In the Pursuit of Death| ONC 2024

3| The Acolytes of Akul

For a flower, Death is kind. For a flower, Death will smile. For a flower, Death loves eternal.

But there aren't any flowers to give.

*

ERIS AWOKE alone. To silent sands and dead skies, and boulders that were once valleys. She had but a few hours before the sun rose, transfusing the world with its lifeblood.

Blood-red against bone-white. The colors of a dying world.

She slumped against a rock, stretching out the ache that sleeping in the Deadlands always left between her shoulders. It was never pleasant sleeping in the dune sea, but throughout her journeys, she'd found a few locations better for it than others.

A cave was close by in this part of the sands, which had provided Windwalker comfort, as the ground there was steady, and the cave itself protection from the carrions.

Eris had slept under the sky, unafraid of the scavengers.

Death respected death, after all.

After the ache had dulled, Eris slipped her boots on, then reached for her pack. It carried all Eris needed, all she had. A waterskin, a tattered piece of petal-pink fabric, a handful of dried grain pods, a clay bowl, and pot. Once, the clay pot had kept her mother's best healing salve fresh, but it had been many moons since Eris last smelled the bitterness of the herbs or felt the salve's cooling sensation on her skin.

Now it kept her cleaning powder. Taking a palmful of the grayish mixture of crushed bone and dried clay, she sprinkled it on top of her head, massaging it into her scalp before working it through her ends. It absorbed her hair's oils, and come sunrise, it would absorb the sweat brought on by the heat. After twisting her hair and wrapping it up in a headscarf, she headed in the cave's direction.

Windwalker was quick to greet her-- poking her head out of the darkness-- and quicker still to whinny her delight, as her eyes fell on the waterskin and bowl in Eris's hands.

"Good morning." Eris laid the bowl before the horse, then undid the stopper of her waterskin. Windwalker nudged her arm excitedly. She emptied the waterskin, squeezing out what water remained.

The horse dipped its head and sniffed the bowl.

"I promise it's drinkable," Eris assured, resealing the waterskin, "even the sourness is faint."

Windwalker drank.

"Where shall we head this morning?" Eris moved around the horse, adjusting the saddle on her back.

The horse snorted but did not stop drinking.

"What about north? The Shallows impart sickness, and more people have been using silt for their huts. I'm sure it's spread."

The horse nodded and once the water had been drunk, Eris gathered her things and mounted Windwalker. With the horse's reins in hand, she led the beast north, in the direction the sun would eventually rise.

*

The sun had fallen below the dunes, leaving the world orange, and Eris grateful. No longer were her breaths laced with fire, her chest heaving, and sweat drenching her cheeks.

They had come upon another cave. Windwalker soaked up the shade, and the cool stone, sitting down, eyes closed. Eris settled between the dunes. With night descending on them soon, she thought against making a fire. Fires attracted the desperate.

Instead, she watched the sky. Slightly red at the edges, orange at its center and fading fast. It would be a quick transition to night, as cool air pricked Eris's arms, and the wind rustled loose strands of hair around her face. She thought it a quiet end to another quiet day, until she spotted a ribbon of smoke rising in the east.