Smoke and Shadow: The Fireweaver, Book 1

Chapter 11. CITY OF THE STARLING

CHAPTER 11. CITY OF THE STARLING

A dragonfly buzzed past Dimarrah's ear before disappearing into the valley below. The storm and tunnels had set them off a day, but the winds had abated, the dust settling as much as it ever would, still hovering a bit over the landscape like a mist.

They were still a few hour's ride from the main gates of the city, but from their vantage point they could see into Chanette, could see the city center dome shining like a coveted jewel dropped from the heavens. The difference between the city and outerlands couldn't be starker.

She hadn't been back in almost twenty years. Chanette was the oldest of Tapiri's seven city centers, boasting the largest elite class and the finest wares. Merchants came from all over to make their fortunes at Market. 

Brightly colored silks and spices came from the desert dwellers of Nankatu; jewelry, pottery and tools came from the mountain towns of Rehnahd, and cartloads of bottles and barrels arrived from the many floating vineyards and distilleries along the coastline of Jorjuque.

Three walls curved concentrically around Chanette, the innermost wall encasing the opulent city center, home to officials, nobles and elite classes. The other two walls defined the boundaries of the city, like greedy arms holding in its lavish world from the cracked, dusty land around it. 

The outermost wall held in the lower classes, travelers and newcomer merchants. Rent was cheap, background checks questionable, if done at all. Anyone could get a start. It wasn't as well-kept as the inner areas, but it was by far greener and more hospitable than any of the outerlands they'd just traveled through.

Carts and caravans laden with goods circled before the entrance gates, positioned like directions on a compass, all around the outer wall. The travelers who'd arrived earlier made camp on the coveted western side, cooled by the great shadow cast by the wall. 

All were hoping to claim the very best spots the next morning to sell their goods for the week-long Market leading up to the annual Festival. Dimarrah could already smell the livestock, the press of people, the heady dyes of fabrics, the aromas of sweetbreads, pastries and spices. Maybe she imagined it all, but Rhoke had lifted his head too, breathing it in. He shielded his eyes against the setting sun.

"What are you looking for?" she asked.

"A gypsy wagon." He said it with a slight frown, like he wished he had a better answer.

"Gypsy wagon?" Dimarrah smirked. "As in gemstones, potions, and pretty silks?" The last thing she'd expect someone like Rhoke to be looking for.

"More like cheap perfumes and breakable bullshit."

He scanned the field, hazy with dust and campfire smoke. Turned his ear to the wind. 

"There she is," he said finally, pointing. "Little blue wagon." Dimarrah squinted to make out the details. 

The wagon house was painted the kind of blue that the sky is right before dawn, with white cursive letters, slightly worn away, curved along the side. Mona Jay. There were a couple circular windows and flower box tangles of pink blossoms. A set of copper chimes swayed in the breeze over a little platform balcony. Silent to her. The chimes must have been a good half-mile away.

She remembered the heartbeats, back at the house. The creature in the tunnels.

"You can hear those chimes can't you?"

"I can hear that man pissing down by the rocks." He laughed when she looked, then snapped her head back.

Dimarrah wondered what it would be like, seeing things most humans couldn't. Hearing things from a mile away. Hearing thoughts... Hearing heart beats.