It was two days before Just go west turned into something that actually made sense. Jinyel had been nomadic since childhood, he understood people who were always on the move, but such people were generally hard to track down. And yet the people of the Runwaters had assured him quite fervently that all he needed to do was fly west, and that he would surely find the Keha’al.
Elraya flew true, made strong by a season of food, rest, and training. The theiroch still had some odd muscle placement across his chest from however long he had survived with a torn wing, but now that he was back in the sky, Elraya could stay aloft for hours at a time. From the sky, Jinyel could see for miles in all directions, could spot potential campsites and water sources long before he grew thirsty, and find vegetation to forage before he grew hungry.
The first day, he was proud to have thrived.
The second day, he grew uneasy at how long they’d flown without seeing other people.
The third day, he saw the grasslands trampled by a campsite the size of a town.
Scavenger animals scattered when Jinyel and Elraya swooped down to investigate, and it was a scene so vast that he needed no time at all to draw conclusions. Dozens of tents and fires had been pitched here and then moved some days ago, heading southeast at a lazy pace. Standing here at high noon, Jinyel was sure a swift flight would catch up to them by sundown.
Elraya was eager to test his speed. Despite the heavy burden, the thairoch found nothing but joy in flight, no matter what Jinyel asked of him. They had their miscommunications, of course, but the nice thing about grasslands was that they were flat, and every miscommunication between mount and rider had all the open sky in the world to be sorted out.
It was late afternoon when Jinyel caught sight of civilization, or perhaps when civilization caught sight of him. He didn’t see the tribe, but they had trodden a trail in the grass nearly a quarter-mile wide, so he had no trouble tracking them by air. The young hunter was so focused on the ground that he didn’t even notice the other skyrider until Elraya let out an uneasy chitter and turned west.
It was no thairoch nor xiuhcoatl which flew at them, but a winged deer the likes of which Jinyel had never seen before. It was undoubtedly cervine, with cloven hooves, the head and body of an elken cow, and all the other things Jinyel might expect from a beast of the ground ― aside from the two enormous wings sprouting from its shoulders.
Upon the animal’s back was a… somewhat armed woman. Jinyel wouldn’t have called her a ‘warrior,’ because she had no armor like the Imperial Legions. She was dressed in brilliant blue and green cloth, or perhaps very well-dyed buckskin, with a bow in hand and quiver of arrows upon her back. A hunter? That seemed the better word for how she held the bow in front of her, an arrow pinned loosely against the string. Not an active threat, but a signal that she could shoot him quickly if necessary. Jinyel didn’t like warriors, but hunters were kin, and he understood why she might be suspicious.
In sign language, Jinyel gestured a large, exaggerated Greeting and steered Elraya into a wide circle away from the stranger. She steered her mount to match him, climbing a few yards overhead to get an advantage.
“Declare yourself!” she called out.
Jinyel couldn’t do that, so he made another exaggerated statement: Cannot talk.
Unfortunately, she didn’t understand sign language. Fortunately, she did understand that he was trying to communicate with her.
“Bring your beast down!” she called out. “We will speak on the ground!”
Understood. Jinyel shifted forward, and Elraya pitched into a slow, gentle swoop. The huntress followed, and soon both thairoch and winged-elk came to land beside a short gully cut by a shallow stream.
The woman dismounted in a smooth leap. Her hair was long, black, and braided, while her clothing did really appear to be buckskin dyed sapphire blue. Hadn’t the Runwaters said the Keha’al could be recognized by colorful clothes? Though he knew this wasn’t the time to ask, Jinyel couldn’t help but wonder how the leather had been dyed so beautifully.
“Declare yourself,” the woman said again, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Nnn cbthh,” Jinyel replied, opening his mouth to reveal a tongue so swollen it was nearly falling out.
She gawked for a moment, then asked. “Are you sick?”
No. Jinyel reinforced the sign by shaking his head slowly.
“You look like an Easterner. Are you with Raskalarn’s people?”
The Imperial Legion. Jinyel’s clothes were certainly from there, but he had never and would never be a legionnaire, so he shook his head again.
“Where do you fly from? It is unwise to travel the grasses by yourself.”
Now came the complicated task of explaining, I’m from the Runwaters, I’m carrying a prisoner, don’t worry if he looks starving, he’s fine, and even if he wasn’t fine he deserves it anyway, and he knows where all the raiders are taking their captives.
But Jinyel wouldn’t have known how to say that in sign language even with a fluent conversation partner, so he decided to start with the bit about the Runwaters.
He pointed at the stream next to them, and signed, Many houses.
The huntress tilted her head in confusion. “You’re… from the stream?”
Jinyel knelt beside the stream and signed Many houses again. Then he gathered rocks into little piles, with flat rocks to serve as houses.
“Shelter.” She put the arrow back in her quiver, brow furrowing in focus. “Those are… you’re a builder. You build houses.”
No. I come from houses. He mimed walking away from the rocks.
“You’re a traveling builder. You want to build more houses.”
“Evashi!”
Jinyel heard hoofbeats. The grasses shook, and Elraya let out an uneasy chitter. Jinyel fell back to his mount with a reassuring scratch across the scruff, and the thairoch fanned out its wings to appear bigger as the grasses parted.
Three riders emerged from the sea of grass, mounted on elk which nearly identical to the first once, except that they lacked wings. The winged elk and the non-winged elk glanced among each other and let out whuffs of greeting ―the sound of herdmates. The riders, likewise, gave familiar glances to the woman, and were dressed in similar clothing: leather dyed striking greens, oranges, and even a dash of purple. Jinyel once again had to put thoughts of color forcibly to the back of his mind, because they were all beautiful sets of leather.
“It’s alright.” The huntress raised an arm peacefully. “He’s a traveling builder. He means no harm.”
I am not a builder, Jinyel signed.
A man in green lowered his spear and gave Jinyel a quizzical look. “Can’t he speak?”
“Something’s wrong with his tongue,” the huntress replied. “I think he’s sick.”
I am not sick.
The man in green frowned at Jinyel. “Where do you come from?”
Running. Water. Jinyel pointed to the little diorama of stone houses, the closest he could get to saying “the Runwaters.”
“What, wait, I know those signs.” Another man in orange leather squinted at Jinyel’s hands. “He’s been running along the water. He’s got to mean this stream here. Are you fleeing Raskalarn’s invasion?”
No. That is not what I meant at all.
“Not sure about those signs,” the man in orange said. “How sick are you? Do you need help?”
Jinyel took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He would be calm. He had to be calm, or he would get nowhere.
The sign for Wait was just a hand held out flat, a clear signal even if someone couldn’t understand sign language.
The four strangers waited as Jinyel took a stick, prayed to whoever was listening that they could read, and began to write in the dirt:
I come from Runwaters. Raiders hurt Runwaters. I catch raider. He won’t talk. Runwaters say bring raider to Keha’al.
“Oh, the Runwaters.” The huntress sighed in understanding. “But they’re still days away. If you aren’t a builder, how do we trust that you’re telling the truth? Bandits have been growing by scores since the invasion started.”
I cannot speak. Jinyel gestured to his mouth.
The man in green raised an eyebrow. “And how do we know that’s true?”
Jinyel let out a growl of frustration and opened his mouth. His tongue unfurled, all foot-and-a-half of it, and the strangers took a moment to stare at it.
“Well, no wonder he can’t speak,” said the man in orange. “But the Keha will know for sure if he’s lying. Where is this raider you caught?”
Jinyel drew his tongue back in and turned to Elraya. The thairoch had calmed during the conversation, and stood still enough for Jinyel to unfasten the rolled-up cloak tied to the back of the saddle.
There was another moment of staring as the emaciated, unconscious bandit captain was revealed to the world.
“What did you do to that man?” breathed the huntress.
Forgoing sign language, Jinyel picked up the stick again and wrote: He is slaver. Deserves no pity. He’s alive. But won’t say where slaves were taken.
The four riders looked between themselves for a moment. Something unspoken passed in the silence, though Jinyel could not determine what it was.
“Evashi,” the man in green said to the huntress. “You and I will remain here with him. Jannic, Molla, bring word of this to the Loktul.”
Two of the riders spurred their un-winged elk back into the grasses.
Jinyel looked between the two that remained. Danger? he signed, before writing in the dirt: I mean no harm.
“Which is why we will ensure the grasslands do no harm unto you,” the man in green said. “If you tell the truth, then I’m sure you’ll have no qualms waiting as we make sure.”
Jinyel didn’t like the emphasis on those words ‘make sure,’ but he also wasn’t going to fuss about it. He understood the caution, especially with bandits and Imperial legions so thick in the region. If he was in their position, he would have probably been more suspicious.
Agreed, he wrote in the dirt. Jinyel was used to travel, and to waiting. Another trial in the grass, another tentrial, it made no difference to him as long as they stayed along this stream.
Hunt, he signed, as he retrieved his bow and held it non-threateningly at his side. Time for camp? He hesitated, then made an exaggerated gesture for Fire?
The huntress, Evashi, stared at his hands a few moments before shaking her head. “No. Stay where we can see you. I will hunt something for us to eat.”
Jinyel shrugged and signed Agreement. He would never turn down someone else doing work for him, and it gave him an important clue ― if she wanted something to eat, that meant they were going to stay here long enough to make camp. Jinyel could leap onto Elraya and flee if things turned sour, but he suspected it wouldn’t come to that. These were the Keha’al, he was sure of it, and everything the Runnerfolk had told him described the Keha’al as reasonable, helpful folk.
Now, all Jinyel had to do was wait.
Elraya flew true, made strong by a season of food, rest, and training. The theiroch still had some odd muscle placement across his chest from however long he had survived with a torn wing, but now that he was back in the sky, Elraya could stay aloft for hours at a time. From the sky, Jinyel could see for miles in all directions, could spot potential campsites and water sources long before he grew thirsty, and find vegetation to forage before he grew hungry.
The first day, he was proud to have thrived.
The second day, he grew uneasy at how long they’d flown without seeing other people.
The third day, he saw the grasslands trampled by a campsite the size of a town.
Scavenger animals scattered when Jinyel and Elraya swooped down to investigate, and it was a scene so vast that he needed no time at all to draw conclusions. Dozens of tents and fires had been pitched here and then moved some days ago, heading southeast at a lazy pace. Standing here at high noon, Jinyel was sure a swift flight would catch up to them by sundown.
Elraya was eager to test his speed. Despite the heavy burden, the thairoch found nothing but joy in flight, no matter what Jinyel asked of him. They had their miscommunications, of course, but the nice thing about grasslands was that they were flat, and every miscommunication between mount and rider had all the open sky in the world to be sorted out.
It was late afternoon when Jinyel caught sight of civilization, or perhaps when civilization caught sight of him. He didn’t see the tribe, but they had trodden a trail in the grass nearly a quarter-mile wide, so he had no trouble tracking them by air. The young hunter was so focused on the ground that he didn’t even notice the other skyrider until Elraya let out an uneasy chitter and turned west.
It was no thairoch nor xiuhcoatl which flew at them, but a winged deer the likes of which Jinyel had never seen before. It was undoubtedly cervine, with cloven hooves, the head and body of an elken cow, and all the other things Jinyel might expect from a beast of the ground ― aside from the two enormous wings sprouting from its shoulders.
Upon the animal’s back was a… somewhat armed woman. Jinyel wouldn’t have called her a ‘warrior,’ because she had no armor like the Imperial Legions. She was dressed in brilliant blue and green cloth, or perhaps very well-dyed buckskin, with a bow in hand and quiver of arrows upon her back. A hunter? That seemed the better word for how she held the bow in front of her, an arrow pinned loosely against the string. Not an active threat, but a signal that she could shoot him quickly if necessary. Jinyel didn’t like warriors, but hunters were kin, and he understood why she might be suspicious.
In sign language, Jinyel gestured a large, exaggerated Greeting and steered Elraya into a wide circle away from the stranger. She steered her mount to match him, climbing a few yards overhead to get an advantage.
“Declare yourself!” she called out.
Jinyel couldn’t do that, so he made another exaggerated statement: Cannot talk.
Unfortunately, she didn’t understand sign language. Fortunately, she did understand that he was trying to communicate with her.
“Bring your beast down!” she called out. “We will speak on the ground!”
Understood. Jinyel shifted forward, and Elraya pitched into a slow, gentle swoop. The huntress followed, and soon both thairoch and winged-elk came to land beside a short gully cut by a shallow stream.
The woman dismounted in a smooth leap. Her hair was long, black, and braided, while her clothing did really appear to be buckskin dyed sapphire blue. Hadn’t the Runwaters said the Keha’al could be recognized by colorful clothes? Though he knew this wasn’t the time to ask, Jinyel couldn’t help but wonder how the leather had been dyed so beautifully.
“Declare yourself,” the woman said again, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Nnn cbthh,” Jinyel replied, opening his mouth to reveal a tongue so swollen it was nearly falling out.
She gawked for a moment, then asked. “Are you sick?”
No. Jinyel reinforced the sign by shaking his head slowly.
“You look like an Easterner. Are you with Raskalarn’s people?”
The Imperial Legion. Jinyel’s clothes were certainly from there, but he had never and would never be a legionnaire, so he shook his head again.
“Where do you fly from? It is unwise to travel the grasses by yourself.”
Now came the complicated task of explaining, I’m from the Runwaters, I’m carrying a prisoner, don’t worry if he looks starving, he’s fine, and even if he wasn’t fine he deserves it anyway, and he knows where all the raiders are taking their captives.
But Jinyel wouldn’t have known how to say that in sign language even with a fluent conversation partner, so he decided to start with the bit about the Runwaters.
He pointed at the stream next to them, and signed, Many houses.
The huntress tilted her head in confusion. “You’re… from the stream?”
Jinyel knelt beside the stream and signed Many houses again. Then he gathered rocks into little piles, with flat rocks to serve as houses.
“Shelter.” She put the arrow back in her quiver, brow furrowing in focus. “Those are… you’re a builder. You build houses.”
No. I come from houses. He mimed walking away from the rocks.
“You’re a traveling builder. You want to build more houses.”
“Evashi!”
Jinyel heard hoofbeats. The grasses shook, and Elraya let out an uneasy chitter. Jinyel fell back to his mount with a reassuring scratch across the scruff, and the thairoch fanned out its wings to appear bigger as the grasses parted.
Three riders emerged from the sea of grass, mounted on elk which nearly identical to the first once, except that they lacked wings. The winged elk and the non-winged elk glanced among each other and let out whuffs of greeting ―the sound of herdmates. The riders, likewise, gave familiar glances to the woman, and were dressed in similar clothing: leather dyed striking greens, oranges, and even a dash of purple. Jinyel once again had to put thoughts of color forcibly to the back of his mind, because they were all beautiful sets of leather.
“It’s alright.” The huntress raised an arm peacefully. “He’s a traveling builder. He means no harm.”
I am not a builder, Jinyel signed.
A man in green lowered his spear and gave Jinyel a quizzical look. “Can’t he speak?”
“Something’s wrong with his tongue,” the huntress replied. “I think he’s sick.”
I am not sick.
The man in green frowned at Jinyel. “Where do you come from?”
Running. Water. Jinyel pointed to the little diorama of stone houses, the closest he could get to saying “the Runwaters.”
“What, wait, I know those signs.” Another man in orange leather squinted at Jinyel’s hands. “He’s been running along the water. He’s got to mean this stream here. Are you fleeing Raskalarn’s invasion?”
No. That is not what I meant at all.
“Not sure about those signs,” the man in orange said. “How sick are you? Do you need help?”
Jinyel took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He would be calm. He had to be calm, or he would get nowhere.
The sign for Wait was just a hand held out flat, a clear signal even if someone couldn’t understand sign language.
The four strangers waited as Jinyel took a stick, prayed to whoever was listening that they could read, and began to write in the dirt:
I come from Runwaters. Raiders hurt Runwaters. I catch raider. He won’t talk. Runwaters say bring raider to Keha’al.
“Oh, the Runwaters.” The huntress sighed in understanding. “But they’re still days away. If you aren’t a builder, how do we trust that you’re telling the truth? Bandits have been growing by scores since the invasion started.”
I cannot speak. Jinyel gestured to his mouth.
The man in green raised an eyebrow. “And how do we know that’s true?”
Jinyel let out a growl of frustration and opened his mouth. His tongue unfurled, all foot-and-a-half of it, and the strangers took a moment to stare at it.
“Well, no wonder he can’t speak,” said the man in orange. “But the Keha will know for sure if he’s lying. Where is this raider you caught?”
Jinyel drew his tongue back in and turned to Elraya. The thairoch had calmed during the conversation, and stood still enough for Jinyel to unfasten the rolled-up cloak tied to the back of the saddle.
There was another moment of staring as the emaciated, unconscious bandit captain was revealed to the world.
“What did you do to that man?” breathed the huntress.
Forgoing sign language, Jinyel picked up the stick again and wrote: He is slaver. Deserves no pity. He’s alive. But won’t say where slaves were taken.
The four riders looked between themselves for a moment. Something unspoken passed in the silence, though Jinyel could not determine what it was.
“Evashi,” the man in green said to the huntress. “You and I will remain here with him. Jannic, Molla, bring word of this to the Loktul.”
Two of the riders spurred their un-winged elk back into the grasses.
Jinyel looked between the two that remained. Danger? he signed, before writing in the dirt: I mean no harm.
“Which is why we will ensure the grasslands do no harm unto you,” the man in green said. “If you tell the truth, then I’m sure you’ll have no qualms waiting as we make sure.”
Jinyel didn’t like the emphasis on those words ‘make sure,’ but he also wasn’t going to fuss about it. He understood the caution, especially with bandits and Imperial legions so thick in the region. If he was in their position, he would have probably been more suspicious.
Agreed, he wrote in the dirt. Jinyel was used to travel, and to waiting. Another trial in the grass, another tentrial, it made no difference to him as long as they stayed along this stream.
Hunt, he signed, as he retrieved his bow and held it non-threateningly at his side. Time for camp? He hesitated, then made an exaggerated gesture for Fire?
The huntress, Evashi, stared at his hands a few moments before shaking her head. “No. Stay where we can see you. I will hunt something for us to eat.”
Jinyel shrugged and signed Agreement. He would never turn down someone else doing work for him, and it gave him an important clue ― if she wanted something to eat, that meant they were going to stay here long enough to make camp. Jinyel could leap onto Elraya and flee if things turned sour, but he suspected it wouldn’t come to that. These were the Keha’al, he was sure of it, and everything the Runnerfolk had told him described the Keha’al as reasonable, helpful folk.
Now, all Jinyel had to do was wait.
