Speechless in Achten Tan: Book 1 of The Sands of Achten Tan, page 3
So they say, yet they cannot touch bone. I whirl, searching the ground closest to me, and dive for a long bone fragment jutting from the sand. I wave my shard in the air like a sword.
The wraiths howl with laughter. "How long can you wave your bone piece, little witch? Hours? Days? Relent and we will make it quick," the voice taunts me. "We will unite you with your beloved."
I cannot sign or speak, so I shake my head, attempting to stab the closest wraith with the bone shard. It flits easily out of the way.
"It won't hurt," the taunting voice whispers in my ear, "not much. We just need your blood."
I stand my ground, but my arms grow tired. I creep step by step closer to the shelter of the skull and the wraiths surge to cut me off. The misty pre-dawn light has me standing in place. What will happen at Eren-rise? Will the wraiths dissipate in the sun? Will my strength finally fail?
As the sun colors the horizon pink, I notice a line of insects shimmering in the distance. Tiny ants, with something on their backs. Wait. No... They are ants, but still far away. And if they are that far off, they can't be tiny, far from it. These must be the famous G'ants, the giant ants of Achten Tan and their riders, the An`chers. The party draws steadily closer. The wraiths howl in distress.
Kicking up a cloud of dust, the giant insects scuttle towards us until they surround me. I cough, inhaling a lungful of sand, as I crane my neck to stare at the riders on their towering mounts. The smallest G'ant is ten feet tall from leg to the top of its antennae, the largest almost twenty. Perched atop their thorax, just behind the insects' heads, are riders wearing armor made of bones.
The wraiths hiss and howl as if in pain. When the last An`cher pulls up, closing the circle, the wraiths fly away in a swirl of shadow, leaving me alone, surrounded by chittering mandibles. I drop the bone shard and fall to my knees, my legs giving out in exhaustion.
"What do we have here?" a voice asks. I look up, but the figure has his back to the sun and all I see is a silhouette. I shade my eyes.
"She must not understand. Look at her coloring. Kamal, you ask her."
"How many times do I need to tell you I don’t speak gnomish?" one pouts. The others burst out laughing.
"Then why do you look like a gasting gnome?" another taunts.
The first An`cher, Kamal, slides off his G'ant. He looks younger than the rest, and a year or two younger than me. His coloring is like mine. He has pale wispy hair, cut short like the other An`chers', and light skin, but devoid of a cavern dweller's algae glow. His gait is slow, cautious, as if trying to conceal a slight limp. He eyes me curiously with glowing amber eyes. He isn't wearing the amulets of God Tree worshipers like the others. His only adornment is a black band of ink around his muscled bicep. In the same place my name tattoo lies. As he approaches, he lets his eyes take a long sweep up my body. Impertinent little scat.
"I'm Kamal."
I tap my tattoo. MILA.
"Mila," he says, and frowns, his forehead creasing in concentration as though trying to recall something. "Is that a common name where you're from?"
I'm loath to raise my tired arms again, but I point to the lines of text along my body.
YES, I tap.
"Do you understand me, Mila?"
YES.
"What are you doing here?"
I sign, "Travelling to Achten Tan."
Kamal stares at me in confusion, then turns and makes eye contact over his shoulder with the oldest An`cher, a man with sun-burned leathery features but a kind smile.
"Sign language, Captain Karak, but I don't understand it." He looks down at me again, frustration in his tone. "Can't you talk?"
I show him the line of text inside my wrist. SPEECH IS FORBIDDEN.
Karak nods. "She's a cavern witch. The young ones don't speak. It’s a rite of passage or something." The other An`chers gaze at each other nervously, shifting in their saddles. Such ignorance.
"Bring her with us," Karak commands. "It isn't safe here."
"Ride with me?" Kamal asks as the An`chers swivel their mounts to leave. I nod, terrified of being left alone in the desert with the wraiths. In the rising daylight, they seem like the stuff of nightmares, but they were no dream. I'm so tired I can barely stand. Kamal pulls me to my feet, his hand strong, but gentle. He mounts the giant ant, positioning himself on the thorax just behind the ant's head. Then he leans down to grasp my arm and pull me up behind him. My legs dangle and I scoot closer to him to avoid slipping, pressing myself close to his wraith repelling bone armor.
"Hang on," he shouts, as the ant lunges into motion. Luckily, I can't embarrass myself by squealing. I run my arms around his waist and hang on with all my strength.
We travel all day, making camp in sight of Achten Tan. It's still far off, but the colossal God Tree, towering from the bones in the center of the city, is unmistakable. Kamal helps me slide off the G'ant, dropping me lightly onto the sand as my legs give out.
"Are you okay?"
YES, I tap.
Kamal leaves to get his G’ant settled. I surreptitiously rub my aching backside, sore from riding the G’ant’s hard, chitinous thorax all day.
Captain Karak doesn't dismount, instead calling out, "Niall, you're with me. A quick perimeter sweep before we rest."
A large, dark-skinned An`cher with a muscular build and amber eyes groans, but swerves his G'ant to follow Karak's.
"Little bit more, Gosdantin, and then we can rest," he encourages his G'ant, stroking the creature's antennae as he rides past. He catches my eyes and grins. "Tomorrow we'll be home."
"Kamal, go find us some brush for the fire," a tall rider with hair as red as his ant calls out. Kamal heads off to scout the dusty area for low bushes and dry scrub.
The remaining An`chers exchange a look.
"What do we do with her?" a squat, blocky man grumbles, casting me a dark glance. "Karak just rode off and left her."
I shift, watching them out of the corner of my eye as they approach in the dimming light.
"What the gast… she's glowing," Squatty says, darting a few steps back as if I'm going to lunge at him.
"Karak said she's a witch," another with silvery gray hair and sharp elvish features adds warily.
"All cavern gnomes glow, you bashdun," the redhead snorts.
I lift my hand to touch a tattoo, hoping to reassure them, but all three flinch.
"Don't let her touch those glowy tattoos. You don't know what spell she'd cast on you," Squatty, the ringleader, shouts. The elf, apparently the bravest of the three, catches my wrists, then looks helplessly at his companions. Truly, I'd expected better from an elf. They have magic of their own. The redhead seems the most sympathetic, but he follows his comrades' lead.
"What now?"
"Tie her up, that's what."
Squatty rushes to his pack to retrieve a length of rope. I struggle, but I'm no match for three large men and soon they truss my hands behind my back. Now I can't sign or touch my tattoos. If I had my voice, my words of power could bring them to their knees, but like this, I'm helpless.
Leaving me tied up, they move away, arranging their G'ants in a half circle behind me. The giant mandibles click and chitter close to my head. I shudder and keep as still as I can, wondering how well G'ants can see in low light. I didn't travel all this way to be an ant snack.
Soon Kamal returns, carrying armfuls full of brush. His eyes flick from me to the other An`chers, his eyebrows raised.
"What happened?"
Squatty shrugs. "She was trying to escape." I slam my feet down, glaring at him in indignation and shake my head. Kamal frowns, but doesn't dispute the claim. Soon the four of them forget about me, moving around the camp, preparing their supper. When they sit down to eat, I shake my head, tossing my braids side to side. The jangle of bone and wood, shell, and stone startles the An`chers, making them aware of my presence once more.
The redhead jumps and clasps a hand to his massive chest, laughing. "Gave me a fright. I forgot you were here."
I bare my teeth at him. Maybe he'll interpret it as a grin. I gesture with my chin at the bowls of stew they're dishing out of a rapidly emptying pot. I don't know what's in them, but the smell makes my stomach rumble.
"You want to eat?"
I raise my elbow. Luckily, 'YES' is tattooed on my forearm and his eyes light on the word.
Karak and Niall appear out of the darkness, and take up places by the fire. Redhead hurries to serve them food, then asks, "What about her? Do we feed her?"
The An’cher captain grunts his approval, without slowing his chewing. The red-headed boy dishes out a steaming portion into a bowl carved of stone. He stomps over and offers it to me. Raising my eyebrow, I wait for him to figure out I can't eat with my hands tied. The information makes its slow way through his brain. He might be pretty to look at, but not much is going on behind those moss green eyes. Finally, realization hits. He shuffles his feet.
"Karak, should I feed her or untie her?"
The captain gives me a hard look. "You going to run again?"
I lift my other elbow. NO. Why would I run when they're taking me where I'm going? I didn't run the first time either.
"Untie her, but watch her."
Moss Eyes pulls a knife from his belt and severs my bonds. I stretch as blood flows back into my wrists, and grimace. He shoves the bowl at me and a bone spoon to go with it. Fancy. Back home, we use dried hard-packed algae for practically everything.
Thinking of home hurts, so I shove aside those thoughts and focus on eating.
After the meal, they assign Moss guard duty and nobody thinks to tie me up again. They arranged the six giant ants in a circle, vast bodies curled against the cold. The An'chers place their bedrolls by the ants. There's no way to leave the ring without climbing over an ant, which I have no intention of doing. I'm terrified the wraiths will return, but so far there's no sign of them.
Giant mandibles click around me, sending shivers down my spine. Most of the An’chers ignore me. I see one making a sign warding against evil, clutching his God Tree amulet.
As I try to make myself comfortable on the hard ground by the fire, Kamal beckons to me. I glance up at the giant insect he's leaning on so casually. Mandibles longer than my arms click and hum above his head.
“She won't hurt you.” He smiles. "Not unless I tell her to."
My steps falter. He chuckles darkly and beckons again. His face is lit by the fire and the moonlight above us. The reddish glow and silvery light compete, casting his face in a maze of shadows. There's something familiar about him. It calms me.
He lounges against his G’ant's body. "Sit down," he says. "It's warmer here. Namala blocks the wind."
I sit and ease back gingerly till my shoulders touch the chitinous shell. A shudder runs through me at the sensation. He notices and places a hand on my shoulder, just above my name tattoo.
"Come here often?"
He grins as though he knows how tacky that line is. Kamal is taller and bulkier than I am, but with his pale skin tone and golden-brown eyes, we look similar enough to be brother and sister. He's cute, but he's too young for me and my aching heart isn't in the right place for flirting.
I raise my chin. Underneath it says ‘zedayen,’ which is gnomish for ‘Fuck off.’ He reads it and laughs. My Nora frowned when I got that one tattooed, but it often comes in handy. Most Onra place words in easily visible places, but not those kinds of words. Luckily, when I'm insulting people taller than me, they can't always see the inscription, even when I lift my chin. That's probably saved my life a few times.
Kamal pulls his knees up and places his chin on them, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "So... are you a witch?"
My head jerks up in surprise. I look around, wondering if any of the others heard him. His eyes twinkle, reflecting the starlight.
"I won't tell anyone," he whispers in my ear, leaning in so close that his breath ghosts over my cheek. I gently place my hand on his chest and shove him away. Thinking about it for a moment and then fingering my braids, I pluck a feather from one of them. Balancing it in the palm of my hand, I mouth, FLY. No sound leaves my lips, yet the feather rises softly and hovers between us. Kamal claps his hands together, as joyous as a child. His leg presses against mine, warm and reassuring. I pat his shoulder and arrange my blanket around me, lean back against the G’ant and close my eyes, signaling the end of the conversation.
Chapter 4
The Skullgate
I wake as dawn breaks over the Boneyard. During the night, I slipped sideways, my head coming to rest on Kamal's shoulder. He pretends not to notice and I'm grateful.
The spires of the Ribs and the God Tree rising above them are visible in the distance. The town itself hunkers on the desert floor, obscured by the heat shimmer, yet full of promise and danger.
Before we set out, Captain Karak approaches me. "Are you going to be a problem today?"
I shake my head vigorously, my braids rattling.
"Hmph…" he grunts, yet seems satisfied with my answer. "You should never have been traveling alone. Witch or not. The wastes are not a place for a lone traveler."
Folding my arms across my chest, I raise my chin, though not high enough for him to see my tattoo standing over me as he is. He smiles at my stance.
"Stubborn, aren't you? That should serve you well in Achten Tan, as long as you remember to throw a good dose of caution into the mix."
I dip my chin, acknowledging his advice. Karak steps away.
"An`chers, mount up. We'll be back in the barracks by nightfall."
"Ready?" Kamal asks me.
YES, I tap. My heart is ready to press on. My nerves say, Wait, and my backside, still sore from yesterday's ride, says No, but it doesn't get a vote.
The closer we get to the distant city, the more my apprehension builds. Three people have warned me of the dangers of Achten Tan, but my fear of disappointing yet another Nora outweighs my fear of the unfamiliar place.
By midday the G'ants are scuttling eagerly, as though scenting their nest. The An`chers exchange weary smiles and playful jests, describing their plans after getting off duty.
"I want to sleep for a week," Niall grins.
"Good luck with that," Karak replies. "You have another patrol on Wenlar."
Niall sighs so heavily a dust cloud rolls away across the desert. Then he grins. "It's not like Idalia and Sylvie would actually let me sleep."
I glance over curiously. Are those his daughters? He seems rather young to have two children. Kamal follows my gaze and whispers, "His sisters,” followed by a knowing wink.
I blush and lower my gaze, reminding myself I have no interest in the family situation of handsome An`chers. I'm here on a mission— to unlock my magic and then, when I have my power, to find Geb, wherever he may be.
As we draw closer, the shape of Achten Tan takes form. Two sets of towering ribs rise high over the city. From their midst soars the towering God Tree that Achten Tanians worship. A black band circles the town.
"The tar moat," Kamal explains. "The city is surrounded by tar, except for the Skullgate entrance. We could continue on foot or cross the moat on Tar-tules."
Tar-tules?
WHAT? I tap and Kamal points, his cheeks darkening. At the edge of the tar moat there's a stone pier, jutting into the thick, dark sludge. The patrol splits off into two groups of three, each heading for a different pier to await transport—a giant Tar-tule that will take us safely over the tar into Achten Tan.
Kamal fidgets, trying not to look too eager as a giant shell grows closer. But, pressed to his back, I feel his heart racing. A fact his squad mates are apparently aware of.
"Fancy the algae-chomper, do you?" Squatty says too loudly, casting his voice in a loud taunt. Yet he purposefully keeps it too quiet to reach Karak, where he waits with Niall and the redheaded An`cher at another pier further along the moat. Kamal's gaze snaps up, eyes connecting with worry to the Tar-tule rider's, where he stands strong and proud atop the hard shell. Kamal squirms as Squatty and his elf friend watch him with amusement.
"Feel like going for a swim, do you? Want to get your toes wet?" Squatty laughs and Kamal's eyes drop back to the dusty pier.
"Methinks it's not his toes he wants to get wet.” Squatty bumps his fist to the elf's as they cackle. Despite his efforts to ignore them, Kamal's ears redden under his bone helmet.
"He's as red as his ant," Squatty jeers. "A perfect match."
"Shut up," Kamal grumbles under his breath, squirmy with pent up energy. It's obvious he's itching to kick Namala into movement, but we're trapped here until our ride pulls up to the dock.
A giant head surfaces from the moat. Kamal shivers at the sound of the clear voice calling out in the silence.
"Ho, An`chers!" the Tar-tule rider cries as he guides his mount to the dock.
"Tar-tule rider.” The elf's tone is just this side of a sneer.
Kamal mutters to me, "We're supposed to work together in defense of Achten Tan, but the An`chers hold themselves superior. I guess I did too until I realized the most perfect boy in the city rides a Tar-tule." His blush deepens again as he realizes he's said too much. I squeeze his arm with sympathy. We love who we love. The heart doesn't care about logic. I should know.
Tension is thick, as the long-standing rivalry between the two corps ebbs and flows around us like the tar in the moat, dark and suffocating. The three ants scuttle aboard the Tar-tule's wide back and we find ourselves up front. The rider climbs atop the creature's head to make room and we're almost eye to eye. Kamal's face practically catches fire, and he ducks his head, fiddling with Namala's harness.
"I'm D’or." The rider holds out a hand to me. His mossy green eyes twinkle as he darts a look to Kamal. I give his hand a quick squeeze. I tap my name tattoo, then flash the tattoo on the inside of my wrist. SPEECH IS FORBIDDEN.
D'or's eyes widen. "You're from the cursed caverns?"
YES, I tap.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you two are related.” Kamal's head snaps up to find the Tar-tule rider grinning at him. "But I know better." He winks at Kamal, who makes a strangled squawk, as though a desert wind has swept through his brain, stealing his words and the moisture from his mouth. He manages a nod. D'or pets his mount, urging her into the sludge. His broad shoulders flex as he holds the Tar-tule's reins in one hand. He wears a sleeveless tunic, a few shades darker than his nut-brown skin, with the symbol of the Tar-tule corp embroidered on the back. The light breeze as the Tar-tule swims across the moat blows his copper curls back, revealing pointed ear tips. He quickly smooths his hair back into place, hiding them again.
