Shadows of the Scriptures

ONE: The Road to Fehnia

"Here," Addie said, extending the flask. "This is the sun's sweat. Delicious."

The girl looked at her with paranoid eyes. "Belraed doesn't sweat."

"Of course he does. He lives in such heat."

"Why would anyone want to - to drink sweat?"

Addie smiled her cheap, charming smile. "You got me. It's apple ale. And it will make you feel better. You are thirsty, are you not?"

The girl nodded, tear patches prominent on her damp cheek.

"Well then." Addie handed over the dirty swig to the six, maybe seven summers old child, who eagerly grabbed it and took a sip. She pulled a face, drained another big gulp, then returned it.

"That wasn't so bad now, was it?" Addie beamed, stashing the flask into one of the many pockets of her cloak. It was a strange cloak, brown and muggy, offering more storage than cover.

No one dared hoist the Dassan flag, which on another occasion they would do with little encouragement. Haste and quiet were of the essence. To their either side stretched impending rays of green-brown stringbark trees, coruscating with dried yellow sap.

But for now, all Addie could see was the girl's face. It was ruddy and puffed from crying, but the tears were unwilling to stop. They made Addie think of the creeks in Nerba, which had professedly been running since the First Quenching.

"What's your name, pretty gal?"

The child wiped an actively rolling tear, fiddling with her braided pale hair. "Aeri," she said.

"Gracious, what a lovely name!" Addie exclaimed. "After the Unburnt Goddess, Aerilys, is that right?"

A meek nod.

"I envy you, Aeri. My mother gave me such a doltish name. Adeline. That's my name. Can you believe it?"

The hint of a smile brushed Aeri's eyes.

"May I ask why you are crying?"

Now, even a young sod knows to not trust a ragged, grimed stranger. They could ravage you, slaughter you, sell you as a courtesan. But when no one will stop for you - and then someone abruptly does, you are obliged to respond.

Aeri nodded a genteel nod, and it was here that trust started to steer her.

"Thank you, Aeri. So, why were you crying?"

"Ma," she whispered, just loud enough for Addie to hear, amongst the shuffling of scurrying steps. A few paces south, a battle was in its tidings, the clash of swords and breaking of bones distantly audible. "I can't . . . can't find her."

"Where's your father?"

"He's fighting."

"He must be very brave then."

Another tear welled up behind Aeri's large eyes, like clay in kiln, eyes that spoke of how guileless they were. Addie held her arm. The girl didn't flinch at the rough-hewn touch. In fact, she seemed somewhat comforted.

"You know what, Aeri," Addie said. "Once we reach Fehnia, I'm going to help you find your mother. How about that? I promise by the stars."

Aeri gave her a timid nod for a reply.

"But," Addie added, "you're going to have to do one thing for me. You are not going to cry, Aeri. Can you do that?"

Another teeny nod.

"Attagirl," Addie said. Then she felt a firm hand on her shoulder.

Master Harl, owner of that hand, stood old and strong before her. He looked like an inscrutable banyan tree which ghosts parleyed in. "I'll keep moving, then. Don't stall." His white walrus mustache bounced with each syllable. "And don't attract too much attention to yourself."