Low stucco houses glowed golden in the late afternoon light as the man's cart drew up to a stop. Kit popped up, suddenly alert, and Alia was momentarily distracted wishing that she could recover from a nap so easily. The Hero ran a hand through his scruffy hair, which was bright in the sunlight, and only managed to make it messier.
After some polite words to the driver, Kit took off toward the center of Eastgate. Alia was staring around with interested eyes, and he grabbed her elbow to guide her along. For a moment, she let herself be dragged, until a stare from a passing matron made her realize how bizarre it probably looked. Since her guide didn't seem to be letting go of her elbow, the only other option was to move up close to him, as though they were a courting couple out for a stroll. She did so, but reluctantly, and still her eyes roamed over their surroundings.
Eastgate was smaller, and plainer, and lower to the ground than Beldara main—but it was also a new place, and Alia had never traveled. Her blue-gray gaze took in the paving stones on the main street—which were a different color than the Beldaran ones—and the stucco walls of the houses. The trees had grown fewer and fewer as they reached the city, which probably explained the lack of wood, but nonetheless it was startling. Just up the main road stood an imposing stone building, hung with decorative flags. It wasn't as large as the Council hall or the Librum by any means, but it still looked impressive, and Alia's heart sped up when she realized what it must be. The guardhouse! Right there stood a little piece of history: the place where Heroes passed through for questioning. Her mind ran through a quick recollection, trying to sort out whom of the Heroes had crossed through those walls. Volbar Keeneye, and of course Gavin Heartstrike and Mirabelle and Caddock and Kit, and Casen the great warrior during the Bandit Raids... A frisson of excitement ran through her at the thought of those long-ago glories, and she longed to see the guards and the place they occupied, but then it hit her—there was no Book any longer. The guards didn't matter any more. In fact, if they couldn't bring back the magic, in a year or two that building would stand empty.
The thought made her feel cold and sick, and so she walked along cooperatively with Kit instead of staring around. They had entered a square ringed with market stalls that had a statue and some benches in the middle, and he sat Alia down on one of the cool stone platforms.
"Stay here," he said. Kit spun around as though to leave, but then turned back to look over his shoulder, silhouetting his crooked nose. "Wait, you need... woman things."
Alia blushed and nodded, and he reached into his pack and dug around before dropping a silver piece into her hand. "Here. This should be enough. Wait here when you're done."
She though of complaining about being treated like a wayward child, but the Hero was already gone by the time she summoned up the courage to speak. She watched him weave his way through the shoppers in the square and start a distant negotiation at a merchant's stall before sighing and standing up herself. Where would one get cloth? At the Librum, they simply had a cupboard in the laundry that every woman knew the location of.
One of the market stalls had visible bolts of cloth, but it was staffed by a portly man, and Alia didn't think she had the bravery to ask for what she needed. She spun in a slow circle, looking over everything on offer at the market, and at last her eyes caught something. There! At a small house off the corner of the main square, an herbalist's flag hung. It was certainly worth a try.
When Alia swung open the door and peered into a dim, spicy smelling room, she saw a boy of about 14 summers standing behind the counter. She stiffened, dismayed at the sight. A man was one thing, but a boy was even worse. Thankfully, though, when he saw her come in, he turned and passed through a door at the back. "Aunt Danna," he called, "someone's here!"
Aunt Danna was a middle-aged woman, stout and kind-looking, and for a moment, Alia was so homesick for her mother that her eyes filled up with tears. She blinked them away quickly and greeted the shop-keeper.
"Hello, miss," the woman said, straightening the leather apron she wore. "You're not from around here, are you?"
Her eyes seemed keen and intelligent, and for a moment Alia panicked. Did this woman know of her banishment? Kit's story to the man with the cart came to mind. "No, Mistress; we came in to go to the market today."
Danna nodded, smiling a little. "And what are you here for then?"
"Um... I was wondering if you had linen squares, for... for moon blood." The last words were nearly a whisper, but the herbalist straightened up immediately.
"Oh, miss, never tell me you came into market with a young man and started your moon time."
Alia nodded, chagrined at the memory.
"Well, dear, you're in luck, because I have plenty of fine linen that will suit you perfectly." She turned and bent down to a cupboard, rustling around in it before pulling out a stack of linen squares. "Here."
"Oh, thank you!" said Alia, feeling incredibly grateful. She held out the coin, but Danna shook her head.
"No charge, miss. And if you have time, I'll brew you a cup of my special blend of tea, too. It helps with the pain and the swelling."
Alia glanced back out the door, but the square wasn't visible at this angle. "I'd better not," she said reluctantly. "He might be waiting for me."
The herbalist's eyes crinkled with good humor and understanding, and she grabbed another square of linen and stepped over to one of the many clay jars lining the walls. Two scoops of herbs went into the fabric, and then she twisted it up deftly. "Here, then. Brew a cup tonight if it still bothers you."
"Thank you, Mistress," Alia said fervently. This small kindness was almost overwhelming after the last two terrifying, uncomfortable days. "Are you sure you won't take it?" She held out the coin again, but still Mistress Danna shook her head.
"I'm sure," she said cheerfully. "Go on now. Find something nicer than this to spend your market money on."
With a nod and a tremulous smile, Alia left the store. The bench was still empty, and Kit didn't seem to be looking around anywhere nearby. She thought of sitting down obediently, but this was a new town and a new place to explore. The bench could wait. A stall stocked with desert pottery drew her in—she'd seen a few pieces before, but never this many. Beautiful geometric designs in earthy colors wrapped around a shallow bowl, and she was leaned in staring at it when a hand landed on her shoulder.
"Alia, there you are," said Kit's voice.
It took her a moment for her to completely pull her attention away from the pottery and stand up.
"Oh, come on," Kit said. "You haven't got any money, or any place to carry it for that matter. And we're going to the desert. I'm sure there will be plenty of others."
She flushed at his irritated tone. "I know," she said as they walked away. "I was only looking." It wasn't as though she'd actually thought of buying it.
When they reached the edge of the square, he sat down his parcels, and Alia overcame her irritation enough to really see what he had. There was another leather pack, rough and used-looking, and two rolls of shiny looking woven cloth. Kit clipped on to each of the packs—his and the new one, which Alia realized was hers—before tucking a few wrapped parcels and pouches into it. Lastly, he handed her a tarnished, stained-looking leather canteen. "Go fill this," he said, gesturing to a well over at the corner of the square.
Alia did as she was told, trying to think of how nice it was to have water with them rather than who might have previously owned the canteen.
With everything loaded up, Kit helped swing the pack up on Alia's back. It wasn't as heavy as she'd worried, and she felt proud to be helping with the load. Surely now the Hero would be more welcoming to her presence. But still, as they walked through Eastgate, they passed a tavern, and Kit stared longingly at the open door. Sounds of laughter and singing drifted out, and Alia felt incredibly boring. It was pretty obvious that the Hero would rather be doing anything else.
Still, a hill loomed in the distance, and over that lay the gates and the border. She was scared and excited all at once. Leaving meant she might never return—but it also meant adventure with a Hero of the Book. Well, two, as soon as Caddock caught up. Today was the second day, which meant the larger man would join them on the morrow. Alia felt her heart lift at the thought of friendlier, more talkative company.
She struggled to keep her breath walking up the hill. Carrying a pack, even one that felt comfortable, made things harder than she'd expected. Even over the crest, she couldn't get her breathing back, because there were the gates. They were tall and surprisingly beautiful, with dark wrought metal wrapped around tall planks of wood. Tradition dictated they close at sundown, to guarantee that the guards could hear the tales of any traveler, and she was glad they'd made it while the gates were still open. The thought of them closing was unsettling—even if the low wall that ran off each side seemed mostly symbolic.
One might have expected the moment of crossing to be momentous, but it wasn't. Alia and Kit merely kept walking, through the gates and then out across their shadow, and Kit nodded to a pair of bored looking guards who sat there playing some game.
And then they were through. That was it. Alia had left Beldara, and they weren't letting her go back in. She swallowed a lump in her throat and kept looking forward. Adventure awaited.
At first, not-Beldara didn't look any different than Beldara had. The foothills came closer together and taller now, but their grassy slopes and the oaks and pines scattered across them seemed the same. But the grass grew sparser and the trees grew fewer and fewer until the landscape seemed to be mostly gray stones and greyish-green shrubs and a few twisted cypress trees.
They were at the base of one of the hills when Kit called time to make camp. Although it was shadowed and darker there between the mounds of sandy dirt and stone, the sun hadn't yet set, and Alia wondered why they didn't push on.
She didn't ask, though, instead helping to gather some dry brush limbs for a fire. When that was lit and sparking merrily, Kit showed her how to lay out her bed roll. That was when it hit. "We're sleeping outside?"
He snorted. "Yes, and you ought to get used to it. It's not often that we'll luck into finding a cozy hay barn right along our path."
Alia didn't say anything more about it, but her trepidation was growing with every handspan the sun dropped. At least with the fire, there'd be some light, but what about wild animals? Still, to speak her concern would be to remind Kit of how unsuited she was for this journey, so she kept stubbornly quiet.
At last, with camp set out and a leather pouch of dried beans and water from a nearby spring hanging above the fire, Kit sat down and motioned for her to do the same. Alia was desperately trying to think of a conversation topic and watching the Hero rummage around in his pack, when at last he pulled out a small square wrapped in fabric and said, "Ah, there it is!"
He reached around the fire and handed her the small package. It felt heavy for its size.
"What is it?"
"You tell me."
She tugged back the cream-colored cloth to reveal a small rectangle of metal. Words were carved into it in a small hand, and she squinted trying to read them. "It's some sort of plaque, inscribed in—Old Bela'lira?"
"The magic language?" Kit sounded doubtful. "It doesn't look like any of the sigils I've seen."
"No, no, that's the Old Tongue. This is just an ancient version of what we speak now. They called it Bela'lira because that was the name of the old empire. Some of the words are even the same."
"So you can read it?"
The last of the light was fading quickly, and she peered tightly down at the placard. "Probably, but it would take a while. Where did you get this? What is it?"
"Found it in the Book."
"What?" She almost dropped the piece of metal. "In the Book-Book? Gods, where?" How had centuries of study failed to note a chunk of metal the size of her hand? Or—wait, that didn't make sense. Someone must have put it there just before things began to disintegrate. Alia stared at the innocent placard in horror. Was this the device that had ruined the Book?
Kit was looking at her seriously, but he had a carefree air that grated on her nerves. "When it was falling all to pieces, the cover was holding together all right. But then I touched the back bit, and it aged like all the rest. Shrank down, cracked, grew discolored—and I felt something in there. So I pulled up the stitching"-at that, Alia winced, but he ignored her—"which wasn't hard, as it was rotting away, and found that."
Alia set the metal square carefully on her skirt, afraid to touch it. "Do you think it's been in there the whole time, and just showed when the protection spells wore off and 800 years of aging caught up to the Book?"
The Hero shrugged. "Isn't that your area of expertise?"
She considered it for a moment. "Well, either that's what happened, or someone crept in and sewed it in after the Book's protection had already been weakened. Wait. No, that wouldn't have worked, because their thread would have stayed new. It has to have been there the whole time."
Silence reigned briefly, punctuated only by the crackling of their small, smoky fire.
"Wait. You've had this for three days and you didn't tell me? Didn't tell anyone at the Librum?!" Alia's voice rose in pitch as she spoke, and angry tears prickled at the back of her eyes. If they'd had this, would she still be exiled?
Across the fire, Kit leaned back, as though he was trying to inch away from her anger. "Well you weren't exactly in great shape to use your fancy academic training. I didn't know they were going to pull you before the Council, remember? I thought we'd have a chance to work on it."
The urgency with which they'd had to depart wasn't something Alia wanted to think about. She picked the artifact up again and studied it in the firelight to hide her frustration. A few familiar words jumped out at her: "Book", "bindinge", "alphabete." With a few minor spelling variations, those remained the same today, even if the meaning was slightly different. She tried to remember what she'd been studying with Master Beldara. The entirely obsolete words were going to be the hardest—she usually just had her teacher define them, and promptly forgot the meaning. Now the context of the words around them was going to have to be enough. Gods, she wished she could have taken the class for this.
"Hif thaes placquart been sene, thanne nou kennestow the Book sorcerie bieth breken asonder and an scribemaige most bitymes craften oon aneue. The proces sely is in wordes, bot difficult is in werking. The scribemaige shalt chesen somme seignes for to formen a tonge. No meninge shalt nowt been joined with hem bifore-time, bi cause of hou hire meninge passed koud enterfiren with the bindinge. Thanne maist hir clepen forth the essencie hof the meninge for that to binden, both the essencie erthely and eke the essencie of the wittes, and thanne shalt sche combinen meninge with writen signe for to formen an alphabete of sigilles. Thaes neue methed ne doth neden no reneue and ne shalt noon accidens of usse resulten, for the sigilles mowe bee kept in possessioun of the trusted trew folk. The forming of eche sigil shalt cause mucche fatigacioun, and eke eche meninge mowe aneliche binden with oon signe onli. Ne most nat noon othre scribemaigen sorcerie nevere touche these sigils or hire sorceries. Eke, for fere of hir lyf, the scribemaige most nevere trie for to binde a sigil onne hir oun selfe. Longue Live Beldara, the Fre Kingedom."
She strained at the words, hoping they would suddenly coalesce into something that made sense, but the meaning fluttered just out of her reach, like a pesky moth that she couldn't get out of her chamber. That closing line was especially interesting, for it seemed to call back to the foundation myth of Beldara, where the unnamed gods had freed the people from a mighty and cruel empire and given them the Book's magic to protect themselves. It also dated the piece—no one called Beldara 'the free kingdom' anymore. It wasn't that the Beldaran people were unfree, but any authoritarian empires had long since disintegrated, and the neighboring lands had the same freedoms as they did.
"Well?" Kit's tense, eager question drew Alia back up from her immersive study, and she felt as though she'd been asleep. Suddenly, she was aware again of the crackling fire, and the growing chill of the night air, and the fact that dusk had faded almost entirely to darkness. Her neck was stiff from hunching over when she shook her head.
"I'm not sure. It's something about the Book and the sigils. I think it might be a narrative of how the magic was given, but it doesn't read the same as other versions of that tale. It's old, though."
"How do you know?"
"Well, the language, for starters, but the writer also called Beldara "the free kingdom." That phrase fell out of use before the language even began to change."
"Do you think it's the same age as the Book?"
Alia considered that for a moment. If it was, the implications would be huge—it could indicate that a living human had truly seen the delivery of the Book from the unnamed gods. Or, she supposed, it could also be argued as a sign that a human man had authored the text. Still, there was no way to be certain. "It would be impossible to tell, exactly. I don't know Old Bela'lira well enough to date it, but this is definitely old. Even if we knew that it was approximately the same age, though, language doesn't change enough in 5 or even 50 years for us to be sure."
Kit seemed unhappy with this answer, tossing small sticks into the fire. "So do you think if we can translate it we might be able to fix the Book?"
She sighed. It seemed like a long shot, but she didn't want to say that. "It's possible, I suppose. We won't know until I can spend a lot more time on this." She rubbed at her eyelids, vision tired from trying to read the tiny script in the flickering firelight.
Without many more words, they ate and made their way into their bedrolls. Alia was so distracted by puzzling over the artifact, which she had tucked carefully under the bunched up cloak she was using for a pillow, that she forgot to worry about the dark or any animals. Although she didn't particularly notice, she fell asleep happier than she had been in days. It suited her to study ancient things.
If you're feeling bored, my dears, Old Bela'lira is actually just Middle English. It's just a very archaic form of the same exact language we speak, and it's pretty darn phonetic. I'll tell you, there are only three words in that passage that don't exist in Modern English, so if you read it out loud and try some creative pronunciations, you just might be able to figure out what it says. So go knock yourselves out ;)