Hatam-Ile, 25th of Tenthmoon 3045

The desert was restless. Clouds of deep blue gray sped across the skies, but the rain had died entirely for the first time in days. A harsh wind had left the topmost layer of soil dry, and the gusts whipped around sand as mercilessly as they did in Hawk’s dream. The air was oppressive, expectant. He felt it catching on him, too; standing still felt impossible, and he found himself fidgeting, shifting his weight from one foot to another all the time.

The same restlessness reflected from so many faces around him, yet none dared to break the silence.

The elders stood as one mute entity in front of the gates of Hatam-Ile, shawls and long hems flying in the wind. Only Ared was missing. A steady flow of locals came to bid their loved ones farewell before they marched off to war. The volunteer camp that had stood in front of the city had been packed up during the past evening and night. Tents and thousands of pairs of feet had left imprints in the sand.

Akheri patrols astride horses and kooris rode past every now and then. They didn’t pause to chat – every face bore the same look of grim determination, and most simply nodded at the viewers by the way of goodbye. Consul Vannuil rode with the last patrol in full-plate armour, the visor of her helmet raised, holding the reins of her horse in one hand. Blond hair hung down from under her helmet on a tight ponytail. Onniar walked next to her, stroking the horse’s flank idly while conversing quietly with Vannuil. Finally, he parted ways with the patrol and came to stand beside Hawk.

”Aren’t you going with them?” Hawk asked.

Onniar shook his head. ”I’m no soldier. The rest is in their hands.”

Qel and Kha’ar came next with their own troops, which told Hawk that the main camp on the Meril-An plains now stood empty. Both consuls rode on horses, their caparisons embroidered with the colours of the Kishan imperial army. Unlike Vannuil, they had both donned polished half-plate armour, long cloaks fluttering in the wind. Qel rode without a helmet. Kha’ar paid no particular attention on the spectators as he spoke with his soldiers, but Qel’s gaze lingered on the akheris for a moment. He raised his hand in salute as he passed the elders, then turned his steed towards the desert together with Kha’ar, following in Vannuil’s and her soldiers’ footsteps.

As the last soldiers arrived, the empress’s lilac emblem pennants were replaced with red flags, bearing the image of a gauntleted fist. There were blooming rowan branches surrounding the crest. The band initiated an impressive brass instrument solo that carried with the wind far, far on the wastes.

”His imperial highness, prince Ren’i mar Oereinen!” captain Hamr’s voice bellowed over the music.

All heads turned to look as Ren’i arrived, escorted by his Guard. Today, he was a prince from head to toe; he sat straight as an arrow, regal and noble, and his gaze emanated that same confidence as the night before. It radiated off him, and Hawk was not surprised to see every eye watching his every movement with bated breath, be the viewer empty-blooded, taivashi, or something in-between. His blazing red hair could be seen from afar, shining almost as bright as his flags. The half-plate armour gleamed silver, the long velvet cloak hung from his pauldrons in the deepest shade of wine red. Hawk couldn’t help thinking that he was worthy of his name; Iron Fist, the champion of the empress.

Ren’i placed his left hand against his breast and bowed towards the akheri elders, eyes respectfully downcast. The Guard of Honour followed their prince’s example. When he’d arrived in the Hytherlands he’d done so like ordinary soldiers, mounted upon a koori, but today he rode Bolt, who was prancing energetically. Despite the stallion’s shows of temperament Ren’i handled him with practised ease, keeping him firmly under control. They made for a handsome sight: Bolt’s long mane flowed almost all the way to his knees in waves, and the hindquarters of the dappled gray horse gleamed with the same silver as his master’s armour.

Ren’i brought the horse to a halt in front of the elders and said, ”the day we have long awaited has come at last.”

Nemeken stepped towards him, expression grave. ”May the prayers of the people of the desert walk beside our children, and you as well, should you be willing to accept them.”

The look on Ren’i’s face was unreadable. ”You extend the hand of honour to those who may not deserve it, respected elder.”

”And what makes the Kishan heir say so?”

”We are all bound by the military oath. A soldier must be truthful, even at the cost of his own honour, should it be at odds with the truth.” Ren’i shook his head. ”Your worry weights heavily on me, and I’d be making mockery of everyone present by pretending that you have come to bid us farewell. Your prayers and your farewells belong to your children, your spouses, siblings and parents, all those who now depart to defend your homes – and for a reason.” He sighed, and Hawk knew the sorrow in his voice was sincere when he said, ”would that I could promise you that they all will return home, but that’s the one thing a soldier can never promise.”

”No. Not even for himself,” Nemeken replied.

Ren’i’s eyes lingered on Hawk. Hawk shivered. He wanted to take Ren’i’s hand and kiss him one more time, and to hell with the bystanders, but the opportunity was gone before he had the chance to do more than open his mouth. Hawk glanced over his shoulder at the sound of hooves against cobblestones, and froze where he was.

The crowd made way as two akheri horses, flaxen-maned with chestnut coats, approached the gates. Upon the first one sat Mineha in the whites and greens of a healer. Silverbrook, dressed in a long skirt and a shawl, was leading her horse. Ared was riding the other one.

Ren’i was not surprised to see them. He directed his words at Ared when he asked, ”are you sure about this?”

”Completely,” Ared answered calmly. ”If this is the war of my people, then it is my war too.”

Horrified sounds and complaints rose from the crowd. Hawk saw Onniar gnashing his teeth, though he said nothing, and Hawk was certain he’d been informed beforehand.

Nemeken rearranged her shawl, looking disgruntled. ”You know the will of the council, Ared, chief of chiefs.”

”And you know mine.”

Nemeken sighed. ”I’d try to talk you out of this, if I didn’t know it was futile.”

Ared and Mineha guided their horses next to Ren’i’s and turned to look at their citizens. Ared was wearing his best. Three neat braids fell over his right shoulder, and the chief’s cloak had been replaced by a longer cloak, bearing an image that Hawk didn’t immediately recognise. The pattern had been sown in shades of red, white and black – two hands above, two below forming a circle. Threads zigzagged between their fingers, forming a single spruce tip in the middle of the emblem. Shivers went down his spine when he at last realised what it was; the coat of arms of the ancient Akheriland, under which their ancestors had protected their lands, lands that had yet been verdant and fertile.

”No akheri has gone to war for thousands of years,” Ared said. He had no need to raise his voice. The silence that had fallen was so complete that everyone present could hear him clearly. ”We have yielded, endured misery and bent in the storm winds to survive to see another day. And that is honourable. Without the sacrifices of our ancestors there would be nothing left of the Akheriland nor the people of the desert, not even memories. The resilience of our people is something we have every reason to be proud of.” His eyes, lined heavily with kohl, travelled from face to face. ”But there’s a limit to how much we must withstand. Before this enemy our people, who have always valued peace above all else, are ready to take up arms, and as chief I honour their will. The way of my people is my way as well.”

”What are we to do without a chief and a healer?” cried one of the elders, a man with silver-white hair, his face covered in liver spots.

”My colleague from Verem has been kind enough to send three of their most advanced apprentices to aid my own. They will look after your health until my return,” Mineha said. The saddle bags behind her were bursting with equipment. ”It is the healer’s duty to be where she is most needed. I cannot simply leave our children who are riding to war to their fates.”

Ared cleared his throat and extended a hand towards Silverbrook. She surrended the reins of the other horse to Mineha, stepped closer to Ared, and let him take her hand.

”As custom dictates, a chief must name his successor in a state of emergency. Normally, there would be certain formalities involved, but considering the situation the council of elders has unanimously agreed that the formalities be forgone at this time.” Ared nodded to Silverbrook and let go of her hand. She stepped forwards, pale face reddening. ”You have known her as Silverbook, but from today onwards she is Shala. She gives her name to us as duty demands and joins the council as my apprentice. Should anything happen to me, the council will ensure that she receives the required training to take over the duties of chief as my successor.”

Hawk searched for Nightsong and finally found her on the other edge of the crowd. She looked unusually serious, her face revealing nothing of her thoughts.

What must it feel like, Hawk thought, to have to share your soul mate’s name with everyone? He glanced at Silverbrook again, then shook himself mentally.

Shala, he repeated in his mind. Shala, not Silverbrook.

”The council greets you, Shala, named and beloved,” the elders replied in unison.

Shala’s delicate frame trembled all over, but she managed to force a smile. Her eyes gleamed with tears. Hawk recalled Ared being much the same once he’d come back home as the chief’s apprentice, introduced by his name to his own family. He’d seemed frail somehow, as though a single sharp word might have shattered him into pieces, and they’d all understood why. Your spirit name, your true name, was beyond holy.

”An akheri’s name is their most precious possession,” Evenfall had said long ago. ”So long as you have it, you are whole. We all bear other names during our lifetimes, but only your spirit name is who you truly are. Whoever uses it binds themself to you irreversibly, so guard yours as you’d guard yourself.”

Hawk believed he finally understood what his father had meant.

They had shared their names with Ared, he and Nightsong, that very same night when the rest of the family was already asleep, though they had both been scared. Perhaps they’d done it because they were scared, so that Ared didn’t have to be alone with his fear. They had cried and laughed together until the late hours, and their parents had found them snoring in front of the cold fireplace in the morning.

Nekemen extended both of her hands towards Shala, who walked towards her, shaking. The old woman’s voice was gentle when she clasped Shala’s hands and said, ”it has been many long years since a child of the woods last joined our ranks. Do not mourn what you’ve lost; focus on what is yet ahead of you. The role of an elder demands the same courage as that of a hunter.”

Shala could no longer curtsey, but she bowed down her head respectfully, taking her place among the elders. Hawk saw tears running down her cheeks, but she did not wipe them away or try to hide them whatsoever.

”Your highness,” Sava said. ”We should get going.”

The horses pawed at the ground impatiently. They could clearly sense that there was a long journey ahead, and longed for the chance to run. Ren’i signalled to his soldiers, turned his stallion around and encouraged him to a slow walk. Ared and Mineha copied him. Captain Hamr extracted a horn from his belt and blew into it twice, three times, giving the soldiers the order to set off.

As though on silent agreement the elders escorted them. Most of the Hatam-Ileans stayed where they were, staring at their backs. Hawk stared as Ren’i’s figure grew more and more distant, as if in a daze, until at last something snapped him back to reality. He shoved Onniar out of his way and ran. He pushed past Nemeken and Shala, feeling the elders’ eyes following him.

”Watch it, nutcase!” barked Vyetar, one of the soldiers of the Guard, when Hawk gave no warning before diving between two horses and startling one of them. Captain Hamr swore as his horse reared nervously when Hamr rushed past him.

”The hell’s the meaning of this?” Hamr huffed.

”Leave it, captain,” Sava told him. ”His highness knows him.”

Ahead, Ared glanced over his shoulder, eyeing widening in surprise upon seeing his cousin. He guided his horse to the side, making space between himself and Ren’i.

Hawk said nothing as he laid his hand on Bolt’s neck. A moment later Ren’i placed his own hand over Hawk’s.

”I didn’t come to say goodbye,” Hawk said finally and broke the silence, disregarding the fact that Ared and the soldiers riding behind them were listening. ”We have a saying: that goodbyes are only meant for enemies. To others we say farewell, because then they’ll come back.”

Ren’i squeezed his hand. ”Will you wait for me?”

”I will.”

The wind had started to blow harder. The air was heavy with humidity, and Hawk knew that when the storm began, it would rage throughout the night. Wind formed clouds of sand when they rose on a hill, momentarily hiding the patrols already riding southwards from view. At the foot of the hill Vannuil, Kha’ar and Qel were waiting with the last platoons. Ared lifted his hand to signal the others and said, ”let’s stop.”

Ren’i repeated the gesture, and the soldiers obeyed. The akheri elders stood beside Ared and Mineha. The gales were tossing Ared’s braided hair about, setting the sands swirling in front of him as if in anticipation. He tied the reins around the horn of his saddle and unsheathed the knife hanging from his belt. He grabbed one of his braids, held its tail, and in one fluid motion cut off a strand.

Ared held the strand between his fingertips, inhaled deeply, and started to sing, and the wasteland sung with him. His voice struck a steady pace, and though Hawk did not understand the words he knew their meaning from the familiar rhytmn. It was completely different from the chant from the kekri festival, where Ared had told the story of the two goddesses. The verses of the poem flowed from his lips defiantly, demanding, as though commanding heaven and earth to bend to his will. The wind rose and changed direction; down below soldiers started when the wind that had blown straight at them from the desert turned around and started ushering them forwards.

The elders joined the song, a single polyphonic choir, seemingly rising from the very land itself, repeating the command over and over. Ren’i held Hawk’s hand so tight that his knuckles whitened. He was staring at Ared, his look speaking of fearful respect, when a lightning bolt illuminated the sky and left the ground trembling.

Spellsongs had been sung in the days of yore, long, long before the trees made way for the sun, long before the ancestors of the demon folk walked the soil of Melkem and forced its elements to bend to their will. Stories spoke of spellsingers, so mighty with their chants that they’d been able to stand against the demons’ magic many ages past. Hawk had thought them only stories, but even his arms were covered in goosebumps as he listened.

The golden ornaments of Ared’s belt chimed in the wind like a thousand bells when he let go of the strand and let the wind catch it.

”The wind alone carries the akheri song,” he ended his chant in Daqanese. ”The sun alone remembers the akheri song.”

With a sigh, the wind stilled just for a moment. When thunder struck again, much closer now, the wind began to blow from the north like preluding a tornado, whipping the clouds across the skies as if dragging them towards the south. Ared sheathed the knife, removed it from his belt and handed it to Nemeken. The elders exchanged one last look with Ared and turned back towards Hatam-Ile without saying a word.

”Better get going while the wind is in our favour,” Ared said serenely, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He nudged the flanks of his horse with his heels.

Ren’i and Hawk looked at each other. All of a sudden Hawk felt like he could have stared into his eyes for all eternity and it still wouldn’t have been enough. He kissed Ren’i’s hand and let go of him at last.

”Farewell,” Hawk said.

”Farewell,” Ren’i replied.

Hawk stared after him until the dunes swallowed him whole. The hoofprints had already started vanishing with the wind, but he couldn’t make himself move until the very last of them had eroded into nothingness.

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Author’s notes: And with that The Threefold Soul will be going on a hiatus! I’ve recently started my studies and need to dedicate time for keeping up with the course work, so I figured a break was in order. I’m expecting to continue with new chapters in late November/early December, when my work load should be lighter. Until then, thanks for reading!