nodded, much to the displeasure of the red faced count.

“She be lighta, mouse.” Confirmed the man, before letting the girl go.

Sol relentless giggling was the only sound that dared intrude the silence that followed. That and the rough crunch of sand as Azhar leapt of the moving snake.

Even when Azhar had departed, Taba and Cirin kept silent.

Taba shuffled to the far corner of the carriage and huddled there with her head turned down as Cirin simply kept walking, not once daring to look her in the eye.

“Befa ya say anyting, he lifted ya to.” She blurted.

“N-not in da way he lifted you!” parried Cirin.

“What’s dat supposed ta mean?!”

The two met each other in furious bid of brows. Then Cirin craned his head to see where Catherine, Toftof, and Manama were. Luckily none of them had been looking. Toftof was at the front, now with Azhar, and Manama had been engrossed in some alien discussion with Catherine a ways back from the caravan.

“No one saw.” Began Cirin, “Agree not ta mention dis?”

For once, Taba nodded at him, “Agreed.” She fumed.

Both turned to the only witness. A witness who bore smile dumber than Toftof. The boy parsed his lips in an attempt to hide his obvious smile.

“Oi Sol, ya saw noting yea?”

Sol laughed to himself, “He loves you two a lot.” He hummed.

Cirin spotted Taba hide her mouth behind her knees, and sighed to himself, “Dat old mon be noting mo dan a devil who enjoys seeing children torture demselves wit endless training.”

“Honestly, he only does dat wit you, degenerate.” Quipped Taba.

“Ya, well I’m a child to. Dat be da only reason he managed ta lift me…” trailed Cirin.

“So ya saying ya not only be a degenerate now, but you’ll be a portly degenerate in da futah?”

Cirin frowned, “Muscle weighs mo dan fat.”

“Oh, but since ya hate training sa much, ya might as well settle fa fat. Not ta mention given ya deviant tendencies, ya probably be much busier doing udda tings dan trainin anyways.”

“Udda things?” said Sol with his head cocked.

Just as Cirin was about to debate that ludicrous notion, an ear rattling cry echoed from behind the nearest sand dune.

His arm swept to his blade. Taba’s feet met the sand.

“Heeyah!” cired Azhar.

The snakes jolted to a stop.

Azhar’s measured steps played scrunches in the sand as Toftof’s heavy ones followed.

“jegga’s men.” Scowled Azhar, “I rememba dat warcry. Same as it was all dose years ago.”

Toftof puffed, “Here dey come.”

One after the other, men with beige great cloaks leapt over the sand dune. The sand they kicked up culminated in an oblique cloud, so Toftof and Azhar stood their ground in front of the children.

“Old mon, let me fight.”

“No mouse, stay dere, protect da prince and Taba.” Ordered Azhar.

“Taba?” he choked on the name, “Why her?”

“Mouse, no time ta argue, here dey come.”

The first man blew past the sandy cloud and nearly reached Azhar when a darkened blur met that man in a calculated tackle.

The blur stood up after the tackle and wiped her daggers on her clothes.

“Manama, dere are mo in dere.” Barked Azhar.

Manama nodded at Azhar, “Manama will dispatch da few miscreants in da darkness, ya lot handle da ones ya eyes can count.” She uttered.

Azhar nodded and met the next man to race out the cloud with a practiced parry, elegant and clean. The following attacker however, came face to face with Toftof, who met the man with a not so clean uppercut.

Manama ducked into cloud as Azhar dispatched his assailant.

Cirin could hear it all from where he stood. The death throes of men choked the air and the clutter of blades stung his ears.

Snap. Cirin tossed his eyes to the hovering rocks above Taba.

“He’ll find out about you.” Warned Cirin.

“Funny, I tought ya would have wanted dat.” gripped Taba.

Cirin narrowed his eyes.

“He’s right. Best forfeit that magic here.”

“Catherine.” Breathed Taba as she found the older girl standing behind her. Taba’s rocks hit the sand a second later.

Catherine picked up one of those rocks and tossed it into the dispersing cloud.

“Watch.” She uttered with her free hand at her lips.

There was a swoosh and the cloud of dust vanished instantly. Manama stood there, amongst five unnamed corpses and a dripping red dagger. A single man remained standing.

Toftof tossed his man aside, and Azhar let his second foe fall off his blade.

The remaining man struggled backwards the instant he saw the state of his fellows.

“Leave him alive.” Ordered Azhar.

Manama stepped close to the short and pig of a man.

“Manama!”

Manama spun her dagger and drew it inward. A step later the man would have been dead, yet Azhar’s impaled hand prevented it.

“I said ta leave him alive.” Hissed Azhar. He leaned close to Manama, who let go immediately and fell backwards.

“Toftof?” asked Azhar as he drew the dagger out, “How’s he doing?”

“Seems da shock of almost dying has knocked him out and…” Toftof wiped his hands and pinched his nose, “Left him wet enough ta be his own oasis.”

“Right.” Winced Azhar, “Tie him up, we’ll question him when he awakes.”

“And afta dat?” spoke a nasally Toftof.

Azhar sighed as he partook in the reddened sand around him, “Dis day has seen enough blood. We’ll let him go.”

“I’ll see ta ya wound.” Suggested Manama.

“No.” snapped Azhar.

“Den I’ll bound da prisona while Toftof helps ya.” She added.

Azhar took the wrappings he normally had on his wrists and tied the wound shut on his hand. He tightened it with his teeth as his words slipped through his shut muzzle, “Definitely not. Stay dere.” He buzzed.

Manama’s shoulders sagged and she made to the pack snakes. There she leaned against the beasts and levied her eyes to the desert sky. Manama was always a detached woman, someone who seemingly lived in a world of her own. Cirin knew that. To him she was strange, odd, a mystery. If only he could consider her just that.

Now he could not pry his eyes away from the fortune teller, for all the stories she told, her own was never one of them. Her mettle was proven iron back at Ezmir, her repute indisputable by the way Eli reached out to her in Gin. And her affinity with snakes… Cirin scrounged his nose, well that was disturbing.

After Toftof bound the last man, he went to help Azhar with burying the bodies, a task which Catherine found herself volunteering to alleviate their grisly burden. Her magic made digging all the easier.

“Go talk to her.” Urged the prince

Cirin smiled at the boy. He had been watching Cirin all the while.

“It’s not dat easy, Sol.” Began Cirin.

“Yes it is.” Shot Sol, “You two argued didn’t you? Then talk about it.”

Cirin acknowledged his young companion.

“It be rare fa ya ta be sa forward, imp. Has dat wound from Gin and ya encounta wit ya brudda hardened ya?”

Sol straightened his back at the assertion. He bore a stalwart frown as he stood as high as he could. That was his answer.

Cirin stifled a laugh and shook his head, “Alright.” He started, “I’ll try. Only cause ya be as brave as ya are.”

Manama saw him coming.

Cirin searched for the words once he got to her, “Manama I-”

“Manama knows what ya want ta say, Cirin.” Manama rolled her head at him, “I was in da wrong back dere, it be only natural you’d want ta know bout his sista.”

“He didn’t really kill her, did he?”

Manama shook her head, her constant smile a sad one, “Hannah killed herself.” Manama gestured one thumb at her chest, “She stabbed herself in da chest.”

“Why?” prompted Cirin.

“Heh.” Manama relapsed her eyes to the sky, “Dat be someting Manama wishes she knew.”

“Manama, over here!” called Azhar’s voice.

The fortune teller gestured Cirin to follow her with a flick of her head.

Toftof, Catherine and Azhar were standing in a half circle when they arrived.

“We need ta split up.” Started Azhar. He lowered his head towards the prisoner, “Our man won’t talk now, but dat isn’t our problem. We believe dere may be mo of dem.”

Manama’s eyes went wide, “Snakes.” She tapered.

“Exactly. Da only way to travel da desert.” Said Azhar, “Jegga’s men must have left a few behind ta tend deir snakes.”

Toftof seemed oddly agitated by the way Azhar spoke. “Spirits. Just tell her why it be important ya old ape.”

Azhar eyed the shorter man wearily, “It has to do wit our snakes.” He explained, “We’re in enemy territory sa normally we be betta off hiding amoungst deir ranks. Now we have deir outfits, and I happen ta be familiar wit deir customs, but our snakes will give us away.”

Manama was quick to object, “Ya not saying-”

“I am.” Stated the man flatly, “Da first snake be an Ezmir speckled slider, native to da southern sands. Da second snake, a green genja, one only found in da waterpathes of Gin. All snakes found dis far west be Ramhorns. We need ta find and steal deir snake. Den.” He glanced over his shoulder at their own snakes, “We gotta lose dose two.”

Manama shook her head vehemently, “I won’t have it.” She insisted.

Azhar sighed, “Manama, da snake be da least of our concerns right now.”

“How about a diversion then.” Prompted Catherine, her arguing finger already raised to the air, “Consider this.” She continued, “If Jegga’s men have already attacked before in Gin, chances are they know to look for our particular snakes. What if we use that to our advantage? We split our company and lure the would be attackers with our current snakes whilst we slither through this land on the captured snakes.”

Toftof went a lit, “I see!” he beamed, “den da children would get tru safely. No hidden attacks, no raids in da night.”

“No.” stamped Ahzar, “I dun approve of dis plan. Anyting dat splits da company simply puts da rest of us at risk when dat plan ultimately fails.”

“So if ya tink ya original plan will fail sa badly, why even try to abandon da snakes?” argued Manama. She let herself sigh when the others couldn’t answer, “Manama will do it.” She volunteered, “I’ll take our snakes and act as lure.”

Azhar pulled his hand across his mouth and puffed, “Manama, if dey catch you…”

“Dey won’t.” she assured him, “And if dey do, dey should be da ones who be sweating.”

Toftof flipped his eyes between each of them, “It’s agreed on den? Azhar?”

Azhar took one heavy breath of utter disappointment, “You’ll be by yaself. Alone. No one will have ya back, and does dat do will be meanin’ ta trow deir daggas at it.”

“Noting new.” Shrugged the woman. Seeing Azhar frown back at her, she laughed, and pushed him lightly on the shoulder, “Find dose snakes and take dese tree to da safest place in Illivanmar.”

Azhar levied his eyes at Cirin and held them there, “I will Manama. Dey’ve seen enough of dis accursed desert fa a lifetime.”

That evening, while the waited for Toftof and Azhar to come back with the captured snakes, Manama rounded the children and told them of a tale about the city of fortune tellers.

Sol listened the most dutifully, while Cirin tried his best to follow his lead, and Taba had the audacity to yawn to it.

Down south, the farthest south existed once a city known for it’s gypsies, ones well versed in future sight. These gypsies belonged to a fortune tellers guild. They were all women, and speicifically women who were widowed. Every year, the women of the fortune tellers guild would deliver a prophecy. Some prohpecies spoke of great change to the kingdom, the death of a noble, the marriage of royalty, while most spoke of changes of minor significance. This entailed the bankruptcy of local business or an untold affair of a couple nearby. Though no matter the weight of the prohopecy it was always recorded. And no matter who insignificant the tale, it always came true.

One day a women who was neither widowed or wed, came to join the fortune tellers guild in light of her extraordinary foresight. If not for her charming nature and well placed etiquette the other fortune tellers would have hated her out of jealousy, for she made prophecies not on a yearly basis, but on a weekly one. It was she who foresaw the failing tides of a nearby city’s gang. She predicted the date on which the new emperor was born. And it was she who knew the unfortunate fates of three unrelated nobles before it befell them.

Her predictions made her famous, sometimes infamous due to her more unfortunate calls, but no matter her fame, the predictions she made drew the city she called home drew visitors from all over the empire. The city flourished for a time. All inns were swarmed, the streets packed, gold flowed like the river. But, during one of her predictions, the fortune teller foresaw a man who one day destroy all Illivanmar.

Manama smiled at the trio as she said this, “Da man, wit fear borne in his heart, would bring an end to da Illivanmar and her emperor. Dis man would have one discerning feature dat any guardian of da kingdom should look out fa…” She fanned her eyes from spectator to spectator, even at Catherine who momentarily bobbed her head in to listen. Manama pointed at her earlobe, “Da man would be born wit a hook shaped ear.”

Sol giggled at the notion and Manama took that as a que to continue.

“But lo outta fear dis prophecy was too consequential, she hid from da masses and told only da udda fortune tellas. One night, whilst she was conversing wit her betrothed and her burdda she let slip dis prophecy she made. Da two of dem laughed it off, saying ‘no man be born wit a hook shaped ear’. So da fortune tella laughed it off to, but decided ta keep da prophecy secret all da same. A year passed, da fortune tella wed, and befa long, had a child wit her betrothed.

Yet dere was one problem. Her baby had an ear shaped like a hook.

One of her midwives was a fortune tella and having seen dis taught it be best ta inform da uddas. Ya see, the prophecies made by da new mudda were neva wrong. Everyone knew dis. So ofcourse dere was concern. Something made much worse for when her brudda returned.

He saw da baby and knew immediately what was going ta happen. So in one night, he murdered all da fortune tellas in da city. Deir tale, her prophecy, died wit dem. Wit da fortune tella’s guild gone, da city once known fa dem became mostly abandoned. What was once flourishing district of trade became ruins, and what fame da city had became engulfed in da surrounding sands. Da woman and her betrothed, bot harrowed wit guilt took deir own lives and da baby, most innocent of all, was made inta an orphan. Da man acted out of love fa his nephew, but at what cost ta uddas?”

“What happened to da boy?” asked Taba.

Manama chuckled, “He fulfilled da prophecy of course. Out of anger fa his lost family and city, he went on ta bring about destruction ta all illivanmar.”

“But da Empire’s still here.” Noted Taba, “Dis seems mo a tale ya conjured.”

“Who knows?” shrugged Manama, “Dis be tale of a long time ago. Lotta tings change wit time.” She wagered, “An empire might fall, but it doesn’t mean it won’t rise again eventually.

“ ‘The city of fortune tellers’. It’s quite romantic really. By reading the fortunes of others they secured their city a fortune of its own.” Said Catherine. “And prophecy! Did you know that was considered a school a Galokin magic in ancient times? I couldn’t even imagine the complexity of the systems involved to achieve such a feat. By the way, Manama, are you not a fortune teller yourself?”

“I am.” She nodded.

Catherine angled her head, “Can you read the future then?”

Manama laughed at the notion, “Manama can only wish fa such foresight.”

The distant sound slithers drew their attention. Cirin noticed the distinct horns of the incoming snakes instantly. Ramhorns. Just as the name suggested, these were slightly longer snakes with pairs of horns the curled out of its brows.

Two snakes numbered the ranks behind Toftof and Azhar. Considering the size of the assaulting company, Cirin wagered that made sense.

Cirin turned to Manama, who had already hoisted the last of her things on the main snake.

“Ya be curious, eh?” she prompted without looking at the boy, “Go ahead, Manama know ya have questions.”

He knew he should have asked about a place between you and I. Or more importantly who exactly she was to Azhar, and what she did before she was a fortune teller. Though given her expertise with a dagger, he had his suspicions. Instead of all that, he asked something else entirely. His lips moved by themselves.

“Will I see ya again?”

Manama finished her packing. She tossed her maple eyes back at him, “Perhaps. Want me ta read ya a fortune befa I go?”

Cirin shrugged and nodded.

Manama swaggered to that, letting her beaded hair jangle as she approached him, “Hold out ya hand.” She instructed.

Manama grasped his outstretched hand, “Dark. Trapped inn endless hallway wit doors all along ya. Da doors are questions, yet ya need only one key ta unlock dem.”

“A key? What key.”

Manama leaned close to him, “Ya cannot see it.” She brushed aside his bangs revealing his crimson eyes, “Ah. Now ya can.” She let go of those bangs and Cirin’s hand and made her way to the snake.

There she hugged Sol and Catherine, and even shook Taba hands, despite the girl’s reluctance to comply.

“Ho!” Azhar’s voice intruded upon their camp. He seemed to be struggling with calming his new found snake.

“He’s a rowdy fellow dis one.” Laughed Azhar.

“Azhar.” Sighed a particularily downtraught Toftof.

Cirin gagged when he saw the man’s situation.

Azhar slid his hand over his face, “What are ya doing wit ya hand in it’s mouth?”

“It’s not dat I wanted ta put my hand its mouth,” protested Toftof, “it just happened ta be… hungry?”

Azhar was already attempting to pry the snake’s mouth open as he bickered back at Toftof, “Ya oaf! Ya know betta dan most dat pack snakes dun eat people.”

“Ya bot be idiots.” Entered Manama. Her voice prompted a sour look from both, which soon transitioned into looks more appropriately of astonishment as she simply reached behind the ramhorn’s horn and made it release Toftof’s hand.

“Ramhorns be particular snakes.” She lectured, “If ya dun meet deir every need while traveling dey will be as mischievous as spirits. Dis one had an itch behind her ear.”

Toftof smiled at the snake as he rubbed the back of his own head, “Sorry about dat.” He laughed, “Wait. Why I am apologising ta a snake?”

“I suppose dis be goodbye.” Said Manama.

Azhar sighed one last time and held his arm out, as did Toftof, though Manama was quick to reject the slimy thing. She grasped Azhar’s hand and gave it one firm shake.

“Ya promise ta come back alive?” hushed Azhar.

“Can’t say da same about my pursuers.” She prattled.

Azhar smiled at her and she returned the gesture.

“Stay safe.” She said at last.