The Song of S'ruq

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Farah Ondaryn saw a flicker of light through the wall of night, out over the grasslands that stretched from the river border between their hunting lands and fledgling Kingdom of Penth. 

“Father,” she called ahead, “Do you see that light? Out towards the Ourais Plain? Do you think it’s Gruenai?” 

She’d never met any of the pale strangers from the ancient mountain hold. She’d heard stories from Alwyn the trader, about the strange, tall, grey-skinned people who lived deep in the rock. Alwyn said people believed they were here before the first of us, born deep underground, children of a forgotten god. 

Her father, Andayl, said that was just a lie told to scare their people from talking to anyone living outside of the empire.

“We’re pretty far from their Citadel. The young ones usually stay within sight of their gates when taking exile.”

“Why do they stay so close? Why not go south to see the cities? That’s what I would do.”

Her father paused, turning away, hoping not to stoke his daughter’s weariness. “We need to get back to camp. They'll be waiting for us.”

“Can I ride out to see who it is?"

“No, we need to get back. Tomorrow we leave for-“

“I know, but,” she paused to think, “b-but... what if it’s raiders from the South? I heard they’ve been coming farther north this season.”

He continued tending to his saddle in silence. 

“Or-or what if it’s one of Queen Albine’s wardens? Don’t we want to know in case we need to warn the clan? We would need to pack up and ride through the night if it's more wardens.” 

“It’s not raiders,” he paused.

“It could be! You don't know for sure.”

She stared deep into the darkness, trying to make out details inside of the tiny flickering dot, like a pebble-sized beacon calling her away from the valley her clan traveled every year, following wild herds of deer and prairie bulls.

After a minute of silence and tightening his already-perfect saddle, her father climbed onto his horse. He looked towards the flickering light.

“I’ll ride ahead to prepare horses in-case of wardens. Please, just... don’t ride too close. Go on foot when you get near. And get back to us quickly, as soon as you know.” 

Farah smiled as she squeezed her legs into the sides of her horse, Yon, pushing them both toward the flickering light.

“I love you, m'dyar,” she heard her father’s voice trailing off behind her. 

She replied with a distinct whistle call they used during large group hunts. 

She heard him whistle back as she sped off through the darkness. 

Stiff, cold air slapped against her face. She could hear the swishing of tall grass underneath Yon as they moved closer and closer to the small flicker in the distance. She could feel her heartbeat in her hands and knees gripping Yon’s mane and shoulders as they sprinted through the pure black night. They moved together. Excitement moved up her arms in a wave and she drew the cold air deep into her chest as they pushed sped through the night as one.. 

She whispered words of thanks and praise from the old words into Yon’s ears, pulling back and relaxing her grip as the details of the fire started to form. Yon relaxed and slowed to a walk as Farah climbed down, whispering more melodic words into Yon’s ears, putting her at ease.

The tall Chestnut thoroughbred stood quietly out of sight, chewing on hay. Farah moved ahead and ducked slightly into the cover of the tall grass. She crouched and moved slowly towards the firelight, leaving Yon behind her. She moved quietly, occasionally peaking her head up to try to make out more details through the red glow of the firelight dancing through the grass.

As she got closer, she saw the top of a small cone-shaped tent, just enough for a single person. She could smell the rich scent of freshly cooked fish. The crackling of the fire came into form. She squatted close to the ground to stay out of sight, listening for a while. 

How many people are camping there? Are they sleeping? Who could be camping all the way out here, this far north of the Penthi border?

Through the crackling of the fire, she heard a voice. It was calm, but it startled her. She couldn't make out what it said at first. She stood frozen, holding her breath.

“Do you hear me, stranger in the shadows? Do you care to step into the light and share my food and fire?”

She remained there, frozen, hoping that the voice was calling out to some other stranger lurking in the shadows.

“I can see you there, it's okay. I may appear strange to you, but I promise I am no threat. I haven’t much to offer but food and warmth.”

She stood and stepped out of the tall grass towards the voice. The pale figure was dressed in light cloth wrappings, seated on a small log, poking the fire with a stick. A long scarf was draped over their head, wrapped once around, cascading down and resting over the torso and legs. 

“Please, sit. Are you hungry? Thirsty?” 

The draped figure gestured towards a small, steaming pot sitting next to the fire and a skewer with three freshly cooked fish. As Farah got closer, she could see the figure’s oval-shaped, moon-white face, an almost chalky complexion. They lifted a long wooden pipe to their lips, drawing in and releasing smoke from the small slits where a nose would normally be. 

“Don’t fear, young one. I’m a pilgrim, headed to the Grand Temple in Pol. Are you Lyrinthai?”

“Lyr’n’tai, yes.” 

“Ah, the tongue of the ancients. You descend from the the Y’umi’r? I’m sorry, I did not mean to offend with my Rologci dialect, that’s how we say it in our words. Why are you out here here alone? It is late for a hunt. And dark. Can you see in the shadows as I can?” 

“Well, no, I’m — I was out hunting with my father and we saw your fire. I came to make sure you're not... you shouldn’t be here. I mean to say... it’s not safe to be here lately, you know?”

She was nervous. She had only ever seen a few people from outside of the hunting lands of her clan. As a young girl, some monks came to visit from one of the cities. They had a large, leather-bound book, the Reformed Word of the Eight, and they read from it every night. They were kind, but the leaders of the tribes rejected their teaching and sent them away. More recently, the queen’s wardens had caused trouble for her and her family as they settled into the seasonal hunting lands that her clan had hunted for centuries. But none of the wardens or monks looked like this. 

She’d heard of the Rologc’s pale skin, their strange, calm demeanor, their distinct origins from deep within the mountains–but she wasn't prepared for how striking they would truly look up close, how ghostly and hypnotic their presence would feel. She was simultaneously filled with wonder, awe, and fear. The being was simultaneously beautiful and horrifying. The gentle timbre of their voice soothed her, but she was still uncertain. 

The pale creature remained seated by the fire, holding a thin staff out in front of them, planted firmly on the ground. She was close enough now to see the fire dancing off their large black eyes. 

“The Lady of Penth has been sending her wardens north of the river this season. They attacked my uncle and my cousins earlier this year. We thought one of them might not make it.”

She paused, grabbing her water skein and taking a big drink. There was a brief silence.

“Did they?”

“What?” she was caught off guard.

“Did they make it? Did they survive the attack?”

“Yes, barely. My uncle was maimed. He can’t hunt now. My cousin has to lead their hunts now, but he’s only 13. One of the wardens cut him across his face. He said it was a ‘reminder.’” 

“I am sorry to hear of their suffering at the hands of the queen. Our people, too, have felt her presence. It wasn’t always this way. Not many years ago there were no kingdoms in the south until you reached Duncarum and the Greatwood”

“I think I was in my 5th hunt when they built the keep at Penthai Rock. My father took us all the way to the river so we could see it being built. I remember vividly, I was so excited. We'd never been that far from our lands. I remember my father being cautious, doing everything he could to cover his own curiosity. I remember my uncle being angry that he took us. My cousins weren’t allowed to come. I don’t remember the time before the keep.”

“When I was a boy, our people would leave the citadel every year during the first warming. Almost everyone in the city would leave the walls and come to Lake Ourais for two tenday. The beaches were full of saltcrab and the rock formations would be blooming with fresh salt to bring back with us.”

“I have only seen the shores of Ourais from the river, looking down from afar. But it is hard to imagine it without all of the ships or the city and its walls in the background, surrounded by salt flats.” she drank some more water, realizing how thirsty she was from the days hunt. Her skein was almost empty. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any water. Just nectar from the stoneflowers. They grow inside the mountain. You can try some if you’d like?”

She shook her head at first, but then she felt her cracked lips, her head pounding slightly. She nodded. The pale figure handed her a large goats horn, one of several laying around. She raised the horn to her lips and sipped — a little at first, then large gulps as she felt the cool, rich, sweetness of it. 

It was instantly refreshing. She felt a slight rush through her body, a tingling sense of joy. 

“I’ve never had anything like that. In the valley, we make a tea from forest honey mixed with a soft white leaf that grows there. It makes you feel happy, then you fall asleep to the most pleasant dreams. It feels a little like this.”

“This is all we drink. It gathers in the large sacs of the Stoneflower. It is more abundant and available than water, which can be deadly in the caves. Once the sac bursts, the plant dies. By draining the sacs, most plants can live for many decades, some may live for a century. Others have lived as long as a Rologc, like a lifelong wet nurse, grown straight from the rocks. When one dies it is a very sad day.”

“I didn’t know — I have only heard a few stories of your people.”

“In the days when we walked the shores of the Ourais, our people traded with your people, we shared stories, sometimes we would even raise each other’s children. I remember when it ended. But that was long ago.”

“How old are you? You’d have to be–”

“I’m 171 years old.”

She sat silently thinking about that. She had been alive for 19 hunts herself, old enough now to begin searching for a partner, to start her own family within the clan if that was what she wanted — though, to her father's sadness, she did not want that. The leader of the clans was almost 60, quite an age for their people. A few elders have lived to see 100 hunts. 

“I’m in mid-life. My father is nearing his end. He is 293.” 

“Why did our people stop trading?”

“The Greatkingdom formed and spread. It swallowed up tribes and villages and religions and customs. We stopped leaving our walls. Your people stopped leaving the valley. The world has changed much since the kingdoms united.”

“I did not realize how much we’d lost. I thought my people had always kept to the valley.”

They sat quietly for a moment, looking at the fire. They passed the horn back and forth a few times.

“Why are you out here then?” she asked nervously.

“Ah, why indeed?!” the pale being laughed a bit, loosening their grip on the staff before setting it down in front of them. 

He continued, “Have you heard of S’ru S’ruq?”

She shook her head back and forth a bit. She wasn’t even sure what he’d said. 

“Ah, well, this is okay! It's an old tale. S’ru S’ruq was one of my people. 700 years ago, at a time when none left of the keep, it is said that one day he walked beyond the walls and climbed Penthai Rock where he sat four tenday in silent reflection. When he returned, he had a scroll of writings with him. He said they were written by his hand, but not by his mind. He claimed he awoke from deep meditation and found himself writing the final word.”

“Oh?” she was intrigued. 

“He read and re-read the words. He studied them. He did not remember writing them, but he understood them deeply. He said he felt lighter, freer than he ever had. He returned to our city and shared his writings. They became the basis for our worship of Cogh’a and the reformation of our Temple.”

“So… that's why you’re out here? Are you seeking what S’ru was teaching?”

“Well, in a way, yes. I'm like you, out there in the darkness on the edge of the kingdoms, looking out over the Ourais Plateau and seeing a little fire burning. What did you do?”

She sat silently, uncertain what answer her new friend was looking for. 

“You came towards the light.” 

“So, you are going towards a light?”

“Yes. I was called — I am called to the Temple of Soriocht, to meet the Council of Eight, in Pol.”

“Pol? Across the sea?” she could sense that she must have sounded almost scared for her new friend. 

“Yes, I know, it is far. I’ve never been beyond Penth. It will be a shock.”

“I’ve never even been south of the river. So, then — you’ve been to the Scarlet Keep?” she felt her heart beating faster in excitement..  

“A few times. This will be my seventh time going to meet with Lady Albine and her Godan.”

“Are there many of your kin from the citadel working at the temple in Pol? How were you chosen?”

“I’m the first Rologc to leave the citadel in hundreds of years, the first to work with the Great Temple. At home I was a student of the teachings of S’ru S’ruq. In the citadel we have only ever worshiped under Cogh’a.”

“Who do they worship in the kingdoms?”

“They have many gods, but their Temple recognizes eight original figures in the pantheon. Cogh’a is one of them, but their interpretation is twisted, corrupted. That’s why I stood before the high priests in our citadel to propose this journey.” 

He lifted a small leather pouch that was around his neck and brought it to his mouth and gave it a gentle kiss. 

“They did not want me to go. Most who wander this far from the citadel will never return and they don't plan to. It is rare for one to truly self-exile or to go so far with intention to return. Our people do not leave the plateau. Even those who don’t return will settle within a few days journey of the walls of their forever mountain home. But our leaders saw the opportunity that my invitation presents. We can spread our teachings to the kingdoms, we can shape our quickly changing world, hopefully in the direction of goodness.”

She thought of her father. What would he think of all of this? Or her uncle? It was so much more than she was used to, avoiding the boundaries as much as possible. 

“Aren’t you scared? What about your family?”

The stranger seemed to flinch a bit at the word, shifting their weight a bit on their makeshift seat.

“I... I will miss them,” the pilgrim said, kissing the small pouch again. 

“Do you think you’ll ever see them again?”

“I don’t know. I fear not. But I can’t think about that now.”

The pilgrim's head turned quickly and suddenly, looking off into into the darkness. 

“I hear someone.”