Destiny

“Such a decision should not be made in haste, in the heat of excitement,” Alhana explained. “The search for a stone will give each elf time to reflect”

Gilthas decreed the voting would take place the day after tomorrow, at daybreak. All would return to this spot and make his or her decision. Those voting to depart would do so immediately.

The Sinthal-Elish was at an end. Truthanar handed a cup to the Speaker. It contained more of the white medicine.

“I thought you were resting,” Kerian said. “What were you thinking of, coming here like this?”

“I was thinking of the future.”

“Don’t you get tired of talking like that?” she muttered.

“Like what?”

“Like a prophet… Or a player in some low drama.”

He smiled. “Being Speaker requires a sense of drama.”

Their walk back to camp was accomplished amid a happy mob of the Speaker’s loyal and confident subjects. They knew firsthand their king had spared himself none of the hardships of their exile. When the danger from the nomads was greatest, Gilthas Pathfinder led his people onward with no thought of his own safety. Although he wore the mantle of legendary rulers such as Silvanos and Kith-Kanan, Gilthas had proven himself their equal in valor and majesty.

Their faith was so heartbreakingly profound, Kerian couldn’t bear it. “Do you have any plan for those who remain, Gil? What are you going to do?”

He squeezed her hand. “The day after tomorrow, I will cross Lioness Creek and lead our nation into Inath-Wakenti.”

Hamaramis, walking next to them, exclaimed, “Great Speaker, is that wise?”

“Yes. We’ve lingered on the doorstep long enough. It’s time to take possession of our new home.”

“If it doesn’t take possession of us,” Kerian said darkly.

* * * * *

Wind blew out of Alya-Alash like a great exhalation. Breath of the Gods indeed! The gusty wind rattled the threadbare tents pitched in the center of the pass. Fifteen cone-shaped shelters woven from dark wool were arranged in a semicircle. They were the last remnants of the once-mighty force that had dogged the elves’ every step from Khuri-Khan. The nomads had fought with great courage and ferocity, but the laddad outlasted them. Griffons had soared down from the sky, one of them ridden by a hideous demon. When he ordered depart, most of them did. It was easy to justify the retreat. So many had died battling the laddad, some of the tribes would require years to recover.

Adala Fahim dipped her hands in a dented copper basin. The tepid water stung her scratched fingers as she washed away a thick layer of grime. Known as the Weyadan, the Weya-Lu “Mother of the Weya-Lu” tribe, she later had come to be called!” Maita for the divine, inescapable fate that guided her in the war against the laddad. Little of the divine remained; their was only endless, back-breaking labor. The day the laddad entered Alya-Alash, Adala had begun the wall across the pass. Some of her former followers returned to help. A few were warriors, but most were older folk who still believed in her godly mission. From sunrise to sundown, they dragged were stones from the surrounding slopes. Lacking mortar or tools they piled the stones in a long cairn, its base wider than its top. Thus far, the wall was head high and about a hundred yards long. The pass was a mile wide. A great deal of work remained.

Adala toiled without complaint, her faith undiminished. The very falling away of the tribes’ support convinced her she was in the right. Everyone knew the path to truth was narrow and hard, while the road to error was easy. Her only regret was the betrayal of her cousin Wapah. He had his back on her, his people, and his homeland by helping the foreign killers escape justice. His actions were unforgivable.

A few days after he’d led the laddad into the valley, Wapah had returned. He rode straight out of the pass, in broad daylight, with shaped his head uncovered for all to see. Outraged warriors wanted to slay him as a traitor, but Adala showed them he was not worth even that. She turned her back on him. The rest followed her example, and Wapah passed through the camp and out into the high desert in the heat, with no eye upon him. His image diminished to a silhouette, then wavered, and vanished. Since then, no one else had entered or left the forbidden valley.

Finished with her ablutions, Adala shook her hands carefully over the bowl, allowing every drop to run back inside. Water was plentiful here, but the habits of a lifetime in the desert were unbreakable. She looked up as the thud of hoofbeats announced the arrival of a rider. It was Tamid, a Weya-Lu from the Cloudbender clan.

“Maita! Our hunting party was attacked!”

She stood quickly. “Laddad?”

“No. A beast!”