jackal-among-snakes-16091326
chapter-256

Orion wandered through this unending black desert, lost once again. Though he had known he wanted to come here, now that he was here… he was once again adrift, utterly lost to his next direction. All he did was walk towards the distant white palace he saw, half-thinking it a mirage.

The prince had come to the south to speak with the Margrave of Parbon, Reinhardt. Once he arrived, Orion realized things would not be so dreamy and simple. At the time, the Margrave had actually been away—war was a busy time, and as things neared their beginning, the castle became a last resort rather than a constant home.

With his size and recognizable features, Orion was not confident of remaining long enough in Parbon territory for the Margrave to return… nor was he confident in tracking the man down without hostilities erupting. And so, instead of persisting as the crown prince in the midst of enemy territory… with a heavy heart, Orion abandoned the idea.

Instead, Orion passed over the mountain in the middle of the night, and as he crested their peak, a scene of two skies spread out before him—one in the sky, and one on the ground. It took a moment for him to realize that he saw sand—black sand. It was a land of beauty that he had never devoted his time to study… and a land in which the gods of Vasquer were foes, not friends.

Now, Orion wandered that black sand. The sun beat gently on his skin. It was neither boring nor harrowing—indeed, as the voices constantly whispering in his mind grew lesser and lesser, there was a strange tinge of the foreign that both terrified and excited Orion. The blessings were within him—he could not be parted from them—but it seemed that things were as the gods claimed, and the lands beyond Vasquer were truly untouched by their presence.

Before Orion realized it, he walked upon caked black clay, and the palace of whiteness before him was no mirage. Orion saw two men garbed in strange, foreign clothing, standing guard at the gate. He walked towards them. He saw the all-too-familiar sight of fear within their eyes… and they held their spears to block him.

“Stop right there. No outsiders allowed,” one of the men informed him.

Orion regarded them coolly, feeling a strange calmness. They had skin a different color than his—a different color than most in Vasquer. It was darker, tanner. Beyond, he saw a great assemblage of people walking, talking. Their manner of dress was foreign, and their appearances were unlike any had seen before.

“Why?” Orion asked.

“An outsider wreaked havoc in the distant south. Our mistress has forbidden us from allowing any outsiders to pay for food or water in fear of such a thing happening once again,” the spearman informed him curtly. “Now, step away. The Vessels of Fellhorn protect Delphasium. You shall join His eternal rain if you dare try anything,” he threatened.

Orion felt his wrath stir, yet without the whispers of the gods to spur him he was able to calm himself. He stepped away from the spearman, mind whirling with the new information conveyed to him. This outsider—based on all Durran had told him of their journeys, he knew it had to be Argrave. And then, Orion spotted another.

The man, who sat cross-legged beneath a tarp beside the pearly white walls, was in such poor health as to appear dead. He was more skeleton than flesh. And yet… as he watched, Orion saw he had golden eyes. It reminded him of the tribal from this land that he had taken under his wing. Orion stepped up to this man.

Kneeling, Orion asked quietly, “Are you an outsider, too?”

The man regarded him with his eyes but seemed to offer no answer.

“I can give you water if—” Orion paused. He was about to ask the man to convert. “Do you want water?” he instead asked.

The man’s golden eyes swam, appraising Orion more thoroughly. “You’re one of them?” he asked, voice a clicking rasp.

Orion looked to the side where the spearmen watched them. “No,” he answered.

“I’ll not… take charity,” the man told him with a bitter snarl that brought life back into his face. “I’d sooner die… than take it. Like the others… gone southward… empty promises.”

Orion blinked, trying to think of what the man might mean. “What happened in the south?”

“Lords… dead,” the man said. “A new hope. A new city. A false… hope, I say. Fellhorn… all gods… eat man.”

Orion rose to his feet. He looked back to the spearman, deliberating on whether or not to ask them more questions. He considered forcing his way past those men, or climbing the walls, or any number of things… yet at the end, this talk of lords enticed him. He still remembered well the tales that Durran had told him.

“Which way is south?” Orion asked the man.

“Just… leave,” the man said, his dry mouth failing even now. “This place is lost. Eaten by the sun, like a man collapsed in the desert.”

“I just want to learn,” Orion said neutrally.

“Learn?” A dry laugh escaped the man’s cracked lips.

“Learn where I looked towards,” Orion explained, looking down at the man once again.

The tribal looked up at him, eyes like golden rings against the light of the suns. “Opposite wall,” the man responded finally, lowering his head. “Road… a partial one.”

Orion nodded and walked away, leaving nothing behind.