Mythshaper

Chapter 22: Leecher Vine

It was a rare, perfect day of summer. The temperature was mild, the sky an abstract of more white than blue, and the absence of dust storms made it ideal for an outing in the wild.

A few stray clouds swirled gently as morning sunlight filtered through the atmosphere. The warm weather allowed us to enjoy the day without putting on traditional heavy clothing, though we wore the best hiking gear we had on hand.

I wore a simple tunic with a sleeveless leather vest over it, complemented by thick leather trousers. My hiking boots were slightly big for my feet. Mother assured me that they would be a perfect fit by the autumn. Given how fast I was growing, I could only agree.

A similar outfit draped over Eran, though his was sleeveless, sporting a straw hat to shield himself from the sun. My friend didn’t forget to bring along his oversized bow and a quiver full of arrows. His father finally allowed him to carry those, though only after learning my parents were coming along on this trip. Other than him, only Father brought any weapon. He leaves for nowhere without his trusty longsword.

Mum was in her usual full-sleeved robe, her hair bound in a bun atop her head, as she led the group through the rocky terrain. Her nonchalant poise suggested she was used to trudging through the mountain paths many a time.

The first time I had come to the mountains was with my mum and aunts. We had a great time hiking all day and hunting small game for a feast. Aunt Emi shared stories of their youth and adventures, mostly involving how unruly Mum had been in her younger days. Mum had, obviously, denied it all with a straight face.

Eran, however, had visited more often, usually with his da, either hunting or collecting herbs and other items. The forests here were rich with hardwood trees. Even a single one that had stood a decade against the storms was a small fortune, though carrying one back to the valley was more trouble than it was worth for most folks.

During spring, the forest was more lush with vibrant greenery, but with the autumn around the corner, the wild forests would soon turn dull under the ashen storms. These dust storms swept through the land like a plague. Though they didn’t kill the hardwood trees, they made their leaves seem dead. And that was after the peaks obstructed the storms’ path.

I could not imagine how the people of Thera endured it. Well, in their communal ziggurat forts, I’d presume, but life must be so different for those people, shut within the walls for more than half the year, unable to see much of the sun.

“You know the peaks were a place of pilgrimage once,” Mum said, glancing over the cliff. She chose the left path and led us down.

“Because of the sacrarium?” I asked.