"The other boys welcomed Fordus on the hunt; after all, he was the chief's adopted son, fleetest of foot and stronger than any. His was the axe that felled boar and leopard, goblin and giant scorpion. But in the Telling Time, when the hunt was relived around fire and tent, when the smallest deed stag shy;gered beneath the largest boasts, he spoke not at all. Stormlight spoke for him, telling his stories to the listening tribe.
"Fordus they called him on his naming night- when he took on his name and passed from boy shy;hood. Fordus. The old Kharolian word for the desert storm, the high wind racing out of nowhere and the blinding deluge of rain. The force that fills the arroyos, that drowns the entire world in its hour."
"What about before the naming?" Tamex asked, leaning toward the girl intently, almost hungrily.
"Before?" It was as though the idea was alien to her.
"Nothing of … opals, then?" he asked.
"Opals?" Larken frowned. "Nothing more than the tore found beside him as a child-the necklace that grew in size as Fordus grew to maturity."
"How intriguing," Tamex observed, lightly, almost casually. "What else do you know of this … tore?"
Larken knew nothing. And something within her told her it was dangerous to guess.
"I know what I am telling you," she said, her eyes fixed on the dark interloper. "Nothing more."
Tamex's eyes fell suddenly flat and cold.
"Tell me of the prophecy, then," he whispered. "Tell me."
Larken shifted, wiped her hands on the front of her tunic as she met the dark man's odd stare. Had one eye blinked more slowly than the other?
"At fifteen," she continued, "Fordus was faster than the tribal outrunners, faster than the leopards and able to pace the gazelle at the desert's edge. Nor would he use that speed in cowardice or caution; he was brave to the borders of recklessness, and yet he calmed and sustained the boys who followed him.
"Then the rains failed, for the first time after the death of the old Water Prophet.
"And the chieftain called council.
"The Namers had searched the sky for months. They tried the old methods of insight and augury- what the old Prophet had done to serve the tribe for fifty years. They augured by star, by stone, by the twining moons, but no rain was promised and no
rain came.
"It was a dark time, they tell me, and soon augury passed into grumbling, and grumbling into the silence of growing despair. Then Kestrel called them all together-boy and man, warrior and outrunner, and sentry and firekeeper.
"He told them he was sending them for water."
Larken paused, tilted her head as though she lis shy;tened to the air.
"The desert abounds with hidden springs," she said. "Sometimes there are oases, unexpected or suddenly, mysteriously newborn from the desert's lack and dry-ness. Sometimes there are springs under rocks, a thin brown trickle in a muddy arroyo. But without a Prophet, the chances of finding water are thin.
"When the chief ordered the water search, he ordered it in desperation. And after a week, even the oldest and wisest of the Namers had given up.
"Racer pressed to be named the tribe's Water Prophet; the title was his by right arid age. He pleaded for the ceremony-the vow to be said before his blood kin, acknowledged on sacred ground, and beneath the shining north star. Then he would fast, and meditate, and perhaps find water, perhaps not. It was a hard and thankless task, water prophecy, and yet Old Racer desired it with all his might. But while Racer sued and cajoled and threatened, the water-skins dried and the youngest children took on the parched, haunted eyes of the drought-stricken.
"At fifteen, for the first time, Fordus spoke for himself at the Telling.
"In the midst of the boasts and dreary bravado he stood, as the firelight mocked the false cheer of the thirsty men around him. He stood, and at his stand shy;ing, the camp fell silent.
"With the kala, Kestrel pointed to his adopted son.
All eyes turned to the lean, muscular youth, who stood resolutely, confidently, flanked by his friends Stormlight the elf and Northstar, almost still a child.
" 'What do I care of your little hunts,' Fordus asked, 'of your spears and your bola, your journey of leagues and nights?'
"He took the old language of the hunter's boast and returned it to them, scalding and unforgiving.
"Racer spat, and his company of Namers nodded their beaded locks in support.
"A murmur rushed through the assembled hunters, but Fordus only smiled. 'Save your water, Racer,' he cautioned. 'With your prophecies, you will need it. Boast and brood and despair of water. As for me, I shall find the water we need.'
"Then Fordus turned and stalked from the camp, with two of his friends at his side. The older men talked of it all night, but by morning they had forgot shy;ten, departing on their own search for the legendary god-given spot from which the water would rise.
"Meanwhile, the three young men hunted on their own."
"A rebel even then," Tamex observed, his voice cold and insinuating.
"But a rebel then for the good of all," Larken replied. She reddened and avoided the dark man's stare.
"Then? And not now?" This Tamex was no fool. He had heard the wound in her voice, the regret and resentment.
"Judge for yourself," Larken answered blandly, and resumed the story.
"The lads combed the desert within sight of the camp, keeping the low fires of the Que-Nara con shy;stantly to their left as they circled the settlement. Fordus loped ahead of them, not even winded, as I have seen him do many times since in the vanguard of armies. And I am sure he paid no more attention to his two companions than to the missing red moon or the slow clouds straddling the western sky.
"When he reached the rise," she continued, ab shy;sently stroking the glowing drumhead, "Fordus stopped and leaned against a smooth, upright stone. Stormlight and Northstar were a step behind him, as always.
"Overhead the white moon sailed serenely out of the clouds, and suddenly the entire desert stretched before them, desolate and featureless as the face of that moon. Salt crystals dotted the arid landscape, catching the moonlight like blades, like slivers of glass.
"Salt and stone, but no water.
"This was south of here, in old country indeed. The ground they stood on once formed the north shy;ernmost borders of Silvanesti, back in the Age of Light. 'Twas woodland until the Second Dragon War, when Lady Chaos laid waste to the Elflands. Now it is rubble and salt, salt and rubble."
Tamex said nothing. The two of them sat in silence, there in the bed of the dried-up river.
"Elf country," Larken continued, her thoughts haunted by the prospect of such devastation. "Druid's country. And then .. ."
Tamex stirred restlessly. "I know. I know. The Dragon Wars. But what of Fordus?"
"Fordus? Oh, yes. That was the night he found the kanaji."
"Kanaji?"
"A druidic oracle pit. I first saw them near Silvan-ost, on the banks of the Thon-Thalas. Wide declivities, covered with netting and leaves. The druids descend into them to meditate, to … find enlightenment."
"How? How do they work, these …"