The River’s Secret
From his position in the shadows beyond the market’s edge, Syfir watched the Covenant girl pause at the boundary between worlds. Her eyes went to the sunset that painted the western sky crimson shades, while the eastern horizon, over the River Bakki, deepened to an inky blue.
She stood perfectly still. For a heartbeat, Syfir thought she might actually turn toward the river. Toward him.
And then behind her, the temple bells rang in warning. The ribbon in her hair unraveled on its own, the white strip whipping in the wind of the coming storm.
She turned to return home.
She had no idea he was watching.
* * *
His fingers faltered on the strings for a heartbeat, the melody wavering as he fought to steady himself against the sudden tide of feeling.
“You saw her again,” said Chatti, interrupting his thoughts as she approached the fire.
“Yes.” He sat up straighter, setting down his sarangi and gaj, shifting to make room for Chatti, whose hands held two steaming cups.
“In the market,” Syfir said, accepting one. “She was watching me.”
“She was watching you? You weren’t looking for her?” Chatti smiled, sitting down beside her son—she was Syfir’s mother in all ways that mattered.
Syfir shrugged, sipping the chai cautiously.
“And?” she pressed.
“And,” he paused, gazing into the flames. “From where I stood, I couldn’t see if the markings have appeared yet.”
He glanced down at the blue patterns flowing beneath the skin of his forearms, which now pulsed with unusual brightness, as if reaching toward a distant call. “But the river recognizes her.”
Chatti’s face grew solemn. “Her mother was the same way in the beginning. Obedience masking power. That Zarouni bloodline carries the water’s memory.”
Syfir turned to Chatti. “Why didn’t you tell me how it would feel?” He swallowed. “When our eyes met… it was like recognizing part of myself in a stranger.”
“But she’s not a stranger, is she?” Chatti replied, her voice soft.
Syfir studied her face.
“Each recognition is unique,” Chatti continued. “Some subtle as rain, others powerful as flood. Yours and hers…” She left the thought unfinished, and decided on a different course. “Do you know, I’ve never seen the water respond so strongly to an unawakened girl.”
“She’ll be married soon,” Syfir said, his voice hardening. “The match was arranged years ago.”
Chatti watched him for a long moment. “Water finds its way around obstacles,” she said, responding to what he meant rather than what he said.
“And if she chooses the Covenant over… awakening? If she rejects what flows in her blood?”
Chatti reached for a small leather pouch hanging at her belt. From it, she withdrew a smooth river stone, its surface etched with a spiral pattern. “Give this to her. Maybe it will help her remember.”
Syfir accepted the stone, but said nothing.
“I saw her at the well today too. I think she is already awakening. She just doesn’t yet understand it.”
* * *
Later, alone in his tent, Syfir thought of the Covenant girl’s amber eyes finding his across the crowded marketplace. And his fingers began to play a soft melody on his sarangi, different from the traditional songs of his people.
Something new that felt like an invitation.
And he knew that somewhere in town, the covenant girl would stir in her sleep. And might even begin to remember.
What he couldn’t know was that her betrothed had already reported strange occurrences to the Covenant Elders: water moving against its nature, temple bells ringing without wind. Couldn’t know that the Covenant was already watching for signs of awakening.
Sahira would be watched closely. And if her connection to the river grew stronger, if she responded to Syfir’s call…
Her awakening might even become a spark for others, awakening dormant connections throughout the valley.
For Sahira, everything would be at risk: her betrothal, her place in Jaraan, maybe even more.
Syfir’s fingers faltered on the strings.
The marriage ceremony was only days away. Soon, Sahira would be bound to a man who saw her awakening as corruption.
Syfir’s music grew more insistent, threading through the night air toward the sleeping town.
From the sleeping town, he felt an answering pulse.
And time was running out.
