The Girl of Ossetia

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

            The sun was now high above them, its warmth spread upon their skin like a golden blanket. Now at the crest of the Valley, whose jagged rocks rose from the golden belly bellow to a gnarled and steep spine – one of frosted stone and dry shrubs burnt from past battles.

            Arrana wedged her feet into a small crevice in the icy rocks, her hand clutched firmly on a pointed one just at waist height. With her other, she shielded her eyes and looked at what lay before her. The rocks fell into a brown grassed plain, in which patches of old dried crimson stained and forever turned the soil to iron. In random plots of the seemingly forever going plains, beautiful swatches of emerald green grass pinned with blooming yellow-bells and daisies.

            She was quiet for a moment, her eyes glazed at the site. Her heart ached, and something deep inside of her, yet what felt just below the surface of her marble skin tingled. She gripped a rock, anchoring herself in place. Her lips twitched and eyes faltered shut. Behind the curtains of her eyes memories danced, but before she could grasp them fully, they waltzed away.

            She held her breath all the while, watching as this beautiful figure, enclosed in the dark chasm of her closed eyes. It was tall, and was enclosed in glowing silk, yet drifted away, as though a jellyfish caught in an ocean tide. Arrana’s fingers gripped the cold stone harder, her knees buckled gently. The figure began to whisper; sound seemed to drain away except for the gentle, rhythmic chanting. Flashing visions of fire, and raging increments of battle bore her ears, before wistfully being swept away by the beautiful whispers. In certain ways, the girl could understand, in others, she could not. The figure held out a hand, before slowly backing away. Arrana felt her soul drag forth with it, felt the keen want to follow. Another short diversion of a pitched scream and the sound of a limp body falling to soft earth stole away from the whispering figure.

            Her memory falters, as the figure again glides backward into the darkness, wishing for her to come forth. Her skin prickles, feeling an eerie tremble in her stomach. She recognized this, to some extent; this figure. She had seen it before, but where? The figure steps forth, it’s whispering becoming more urgent, farther away, before quickly darting backward. Arrana is desperate now; she feels her knees tremble before buckling fully and her body limply capsizing forth down the rocky decline of the mountain. She heard her name yelled distantly, as her numb skin is sliced repeatedly by jagged stones and rough, mountain shrubs.

            She is brought back to the world when the warm feeling of skin catches her, and her eyes snap open, not barring away from the light. Saelam hovered over her, his hands tight around her arms, eyes stern but soft with worry. She looks out at the massive plain, pin-pointing one small stained piece of grass far to the center. She struggles to pull from Saelam’s grasp, who was eagerly questioning her of what happened, but she did not listen. She tried to shuffle down the mountain, eyes steady on that one spot.

            “What are you doing?!” He roared, shaking her arm and knocking her down back to the stony incline. He stooped over her, blotting out the sunshine; his face hard and serious now. Arrana was snapped out of her unusual need to reach the plot of land and looked up at him, body drawn back in fear.

            “You can’t be running off, Arrana!” He snapped. “It is our job to protect you, no matter the cost.” She stared up at him, an unusual bout of anger filling the pit of her stomach.

            “Why?! Why can’t I just die? Can’t someone just kill me and everything would be great?!” She screamed, standing up, a cold wind tossing her auburn waves about her face.

            “It does not work that way. You can not fiddle about with death, especially your soul.” He barked, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. Arrana winced, hearing the others close behind now, feet and hooves stumbling over the stones. Arrana fell silent with her anger and questions, feeling a cold hand rest on her shoulders. She looked back, irritated at first, before noticing Luinil’s face pulled into a knowing look.

            After a long silent walk down the mountain, they finally reached flat land. The grass crunched beneath their feet, and the soil beneath was an ugly shade of the blackest crimson.

            “Aspura. Land of the Horse Gods. Where one of the biggest battles of the War was held.” Saelam spoke lowly, taking a long drink from his canteen before mounting back up onto his horse. “Some say the Fore-seer died here.” The name was foreign to Arrana, but at the same moment, eerily familiar. She closed her eyes, in which an image flashed before them, but before she could grasp it, it was gone.

            “The Fore-seer?” She questioned, placing her foot in a stirrup and pulling herself up onto Gunsynd. They were all silent, frustration again bubbled up into her. “Why won’t you ever answer my questions?”

            Again silence, and she pushed her horse into a trot. Luinil called after her. “Because we are waiting for the right times to tell you, Arrana. It is too much for you to handle now.”

            “I am not a child! I think I can handle the information.”

            “I am not saying you are a child, it takes a level of the mind to filter it all, especially you… being you. The time will come.” Luinil’s voice was calm and collected, feigning off the anger in Arrana and she looked down, ashamed for barking at her.

            Off they were again, eating dried berries in silence. Over the flat land, and under the sun – it could’ve been taken as a nice day. But a dark feeling rested in her stomach that she couldn’t quite understand. Near Mid-afternoon, the fog that had been lightly covering what lie to the West finally was burnt off by the sun. One long glance sent that way had her mouth slightly open and the faintest whisper of a smile on her lips.

            “Is that the Ocean?” She calls back to Saelam, who sends a glance to the West, before nodding.

            “Yes, why?” She smiles, pulling her horse to a stop, staring at him with pleading eyes.

            “I’ve never been to the Ocean.” Her voice strains gently at a whisper, her eyes looking out at it, a glimmer of a thing, barely seeable besides a long line of blue. Saelam glances at her and shakes his head.

            “No, we must not dilly-dally. We have a goal, and doing it in a timely manner would be necessary.” He heels his horse onward, and Arrana bows her head gently, as though a child upset over something silly. Yet she hears Luinil chastise him softly, and she watches her give him a look, something subtle, but somehow filled her with dread. After a moment, Saelam looked back. He sighed, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

            “Just for this one day.” He muttered, turning his horse to the West. Iasarith cheered, and a warm smile spread onto Arrana’s lips. With it, a warm breeze brings the most beautiful scent of salt to her.