Eagle in the Desert

[Princedom Of Elvenesse 354]

Spoiler

Art by Misha Oglev from Artstation

 

 

 

A red cedar canoe broke through the churning pale waters of the northern Korvassa coast, its hull painted with the bright hues of a Spirit Eagle, breaching the sandy beach and grounding itself on shore. Aboard was a single solitary man, wrapped in a green silk turban to shield himself from the beating sun. On his bare chest, the tribal inkings of the formline Thunderbird, borne openly like the flag of an explorer. He was a stranger in a strange land.

 

Laetranis jumped out of the canoe, using its mooring rope to tug it far enough onto shore that the tide would not wash it away. Reluctantly, he laid down his ballmouth club, his bow, his spear and his pipes in the canoes’ cabin, leaving only his ivory knife strapped to his hip, a harpy feather dangling from its engraved bear pommel. He covered his boat with a cedar bark tarp, shielding his precious belongings from the sun. The wood elf laid a coyote’s skull in the sand, before pressing his knife to his palm over it. He winced as he drew a bit of blood, a few drops of crimson ichor staining the pale bone. “May you be with me once more, Visionbringer.” He murmured solemnly, before turning to face the dry grasslands before him, taking in the challenge he faced ahead.

 

The warrior remembered when he was young, sitting in the wooded glade in the hinterlands beyond his riverside village, the old wisewoman Eagle-eyes lecturing him and the other young Tahorran: All freshwater is sacred, oem’iian. It is the sign of the Springmother’s presence. Whatever land you are in, without water, there is no life. 

 

Water. As Laetranis ventured deeper inland, he saw an endless grassland, he saw some gum acacia trees, sparsely spread out. But no rivers, no lakes, not even a pond. The Springmother must be here, somewhere. He thought to himself, wondering how he was going to survive a day out here without water, let alone a week. His eyes zeroed in on a thorny cactus, growing on its lonesome. In the plants! Eagerly the wood elf unsheathed his knife and hacked at one of the cactus’ limbs. Sure enough, revealing a hollow interior with a small pool of water inside. Drinking readily, he hacked off more water-filled limbs, covering them up with his silk turban. He then dug a hole in the earth and buried them, shielding them from the evaporation of the beating sun above. Finally, he gathered some stones, making a small cairn atop where the cactus was buried, a marker: so he’d know where he’d left his water.

 

The warrior once more harkened back to his youth, to the summer days spent by the riverside, where he and the other boys learned to fight and hunt with the old warrior Wolfjaw, a stoic mali’ame with only one eye, whose voice was a canine growl: All beasts, from the largest bear to the smallest shrew, leave a trail. You just need to be able to smell it. He remembered how Wolfjaw had cupped a clump of elk dung in his palms, to the collective delight and disgust of the immature young boys he was teaching. 

 

Follow the trail. Use your nose. First he’d need a weapon. Using his knife, he hacked off a branch of a gum tree, sharpening its tip into a deadly edge. It took him a few hours, but he picked up a trail, lumpy, golf-ball sized dung. Still warm. Whatever beast left it there must still be close. He saw a rustle in the brushes, and quickly hid himself behind a nearby Acacia. He’d never seen a creature quite like what emerged: three-feet long, bumpy skin, stoic, intelligent eyes, and beautiful swirling colouration across its scales. A Gila monster. You only get one shot at this. Laetranis leapt out from behind the tree, plunging his spear down upon the beast. The great lizard tried to dash away, but found its tale impaled into the earth, it crackled and groaned, thrashing wildly, before the wood elf drew his knife and plunged it into the neck of the beast. 

 

Hiylu’evar, Taynei’hiylu. He murmured to himself, as the life bled out of the scaled beast, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the Green Dragon, prophet of his people. Drawing in a deep breath he picked up his kill by its tail, heading back westward, where he’d left his water cache. I need something to wash down this meal with. 

 

It was an hours’ walk back to the stone cairn, but when he arrived, he did a double take, his heart dropping to the bottom of his stomach. The stones had been toppled, the earth beneath them dug up. A coyote, with a ruddy pelt and ethereal, amber eyes was lapping at the hollow cactus he’d uprooted, drinking up the wood elf’s precious water supply. The canid lazily turned, and for a brief moment, looked Laetranis right in the eye, his gaze piercing, intense, challenging. Before the elf could react, the coyote had bounded off across the savannah, and disappeared across the horizon.

 

You want to challenge me once more, Visionbringer? So be it. Laetranis thought stoically. He knew the coyote prince to be testing him. Looking around, he saw no more cacti. What shrubbery and plants he did slice open rendered no water within. At least he had something to eat. As he skinned and cooked the Gila monster over an open fire, he thought back to the wisewoman Eagle-eye’s teachings. A man can only go three days at most without water. 

 

For two days he roamed, in the day the sun beating down on him, burning his flesh. In the night, the wind chilling him to the bone. With no shelter, scarce food, and most importantly, nothing to drink, he felt the soul slipping out from his body. His throat felt like sand, his eyes were heavy and lidded, his bones ached like an old man. He was weakening quickly. He needed water. Falling to his knees, he turned his bloodshot eyes to gaze up at the sun. Is this truly a trial, Visionbringer? Or is this my punishment? Have you sentenced me to perish for my vanity? Don't let me die out here, Laetranis, Prince of Coyotes. I’ve held true to my promise to you. I’m nothing like my father. I won't let hatred define my life. I seek this path only so I can protect the ones I love. 

 

Once more he felt his eyelids go heavy. It was so tempting to close them, to sleep, even knowing he may never wake again. No. The ardent voice in his head hissed. You are stronger than this. You have Norra to think of. His eyes opened, and he blinked… an oasis of date palm trees lay in front of him. He blinked again. Funny. He hadn’t seen it there earlier… 

 

The wood elf stumbled his way towards the font of life before him. His eyes began to water with relief, it was a pond, its springwater clear and fresh as the blue eye. Laetranis collapsed weakly, sinking his face into the pool, gulping deeply and letting the coolness refresh his soul. He collected the date palms that had fallen from the trees, cracking their shells open with his knife and gorging himself on the sweet flesh beneath. He closed his eyes, sighing in contentment.

 

Until he heard a loud trumpeting.

 

 

Immediately on alert, the wood elf gripped his ivory knife and spun around to the source of the noise. Only to widen his eyes at what he saw, his weapon clattering to the ground. Once more, he remembered his past: when he sat in his tribes’ winter longhouse, sheltering from a blizzard while the wisewoman Eagle eyes told him and the other children a story. In a land far, far away from here lies the noblest of beasts. Large enough to trample whole villages, yet gentle as a doe. Quiet as an owl, but smart as a fox. Their Prince is the oldest, and wisest of all Mani. The most ancient of Spirits. Laetranis fell upon his knees before the herd of majestic grey elephants before him. Immediately supplecating himself before the noble beasts. He looked up and gazed at them, and felt them gazing back down at him. He couldn’t help but notice the wisdom in their eyes, and think that he had come to some sort of ...unspoken understanding with these beasts, ancient creatures from a wilder time. 

 

The elephants drank, showered themselves with their trunks, and lumbered off. As Laetranis too prepared to return to the shore, he saw on the horizon the silhouette of a lithe canid. He stared across the savannah at the coyote, and the coyote stared back at him. The elf knew it had been the coyote who had guided him to his meeting with the most ancient of beasts… but why? He knew he would find out only at the whim of the Gods, or when the time was right. Hiylu’evar, Laetranis. Laetranis (the elf) murmured. Before stocking up with water and date palms and heading back for the shore, back for home.