A Cold Welcome
Winter the 6th, 518AV
Winter the 6th, 518AV
To the bone. Oresnya had never understood that phrase. There was so much between the skin and the bones that it was impossible to have anything go ‘to the bone.’ Unless one was cut to the bone. But she had never believed in over exaggerations, such as when someone had told her they’d been soaked to the bone stuck out in a rain storm. It was ridiculous. Or so she had thought. Her faith in her own opinion was quickly fading.
For seven days, she’d been stuck in this weather. For four of those, the storm had been so vicious Oresnya could make no head way no matter how hard she tried, so she had hunkered down, trying to keep herself free of the rain, an impossibility in Zulrav’s rage. Half a day in, the coat she had traveled with became meaningless. If it had any bones, it was soaked to them. The only thing it was doing now was trapping water up against her and weighing her down, but Oresnya refused to discard it. If the weather stopped and she could get the coat dried out, it would give her some respite for the next storm.
Her backpack had suffered the same fate, and all of its contents were soggy, including the little food she had managed to save in her week apart from the sailors who had brought her safely this far. That was the one blessing this rain had given her. Her food had turned to mush, making it easier for her delicate stomach to digest. Perhaps that was a blessing from Zulrav. Perhaps Viratas looked kindly on the purpose for her travel. Perhaps it meant nothing, and it simply was the way it was. Not knowing, Oresnya settled for thanking all of them, then none of them.
The thought of food made her hungry, and reaching to the bottom of her pack, she found she was at the end of her supply. Desperate for a bite to eat, Oresnya scraped what she could off the clothes that it had been mashed into and put it into her mouth, sucking each finger clean for enough of a morsel to keep her going. Hunger was an excellent motivator, so when the storm had broken somewhat two days prior, Oresnya had taken the chance to make it the rest of the way to Wind Reach.
The path up the Sanikas Road had not been kind on her. The smooth stones of the stairs were difficult to keep any traction on with as soaked as they were. It had been left to her uncovered hands to keep her grip on stairs as she half-walked, half-crawled up them. Tiny hooks, too small for the naked eye to see, had reached out from the skin on her hands and bonded to the stone at her will, keeping her from falling whenever her feet slipped, but the constant strain on them over a day of climbing left her skin feeling raw.
Finally, though, she found herself taking the last of the stairs and looking at the end of the roadway that led to the Sanikas Gates. There in front of her was a narrow hallway carved into the side of the mountain. At first, it didn’t occur to her that this was the culmination of a year of travel, that this was the end of her journey to her sister’s home town, that Oresnya was now going to be able to bring back part of her sister’s legacy. No. The only thing that registered was that there was a hallway in front of her, and that meant shelter.
Especially in the light stifled by the storm, the hallway was dark, but Oresnya’s Symenestra eyes didn’t need the light to see. Before she even stepped into the hallway, she could pick out the finer details. There were stone columns and, beside one of them, a simple metal chain with a beautifully crafted, colored glass handle.
Pull the handle, if you want to enter Wind Reach. That’s what Oresnya’s sister Yora had told her when she had talked about her home city as if the two of them would travel to see it together one day. Pull the handle and be ready to run. Don’t expect a warm welcome. You might not be killed on sight, since you’re a woman, but your kind is not welcome in Wind Reach.
Oresnya was too tired to run. All she could do was hope that the guard at the gate, a man named Val if her memory of Yora’s stories served right, would show her kindness and grant her passage. There was an immediate difference in temperature as she stepped into the sheltered mouth of the Gates. It felt familiar, like the Woven Gates of Kalinor, and for a moment, she smiled as thoughts of her home and her family flooded her and brought with it the strength of hope.
As soon as she was out of the rain, she slid the pack off her back and removed her coat. It did little good as everything beneath it was soaked as well, but it felt slightly warmer without it on. Maybe that was just hope doing what it always did. Maybe there was some warmth emanating from within the mountain itself. Either way, Oresnya was glad for it. She hadn’t stopped shivering for the past six and a half days. She didn’t stop shivering now, but there was hope that the shivering would end.
And so she stood at Wind Reach’s Gates, a pathetic, sodden mess. The clothes beneath the coat were soaked through as well. Her hair, normally done up neatly or at the very least contained, was drenched and clung to her skin or hung free in large clumps. She was pitiful looking, and she knew it. She hoped she looked as pitiful as she had meant to appear, because there was no hiding what she was. The ashen skin, the gray veins that ran beneath it, the cobweb-colored hair, the thick black nails. It all betrayed her as Symenestra.
Reaching for the chain, she gave it one swift pull and tried to stop her endless shivering as she waited for someone to respond to the harmony of the bells that rang. She gave up on her dedication to the thought that being soaked to the bone was an impossibility. She was. It would take her a week to shiver away the cold that had saturated her.
But something else had saturated her too. Hope. She dared not let it show in her eyes though. No smile rose to her lips. She needed to be let in, and she doubted a confident, well-fed Symenestra would look the part of the kind of visitor the Inarta would want in their city.
So she waited. And shivered. And hoped. Soaked to the bone.
For seven days, she’d been stuck in this weather. For four of those, the storm had been so vicious Oresnya could make no head way no matter how hard she tried, so she had hunkered down, trying to keep herself free of the rain, an impossibility in Zulrav’s rage. Half a day in, the coat she had traveled with became meaningless. If it had any bones, it was soaked to them. The only thing it was doing now was trapping water up against her and weighing her down, but Oresnya refused to discard it. If the weather stopped and she could get the coat dried out, it would give her some respite for the next storm.
Her backpack had suffered the same fate, and all of its contents were soggy, including the little food she had managed to save in her week apart from the sailors who had brought her safely this far. That was the one blessing this rain had given her. Her food had turned to mush, making it easier for her delicate stomach to digest. Perhaps that was a blessing from Zulrav. Perhaps Viratas looked kindly on the purpose for her travel. Perhaps it meant nothing, and it simply was the way it was. Not knowing, Oresnya settled for thanking all of them, then none of them.
The thought of food made her hungry, and reaching to the bottom of her pack, she found she was at the end of her supply. Desperate for a bite to eat, Oresnya scraped what she could off the clothes that it had been mashed into and put it into her mouth, sucking each finger clean for enough of a morsel to keep her going. Hunger was an excellent motivator, so when the storm had broken somewhat two days prior, Oresnya had taken the chance to make it the rest of the way to Wind Reach.
The path up the Sanikas Road had not been kind on her. The smooth stones of the stairs were difficult to keep any traction on with as soaked as they were. It had been left to her uncovered hands to keep her grip on stairs as she half-walked, half-crawled up them. Tiny hooks, too small for the naked eye to see, had reached out from the skin on her hands and bonded to the stone at her will, keeping her from falling whenever her feet slipped, but the constant strain on them over a day of climbing left her skin feeling raw.
Finally, though, she found herself taking the last of the stairs and looking at the end of the roadway that led to the Sanikas Gates. There in front of her was a narrow hallway carved into the side of the mountain. At first, it didn’t occur to her that this was the culmination of a year of travel, that this was the end of her journey to her sister’s home town, that Oresnya was now going to be able to bring back part of her sister’s legacy. No. The only thing that registered was that there was a hallway in front of her, and that meant shelter.
Especially in the light stifled by the storm, the hallway was dark, but Oresnya’s Symenestra eyes didn’t need the light to see. Before she even stepped into the hallway, she could pick out the finer details. There were stone columns and, beside one of them, a simple metal chain with a beautifully crafted, colored glass handle.
Pull the handle, if you want to enter Wind Reach. That’s what Oresnya’s sister Yora had told her when she had talked about her home city as if the two of them would travel to see it together one day. Pull the handle and be ready to run. Don’t expect a warm welcome. You might not be killed on sight, since you’re a woman, but your kind is not welcome in Wind Reach.
Oresnya was too tired to run. All she could do was hope that the guard at the gate, a man named Val if her memory of Yora’s stories served right, would show her kindness and grant her passage. There was an immediate difference in temperature as she stepped into the sheltered mouth of the Gates. It felt familiar, like the Woven Gates of Kalinor, and for a moment, she smiled as thoughts of her home and her family flooded her and brought with it the strength of hope.
As soon as she was out of the rain, she slid the pack off her back and removed her coat. It did little good as everything beneath it was soaked as well, but it felt slightly warmer without it on. Maybe that was just hope doing what it always did. Maybe there was some warmth emanating from within the mountain itself. Either way, Oresnya was glad for it. She hadn’t stopped shivering for the past six and a half days. She didn’t stop shivering now, but there was hope that the shivering would end.
And so she stood at Wind Reach’s Gates, a pathetic, sodden mess. The clothes beneath the coat were soaked through as well. Her hair, normally done up neatly or at the very least contained, was drenched and clung to her skin or hung free in large clumps. She was pitiful looking, and she knew it. She hoped she looked as pitiful as she had meant to appear, because there was no hiding what she was. The ashen skin, the gray veins that ran beneath it, the cobweb-colored hair, the thick black nails. It all betrayed her as Symenestra.
Reaching for the chain, she gave it one swift pull and tried to stop her endless shivering as she waited for someone to respond to the harmony of the bells that rang. She gave up on her dedication to the thought that being soaked to the bone was an impossibility. She was. It would take her a week to shiver away the cold that had saturated her.
But something else had saturated her too. Hope. She dared not let it show in her eyes though. No smile rose to her lips. She needed to be let in, and she doubted a confident, well-fed Symenestra would look the part of the kind of visitor the Inarta would want in their city.
So she waited. And shivered. And hoped. Soaked to the bone.