Approaching Yonte Saire, the Jungle City—Kingdom of the Yontai
Ilapara leads the way east along the World’s Vein as they race toward the Jungle City.
Her buck has grown so confident in his newfound power it’s almost a chore to restrain him from going too fast, but the thrill of edging him to the limits of her strength has become addictive to her, so much so that she doesn’t mind the gradual burn she’s developed in her thighs and in her arms and in her—by Ama, her entire body is sore. Whenever this journey ends, she’ll collapse into a heap of bones and sleep for a week, bed or no bed.
The traffic begins to thicken as they race toward the city. The World’s Vein becomes somewhat wider and paved with red bricks. Even so, they are forced to slow down due to the sheer volume of riders, beast-drawn carriages, and clunky spirit-powered carts clogging the road.
Ilapara has never been to the Yontai before, but something tells her that this kind of traffic isn’t the norm. Not even for the Vein.
Bamboo villages on either side of the road, some empty, others bustling with activity; no discernable reason for this difference. Men and women walking along the edges of the road, many balancing heavy loads on their heads, babies slung on their backs, young children trailing behind—entire families, perhaps. Why the mass movement? And yet farmers in straw hats look on from their fields, so not everyone is on the move, but they’re watching because this kind of movement isn’t normal, else they’d be beating back the encroaching jungles with their machetes like they’re supposed to be.
Ilapara can’t pinpoint exactly what it is about this picture that’s not sitting quite well with her. She feels the itch to stop one of these people and ask what they are running from, but she knows that asking the wrong questions—more precisely, being seen asking the wrong questions—can get a person killed. So she decides to keep her eyes open for now and ask questions later.
She rides abreast of Salo the whole time, while Tuk trails behind with the Asazi riding pillion on his abada. Salo doesn’t notice her stealing glances at him now and then because he’s locked inside his own head, more so than usual, at least. The little crease on his forehead tells her he’s trying to solve a puzzle that both troubles and intrigues him. Makes her wish she could pry open that inscrutable head of his and find out what he’s thinking.
They should have never made it anywhere near the Jungle City given the forces that rose against them. More to the point, those dangers could hardly be the result of Salo stepping in to save a Faraswa thief from execution. Clearly something else about him caught the Dark Sun’s attention, something compelling enough for his lieutenants to pursue him well out of Umadiland.
The thoughts have been sending uneasy shivers down Ilapara’s spine. Who are you, Salo, and why am I here with you?
The city of Yonte Saire comes into view when the World’s Vein rounds a peaked hill and the jungles fall away on one side, becoming a sprawling vista of towering gilded statues, landscaped gardens, and latticed bamboo domes both large and small, some paneled with glass, others with gilded struts and shingles, all of them gleaming like precious stones in the afternoon sunlight.
So much to gape at, and though it all siphons the wind from her humbled lungs, leaving nothing there but breathless awe, Ilapara’s eyes are drawn to the twin waterfalls hung like drapes of fine gossamer on the city’s eastern rock face, so tall they seem to dwarf everything beneath them.
Really it’s one waterfall, but it’s sheared in half at the top by the improbable: a citadel of stone and bamboo perched at the lip of the precipice like a naturally occurring feature of the river—because how could human hands have built such a thing?
What’s more, two thin spires rise from within the citadel to soar high above its walls, and between them hangs a red gemstone of mammoth proportions, so immense she can almost see its gleaming facets even from miles away, and it hangs in thin air, perhaps held in place by its sheer magnificence, or by some other force Ilapara cannot begin to comprehend.
“The Ruby Paragon,” she murmurs. “The Shrouded Pylon, the Red Temple; it’s all real.”
She thought the stories she’d heard about them were lies. Now she knows she was right; they were lies, but only because they didn’t do the truth any justice at all.
She realizes she’s stopped when Salo brings Mukuni to a halt next to Ingacha. He takes in the city with speechless wonder, as if words would only be a travesty of what he truly feels. Then some hidden realization slowly dawns on his face, and he gapes at the distant Paragon like it has enchanted him.
“What is it?” Ilapara asks impatiently.
“Along a scarlet road,” he says in a near whisper, “past a gateway beneath a red star. It shines far beyond your horizons.” He slowly shakes his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out before.”
Moments like these make her wonder if Salo is truly sane. “Figure what out?”
And just like that, the enchanted look turns into a sad smile. “Nothing. Tell me, my friend: Do you believe in fate?”
He says friend, but she isn’t sure that’s what they are.
Why am I here?
“I believe in the consequences of the choices we make,” she says. “I believe in accountability. Why, do you?”
“I don’t know.” He looks toward the Red Temple. “But . . . I think I’ve been brought here, somehow.”
“You’re here because the queen allowed you to awaken and commanded you to walk the Bloodway,” Ilapara says. “A consequence of the choices you both made.”
“But what if she commanded me to walk the Bloodway because I’m meant to be here?”
“Then she acted without choice,” Ilapara says. “She was compelled by forces unseen, like a pebble on a matje board, which means she can’t be held accountable for her actions—in which case no one can. Are you willing to accept that?”
She knows where his mind goes when his face hardens. “I think she still had to make the choice,” he says. “She could have decided not to.”
“Then it’s not fate.”
“No, but maybe something put the choice in her hands.”
“Something like what?”
He smiles like he knows something she doesn’t and nudges Mukuni into motion. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”
Tuk and Alinata finally catch up to them. Ilapara’s disquiet must be evident on her face, because Tuk studies her and says, “All right there, Ilapara?”
Alinata says nothing, but amusement dances in her eyes.
“I’m good.” Ilapara prods her kudu into following Salo.
Why am I here?
Her whole body is still thrumming with the excitement of the battles she fought along the way. Hard for her to admit, but she’s never felt so full of life. This is why she left home. For adventure, and to make her own path and become her own woman.
And yet . . . it rankles to have to depend on someone else. She knows she’s stuck with Salo and Tuksaad and now this Asazi spy. She can’t turn around and go back to Umadiland.
Thinking about the life she left behind floods her with conflicting emotions. On one hand, she’d eked out a life for herself back there, made useful contacts, built up a reputation. Another month, and she might have finally made it onto a caravan. But on the other hand . . .