The Tears of San'Ferath by D. Thomas Jerlo

Author:D. Thomas Jerlo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, adventure, fantasy, dragons, evil, druids, mages, ceracle, cosair, inferunus
Publisher: Dawné Dominique

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The words came in whispers from the winds. For eighteen moon cycles she’d waited to hear them. Tossing aside the rubba root she’d been harvesting, Kalla leapt to her feet and gathered as many layers of her kafia in her hands as she could and raced in the direction of the Setpas’ tent. Her bare feet moved in rhythm to the hammering of her heart. Across the warm mustard sands she sped. Her consort had returned home at last.

*~*~*

Desert winds pulled and fluttered the silk of the Learned One’s tent. Inside, subdued murmurs of excitement from the four Setpa leaders hummed in the air.

Their warriors had returned.

Sayad had sensed their arrival long before the servant delivered the jubilant news, and even before the twin’s auras touched him as they crossed the Kathria Dune, which acted as an imaginary border between the San’Za and Allanoria. Eager to speak with them, he knew he’d have to wait a bit. They needed a reprieve from their long travels, but impatience gnawed at his resolve, as it did for the four men sitting cross-legged in a semicircle before him. These were the clan chiefs that ruled these lands under his guidance—all friends and tribesmen. Since their warriors had left to venture outside of their realm, the Setpas had lived as guests in his humble abode, waiting as anxiously as him for their return. Eighteen full moons had passed since then. It would be written as one of the longest journeys endured by a San’Za nomad.

He had asked a lot from his sons.

In the corner of the tent, a male servant strummed his rababa, its soft, lilting string notes mingling with the whispers and sounds of the undying desert winds. The mola, situated a safe distance from his bare feet, emitted the comfortable, spicy fragrance of qusklak weed that burned atop several chunks of dried sheep dung. The curling wisps of smoke rose from the cauldron-shaped fire pit and filled the tent with an ethereal haze. His dinner of tepary beans sat untouched on the ground beside him.

He took this all in with a deep breath. Then he laced his fingers together and prepared himself to wait.

By the time he sensed the presence of the two men outside his tent, the musician had retired and two of his Setpas napped. The servant at the entrance of his tent waited for his nod before escorting Korotash and Samisa before him.

Motioning the warriors closer, Sayad forced his heartbeat to slow. Their emotions coalesced with his own.

Korotash reeked of guilt, but also thankfulness to be home at last. Samisa’s whirlwind of conflicting feelings bordered on success, anxiety, and something he couldn’t decipher. There’s time to understand it all yet, he mused.

Sayad’s voice resounded like creaking leather through the quiet of the tent. “We have awaited your arrival with hope, sons of Kabolian Dune. Share with us your journey.”

The sleeping Setpas woke as both warriors went to their knees and touched their foreheads to the woven carpet beside the mola.

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