Page 38 of Tusks & Saddles

Chapter Eleven

Welborn

H e was still thinking about Bit long after they had left Kay’s.

It was very difficult not to. Welborn had never seen a construct before, let alone one that could do more than simple tasks.

There were spells for that sort of thing.

Bards and other powerful mages who could create temporary assistants to complete simple tasks for them.

Nothing more intricate than perhaps carrying rope or opening a door.

But those had always been obviously magical . Glowing spectral lights, the crackle of energy in the air. Bit didn’t feel like that. They hadn’t felt any different than any other person—they had even emitted warmth. From where that warmth originated from, well, Welborn was still pondering that.

One thing was certain, meeting Bit had opened an entirely new avenue of curiosity in Welborn.

He hoped when they returned from their journey, Bit would allow him to ask more questions surrounding the construct’s origin.

Bit had been found somewhere in the Searing Wastelands, buried in weeds and rubble.

They had been partially conscious, and became fully aware once Kay had tinkered.

However, Bit had no recollection of anything before that, not even their original name.

And lastly, Bit had been conscious for seven years.

“That makes me seven seasons old by certain denizen methods of tracking time,” Bit had said pleasantly while offering a cup of black coffee to Kay. “I am very proud to have made it to my seventh life cycle.”

Somehow Miss Eaves had convinced Kay to let him stay with Bit while she collected the horses.

In that time, Welborn had asked many questions just shy of being invasive.

In hindsight, he realized his error. If his father had been in the room, he would have firmly but politely slapped the back of his head.

Yet, Bit hadn’t indicated they were offended.

If anything, they appeared to enjoy the company as they proceeded to wash the dishes.

I should have offered to help—

“You ready?” Miss Eaves asked.

Welborn snapped back to attention, realizing that he hadn’t finished tying his extra rope to his horses saddle just yet.

He had been so completely lost in thought, he was embarrassed to admit he didn’t really recall what had happened after saying goodbye to Bit and being handed the reins to a horse.

“Almost, Miss Eaves,” he said, quickly securing the rope.

“Here,” she said before thrusting something against his shoulder.

To his surprise, a familiar green liquid appeared before him. Unlike acid, the liquid inside was a lush green. Natural and inviting, almost like tea thick with honey. It reminded him of his mother’s smile, for some reason.

“A potion? ”

“Kay had a few spares. Nothing fancy, but in case we get into trouble, it never hurts to be prepared. And where we’re going, we need all the help we can get.”

Warmth itched its way across his skin. Or perhaps he had a newly discovered dust allergy.

Either way, Welborn thanked Miss Eaves and pocketed the potion.

She had already managed to swing up onto her horse—in a dress of all things.

Miss Eaves looked even more regal, a figure in black upon a pale white horse.

Welborn’s own horse was a sandy color, which solidified the animals name. Sandy was at least patient as Welborn awkwardly hoisted himself up. His foot nearly fell out of the stirrup as he tried to swing the other leg over.

“You okay, there?” Miss Eaves asked.

“Perfect!” Welborn assured, face pressed against the saddle as he straightened his footing.

“You do know how to ride a horse… right?”

Welborn somehow managed to seat himself properly on the saddle. Though the struggle to get there had taken longer than Welborn would have liked. He straightened his spine, took hold of the reins, and sent Miss Eaves a confident look.

“I do.”

“Good,” Miss Eaves said. “Let’s ride.”

Welborn had learned rather quickly why Miss Eaves wore a veil.

The moment they had left the city proper, the dust trail behind her horse had picked up.

The wind carried it straight to his face, blinding him momentarily as Welborn choked.

He had lost control of Sandy, veering far off to the left.

Welborn was certain they would have hit one of the tall weeds if Miss Eaves hadn’t rushed over to save him.

“This is why you wear a kerchief when you ride out here,” she had grumbled.

Miss Eaves had helped him rinse the dirt from his eyes, tossed a greasy rag at him, and instructed him to cover his face with it.

Before Welborn could question or apologize, Miss Eaves had taken off again.

Welborn hurriedly did as she instructed and followed, fists tight as he urged Sandy to pick up her pace so they didn’t fall behind.

All the while, Welborn tried his best to not overthink the embarrassing encounter.

So, his horse riding was…not great. Welborn had never thought of himself as a city kid, but like many ways of travel, Welborn preferred the old fashioned way of keeping his feet firmly planted on the ground. It had worked fine for him when his family had lived in the woods.

At least, it had before…

Welborn glanced down at his hand, felt the strange divine pulse where the missing flesh once was.

The accident had been a lifetime ago. Ten years, in fact, just a few months after the glowing rose moon, Chandris, crested to the large white moon, Eluthka.

Welborn remembered it, as his mother had often told him the legends of Arahan—the Heaven’s Cradle.

A goddess that had created Ordia—at least, that’s what the helfen believed .

His mother had heard the story from an air helfen that she had known from her youth.

A beautiful pale woman with skin the color of a clear day, dressed in shimmering robes of the finest silk she had ever seen.

Air helfen were rare in his mother’s village as they tended to live at the very top of mountains.

Some supposedly even lived in the sky, and that’s why the denizens of Ordia rarely saw any of them around.

The rumored sky castles were dismissed by common folk, but Welborn believed it to be true because his mother had insisted it was.

“They come down from the mountain to trade knowledge, wares, and stories. They’re as graceful as any Vvaserin dancer, they seemingly glide across the ground.

And their language is so beautiful, Welborn, they practically whistle when they speak,” his mother had said as they looked up at the moons in the dark sky.

Welborn’s mother had been a romantic at heart. Miss Eaves, on the other hand, was a harsh contrast to the woman who had raised him. In fact, it was difficult not to compare the two as the midday sun beat down on Welborn.

Daisy had been trusting, open—a bleeding heart according to his father. Yet, those were all the things that had made Larok fall in love with her. Miss Eaves was anything but trusting based on the time Welborn had spent with her. She was more than a little cautious, if Welborn was honest.

Paranoid, he thought as he squinted at her trailing veil. Definitely a bit paranoid.

Welborn’s mother had been a homemaker. She had baked bread, mended torn trousers, and gathered mushrooms for dinner.

Miss Eaves, on the other hand, didn’t strike the cleric as the type that would enjoy homesteading.

In fact, Welborn wasn’t certain she would ever be the type that would even consider settling down .

The amusing thought of her sitting on the porch of his childhood cabin home with her fancy firearm—as Bit had briefly explained the weapon to him—waiting for some unfortunate soul to wander onto the land. She’d most likely fire first and ask questions later.

She’s more like my father than my mom—

Welborn shuddered at the thought.

Nothing quite took the wind out of his sails as that sobering thought had.

Welborn’s relationship with his father was fine—no different than any father and son, he supposed.

But Welborn wasn’t a fool. He knew it hurt his father to see his son—the same son that had features similar to his mother, even with his green skin.

There was no changing the shape of his nose or eyes, or his slight frame.

And when Larok wasn’t mourning his second wife, he was mourning his first whenever Boone would send his letters.

What would mom think of me now? Welborn wondered. Would she recognize this sad cleric as her son? Would she worry about me?

Those thoughts were halted as Miss Eaves abruptly slowed her horse to a stop. Welborn nearly rode past her, pulling the reins a few paces beside her.

“What is—”

“Shh,” Miss Eaves said. “Don’t move.”

Welborn swallowed his question, glancing around the open plains.

The Searing Wastelands were vast with tall flora and fauna—all of which had rather abrasive looking thorns or long quill-like spines.

Beyond the dry dirt and errant tumble weed, there was nothing but the long sky and hot, hot , sunshine .

What is she looking for?

As if Miss Eaves heard him, she dropped from her horse. Out of reflex, Welborn grabbed the reins, but kept his eye on his companion. Miss Eaves walked slowly, hand already brandishing her weapon as she pushed forward. She was about thirty feet away when she stopped.

The urge to call out to her was building in Welborn’s throat as Miss Eaves suddenly knelt.

Her back was to him, so Welborn wasn’t certain what she was looking at exactly.

The anxiety of not knowing had started to eat away at him when Miss Eaves jerked back up onto her heel.

She glanced over her shoulder, gesturing to him to approach.

“What is it?” Welborn asked once he had maneuvered the horses closer.

For a moment, Miss Eaves didn’t say a word.

Welborn’s gaze fell from her form to the ground and he frowned at what had caught Miss Eaves attention.

Beneath a patch of wild weeds, the ground looked disturbed.

Several roots were raised in dirt piles.

If Welborn didn’t know better, he’d say a farmer had been tending to the ground in the hopes of producing crops.

But that doesn’t make any sense. There’s nothing but weeds out here, no homes, no people. And those tilling strips—

“What do you make of this, holy man?” Miss Eaves questioned.

“I… well, it looks like someone’s been doing some tilling, but these strips don’t make sense,” Welborn said. “They should be rows, but they seem to go all over the place.”

“My guess is that whatever made these, there looks to be at least six of them,” Miss Eaves said as she pointed toward the different rows .

“What kind of beasts are in the Searing Wastelands?” Welborn asked.

There had been critters in the woods near their small cabin.

Deer, badger, rabbits—simple, small things that were relatively harmless outside of tearing up his mother’s garden.

But Ordia had much larger creatures than elk.

Dragons flew overhead, large serpents swam in the oceans, and giants roamed the land.

Honestly, Ordia was not the kind of world made for the faint of heart. For all it’s beauty and wonder, there were a lot of things that could kill you. Welborn supposed that’s why Miss Eaves was so—

“There are domesticated cattle ranches, but that’s in the opposite direction of the city. I mean, rabbits, vultures, coyotes, snakes,” Miss Eaves sighed. “The list goes on.”

“Anything that’s more… um…”

“Wild?”

“Yeah…anything you can think of that burrows like this?”

“I can think of a few things,” Miss Eaves hauled herself back onto her horse. “But none of them are good things.”

“Such as?”

Welborn knew he’d regret asking, but couldn’t help himself.

“Giant insects,” Miss Eaves said. “Or giant spiders, to start. Honestly, any dire beast—”

“Like giant birds?”

“That’s….oddly specific. You th ink it was a burrowing bird?”

Welborn jaw clamped shut, tusks clacking loudly against his canines.

“We should go,” he said, instead. “The High Cleric might be in trouble.”