A little city carved from living rock.
What a strange accomplishment, but it was eerily beautiful. Phae was the most grateful for the shade. The canyon floor provided shelter from the sweltering sun. They had wandered the forsaken streets and found no sign of inhabitants. There was nothing left behind, just the skull and bones of the abandoned city. A layer of dust covered everything and Hettie quickly deduced that there were no footprints and scant animal tracks. It truly seemed deserted.
Phae sat down along the edge of a low stone wall and tugged on her boot. A few sparse trees grew in the base of the canyon where an underground stream likely fed the roots. The stream had encroached along the edge of the forgotten city, but there were no trees deeper inside. Some of the walls had supporting buttresses, and each building was honeycombed with chambers and square windows. She pulled off her boot and poured out a fistful of sand from the inside. A scrawny lizard watched her from the base of the wall, its odd eyes examining her to see if she were a threat.
Baylen and Tyrus stood near a broken pillar, deep in conversation. The Cruithne towered over her father, but he seemed to be describing something to him based on the way his hands motioned toward the pillars and buttresses. Prince Aran sat in a meditation stance and Phae watched as Khiara came up to him and timidly offered a drink. He looked up, shook his head curtly, and then went back inside his thoughts. Khiara’s shoulders drooped, just a little, as she departed. It made Phae sad.
Shion wandered up and crouched down next to Phae.
“Are we safe here, Shion?” she asked, peeling off her other boot as well.
He nodded curtly. “There are no signs of life. This place was abandoned long ago.”
“An odd place to build a city.”
“No, not really,” he answered. He pointed to where the trees were, a little lower. “I imagine there was a time that gully was a swollen river. It probably floods here during the rainy season. It would be difficult for an army to march here. It’s very defensible. The rocks we crossed were like a maze.”
“Without Annon, we would never have found it.” The pain in her heel made her wince. Gingerly, she rolled down her thick sock and then carefully peeled it away from her heel. The blister had doubled in size since she’d last checked but it had not ruptured yet. The skin was squishy and pale. She groaned.
“I have some salve from Khiara,” Shion said, fishing through his pockets. “I noticed you limping and thought this would help. But we should puncture the blisters first. Do you still have that needle in your pack?”
She recalled it instantly, remembering the last time she had used it to stitch his shirt. Her pack was next to her against the wall and she rummaged through it until she found the needle. “Here it is.”
“Give it to me.”
She looked him in the eye. “I can do this, Shion. I’ve had blisters before. It’s amazing you know what they are, since you obviously don’t get them.”
“What scars I have I will always keep,” he replied, dragging the edge of his finger along the curve of his cheek. “Yours will heal.”
He stared at her, his expression showing that he wanted to help tend to her, but he would not force it on her. She hesitated, seeing the polite entreaty in his eyes, and then offered the needle and he accepted it. Cradling her foot in his lap, he studied the size of the blister, running his finger around the dirty skin. He shook his head and removed his water flask and unstopped it. He carefully washed away the dirt. The feeling of the water on her skin was pleasurable and she found a memory floating into her mind.
One of her favorite things about living at the Winemiller vineyard had been crushing the grapes in the giant vats. There was no experience like it in the world. The grapes were soft and squishy beneath her feet, the cloying smell from the juices filling her nose. For several days after the harvest they crushed the grapes to make wine, and she had always found joy in the process, the useful act of tending the vines, culling the grapes, and then transforming it into a drink that could be stored for years to come. Having sticky, stained feet was a memory she would miss.
He pricked the edge of the blister with the needle and it brought her back to the dust-choked land of Boeotia. She hadn’t realized she’d dozed off. Shion carefully pressed, draining the fluid from the blister, and then covered the clean skin with salve to protect it.
“You had a peaceful look on your face,” Shion said, helping tug off her other sock to examine her other foot.
“A memory from back home,” she answered. “I would ask you, but I don’t think you’d remember it if you did.”
“Ask anyway.”