Chapter 43 Zera’s Bow
Zera's Bow
Caramyn
Caramyn and the girl sat quietly as they watched the nomads set up their tents with the kind of effortless skill only acquired through repetition.
The elder woman, who’d said to call her Zera, offered them each a bowl of some unfamiliar hot liquid.
Caramyn accepted, despite her wariness, and only took a few sips of it before desperately wanting more.
Whether it was the faint taste of juniper berry that lingered in the spiced sweetness of honey mead or her thirst finally setting in, she didn’t know.
But it was doing a wonderous job of thawing out her insides.
Once Zera’s tent was ready, she ushered them inside.
Zera seemed younger than her voice and clouded eyes would indicate.
She moved with swift grace and fluidity, completely unhindered by her blindness.
She knelt on the floor, across from Caramyn and the girl, and then gestured for them to do the same.
Then she took off her fur hood and pulled down the wool covering over her mouth and nose to reveal more of her deep bronze skin, a flood of warmth in this cold, grey place. “So, you want me to translate, yes?”
“You’re…not Silverean?” Caramyn asked.
“Not at all. Most of us in this caravan aren’t. We come from all over the place, for various reasons, mostly necessity or desperation. And as your luck would have it, I hail from Gahmea—though what a long time ago that was…”
“Well,” Caramyn nodded, still feeling the blood returning to her face. “If you can talk to her…” She glanced at her young companion, who sat with a faraway look in her eyes. “I—I found the girl. She seems lost, and I want to make sure she’s safe. But I know nothing about her.”
“Hmmm.” The woman pursed her weathered lips. “Well, you might start by telling me the whole truth if you expect me to do the same.”
Caramyn blinked. “The whole truth? What more do you want?”
“I mean that if you expect me to believe you just found this girl wandering around—-and you both like that beneath those cloaks—you’re fooling no one but yourself.
I know that you were brought here by pirates.
Purchased for the House of Hrothvor, the Frostlord of Ironfell, the strongest clan village of the Spires.
Yet now you’re here. The only thing I don’t know is why. ”
With her mouth agape at all that the woman knew, Caramyn managed to croak out the question.
“Why” It seemed absurd to ask. “Why? Because we don’t want to freeze to death.
Because I refused to be some vile Frostlord’s property and object of pleasure.
..” she took a breath, slowing her words to calm herself before continuing.
“And I refused to leave her for him either.” She stopped, feeling the eyes of both Zera and the girl on her.
Then she looked up. “Will you ask the girl her name for me, please?”
“Well, there it is. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now that I know your heart, I have no use for this in these gods forsaken peaks.” Zera tossed the bracelet back to her and lifted her chin. “Now…” she said, “I will translate.”
She turned and spoke perfect Gahmean to the girl, who answered back timidly. “Her name is Narahbi.”
“Narahbi,” Caramyn repeated. “That’s quite lovely.”
“She also asked me to thank you. I told her to call you Kuhrissi, though make no mistake, I know that isn’t your real name. You hail from Evylere. And you’re running from something.”
“How do you know all this about me?” Caramyn snapped, feeling vulnerable.
“My dear, Gahmea is not renown for the same kind of magic Evylere once boasted. Our people were blessed by the Shattering in other ways. Some can shift the sands with their mere voices, some can shape glass, bone, and sunstone with their touch, and others see far beyond horizons into past, present, and future.” Zera paused.
“I am one of those. I believe your people call us Seers.”
“Well…” Caramyn stammered, still trying to choose her words carefully, though she should’ve known by now it was a fool’s plan to try to hide anything from this woman. “You’re right about Evylere. But I’m not running from anything. In fact, I want to get back.”
“Ah yes. You do.” Zera grinned slyly, “But there is still something you’re running from. You’ve almost convinced yourself otherwise. And that’s exactly what it is. You’re running from yourself, child.”
Caramyn swallowed, a tickle in her chest welling up as she clenched her fingers in her palm. “That’s not what I asked you to do. Just...just tell me about the girl. How did she get here? Ask her that.”
Zera addressed Narahbi once more. They exchanged a few words, and Caramyn noted the desperate expression on Narahbi’s face as she spoke, her deep brown eyes glossy. Finally Zera turned back to Caramyn.
“She says her parents sold her to settle a debt. Gahmea’s High Council has forbidden slaves of any kind, so they could only hope to sell her across borders.
She’s very grateful for what you did. But she can’t go back home to her family.
They’d send her right back or sell her again elsewhere.
” Zera paused, looking the girl over. She reached over and brushed a loose hair back from her face and began speaking again to the girl in the Gahmean tongue.
“I offered her an apprenticeship with me. She can stay with our caravan and assist us, until she’s old enough to decide if she’d prefer a life below the mountains.
We always need more hands. And if she begins to show Seer or sand singer abilities as she grows in age, then I’ll mentor her.
She’s right at the age when most Seers would begin to realize their abilities, but it must be nurtured or it will never develop past unclear visions and blurry dreams…
and if it is suppressed, it often leads to a catastrophic unraveling of their power. ”
Perhaps that was what happened to Sinevia. Shadows or not, it was no wonder she succumbed to the overwhelm of having to hide herself within her own father’s walls. No wonder it had led to a fracturing of her soul…
And no wonder running from her own cursed blood had led to hers…
Caramyn looked at Narahbi. At least this would spare her from such fates. “Is that what you want?” She asked her. wanting to assure she was doing right by the girl. “Do you agree to this?” Zera translated the offer and the question.
Narahbi nodded with confidence.
“Then welcome home, Narahbi.” Caramyn agreed, studying the contents of the tent around them.
Beside Zera’s bed, there were jars and chests of all sorts, and a crate containing some scrolls, carving knives, and weaving sticks.
From a small hook hung some talismans and bone chimes.
But it was a well-crafted ivory bow leaning against the tent’s support that caught her eye.
“How much for that bow and a quiver of arrows?” Caramyn asked suddenly.
“Oh,” Zera turned around to look. “That’s not for sale, dear one. That’s my hunting bow.”
“How can you hunt blind?” Caramyn asked.
“There are ways of seeing that have nothing to do with eyes.” Zera smirked.
Caramyn ran her fingers along the curve of the bow.
“It’s a fine weapon. I’ll give you anything on me.
” She reached up and tore a golden circlet from her head.
It was inlaid with the finest gems and rubies and had been woven into her hair until this moment.
“This?” She held it out to the woman. “Surely this is enough.”
Zera took the jewelry and felt around its ridges and stones carefully before speaking again.
“I have a better idea,” she snickered. “You keep the tiara, and you prove to me that you’re worthy of the bow.”
“And how exactly do you want me to do that?” Caramyn leaned forward.
“Stay with us for four nights. Go hunt for us. All of us. Prove you can use it, and I’ll let you keep it.”
Caramyn pondered the idea for a moment and agreed. She was confident in her abilities with a bow. She almost never missed a target during her time in the Shadow Woods, using only a bow she’d handcrafted from the trees around her until she was able to purchase a better one.
This bow of Zera’s was of the highest quality, carved from yew wood and decorated with ivory and intricate carvings all along its length.
She longed to hold the weapon, her hand on the shaped grip, the string taut against her fingers.
There was no doubt in her mind that she couldn’t easily take down prey with such a bow in her possession.
As long as she could find something to take down in this frozen wasteland…
“I’ll do it,” she said, standing to reach for the bow. “But I’m gone after the fourth night. No exceptions.”
“That’s the deal.” Zera smiled. “We’re glad to have you along.”
So Caramyn remained with the caravan to fulfill her obligation, eager to relish the feeling of a bow in her hand once again.
The first night, she crept out into the tundra and returned with two handfuls of snow hares.
She’d anticipated difficulty in finding the prey, especially without Nocthar.
But it was as if standing under the aurora-kissed night sky, alone in the barren snowy wastelands, without twisted trees and branches she was so accustomed to using for cover and stealth had forced her to awaken some part of her senses she hadn’t known existed—some otherworldly part of herself that made her almost feel… magic.