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REA WOKE, GASPING FOR air, and was instantly blinded by the sun.
It was only a dream, she thought, hands going to her face and chest, feeling for the suffocating sand. Only a thin trace remained on her skin, but as her eyes adjusted, her relief staled.
She was no longer on Pooka’s back, nor nestled against a lump of grass. She was in a room.
It was a small space, but whoever had carried her here had also brought the gnarled staff and left it propped in a corner. The narrow bed she currently sat upon and a wooden table were pushed up against opposite walls. A doorway and a window were carved into the adjacent ones, both covered with gauzy curtains that danced gently in the breeze. The threadbare material did little to keep out the sun, but Rea was no longer interested in sleeping.
A nicker drew her attention to the window. She eased off the bed, still conscious of her travel-worn body, and peeked past the curtains.
The room was high off the ground, but on the sand below, she found Pooka. The mare’s saddle had been removed, and her face was buried deep in a bucket, her jaws crunching eagerly.
Rea’s stomach growled at the thought of food, and her tongue rolled against the dry roof of her mouth. She crossed the bedroom and poked her head through the doorway.
A short hall revealed an opening into a second room and the top of a narrow set of stairs. Rea walked softly through the corridor and crouched as she descended the steps, watching below for any sign of her host.
The dwelling was much like the huts scattered across the flatlands, though the walls were smoother and brighter, the mud mixture paired with golden sand rather than millet hulls and dried grass. Small shelves filled with books and trinkets lined the stairs. It reminded Rea of Magora’s room, though much drier.
The main level of the dwelling was as cramped as the room she had woken in. An empty hearth took up the wall that faced the stairs, its black maw free of ash and soot. Rea craned her neck to search the other side of the hut, spying a table wedged into the corner near a window like the one upstairs. There was a matching hole on the opposite side of the entrance. Beneath it stretched a wooden ledge full of all manner of strange things—bowls piled high with spiny gourds, stacks of dried herbs, and a bulging waterskin that Rea helped herself to.
“You’re awake!” a deep voice bellowed as a shadow filled the doorway, cutting through the light in the room. Rea jumped, but she quickly pinched the mouth of the skin closed before any water spilled.
“I’m sorry,” she sputtered, wiping the back of one hand across her mouth.
“Don’t be! Drink as much as you like.”
“Are...are you Hoshnador?” Rea asked as the stranger entered the hut.
“The one and only, Solanyan sage and royal advisor. But there’s no need for all that formality. Hosh will do.”
Hosh stepped closer and turned into the light coming from the window, revealing a shock of unruly, white hair and a face more weathered than even Magora’s. Dark arms corded with muscle and swollen veins were in full view, thanks to a sleeveless robe. The sight startled Rea, but she bowed her head lest her staring be mistaken for disrespect.
“Thank you, Lady Hosh,” she said.
“Oh, dear.” Hosh sucked in a sharp breath. “I almost forgot where you’ve been all these years. Hosh. Just Hosh. I’m no lady, solcessa. Have a seat while I fix us a bite—I just gathered some fresh prickly pear, and I’m sure you’re hungry.”
Rea nodded and edged cautiously around the room. She found a stool under the table to sit upon as Hosh went to the ledge, selecting one of the spiny gourds. Once cut, they released a sweet, crisp aroma that made Rea’s mouth water. She couldn’t wait to try one.
“What is a solcessa?” Rea asked as Hosh peeled and sliced the strange fruit.
“Just a pet name your mother used while you were in her belly.”
“You visited her on the West Ridge?”
“She visited me, dear girl.” Hosh laughed and turned to give her a wide smile. “Your mother led the Moon’s Chosen who served during the War of Two Princes.”
Rea shook her head fiercely. “None of the Moon’s Chosen returned. That’s why Lady Oleena forbid anyone else from leaving the ridge.”
“You are ill-informed, solcessa. One did return, and I suspect her daughter is the reason the high priestess chose to keep her people close to home, safe from the likes of my kind.”
Rea blinked stiffly. “You’re a...”
“Solanyan?” Hosh offered.
“A man,” Rea said, astonished. “A man that makes seed.”
Hosh cleared his throat and turned back to the kitchen ledge to continue chopping prickly pears. “Well, yes. I suppose that’s true, as well.”
“How do you do it?” Rea asked, her curiosity now roused. “Is it magic? Or is it no more complex than how goats and sheep breed? Do you have a—”
“Solcessa!” Hosh dropped his knife and pressed a pear-stained finger to his mouth. “These are not proper topics of discussion for polite company, and nothing you need concern yourself with right this moment. There are far more useful questions to ask.”
“I’m sorry.” Rea sucked in her bottom lip and looked down at her hands. “I’ve never met a man before. There are none among the Moon’s Chosen.”
“And you were born after the war when they stopped leaving the mountains.” He exhaled softly. “Yes then, on both accounts. There is a bit of magic, but I suppose in the end, it’s no more complex than the way sheep and goats go about it.”
“Oh.” Rea picked at a thread on her robe, unsure what she should ask next. The sisters’ lessons had not included anything about the proper way to communicate with a man.
“Mash vu Sol,” Hosh said, setting a clay plate of prickly pear in front of her. “Feast of the Sun.”
Rea picked up a wedge of the dark red fruit and pressed it to the tip of her tongue. It was sweet but milder than the blackberries that grew in the temple garden. She took a careful bite, avoiding the dark seeds embedded in the prickly pear, and then moaned as the juice coated her tongue.
Hosh set a second plate of fruit on the table and pulled out a stool to join her. He smiled as he watched her, the deep wrinkles in his face stretching to an alarming degree. Other than Magora, Rea was sure she’d never met anyone so old. Even the grandmothers in the flatlands did not live so long that they weathered to the degree Hosh had.
“Who is Solurn?” Rea asked, deciding that anything included in the letter must be polite enough to question.
“Right to it then.” Hosh chuckled and folded his arms over the table, nudging his plate away. “Solurn was a Prince of Solanya.”
“And where is Solanya?” Rea asked, shoving another piece of fruit into her mouth.
“Where was Solanya, you mean?” The wrinkles on Hosh’s face shifted as his smile sagged. “Did they teach you anything at that temple?”
Rea swallowed and diverted her eyes. That temple? Hosh sounded like the resentful Sisters of the Hearth. Though there was no priestess present to overhear such blasphemy, shame warmed Rea’s cheeks.
“The sisters taught me all a daughter of the Moon ought to know,” she said quietly.
“Of course they did. Forgive me, solcessa.” Hosh gave her a tight smile. “Solanya was a realm a very long way from here.”
“A realm of LouMorah? Like Belquar in the vale of elves?”
“A realm of its own, on an island in a distant sea. But it was destroyed in a terrible war. What’s left of the Solanyans live along the southern coast of LouMorah, a realm they call New Solanya.”
“The southern coast—” Rea gasped. “The foreign warmongers... Solurn was one of those princes?” she asked, remembering a little late that that made Hosh one of them, as well.
“Ah, so the sisters did teach you about the war.” Hosh’s eyes lit hopefully.
“There was not much to tell,” Rea admitted. “After the high priestess ended the trade arrangement with the elves, we were closed off from the lowlands. The sisters don’t even know if the war has ended—Has it ended?”
“That’s a very good question.” Hosh pressed his lips together thoughtfully, then he nudged his plate across the table toward Rea, inviting her to eat his pear, as well. “I wish it had a simple answer.”
Rea devoured the second pear, swallowing the seeds and licking the juice from her fingers. It was nice to eat something that wasn’t dried and tough for a change. The Calling feast seemed as if it had taken place months ago rather than days.
She had more questions, but before she could say anything else, Hosh stood and went to the doorway to gaze out at the desert. The sky was growing darker through the thin curtains. Rea felt more rested than she had in days, and now she knew why. She’d slept through most of the day.
“It will be night soon,” Hosh said. “There is a well out front if you care for a bath or to wash your robe. You can wear one of mine in the meantime.”
Now that the sweet fruit was gone, Rea could smell herself, the stench of dried sweat in the pits of her robe and crusted to her skin with bits of horse hair and sand. She was a mess—a wild, stinking goat that had wandered in to dine at the table.
“Thank you,” Rea said, making a point to push her stool in as she stood up from the table. Hosh already seemed to think the sisters lacked in their education. There was no need for him to doubt their manners or hygiene, as well. “Do you have soap?”
Hosh stepped around her and through a doorway under the stairs, returning with a robe and a small bowl of cloudy liquid. Rea accepted it from him with a frown.
“It’s yuca juice—enough for your hair and robe,” he said. “Wash up and get some sleep. There will be time for more questions in the morning.”
Hosh pointed her outside to a ring of stacked stones near Pooka’s empty grain bucket. The horse was now lying in the shade against the hut, snoring loudly. As refreshed as Rea felt, she was looking forward to more sleep.
A large, rope-tied bucket sat on the edge of the stone ring. It was fastened to a stick that lay across the mouth of the well. Rea glanced over her shoulder, wondering if she should ask Hosh for more instruction, but he had already vanished from the hut’s entrance.
She laid the borrowed robe over the stones and took up the bucket before peering over the edge. The well was deep and dark, with the light of the setting sun only reaching a short distance inside.
Rea dropped the bucket in and listened for the splash of water. Then she waited to be sure the bucket was full before pulling it up. She placed it on the sand at her feet and stripped out of her robe. The crystal necklace bounced against her chest, and she touched it fondly, wondering how Magora and Armal were faring at the temple without her.
The yuca juice lather was different from the lye soap she was used to, but she worked it into her hair and robe as best as she could, then rinsed with the water from the well. When she finished, she dressed in the sleeveless robe Hosh had loaned her.
The garment was bulky over her smaller body, but she managed to make it work by putting her head and an arm through the neck hole and belting the thin sleeve around her waist. She rolled the loose fabric over her opposite shoulder until it remained in place.
It felt odd having her arms completely bare, but it was more comfortable in the heat of the desert. At least while the sun shone overhead.
Rea gathered her damp robe and went inside. Through the opening under the stairs, she could see Hosh’s form laid across a bed, his chest rising and falling as he slept—or pretended to anyway. Her questions had bothered him, but she would not let that stop her from asking more in the morning.
She crept upstairs and laid her robe over the windowsill to dry before braiding her hair and climbing back into bed. A cool breeze drifted through the curtains, but Rea burrowed under the thick blankets and sent up a small prayer to the Moon, thankful that she had survived her true Calling—at least so far.