Semi followed Jo as he threaded his way across the wastes of Kazdel.
The girl noted that even in this savage expanse, well-trodden trails snaked through the dunes, and that the canyons of the Banshees were not forever filled with wails and fierce gusts.
Above all, she was struck by the number of outsiders she now glimpsed—more than she’d ever witnessed in her home settlement.
These travelers huddled in small clusters, erecting makeshift stalls along the roadside, bartering goods before dissipating like desert mirages.
An image surfaced in her mind: they were the dust-borne traders, the ones who bore the sands from one end of the plains to the other.
“This is the junction of adventurers… the Wind’s Refuge, isn’t it?” she ventured quietly.
Jo nodded, affirming her suspicion. He spoke with a measured cadence, as if recounting a well-worn report.
“Yes. This place is known as the Refuge. Welcome, little one. I don’t know from where you came, but now that you’re here, you’re one of the wanderers.”
The man before her wore no raiders’ leathers and carried no sleek harness of an explorer. Instead, he donned a crude mask carved from deadwood and spoke in a guttural rasp.
“Your journey’s end lay only in starvation—becoming prey to beasts—or collapsing from exhaustion.”
Semi’s brow furrowed at his blunt assessment, but she remained silent.
“Here, at least, there are rational choices. Care to hear them?”
Should she? The question echoed in her chest, but the answer did not come from her friend.
Before reaching this place, Jo had shared many accounts of these trails—always earnest, never deceptive, though his tone had varied.
As she weighed the masked man’s offer, a memory stirred: Jo’s final words before leaving the camp.
He had said, You don’t need it.
“No, thank you,” she answered, with a gentle shake of her head.
At her mild refusal, the masked man’s casual posture stiffened.
“Mercenary. Scars run deep. Always heed this: do not cause trouble. Understood?”
He hefted a broadsword as broad as his torso, his voice dropping to a growl as he stepped aside.
Semi swallowed the dryness in her throat and fell into step behind Jo.
Her eyes darted over the winding alleys that coiled from the settlement’s center like gnarl-rooted vines.
Few wore the white garb that marked Jo’s band; most were brigands, and the occasional adventurer passed with polite nods or amused whistles at Jo’s attire.
Seasoned explorers gave no outward reaction, and Semi, mindful of unwelcome attention, kept her curiosity in check.
Sure enough, when she held her tongue, a new approach emerged.
“Long journey. You must be weary.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Jo replied.
An elderly man in white greeted Jo and then turned his gaze to Semi.
“And who might this child be?”
“She joined us by chance on this wander,” Jo explained. “She wished to accompany me, so here she is.”
“A boon and a burden, no?” the old man said, his voice creaking with age. “For the balance of our clans, a fresh sprout lends strength—but to see one so young abandon home…”
He chuckled and ruffled Semi’s hair in a gesture that felt warm yet unfamiliar. Her body trembled at the contact—accustomed as she was to the desert’s sting rather than human kindness.
“Ha! Though it’s our first meeting, it’s good to sense your keen awareness. Beware: where there is kindness, a hidden malice often lurks.”
This old man steered them toward a small lean-to—no sturdy merchants’ tent, no display of heraldic crests, only a simple hut of canvas and stitched wool.
“Three days’ march westward lies a village,” he said as they settled onto low benches.
“They lost their chieftain days ago and elevated his son, who is still too green to manage the clan’s strife. Every council ends in quarrel.”
“And worse,” he lowered his voice, “each night someone dies. A new funeral each dawn.”
“One elder spoke out, blaming the youth’s inexperience—and the next night, that elder was found lifeless.”
“He’d long outlived his peers; his death raised no eyebrows.”
“After that, no child perished that night. Perhaps that was his last gift.”
“But then the killings resumed. Now only a handful of children remain.”
“That was when you arrived. Had this continued, the village might now be empty.”
“Surely more children would be taken or born, but might this one be of that cursed line?”
“Unlikely. At worst, she’s of mixed blood.”
“Well, she’s still a child. Is it right to burden her with these tales?”
“She pays them no heed,” Jo said, watching Semi as she absorbed every word.
The old man closed his eyes and bowed his head, as though he’d just learned the world’s imminent end.
He exhaled a heavy breath before speaking again.
“I’ve already dispatched my protégé to investigate. She departed two nights past—she should reach the village by the time you set forth. Help her root out the cause. She excels at forging trust; her insights will be invaluable.”
Jo merely inclined his head in acknowledgement, rising to gather provisions beyond the hut’s thin walls.
“You’ll do well to stay near a stalwart ally,” the old man told Semi.
“I can’t tell if he’s a good man yet,” she replied softly. “He hardly speaks of his own deeds.”
He inhaled thoughtfully.
“I took four apprentices in my twilight years. Why do you think that was?”
“He… found them wandering?”
“You guessed that much. No need to elaborate.”
“Are they kin? From the same clan?”
“Three bear some similarity, yet none are blood.”
Semi’s brow creased. If not kin, then what bond?
She prowled her thoughts as they awaited Jo’s return—keen to outpace the running of her legs.
“I’ve no clue,” she admitted.
“Will you concede?”
“This isn’t a riddle. I’m not meant to know.”
“That very ignorance shows you’re in good company—because you’re frightened.”
The old man’s voice softened.
“I, too, have never banished the fear of vanishing.”
He spoke of crossing deserts under the sun, resting in fear of night, and carving a shadow by day.
Even as they pressed on toward that troubled village, Semi replayed his words, shaking her head.
In the empty sky above, she painted memories with the warmth he’d bestowed.
She recalled the forest path when they first departed, the riverbanks they forded, and the cliff-fringed vistas beyond the wilds—a true settlement, not a mere refuge.
She thought she wouldn’t miss it—but the ache of longing proved otherwise.
Trailing behind Jo, she averted her gaze, surveying the village that lay ahead.
This place, unlike the shadowed hamlet of her youth, had a palpable tension—eyes welled with suspicion, bodies kept at measured distances.
Back home, the arrival of strangers split her people in two: the bold curiosity of some, the fearful toil of others.
Semi had been of the latter—yet not out of simple fear. She believed herself special.
She conjured her friend’s warm greeting, imagining how tomorrow’s fears would go unshared by a comforting voice.
A loneliness gripped her as she wiped away unwelcome tears, standing beside Jo to face the village born of wariness and wonder.
The young chieftain’s gaze flickered with unease; he shifted in place, rapping his staff against the courtyard stones.
“As you see, there is nothing extraordinary here. Perhaps you should move on swiftly?”
He struck her as timid rather than cunning, hasty to reclaim his seat of authority.
Jo met the chieftain’s plea with measured diplomacy, his quiet timbre defusing any rising ire.
“Understood. This predicament is grave in itself, and we recognize the risk of contagion to neighboring clans. Yet the chaos within your borders makes voluntary cooperation unlikely.”
“Of course. We will take utmost care to prevent further incidents.”
“Even in your father’s day, your words soothed without promise of swift resolution. ‘There will be no trouble,’ you said. ‘We will solve this.’ Yet such guarantees were never made.”
The youth bowed once more before withdrawing into his hall, leaving Semi and Jo to their silent vigil.
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