The Blue Desert

Chapter Sixteen

The next day Anan woke and did not feel tired as soon as her eyes opened. The sun was higher than it usually was when she woke in the morning, indicating that she had slept longer than before. She rose to find that the horses were ready, and Vayta was wearing a saddle instead of Bayen.

Silius was covering the fire as he had done the day before. There was bread and water sitting on a cloth beside it, and Anan assumed it was her breakfast. She picked it up and ate part of it before asking him why he assumed she would be riding Vayta.

"You should ride them equally," he answered. "That way both will have a chance to rest. Occasionally I will give Storm a rest, as well."

Anan stiffened. She didn't know why the idea of Silius riding one of her horses bothered her, but it did. She did not even want to ride Vayta herself. To hide her lack of response, she drained the cup of its contents. Only after she had finished it did she realize that it was not water, but the same thing as he had given her the night before.

Silius noticed her staring into the empty cup and answered her unspoken question. "Namend," he said, pulling a glass container out of the bag hung at his waist. The liquid inside was tinted a pale color.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's an herb that the desert dwellers grind into a powder and make into tea. I thought that it might be useful."

"What is it for?"

"It's calming."

Anan stared at his back as he went to the lake to rinse out the cup. She was unsure whether she should question him further or not. It did help her sleep the night before unless she was simply so tired that she slept better than usual.

When Silius returned, the cup was put away, and he walked straight to his horse. "We should probably set out."

Anan mounted Vayta warily and gathered the reins. She held them tightly in both hands with Bayen's lead threaded in with them. Vayta started out, eager to be ahead of the other horses, and Anan concentrated on the rhythmic sway of his stride.

It wasn't long before she grew comfortable and looked at Silius, deciding the best diversion would be conversation. "Why don't you speak?" she asked frankly.

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. "I do."

"No," Anan amended, "why don't your people speak?"

"They did once," Silius said, his eyes squinted past Storm's ears in a look that bordered displeasure. "But there are many storms in the desert, and it is difficult to stay hydrated. Once they adopted the clothes they wear today, it was difficult to speak around the mouth coverings and the sand and dryness of the mouth, and they simply began to speak with their hands."

Anan nodded slowly. "You do not speak at all?"

"Very few people do."

"But you and your father do? And your mother?"

He glanced at her sharply. "My father does, but his wife does not."

Anan was surprised by his tone, if not a little intimidated. For a long moment she stayed silent, waiting to see if he would break the silence to explain his insinuation, but he did not speak.

Anan could not stay quiet for long and finally she asked, "If she is not your mother, but she is your father's wife, then . . ." she trailed off, trying to think through how to ask such a personal question, but no words came.

"My mother is dead," Silius said flatly. "She was killed."

"I . . . I'm sorry," she mumbled. She should have assumed that there was no other answer to her question and should not have asked it.