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REA ARRIVED AT THE base of the West Ridge just before sunrise. Her head and body ached from the rapid descent. She was dizzy and tired, but Pooka pushed on, racing across the rocky, shrub-dotted hills that lay between the mountains and the desert.
When they reached the sand, the sound of the mare’s hooves softened, and her gallop became more uniform on the flat terrain. The rhythm was still too intense for Rea to relax her hold on the beast, but as the sun broke the horizon ahead of them, forcing her to close her eyes against its blinding brightness, she took comfort in the warmth of the rays on her face.
The desert was cool at night, and Rea’s legs had lain bare against Pooka’s saddle, robe bunched at her hips and flapping behind her in their wake. Her knuckles throbbed from gripping the staff for so long, and her braids were coming loose.
The West Ridge was now pale in the distance, the highest peaks obscured by clouds and a misty haze that suggested rain. Rea was glad to have missed it. The bluff was slick after a storm. At least she had cleared the laundry lines before departing. She hated the idea of Magora standing on the cliff in a downpour.
As the sun climbed the sky, and Pooka finally tired of her relentless pace, Rea searched the desert for a secluded place to rest. They occasionally passed a cluster of shrubs or a large boulder, but nothing that looked to offer much shade or cover should anyone come upon them.
Shortly after midday, when the sun drooped over the crust of the mountains Rea now strained to see, Pooka stopped at a mound of rock and tall grass. The mare nibbled at the dry shoots then snorted as though she were offended by their taste.
Rea wobbled on unsteady legs as she dismounted, and then winced at the hot sand under her feet. Though the beast had done most of the work, Rea was weary from the ride. She propped the staff in a nook between two boulders and then dug around in the saddlebags, looking for the waterskin. Her mouth was unbearably dry, and she suspected that Pooka was thirsty, too. She hoped there was enough to refresh them both for the next two days.
The waterskin was much larger than the goat bladders the flatland mothers used to collect water from the river that cut through the mountains. Rea could not lift it out of the saddlebag. She had to squat beside Pooka to drink from the long mouth of the skin.
The mare twisted her head around and whinnied pitifully, lips reaching for a drink. Rea held it out as far as she could so the horse could have some water, too. When they’d had their fill, Rea sorted through the food Hoshnador had provided for the journey.
There were strips of jerky, dried bits of fruit, and blocks of crushed grain that were held together with something sticky and sweet. Rea liked it, though not the way it stuck in her teeth. Pooka accepted some of the grain as well, turning her nose up at the meat.
Since they’d stopped, the wind had died down. The air felt hot in Rea’s lungs, like breathing over a hearth fire, and her legs and forearms had taken on a bronze sheen. Now that the sun was sinking lower in the sky, the tall grass cast a shadow wide enough for Pooka to lounge within.
The mare grunted as she flopped onto the sand, sending up a small cloud. Her long tail swished, and her nostrils flared as she panted, making the dust whirl and dance around her.
“Maybe just a little rest,” Rea said, nestling herself in beside the beast.
The grass was thick, and the air that passed through its reeds felt cooler in the shade. It dried the sweat along Rea’s brow. She closed her eyes, and despite being far from home, she slept, exhausted from the night and the two full days prior she had gone without rest.
***
ONCE AGAIN, REA DREAMED of the sun and cracked earth beneath her feet. The ground was a dull gray, not like the honeyed sands of the desert. There were no bushes or grass, and the dust and bits of rock that filled the air scratched at her skin.
Blood stained her hands and arms again, though not as thick. It spattered her skin in sharp angles and varying shades, reminding her of the aprons the flatland mothers wore to slaughter sheep.
When the clamor began this time, the staff appeared in Rea’s hand. The dark handprint was missing from its grain, but there were several crystals tucked into the whorls at its grisly peak. They glowed as the noise swelled, but just as before, she could see nothing through the grit in the air.
A hand seized her shoulder, and Rea woke on the verge of a scream, only to find Pooka nipping at the sleeve of her robe. The Moon had already risen above the horizon, hovering against the last of the day’s light. From the floor of the lowlands, its pale circumference seemed larger.
Pooka tugged at Rea’s sleeve again and whinnied, then snapped at the saddlebag, demanding another drink before they resumed their journey.
Rea was sure they had only rested for a few hours. She was groggy, but more than that, she was freezing. Without the sun, her only source of warmth was Pooka, and the mare needed to keep moving to generate enough heat for them both.
They drank from the waterskin, and Rea fed Pooka one of the grain bars before shoving a piece of jerky into her own mouth. She found the staff where she’d left it against the rocks and managed to tie it down behind the lip at the back of the saddle, freeing both of her hands to grasp the reins at Pooka’s neck.
They rode through the night and against the Moon as she traced a leisurely path overhead. The leather stirrups rubbed blisters on the arches of Rea’s feet, and her hips and thighs protested the width of the saddle as her body discovered new muscles she had not known existed.
The longer she went without sleep, the more muddied her mind became. If not for the jarring ride, she would have likely drifted off and fallen from the mare’s back. Once or twice, Rea thought she spied someone or something waiting on the horizon, but the apparitions faded as soon as her eyes turned in their direction, squinting through the thin moonlight.
She prayed they would reach Hoshnador’s dwelling soon. The letter had not warned that the horse would be so spirited, but Rea had to assume that had been considered when calculating the time the journey would take.
Pooka stopped only once more before sunrise, just long enough to gulp down some water and chew at a lump of sticky grain. Rea resisted mounting again for as long as she could, but the chattering of her teeth soon compelled her to climb onto the horse’s back. She hugged Pooka’s neck, enjoying the warm flush that seeped through the mare’s coat.
Rea remained hunched over for the rest of the night, seeking shelter from the wind as they continued onward. The horse’s steady gallop slowed to a trot, and Rea closed her eyes. There was nothing to see in the darkness ahead, and though she did not sleep, she felt more rested when the sun finally rose.
At midday, Pooka stopped near a small patch of grass. Instead of dismounting, Rea fell from the saddle. Her legs were raw, and her joints felt loose and stiff at the same time. She stumbled and collapsed onto the sand, drawing a startled grunt from Pooka.
“Quiet, lowland heathen,” Rea muttered as she reached for the saddlebag with the waterskin, using the flap of leather that secured the pouch to pull herself up to her knees. She gulped greedily until she choked on the water and had to pause to catch her breath.
Pooka’s neck craned sideways, her whiskery lips reaching for the waterskin. Rea tilted it up to her, noticing the way it slipped and slid about inside the saddlebag. It had grown lighter. They were running low on food, as well.
Rea dropped to the ground again, stretching herself along the thin shadow beside the grass. The sand was still scorching-hot beneath her. It burned even through her robe. Pooka whinnied and stamped her hoof, but Rea could not go on—not without a few hours’ sleep first.
The mare grunted but then circled the patch of grass and moved in closer, putting her heavy body between Rea and the sun to provide more shade.
“I take it back,” Rea said sleepily. “You’re not a heathen, sweet Pooka, tireless queen of mighty desert goats.”
Pooka sniffed Rea’s forehead, blowing the loose strands of hair away from her face. Then the mare closed her eyes, resting where she stood.
Rea was too tired to dream. She slept heavily, but only for a few precious hours.
When Pooka next woke her, the sun was dropping low behind them. Its belly touched the flat earth, the mountains now too far away to be seen.
Rea’s legs wobbled as she gingerly climbed to her feet. Everything hurt, and her mouth felt as dry as the desert floor. She sipped at the waterskin, again noticing how easily she could move it. By the time Pooka had her fill, it was nearly empty, with perhaps only enough for one last meager drink to quench them after nightfall—if they did not arrive at Hoshnador’s by then. Rea feared her need for sleep had set them back.
It took a few attempts, but she managed to saddle herself atop Pooka and ignored the ache in her thighs as they set off once again, moving toward the darkening sky opposite the sun.
Day turned to night, and the Moon rose less full than before, her southern curve fading slowly. Rea watched her rise overhead and attempted to smother her fears with prayer, but her heart continued to grow heavy.
There were no dwellings on the moonlit desert ahead. Only an endless stretch of sand and bits of grass and bramble that had become increasingly sparse. A nagging suspicion that Hoshnador did not exist entered Rea’s mind. She had never heard such a name before, nor Solurn or Solanya. Perhaps this was all some elaborate ruse crafted by the sisters to rid the temple of her.
Rea thought of Magora and could not imagine the kind sister agreeing to such cruelty, but perhaps she had been tricked into it, as well. Rea’s hopelessness swelled, painting everyone she’d ever cared for with her frustration and mistrust.
Had Armal known? Rashal and Nyna, too?
Her weary mind disregarded all common sense and grasped at any explanation for her current quandary, no matter how absurd or illogical. Just when her heart could take no more of her senseless brooding, Pooka stopped.
The Moon cast a pale light along the landscape, but Rea saw nothing—only flat sand in all directions.
When she tried to dismount, Pooka nickered and trotted in a tight circle, forcing Rea to cling to her mane to keep from falling.
“What is it?” Rea whispered, her eyes sharpening as she scanned the darkness once more.
She tried to climb down again, but Pooka twisted her head around and nudged Rea back into place with her nose.
A gust of wind swept past them, stirring the sand around the mare’s hooves. It swirled and hissed, even after the air stilled, crawling higher up Pooka’s legs. Rea blinked at it, certain her tired eyes were playing tricks on her. But then the sand touched her feet in the stirrups.
“We’re sinking!” Rea pulled her legs up higher onto the saddle while Pooka snorted and bobbed her long head in agreement. The sand rose faster, covering the saddlebags and sucking at Rea’s robe as she cried helplessly. Soon, it spread to her waist and crawled up Pooka’s neck.
The mare snorted her indifference, but Rea’s calm was shattered. There was no accepting this end with grace.
“Great Mother!” she screamed as the sand tickled the edges of her face. It crept into the corners of her eyes and mouth, and then swallowed her whole.