Domor warm through the mild winter nights and fed his raucous dreams of an age gone by. He would be giving up both for the rigors of the road.
Food and pleasant drink aside, Domor had more of a reason to stay with his people than simple creature comforts. There was a safety in Vel not found anywhere in Ahreele, save for the glorious pastures of Ah Uto Ree.
Beyond the buffering country of Y’Vel lay the Dead Lands. Aptly named, the swath of twisted forest stretched across millions of acres and ran rampant with pure magic fonts. Like fiery boils bursting from the flesh of Ree, the fonts spewed magic in its most basic form. Volatile and possessed of an inherent degenerative nature, pure magic was as much a natural threat to travelers as were the horrific creatures that sprang up in its virulent wake.
To reach Nurin in haste, without running afoul of the Tolen, the Grol, or the Korme, Domor would need to pass through the very heart of the Dead Lands. A cold shudder ran through him at the thought. To travel by the river was unappealing and dangerous, but the land route was a certain failure.
His mind set, Domor shook off his dread and continued toward the river. If there was any hope of claiming the rod before the Sha’ree did, he would need to travel the fastest route possible. That was the river.
His head a maelstrom of chaotic thoughts, he almost didn’t hear the crunch of foliage behind him. Domor spun, his hand digging into his pack for the dagger. His wide eyes scanned the woods and he loosed a low growl when he saw the smiling face of Jerul, his blood-companion. The warrior leaned casually against the trunk of a thick oak.
Nearly naked, Jerul looked like a pale version of the tree he rested against. Thick muscle sat like slabs of stone across his hairless chest, Jerul’s stomach distended as though it were a turtle shell. Below the scant covering of his loincloth, too small to be considered modest, were legs that rivaled the branches of the eldest trees. His flesh so white as to be translucent, his veins stood out a brilliant purple against his skin, its marking an honored sign of his people.
Two wide straps crossed his torso that held the serrated swords favored by his kind. Their jagged tips peeked out from behind the bulk of his back, sharp and ominous.
“Sometimes I wonder how your people survived even a day before us.” Jerul’s smile grew wider as he came to stand beside Domor, his gait graceful despite his powerful bulk. His braided, snow white hair swung behind him as though it were a horse’s mane, possessed of its own life. The clean shaven sides of his head only added to the illusion.
Domor’s face felt flush as he met the man’s bright blue eyes and he reined in his thudding pulse. “Sometimes I wonder how we survive now with such ignorant savages sneaking up behind us constantly.” He shook his head. “One day you’re going to still my heart, Jerul. What will you do with your life then?”
Jerul laughed, the veins at his cheeks rippling like worms. “I’ll simply find another of your plentiful people; one with more courage, perhaps.”
Domor’s face brightened. “Good luck with that.” He embraced Jerul with a laugh, towering over the squat warrior.
Jerul obliged, but broke off a moment later, his expression serious. He prodded Domor’s pack with a thick finger. “You are leaving.” It wasn’t a question.
Domor felt a pang of guilt. “There is something I must do, my friend. It will take me far from Vel, and I may not return.” He drew in a slow breath to steady his tongue. “I did not think it fair to involve you. Your place is here amongst your brethren, and with mine.”
Jerul shook his head, his eyes narrowing as though he were speaking to a child. “We are of one blood, Velen. Where you go, so must I.” He set a steely hand against Domor’s bony chest, his palm pressed to his heart. “If you are destined for the womb of Ree, then it is my duty to go first to clear the path.” He pulled his hand away and gestured toward the river. “Besides, thin one, how far down the river do you think the twigs of your arms will get you before they fall off?” He laughed, his voice carrying through the trees.
Domor stared at Jerul a moment before a smile broke across his lips. “If you’re determined to come along, then I won’t refuse your company. I’m headed for Nurin.” Though he wished no harm to befall Jerul, Domor felt his worries lighten at the warrior’s insistence. The trip would be far safer with Jerul along, not to mention much less strenuous. He had not been looking forward to the effort it took to guide a raft down the still waters of the Vela River.
Jerul grinned and jogged over to a nearby tree. He pulled a large bag from the covering foliage as Domor stood watching.
The warrior pointed at Domor’s pack, his nose wrinkled as he sniffed the air. “While I have no doubt you can survive for weeks off the tiny slab of dry meat you brought along, it would not last a day for me.” He returned to Domor’s side with a laugh. “It is also best not to rely upon the land, for we are as much food for the beasts as they are to us; more so, even.”
Domor eyed the bag, his gaze shifting to Jerul’s. “And you just happened to have a cache of supplies hidden along the path to the river?”
Jerul shrugged. “While your people have eyes only for the land and their dreary books, yours drift to the horizon whenever your hands are idle. I knew this day would come.” He motioned toward the village. “When I saw how the Sha’ree quickened your heart, I went to place my bag. If ever there were a time for the wanderer to resume his travels, it would be upon the heels of the miraculous.”
Though he often joked of Jerul’s simple nature, Domor knew there was far more to the Yviri warrior than one would presume. Joined by the ritualistic sharing of blood, they had a deeper understanding of one another that went beyond simple friendship. But to Domor’s regret, Jerul felt the connection more closely, more distinctly, Domor’s own self-guided nature a clogged filter that dulled the bond on his end.
Domor’s chest tightened at the thought. He hoped one day to be free of his burdens so that he could experience the bond as Jerul did. It felt a betrayal to know that the warrior’s blood flowed in his veins, but to not feel it. He raised his gaze to Jerul’s and saw the sympathy in the Yvir’s eyes. He started to speak, but the warrior cut him off.
“If we are to leave before we are discovered, we must go now. The Sha’ree have gone into the Dead Lands, and your people make their way back toward the fields.”
Domor nodded and turned toward the river. He didn’t question Jerul’s statement, simply taking it as fact. The warrior was as in tune with the rest of the Velen as he was with Domor.
A quiet sigh slipped past his lips as Domor trudged through the thick woods with Jerul at his heels. The pair traveled without speaking, the sounds of birds and insects filling in the spaces of their silence.
They came to the Vela River, slipping past its guardian trees to emerge upon its rocky shore. The morning sun glistened upon its reflective face. Like a sheet of polished steel, the water sat deathly still, not a wave disturbing its surface.
Jerul led the way to the handful of small rafts that sat moored upon the rocks, setting his pack alongside one. With a grunt, he lifted a raft, mindful of the dangling oars, and set it gently on the water’s surface. It settled almost flat, only about an inch of the craft’s bottom sinking into the water. The tiniest of ripples fluttered in its wake, disappearing almost instantly.
Jerul held the boat in place with its guide rope and tossed his bag over the low retaining wall that ringed the edge of the raft. He then motioned to Domor, holding his hand out to him. Domor chuckled and made his way down to the raft. He grasped the warrior’s arm and Jerul helped him onto the raft, nearly lifting him from his feet.
He took a seat near the open area in the front as Jerul tossed the restraining rope inside and climbed on after it. On the heavy water, the raft barely even shook under the warrior’s settling bulk. Jerul dropped onto the simple bench set near the rear of the boat and took hold of the long oars.
“You pick an interesting time to brave the water,” Jerul told him as he motioned toward the sky. “The angry eye of Ree awakes. There is still time to stay with your people.”
Domor followed his blood-companion’s stare. The distant, red-orange globe of A’ree, hung visible in the early morning sky. He felt his pace quicken at the sight, feeling as though he were being watched by the goddess herself.
The Great Tumult was nearly upon them and Domor hadn’t even noticed.
The appearance of the second moon unexpected, Domor began to doubt once more. He hadn’t factored in the movement of the moons into his travels. The mistake might well cost them their lives.
A’ree’s sister orb, Nu’ree, circled the sky from east to west. Its pale, blue-gray light shined benevolently
