Chapter 39
After two days of blazing heat, outdoor camping, and very uncomfortable nature breaks, I made it. Oh, and not to mention the constant fear of getting lost or attacked—by human, scorpion, or snake. But I made it. On my own. “We made it,” I told Cinnamon, rubbing her neck.
It was past dusk, and from the grainy uphill path surrounded by scattered shrubs, I could see the circle of torches burning brightly. It told me that I had made it to the orphanage—I’d recognise that glowing circle as Amfir’s praying hall anywhere.
The light from the immortal flame showed me that the door was no longer bright red. It turned brown and flaky over the years and nobody bothered to repaint it.
I exhaled sharply, then took a few controlled breaths, fidgeting with my hands before knocking. My heart ticked. Then it pounced at the sound of grating metal followed by a creak from the wooden door’s hinges.
I was welcomed with a gasp. “Wildheart?”
“Hello, Sand Priestess Constance. Is Sand Priestess Selmira here?”
“Constance? Who is it?” Another gasp. “Cordelia!? My god, look at you! You’re a woman now.”
“Hello, Sand Priestess Selmira.”
“My sweet Delia. Come—come in. What are you waiting for? I’ll make tea.”
“Erm.” I pulled Cinnamon into her sight. “Can I keep her with the others?” I asked.
“Oh dear, I’m afraid Nutmeg passed on. It’s just Linda now,” Selmira said, making her way out. My eyes welled up so quickly, I surprised myself.
“I’m so sorry. I missed him very much. I missed them both.” I missed her, too.
“Come, let’s take her to the stable.”
Only five years had passed, yet as the bright light of the immortal flame fell on her face, I noticed that the little hair that always peeked from the sides of her creamy veil had turned white.
“What’s her name?” she asked.
“Cinnamon.”
She chuckled. “How so?”
“It’s because she’s brown and very much sweet.”
Selmira smiled at that. “Suits her well, then…why are you here, Delia? And is that—is that a bow?”
“I—I still cannot remember them.”
“I’m sorry, dear. Every night I prayed for your memories to return, as I do for the people of Ilma, the Water Priestesses.”
“I need to find out who they were. Was there ever any news about my birth certificate?”
“Unfortunately, no. The records departments in Sand wrote back. There were no certificates with the surname Wildheart. There was one Cordelia Something but she was born the same year you arrived here, so obviously that couldn’t have been you.”
“So nothing, not even a letter, perhaps, asking for some girl that could have been me?”
She shook her head. “No, I would have told you if there were.”
“I wonder where they were cremated, what their names were, what they looked like. The thoughts haunt me constantly.”
“I really wish I had the answers for you, my dear. None of the cremation cemeteries around here had sandstones carved with the surname Wildheart. Perhaps one day, the Water Priestesses would be freed and they would heal you. You’ll finally remember.
” It was not the first time she said those words to me.
They felt like they were the only solace she could ever offer me.
“I don’t think I can be healed like that,” I murmured.
“What makes you say that?” she asked, raising her voice.
I couldn’t tell her that I’d had someone healing my head, twice actually. Once, when I faked a headache, the other, after Mounir’s nightmare. I realised I was staring into nothing.
“Delia, I’ve never told you this because I was told not to. But you are a grown woman now and I don’t see why it should be kept from you.”
“What?” I breathed. Did she know something about me, about them, all this time?
“It was Martin Seid who brought you here that night. He worked as a stableman at the Sand Castle, but after he brought you here, he visited that same Sunday, and every Sunday after that. He stopped coming once you left.”
Oh, that.
“Yes, Martin told me that already, on our journey towards the castle. But Martin wasn’t there when it happened.
He said some elderly man handed me over to him and told him that he had no idea who I was, only that I was in an accident and injured my head…
and that my parents…it’s like there’s no trace of them, no information that could lead me back to my roots. ”
“What will you do, then? Search all of Kalnar? It’s not safe out there, people are desperate. Perhaps you should return to the castle, Delia.”
“I cannot go back.”
“Why not?”
“It’s—it’s complicated.”
“Does this have anything to do with that Silchan prince? The one who donated the Graind Races prize? I heard that you were his servant, and for the first time ever, the donations were given to us.” Her voice softened. “You had something to do with it, didn’t you?”
“I was surprised to find the front door in such a state.”
“Funny, Delia, but I decided to use the coin to fill our reservoir with precious water rather than refurbish the place. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m here because of me. Because I need to know. I’ll consider returning to the castle, but before I do, can I please stay here, just for a few days?”
“Two days. You can stay in the guest bedroom. I’m sorry I cannot offer you a longer stay, but in three days’ time, two acolytes will be volunteering. They will be staying with us for a few months.”
“Two days will do. Thank you.”
“You do know that the offer to enrol as a Sand Priestess acolyte still stands, right?”
If she knew what I’d done—the uncountable lies and petty theft…
not just petty now, some of it was very much brazen.
My visit to the Seer. And not to mention what I’d done with not one but two men, one of which, male.
Sand Priestesses were to be pure and untouched, the ultimate sacrifice towards Amfir.
To give up the possibility to bear children and dedicate oneself only to him—the god of sand and fertility.
I blinked away the thoughts and instead said, “I still swear, you know.”
“You promised you wouldn’t swear at the castle.”
“I only swore outside of it.” Lie.
“Ha, ha,” she mocked. “I see you’re still the clever one. But need I remind you, Delia, that Daekon is watching just as much as Amfir is. Your actions decide—”
“Which god will claim your soul after death. Yes, I remember.”
“Then if you remember, stop swearing!”
“I’m in desperate need of a bath. Oh, and can I use the library and the sewing room?”
“Bath?” Her brow lifted. “You may use the library and the sewing room but the ration laws stand. I will offer you one bucket of water. And do not even dare use that thing around here,” she warned, pointing at the bow.
“In fact, hide it somewhere, away from the children. And I’d better not hear you swear. ”
“All right. I’ll head to the library tonight, then.”
“You know where everything is; not much has changed. But first, join me for tea.”
Grating words lingered in the back of my mind as we reminisced about my days here. Even as we laughed—talking about the time when cloth dye fell on Sand Priestess Constance, staining her face and her arms blue for weeks—they lingered.
Beyond the falls, beyond the depths.
What was I supposed to do with just that?
Selmira retired, and I found myself drowning in nostalgia as I tiptoed around the orphanage, pocket flame bright in my hand.
Entering the library felt as if I had travelled ten years back in time.
It looked exactly like it did the first time I beheld it.
The hall comprised a swirling maze of shelves saturated with books and scrolls.
At its centre was a round table made of sandstone, its circumference long enough to fit twenty.
Every little noise I made, every page I flipped, the sound echoed symphonically throughout the room.
I strode towards the history section and searched for books on the history of surnames.
Family Trees, Roots, Surname Origins, History of Birth Registrations.
I skimmed my index finger along the pages searching for Wildheart but there was no mention of it. I was wasting time.
Beyond the falls, beyond the depths.
I unfolded the piece of paper—my conversation with the Seer—and for the millionth time read the words I had written. You must venture beyond, you must venture where no one else dares to.
Beyond the falls, beyond the depths. What did she mean by that?
Falls.
What could be associated with falls? Some place that’s very high, where one could fall from? The high tower perhaps? But why would my answers lie there? There were no houses close by.
Think.
Falls…Waterfalls? Surely not. There weren’t any waterfalls in Kalnar.
Depths.
What could be associated with depths?
Wells are deep. The Wellspring Oasis is very deep—its reservoir still held about another year’s worth of water.
Not that it was much. I couldn’t begin to fathom what my Land would look like once the reservoir was completely depleted.
I imagined my people begging, stealing, killing, dying.
I hoped that Aegir would keep his word, to replenish the oasis. But I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
Before the attack on Ilma, filtered water used to move through the underground canals of the waterways and was made to fall into the deep Wellspring Oasis, and into the Fount in Jebel as well.
It was a pivotal part of the symbiotic agreement between the Earthens and Ilma.
Water in exchange for glass, gold, silver, herbs, and spices.
My thoughts led me to fruitless paths with no solid connections. But with just two vague words, how was I supposed to find something useful, such as a home address?
I moved on to the geography section. An expansive selection of books, varying in colour and thickness, occupied several shelves.
A purple book caught my eye. I had to move closer to read its shimmering title, written in glossy gold.
Design of the Waterways, twenty-first edition.
I noticed that the publication date was eleven years ago, a year or so before the attack.