TWO
Amelia woke, disoriented from the unfamiliar surroundings and the stilted sleep she had endured. Fresh dawn light illuminated the canvas of her tent as she blinked herself awake.
It was a relief, to sit up on her bedroll and spy the thin sliver of early morning sun peeking through the tied flaps of her tent. The warmth of morning light meant safety, and it settled over her like a promise.
Washing with chilled water and dressing in her linen field clothes, Amelia stepped out into the cool, dry air of the Rift.
The quiet was eerie, made more so by the sight of Silas seated cross-legged beside the still-burning fire, casually eating from a bowl.
His eyes lifted momentarily to track over her before turning his attention back to his breakfast.
Amelia turned her head to find Frank, exhaustion evident in the droop of his shoulders. He gestured to Hank, and they nodded to each other before heading for their tents. She assumed they would sleep the day away, preparing for the night to come.
She thanked them before moving over to the small kitchen setup to prepare breakfast. The silence around her was uncomfortable, though she didn’t expect Silas to fill it, sure that he was still irate with her over the indiscretion.
She moved to take her meal back to her tent, intent to eat in solitude, but an unexpected voice stopped her.
“How did the translation go?” Silas asked.
Amelia turned as he placed his bowl aside and levelled her with his stare. It was a normal look, one with a curious yet condescending tilt of his head, the blue of his twinkling eyes held his usual measure of mirth. It was a welcome return to their status quo.
She changed track and wandered closer to the warmth of the fire. “I made some headway.”
He reached behind him and produced a notebook. “Shall we compare?”
Amelia paused, an excuse already on the tip of her tongue. But the threat of losing face in front of Silas was not something she was willing to do.
“My notes are in the tent,” she said with an air of confidence, concealing what she knew lay there. Amelia had been up for hours working on those translations and had barely managed two of the glyphs after pouring over the tome she had borrowed.
“What do you have so far?”
His look was a little too knowing, his lips already forming a small smirk, but he just lowered his head to look at his own notes.
“The first one I translated in the field. Twin, or double. The next few were trickier due to inconsistencies, but I theorise that the rest of the top line is connection, change and source.”
Silas looked up at her expectantly.
Amelia chewed her bite of granola and nodded, irked that he had translated more than her. The surge of competition was familiar.
“I wonder if it’s referencing the source of power they might have had access too, since the Monoliths weren’t around in their time.”
Silas’ pencil tapped off the open page of his notebook as he considered. “It could be. I half-translated the first glyph on the next line and I think it might be temple. Could be pointing us to that location. That’s where I’ll head soon.”
Amelia frowned at him. “Where we are going to head soon.”
Silas closed his book and raised a brow at her. “Are you sure you’re up for it? It could be a dangerous trek, not to mention you obviously didn’t manage to translate anything. Hard to be helpful with an empty notebook.” His smile grew with every word he spoke.
She looked at him sharply. “Pardon?”
He scoffed. “You forget that I know you, Winslow. If you’d gotten anywhere, you would have had me sit through a ten-minute speech while you bragged about how brilliant you are.
” Silas shook his head with a small chuckle as he gathered his things from around him and stood deftly.
“Relenting to me proved what you had in that sad little notebook of yours.” His eye gleamed in the sunlight. “Nothing.”
Amelia set her bowl down. “I don’t have nothing .”
“You meant to say: I don’t have anything ,” Silas said with mock concern. “My word, the decline of a once great academic.”
“Finley.” Cutting, spoken through her teeth.
He took a small step towards her, swinging his backpack over one shoulder. “Winslow,” Silas echoed with irritating calm.
When she said nothing, he winked before turning away to walk for his tent. She followed him irately. “I’ll have you know I also translated connection, though the third glyph I’d thought was variant, rather than change, but seeing as they’re relatively synonymous, I chose not to waste my breath.”
“Mm-hm,” was all he said over his shoulder before he ducked past his tent flaps, leaving Amelia open-mouthed.
She whirled around and left, heading back to her tent to prepare her pack for the trek into the centre of the ruins.
By the time she stepped back out into the camp, everyone was awake and sitting in the common area. Silas stood near the boundary of their site, beneath an arcane lamp with one of his assistants.
When he saw her, Silas rolled his eyes and gestured for her impatiently. “Come on, Winslow, time waits for no one.”
Amelia ignored him and moved over to where Halpert sat. “We’re heading for the temple, will you join us?”
Halpert squinted up at her, the early morning sun on his face. “I am only here to guide the process as needed, Amelia, you don’t need me for this. You know what you’re doing.”
She sighed and glanced back over to Silas.
“He certainly doesn’t think so,” she grumbled.
Halpert chuckled. “Are you going to pretend you don’t give it right back? I know you very well, Amelia.”
She made a face. He was the second person to say that to her today, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Often, Amelia thought that nobody truly knew her, or her heart, especially not the people that were meant to be closest to her.
“I suppose,” she answered guardedly, and because she felt oddly vulnerable in that moment, Amelia said nothing more than a perfunctory farewell to him. She strode across the sandy ground towards the edge of the perimeter where Silas now stood alone, arms folded across his chest.
“Ready?” he asked.
Amelia hitched her backpack higher onto her shoulders and thumbed the straps. She gave him a sharp nod. Silas ran his eyes over her before he met her gaze once more.
“You’re in agreement to trek just the two of us?” he queried.
“If we find anything, the junior scholars can join us tomorrow on a return visit. I’ve set them to exploring and observing the outer rim while we’re away. Today is simply scouting danger on the way to the temple, and I’d prefer to do that alone to mitigate risk.”
Silas grinned slyly at her. “But you aren’t alone, are you?”
Amelia narrowed her eyes and walked straight past him, muttering, “I’d rather be.”
The trek across the Rift was slow and uncomfortable.
The morning heat escalated the deeper Amelia and Silas travelled into the ruins, their boots crunching over the sand, dust, and fragmented pieces of stone. The dry heat caused sweat to cling to her skin, making her linen clothes feel itchy.
It made her long for the milder weather in Ivory City, or her place of birth in East Town.
Twice they had needed to backtrack and find another path when they came across a toppled pillar or when their compasses led them astray, the needles shifting erratically all too often.
Amelia cast her eyes in every direction, wanting to take it all in, even if it were a mere shadow of the ancient city it had once been. She absorbed every stone pathway cracked by time, and broken staircase that led to nowhere, imagining what it might have looked like a thousand years ago.
“I think that eastern path might have been quicker,” Silas muttered, ducking beneath a tilted column, and then looked back at Amelia while she did the same.
“Of course you do,” she said, straightening before him, “because I chose this path.”
Silas tutted. “You do know everything I say isn’t to start a fight?”
“Based on every conversation we’ve ever had, no, I can’t say I know anything of the sort.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder, an amused expression on his face. “You enjoy it, don’t you?”
Her steps faltered and a scowl narrowed her eyes. Silas caught the look and laughed quietly before turning away again. Amelia sighed through her nose with a twist of her lips.
Their rivalry had always been built on sharp words and sharper minds.
It was a relentless game of one-upmanship that had once driven her to rewrite an entire thesis just to prove him wrong.
He had been a part of her life for almost ten years, running in the same academic circles, presenting at all the same conferences.
Even when they were both firmly working in their own cities, Silas managed to insert himself into the background of discussions. She had been unable to escape him.
She stared at the back of his blond head with frustration before following behind.
A rumble began, and they both paused, heads twisting to stare at each other as the low resonant sound seemed to come from everywhere. Silas looked contemplative with a hint of unease as it continued. The dust shifted around them, falling in small rivulets from the ruins surrounding them.
After a minute, it subsided, and Amelia took in a deep breath.
“That’s not normal,” she said in a low voice.
Silas swallowed visibly before nodding his agreement. “No…it certainly isn’t.” He looked around them for a moment before he gestured for them to continue. “Let’s press on.”
The oppressive weight of the early afternoon sun had no mercy for them as they reached the outskirts of the temple. Amelia could feel the damp sweat around her collar and the middle of her back, her breaths unsteady, mouth dry.