Ule woke to a brilliant sun just past zenith. Groggy and thirsty, she batted fine sand dust from her face. Beneath the shade of a tent, she found herself covered with a soft red cotton blanket, and she assumed the nomads had tucked her away for the night.

Sandalwood incense burned in a clay cup near her feet. Beneath her, a wicker mat creaked when she moved. Nearby something spattered, crackled, and stank like fish cooking. A blankness cut through the powerful odour. Inhaling deeply, moisture in the air soothed her nostrils, which meant water was nearby.

Vaguely remembering she had dreamed, she breathed heavily, waiting for the images to flash in her mind. The dreams remained murky and dark, yet she had the strangest sensation that someone had been looking for her. Now, the thought felt more like a wish.

Rising from the mat, she stretched and saw a half-full barrel of water. This time she drank slowly.

Dozens of nomads milled about the campsite, which had settled onto grassland surrounding a wood of tall trees. Curious, she thought as she walked about the encampment, limping slightly when her left heel touched the ground.

The caravan consisted of only women, both young and old. When she asked where they had come from, they answered with an assortment of names referencing many different places in the world. Some of the names were familiar; others sounded distorted yet reminded her of towns and cities from long ago, when the world was very young.

“Are there any men here?” She directed her question toward a round woman with dark hair and a cherry mark on her cheek, who reminded her of the boy she had met the day before.

The woman swore. Spit shot from her mouth with precision. Ule barely leaped out of the way before it marked the spot where she had been standing. Remembering the old man’s warnings about the nomads being unkind, she wondered if he really meant they were unkind to men.

The woman with the cherry-marked cheek lectured her about how they need not answer to men. Eventually she hugged Ule fiercely in a reassuring embrace, told her she had come to the right place to learn about the way of Bes. Among them, she would be free from the shackles of men and love again.

Ule cringed. There was that word again—love. She turned away from the woman.

Wandering among the tents, she chatted with the nomads and learned the caravan never stayed in one place too long. They replenished water supplies from the oasis within the wood, visited Sondshor Market to buy food, and obtained monies by stealing coin pouches from desert travellers and from trading odd items discovered buried in the sand, like small caskets and books written in strange old languages.

The day unfolded in a series of conversations, Ule talking to nearly everyone she met. As the sky darkened, night urged the women to speak in whispers to avoid attracting nocturnal predators. All the women, young and old, gathered in a clearing lit by torches and a small bonfire.

Burning branches snapped and crackled in a stone-rimmed fire pit. Nearby, the soft whoosh of tents fluttered in a steady breeze. Around the bonfire, just within the edge of the firelight, women sat in twos and threes. Cross-legged or with legs tucked to one side, they settled onto folded blankets or pillow-seats set before wide wooden benches, which stood no more than a foot above the trampled grass.

The benches filled up quickly with bread loaves and bowls of various foods. The women tore into the food, dunking chunks of dark bread into tiny bowls of yellow sauce.

Ule’s stomach growled. Eager to eat, she sat on the ground next to two young girls. They shook their heads and pointed toward an empty round pillow-seat several benches away, and Ule rose again, stumbling on.

“Come, young bes ,” a silky voice called to her.

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The Forgotten Gemstone, Book One in A Xiinisi Trilogy

© Kit Daven & Eager Eye Books, 2013.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any matter whatsoever  without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review or critical article.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, situations, and references portrayed in this story either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

Cover art by Sean Chappell, RedFracture .com.