Page 24 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain
“Any particular reason why?” Locane pulls down a second mug. He places it next to mine, insinuating that he plans to join me.
“No, I just… I had another dream,” the words spill from my mouth of their own accord.
Shit. Why did I just say that? I don’t want to tell him any of it.
Locane’s eyes light up with curiosity. “What was this one about?”
“Tell me something and I’ll tell you,” I say defiantly.
“Your Sight comes from your grandmother, the one you call Nana.”
I laugh. “I already know that. What do you know of my grandmother?”
Locane watches me hesitantly. “Not really anything other than that, or the little you have told me.”
I glare at his vagueness. “You have to do better than that. How did you know about her abilities? About mine?”
“I heard whispers,” is all he says.
“What whispers? And from who?” My frustration is mounting, and a drop of blood drips from my nose. Making a displeased noise, I find a towel to dab up the fluid.
“Just whispers, when I was on the Mother Continent. I had been there for many years. I only came back recently.” Locane grabs the tin of tea and drops a silk bag in each mug.
“And you came back because of these whispers?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Why was I imprisoned? How do we know each other?” My voice raises with each question. I’m tired of his elusive answers. The headache I’m growing so accustomed to is stabbing into my temple.
“We will talk about it tomorrow. It is late. We are both tired.”
I take a step towards him and say, “No. We will talk about it now. Or I’m leaving.”
Locane closes the distance between us, almost touching, and peers down at me in a way that is only partially due to his towering height. “If you leave, they will catch you, and you will go right back to that life of imprisonment,” he tells me coolly.
“Honestly, Locane, at this point I think I’d rather be a prisoner than deal with your moods, avoidance, and lies. It’s starting to become a prison all its own.” My voice carries venom as I stare up at him, managing to look down my nose despite having to tilt my head up.
We silently square off for long, tense seconds before he finally backs down, stepping away from me to no longer invade my space. He moves the two mugs and jar of honey onto the breakfast bar then collects the steaming kettle from the range, pouring water into both mugs. “Follow me,” Locane says and makes his way through the door into the living area.
I trail behind him on wary feet.
Locane motions for me to take a seat before he goes to the bookcase. He scans the titles for a moment before selecting one and setting it on the small table before me next to a map of the Kingdoms. Reaching for it, he snaps my attention back to him by sliding on the couch next to me, our knees nearly brushing.
“These lands are dying. On this Continent, there is not much fertile land anymore. There was a time when the Plains of Irehad a different name, and the plain was not overgrown with the life choking littaweeds. What Salhaas is today is a skeleton of the lush fruit groves and fresh lakes it used to boast. The Salt River was not always the Salt River. It once provided sustenance and a livelihood for large populations of rivertowns at the edges of both Quinndohs and Salhaas. Even the deserts of Quinndohs used to have beautiful oases dotting the landscape with coconut and banana trees around sparkling pools of freshwater springs. The Kingdoms thrived individually once, but now rely heavily on each other to survive.”
I gulp in trepidation as Locane begins his explanations. He leans forward to slide the map of the Kingdoms of the Continent across the gleaming surface of the coffee table.
“Though Salhaas is part of what is called the Kingdoms, it has always been ruled by a Queen. And the Queendom now has virtually nothing left to give.” Locane points to the smallest portion of land at the top left corner of the map, indicating Salhaas. “The Salt River is dead, no longer sustaining Quinndohs with fresh water. Most of the towns that were built on its shores died with it. Its poisoned waters are continuously seeping into the land.”
Locane snakes his finger down the line of blue river cutting a track between Salhaas and Quinndohs before slicing through Brhadir.
Swallowing thickly, I try to take in this lesson of sorts, as well as the map before me. My tired mind is unable to dig for memories to correlate with what he’s telling me. Trying to search for them builds a subtle ache in my temple; I drop the effort to instead concentrate on Locane.
“Brhadir still has the most farmable land and freshwater, given the bloodline power of the ruling family. They have the ability tonot only manipulate water, but create new water sources where the land allows. Brhadir also has the largest population of any of the Kingdoms, with many villages and smaller cities dotted throughout the Emerald Mountains and at the base.”
Miniscule city and village names are penned across the map for Brhadir; far more than the sprawling deserts of Quinndohs, or the tiny sliver of Salhaas.
Flashes of some of these settings in Brhadir flicker through my mind, refusing to be forgotten any longer. Including the small village—Glehsdor—Locane entered and ran from only hours ago. Though I can’t quite pinpoint where exactly in the Kingdom I may hail from, the vivid images coming to me let me know that I’m deeply familiar with many of these cities and villages in Brhadir.
