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Patient suffered from chronic joba seed use >20 seeds a day. Clear evidence of neurotransmitter dysregulation and altered function resulting in ongoing seizures and desensitization in limbs. I recommend microdoses of joba seed powder in order to stabilize her brain’s core function. This may be the only long-term solution for the patient’s ailments. Overdosing is her biggest threat to survival now.
—Healer Kior’s patient report on Sylah Alyana
Sylah looked up at the Keep. It was a speck in the distance, but she could see the crowds, small as ants, crawling at the bottom of the five hundred steps. Anoor was there, at the top. Could Sylah see a red smudge? Maybe. Sylah turned Boey away and didn’t look back as she directed the eru through the city of Nar-Ruta.
About halfway through the Dredge, she noticed them. Hassa had told her there weren’t many left. She told her their sleeping sickness ploy, borne from truth, was their means of escape. The ones left behind were those who chose to stay. Some, like Hassa, stayed to protect what was theirs. The guardians of the land, the Ghostings.
They escorted her out of the gates of the city. Past the plantation fields, which were empty of Dusters, who were all at the Ascent. They started to break away as she got to the open desert. Some waved their limbs, others simply left. But she felt their well wishes guiding her forward.
When they had all gone, she pushed Boey into a gallop, and they rode fast for two strikes. The farther she went, the harder it was to hold back the tears she had held tightly in her fist since leaving Lio. Everyone she had ever known was behind her.
Night fell, and Sylah knew she’d have a better night’s sleep in a valley. She looked for the telltale sign of the shifting sand and navigated Boey down it.
“Aho, stop now.” She slowed her down, and Boey screamed shrilly.
Boey shook her reins, and because Sylah was gripping them so tightly, she fell from the driver’s seat onto the sand below.
“I really need to get better at driving.”
Boey huffed in her direction.
Suddenly the eru squatted and urinated. Sylah jumped back just in time.
Sylah laughed, and it felt good. “We’re going to get along fine, you and I.”
When Boey was done, Sylah unhitched the carriage from the lizard’s hindquarters, letting the eru find a comfortable nesting spot. After a few circles of the valley, Boey returned and settled next to the carriage. Once the tidewind started, Boey would burrow down into the sand with just her snout protruding.
Sylah looked at the sky; the sun had set long ago, the full moon a beacon in the sky. The brightest star beamed northwest just like Hassa said it would, but they had a long way to go.
It was time for Sylah to settle in for the night. The metal carriage was so full of supplies that Sylah needed to rearrange everything in order to find enough space to lie down. Anoor had provided more than fifty waterskins, enough bandages to mummify an army, and so much salt beef that Sylah wondered how many cows were contained within these four walls.
Something clattered to the floor, and Sylah jumped up with a start, banging her head on the metal roof. She cursed loudly and heard Boey bleat out a shrill in the distance.
Sylah poked her head out the door. “I’m okay.”
She bent to look at the item that had caused such a ruckus.
“That crafty little kori.”
Anoor had given Sylah her sword, the sword that was Anoor’s by right from the tactics trial. The one Sylah used to cut down Jond. Sylah gazed at the golden blade, the hilt the bark of the joba tree with embossed branches winding down the shaft. She caught shards of her reflection in the moonlight. She looked miserable, blotchy, sad.
“No more tears,” she whispered.
Boey whistled in assent.
Sylah shoved a piece of meat in her mouth and drew out the map. She estimated they were a few leagues south of Jin-Dinil, though she was going to avoid all cities until she needed supplies.
Boey pushed her snout into the carriage door and huffed.
“All right, all right. Dinner’s on the way.”
Once Sylah had fed the lizard, she climbed aboard the carriage and locked the doors. It was as safe as she could be in a tidewind.
—
Sylah woke to the sound of movement outside. The tidewind had fallen still some strikes before, and she had just managed to fall asleep. She was curled up among her supplies, a runelamp lighting the map beside her. Boey’s snoring on the other side of the carriage wall indicated she was still asleep. Sylah reached for the sword, but it was wedged beneath the open container of dried meat.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
