Alam had slept behind a shrub near the edge of The Trail. With no food in his stomach, and no fire or blanket for warmth, it was hard to sleep. He finally gave up trying when the barest glow of approaching dawn warmed the horizon. It looked to be the beginning of a cloudless summer day. He felt that the world was yet again mocking him. Late summer was supposed to be a time of enjoying the goodness of the world and forgetting about the privations of The Endless Plains' deep winter; it was a time of feasting, laughter and storytelling; it was a time of raiding and glory. Instead he was cold and hungry with nothing to his name except the clothes he wore and two exceptional weapons.

What do I do when I reach Lasthome?

I have no money and nothing to trade except this axe and bow.

I can't trade the bow. It isn't mine. Unless Tajar dies. If that has happened I guess it's my responsibility to trade it and take the coin I get for it back to his mother.

His ring will also fetch a good price.

If I can get it off his finger.

His thumb rubbed his own wide silver ring that Saphire had given him. It was too dark to see its design, but he well knew its intertwining serpentine pattern by touch.

"What am I thinking?" he said aloud. "Frost would have gotten him to Lasthome on time," he said without conviction. He rubbed his eyes, picked up the weapons and rose stiffly from behind the shrub. He took a deep breath and started down The Trail towards Lasthome. His stomach gurgled a demand to be fed. As he trudged along misery overcame him. He was alone travelling to a strange town where the people would treat him with suspicion or worse; he was banished from one clan and hunted by another; he had not slept or eaten well for days; his arm was still sore and swollen where Gretch's arrow had struck him; his wounds from the hellcat were far from healed; he had given the only chance of his friend's survival into the hands of a woman who herself told him not the trust her; and the woman he loved was betrothed to another man. He closed his eyes and sent a supplication to the Heavens.

Please let Tajar live.

He is a good soul and a loyal friend.

I have no-one else on this earth to turn to. I know it is selfish to pray for him for my own sake, but none the less please let him live. I don't want to be alone.

The morning wore away. Two caravans passed him heading east, covering him in dust. When they informed him that they had left Lasthome early that morning he knew he was getting close. When the sun was at its highest point in the sky the steep roofs of Lasthome came into view. His happiness at reaching the town, with its promise of food, shelter, and company, combined with his hopefulness of seeing Tajar alive, outweighed his concerns of being treated poorly by the people who lived there. He examined himself. Not good. He was dirty, blood-stained and smelly. He ran his fingers through his tangled long hair and tried to rub off the worst of the dirt and dried mud from his clothes and skin. It was a waste of time. Sparkling next to the road was a young river that flowed out of the broad lake that Lasthome was built beside. He walked over to it, braced himself for the cold, and dunked himself, clothes and all, into the frigid water. After scrubbing himself and his clothes he emerged looking a mess, but at least he was a cleaner mess. He drip-dried in the hot sun as he walked the final stretch into the town.

As he entered he collected stares from everyone he passed. He smiled equally broadly at the children running feral on the outskirts of town as he did with the townspeople who stared rudely at him from their doorways. Khalesar had often said that if he was friendly to others they were more likely to be friendly to him.

Lasthome was an alien place, exotic and fascinating. All the buildings were stone, or wood, or both. The steep roofs were thatched with wooden tiles. Windows with wooden shutters were thrown open on all the walls. The tents Alam was used to had no windows at all. Everywhere he looked were squares and triangles - square walls, square doors, square windows, triangular roofs. The homes Alam was used to were based around nice, inviting circles, not the harsh lines before him. At home the tents were even arranged in a wide circle so that everyone was close together for both companionship and protection. Here the town was stretched out on a long line with the straight road running parallel with the lake. The dirt street was heavily rutted from the endless caravan carts that came and went during the summer.

Even the people themselves were unusual to look at. Most had lighter skin than the clanspeople of The Plains. But some had the light tan colouring of the vast empire to the east. The people also dressed strangely. Whereas the clanspeople wore mostly undyed felt and wool as well as treated skins, here there was a riot of colour and styles. Alam drank it in. He met the glance of an older woman who seemed less hostile than most and approached her.

"Good day," he greeted her.

"Good day."

"A woman with white hair rode in here yesterday carrying a friend of mine on a large, stormy grey horse. Did you see where they might have gone?"

"Try the Temple of Trisen," she answered.

"Which one is that?"

"The large building across the road in the middle of town with the blue painted doors."

"Thank you," he bowed politely.

Alam spotted the blue painted doors and walked to them. The temple was constructed of stone and undressed timber. Resting and laughing in front of the temple sat a middle-aged man and woman on a long wooden seat. Alam hungrily noticed the bowls they held in their hands. As he drew closer he noticed that the brown robes they wore looked similar to the robe worn by the Holyman from the valley who had entrusted the box to him. A blue shield on a yellow background was painted above the doorway of the building. It was the same symbol that decorated the armour and boxes that the tribe had taken from the raid.

These two will surely know what to do with the box.

"Good day," the man called out to Alam. He was a heavily built man with thinning dark hair and a round face.

"Good day," Alam returned.

"You are looking for your friend I presume?" the man asked.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"It is no mystery," the man smiled. "Yesterday a wounded clansman dressed like you was brought here. It is unusual to see your people in our town and even rarer to see one alone. Therefore I guessed, upon seeing a second clansman in as many days, that you must be connected. You don't look like brothers so hopefully you are friends."

"Ah!" Alam smiled back. The cheerful tone of the man made hope soar within him. "Very clever. My name is Alam"

"Greetings Alam. I am Iwan," said the round faced man.

"And I am Hannah. Welcome to Lasthome and our little temple. Your friend is in the back."

"How is he?"

"Alive, but very weak. He is not out of danger yet," he said solemnly.

"Come inside so we can show you," said the woman. She was of slight build with a face prematurely wrinkled with smile lines.

"I am sorry to have disturbed your meal," Alam said.

"Don't think on it," she smiled as they led him into the temple.

"Thank you for looking after him," said Alam.

They passed into a moderately sized, unlit room with a smooth stone floor, stone walls, and a wood clad high vaulted ceiling. Two large fireplaces were built into opposite side walls of the room. On either side of the fireplaces blue painted shuttered windows were wide open letting the light and breeze in. A dozen or so simple, but beautifully made, wooden benches were arranged in tidy rows facing a slightly raised dais at the end of the room. The room as a whole gave a feeling of earthiness and solidity.

This is nice.

"Is this what all temples are like?" asked Alam.

Hannah laughed gently. "Definitely not! If they were the world might be a different place. This is a very simple and humble place of worship. In bigger fancier cities there are much bigger and fancier temples. Do I take it that this is your first time inside one?"

"Yes."

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I don't know. Everything is so different here I haven't had time to decide what I think about any of it."

"Take your time in deciding," Iwan said as he opened a door leading into the back of the temple. "It is wise to keep an open mind as long as one can. A closed mind leads to a closed life."

They entered a smaller room. Its furniture - four chairs and a table - were pushed against a wall. The room's fireplace was lit but its small window was open. Sleeping on a rug on the floor in front of the fire was Tajar. He was covered with a thin blanket. Beside his head lay an untouched plate with a small chunk of bread and a small bowl of soup. Alam quietly approached him. His face was pale and wan. His short cropped hair was damp with sweat.

Alam's stomach sank. He looked worse, not better. "How long will he be like this?" Alam asked with fear in his voice.

"We will talk outside," said Iwan. "For now he just needs rest and to know that you've come to see him."

Alam nodded. He placed Tajar's bow above his head; close enough to be seen if he opened his eyes but far enough from the fire to avoid being warped. He gently rested his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Tajar? It's Alam. I'm here." There was no reply. Iwan smiled kindly at him. "Wake up soon my friend," he said softly and followed Iwan back through the temple to the street outside.

"Will he recover soon?" Alam asked.

"We will know in the next day or two. The sickness is deep in him but he is young and strong. There is a chance that he will recover but you should prepare yourself that he might not."

Hannah walked out of the temple doors with a bowl and a chunk of bread. She pressed them into Alam's hands.

"Thank you," he accepted them gratefully.

"What are your plans now?" Iwan asked.

"To find the woman who brought Tajar here. After that I don't have any plans until Tajar is well."

"I am afraid the woman left Lasthome early this morning with a silk caravan."

Alam cursed quietly and closed his eyes in annoyance.

"Is she a close friend?" Hannah asked.

"I'm not sure to be honest. She, Tajar, myself and one other were thrown together under difficult circumstances. I asked her to save Tajar's life by bringing him here and she did. That is worth something. But I had also let her use my horse to get here. I didn't think she would steal her."

"Would you describe your horse to us?" Iwan asked.

"She is a tall, dark grey mare. Why?"

"Because we woke up this morning to find a tall, dark grey mare tethered to the woodshed at the back of the temple." Iwan smiled.

------------------------------

Please consider sharing this story with others. I also really appreciate your votes and comments.

-Y. V. Qualls