PART 2

INTERLUDE

The baking sun, burned red on the foreigners' skin—I could see their colors changing, their complexions resembling depictions of Earthweaver's hair in the holy texts– red and vibrant. I perched myself on the grass roof of Miss Alth'ea's kiosk, joining the silent chorus of curious eyes that followed their every move, and our thoughts laughed at their ignorant choice to battle the arid.

Common knowledge dictated to cover your entire body when up against the heat of the Bannerless Lands. Better to get home drenched in sweat than with scorched skin. The heat here could reach levels that would make even the hardiest beasts wilt, and it did so more often than not. On those days, mothers would bar their doors and windows, keeping their families inside. A single hour under the sun could be enough to kill a grown man.

Today was one of the coolest days— a blessing upon the lands. Bannerless Lands rarely had visitors. Who would dare venture into the desert? Who would find interest in a colony tucked deep in the burning sands of a barren land? We had our reasons to hide from the world.

I had many questions, but so did everyone else. A gathering flocked the market, all who wanted a glimpse of the strangers.

Their clothing baffled me. One wore an orange garment that ended at his shoulders, and elongated to the tip of his knees, not covering the ankles—odd! Did he cut off the sleeves of his Tobhe? Or was that the fashion of the outsiders? Tobhe was supposed to end at your ankles?

The other two had what I would call a larger version of our Alga. larger in size, but thicker in material. Alga was meant for the hot weather, a light, almost weightless garment worn on days the sun planned to roast us alive. I looked down at my Alga to compare, theirs didn't end on the ankles as well, nothing like mine. Nor did it have the simple stitching that held it together seamlessly, it was uncouth–like they had just picked out the rags they had and the pieces were carelessly stitched together by untrained hands.

They did not tie their heads with Ga'el either, exposing them to the mercy of the sun. I touched my Ga'el with a shiver. How could they stand the heat on their skulls? A Ga'el was easy to tie, just a headscarf and a rope. It made a world of difference in the desert. At least one of them had the idea—he had loosely thrown a cloth over his head—smart man!

My contemplation was cut short with a blaring horn from the shrine. There was only one man with lungs strong enough to sound that horn, the Uezmin—the one who calls us to prayer. He blasted another round, catching even the attention of the foreigners. None of us wanted our eyes off the visitors–but once the horn sounded, we had to answer.

Sand swallowed my feet whole as I crashed on to the ground, my dismount from the kiosk roof told off by miss Alth'ea. She took hold of her palm leaf broom, swiping long strokes at my head as I scrurried away like a roach. This was bound to come up at supper today, with a village of two hundred people, it live beneath the sight of the many. You knew your neighbors by name, you had to, and they knew you by your character.

I ducked beneath the cone shaped roofs of the houses, kicking sand airborne with my best attempt at running quietly. But I was careful not to send a chunk into food kiosks, they were my favorite places in town.

As I weaved through the last building, I finally caught a close glimpse at the visitors. They bowed their heads, avoiding the low hanging door frame, making their way into the temple. Sweat on my hands seared with my first step under to the sun, dissipating just as quickly as it formed.

#

"No need to be alarmed!"

The man waved his hands about—gestures that did nothing to calm the situation. Most in attendance thought he was readying another spell to cast. The crowd pushed back splattering bodies on the frail temple walls, steps echoing their dread— fear of something they had read about but never thought true.

Amongst the three foreigners at the forefront of the gathering, one had taken the foremost stand, perhaps signaling himself to be their leader. He had picked up a few pebbles from the temple's forecourt–he had me thinking it was some childish impulse he had, like mine–to pick up small rocks that had been burnished to a shine by the sand, tumbling amongst the fine grains of desert sand and polished through the ages.

He had held out his palm for all to see, and we did not turn our eyes away. And with the entire community in attendance, we watched him push the pebbles into the air, like he had strung up strands to hold them in place, floating above his hand. Then, the pebbles began orbiting themselves, intertwining their paths but never colliding, an organized chaos that seemed to be orchestrated by the man.

The Uezmin who had called them for a communal welcome now seemed to question his choice, for they were performing things never seen in the temple. The foreigners themselves did not look flustered by our shock. As if they had experienced this welcome before– as if they had grown tired of the ignorance With had a shine that drew your gaze, like that of a pulsating flicker of burning coal, and its vibrance matched the throb of his heartbeat, akin to blowing on the coals to make them brighter.

He pushed a gesture toward us, commanding the revolving pebbles to float slowly, approaching us. Most had seen enough to fear what they did not understand, they made for the exit, children alongside grown men stacked on the frail doors. Some stifled their screams, others did not. It was pandemonium. But what were they so terrified of?

We had heard of Earthweavers before. Why were we so scared? Did it awaken something we dreaded? Perhaps forcing them to remember reasons why they feared this power?

"Get out of our home!" the Uezmin barked, grabbing one of them forcefully and pulling them towards the exit, "You are not welcome here!"

I paused, unsure of what I saw. Was the miracle man looking at me? Maybe I was hallucinating, maybe it was the heat getting to me.

"We mean you no harm," the man of miracles spoke. His voice shook my bones, sounding like a bolt of lightning on a land that had never seen rain.

"We come seeking your help," he said.

Half the room had cleared out by the time he spoke. Some went for their weapons, and others never to return until the strangers were long gone. I, on the other hand, wanted to get closer, closer to the spectacle.

"You will bring those things here!" the Uezmin said. The man he was pulling with all his strength did not budge, only beads of sweat wetted the creases of the uezmin's forehead.

"This land is a faraway place," the man of miracles spoke, " too distant for them to sense our touch,"

"I do not care!" the uezmin replied. Of course, he cared— otherwise he wouldn't be pushing a wall!

The last of the trio who had not uttered a word since their arrival stepped closer to us—closer to me. His slender face was pale and smooth, with a sharp nose and a thin mouth that rarely smiled. His eyes were dark and deep, like wells of shadow that hid his thoughts. His hair was black and long, carelessly falling over his shoulders

"I have sensed power among you," he said, his voice burned dry by the sun, "There is an earthweaver among you that can help us defend this kingdom. His gravity is so strong that I sensed it from the moment I crossed the borders of District Dark. And as we speak, he is among you, not a clue of the power he holds within."

His eyes rolled slowly from the side of his sockets and stopped at my face, bathing my frame with a scrutinizing look. The other two followed his gaze, meeting mine–what?!

"The centuries of peace gifted to us by King Elowen Valienta and darkbender Zin al' Sora has been threatened," the miracle man said, "And the enemies have already begun mobilizing. It is only a matter of time before war breaks out,"

"We do not claim any stakes in this war you brew," A man said, pushing from within the flustered crowd, " Our forefathers fled your lands for the very reason you seek us still," he approached them, "War is all you know, war is all you ever know,"

"We fight to protect everyone, even the Bannerless Lands," the long-haired man said, still holding his gaze towards me. It evoked a churn in my stomach–what did their eyes say? They spoke louder than their words, they spoke to me.

"You cannot call to arms the bannerless lands," the uezmin said, finally surrendering his battle against the immovable man, "we have no banners to raise, we have no crested families to support,"

"But you have a kingdom to support nonetheless," The miracle man said. He called back his floating stones, calming the crowd at last. "The earthweaver we seek amongst you, he needs no banner to uphold. He does not fight for the name of your family, though if he wishes to, we will not object. But we need earthweavers strong enough to command our catapults. We need his power over lands to shift our tides in battle. He will keep this kingdom safe from the spawns of shadow,"

"You sought war with the vurhans? Again?" the uezmin asked, unable to withhold the tone of disgust his voice brought forth.

"They sought war with us," the miracle man said. "King Higo Valienta and darkbender Hashi Al' Sora are seeking the aid of the strongest gifted. Baelzara, the king of the vurhans, has sought his crown once more," the miracle man grabbed the pebbles off the hot dry air, "He plans to hunt for our people, our gifted. It is up to us to protect our own, like we have before, as our forefathers have... before,"

I heard their words but they registered no meaning. There was a war brewing? Yet we have been hiding away in solitude–ignoring problems that would affect us one way or the other, whether we wanted it or not—this was hypocritical, even when viewed through my childish eyes I could tell. A cool long shadow encumbered my frame, swallowing the heat that burned my eyes from the side. I looked to my right and he stood beside me.

The sand muffled his footsteps, but I sensed his approach by the faint rustle of his hair. He had long locks that trailed behind him like a banner. We locked eyes, addressing each other with movements of our brows and flutters of our eyelashes. I moistened my tongue, ready to speak, but he reached out and plucked a strand of my hair that escaped my Ga'el. Pain needled through my skull, and I kicked his shin in response—idiot!

He seemed not to mind, he seemed not to feel. It was as if I had kicked the shell of a sleeping tortoise, it only carried the pain from my head to my toes. He held the strand up against the light, narrowing his eyes.

"You're already attuned to the weaving, lad," he said, twirling the strand between his fingers, "The red veins are spreading."

"What you said about the war," I asked, lifting my shoulders as I spoke–as Mother taught me, "Is it true?"

"Aye," he said, "The kingdom is on the brink, and we have scant time to ready ourselves."

He leaned in and flicked the strand at me. I grabbed it on instinct. My brows dropped to my eyes, folding my face in subtle shock as I noticed the streak of red dirtying the strand–was my hair always this color?

"Can you feel it, boy?" he asked, "The gravity you have over the weaving. The strength you possess?"

I felt nothing. How was it supposed to feel? I felt nothing so I gave him no answer. And without words, our eyes spoke on our behalf once again. He slung his arm over my shoulder and drew me closer.

"With enough training, Master Koren can make you one of the finest earthweavers in the whole kingdom," he said. His eyes followed the man who tossed pebbles in the air without touching them, and so did mine. His eyes bore the same look mine always have when I beheld my father—It was distinct. I glanced back at the fleeing crowd and the cowering villagers who ignored me, their eyes still fixed on the wonder worker.

No one knew what I was thinking then, but my choice would break Mother's heart—I knew it. But I couldn't pass up this chance at glory, at power. I straightened my back and squared my shoulders—forgive me, Mother, but I am meant to be the greatest earthweaver in the Independent States!