The sky was perfectly clear, without a single cloud to blemish it. From atop the white cliffs, the sparkling turquoise sea was laid out before them, stretching to infinity. Ozoz, their hapa, was nibbling on the leaves of an olive tree. Lysta, being a lisha, was busy soaking up the morning sun. Hyza, being a hurum, didn’t need to but laid on the ground next to her doing the same anyway.
“We should probably get going”, said Lysta without moving a
muscle
“Don’t you want your lunch first?”
Lysta’s eyes jolted wide open. Hyza sprang onto her chest,
her messy hazel hair flowing onto Lysta’s golden-scaled face. Lysta curled her
fingers around her waist and licked her lips.
“At the Yrsti, you’ll be sure to win me, right?” said Hyza, “I
don’t want to find myself in anyone else’s stomach, so you better be ready to
fight for me”
“Don’t say things like that. The next Yrsti probably won’t
be for another ten years. Besides, we’re going to Kurush, aren’t we?”
“That’s right! Before we know it, we’ll be living in a house
that touches the sky. We’ll have a stone lisha even larger than you guarding
the front door. And all our neighbours will be lovely, kind people. I wonder if
people in Kurush even know what the Yrsti is… hey, look!”
In the sea below them, a flotilla of longboats was sailing
parallel to the shore at a leisurely pace. They could see the lishas and hurums
on board, and hear their groans as they rowed across the tranquil waters.
Hyza jumped off of Lysta, “Do you think they’ve come from
Kurush? They must be heading for Niarush. Come on, if we’re quick we’ll get
there at the same time”
“But what about my lunch?” said Lysta
Hyza threw their rolled-up tent into the cart, along with a
dozen heaving sacks of grain, a pile of copper ingots and two small amphoras of
orokosa. When she whistled, Ozoz dutifully trotted over to her. She strapped
the cart to his harness and stroked the long, curved crest that arced over the
back of his neck, making him chirrup merrily.
They hiked along the dusty clifftop path, Hyza with Ozoz’s
reins in hand, Lysta with her bronze spear. For the past three years, the three
of them had made a living together trading across Parua. Ozoz did the hauling,
Lysta did the protecting, and Hyza did the talking. Once they reached the point
where the cliff-face turned inland, Niarush was in plain view in front of them.
Atop a high peninsula jutting out into the sea, gleaming white stone walls
shielded huddled cuboid homes. On the side closest to the sea was the dome of
the chief’s hall.
They descended the path, now snaking down the cliff-face,
being careful that the cart didn’t tip over the edge. Once they were at the
bottom, it was a short walk to the river Py. Its tributaries poured down from
the mountains, intertwined across Parua, and flowed inexorably into the sea
here at Niarush. Around them were empty, half-standing houses – the original
site of Niarush before its residents were forced to move to the high ground.
All that remained by the river were the docks, at least until a couple of
nights ago. Some of the locals were still rebuilding the jetties. On the shore
were several battered ships, still lain where the great wave had thrown them.
Sitting in the shadow of the remains of a galley was a lisha wearing a tattered
amber robe with his head in his hands.
“Is everything alright?” said Hyza
“Of course not! How could such a terrible thing happen to
Tyroz, I mean, Gyroz the Honest? What have I done to deserve this fate? Thanks
to that bloody wave, I’m stranded here in this backwards place, where the only
choice of housing is tent or hovel. I refuse, by the Sun, I refuse! If I can’t
have a country villa all to myself, I’ll just have to be a homeless vagrant”
“The wave hit a bunch of fishing villages too,” said Hyza,
“but the cliffs protected the rest of Parua. We should count ourselves lucky”
The lisha raised his head, “Lucky? Lucky?!”
“Don’t worry, keep on dreaming about your villa and you’ll
get there eventually. Look, here are some ships from Kurush! I can’t wait to
see what they have to sell”
The fleet glided into the estuary and beached themselves on
the silty banks. Green-scaled lishas clad in bronze armour jumped onto shore,
followed by hurums of all ages wearing a dazzling array of colourful clothes. Something
about the hurums made Hyza nervous – they stuck close to each other, didn’t
move unless told, and were completely silent.
The chief of Niarush, an obese lisha with a gold medallion
hanging around his neck, flanked by two spear-wielding lackeys, sauntered down
from the town with his hands held high in greeting. A lisha with jade scales
that shimmered in the sunlight and another lisha with golden scales wearing a
black toga had a quiet conversation with the chief. Hyza became distracted by
the golden head of a grinning lisha attached to the prow of one of the ships,
but she jumped at a sudden shout that pierced the peaceful air. The chief
collapsed onto the ground, blood pouring from a gash in his fat neck. His two
lackeys dropped their spears and begged for mercy. The jade-scaled lisha casually
stepped over the chief, blood dripping from the knife in his hand, and walked
up the slope towards Niarush.
“We should go”, said Lysta
Hyza nodded, “I don’t want to see what happens next. Let’s go
back up the coast”
She pulled on Ozoz’s reins. The three of them turned around
and headed back to the cliff path, leaving Niarush to meet its new rulers.
Constructive criticism welcome
© Paul Bramhall
No comments:
Post a Comment