Page 6

A s the journey continued, the song accompanied them like a living, breathing presence. It seemed to energise the Steppefolk, spurring them on through the long hours of the day. Even when the music faded into silence, it lingered in the air.

Jai longed to lend his voice to the chorus. Instead, he committed the words to memory, breathing them in a quiet chanting that Feng corrected as they walked.

Jai spent the last daylight hours talking with Feng, attempting to improve his pidgin understanding of Steppespeak, or sithosi, as the Steppefolk called it.

It was not so simple as stringing half-remembered words together. Jai had to unlearn so much of what he had taken as gospel. Indeed, even the word, Steppefolk, was what he used when thinking of his own people. This was wrong.

For they were the Sithia. Children of the mother goddess.

Jai came to realise sithosi was a rich and poetic tongue, full of nuance and subtlety that challenged him. He came to appreciate the depth of his people’s connection with the land, and the many words they had for grass, of all heights, in all states.

Feng spoke too of the mother goddess, the divine being who nurtured and protected the Sithia. She was the life-giving force that sustained the vast steppe and the people who called it home. The ancient tale, passed through the generations, told that the Sithia were born of her breath and moulded from the soil she tended. This ancient bond shaped their deep reverence for the land.

It was almost a disappointment, as the sun began to crease thehorizon, that Sindri called for a halt. To Jai’s surprise, despitethe long day’s journey, the Valor moved with unwavering energy. The village seemed to rise from the earth itself as tents were expertly erected with practised hands. Strangest of all was the eerie feeling of familiarity.

Jai found himself standing in the midst of the village centre. Each tent occupied the same position it had held at daybreak, as if the village had been transported intact across the vast steppe. The only evidence of their journey lay in the long furrow trailing behind them through the grassland, and the scent of fresh-trampled grass. But he was far more interested in another smell, a promise of a hearty meal hanging in the air, drawing Jai’s feet into the heart of the village.

The warm hues of twilight bathed the landscape in a gentle glow, casting a soothing warmth over the encampment.

Feng prodded Jai towards the fire, where a large cauldron bubbled and steamed, its contents emanating a mouthwatering aroma. Men and women both stooped, slicing, trimming and peeling the fruits of their forage, tossing them into the stew under the watchful eye of a wizened matron, her helpers following every twitch of her gnarled hands.

The riders, however, had not yet reached the end of their day. As those on foot attended to the camp, Zayn’s warriors rode in a wide arc around the perimeter, skilfully herding the now unburdened khiroi ahead of them. The grass surrounding the camp was purposefully trampled low, Jai guessed, to deter predators, thieves and raiders from approaching beneath its cover.

Undeterred, the riders continued to patrol the camp’s edges, using the fading sunlight to scan for any hint of silhouettes along the distant horizon.

The vast steppe was both sanctuary and concealment to those who knew its secrets. Yet without a khiro to navigate the endless sea of grass, even a man who grew up here would be as helpless as a raft caught on a windless sea, struggling to make any progress.

It made him worry for the fate of Erica and the Huddites. For they had no mounts to speak of, and they would have to battle through the grass with what few axes they had kept.

The khiroi were truly the Sithians’ most prized possessions, serving as the vessels that voyaged this verdant expanse. Even now, while granted respite to graze, the animals were tended to by the Valor’s youths. They tightened the braids in their tails and brushed the creatures’ thick fur with bone combs, always checking, rubbing, touching. The khiroi rumbled with deep contentment, nuzzling their caretakers with affection.

Jai stood at the outskirts of the gathering, unsure if he would be welcomed by the Sithian youths. Navi cropped the grass nearby, hungry as he it seemed.

Feng, noticing Jai’s hesitation, gave him an encouraging nod. So Jai went to Navi’s side, his presence sending the youth attending to her scurrying away. He ran his hand along her grizzled fur, tracing the scars of her cruel past. Her muscles shuddered beneath his touch, yet as her wrinkled eye turned to him, she let out a deep sigh, as if acknowledging his return, and leaned against him.

He pressed himself close, hugging her, breathing in her damp animal scent. He wished Winter could join them in their embrace, but he could sense she had already been chained up in Zayn’s tent again. She lingered on the edge of his consciousness, sending him encouragement. Trying to hide the fear she felt for herself. But there were no secrets between them, try as she might keep them.

For she shared the same worries as he. She too wondered what had become of Erica, and the Huddites. Had they escaped Magnus and the invading legion? Were they lost in the sea of grass? Or were they captives like he, to be sold to the highest bidder?

‘Jai,’ an accented voice said.

He turned to find Sindri, looking down at him from her mount.

‘The moon is full,’ she said. ‘A good evening for a ride. Mount up, son of Rohan. Let us see if the chick falls far from the roost.’