Whispers on the Wind: The City of Clouds

Part 4: Seryn's Gift

It was three days before I left the room, and Dirla divided her time between myself and her mate, Hirk. The fracture of my collar bone healed over this time, its recovery augmented by a curious salve that Dirla applied.

One evening as she smoothed the thick paste onto my bruised shoulder, I asked of its nature. Dirla’s touch, indeed her whole demeanour, was gentle and caring.

“It is made from various herbs and fungi, and most importantly the honey-mould that grows in the caverns of the Mountains below.”

I smiled. “If I had known it was if such value, I would have ventured through the crevice at the rear of the cave that Hirk and I took shelter in.”

Dirla stiffened, and withdrew her touch. I scolded myself—I had come to enjoy her gentle ministrations.

“The caverns are dangerous, a favoured lair for the mountain giants.”

I pulled my tunic over my bare shoulders. “These giants—they are the enemy of your race?”

“That is correct—for many generations. Since we first sought refuge amongst the clouds, away from the vulnerability of the mountainside. Hirk shall speak of it to you more.”

“Is he healing as well as me?”

“I am attending him adequately, if that is what you imply,” Dirla said.

I raised my hands in defence. “I did not mean to sound ungrateful.”

She lowered her head. A grip of shame encircled my chest.

“No, friend- Seryn, I have spoken out of place. Accept my apology once more. These words, these sounds that we converse in, seem so... limited.”

It was as if a darkened chamber within my head had become wondrously illuminated. The emotions I had felt whilst with Hirk in the mountain cave, whilst being nursed by Dirla—they were shared ones.

“You project your feelings, as well as your words?”

“It is so. It is peculiar to Netreptans—words can only say so much.”

I forced a smile, striving to reassure her. “I’m reassured the experience isn’t two way. One as kind as you shouldn’t experience the emotions of a warrior... they can be rather... harrowing.”

Dirla shrugged. “I am betrothed to a warrior. Those are feelings that I am accustomed to.”

I did not pursue the implications of her statement at that time. Dirla had been kind to me, and I did not wish to see her offended. Our several days together had left me with the impression that she almost relished having me stranded in this room, as if she was keeping me hidden from others. As if she was keeping me for herself. Throughout those days she had revealed snippets of detail about this city in the clouds, and about her people—little mysteries like those of the conjurers who entertained the lords back in Shorvor.

A platter of Netreptan food was beside where we were seated. The clay bowls were filled with an array of vibrantly coloured mush. The mere sight of the food made my stomach spasm. The palatability of the meal had not been helped by Dirla describing the various insects that were crushed to form the paste.

My hand hovered near the bowls. I hoped to lighten the mood by pretending to enjoy the food, but Dirla was evidently preoccupied with some other concern.

Dirla stood abruptly. “Hirk-mate wishes you to attend him. I tried to inform him that you were still recuperating, but he was most insistent.”

I straightened my dishevelled clothes. My sword rested in the corner, and my eyes drifted to it.