Hatam-Ile, 12th of Seventhmoon 3045
Ren’i was thankful for Onniar’s instructions the following morning. Every single inch of his body cried and complained like he was bruised all over when he got up. The short walk from Hatam-Ile to the camp was enough to exhaust him, and he shot down Hamr’s protests decisively once there.
”I’ve no need to see a doctor, believe me,” he repeated for the third time. ”I’m going to bed. We can converse more tomorrow.”
”But your highness—”
”Good night, captain.”
Ren’i swept past him and entered his tent, leaving the captain to sputter by himself.
He slept almost nonstop until dawn. He was still sore, but his appetite had returned, and he felt better after a proper meal.
Mineha had said that the dizziness from the blood loss could persist for several days. Ren’i wasn’t sure what Onniar had planned for him, but trusted the man’s judgment. After lunch Ren’i took a nap, much like akheris did during the hottest hours of the day, and was surprised to find himself feeling more chipper than he’d been in the morning when he came to. He stretched thoroughly as day turned to evening, massaging the worst aches off his stiff limbs, and made for the city as the sun descended on the western sky.
On the way there Ren’i passed a gaggle of akheri children who were sprinting about aimlessly, all of whom stopped to wave at him. He waved back and the children ran away, shrieking, giggling and shouting as one, ”it saw us, it saw us!”
He pretended not to notice the rustling in the bushes, or the poorly concealed whispers that told him his small observers were still tailing him.
Festival preparations were already in full swing in Hatam-Ile. Lamp posts had been erected at regular intervals along the trail. The statues flanking the city gates had been robed in ornamental fabrics, and there were wooden lanterns affixed to a chain above the gate, all painted in shades of green and blue. The usual window hangings had been swept aside and citizens leaned out as they tied cords between the houses, from which colourful, flower-patterned banners hung.
There were merchants stationed at nearly every corner of the shadowed streets, as were temptations. The delicious smells of food and drink wafted in from every direction, and Ren’i noted that he was hungry again. The akheri diet was heavy on meats, and many stalls offered a myriad of various dried and fresh delicacies whose names he did not even know. He paused to check his pockets in front of a pastry stall, eyeing the small, puffy bread buns with inbaked dried, sweet pieces of meat and fruit that he’d gotten to taste during the hunting trip. The dough had turned a glossy brown in the oven. He was delighted to find some gold at the bottom of his pockets and was counting them on his palm when he felt someone tugging at his hem.
One of the children he’d seen earlier was clinging eagerly to his shirt, grinning when Ren’i looked down.
”The yellow ones are better, mister,” he said, pointing out pastries that hadn’t turned quite as dark as the others while baking. ”They’re not as dry inside.”
Ren’i returned the grin. ”I seem to have met an expert.” The child giggled. Ren’i gestured at the merchant. ”Excuse me, I’d like to have those paler ones. How many can I get for this amount of money?”
He left the stall a moment later, pockets lighter and with a bag of pastries in tow. He handed one of them to the waiting child in thanks. The child swallowed nearly the entire bun in one go and rushed off.
Ren’i had demolished four and a half pastries on his way to the cottage, which had driven the worst of the hunger away. He lifted his hand in greeting as he spotted Onniar.
”My, you’re right on time,” Onniar said. He eyed the paper bag in Ren’i’s hands. ”What have you got in there?”
Ren’i handed him one of the pastries. ”I made some discoveries along the way. It’s getting nigh on impossible to squeeze through the town now.”
Onniar chuckled. ”If only you could see what it’s like around Kekri. Well, who knows, maybe you will at that. Midsummer’s important, sure, but the harvest season begins with Kekri. It’s our biggest annual celebration.”
The door opened and Hawk stepped out, carrying a shortbow and a full quiver.
”Thanks,” Onniar said. ”Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”
Hawk shook his head. Today, his hair was on a tight ponytail from which strands of hair had managed to slip out, and Ren’i couldn’t help staring. It certainly suited him; it brought out his strong chin and the sharp cheekbones even more so than usual. The loose, sleeveless shirt left his collarbones exposed, and the muscles in his arms stood out as he drew the bow and fired an arrow at the mark on a nearby tree to try the bow. He was obviously strong, not the way a soldier was, but like someone raised to survive and journey in the wilderness.
Ren’i whistled. ”Bullseye.” He tossed the last pastry to Hawk, who grabbed it midair and looked at him with his brows furrowed. ”Keep it. I’m too full.”
Hawk glared at the pastry suspiciously and Ren’i sighed in weary tones, saying, ”it’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re worried about. I bought it from Hatam-Ile, from an akheri merchant.”
Hawk took a careful bite of the bread, sharp teeth flashing.
Ren’i was forced to admit that his gaze seemed to follow Hawk wherever they were, and nothing about Hawk’s attitude towards him seemed to fix that. He was certain it wasn’t just because he was handsome, though he was definitely that, too. There was something about Hawk that drew him in like a magnet, and Ren’i could not fathom what it was. He’d seen countless faces both beautiful and handsome before, had kissed and done so much more with so many others, regardless of gender, and could tell without asking when the interest was one-sided. It was a waste of time to chase after someone who didn’t return the sentiment when the world was full of possibilities.
The whole thing was stupid. He’d not exchanged a single pleasantry so far with Hawk, yet Ren’i still could not seem to get him off his mind. If Alara or Maral ever found out he’d never hear the end of it.
”Just leave them there,” Onniar told Hawk, who dropped the quiver and the bow on the bench and retreated in the cottage with the pastry for company. Onniar turned his attention to Ren’i. ”You look better already. You’ve rested properly?”
”I have. I admit you were right. I still rather feel like I’ve been trampled by a koori.”
”We won’t be doing anything demanding today, so just take it easy. Grab the bow and I’ll demonstrate how to handle it.”
Drawing the shortbow didn’t demand as much strength as the longbow, but Ren’i could still feel his muscles complaining when the sun went down. Onniar kept adjusting his grip and posture resolutely.
”No need for any additional movements,” Onniar pointed out and drew his own bow again, repeating the motion as slowly as possible. ”Light, collected movements, that’s all. Don’t waste your energy overdoing it.”
Ren’i felt his arms begging for mercy, but drew the bow slowly, forcing himself to focus only on the mark. The sun set, first ushering in twilight, then finally the dark night of the desert, but Onniar carried on without even lighting the lanterns. He stood behind Ren’i’s shoulder and corrected the position of his arms immediately if Ren’i relaxed even for a second.
”An akheri learns to shoot even in the dark,” Onniar said. ”Focus on the target.”
”I’m trying, but my night vision doesn’t match yours.”
Onniar huffed a laugh. ”We can’t see perfectly at night, either. You’re compensating for your shortcomings by aiming too high instead of focusing on what you know. The mark’s still in the same place, even if you can’t see it as well anymore. Take a deep breath and trust your intuition. You do know where the target is.”
Ren’i’s breath steamed in the same night air that left his fingers prickling from the cold, but he forced himself to shut it out. He squinted. The night was nothing but shadows and sharp edges to him. Tree trunks rose like dark pillars against the blackness of the night, and he closed his eyes, focusing only on the pressure of the drawn bow in his hands. He felt its weight in his muscle memory, felt the familiar shiver that was born every time an arrow was loosed, when it found its mark.
Ren’i gathered his ashay. He let it brush against the surrounding trees, bushes, strands of grass, the leaves quivering in the breeze, letting himself listen to the sounds of the night and locate their sources in the world around him. He aimed and sent the arrow flying.
”All right, all right,” Onniar said, and Ren’i opened his eyes. The huntsmaster’s smile flashed bright in the dark. ”You finally caught on. Let’s take a closer look.”
The arrow had missed the X carved in the trunk by a mere inch.
”I think we can stop here for tonight. You seem to have understood what I was after.”
”I just focused on what was around me,” Ren’i said, shrugging. ”It’s a concentration technique we’re taught in the army.”
Onniar yanked the arrow free, looking satisfied. ”The same principle applies to this. Observe, learn to know your surroundings, focus on what your instincts are telling you. It’s a matter of self-confidence. If your instincts know where the mark is, listen to them and shut out all else.”
Ren’i sat down on a stump in front of the cottage and stretched the stiffness off his arms. He was secretly happy to have learned his lesson after the hunting trip; he’d worn a long-sleeved shirt, despite it having felt stiflingly hot in the evening sun.
”Oi, Hawk,” Onniar called out and knocked on the door. ”Open up. I know you’re awake.”
Ren’i heard clattering coming from the cottage and Onniar stepped in, bearing their equipment. Ren’i let his eyes wander across the night sky. Some constellations were familiar to him where others weren’t. Kauarin had just risen above the horizon to join the evening stars. The pale light of the smallest of Melkem’s moons reflected from the distant dunes, making the sand glow in shades of yellow. Waxing Merenos had climbed on the western sky, now grown to a half-moon. It drew closer night by night, and Ren’i knew the moon drifting its ellipsoid orbit was reaching the point in its cycle where it passed very close to Melkem, shining much larger on the sky than its two companions. Even now its blueish green glow seemed to bathe all nearby stars in its light, and Ren’i couldn’t take his eyes off it.
The festivities in Hol Saro would be just as raucous as the ones in the Hytherlands. The city would be packed with numerous wedding parties, celebrated all the way until dawn’s light, just like every time Merenos was full.
The door slammed open again and Onniar came out, holding steaming clay mugs. He handed one to Ren’i.
”Tea,” Onniar said, sitting down on the yellowed grass with his own mug. He didn’t glance over his shoulder as the door opened again and Hawk came out, but the corners of his mouth quirked into a knowing smile.
Ren’i warmed his fingers around the mug and took a sip. The tea was sweeter than he’d expected, though not quite as sweet as the hot chocolate they drank during the colder nights in Hol Saro. It would take a long time until he’d get to taste it again.
”A clear night,” Ren’i said. He blew out a cloud of vapour. ”I have to admit that this climate takes some getting used to. Sweltering during the day, freezing as the Northern Sea at night.”
”Nights are always cold in the desert. Sand doesn’t retain much heat, after all, and the cloudless skies let what little there is evaporate,” Onniar replied.
”How on earth do you survive here?”
”We’re used to the conditions being what they are.”
Hawk had seated himself away from the other two. The cold of the night seemed to creep underneath his skin even through the fur trimmings of the coat, and he drank from his cup slowly, enjoying the warmth the tea left in its wake.
Ren’i jolted and straightened, all drowsiness gone from his expression. ”You hear that?” he asked.
Onniar was already reaching for his bow. Hawk heard a strange, low crackling that made his hackles rise and shivers crawl up his spine. He recognised the sound at once. He said quietly, ”Onniar. Look at the sky.”
The sky was rippling like a translucent veil waving with the wind. The northern lights weren’t as bright as the ones Hawk had seen earlier, but they still bathed the desert in shades of green and gold.
”Unbelievable,” Ren’i breathed. ”This far in the south. How is that even possible?”
”This is not the first time. The previous firestorm was stronger than this,” Hawk said, and Ren’i turned to look at him. ”Didn’t you see? It was the night before you people arrived in Hatam-Ile.”
”Must’ve slept past it.” Ren’i stared at the sky with his mouth open. He’d heard his soldiers muttering something about northern lights, but had paid it no mind. Their first meeting with the akheris had kept his mind entirely occupied. Back home northern lights were only visible in the winter, and even then only if the sky wasn’t overcast. ”I’ve never heard of northern lights being visible all the way down here. Or at this time of the year.”
”Some of the elders said it has happened before, but it’s very rare,” Onniar said. ”I can’t recall it having happened once during my time, though.”
Ren’i sighed and the air before him quivered for a moment. ”What a shame that this didn’t coincide with the festival of Merenos’s return.”
”How so?”
”Well, you know. The full moon of Merenos is a popular time for weddings, at least in the north.”
”So I’ve heard. What’s that got to do with northern lights?”
”Well, in the north we associate them with marital happiness. They say that northern lights are born when Tari and Khuus meet and, well, uh, I mean…” Ren’i stammered. Even in the dark Hawk could see him blush all the way to his ears.
Onniar grinned. ”I see, I see. A busy night for you northerners, eh?”
Ren’i coughed, visibly embarrassed, and hastened to sip from his cup, gaze firmly on the tips of his shoes.
Hawk brought the mug to his lips. Sometimes Ren’i managed to behave like an adolescent, despite his age. Though a Kishan was considered an adult at the age of 26, he was hardly more than a child in most demons’ eyes. That much was blindingly obvious sometimes.
”Hey, Onniar, I’ve been wondering about something these past few days,” Ren’i said, breaking the silence. ”Where do your names come from?”
”Names?”
”Given names,” he clarified. ”They differ from northern names quite a bit.”
”Hmm, well,” Onniar said, scratching at his beard. ”When we’re little our parents give us a nickname. Some people end up keeping it as their name, but most pick themselves something they like better once they’re older, usually something descriptive.”
”Oh. That does explain things.”
”And you?” Hawk interrupted them. Ren’i started, realising that Hawk was actually addressing him. He wouldn’t have believed his ears if the man hadn’t been glaring at him, a most characteristic sour look on his face.
”’And you’ what?”
”Where does your name come from?”
”What do you mean?”
”It doesn’t sound like Daqanese.”
”Probably because you keep mispronouncing it. It’s Ren’i, not Reni. There’s a short pause between the n and the i.”
”Ren’i,” Hawk repeated slowly. Ren’i nodded. The name sounded strange coming out of Hawk’s mouth. ”Does it mean something?”
”Not in Old Demonic at least, as far as I know. How come?”
Hawk was quiet for a moment. ”Just thinking. It sounds like the Akheri word for ’spring’,” he said. He emptied his cup.
”Onniar told me you got your name from being sharp-eyed.”
Hawk nodded.
”How about you?” Ren’i asked, turning to Onniar. ”Does your own come from the Akheri tongue?”
Onniar burst into laughter. ”Goodness, no. I gave up my nickname a long time ago when I was made huntsmaster.”
”I don’t understand.”
”Oh, right, I forgot you don’t have the same naming customs.” He looked thoughtful while he ruffled his beard again. ”The long and the short of it is that we akheri have two names. Your given name is more like a nickname in reality. Hawk’s called Hawk, but that’s not his real name.”
Ren’i glanced at Hawk. ”Then what is?”
”None of your business,” Hawk growled.
”Only he himself knows it, and we don’t have the right to ask.” Onniar patted his chest. ”See, every akheri has a true name, a spirit name. No one knows it besides the person themselves. Many of us share ours with our nearest and dearest – spouses, closest friends, family members –, but not always, and never with outsiders. Your spirit name is who you really are, and it mustn’t be given lightly to anyone.”
”So is Onniar your…?” Ren’i did not finish the sentence.
Onniar nodded. ”That’s right.”
Hawk did not miss the look of dawning horror on Ren’i’s face.
”I am so sorry,” Ren’i managed to stutter. ”I didn’t even realise—”
”Allow me to finish the tale before you start panicking,” Onniar replied, laughing. Hawk could tell he was enjoying himself enormously. ”I gave up my nickname when I became huntsmaster, just like Ared gave up his when he was made chief. Healers, chiefs, elders, all those of us in a position of power share our spirit names with our people upon accepting our duties. Only that way can we be worthy of our roles.”
”What does that mean?”
Hawk rolled his eyes and said, ”it means that you can call him Onniar, because the huntsmaster has no other name. We trust him, because he has revealed his name to us – shown us who he really is.”
”Oh, all right. I think I get it. Maybe.”
”Don’t worry your little head too much,” Onniar mused. He emptied his cup in one gulp and clambered back to his feet. ”I’ll escort you back to the city. The drawbridge will have been raised already at this hour, but the guards will let you cross if I’m with you.”
Ren’i hurried to finish his tea, then got up. Hawk took his and Onniar’s mugs and stomped back in the cottage without saying a word to either of them.
”Isn’t he coming with us?” Ren’i asked when Onniar began trudging back towards Hatam-Ile.
”Who, Hawk? No. He lives in the cabin.”
”All by himself?”
”He enjoys his solitude.”
”Imagine that,” Ren’i said dryly, and Onniar laughed out loud.
I really like Onniar. <3 And I love how you explain the akheri naming traditions as well!