Godsdamn, we look good riding. The steed kwehs and I can't help but feel like I've made a good choice. Horses are going to be a hard sell when I get back around to them. Kay called them mammoth birds, but I've also heard ratitian and suprahen. I'm fond of kweh bird. I shall call this wonderful thing I sit high and proud on a kweh bird because it goes kweh every so often. It also smells like dry leaves and the feathers feel incredibly soft.
We all have our kweh birds. Mine is a very nice gray blue, almost speckled river stone. It also likes it when I run my fingers into the little knot over its left wing. It makes a very, very pleasant cry when I do so. Gawain's is the runt of the litter, with a nice flame orange on its plumage. Eliza's stands bone white to our collective rear, I assume to look at mine. The poor bird designated as Kay's is chugging along. I think it might be faster to roll the damn thing along with him, it's so fat.
And that is to say nothing of the riders. With some rather smart fingering, Gawain folded that lovely snuggly cloak of his into a long duster. It pairs nicely with a wide brimmed hat I'm sure he stole from somewhere. Eliza refused most of the offers but did manage to be persuaded to don a kerchief somehow. Kay's dressed to kill, carrying his own ball and chain around like weighs nothing at all. It does weigh significantly more than that. I know firsthand. Poor, poor bird with a spine of steel.
I pull my hat low and keep moving forward, guitar on my back, rapier at my side and the sun hanging high. It just feels right in my soul. This is where I am. Here, then one step forward. There and then one step beyond that. Open sky and rolling horizons, more things to see than could possibly fit in a million lifetimes, but that just makes the few I do get around to all the more precious. And the moment is shared.
That's the bit that strikes me the most. There are three whole other people with me, in the same moment, in the same space, having the same sensations. And they react to all so differently. Gawain's wide eyed and bouncing. Kay's relaxed and flowing. Eliza's tense and rigid. And I'm gliding through it all like a gust of wide. I skim the surface of it all, taking the cream and the cream alone. A rolling existence free of moss and debris, worn smooth and slick by time and terrain. My bird kwehs again and it is the most beautiful music I have ever heard. I dig my fingers into the good spot and listen to the noise repeat.
"We'll stop soon," Kay cries, "Want to make sure the birds are fresh for the getaway if it comes down to it."
That does sound nice. My hips are starting to hurt and that's one definite drawback of riding. It's a hard choice of what I want to hurt. And sometimes I want nothing to hurt at all. Not all that often though. Eliza says nothing about the rest. That does seem like something we all need. Especially his poor overworked bird.
There's an itch in my palm that I can't seem to shake. Not a good one, though. It's energy, anxious and panicked and crying for freedom. I am spent and shot, and I want to keep going.as soon as we stop. There is still more to see, still more to do. My feet don't have blisters and my hips can take a bit more of a pounding. I can keep going. My steed can keep going. But we stop under a small stony outcropping. The water skin makes its rounds and I think I take more than my fair share. No one says anything for a moment. There are stones to dig out from boots, dust to shake free, eyes to close and sighs to heave. The birds settle and ruffle their feathers, taking an instinctive circle to shield their eyes from the sun. They work well together.
Kay pulls a knife and I see Eliza jump. Old habits in her that will never die. I see the way she looks at corners and doorways, eyes open fields and does the math. She tries not to, but all of that is ingrained. Even when he starts drawing simple shapes in the dirt, she doesn't relax. There is still a knife out in the open and that could easily cut anything here. Gawain's fine. He's digging in his pockets for something sweet he nicked a good long while ago.
"We're about an hour out from where Dantea says Safon's hiding out," Kay says, "Shacked up in an old brothel. Someone found fool's gold nearby and that started a minor rush before people got wise."
"We met a few of her gang when we came in," says Eliza, "How many does she have?"
"Little more than a dozen, from what I can tell. A good raiding posse, at least. She's the only one with a finger on a thread, as far as we can tell, but she rents it out. That said, the others have been around a while and they're pulling something from her, so I'm expecting some heavy hitters coming down on us."
"Won't matter."
"You say that, but it's still three to one at best," says Gawain, "That is something that will probably matter."
So many little needles that have to lie in perfect harmony for the plan to be called that. Counter plays, hypotheticals, wonderful little moments where we have to actually think.
"We have to have a spook in this," I say, "Someone to sneak around and ambush to get closer than a full frontal would get."
"Thinking the same thing," sighs Kay, "But the question is who. Gawain's the best at that part, but she knows that the three of you are a matched set. If he's a no show, then he's the first one to come to mind."
"Then it's you," says Eliza.
That does get something a bit more thoughtful from him. He looks to his hammer and does the same math we all do. The hammer is not designed for anything subtle. He is not designed for something subtle. A hammer with a world of nails, bending needles and shattering stars.
"It'll have to be a big diversion," he murmurs with a hand on his stomach.
"And I can be one of those," I say, "Plus I'm sure Eliza can help. She's a big girl."
She huffs in a sort of pride and looks to her own weapon. It can work. Gawain's a bit softer in his affirmations. He's looking to the crude diagram we have. It's a square. There are only four sides to go on, but it's something. We have terrain and shadows and some ringers to go through. He hums something as an idea strikes him, but he doesn't share with the class.
My fingers start tapping a rhythm. It's been a good long while, it feels like, since I've played something that needs strings. And it's right there, right there. Kay looks me in the eye and slowly shakes his head. Deep in enemy territory is a bad time to have an impromptu revue. No music. Just laying low and keeping it quiet. It's annoying to say the least. I could be a lot better. There will be time for it though. And it will be wonderful when it comes around.
---
I must have dozed off in the handful of minutes after our strategy meeting. I think that was a good idea. Nothing to do, so might as well conserve energy.
I am alone though. The desert stretches out to the horizon and a good deal beyond that. I assume. I'm not going to go check.
I hear humming on the wind. Not mine. I take a deep breath and roll over. I think I fell asleep on Eliza. She is a very good mattress.
But it's just more rocks digging into my stomach. That is a good a reason as any to actually get up and see what's making the noise. I go back to my original position. Less rocks there and my spine feels better like this.
"Oh, get up," says Maman, "You're a grown man. I can't keep doing this forever."
"Couldn't you though?" I yawn, "You have the time. Going to outlive me at this rate."
"Don't remind me. That's a thought I still don't want to deal with. Bad enough I had to go through Amaru."
"Warm," says the ground.
I open my eyes and find myself atop a sea of black scales. The gaps take the light and toss it into rainbows. Maman holds a parasol in her hands, keeping the worst of the sun out of her way. Treblex's tail shifts happily behind us. Half of her is gone under the sand. She's humming again. It's been a while since I've seen her get this big.
