Djatov Vadya Šivak av Inadji stood atop the širadj and waited for the stars to fall. Vadya’s right hand stroked Keramo’s neck to steady the ketašo’s nerves and Vadya wished that they could calm themself as easily. My tail twitches like an okume’s.
Vadya had been riding Keramo since they were both young. Ketašo were as long lived as the Anyuvin, and while — technically — all the ketašo belonged to the family as a whole, bonds often formed between ketasho and rider and the family generally respected them. Keramo lived up to their name, wild as the hot summer winds that could bury things under meters of sand overnight.
Keramo reached over to nibble at Vadya’s mane and Vadya cuffed their head away, then straightened the inora, tugging at the auburn locks which had been woven through the djucažok cords. Davo had taken such care weaving Vadya’s mane in place. Being sure, of course, to leave the streaks of gray hidden underneath. As if I was that vain! Vadya barked a short laugh. Well, maybe I am – a little.
Vadya’s honey brown fur was tipped with gray now, beginning to hide the rust red stripes that crossed their face and body. And the amber eyes that Davo so adored were less clear, though they claimed otherwise. Keramo, too, was old, with gray in the muzzle and about their dark brown eyes. Vadya continued petting Keramo’s neck, even as the ketašo kicked the sand with a hoof.
“M’div, Keramo,” Vadya said, quietly. “This unnerves me as well.”
From the top of the širadj, Vadya could see out over the entire valley. To the east, Mora Šivak was camped by a small šigari tucked up against the eastern wall of the Kašav Rift, the golden light from the family’s tent barely visible through the Ashokan trees of Kan Ginyandji Čadra.
The Giant’s Shadow” sat in shade much of the day and was a cool and pleasant place in the summer. In the winter, it was sheltered from the cold desert winds. It was one of the more stable šigari, and had stayed in the same place for hundreds of years, if the stories were true.
Šigari were oasis of various sizes that occurred wherever water welled up through cracks in the aquifer below the desert sands. Often they moved about, subject to the vagaries of the sands. The plants that grew around them often propogated by runners, the roots seeking to follow the damp sand as it moved about. The more stable šigari let trees grow, rising up through the grasses and shrubs. Ashokan trees could send roots down deep, tapping the deep water. Šigari like Kan Ginyandji Čadra could support several families at a time, though Mora Šivak was the only one camped there at the moment.
More to the point, Vadya thought, there are caves in the cliffs where the family can hide if this goes badly. Unless I miss my guess, Ražad has the family moving into them by now. They will do well as Šivak’thal, when I am too old. But not as Inadji’thal. Vadya sighed. They do not have the solid grasp of politics that a clan leader needs.
Above Vadya the stars spread out across the sky, bright and hard and cold in the winter night air. It was a few months into Odi Tameg – the first half of winter and the air was cold and still. The stars burned hard – so bright and beautiful. All through Vadya’s life the stillness of the stars had given them a sense of peace. How many times have I ridden Keramo up onto a place like this, just to look at them? And now they move. Now I find that my world is doomed and part of me wishes the stars would be still again and that I did not know.
Thinking back over what the spirit had said, Vadya worried. It was easy, at the end of one’s life to say that things were different now — that things were not as good as when one was a child. But is it true? Is water really less plentiful than it was? Was it really sweeter back then? Do I have more trouble breathing because I am 5 winters old, or because the air grows thinner with each passing year? Who is really dying? My world or me?
Behind the šigari, the great wall of the Rift rose in vertical steps, from The Sands below, step after step until it reached the Highlands. Each step was a hundreds of kadi high and there were too many to count. Legend said that the Rifts had been dug by giants, back when the world was new, and that the steps were their stairway home. Vadya found it hard to believe, but there was no way to tell, as the Highlands were so far up that there was no air to breath there. And yet the spirit had shown Vadya things. Things that only a spirit, or a god, could know and if even half of it was true…
And to fly among the stars! Now there was something that spoke to Vadya. To move among the stars, to see them, not as mere points of light, but as giant furnaces, burning fiercely in the black. Those images the spirit showed me could not have done them justice, I am sure of that! But they tantalized and Vadya themself burned to see them.
They howled in frustration. I am of two minds on this! To leave K’mora, to die someplace far away from the Sands? How would one’s spirit find it’s way back? How would it find the Great Tent of one’s ancestors? To live among the stars, yes, that held Vadya enthralled, but to die among them? Now that was a different matter.
They could save us, the spirit had said, but everyone knew spirits were deceitful, that their motives were not the same as people’s motives. The spirit had said they just wanted to help, but the price was — vague — and Vadya had worn armor, for what comfort it gave, though Vadya doubted it would make much difference. They fly among the stars! Vadya thought as their fingers rubbed at a deep gouge in the hardened leather breastplate. It barely turned that lance, what will it be worth against such as those?
Vadya started to loop Keramo’s reins around a tether stake, then stopped. If this went badly, Keramo deserved a chance of escape. Vadya gave the ketašo one last thump on the neck as Keramo butted their head against Vadya’s side. “Votaše etyame, djo.” Vadya said, then barked a short laugh and leaned forehead to forehead with Keramo. Patience was never one of Keramo’s strengths. Or mine! I can do it, but I do not like waiting.
“Be careful, you. If this goes badly, find Ražad and the others,” Vadya said, then ruffled the ketasho’s mane and turned to look back up at the night sky.
“At last,” Vadya murmured.
The stars had begun to move some time ago, seemingly at random, but now groups of them moved together, heading in every direction of the night sky. All but one star, which grew steadily brighter until Vadya could see that it was not a star, but a great flame of the brightest blue. So bright that Vadya’s eyes went black, their nictitating membranes closing to dim that incredible brilliance. It might as well be a part of the Great One itself, come down to the Sands. As it grew closer, Vadya could hear it roaring – one continuous, overwhelming sound that was nothing but the voice of raw power. An inadji must pale in comparison, Vadya thought.
At last the flame danced over the sands of Waša Morek and where that flame touched the sand it glowed as red as Vežni in winter. The great noise was joined by a blast of hot wind that swept past carrying the smell of hot metal and burning sand. Vadya watched as the flame grew steadily closer, settling at last just below the dune where they stood. When the flame died Vadya waited for a while, until their vision cleared, then started walking down the slope to meet — what? A spirit? A person, as it claimed to be? No, Vadya thought, a god. Nothing else could command such power.
Down below, a great dark shape lay on the smoldering sands and out of that darkness something emerged. As it drew close enough to see, Vadya could only think of a giant betevaš. It had a long, ebony black body, the glossy carapace inlaid with patterns of gold and silver. Two great legs moved it slowly, but gracefully forward, its forelimbs were held tight against it’s body and the head swiveled, moving the faceted eyes from side to side. As it drew closer, Vadya could occasionally hear a hissing sound, interspersed with pops and clicks.
It stopped in front of Vadya, it’s head tilted so that one giant, faceted eye looked down at Vadya and a mandible clicked. Suddenly, there was the voice Vadya remembered. The voice of the spirit.
“At last, Vadya,” it said, “we meet face to face.”
Vadya could say nothing. Was it just the inhuman look of it that made one fear it so? Or was there something else? Would they have listened to it, had they known what it was?
It spoke again, “Tell me, Vadya, are you loyal?”
And suddenly the price of the spirit’s help was less vague. Such a statement presumed things — that loyalty could be commanded rather than earned. That it demanded what rightfully belonged to family and clan.
“Are you loyal, Vadya?”
One forelimb reached out and rested on Vadya’s shoulder. The serrations on the inside of it clearly visible. If one was caught in its embrace, there would be only death, fast or slow as this monster chose.
The chill of camadjana swept through Vadya. The premonition left no doubt. No, not a spirit, nor a god, but a master. One of many who would rule their lives for longer than Vadya could imagine and their heart sank, for in that moment they knew it was already too late.
“I will not ask again, Vadya. Are you loyal?”
There was nothing Vadya could do to match the spirit’s power. Although, if one was quick enough…
“Yes,” Vadya said, and the forelimb relaxed, retracted.
Then the lance was moving, almost of it’s own volition, toward the joint between the body and the head. As it struck, Vadya added, “but not to you.” There was no expression on the monster’s face to change, only a flood of something bitter smelling. Then Vadya twisted to one side, severing the head from the body.