She awakes much later to the excited grunting of chorka and the low murmur of Vulcan voices. The storm has passed over and the chorka are eager to get out, twitching with anxiety at being shut up for so long. Nyota can understand although somehow the tension she is experiencing is perhaps not quite the same. She sits up and stares at Spock's handsome face as he straightens his clothing, his eyes meeting hers for a long moment before he reaches out a hand and pulls her to her feet.
She follows him out of the cave into the sunlight without so much as a word and outside the air feels different, almost static. As they prepare to continue onward through the valley, Nyota watches with wide eyes as sparks of luminous plasma hiss and spark from the striated rocks around them. It flashes and fizzles and crackles, shooting out of the stone like tiny bolts of lightning that sometimes strike the ground to send tiny flurries of rock and dust tumbling down the rocks. She thinks of Tarik on the balcony in Gol and it seems somehow like a lifetime ago although it's barely been two days since they said goodbye.
When Spock hands her the canteen she takes it without a word and is passive as he pricks her with the hypo. He pulls her collar back a little way to expose her neck, the angry purple mark he'd made there earlier visible for all to see as he presses the needle against her skin. Sarin glances surreptitiously towards them but if Nyota might have been embarrassed or ashamed before, somehow now she really can't find it in herself to care. She feels odd, tense, coiled up like a spring, the sky above is cloudy with dust and sand and the whole area is literally humming with electricity.
She feels wide awake, in spite of her constant weariness, alive, restless.
The chorka are restless too, shifting against their reigns and after a minute they start to grunt and snort and stamp their big, clodding feet against the earth. A moment later one of them spins around sharply and lets out a snort of consternation, kicking up a cloud of dust. The other chorka start squealing and stamping their feet more purposefully and through the noise, Nyota hears rapid Vulcan voices. She spies one of the monks kind of...dancing and then she sees it, a brief coiling flash of blue gray. The monk steps forward suddenly towards it, one foot coming down hard on the ground. He pauses to push his sleeves up to his elbows and she observes as he cautiously reaches down into the dust and when he stands up again, she sees that he is clutching a snake in his hands.
"K'karee," Spock tells her and she glances up to meet his eye, her interest immediately piqued.
"The sand viper," she murmurs and he nods. The dust settles and they amble towards the monk, the viper coiled up around his arm squeezing hard with a distinct look of displeasure on its little serpent face. Fortunately for the monk it is a viper not a constricter but of more concern to Nyota are the large fangs that protrude from its mouth, elegantly curved like Vulcan calligraphy in dental form. It is quite beautiful in spite of its fearsome appearance, its skin a shimmering sapphire blue rippled with silver gray and its eyes like mirrors glinting in the light. She glances up at the monk and finds him observing her curiously. "Is it deadly?" she asks. The monk shakes his head slowly.
"The venom of this species will only cause temporary paralysis," he tells her.
"Even in Humans," Spock adds and Nyota lets out a little chuff of relief. The monk lifts a finger and gently strokes it over a small strip of skin on the snake's head, his tight grip on its jaws unrelenting. As he does so it seems to Nyota that the viper calms, the angry puffing of its hood fins easing with each stroke of the monk's finger across its brow.
"The groundfire drives them out of the earth," the monk explains as he lulls the snake into an almost hypnotic trance that reminds Nyota very much of the gentle brush of Tesik's fingers across Sarin's palm. Nyota watches silently as he kneels down and the viper uncoils itself from his arm, not missing a few mottled scars on his skin that indicate he was not always so adept at handling such creatures. Very slowly, very carefully he releases his grip on its jaw and the snake lies in a twisted heap on the ground, utterly still as the monk backs away. A moment later it wakes with a start and Nyota jumps a little in surprise, watching with wide eyes as it slithers hurriedly away with an almost irritated hiss. She glances up at Spock and finds him watching her with a gentle expression on his face. When he lifts her onto the saddle once more, she's certain she feels the gentle press of his nose in her hair before a moment later he slides her hood up over her head and they move off again.
They ride on and the air grows cooler, as much as you could ever describe the Vulcan desert in such terms and the chorka come back to life, reverting from cantankerous to compliant as the promise of a good run grows closer. They pass into a long sandy corridor flanked by hills on either side and the chorka begin to move faster, not quite at full tilt but getting there. As they ride, the hills on either side recede and that long ridge that separated them from the desert begins to sink into the sand. The dunes appear once more on the horizon and Nyota takes in the view, the suns sinking fast and the Watcher taking precedence in the sky once more. In the distance Nyota hears a vague kind of screaming howl that sounds remarkably like Klingon. She peers across the hills but sees nothing until she spies a lone bird gliding briefly across the sky before disappearing over the dunes.
As the sands stretch out the chorka begin to sprint and it's such a relief to be out in the open that Nyota represses the urge to tear off her hood and let the wind blow through her hair. The air roars past her ears and her breath hitches as it rushes by so that she has to turn her face to the side to catch her breath. Spock's arms are around her and the chorka's back undulates beneath as she watches the rise and fall of the dunes as they ride. They seem to move like the sea as the chorka speed by and it's almost hypnotic, like the sand itself is moving. Of course Nyota's inner geologist knows that it does move but now, with the stars appearing and the inky black of night creeping across the sky, the dunes seem like waves about to crash, their sandy peaks rolling over themselves and downward.
It takes a moment for Nyota to register the reality of what she is witnessing but a second later it hits home with a vengeance as the ground shakes. The chorka squeals and its footing becomes slow and unsteady as it tries to fight against the sideways slide of sand beneath them. They are jostled in the saddle and Spock tugs sharply on the reigns, jerking its head back towards the cliff face. His arms are vicelike around her and Nyota is helpless, giving herself up to his protection as they hurry back to the rocks. The chorka's feet hit the ground with unsteady, lumbering steps on the sandy ground as the dunes disappear once more behind the hills. Ahead she sees the others in their group urging their chorka to climb and they follow suit, stepping up onto the ragged stone. Spock climbs down, dragging her off along with him and shoving her upwards.
"Climb!" he fairly barks at her and Nyota does not need to be told twice. She scurries up the rock face, the roaring sound of the sand rushing towards them reaching her ears from behind. The chorka needs little encouragement but its steps are unsteady on uneven ground and its limbs flail in desperation as it squeals and grunts with panic. As she moves higher, Nyota turns to see a wave of sand crash against the stone below, curling up in a dusty cloud as it explodes against the rock even as the ground shudders beneath them. Pebbles and stones clatter down around them and she falters, digging her nails into the rock as she tries to hold on. It is sharp beneath her hands and as she slips she feels the hot sting as a jagged edge slices her palm open. She winces but when she instinctively recoils in pain, she begins to slide down the rock again. Nyota clenches her jaw and clambers onward in spite of the stinging in her hand as beneath her the sand races between the cliffs and along the sandy corridor below them like a tidal race surging up a river.
Nyota watches on in awe and no small amount of terror, her heart pounding in her chest and her breath so ragged it hurts. She pulls her veil down off her face and immediately regrets it as she chokes on a lungful of dusty air, hunching forward with a cough.
"Nyota?" Spock utters, clasping her by the shoulder. Nyota looks up at him, shaking her head even as a tear escapes her eye. The chorka butts into him a little from behind and braces himself against its shoulders while it snorts against his back, nudging him in a gesture that seems to suggest concern. Nyota smiles a little.
"I'm fine," she wheezes. "Just..." she pauses to cough, her lashes fluttering against the sand in her eyes. "I'm fine," she repeats, catching her breath. Spock kneels down beside her and tilts her head up to look her in the eye for a moment before he catches sight of her hand.
"You are injured," he states, scowling beneath his hood before yanking his own veil down.
"Oh it's nothing," she assures him but Spock isn't really paying attention, taking her hand and turning it over in his palm. He says nothing but emits a huff of breath before turning to rifle through the bag tied to the chorka's saddle. As he searches for a bandage the chorka cautiously sniffs at her, its trunk snuffling down her arm towards her hand. Nyota tries to pull her hand away but the chorka follows with its nose and she starts a little as a long green tongue slides out to lick at the blood across her palm. It tickles as much as it stings and Nyota is not sure it's the wisest idea to let a Vulcan chorka lick at her Human wound so she curls her fingers together to make a kind of cage over her palm while it licks her fingers and strokes its face with her free hand instead.
"Kroykah," Spock utters at the animal, shoving it out of the way as he returns with sterilised wipe in a tiny packet. Nyota lets him gently swipe over the cut and smiles, flushing a little as he pauses between strokes to place a discreet kiss on her palm.
"Thank you," she murmurs and Spock blinks at her slowly.
"You are welcome," he murmurs.
They sit on the rocks for a while as the dust settles, Vulcan voices murmuring quietly behind them until Nyota becomes aware that Sarin is shouting. She turns to see the young woman standing on brow of the rock pointing enthusiastically.
"There!" she hollers. "Come, see!" Her father appears beside her and Nyota spies one or two of the monks turning to look in the same direction. She rises to her feet and Spock follows close behind her as they go to see what Sarin is so excited about. "Look, there!" she repeats and Nyota turns her head and peers in the direction Sarin is pointing as Spock comes to stand beside her. Her brow furrows and she tilts her head to one side as her eyes focus.
Some distance away she sees a broad sandy coloured mass emerge from the dunes, arching out of the ground with a slow, sliding movement before sinking back down into the sand. A moment later it appears again and whatever it is, it's huge, its skin yellow like the sands of the Nehfur and stark against the ruddy dunes that litter the landscape here.
"There!" Sarin repeats, shuffling along the rock a way and pointing again. "Another one!" Nyota, like everyone of them, turns to look and they see another yellow crest in the sand, smaller this time. "A calf," Sarin continues breathless with excitement. Nyota's mouth curves up in a smile, Sarin's exuberance is infectious and she turns to look Nyota right in the eye as she speaks again.
"Tcha'besheh," she explains and Nyota's tongue swipes across her lips as she tries to decipher the word. "A'kweth," Sarin elaborates at her puzzled expression and Nyota takes a moment to process. Underlier. "I suppose...like your Terran cetaceans" Sarin explains, the Standard word standing out as she speaks in rapid Vulcan. Nyota blinks and drops her eyes to the ground for a second as she remembers this woman was a scientist once. She turns her gaze back to the desert, the larger Underlier appearing in the sand once more. "They live far beneath the sand," Sarin continues. "The tremors must have disturbed them."
"Very rare," Spock adds quietly and she turns to look up at him, finding him with a look of uncharacteristic awe on his face. They stand there for a long time watching as the underliers move away into the distance, disappearing into the hazy cloud of dust that drifts across the horizon and Nyota thinks on Tesik's lesson. The fragility of life. The rareness of beauty. She thinks she is beginning to understand.
As they set off again Sarin tells her it is a privilege to witness such a sight as they ride into the hills. She is animated, twisting her neck to peer back at Nyota as she explains that Vulcans know less about this species than any other creature on the planet. Spock is quiet as Nyota smiles and nods, interested and certainly feeling privileged. More than that she's happy for the distraction from the nagging cramps in her legs as Sarin prattles on about silicon based lifeforms until eventually the last sun sets and in the distance she spies the reassuring outline of a sanctuary in the hills.
They pass into a valley, the cliffs criss crossed with stone stairways leading to myriad doorways carved into the rock and Nyota feels relieved at the sight of trees, the first time she has seen them since they left Tevik-Kahr. They are at the foot of the Llangon mountains now and behind the peaks the Watcher glows brightly. Nyota looks up to see a flock of birds fly across its swirling orange face, T'Rukhemai nowhere in sight. She is thankful, hopeful even for the prospect of a night without tremors and more thankful and hopeful at the prospect of food and water as they finally reach their destination.
The Temple of Amonak is a vast, sprawling complex and as their pace slows, she cranes her neck around to take take a better look. It is ancient and beautiful and sacred and even Sarin seems to fall quiet as they move closer. As they go deeper into the valley, they are met by a number of robed figures bearing water and it occurs to her that while her own canteen is completely empty, she hasn't seen Spock drink a thing since breakfast. When a Vulcan monk approaches, pouring a cup and holding it up to him, he doesn't hesitate to accept it. He pulls down his hood and swallows it down in a few quick gulps. Nyota mimics him, uncovering her head and reaching down from her perch on the chorka's back to accept a cup. The monk watches her, his head tilting to one side like a curious cat as she drinks.
"Human," he comments and she swallows thoughtfully.
"Yes," is all she says, by now well accustomed to her eccentricity.
"Fascinating," the monk murmurs, pouring her another cup before moving on and Nyota wonders if she'll ever get used to being viewed as an oddity but puts it out of her mind as she takes in her surroundings. The temple complex is dotted with worn sculptures and much to her surprise, armed guards wearing odd beak like masks over their faces. They wield lirpas – of a kind, these are different somehow from the ones she saw in the museum in gol. She thinks of the green stone knife with the engraved blade that Spock has hidden among their belongings that she isn't supposed to know about and recalls the hissing plasma outside the cave. As they follow them across the valley floor she spies odd pairs of men sparring with one another barefoot on the sand. Some use a staff, others appear to be strangling one another with long bands of cloth while some just wrestle one another with their bare hands but all of them stare at her as they pass. She wonders if she shouldn't have put her hood back up but it's too late now.
They lead the chorka towards a kind of sandy avenue in the hills, a natural archway of rock marking the entrance engraved with that same beautiful calligraphy that cover all Vulcan shrines. Spock dismounts to lead the chorka through on foot and inside Nyota sees something she didn't expect.
Women.
Their eyes are just curious as the men outside but this time Nyota is equally inquisitive and in a way, relieved. They are young, they are old, they are fair, they are dark and their general appearance is so illogical that Nyota isn't quite sure what to make of it. Most surprising of is the sight of a child, a small boy that seems to Nyota about the same age as Soraya. He clings to his mother, she assumes, his hair a riot of curls as wild as the desert wind but his otherwise cherubic face is as cold and hard as the woman who holds him. Nyota thinks about T'Ayin and her mild eyes and soft demeanour but if she had any illusions that this would be some kind of sanctuary of feminine civility she is soon disavowed of them.
The priestess is more ruthlessly logical than any Vulcan Nyota has yet met. She is older than Sarin certainly, perhaps older even than T'Ayin but there is something almost ageless about her. She is fiercely beautiful, frighteningly so but her eyes are hard and cold and her demeanour unforgiving.
"The son of Sarek brings a Human among us," she intones in an icy voice at odds with the hot breeze that gusts in off desert. Nyota's brow furrows slightly at her words but before she contemplate how this woman knows so much about Spock the priestess speaks again. "Are our ways for outworlders?" she asks, staring right at him.
Nyota gazes at the floor in the pregnant pause that follows and feels decidedly unwelcome, her knees aching and her head like a lead weight on her shoulders.
"They are lovers," Sarin tells the priestess brazenly. Nyota feels a hot flush of embarrassment and would wish the ground would open up and swallow her but somehow that seems like tempting fate. The priestess turns and glares at her, stepping towards her with slow, purposeful steps.
"You burn for this Human, son of Sarek?" she says, standing over Nyota and staring down at her appraisingly. Nyota's brow furrows as her mind tries and fails to process the strange, old language she is speaking.
"My logic is uncertain where this one is concerned," Spock says, his voice somehow different as he answers in the same rasping dialect. Nyota bristles slightly at the implication, turning to glance at Spock and in that moment he appears to her more chillingly Vulcan than she can ever recall seeing him. The priestess looks her up and down for a minute and she holds her head high but as the woman stares at her she quails a little, a shiver going down her spine. It is eerily quiet and hotter than hell and she feels opened, exposed by the priestess' piercing gaze.
"You bring a Human to our sacred places," she chides, her eyes never faltering from Nyota.
"We seek shelter," Spock replies and the woman hesitates, her expression betraying her scepticism.
"You would have us take food from the mouths of our children, water from our wellspring for this outworlder?" she almost growls.
"A flower in the desert wilts without water," Spock replies, bowing his head low and Nyota drops her gaze to the floor as her head spins.
A protracted silence follows. The priestess hesitates, staring at them both for a long minute before turning and disappearing into a doorway in the rock behind. Nyota swallows, her throat parched and her bones aching as they stay like that for a long time, kneeling in the sand.
Eventually the woman returns.
"You will come, son of Sarek," she intones and Nyota observes as he rises and trails silently after the woman without so much as a glance in her direction. She isn't quite sure what to do but Sarin and Tavin remain kneeling with their heads bowed so she does the same, glancing surreptitiously around at the women watching them from walkways cut into the cliff, the armed guards standing like statues around the courtyard. The chorka grunt quietly in the background, Nyota hears the shuffle of their feet over the sand and the breeze as it rustles the leaves on a tree somewhere behind her.
She isn't sure how long they wait, it seems like an age and the longer she kneels there in the sand the more unsettled she becomes. She's tired, she's thirsty, she's afraid and she's never felt more like an outsider in her whole life, like a feeble Human.
After an interminable time the woman returns and when Nyota glances up, she finds her staring at her with those hard eyes.
"You will come, Human," she utters and Nyota gulps, taking a few shallow breaths before rising unsteadily to her feet.
She follows through the door in the rock and down a dark, airless passage that winds downward into the rock. Her breath is loud in her ears and she tries to quell the strange sense of foreboding that swirls in her stomach even as the scent of incense fills her nostrils. She squints, her eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness until eventually they reach what appears to be a shrine, torches flickering around the chamber. In the dim light she spies Spock kneeling in front of an altar against the rock and before him stands the oldest Vulcan Nyota has ever seen. She is wearing ornate robes studded with huge orange stones that seem to glow like magma in the torchlight. On her head she wears a head dress that casts a long shadow on the wall behind, a dark flickering V against the stone. As Nyota enters the younger priestess comes to a halt just inside the door and Nyota swallows back her apprehension as the old woman turns to look her in the eye.
Nyota is frozen by her stare and in her mind she hears whispering voices but she can't understand what they are saying. They stand in silence for a long time until the High Priestess finally speaks.
"The son is much like the father," she comments, her voice warbling and cracked with age. "Come, Human," she urges, reaching her hand out towards Nyota. She swallows and steps cautiously forward until she's standing at the foot of the steps in front of the altar. She glances at Spock but his head remains bowed and she cannot see his face. Nyota licks her lips and kneels on the hard stone. "A beauty," the old woman says, peering down her nose at where Nyota is perched on the step before her. She clenches her jaw, holding the old woman's gaze and after a moment the High Priestess steps closer. She holds her hand out towards Nyota's face in a gesture that she instantly recognises, hesitating for a moment until she dips her head in assent.
The touch of the old woman's mind is nothing like Spock's. Where his is soft, warm, fuzzy at the edges hers is sharp and clear like crystal, cold and cutting and unfailingly logical. Nyota's head spins as the old woman rifles through her memories, her thoughts, her feelings and when the connection ceases Nyota gasps and hunches forward on the steps feeling exposed, bereft.
"She has the body of a woman," the High Priestess tells her. "But the mind of a child." Nyota scowls, inhaling a sharp breath through her nose.
"And you have a heart of stone," she sputters, anger flashing through her as much at the callousness of her mind touch as her words. The High Priestess is unmoved.
"And what know you of the Vulcan heart, Human?" she drawls. Nyota jaw quivers and she takes shallow, rasping breaths. Spock is silent, stone like beside her and she feels ashamed and then she feels angry at her shame. "What know you of the Vulcan soul?"
"I...I..." she stammers, her face screwing up as words fail her. "I thought I knew," she whispers plaintively, her shoulders slouching dejectedly. The priestess raises a brow and observes her with pitying eyes.
"This one is within you," she says coolly after a moment and Nyota's brow furrows, glancing to Spock to find him staring at her. "You are indeed your father's son, Spock," she adds ominously a moment later. "Go now," she commands in an imperious voice. "Take what you need from us, do what must be done. Ko-kai!"
Nyota hears the imperceptible shuffle of footsteps across the chamber as the younger woman approaches, her head bowed deferentially. "A flower without water wilts in the sun," the old woman tells the younger. Nyota is getting more and more confused by the minute.
"Ha, t'sai," the young woman says with a bow. "Come," she intones, looking Nyota in the eye. She swallows and glances at Spock as he rises to his feet, his gaze fixed on her with those same wild eyes she'd seen in the cave. Her lashes flutter and she holds his gaze for a moment before she does the same.
"Live long and prosper, Spock, son of Sarek," the High Priestess utters, raising her hand. Spock returns the salute and Nyota isn't sure why but she finds herself doing the same as he speaks for the first time since she entered.
"Peace and long life," he replies and then the High Priestess turns away, disappearing into the shadows as the younger woman leads them towards the door.