Page 71 of Daughter of the Dark Sun
Mireithren closed her eyes, and when they opened again, dawn broke across the silvery forest.
The Guide reappeared afterTherat and Mireithren woke and readied themselves, stepping out from behind a tree as if materializing from thin air. Mireithren had her suspicions about the stranger. They knew too much, more than any mortal should know. It seemed more of the gods and their divine messengers gathered in Eás.
The world is ready for change.
“Quick now, over the hillock once more we must go. The end draws near for us, children of Eithranren.”
The Guide’s voice called out from ahead of the two weary travelers. They had been walking for the better part of the day with only a short rest for lunch. The thick, gnarled trees receded, spindly arms of silver first bidding them enter once again filling out the forest floor. The air warmed the further they walked, much to Mireithren’s joy. Her cloak and thick skirt bought in Cídhen’s Rest did not seem to keep the chill away at night.
Therat squeezed Mireithren’s hand. He held it often, tracing the outline of the bright blue flaming sun nearest her wrist with his thumb. She didn’t wear the gloves Saiya gave her out here. It became pointless to hide her life. Therat’s sweet kisses over her scars and tattoos lifted the pain from her very flesh, left her feeling whole and complete.
“Are you ready?” she asked, looking over to Therat. His beard had grown into a tangle of curls again during their journey north.
No wonder he and his brother always looked so regal.Another Eásiri, from one of Eithranren’s sons. I should have known.
“Is one ever ready to learn that divine blood flows in their veins?” Therat asked, laughing as he spoke. His mood improved by the afternoon. Mireithren couldn’t stand to see him awash in torment.
“I suppose not. But at least you know now. Do you think Adon knew and never told you?”
“Oh, no. He hated the Shadow-weave even when my parents were alive. Mama only taught me. Papa, well, my grandfather, he is a shadewalker too. He never told me. I think he knew it would be too much for me at the time. He’s the only reason I didn’t flee from them altogether after…” Therat trailed off, unable or unwilling to say more.
“I wonder what Adon would say,” Mireithren mused. Therat didn’t answer, only shrugged and kept walking. He quivered with excitement.
At last, the company of three reached the thinning edges of the Siusir Forest. It ran almost up to the banks of the Andesiri River. Not far to the north, another river—the dread Naváthir—split off racing west, its waters black as night. The Andesiri rushed over rocks jutting out like teeth, the roars of the white rapids filling Mireithren’s ears. It was an even fiercer beast than the southern section she came to years ago. The woman’s heart took off as the deafening sound crashed over her. She drowned in the river’s presence until Therat squeezed her hand. Forcing a smile to the surface, Mireithren took a deep breath, anxiety sinking into the earth.
Mireithren studied the rest of the land around her. Across the wide river, a massive city rose on the western horizon. Tall black spires pierced the sky, dozens of them racing higher than any tower in Av Madhira. A blanket of shadows lay over thecity itself, obscuring the mass of buildings. A field of deep green grass covered the land around it, hills running the length of the river to the south.
“This is where we part,” the Guide said, turning to Mireithren and Therat. “I am bound to the trees and even now can only stay here for so long. This is Oneriath,” they gestured to the looming city. “The Watching Sword of Eithranren. Further still you must go, where the towers are white and the snow falls. But there will be help here, of this I am sure.”
The Guide walked to the edge of the fast-flowing river and knelt. They reached a hand out to the water and touched it, fingers resting on the surface. Mireithren gasped as she watched the water transform into a tranquil sea of glass around the Guide’s hand. It grew until a bridge formed over the deadly rapids.
“What strange power is this?”
Therat let go of Mireithren’s hand and walked forward, touching the surface as if expecting it to bite him. He leaned his weight forward before turning back to Mireithren with a look of amazement.
“It’s solid! Come, look Mireithren!”
Mireithren walked to his side and bent over. Solid, as if the river froze with the Guide’s touch. She leaned closer to the surface. Below it the waters ran clear, their path ever-constant.
“A gift I would teach if given more time,” the Guide said. “But the hour is late, and you must reach the city before nightfall. Yet, a word of caution, children of Eithranren!”
The Guide stood. Though shorter than her, Mireithren suddenly felt tiny, like a child looking upon their parent.
“Once you cross, you can never return to the eastern lands unless you find the headwaters of the Naváthir deep in my forest. There are great powers at work to seal the West in exile. Be warned, Mireithren, who islyneithra, I will not be able totake your hand through the forest should you wish to return. It is wild in these broken times; evil festers and grows in the darkest reaches. Tread your path with care. And to Therat, who is of Eithranren’s blood, I only say this: your heart is hers. Do not forget.”
With those final words, the Guide fell silent. The rapids roared in Mireithren’s ears. She bit her lip and grabbed Therat by the hand and bounded across the bridge of water frozen in time. The moment their feet touched the western banks the river’s voice grew into a thunderous rage. Mireithren turned back to see the Guide vanished from sight and a fog falling over the silver forest.
A feeling of being here before washed over Mireithren. She walked this land not in her dreams, but in another life, another time. The breeze carried with it a welcoming, sweet aroma. Faint, but enough to spark a twinge deep inside the void nestled within.
Her gaze drifted over the vast plains stretching to the southwest, emerald fields with clusters of buildings here and there as far as the eye could see. Great hills and valleys cloaked in shadow raced alongside the Andesiri River. Oneriath towered above it all, the black city of a people shrouded in shadow and mystery.
Few truths about the people of the West reached the ears of the rest of Hylaea. Rumors came of cities filled with slaves, remnants of past wars fought for hundreds of years before the Discordance. Dark rituals and killings to restore their dread Goddess and remake the world. Evil they were, the source of Death and ruin of the once-perfect world.
Mireithren knew some of it to be true. Laisha admitted with no hesitation her people enslaved others. But their customs, the people, and even the color of their skin remained a mystery. The pale woman lived here, somewhere. These western lands werevast, and the Guide told them to find a city of white. The journey was far from over.
“Do you hear that, Mireithren?” Therat looked to the northwest, beyond the black city.
She focused, but could only hear the Andesiri behind them.
