Luminous

78 - Bosoms Bared

After they have crested what must have been the hundredth dune, the roiling sea of sand finally gave way to a flat expanse of even more sand. In the midst of nondescript blue-gray, the humble oasis—with its patch of green grass and gaggle of weary trees—stood out like the Greeneye of the family. Through the heat haze, Meya could just make out a tent, bales of hay and wagons loaded with supplies, a few horses huddled into the shaded mercy of the trees, and a slim figure puttering about tending to them.

Beyond the oasis, what appeared to be a road made of gaping holes meandered towards a faraway town, blinking like a polished pebble at the foot of the mountain range. These holes were without doubt maintenance shafts of the qanat Coris had mentioned. 

With their raised, conical rims, they reminded Meya of the icky formations glued to the seashells Jason would bring back from the Southern shores. Barnacles, he said they were called. Shellfish with long, waving hair used to live within them—before they were baked to death by the sun when the tide receded. Talk about building a useless home.

As they approached yelling distance, a life emerged from the nearest hole. To Meya's slight disappointment, it wasn't shellfish, nor was it hairy—it was a Hyacinth woman. Tall, hulking and tanned, she balanced a bucket on her clean-shaven head with one hand, and scaled the ladder out of the qanat hole with the other.

The willowy man who'd been tending to the horses rushed over, arms outstretched, eager to assist. The woman marched right past him to the nearby barrel mounted on a stool, and tipped the bucket's content into it. Water flowed out of the pipe hammered into its side into the waiting barrel below, filtered and fit for drinking.

The woman spun around, headed for another trip down the hole. That was when she noticed their entourage. Bucket propped at her angular hip, she turned to face them full and waved. That was when Meya noticed her clothing—or rather, the near lack of it.

She wore white trousers, cinched at the ankles so each leg ballooned out like flaps of flesh, likely to keep out the sand. Her upper body was bare save for the elaborate cloak of tattoos on her shoulders, and the taut strings of glinting black beads restraining her breasts from jiggling as she went about her daily business. The strings coalesced at the crown of her breasts, where two eerily glowing dragon eyes sat above her teats.

Meya drew a sharp breath. Coris's hand was upon hers in a beat, but Meya slipped hers out just as quickly as her reflexes would allow. What would the woman—a Hyacinth woman, no less—think if she appeared holding a man's hand for comfort? At the mere sight of dragon eyes mounted on a brassiere?

Ignoring the fleeting look of confusion and hurt in those silvery eyes, Meya disembarked. The Hyacinth man had taken up his place beside the guide-woman. He was draped from head to toe in a hooded white toga decorated with violet curlicues. The hood served to shield his face from the harsh sun, and thus his skin retained its natural sheen of matted olive, much like Lady Jaise. Both the man and woman looked to be in their late twenties—it was difficult to pinpoint, as they looked, dressed nor carried themselves like the typical Latakian of their sex.

Meya walked side-by-side with Coris towards them. The guide-woman stepped up and bowed to her.

"Lady Hadrian." Her voice was deep and hearty. She pressed a spade-like hand to her chest, her violet-black eyes glinting, "I'm Jadirah. I serve the Lady Hyacinth. I shall escort your entourage to our humble town."

Jadirah drew her foot back, her arm outstretched towards the line of holes leading into the distance,

"We'll follow the course of the qanat, straight to Hyacinth's front gates. The journey should take two days. Ozid here, the Orientator, will educate you all on our culture along the way."