“The map’s last symbol, House of Stars, there is no precise way to locate it—no landmarks aside from the cliffs and the trail. We know the cliffs’ location, but—”
“The cliffs are as big as the Shambles, it is the road we need.” Sarra had not meant to cut him short, but the revelation was unsettling. This was quickly becoming a pointless endeavor. She could not be caught wandering through the scrub when Barca swept the territory, or worse yet the San. If she were captured, the Mother Priestess of Desouk would fetch a considerable ransom, but Noll would likely be killed. If Ott were captured they would gut him on the spot. The outlanders feared the deformed and would likely think him cursed. She had no desire to leave, but Sarra knew she had little choice if she wanted her priests’ heads to remain intact.
“They are close,” a soldier interrupted, calling to them across the plain. “Those calls…” He paused and Sarra heard a faint whistling. “The outlanders approach, we should—”
“Go. I know,” Sarra said. “Time to leave the Shambles.” She glanced once more at the parchment in Ott’s good hand. The map showed a steep ridge, a place called the Harkan Cliff—a rock wall that had, since the kingdom’s birth, protected Harkana from a northern attack. The slopes above were too steep to scale and the lands beyond too rough to traverse. Her husband had once called this place the end of the world—the end of Harkana, at least. According to the map, the last symbol lay at the base of the cliff, but as Ott had noted, there was no clear indication of where the symbol stood along the cliff—no monument or marker, except the Amaran Road. And Sarra had lost the trail.
Even in this desolate place, the Soleri had gone to great pains to conceal their road.
Ott glanced at the map, his face again cluttered by uncertainty.
“Noll, I’m trying to decipher your notes, what is this?”
The boy’s attention was elsewhere, his eyes distant, but his head jerked around when he heard his name. He glanced at the spot Ott had indicated. “The last symbol. I thought it read House of Stones, House of Stars.”
“Yes, you explained,” Ott said.
“I know, but my translation was incomplete. In Desouk, we worked from a charcoal impression. At this spot,” he pointed, “the rubbing was not made with the proper pressure so I could not tell if the marks alongside the inscription were symbols or just cracks in the ceiling. I am now certain the additional marks were symbols. The second set of symbols adds to the meaning of the first, an annotation. The complete phrase reads: House of Stones, House of Stars. Through darkened stone, Mithra’s light will shine.”
“It could mean anything, any light, any stone,” said Sarra as she motioned to the soldiers, her hand gesturing to the west, toward the setting sun, indicating the direction of Desouk. Her shoulders sagged. “We are out of time. I was willing to risk lives when we had the trail, but without the road, without a path forward, I cannot proceed.”
Ott scratched his head. “Wars aren’t tidy things, Mother. It could be years before the way is clear, maybe longer—are you certain we should leave?”
“The San approach from the west, the Harkan Cliff stands in our path—what more certainty do you require? We have no options, no way forward, no path to the last marker. At the moment we are fortunate to have an escape route, but if we linger we will lose that as well. A bit of poetry is not sufficient cause for us to proceed. We must go.”
So they went, faster than before, riding hard, unencumbered by the need to search for trails or artifacts. They rode toward Desouk, Sarra’s heart heavy with regret. The Harkans were loud, they drank, happy to be rid of this desolate place, eager to return to the safety of the larger army. War was near and the soldiers knew the Shambles was no place to be stranded when Barca’s riders arrived.
As the caravan prepared for the long ride, Dasche ordered a brief pause to feed the horses. He gathered his men and rode to a crop of dry grass. Sarra led her mount to a low ridge, her horse beating its tail, swatting flies while she studied the cliff.
Stars peeked through the murky sky; the cliffs below were nearly black. Sarra crossed her arms and gazed at the rocky precipice. This was not her first defeat, not the first time she had gone looking for the grain and come back empty-handed. She would continue her search, but the map and its last symbol would remain a mystery, for now.
She turned to go, but Noll’s horse blocked Sarra’s path. The boy pointed to the cliff. Sarra turned and saw it then, shining on the mountain, a confection of light and shadow. Through darkened stone, Mithra’s light will shine. She had mistaken the lights, at first, for low-hanging stars, but quickly realized that the flickering did not come from the stars above but from below the horizon—like a reflection cast upon the cliff. The amber lights pulsed like coals stoked within a fire, shimmering for a hot moment before vanishing.
This was it. Sarra ordered the men to ride. Their grumbles were loud, louder than before. The soldiers looked to Dasche for direction and the man wavered. He stared at the cliff, then his eyes darted toward the setting sun, toward Harkana. Sensing the men’s hesitation, Sarra swatted her mount and rode out. Ott and Noll followed, but no one else. No matter. She was so close now, so close to discovering the last symbol. She rode hard and though the glow faded, she kept her eyes fixed upon the cliff, her gaze never wavering. It was not long before she heard the knock of heavy hooves, one horse, then another, as the Harkans followed.
As they drew closer to the cliff, she saw the flickering lights resolve into a curious arrangement of niches in the stone: a ladder carved into the cliff face. She ordered Dasche to climb and he did so, his footman Taig following, the others waiting at the base of the cliff, protecting the horses.
“There’s a passage,” Dasche shouted when he reached the ledge.