Soul Fire

Soul Fire - Chapter 28

It resembled a hopeless tangle of threads that needed to be straightened. The glow of the runes swam and coalesced, mixing into a dizzying, continuous streak of light. The longer he stared at them, the quicker they merged, like a palette of paints pooled together - their individual colors and identities lost.

The pedestal must be the key.

He leaned in over it, memorizing the letters written against the stone, the colors, their pattern, and order. He closed his eyes, let the shapes swim and disperse, then clear away to black. When he reopened his eyes he looked at the walls, letting his mind work without the interference of preconceptions, disregarding what he already thought, or knew.

Then, he tilted his head to one side, a small smile broke across his lips and he began to write.

Sheaves of paper sucked at the ink of his quill. He compiled thoughts, ideas, and words, though none in the Asillian tongue. His hand raced, his eyes never regarding the letters and symbols he scribed. He looked to the walls, from one to the next, all four, but not in the order a book may be written. The kanji on display perhaps numbered in the thousands, the ideas voiced through his scribbling quill seemed endless ... and a story started to appear.

"You could not sleep, my friend? You see something written on the walls which you understand?"

He stopped writing. Davidor didn't turn to face Artallah, instead, he curled his body around his pages.

"I don't think so, Sultan. I may never get this chance again, so I thought it prudent to transcribe as much as I could before we leave. I will have ample time to sleep, when Malithas and Salidon bore me with their barbs once more."

Artallah's mouth twisted into a hint of a smile.

"You are their companion, yet it is as though you do not know each other at all. In truth, if I chanced upon you on a city street, or even in a tavern, I would judge you as strangers."

Davidor gave a small shrug.

"They are warriors, Artallah. I am just a cartographer. They appreciate my studies with the same respect that I have for their swordplay and talk of war."

"Do not despair, my friend. I too know what it is like to fall outside the company of others. Dathion likes you and his opinion influences mine. There is more to the words you do not share with me, than the ones you do. I will leave you to your studies and disturb you no more."

Davidor's eyes followed Artallah long after his footsteps had receded from the stone of the chamber.

*****

Dathion's blankets had at first warded him from the chill of the desert night, but now they were a furnace. He sweated awake, kicking them off, though the hot wind that already twisted between the towering stones brought no relief. For a rare change, he was the first awake, at least among the Asillians. The Storm Dancers had already taken breakfast and returned to their sentry duties.

Artallah approached Dathion with a welcoming smile and a bowl filled with water. Dathion's throat had been rasped sore from the drying wind. He licked moisture across his parched lips, then drank deeply from the bowl. Grit tickled the inside of his mouth and washed down the back of his throat. Clearing his throat twice, he managed to speak, though his voice broke on his last word.

"Thank you, Artallah."

The water was blissfully cool, because the Palians buried the clay vessels under the sand at night. After another few sips his voice returned.

"So, what happens now? Do you wish for me to return to Asillia and instruct our scholars to lend you their aid?"

"No, young prince. I could never ask such a favor, for you have your own duties that should not be delayed. Your offer is gratefully received and will be remembered. When the opportunity presents itself, Palia will still ask the assistance of Asillia in the unraveling of this mystery."