Sancre Tor was darker than Ceya-Tar, and colder as well. The nights felt as though they passed more quickly, and she felt as though she was getting less and less rest each time she closed her eyes. The che worked her harder here, gave the men more fields to tend and the children less quarter for mistake. She stayed up later caring for them, sleeping less as a result, and continuing to tire further and further. Her dreams were full of fears of failure, that one day she would grow faint at the hand of a che lady and be punished for it. The fear made it difficult to keep focused during the day, and she was scolded more and more frequently. By the grace of the Mother, she had yet to be whipped for her shortcomings, though she knew that consequence was not far off.
The day came to an end and she shuffled back to the sleeping area, this time in amongst the livestock. The ground was a slurry of urine, feces, and the dirt and straw of the pens as she trudged to the space that had been cleared by the stablehand men in secret. Already, she saw many of the others piled upon one another in an effort to stay warm. This city was high in the mountains, where the wind whipped with a sharp anger and snow had already fallen twice, though it was barely midway through the harvest times. The livestock were kept above the ground, on the outside of the city, and so her people were kept there as well.
"Jaan?" She whispered as not disturb too many of the others. She saw one or two heads stir, but only one lifted from amongst the mass of sleeping bodies. In the dim light, she could see the silver skin that scanned for the source of the noise. She stepped gently across the area to where the head had appeared from and settled to the ground.
"Dost thou need of me, child?" The kothri woman reached for her arm and held it tightly. "Thou seem distressed."
She shook her head slowly. "Nay, but my thanks, friend." The older kothri woman was truly her friend in this place. Since her youth in Sard, Jaan had been there for her to help her grow strong and quickly. Jaan had seen her first bleeding, and comforted her as she cried with worry that she would die from it. Jaan was like a mother to her, and she thanked the gods that be for their providence in Jaan's journey with her to Sancre Tor. Without the silver-skinned woman, her hope would have perished long ago. She placed a hand over Jaan's and continued. "I am in need of rest, is the truth. I have not slept well these past days, and I am tired from mine work."
Jaan sighed. "Be we all, in truth. Sleep with me, then; we shalt rest together."
She turned her body and pressed into Jaan, who wrapped an arm around her and squeezed softly. "Mine chest pains me, Jaan," she said. "'Tis not a feeling like I have known before."
The kothri spoke softly from behind her. "Rest, child. The morning will bring healing for thine pains if only for a moment."
She closed her eyes and breathed in deep. Her chest did hurt, a slow ache that she could not place. It was different from the pain she felt when she saw one of her people being whipped, or a child crying from hunger. She hoped it would subside come the morning, and started her prayer:
Dragon of Ages, we call to thee. Hear our voice as we speak to thine heavens, through the tears of our brothers and sisters. Grant us strength like thine to endure these days, and heart like thine to hold that strength—…
She fell asleep before she could finish.
The field before her stood wide and long, the golden tan of barley heaving to and fro in the wind. It was…serene. There was no pressure, there was no looming feeling of harvest like before. It was calm here. Like the wind, she skimmed through the barley towards a figure on the horizon. She felt the wisps of the plants on her fingers, and eventually she arrived at her focal point. It was a small hut, made of stone and mud, with a thatched straw roof just high enough to stand under. It sat in the middle of a clearing in the barley, on yellow-green grass that seemed worn from being trod on. The ground was littered with burlap figures, small human-shaped piles of fabric with small tunics wrapped around them. She peered down at one of them, puzzling over what it could have been used for. Then there was sound from the hut.
She turned up to the building and saw a little girl emerge from with in, laughing joyfully. The girl scampered over to the burlap figure, picking it up and holding it tight to her chest. Behind the girl emerged a man, much like one of her people, bearded and tan. He stood with his shoulders back and his chest broad. He seemed thicker than the men she knew; his ribs were not visible beneath his skin and his face was not as hollow as she was accustomed to. He looked like the che did, with their plump cheeks and sleek, round midsections. He was smiling too, talking to the girl in a nonsense tongue. He lifted a scythe from the ground and made his way out to the fields of barley.
She was suddenly lifted high into the air, free from the pull of the ground and weightless amongst the clouds. She flew over the fields of barley to another hut, where another child and their father were outside talking to one another. Then to another hut, and a mother and son. Another hut, a man and a woman together. Again and again, she flew from one hut to the next over an endless expanse of gold, each time seeing people outside together, smiling and laughing. She rose higher and higher into the sky, further and further away from the fields of barley. The huts began to grow smaller and smaller, turning into dots amongst the gold. Then the gold ran together, the dots too small to see. Then, the gold began to shrink. It too grew smaller and smaller, and more gold began to appear to her left and right. They rose from a flat whiteness, a line that stretched as far as her eyes could see. She pulled back from them further and further, and then even the whiteness broke. It gave way to the pure blue of the sky, the white forming into a spire that rose high to the heavens. The gold encircled the top, beaming bright unto the world below it.
She looked down at the ground and saw people, her people. They were gathered together, as one. They stood with their loved ones and their brothers and sisters. Arm in arm, hand in hand, held by their mothers, they stood. They looked upwards, to the tower. They were smiling.
She flew higher still, until the people became a sea of brown. The sea of brown grew larger, and larger, until suddenly…it was a hut. A little girl emerged from within, scampering over to a burlap figure laying on the ground, and lifting it tight to her chest.
There was a blaze of light from above, and she turned her attention from the little girl to see it. It was shaped as a woman, arms outstretched across the heavens. "My child," came a voice from within it; a female voice, "see well what I have shown thee."
"Who art thou, spirit?"
"Thou shalt know in time." The light began to fade. "Think on what thou hast seen. This shall be thine prize."
Everything went dark, and a weight lifted from her shoulders.
For three days she pondered her dream. Had it been just that, a dream and nothing more? Or had it been something more powerful; a vision from the gods? Had it been a prophecy? Whatever it had been, she had awoken from it with ease in her chest and great energy for her day. Energy to think and wait on her che mistresses and not be scolded.
She mulled deeper and deeper into what she had seen. The people, the wide expanse of barley. What did it mean? What did that bright figure want her to see in it. And the tower; it had looked like it belonged to the che. The longer she thought, the more she felt as though she had even seen the tower before. Perhaps through the trees, as she was marched from Ceya-Tar to Sancre Tor. Everything belonged to the che, so the tower must have belonged to them as well. It was white, like their halls; it was possible.
But the serenity of the scene did not carry the harshness or venom of the che and their whips, it was one of calm. Peace, even. In fact, there had been no che to be seen, just people. Her people. That had to mean something.
Her people, happy. Families together. Warm homes and land above ground. All this, and no che; the che's tower surrounded by her people as a source of joy, not pain. This shall be thine prize.
On the third night, as she lay down to sleep, she had a great pain behind her left eye. It felt like pressure forcing itself out of her skull, but she was not troubled by it. After all, what could trouble her on a night as this, after she had finally come to realize what it was her dream was meant to show her.
She had seen what it would mean for her people to truly be free.
It meant they would have to be rid of the che.