At the summit of the tallest hill—tallest because the wind sings without obstacle—ten stones lay in a circle, half buried in the chalky soil. No grass grows for the heat of them, but the sun knows the languor of a cloudless day. My feet long to brand the stones, or be branded by the patterns they bear, but the hill is steep and I do not know the way. At the base of the hill sit ten people—I think—in a straight line and all sing as I approach. When I stop before them, they fall silent. The first to speak is a woman to my left, and the rest follow in order.
"You may climb," she sings. "I give you unto the journey, if you promise to kiss the first stone when you arrive. Dance with me there."
"I will thank the first stone, but tell me your name," I say.
"You will know it when you begin the climb. The first step is mine to give you," she says, and the ground pulls me a single step up the hillside. Paria. I know life in her. Still, the summit is a long way off.
A man clears his throat.
"You may climb," he sings. "I give unto you the path, if you promise to kiss the second stone when you arrive. Meditate with me there."
"I will praise the second stone," I say. "Will you not tell me your name too?"
"You will know it when you select the path. The way is mine to show you," he says, and the wind turns my course to a true and exact heading. Humi. I know his soil. Still, I have not reached the summit.
"You may climb," another male voice sings, much deeper and resonant than the last. "I give the strength in your lungs, if you promise to kiss the third stone when you arrive. Sing with me there."
"I will serenade the third stone," I say. "Your name is a secret too, yes?"
"You will hear it on the breeze. The breath is mine to give you," he says, and my chest fills with sweet air. Aether. I know air in his name. Strength is mine, and a few sure steps, but not yet the summit.
"You may climb," a clear female voice sings. "Your thirst is mine to quench, if you promise to kiss the fourth stone when you arrive. Allow the rain to cool you there."
"I will. The rains will sooth me at the fourth stone," I say.
"My name is in the first drop of water on your tongue. Relief is mine to give you," she says. A water pouch swings against my thigh. I grasp the pouch and touch the open spout to my lips. One drop of water meets my tongue. Amna. I know relief in her name. Several more refreshed steps are mine, and still, the summit eludes me.
"You may climb," a new male voice says, this one bright and sure. "The hill is mine to give you, if you promise to kiss the fifth stone when you arrive. Build with me there."
"I will build upon the fifth," I say. "And name you as I build."
"You will read my name in the language of the earth. The rocks are mine to smooth for you," he says, pulling the finest chalky granules across my toes. Coelus. I know his name in the architecture of the land. I claim half of the hill for my own, but my muscles ache to rest. I sit beside the path.
A gentle hand grazes my forehead
"You may climb, girl." Another new voice. Feminine and soft. "Rest is mine to give you," she says, "if you promise to kiss the sixth stone when you arrive. Sleep at the sixth, when all is won."
"Rest, I will, at the sixth stone," I say.
"The blanket of the night will ease your exhaustion, and in your relief, you will know me. That is mine to give the worthy traveler," she says, tempering my muscles in the relief of a night's sleep. When dawn arises, Lunea wakes me to know her gift.
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FantasyShe has spent the better part of her life in solitary confinement. After escaping into the wilds, Zafre finds herself relying on a dangerous tribe to stay alive - until she connects with a power at the core of all creation. She must decide to whom s...
