Teri McLaren
had once drawn the Circle together and made the Collector able to read the peculiar, veiled script. But there was no one to draw now, and no answering presence in his thoughts to await the words of the Book's spirit. He opened his eyes and read the first words that he saw: "Fear not." Javin breathed in the words with hunger, and they filled his heart to overflowing with joy of a sort he had never experienced. He sought to read on, but the script had reverted to its unreadable form. Javin closed the precious volume and placed it reverently inside his pack, buckling the straps with extra care. Time to find a horse.
From the shadows of the dark alleyway, through a crack in the old wall, a pair of pale eyes followed him to the livery.
The smell of night-blooming jasmine mingled with smoke from the fire, making it into a sort of incense, and wafted out over the desert on a vagrant breeze. The three sisters had all but disappeared in the pale dawn sky. Tired from their all-night walk, Cheyne trudged clumsily across a high dune, bringing a shower of sand down on Og, who had removed his new boots and walked in his old rope sandals. Miraculously, he had not passed out and died, as he had continually promised to do ever since the little party had left the city and its bountiful, untapped supply of raqa behind them many hours ago. But he was leaving a small trail of blood, dark drops in the dry sand, despite the bandages Claria had applied.
Cheyne shifted his pack, now considerably heavier for the food and other supplies they had scrounged before leaving Sumifa. To Cheyne's great chagrin, since there were now three of them to feed, there had not been money enough for even the worst of droms. They would have to go on foot.
"How far to that oasis, Og? It'll be full day very