Legends of Belariath
Sutara
Exorcist of a Memory
Chapter 1; Valencia
The storm clouds that had clung to the rocky peaks of the Valencian mountain side were beginning to roll downwards, tumultuous grey and black, heavy with rain, creating a mist that settled on the lower plains of the vale. Those past few days, it seemed an appropriate blanket, a veil of mystery that clung to this place she had yet been able to explore fully, hiding the secrets that perched within view of the Portals, that flew overhead, that had the Empire in such chaos.
The sound of rocks rolling, clipping the sides of others, echoed sharply in her peripheral hearing, careful steps guiding her form, and that of her horse, down into the lush green field, long strides nearly skipping at the last few feet as her momentum carried them down. Catching herself, she half turned, looking up the hill side they had traversed. The pines, cedars and other evergreens jutted into the grey colored sky, their peaks shrouded in white mist, the moisture in the air weighing their branches and boughs. There was no sign of anyone following her, good, turning back, gripping the bridle of her horse as they continued to a spot that would do.
Sutara had only ever trusted her horse, people it seemed, could not be trusted enough with such a precious gift. There could not be a time, she thought as she worked to pull free the saddle on his back, when her horse had not failed her, but again, people had.
"Well, let us hope you do not fail me. " she murmured, hand rubbing the dappled grey coat of his beautifully arched neck, letting palm smooth across flank and wither, where she grasped and pulled herself up. It took great skill to ride bareback, even greater skill to maneuver in a fight - she couldn't do either, not yet.
Mounting was easy, her horse staying put as she gripped his sides with muscled thighs, leaning forward, pressing marbled cheek to his neck before she leaned back up. The surrounding country was, thankfully, devoid of life, at least it appeared to be, rocking her hips, giving a quick command that sent him canting forward. The first circuit was to get her used to her position, her body jostled as she attempted to find the right posture; leaning forward, pressing him to lengthen his stride. hair loosened from the tight holster at her crown. There were moments when she slipped, as he moved faster, as she repositioned herself for a better grip. There were moments when she could simply exult, legs quivering from the exertion of holding on, but holding on, none the less.
There was the question, why would she come -here-, a place unknown, to practice? Why not simple contain her exercises to Nanthalion, to the palace, to even the forest; it was, rather simple; their eyes did not burn her when she was within the crevice of this valley.
Paranoia was not her strong suite, but it seemed, since that time, was it ten? Was it twenty? The time itself could not be counted, but the memory, painted across her mind, vivid in it's still warped intensity, made her run, like she had been told. Run, until the eyes did not see her, until the burning in her back subsided. She was sick of running, but still, the burning in her back; it crawled like cold fire down her spine, reminding her there was never true escape.
So she worked away the pain, made her flesh numb, the stinging rain, and it did come down, harsh pellets, cooling the air, making skin slick, leaving her hands to slide and lose their grip, falling with a cry or grunt of pain each time she connected with the ground. They were working on letting her move when he galloped, swinging her legs, leaning forward, down and across, jumping hurdles she had made from felled logs, or boulders that seemed positioned in the best way.
The final time, she remained prostrate on the ground, staring up at the skies, crimson orbs piercing those gloom filled clouds, trying to perceive a shadow, a spear, a weapon that she imagined hurled down at her for her failure. When none was forthcoming, her lids closed, letting the mud sink into her clothes, into bone, until there was nothing more than the chill of it as it seeped into organs and soul. Her horse, faithful beast that it was, content to let its breathing wind down, while he grazed, and his Mistress sulked.
She sighed.
When the cold was too much, when it soaked into her skin, she moved, nudged by the breath of her horse as he snorted and stood, a ripple moving down his frame. These higher elevations quickened to the bone, she thought, rousing from her self-reduced sulking to stand. It weighted her down, the familiarity of it as clothe stuck to muscle, as legs lifted, flexing and pressed down once more into wet earth.
"Come friend, I would not have you sick because of me." Sutara murmured, pulling on the reins as she deigned to walk in that muck, water sluicing off her back and hair, pressing it to scalp in a most uncomfortable manner. They moved at a sedate pace, those hills winding at an angle into the valley below, strewn with rock from the cliffs that towered above. In minutes, as though spurred by her lifting mood, the rain stopped... clouds racing past until sun broke through, heating the air once more to a humid temperature. The air sizzled with moisture as it was soaked back up into that sky, and she stretched, pulling wet clothe from skin to try and keep that chafing wetness from her.. though soon it fell back again with a resounding 'plop'.
"I should have brought a change of clothes. " she moaned, following instinct and memory towards the town of Midvale, a light shiver running down her spine despite the growing heat. She'd find food and a place to stable Mercy so he could be rubbed down - to keep illness at bay, before the journey back into Nanthalion and home.
Just a half of a mile, the cedars that surrounded the village seen with those keen eyes, and the jingle of a cart winding on the road made ears flick, and both sets of eyes turn. It was a moment of deejay vu, for her at least, the clank and noise of pots and pans hitting against one another - the prospect of selling wares, the slow trod of hooves and wheels as they bumped and slid against rocks and pits.
The wagon was not so big, enough to hold two people, covered by white, poles sticking at angles where items clustered were hung, making noise each time the vehicle hit a rut or hole. Sutara knew from experience, that those poles could string up laundry as it dried, hang herbs and meat. The inside would be clustered, just closing her eyes, seeing it from that memory long ago. Crates stuffed under the benches that lined both of the sides, bags of clothes, merchandise and more - little room for the occupants who would eat, sleep and live within that conveyance. It was driven by two pair of sturdy draft horses, the driver stooped, hat atop his head.
Mounting her horse, pretending not to notice the mud that clung to boots and form, she pushed Mercy to catch up with the wagon, curious to see what was inside.