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The Quartz Key Chapter Fifty-Six
by Lianne Burwell
January 2003
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Nemir woke with the rising of the sun as he had every days 
for more than a month. The sound of water lapping against 
the side of the boat merged with the creaking of the wood 
of the boat to create a soothing environment. He stood and 
stretched, unmindful of the fact that he was unclothed, 
enjoying the warmth of the sun against his body.  His 
muscles ached pleasantly from the weeks of hard travel, 
leaving him with muscles like whipcord. It felt so good, at 
least for the moment.

Then, fully awake, memories returned, reminding him of 
where he was and where he was going, as well as the reasons 
for it. At that, his smile and his pleasant mood faded 
slightly, and he began to gather his clothing to dress. 
Behind him, he could hear the whickering of the horses, and 
the soft voice of Dansen as he fed them. They would stop 
later in the day to exercise them, but for the moment, the 
most direct route south continued to be the river.

It was a route that they would soon have to abandon, as 
they were quickly approaching the capital. More and more 
tributaries were joining the river, which widened as it 
approached the lake country. Cities were becoming more 
frequent and closer to the river, as the land grew richer, 
meaning that the banks of the river did not need to be 
reserved for agriculture. As well, they had nearly reached 
the cataracts where the river curved east, and away from 
the path south.

And with that growing river population, the danger of 
discovery also grew. Dansen had been urging that they leave 
the river and populated lands for days, but Nemir resisted. 
He had his reasons. However, no matter how impressive those 
reasons were in his mind, when he tried to explain to the 
others, the words did not come. In the end, the other two 
followed his lead on faith, although in the dark time 
before he fell asleep each night, he wondered why they did. 
How could they remain so faithful for so long?

"Breakfast," Markus said from where he guarded the small 
brazier at the front of the boat, keeping it from being 
knocked over by any of the passengers, human or equine. A 
small pan sat on the brazier, its contents sizzling 
pleasantly along with the morning birdsong.

Nemir took the offered piece of roasted meat set on a piece 
of bread bought two days earlier at one of the small 
villages they had passed. The food was simple, but at least 
it was filling.

Food was eaten quickly, then the ropes that kept the boat 
in place along the bank were released. Markus and Nemir 
used long poles to maneuver the boat out to the center of 
the river, while Dansen used the till to steer them. Once 
there, they could raise their sail, and use a combination 
of wind, and pole to set them on their way, fighting the 
current every league of the way. They worked in silence. 
After so long, each knew how the others worked and thought.

The only thing that Markus and Dansen knew nothing of was 
the dreams; Nemir said nothing of them. In truth, he barely 
remembered them on waking himself. All he could say for 
sure was that the dreams left him with a feeling of peace, 
and a surety that what he was doing was right.

The day grew warmer and warmer as the sun rose in the sky. 
With the winter storms long past, the first growing season 
was coming to an end. Then the heat of summer would descend 
on them, baking the land and sending all life for cover 
during the height of the day. Then, once the days grew 
shorter and cooler, the river would flood its banks, and 
the second growing season would begin, ending in the winter 
storms as the year came full cycle once again.

As the sun reached the zenith, Nemir waved to Dansen to 
maneuver the boat over to the western side of the river 
bank.

Once they were anchored in place, the other two men waited 
patiently for Nemir to explain himself. Nemir glanced 
south, and for a moment he thought he saw a flash of light. 
"It is time to leave the river," he finally said.

Dansen sagged for a moment before covering his reaction, 
but Nemir could tell that he was relieved by the news. 
Thankfully he did not say what they all knew; that he had 
been urging Nemir to do so for days.

It took very little time to pack their bags and load them 
on the back of Judas's mare. Other than her, they only had 
a single mount each at that point, having either sold the 
others or lost them to accident.

The only question was what to do with the boat. Rather than 
discuss it, Nemir released the ropes, then pushed the boat 
out into the river again. Once it was within reach of the 
current, it began to drift away, heading back in the 
direction they had come, carried north by the river's flow.

"So, which direction do we go?" Dansen asked, already 
mounted.

"West and south," Nemir said, pointing in the direction he 
intended. "The river curves east, leading to the lake 
country and the capital. If we travel more westerly, we 
will skirt the edge of the heartlands, although I doubt any 
are looking for us this far south of Ajantha."

It was an argument he had made in the past; that this far 
from Ajantha, there would be no one who would recognize 
them, so traveling in secret by night was no longer 
necessary. Dansen always responded that the three of them 
were very distinctive. Markus had dyed his hair dark, but 
that did not alter the fact that his body held more hair 
than just on his head, and it was all the color of red 
gold; as impossible to dye as it was to disguise his 
height.

But Nemir always countered that it was impossible that 
every guard and lord in the kingdom had been warned to 
watch for them. Still as they approached the heart of the 
kingdom, the chances of encountering just such a person 
grew, which is why he had finally chosen to leave the river 
road. As well, the river no longer presented the most 
direct route, and so was not the quickest way to reach 
Judas.

Nemir turned Karsa south and squeezed his thighs to urge 
the stallion into motion. Some days it seemed as though 
they had been traveling for a lifetime, first east, then 
south. So much so that he woundered at times if he would 
ever have a home again. As he lay down to sleep at night, 
tired and aching, he wondered if he would ever come to the 
end of the travels. When he listed the tasks he had set 
himself in his mind, it seemed hopeless. First he wanted to 
rescue his Companion from his captors -- assuming that he 
still lived and was still Judas -- no matter who stood in 
his way. If he had to destroy the entire south to do so, he 
would, and with a smile on his face. Then he intended to 
take the battle to the God-King. No more did he want to 
flee the lands of his birth. He would take back 
*everything* that was his. No more would he be driven too 
and fro by the actions of others.

But no matter how determined he was, deep down, he 
despaired, for both tasks seemed impossible. He might as 
well chose to assail the mountain peaks where the true gods 
lived.

But he intended to try.

>>>~~~<<<

This far south, the arable land on either side of the river 
had spread out further from the river. The desert still 
existed, but it was only a narrow band between the crop 
lands and the savanna. It was along the edge of that strip 
that they traveled, far enough from the croplands to avoid 
the farmers, but not in the savanna where the herdsmen kept 
their flocks. The desert was more rock than sand, making 
travel easy.

Nemir found, more and more as they traveled, that he loved 
the desert. He had not disliked it, back when he had 
traveled with the Guard, but he had not felt this deep 
kinship with it back then. Perhaps it was because during 
his years in the Guard, he had never been alone in the 
desert. Now, he spent hours in contemplative solitude while 
his traveling companions slept and he was on guard.

He wondered if Judas had felt this way. Was this why he had 
been so uncomfortable in the Palace? Did he miss the hiss 
of the wind across the sand, the way that the moonlight 
shimmered like liquid silver?

And did Judas even know about the splendor of the desert in 
day? To Nemir, the air took on a golden hue, and he could 
feel the warmth of the sun, the warmth of the sand, seeping 
into his body, relaxing him when he was tense, invigorating 
him when he was tired. At times, he wanted to just strip 
completely and lie on the sands, letting that warmth seep 
into his bones.

But underneath, driving him on, was the anger. Anger at 
Nahanna. Anger at the Southern clans. Anger at the God-
King. Anger at the world that had robbed him of father and 
home and lover.

That anger burned with the heat of the sun, simmering in 
his mind as he waited for the chance to let it boil over. 
And when it did, even the gods would not be able to help 
whoever stood in his way.

Beneath him, Karsa tossed his head, whickering softly, and 
it seemed to Nemir that the steed was just as ready for war 
as he was. With Markus and Dansen at his side, Karsa as his 
steed, and Judas somewhere before him, he would let nothing 
stand in his way.

These were his thoughts as they made camp for the night, 
and he clung to them desperately as the sun went down and 
the doubts returned. That brief period between the setting 
of the sun and the coming of sleep plagued him.

But once sleep had come, so did the dreams, and the 
confidence he felt while the sun was high in the sky 
returned, for in his dreams, the sun was always shining, 
and a warm voice that made him shiver told him tales of 
blood and fire, promising that when the time came, he would 
triumph.

END CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX