Waypoint Seven by Xan van Rooyen

Author:Xan van Rooyen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mirari Press
Published: 2024-06-03T13:44:29+00:00

Or perhaps it wasn’t the flowers but whatever burned blue in the lanterns suspended from posts around the square. A native moved from lantern to lantern, drawing a sigil in the air before blowing it behind the glass, then shutting the pane quickly, as if to trap a spell.

The person approached, garbed in flowing garments dyed a rich purple. Their long, dark hair was twisted in intricate plaits and knotted with thread the colour of the breach. They spoke, and Zed had to concentrate to parse their words.

The Zenith’s report had included scant information on the language of this settlement, identifying it only as a possible, if distant, linguistic cousin of the language spoken in the settlement of Waypoint Four, with phonemic similarities to a dialect found on Waypoint Nine. The team had shared only a handful of phrases and words then, but it was enough for the implant to figure out the basics. Creating a greater lexicon would take time and exposure.

“The temple is closed for the night. You are welcome to wait.” The person gestured to a sheltered corner at the back of the square with cushions and blankets. Zed wanted nothing more than to fold into the imagined softness and close xhir eyes. Xhir body needed sleep as well as food.

But not yet. Not until xhe found the other wayfinder.

The native’s words fit uneasily in Zed’s mouth. Xhir own language was more consonant and featured a variety of clicks. This was as soft as flowing water. The syllables streaming effortlessly between the native’s lips only glommed to Zed’s teeth.

“Are you well?” the person asked when Zed stammered through a response.

Suppressing the desire to toss the native aside and stride past them, Zed instead straightened xhir spine, grunting with the effort of fighting the merciless pull towards the ground.

“I seek the one I know.” Zed hoped the implant’s translation protocol hadn’t been compromised.

The native’s eyes narrowed into even thinner slits as they scrutinised Zed. “You will have to wait until tomorrow. The high priestess is———for the evening.” The translation failed.

“I cannot wait.” Zed pushed past, heading for the carved doors.

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