Luminous

79 - Windcatcher City

The procession of qanat holes ended as the hill began its descent to level terrain. Walls of sand rose on either side of them as the road sliced a sheer path down the slope towards a wooden bridge. A shallow, crystal-clear canal rushed by beneath it, fed with ice-cold water of melted mountain snow from the sand walls' gaping mouths.

Across the bridge was a work of miracle. Grass green as spring carpeted the land. On one side of the road, dome-shaped adobe cottages rose out of the blue-gray sand, then gave way to a grove of trees tall as the most ancient oaks.

These trees were unlike any Meya had ever seen. She'd only guessed they were trees because of their olive-green leaves. Their trunks, papered with layers of petal-shaped barks, shot towards the heavens without meandering, ending in a fountain of branches bearing long, thin leaves like blades. Bunches pregnant with unripe fruit hung from the junction. Hulking Hyacinth women stepped precariously from one petal of the bark to another. They wormed their hands into the fruit bunches, tugging some out at random and flinging them to their deaths on the abyss far below.

"Date palms, my lady." Ozid explained as their carriage trundled by the wall of tree trunks. "This harvest should be ready in a month. The bunches are thinned out to allow for plumper fruits."

Meya nodded in awe. Pinching a dried date from the plate on Ozid's lap, she nibbled on the sweet sustenance—so sweet it made her eyes water—then poked her head further out, holding her breath at the daring display. The death-defying date farmers had not a single length of rope tethering them to life.

A poke from Coris distracted her and she pulled back, frowning. Coris jabbed his thumb at the opposite window with a grin. Meya's eyes followed it, then she scrambled over her snickering husband to his window.

On the side of the road she overlooked was more blue-gray adobe houses, surrounded by gardens populated by yet another race of peculiar trees. Flat leaves like milky green pieces of pockmarked, thorny unleavened dough sprouted atop one another into higgledy-piggledy towers as tall as Meya herself.

In spite of the thorns' protection, the leaves were plagued with swathes of white, mold-like fluff. Hyacinth househusbands hovered over them, scraping the disease off with metal spoons—then Meya noticed they were collecting the puffs into trays.

"Cochineal, my lady. These tiny critters feed on the prickly pear. The men collect them, boil them, dry them, crush them into carmine, and dye fabric with it. It's our most lucrative export. Some have even made their way into Hadrian Castle."

Ozid flourished a graceful hand at Meya and Coris, even though they were no longer draped in their garish home color, but in Hyacinth's calming off-white and purple.

"I thought Hadrian Red is made from the Hadrian Rose?" Meya shot an accusatory look at Coris. He nodded.

"We've had occasional shortages when the roses came down with disease. You could say there's a trace of Hyacinth in all of us."

Coris forced a grin as he shifted restlessly in the folds of his Hyacinth toga—a stark contrast to Meya's revealing attire.

"Is anything the matter, my lord?" Ozid leaned forward, a hand over his heart. Coris glanced at the puzzled Meya—the smirking Jadirah—back to the worried Ozid, then sighed and stared down at the floorboards.

"Can't I part my legs wider? It's uncomfortable." He dug his fingers into his kneecaps, looking pleadingly at Ozid. "You'd understand, surely?"

As part of their orientation, Ozid had taught them how to carry themselves—which included the proper manner of sitting. There were no taboos for women, but spreading your legs were recommended as it gave an impression of confidence and dominance. On the other hand, men were allowed to open their legs only up to a hand's width apart.