Hamod blew a perfect smoke ring into the air. It floated toward one of the trader children, who laughed and slipped her hand through its center like a bracelet. He pointed the pipe stem at Gilene. “Your husband was a capable sort. A good hunter, and I suspect an even better fighter. You’ll find him again. Or he’ll find you.”
Gilene very much hoped he was right.
Spring passed into the first days of summer as she regained her strength. The caravan plied their wares on the trade roads and the Golden Serpent as well. She remained with the trader band through her convalescence and, at Hamod’s gruff invitation, after that.
“You’re welcome to stay. You do your part and help the other women,” he said. “We have enough to feed you.”
Beroe was no longer home, and her obligation to it and her family finished, at least in her opinion. She had lived her life in service to them, a service inherited instead of chosen. Gilene had accepted her lot and did her best to fulfill the role, even as the resentment ate her up from the inside.
Now, she had no reason to stay, no duty to embrace. Kraelaghad been obliterated, a city turned into a char heap by a deity who had burned every building to the ground and turned the sands of the arena floor into glass. There would be no more gruesome Rites of Spring.
While she was grateful to Hamod for his offer, she didn’t plan to stay with the caravan permanently. As soon as she was well enough to travel on her own, she’d find a way to return to the Sky Below and seek out the man who had made her see there was more to life than dreary sacrifice.
Gilene shared Halani and Asil’s wagon, though like most in the caravan, she slept outside on clear nights. One night, when the ache of missing Azarion gnawed at her, she had a particularly vivid dream. Agna of the changing faces loomed over her as she slept. Lightning danced down her hands to her fingers, illuminating the spiderwork of veins under the skin. Gilene caught her breath as the goddess pressed her palm to the spot just above Gilene’s navel.
“No more pain for my name’s sake, handmaiden. No punishment for summoning fire. We see each other now, you and I. You and yours have my protection.”
Gilene woke with a gasp loud enough to startle half the camp awake. She apologized, citing a dream as the culprit. Her hand fluttered over her belly. Was it a dream? Or a memory of that time between time, after she walked as Agna’s avatar and before she woke up in the mud in a woodland outside Wellspring Holt?
She pondered the dream memory every day after that but, like her magic, kept it to herself. The traders welcomed her among them, accepting her as one of their own. She didn’t want to compromise that acceptance with stories of visitations from goddesses.
One early-summer evening, Hamod made an announcement that set free a horde of butterflies in Gilene’s belly.
“The Goban have invited all traders, Guild and free, to their solstice market. Since the Trade Guild no longer controls the Golden Serpent, we’ll have access to the Goban tribes and the Savatar clans they’re allied with, which means access to their silver as well.” He grinned as the other traders cheered.
Busy with the task of washing the supper dishes, Gilene swayed on her feet, made light-headed by Hamod’s announcement. Could it be? Had fate finally decided to show her some small favor and put her on a path that might intersect with Azarion’s?
There was no guarantee the Kestrel clan would be there, but she refused to relinquish the hope bursting inside her. It would take longer to reach the Sky Below by traveling the trade route, but she wouldn’t have to choose the more dangerous option of traveling it alone to reach her goal.
“Gilene, are you well? You’ve gone pale. Do you need to sit down?” Even after weeks of recuperation and assurances from Gilene that she was now fine, Halani still hovered over her.
She was alive and whole and bore no additional scars from her summoning that last fire. Agna had been merciful to her apostate handmaiden.
Gilene put away the last dried dish in its chest and flipped the towel over her shoulder. The smile she gave Halani felt like it stretched from one ear to the other.
“I feel good. Just happy with your uncle’s news. I’ve always wanted to visit the east beyond the Gamir Mountains.”
Halani nodded. “I as well. With the Trade Guild’s hold on the Serpent now broken, we can trade beyond the usual routes.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “And I hope the Savatar are at the market. I’ve always wanted to see the steppe nomads firsthand. I hear they’re beautiful to behold on horseback.”
An image of Azarion chasing the wild mares across the pastures of plume grass rose up in Gilene’s mind.They are, she replied silently.They are glorious.
•••
Summer in the lands of the Goban was a gentler season than what it was in the Stara Dragana to the west. The barrier of the Gamir Mountains blocked the fierce winds and kept the temperatures warm but not scorching along the populated territories that hugged the great trade road known as the Golden Serpent.
The high holy day of the summer solstice had brought traders of every kind to peddle their wares at the vast market set up in the tumbled remains of a Kraelian garrison. People flooded in from every town and city in a ten-league radius, while others had traveled for weeks from the western hinterlands to attend the market. A sprawling tent town, ringed by caravan wagons, had sprung up overnight, surrounding the market.
It was the first of its kind, the creation of an opportunistic group of traders, both free and ex-Guild who saw a chance to make a sizable profit without the restrictions of the Guild or the stranglehold the Empire had once placed on the trade route.
Hamod stood next to the makeshift shop his caravan had erected, surveying the tide of humanity parading past him with a satisfied smile.
He turned to the two women nearby, busy with restocking their tables and quoting prices to curious browsers. There were teas and furs to sell, carvings and small knives, silk ribbons and purses, and hats stitched with feathers and jewels.
“What do you think, eh? We’ve never done so well in a day when we were banned from trading on the Serpent.”
Halani nodded. “I suspect many free traders think the same thing, though you’ve made no friends with the Guild traders.”
He snorted. “I won’t lose any sleep over that one.” He eyed Gilene, who stood next to Halani. She carefully measured dried tea into linen pouches before marking them with a quill dipped in ink. “The east all what you hoped it would be, Gilene?”
