Page 112 of Sanctuary of the Shadow
After six months of constant wandering, the time had finally come. As she’d done daily since the beginning of her travels into the barren South, that morning, she’d set up her scrying bowl and dived deep into the Water for signs of the one she waited for.
Finally, she had found results.
For months, she’d traveled with little knowledge of where to go or where he might end up. All she had was a strong conviction that she needed to continue roaming through the desert. She was certain that if she were ever to retreat to fairer lands, she would be in the wrong place when the time came.
After her vision-conversations with the Queens months ago—the last contact she’d had with either of them, though not for lack of trying—she’d turned to the Water as Darya instructed, searching for her next course of action, only to discover she was already on the right path. Her decision to leave Allegra by herself and head South still held up.
So she’d rested a few days in that forest clearing with Malaikah by her side, and then, when she was well enough to travel, said goodbye to her dearest friend and recommenced her journey alone.
Predictably, Malaikah hadn’t left without a fuss. But Harrow had stressed the importance of her travels being completed solo and the fact that Mal was safest at the circus under Salizar’s protection, and in the end, Malaikah relented, returning on foot back to Allegra. Harrow had thanked her profusely for her help, knowing it couldn’t have been easy for her to leave the circus behind. Even going back wouldn’t be easy. There was no way Salizar would take kindly to all the chaos the two of them had managed to wreak.
And so, alone again, Harrow, Fiona, and her caravan traveled south.
It took the better part of a month to cross into Furie’s territory, and another two months to finally penetrate the region known as the Far South. From there, Harrow had traveled through Kambu, saddened to see the deteriorated state of Malaikah’s homeland under the corrupt leadership of the traitor who’d taken it from her family years ago. She’d taken care to hide her identity to protect herself from both Furie and her supporters.
Another month later, the Water had urged her to roam deeper into the desert, where few travelers dared venture and where she was safer. She had loaded her caravan with supplies and obeyed her instincts without question—something she was finally becoming accustomed to doing. Months spent alone had increased the volume of her inner voice and her trust in its wisdom.
For two months she traversed the desolate wilderness of cracked earth and rolling dunes. Her days were spent seeking shelter, traveling from water source to water source. Her nights were spent bundled in her caravan or seeking warmth by a fire.
Every morning, without fail, she filled a bowl with precious water to scry. Always, the sun shone mercilessly down from clear blue skies. The days were sweltering, the nights freezing. It never rained. Bush fires frequently raged across any landscape brave enough to grow vegetation.
Her thoughts were consumed constantly by survival—water, shelter, food, rest, repeat—and yet, in a way, it was a peaceful existence. Just a woman and her horse, braving the desert, searching for her lost love.
And today, she would finally find him.
The vision hit her unexpectedly. One moment she was wiping sand from her eyes, squinting into the desert sun, and the next…
She came back to reality with a gasp, jerking Fiona to a halt. Throwing herself off the side of the caravan, she began to sprint, though exerting oneself to such a degree was never advisable in this climate.
It didn’t matter. Nothing but this moment mattered.
She ran faster, hope filling her heart. Hope that after all these months, her search had finally come to an end.
…
The sun crept under his eyelids as he gradually pulled himself from unconsciousness. Instinct told him to sharpen his awareness, survey his surroundings, scan for threats. He only managed to shift his eyes beneath their too-heavy lids.
Pain assailed him as he slowly became aware of his body. Everything hurt.
He finally peeled his eyes open, only to close them immediately as the glaring sun scalded them. He tried again, squinting into the intense light, and saw blue. Clear sky, not a cloud in sight.
Battling intense weakness, he turned his head to one side. Beside him, the ground was cracked and dusty, an impenetrable hardened crust. In the distance, a lone shrub struggled for life.
A ghost of familiarity assailed him—a certainty he’d been here before, lived this before—but that didn’t make sense. He had no memory of ever—
His thoughts ground to a sudden halt as realization suffused him.
He had no memory of anything.
He had no idea who he was or how he’d come to be stranded naked in the desert. He didn’t even know his own name.
He did, however, feel a strange gratitude for the sensation of flesh bound to his spirit. As if he’d experienced the reverse and much preferred his present condition, weak and pain-riddled though he was.
Unpreferable, however, was the haunting feeling of grief that weighed upon his soul. He felt as though he’d lost something treasured, only he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was.
Was life worth living in such a state? He was too weak to move with his body’s debility and the burden of grief weighing him down. Perhaps without that disembodied longing, he might have summoned the will to save himself, but with it? Death would be a welcome relief.
Funny. He was suddenly certain he’d had that thought before.
