The Land Between the Mountains & the Sea

Prelude

History is an intriguing thing. It is not something so concrete that we can touch it, although it certainly touches us. It can be neither owned nor controlled, but it can be held. One may simply pick up a book and hold it in one’s hand- pick it up, read it, and then put it down again. But by the time that history has made its way into print, it has normally made its way out of our memories. Often times, the story has grown so distant that it has faded away, like a tiny figure at the end of a looking glass, miniature and unreal and yet still peaking out over the horizon. Our world has changed so drastically that history- our own story- has become like that dancing speck on the horizon. Like fictional people in a fictional place whose lives have already evaporated into the past, like a mist under the scorching light of noon.

But we were there. That world has not been lost to us even though we will soon be lost to you. So please, in your bustling metropolises and long winding highways, don’t forget about the foundation of the world you have inherited. The foundation that was simply the land between the mountains and the sea.

Chapter 1

-Aisatsana-

Days like these were difficult for only one reason. It was not the emptiness of the place, which could actually be rather enjoyable. Neither was it the wildlife, which was mainly characterized by rough skin, beady, fidgeting eyes, and the dull characteristic of being in its majority- if not entirety- of one dusty and dirty hue. It was not even the unfortunate fact that every living shrub and plant was either spindly or prickly and not good for very much of anything at all. No, the great difficulty came from something else entirely: The Sun. A ghastly thing.

People talk of sunshine like it is joy itself. But I can’t help but wonder- have these people really thought this sentiment through? Probably not, because the sun is not warm, as they describe, like a kiss on the cheek or a shallow, glistening pool in the summer. Nor is it hot, like an exquisite passion or a flickering flame at night. Rather it scorches and burns a blistering heat, like the glare of an enemy, shriveling life beneath its harsh gaze. This is a fact that could not be escaped in this arid wasteland, where every drop of life is evaporated with the water that the sun has long since greedily slurped up and where your skin becomes cracked and raw to match the ground below you.

No, days like these were not easy at all. I found myself pondering the oneness of everything, thinking myself rather deep as I came up with all sorts of allegories and metaphors for life. I prided myself on being above most people in my society, which is rather ironic as it was not the least bit true. My land, Roshan (Roshan means “bright one” in our language. Obviously, humility was a strong point for us), was the northernmost civilization in our little world and was therefore commonly known to the small collection of city-states in the south as the Land of the North, or The Land of the Mountains. For my people, the Roshai, being educated was of the utmost importance. Our whole civilization was built on the education of our citizens. In fact, the only requirement of those wishing to take charge of ruling our land was that they be qualified as professors of three or more subjects and well rounded in the arts and literature. So much trust was put into these leaders, in fact, that they were given absolute power in their offices of oversight, only to be governed by the word of our dictator, who was elected and ruled for life unless he was, for some reason or other, deemed no longer fit for duty. That had only happened once.

Yes, anyone who wanted to become anything had to be educated. The higher educated you were, the more important you immediately became. Hence, most of our time went into learning, even as adults, which is why my people had, in our recent history, been the sole inventors and producers of new and never before seen materials, instruments, and architecture.

So no, as a merchant who merely dabbled in science, history, astronomy, and anatomy but was still not well versed in any of the latter subjects, but rather focused more on the linguistics, landscapes, cultures, and price values of goods in our neighbor provinces down south, I was not above the rest of my peers, regardless of what I would have liked to have pretended that I believed. Most people, in actuality, viewed me as beneath them and were most likely completely accurate in so doing. But I did not mind. I had grown tired of them and their opinions. Perhaps this was due to what my mother referred to as my “general distaste for my own species.” She would have liked me to be a normal woman with a woman’s job, or perhaps no job at all and a strong husband. Yes, she probably would have liked me to find a husband most of all. The problem was, though, that even when I did find people that I did like, I generally tired of them rather quickly.

This was yet another reason why I knew without a doubt that I had chosen the correct profession. I was a merchant- a traveling merchant- and perhaps the only one in our entire civilization. Most of my people felt no need to leave their habits and homes, which is not completely ridiculous. We were the most civilized of the civilizations, after all. Things were more advanced there, as was to be expected from a society whose hierarchy was based on education and development. We were the first to have running water and underground cooling systems that were fed by the rivers. We had many advanced medicines and had recently developed a new kind of metal. Our road system, which even today stretches to every corner of our long-past province, is enduring, bored deep into the ground and made up of many layers of various kinds of rock to keep them pervious to the rain, strong, stable, and resistant to erosion. We are the only province with a road system of its kind. At the time of this journey, our scientists had even begun working on some kind of synthetic light for after sunset. (Personally, I didn’t like the idea of it, seeing as I am rather fond of the flicker of fire, but I suppose there wasn’t much I could do about it) These are only a few of our inventions and developments.

The three loosely allied city-states to which I traveled all had their own, very distinctive cultures and governments. Their leaders met semi-annually to ensure all things were running smoothly and peacefully between them. They were all separate states who worked in cooperation, almost like a big family. We in the North were most definitely on the outside of the family. I’m not sure how much they liked us, but they needed us and thus tolerated us. Further, our world was small and we were all alone in it. To spend our time fighting would be completely useless. So we thus developed a relatively open borders agreement and trade policies, all of which held more importance to those living in the southern city-states.

They as societies were a bit more primitive and put much less emphasis on education, which explained the lack of development. However I often noticed the ironic fact that with the development of conditions comes the degradation of society, and thus I can not always be presumed upon to hold a lasting opinion as to what is more irking- living with a sweet simplicity but lacking convenience and, sometimes, your basic needs, or living with sophistication and grandeur but unable to form any lasting relationships with people who cared for only the material. When love is bought, it is also easily sold.

As I wiped the sweat from my brow, I wondered if this meant that I didn’t actually have a “distaste for my own species”, but rather that my general loathing came from not actually being able to get a satisfying “taste” anywhere. My thoughts meandered on past, but I decided that this would be worthy of further reflection. Later.

I stopped wondering because a jolting thought came to mind- what if it was too late? I must admit that I’d thrown in my lot. Even if there were people worth knowing, who is to say that I would find them? Now that I had built my life upon solitude and exploration, who could say if I would ever really know? I pondered this grimly as I watched the sun- that ghastly thing- begin to set over the horizon. Soon it would be time to set up camp. As I watched the sun dip lower and felt the scorching heat subside into a blistering broil, I decided that I would have to begin traveling at night. I could be grateful that I wasn’t walking. I looked down and pat Jaleh on her hump. Jaleh means dew, and she refreshes me in this dessert like dew refreshes grass in the mornings. She was quiet and stable and spared my legs the energy of walking, my arms the burden of carrying goods, and my mind the consciousness of being utterly alone. Despite my ramblings, being alone while staring at a land where everything is dead is not the most pleasant of experiences. You start to imagine that you are next.

Soon the moon reigned over the night sky and I stopped for the night, pulling out blankets for my tent and roasting maize and hare over a small fire that I built beneath the multitudes of stars. These were the little things that made days like those tolerable.

Looking out over the land as far as I could see in the darkness, I understood that I was nearly there. By mid-afternoon I would be entering the first province on my journey. Comforted by the fact that the dessert would soon be behind me, I drifted into a light sleep.

The sun is rising in the morning sky and I open my eyes, the scorching heat already stifling despite the early hour. I pack up and saddle Jaleh, who looks bored, and wonder if she is thirsty yet. I am excited for today’s journey because I will be arriving in the largest of the City-States. It was known by most as The Province of the Sea, but was officially named Kaia (which means “Sea” in their language. See, simplicity. It has its benefits) and had a population of around three hundred thousand at the time, if I recall correctly.

The people of Kaia are all extraordinarily beautiful, in my opinion. They have been turned the color of bronze by the sun and all have hair that is black like the night and that flows long and sweeping like the water of a river. However in stark contrast, most of them have eyes that are the hues of the sea- everything from deep blues to light sea-foam greens. They are not small and frail, but tall and thick, with drastic curvatures, high cheekbones and solid jaws. They wore tribal clothing. The men normally wore short, tighter pants of a soft fabric with tunics that reached half-way down their thighs and belts tied at their waist. They were cool and easy for their seafaring jobs, which often required them to get into the water. The women wore thin dresses that skirt the floor as they walk and are made from the same material as the mens’ pants, but from the straps and neckline are fastened strings of beads, pearls, or sea glass that dance as they walk. It’s a striking sight to behold, and I admit that I was taken aback when I first entered their provinces.

Kaia is by far my favorite place to travel to. Although the scenery is simple, it is exquisite. The entire province is built on a rock bed and drops precariously into the sea beyond. The people, utilizing all of their space, built floating decks that anchored to the ocean floor and connected to the mainland, and then again connected with high bridges to the islands, inlets, and rocky cliffs that rest off of the coast. This is what made them the largest city state. In actual land area, they were by far the smallest, but due to their infrastructure and architectural design, they were, remarkably, the largest.

Among the beautiful, kind hearted people of this land, you could always find peace. There was a carefree mentality of freedom and happiness that abounded. They were ruled by a monarchy, but there was never any word of uprisings or trouble because their monarch possessed the same mentality that they did- namely, that of freedom and happiness. They didn’t require taxation but community service (which, I feel, built on their comradery and respect for their environment) and mainly practiced trade in place of commerce. This is fortunate for me. I hate starting from scratch with a new currency and would rather trade my goods, which are exclusive since they have traveled all the way from my land, Roshan, in the far North, because I can get a high “price” for them. Through my trade business I have introduced new fabrics, metals, and medicines to the people here, as well as books. That’s another thing: before I started trading, Roshan was the only province with actual books.

I click my tongue at Jaleh as we approach the city, slowing her down for the deep descent. My eyes rove over the land before I urge her forward, watching the bustling of people and animal-drawn carts through the city below, streaming steadily in every direction through the winding paths along bungalows and markets filled with flowers and small, potted palms, down docks and decks, climbing high upon rocky precipices and rowing boats through the sea’s natural canals. Absolutely wonderful. We have hardly begun our descent and already I feel calmer, the agitation floating away with the bellowing breeze.

Our route down is tricky. It is one of the poorly maintained footpaths that run from the bottom in the city all the way to the top of this plateau. The only reason why they were maintained at all was that they were the peoples’ only way of pulling small carts through the terraces for the harvest time. They planted dozens of crops year-round in the terraces- rice, potatoes, carrots, grapes, strawberries, cabbages, lemons, olives, apples, anything they wanted. This baffled our scientists for years since, when it came to agriculture, soil composition is not a one-size-fits-all kind of thing. However it seems that between the extra minerals from the sea and the fact that they live on a gargantuan rock bed and have to take their soil mainly from different areas surrounding them to fill the terraces instead of using their own, local dirt, the soil is extremely fertile. Besides, I noticed that the people in Kaia focused on three things- family, the sea, and the land. They were acutely attuned to their crops and learned how to grow healthy, robust harvests with trial and error.

I enter the city and people call out greetings to me. “La Maikai!” is shouted from all around, and I can hardly respond to them all. Many people have become familiar with me, even if I am not completely familiar with them. My coming means exciting new goods and stories around the village fire. The largest market in the city is along the water’s edge, and so I descend further into the city until I see the tops of the tents and precarious wooden shelters.

“Aisatsana! La Maikai! La Maikai Aisatsana!”

I immediately recognize the voice. “Kayl! La Maikai! La Maikai Kayl!” His name means “man who is free”, and free he most certainly is. He is an old, tall, stout man whose black hair was now streaked with gray and was always braided before being wound into a bun on the top of the back of his head. He gave everything freely- kindness, enthusiasm and, if he really liked you, sage advice. When he was in an especially good mood, he would sometimes even give food freely. This was my favorite part. “How are you doing?” I ask him in his language, which would be something along the lines of “Have the winds been kind to your sails?” if you translated the phrase literally into Roshai.

“The winds have been strong and favorable,” he tells me. “I like to feel them on my face. I am glad that they have brought you back to me.”

I smile. “Could they carry me anywhere else?”

“They can carry you where ever. Your return simply means that they favor me,” he replied, tossing something wrapped in paper to me before I can even dismount Jaleh.

“Is this what I think it is?” I ask him.

“Yes it is,” he answers as I slide down to the ground and cross the short distance between Jaleh and him. I do not hesitate to unwrap my gift. “Only this time, instead of stuffing the dough with chicken, I have stuffed it with smoked pork and a tiny bit of pineapple glaze.”

I take a large bite and close my eyes. “By the heavens above,” I moan as the flavor sinks in. “May the waves kiss you like I do,” I say.

Kayl laughs. “For an inlander you have surely mastered Kaiai,” he says. “You even speak our expressions. I remember when you could say nothing at all. I had to teach you how to purchase things here.” The Kaiai people refer to all foreigners as “inlanders”.

I smile at him, grateful for the compliment. I remembered those days well. “You say that every time I see you.”

“Ah, but it’s true. When will you teach me a few words in Roshai?” He attempts to roll his ‘R’ the way I do, but gets stuck on it for a moment. Our languages are very different.

“Alright, how about a greeting?”

“If it so pleases you.”

I laugh. The expression is a bit ill fitting in the context since I am teaching this man for his own happiness and not my own, but no matter. “For hello, you can say ‘Iyi Sale’, which means something like ‘Good greetings.’ Then to ask how someone is, you can say, ‘Kai hali, sadiqai?’, which is “how are you, my friend?’”

“Iyi Sale,” he repeats. “Kai hali sadiquai?”

“Very good!” I praise. “You can use this with your close friends.”

“Only with my close friends?” he asks, a bit confused. The Kaia people are so kind, to them the thought of close friends and not-so-close friends is a bit jolting, let alone separate greetings.

I think for a moment. “Then you can simply say, ‘Laqad gorme’, which means ‘I have seen you.’”

“Hm,” he says. “It is all very formal.”

I laugh. “We are, in general, a formal people. That’s why I so enjoy my visits to Kaia.”

He smiles again. “Good! So what do you have for me today?” he asks.

“For you I have something special.” I pull from my luggage a pile of folded fabric. It is thin and cool and translucent, and I have brought long cuts of the fabric in five hues- three the color of the sea and two the colors of the sunset. In Roshan, this fabric is cheap even though it is beautiful because it is often too cold to wear it.

Kayl’s eyes widen. “It’s magnificent,” he says. “Ahe and Nalanie will sing when they see this.” His wife, Ahe, was a brilliant dress maker and his daughter, Nalanie, loved wearing her dresses more than anyone should actually love wearing dresses. She was a beautiful girl and held a remarkable resemblance to her mother.

“Good, that is what I had hoped. The fabric is very cool and they will feel the breeze through it.”

“That is fantastic. Thank you!” he exclaims, stashing them away under his table. “I am sorry but you will be getting the shallow end of this trade,” he says. “I only have my usual herbs and spices.”

“That is no worry to me,” I say. “You have the best herbs and spices of anyone.” What he did not know was that his exotic herbs and pungent spices sold for around three to five onparoshai per small bottle. To put this in perspective, five onparoshai was near a day’s wage. I had bought all of his adored material for a sum of five birparoshai, or half of one onparoshai. I almost felt like I was robbing the poor man, but thankfully my conscience was spared by the fact that supply and demand was simply what made the deal possible. He had too many spices and I had too much fabric. It was a logical trade.

“Today I can only spare fifty kapaei,” he says, referring to the little jars. “I’m sorry that I can not give more.”

“Do not worry, Kayl. I will make a good profit.”

“Good,” he says, smiling genuinely at me. “This is good to hear, my friend.”

“I must be on my way,” I tell him. “I want to see the other vendors before their best goods are snatched up.”

“Ok, do not worry. May the winds blow you back to me again,” he calls as I walk away, waving.

“They always do!” I cry back.

“Come tonight for dinner! Ahe will make blue fish!” He dances a little behind his booth. He knows that blue fish is my favorite.

“I will not be late!” I reply, even though no time was decided upon. This was simply the expression. He keeps dancing and I am soon out of sight. I have rounded the corner and come to my next vendor. Three women tend the booth. Alikae is the matriarch of her family, and taught her craft to her daughter and granddaughter after her. Her daughter, Kaiana, sees me first. Then Laia, Kaiana’s daughter, spots me. Alikae has recently lost her vision. I approach their tent, smiling ear to ear.

“La Maikai,” I say.

“There is only one person with a voice so strong,” says Alikae. “My Pearl, Aisatsana.” Her dimmed vision did not hide me from her, and I am glad. “Have the winds been kind to your sails?”

“The winds have been gentle and my journey leisurely,” I say.

“That warms the heart of this old goat,” Alikae says.

“You are much more precious than a goat,” I tell her. “Even a young one.” She cackles, her tanned skin wrinkling and all of her (remaining) teeth showing.

“Aisatsana,” Laia asks. “Will you be attending The Fire tomorrow night?”

Every ten days, the residents of the city gather by community to sing, dance, and tell stories around The Fire. Each time I travel, I plan my departure so as not to miss it. “Yes, I will. And I have a fantastic new story for you,” I tell her.

“Your stories are always the best,” Kaiana says.”

“Thank you! Much like your jewelry.”

“Oh, they are just simple,” Kaiana replies modestly, but she is grinning ear to ear.

“But they have character and history,” I say. Their jewelry was all striking. They are made of large pieces of glossy, painted clay, all formed into various geometric shapes and decorated with beads and sea glass and occasionally pearls before being baked. All of the pieces were then connected by thin, intricately woven wire. They were specialty pieces, usually created and worn for ceremonies and the like. I purchased jewelry from many of the vendors here- mainly simple, elegant pieces for daily use- but these were by far my favorite.

I begin to pull out the goods that I have brought with them in mind. A few leather bound notebooks and colored pens, metals for them to melt and reshape, and five large rocks. Laia is excited when she sees the notebooks, but I can’t help but smile when I see how disappointed Kaiana looks. She is staring at the dull, round rocks. “Well…” She begins, not really sure what to tell me.

“Just wait,” I say. I place one of the rocks on the hard, stone ground and take a mallet and sharp metal wedge from my hand. Holding the wedge in place between the mallet and the rock, I swing the mallet up, bringing it down with tremendous force. The women, even Alikae, all jump. “Look,” I instruct them. The two younger women lean forward. Alikae just waits comfortably where she is, knowing that they will inform her of the developing situation.

“By the reefs and the sea,” Kaiana mutters, drawing her hand to her mouth. “It’s unbelievable.” The rock has cracked open to reveal shards of crystal ranging from a soft pink to a deep purple throughout.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” I say. “I have discovered them recently while exploring the mountains. I knew I would have to bring some for you. They seem to come in many colors. Sometimes they are even a light blue, or white. You never really know what one will be until you open it. I call them ‘Kafiai Hadi- hidden gifts.”

“I’m not sure we can afford your gifts,” Kaiana replies, still staring dumbfoundedly at the geode.

I shrug. “You can have three of them. I will use the two others to trade with other vendors.” Kaiana seems a bit displeased. “Unless you would prefer to be the only ones with the new stones.”

“I’m listening,” She says.

“Well, in that case, we trade with three. But the price of the other two will be a debt. I would like to request twenty pieces of jewelry in a range of styles and sizes using the material from the crystals. Of course, there is no need to use all of it on my twenty pieces.” Kaiana and Laia look at each other and smile.

“This is good,” Kaiana answers. “Consider me in your debt.” She removes two of the rocks from the table and then reevaluates the goods I have brought. “Now what would you like?” We barter on the remaining items and both leave satisfied. I soon go on my way and turn my attention to the other vendors, making many profitable trades. My load coming was light, but the cart already begins to look burdened by the end of the day- and I still had two more provinces to visit. I decide that the next day will be free and think of all of the ways that I can spend it as I lead Jaleh down the familiar path to Kayl’s home. I tie Jaleh to a post outside of his house and unhook her from the cart, which I lock more out of habit than necessity.

“Ahiahi Te!” Kayl calls to me when he sees me enter his bungalow. “Ahiahi Te!” The girls echo. It means “good evening to you”. The place is small and there are two rooms on opposite ends of the house, connected by the living space. On the wall opposite the entrance is where Ahe stands with Nalanie, busily preparing the food. A fire is raging in the stone oven below, and I see a freshly baked loaf of bread on the counter near the fruits and vegetables that she is piling on the plates. My mouth begins to water in anticipation.

“Ahiahi Ve!” I reply. “I thank you kindly for your hospitality. What can I do to help with preparations, my sister?”

Sit patiently,” Ahe instructs. The sailor need not toil when the winds are blowing along his path.”

I smile. “Thank you my sister.”

“It is I that should thank you,” she replies earnestly, turning to face me. “We are eager to begin work with the new materials that you have brought. I’m not even sure if I will want to trade the finished products.”

I laugh. “Certainly Nalanie will not.”

“I never want to trade them!” Nalanie exclaims with a light-hearted laugh. Her black hair falls in tight coils down her back, dancing as she moves around. In fact, she always looks like she is dancing no matter how she moves. This, though, was a characteristic of nearly every one of the people of Kaia. I was not sure if it came from their lightness of spirit or their always walking on the rocking docks that floated joyfully across the waves.

Instead of a table they have a boulder squarely in the middle of the space. Although its bottom side is uneven, its top has been smoothed down into a level surface- hence its name, Pohaku-Pala, meaning flat rock, or Pala for short. Kayl sits beside me in his customary place at the pala- on the side nearest the door. There are no chairs to sit in, and I am grateful for the cushion that I am resting on. It is plush and warm.

I see Ahe pull a tile with the blue fish from the oven and soon the women turn and bring the meal to the Pala. I close my eyes and breath the aroma in. “Ah,” I sigh. “No one cooks like you, Ahe.”

She laughs. “I am happy to cook for such a grateful belly.”

The food tasted even better than it smelled, if that was possible. With full bellies and happy hearts we each went to our perspective beds, extinguishing the torches and letting the waves crashing in the distance lull us to sleep.

The next day I explored Kaia. Not that I hadn’t done so plenty of times before- I most certainly had- but one could never tire of the sights of the city. I laughed with the fishermen, listened to the gossip of the women in the market, and played games and sang with the children in the streets.

“Kaleo o’ Kaia! Te kanoke, hiki ke lohe ia’ai?” The children sing to me. “The voice of Kaia! She sings to you, can you hear her?

“La Maikai te o’ kanoke Kai!” I sing back to them. “Good day, The ocean sings to you!”

“Kaleo o’ Kaia! Te hiki ke lohe ia’ai?” They sing again, skipping along side me. “The voice of Kaia! She sings to you, can you hear her?”

“La Maikai te o’ kanoke keikai!” I reply. “Good day, The children sing to you!” They laugh and run away, but I know they will be back soon with some sort of toy. A ball, perhaps.

As I look up at the clouds, the sun peeks through and I think that it does not seem quite so ghastly today. Feeling rather content, I wander around until I hear the drums and wind instruments start up. I make a mental note to purchase some before I leave out in the morning.

The people all begin heading in the direction of the city center, which they call Kanau, or The Heart, since there beats the rhythm of the city and the people as they dance wildly with the fire dancers, singing and jumping all together as the sun sets. After the moon is full in the heavens, an old man walks the stone path that crosses the circle of fire and stands in the center upon a rock cylinder that reaches high above the licking flames. His name is Wikoli, and he is a lead patriarch in the city. I was told he was a fisherman in his youth, but now he watches the sky to predict the weather and repairs fishing nets on shore. He tells a story of a battle with a large fish, whose mouth was covered in hundreds of long, sharp teeth and whose appetite was ferocious. The children shrieked in suspense, watching anxiously as he related the tale, shadows from the fire dancing across his face. When he finished, everyone pounded their feet in applause and he stepped down, sweating from the heat of the fire.

“Who is next?” He asked, taking his seat with his eldest son.

Suddenly everyone began to chant. “Ai-sat-san-a! Ai-sat-san-a!” I laughed hysterically as I climbed to the top of the podium, hushing the crowd.

“A few weeks ago,” I began, “I stumbled through the cold rain of the mountains, caught in a sudden downpour. The wind howled and my bones ached with frost. I was not sure where to take shelter. My breath was thick in front of me, and I started to grow fearful as the sky began to grow dark. My hope was waning until I found a cave. It was tall and dark within, deep like the ocean. I did not wander far inside for fear I might stumble across a bear or a leopard, who would be all too happy to make me its next meal. In an attempt to warm up, I built a fire. As the cave lit up, I saw that there were paintings all along the walls. They were splendid patterns, crude scenes and figures, and what appeared to be a script.”

All eyes were focused on me. My tale was not as extravagant or suspenseful as the one told by Wikoli, but their attention was mine all the same. “Suddenly I became very afraid,” I continued. The cave was silent and I sat in my solitude and dim flickering light in peace, but I could not shake the feeling that I was not really alone. I considered putting out my fire, but then considered the fact that, if an animal was there, perhaps the fire was my only safeguard. I tried my best to stay awake through the night, but eventually sleep overtook me. When I awoke in the morning I had nearly forgotten where I was. I grabbed my bag and headed down the mountain through the sunshine, happy that the rain had stopped. However,” I said, pausing for dramatic effect. “Before I could reach the bottom, I realized that my necklace was gone. When I went back to check the cave, it was nowhere to be found. As I searched, the same eerie feeling of company washed over me, soaking my soul with fear, and so I left, running down the mountain.” I bowed and they all stomped their feet excitedly as I stepped off of the platform and took a seat next to Laia. I was grateful for the cool breeze that was coming from the sea. The fire had been nearly as hot as the ghastly desert sun… nearly.

“Aisatsana?” she asked me in a whisper as the next story teller took their spot. “Was your story true?”

“Yes,” I said absentmindedly, trying to hear the beginning of the next story.

“Please don’t go back to that cave,” she implores me.

I turn my attention to her, feeling quite serious. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”