12. In Which I Eavesdrop and We Find an Unusual Rest Stop
That night we sat around a blazing fire; the rain had stopped shortly after the skirmish with the sylopterix, but it was still damp and a chill breeze breathed over the plains. The roc lay just outside our circle. Its wounds were clean and bandaged, and it seemed to sleep, but every so often a yellow eye would crack open and survey our group. I had to wonder what it planned for us and if we would have another, harder, battle ahead. It would be a shame, really, to be forced to fight something we had just rescued.
As Morwen cooked a dinner of seasoned fish and heated up some fruit pastries—all compliments of the bottomless sacks (did I mention they're amazing?)—Daystar moved out of the fire's circle of light, wandering off a short distance through the rustling grasses. Shiara got up and followed him. Kazul and Brandel were engaged in a discussion about the roc and Morwen was busy with the cooking, so I was the only one to notice their departure. This promised to be interesting, and I decided to approach stealthily. They say curiosity killed the cat, but it's my belief they really meant the dog.
Daystar glanced over as Shiara came up beside him, then turned his gaze back up to the sky. It was worth looking at; the clouds had completely dispersed, leaving a glittering array of constellations flung out across the blackness. Having spent my entire life until then in a dense forest, I'd never seen so many stars. The sky was so big here. It's not often I feel insignificant, but some scenes are too grand...
Shiara spoke first, interrupting my deep thoughts. "Thank you for...what you did today. I couldn't do anything..." she trailed off.
It was a few moments before Daystar answered, "You're welcome."
Another long pause, during which they both deliberately stared at the sky.
Finally Daystar broke the silence. "I'm sorry for what I said a few days ago; I really did—do want your company."
"I know," she said quickly. "I just... I don't know what I expected as a welcome. But I shouldn't have gotten mad at you like that."
I couldn't believe my ears—an apology from Shiara? Where were the sparks, the flames shooting out of her head? Unless I was greatly mistaken, something important was happening.
But, just as they finally brought their gaze down from the heavens to look at each other, Morwen called out that dinner was ready.
On her way back to the fire Shiara swatted at something by her ear. "Ow!"
"What?" Daystar asked.
"Something bit me, or pinched me, on the ear. I couldn't see what it was."
My keen eyesight, however, detected a faint glitter speeding through the night. It seemed someone was jealous.
…
Next morning we woke to the question of the roc.
"Well, we certainly can't abandon it here to be eaten by another flock of sylopterix after putting in all the effort to rescue it the first time. We've lost a day and I don't intend to let it go to waste." Morwen displayed her usual good sense.
"Can it travel like this?" Daystar asked.
"Will it eat us?" I added under my breath.
"It certainly looks eager to accompany us," Brandel pointed out.
It was true; the bird heaved its monstrous body off the ground and was hobbling closer, using its good wing as a second leg.
"Do you want to join us?" Brandel addressed the roc directly and it nodded vigorously in reply.
"And in return for us rescuing you, you'll promise not to harm us?" Another nod. "And you will provide transportation if asked? Once you're fully healed of course." Answered in the affirmative.
And so it was that the roc became a member of our quest. It moved very quickly in spite of its injury; the sheer size of its stride made up for its awkward gait.
…
The next two days passed by uneventfully. On the first day we came across a scummy sort of pond between two low hills. Olemer claimed enthusiastically that it was the Paradise Puddle, and we began traveling west.
During our meal breaks we brought out the papers we had taken from the hut. Most of them were too damaged by the rain or were just too old and faded to decipher. A few were smaller versions of the maps on the walls, depicting strange continents and islands. The most interesting papers for us were those mentioning Janar (the hero of the Royal Stick, as you may recall). Most of it told the same story Olemer was so caught up in—Caves of Terror, Deadly Demon and all that. But the last page was written hurriedly, and in horrible handwriting. Add to this the water stain smearing the bottom left and the rip in the top right... suffice to say we couldn't make out much of it. What we could read seemed to indicate a second hiding place; perhaps the stick behind the Pass of Doom was only a decoy.
In addition to the sloppy writing, the style of the page was different as well; while the other pages were written as a history or ballad, the last bit seemed more like a collection of hints and notes, a later discovery.
Olemer was inclined to disregard it. "There are always some crazy archaeologists who claim to have found the Royal Stick or some other treasure. They've never been right yet."
But I found the notes intriguing; who left them? Why did he want the stick? And, most of all, why did it have to be the location of the hiding place that was torn off!
We had been heading west for a day and a half. The rocky wasteland seemed to come no closer. Though I wasn't sure if I liked the idea of trekking through a rocky wasteland. Sounded rather painful.
The roc's leg was improving rapidly; it was able to put weight on the mending limb. The wing was another matter, however. It would probably be a while before we could ride the bird anywhere, and, despite my qualms about flight, I wouldn't have minded speeding the trip up a bit.
The sun was dropping in front of us, sending long rays of color across the western sky. Soon we would make camp again. The problem with plains is there's no shelter, and there's always wind. No matter what the day's weather was like, the wind would continue. Sometimes it was a gentle, persistent breath; other times it would come in great gusts, almost knocking us over. And then there were the wailing ones. I didn't care for those at all.
Thinking these pleasant thoughts, I almost stumbled into the crevasse that opened at my feet. I'm still not sure where it came from; one moment we were staring at the endless flat expanses, then we were standing at the edge of a deep crack in the ground. It seemed to lead all the way to the mountains in the north, and there was a stream flowing at the bottom. Even more interesting was the house—mansion, really—built up next to the stream.
It seemed we had found a place to rest for the night. We scrambled down the steep path leading to the mansion, not wanting to traverse the treacherous ground after nightfall.
