The Winds of Tepr

Chapter 9

In the dim light of the morning, Naci and Horohan stir, awakening to the distant chirping of an eagle. The sound pierces the stillness of their yurt, signaling the start of a new day. Naci rubs her eyes, glancing at the spot where she'd left her fledgling eagle the night before. Her heart swells with warmth as she sees her bird snuggled under the wings of Khatan who seems to have taken a protective role over the younger bird.

Smiling, Naci rises, careful not to disturb Horohan as she moves to dress.

"You need to feed her," Horohan says softly, her eyes following Naci as she approaches the birds.

"I know," Naci replies, carefully lifting her young eagle into her arms. She reaches for a pouch of dried meat, breaking off small pieces to offer to the young bird. As she feeds it, Naci begins to hum a tune—a melody for the wide and open skies.

Horohan watches this interaction, captivated not just by the care Naci shows the bird but also by the haunting beauty of her voice.

Unable to resist, Horohan adds her own voice to the tune. She's not quite sure about the words, but the melody is simple enough, and there's a particular joy in making it their own. Their voices intertwine in the small, intimate space, filling the yurt with a music that's as unexpected as it is beautiful.

After their impromptu morning serenade, Naci and Horohan prepare to face the day. Donning their outer garments and securing their weapons, they perform a series of rituals designed to ensure swift and safe travels. The incense burns low, its smoke swirling into intricate patterns as they chant ancient verses, sealing their intentions.

Just as they are about to step out of the yurt, the flap lifts and Naci's father, the chieftain, steps in, followed by Jabliu's shaman priest adorned with talismans and ritual paint.

"Naci, Horohan, I wish to bless your journey," the chieftain says, his eyes filled with concern.

"Father," Naci nods, her face softening.

The old shaman priest moves forward, intoning blessings, sprinkling them with an infusion of sacred herbs. The air becomes thick with the earthy scent.

"As you journey through Tepr, remember my teachings, Naci," the chieftain turns his gaze towards his daughter, his voice laced with a solemnity that she recognizes all too well. "Especially the books I had you read."

Horohan's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "You can read?"

Naci grins, a flicker of pride dancing in her eyes. "Yes, my father taught me. Moukopl, and Bugr."

"Bugr?" Horohan echoes, clearly intrigued.

"It's a dead language," Naci explains, her voice tinged with pride. "It was spoken by an ancient empire that predates even the Moukopl. The empire was so vast, they say its lands connected this world with the next."

A look of awe settles on Horohan's face. "I can also read Moukopl, but that's because I was raised as an heir. That kind of knowledge is usually reserved for men. I don't think we ever discussed Bugr in Alinkar... Or maybe I wasn't diligent enough during my studies."

"Most documents written in Bugr are either lost or carefully preserved, studied only in Moukopl libraries," the chieftain explains. "It's no surprise you've never encountered any."

As the blessings and incense linger in the air, Naci and Horohan take their eagles and step outside. The chill of the morning is still fresh, but the sun rises higher, promising the onset of a warmer day. Mounting their horses, they share a look of determination before setting off toward their first destination: the Nedai tribe to the west.