Elinor. The Deserted Valley. Book 1

1

Lamis finished writing. A sharp gust of dry wind broke in, throwing a handful of fine sand on the pages of the diary. The young woman shook off the sand, blew on the manuscript, and shut the diary. She closed the jar of ink and hid the writing feather. Tired from writing, she stretched her beautiful long bronze fingers as Moualdar, a gloomy boy of twelve years, ran into the tent. He came up close, hanging his head.

“I’m bored,” he grumbled.

“You can go feed the camels. The caravanners are always happy to be helped.”

“I don’t want to… I’m scared of camels,” his voice squeaked, reminding the young caretaker that the apprentice, despite his visage, was still just a boy.

His facial features are of an adult, yet he asks for attention enough for three kids to share.

By then Calif had also appeared under the canopy of the tent.

Calif was tall and stately. From the first glance, it was obvious he was a future warrior. Something in him was reminiscent of the young caretaker’s brother, only her brother’s hair was short and straight, while Calif’s was long and curly. Moreover, Calif’s eyes were not as stern. His figure was still one of a strong young man, but not yet a weather-beaten warrior.

It would be great if one day Calif came to learn the art of war from her brother!

But now Calif was headed to the Valley with her. And it was with him that the caretaker was pleased the most. As the eldest, he was always ready to help; he respected her and helped to monitor the disciples.

“Honorable Tangut Khatum said that he is better, so tomorrow at dawn, we are advancing!” said Lamis.

“Do you need any help?” Calif immediately blurted out.

“Yes!” All the minor problems were solved at once. “Collect the totes!” she said to Calif, then looked at Moualdar. “And you go help!”

The boy snorted discontentedly. Obviously, this was not how he wanted to dispel his boredom.

During the encampment, the disciples were allowed to devote the day to the classes of their choice, and completely unpack their hiking knapsacks. Yet the sun was already swiftly rolling towards the horizon; its rays no longer carried as much of the sizzling heat. Evening was approaching. It was time to get ready for the journey, so as not to bustle about during the morning gathering, but rather, after having leisurely broken their fast, to pack up the caravan and set off without delay.

Lamis, the faithful assistant, withdrew, dragging with her the disgruntled Moualdar. The well-mannered Calif turned to his caretaker and just before leaving made a traditional courteous bow. The canopy of the tent swung closed.

A smile lit up the young woman’s face.

He’s an absolute miracle!

Now it was necessary to bring all the disciples together, announce that the encampment would not be prolonged, and remind everyone to fill their waterskin bags to the brim with water.

Though I’ll still have to check before we set off… these are children. They see the world differently. Some still don’t understand what a dangerous place it is, they don’t understand there are no parents here who will blow the sand off them, or that though their caretaker is strong and brave, she is not unlimitedly sturdy – I will not be able to carry a separate bota bag for each of them. It will be useful if, from this passage through the Great Desert, everyone learned a certain lesson for themselves. The lesson that no school can give, the lesson that only life teaches.

It was also necessary to get everyone to bed early. Even a short respite is a knockout from the working rhythm. Hence, tomorrow’s wakening would be that much harder.

Therefore, for today, the essential thing was sleep! Sleep… a dream!

The young woman remembered last night’s dream. In it, she saw the Valley of the Ancestors in all its glory, and it was exactly the way she had pictured it from her father’s stories.

The four great cities of Dalaal, Konolwar, Eavette, and Mata-Mata were located on the shores of the Lake of the Ancestors and the Huma River. A burgomaster ruled each city. The Valley had always been considered a separate state, but it would be more correct to see it as an association of the four Great Cities.

The Great Desert of the Djunits did not fall under the single authority of a particular ruler. To be perfectly precise, that was how it was before, at the beginning of the Fourth Epoch. Over time, rulers realized that every city-oasis in the midst of endless sands lived its own life, and if self-government was granted to these settlements, the entire trading system would benefit. Since then, the cities of the Djunits were governed by the izirs. The clan of Djunitian kings, originating from the Marawie Sandy Lion, became part of the clan of the izirs of Kay-Samiluf, the largest and most powerful city in the Great Desert. This family was later overthrown, and nobody knows in whose veins the blood of the founder-father of the Djunits now flows. Nonetheless, all the cities of the Djunits are subject of the will of the council of the Kay-Samiluf Academy, which retains the right to interfere in the affairs of the izirs. Hence, in a way, the Great Desert can still call itself a state.

In the Valley, everything is done differently. In extreme cases, the Council of Four convened, where the burgomaster conjointly solved economic and political issues. If no agreement was reached, the popular assembly entered the disputes, where absolutely every inhabitant of the Valley could defend his point of view.

Clans were factions united by a common idea and were an important social force in the Valley on which burgomasters and other officials relied. Most often, clans were economic or political conjunctions. The famous Justice Clan long stood on the side of law and order. Clans of scientists and researchers rarely participated in the machinations of officials; however, they were always revered and even received money from the treasury of each city.

Extending both over the inhabitants themselves and the representatives of all eight nations, there was a single law in the Valley of the Ancestors, regardless of the laws proclaimed in their lands. All trade routes converged in the Valley. There was even trade with the severe Ito Empire in the north. The valley supplied provisions, ore, and even fabrics for the emperor Tosho, and he, having only bare stones and dank fogs in his lands, paid with the best that he could offer – a military force to ensure order.

Trade was not the only thing that supported the Valley of the Ancestors. The praise for its fairs, theaters, circuses, and tiltyards never stopped. The works of the writers and poets of the Valley were dispersed throughout Elinor. The Valley gave the people a Common Language, which foreigners used to communicate amongst themselves. As a result, the Guawars, the first sea merchants, were the first to completely switch to the Common Language, soon followed by the Djunits, who retained their language only for historians and scribes.

The Valley was also a den for charlatans, thieves, and other rascals. Some great adventurers also found themselves in it, those who, from vagrants, became burgomasters.

The Valley was the heart of Elinor, and the heart of the Valley was the Stone of the Ancestors – a mighty relic, probably preserved from the First Race. The Stone of Ancestors emitted Power. The Djunits called it special energy, the other nations called it magic, but its nature was inaccessible to understanding. The Stone of the Ancestors could predict the future, could heal illnesses, and could confer a part of its power on the pilgrim. But not always. Not for all… The Stone of the Ancestors lived its own life and used its magic at its own will. It could even defend itself. A gang of vandals who wanted to break it into pieces, thus intimidating the Valley, was simply incinerated alive by he Stone.

The Valley! The eight nations!

The colorful cities, the markets, the performances, the sounds of music and foul market language from the motley crowds, the beautiful house chambers and the stench of dirty taverns filled with both military clashes and peaceful human life, the green forests and prairies surrounding the Great Cities, the sky-blue water of the Lake of the Ancestors, and the Stone itself – all this happened last night in a dream, as though it were all truly there!

And then… this multicolored mess was at once covered by a black cloud.

This was the end of the dream…

The young caretaker shuddered. She realized she had dozed off, remembering the dream. She shook her head and looked around. The tent was still empty, only the air was not as stuffy as before – it meant that sunset was coming.

But instead of hurrying to her students, the maiden paused briefly. She opened a diary, which she had kept in her hands all this time.

She started flipping from the first page. She made these records a little more than a month ago in her parents’ house in Kay-Samiluf, the night before the caravan left. That night she could not manage to fall asleep.

2

“Midnight. The beginning of the sixteenth day of the month of the Wolf, the year 531, era IV…”

As an ancestral researcher, I start the diary before the beginning of my journey. I would like to write “the Great Journey,” but can’t know in advance how it will turn out. I can only know how I feel about myself.

About myself.

My name is Jumanna Inaiya Khaniya Amatt. I am a descendant of an ancient and noble family.

The Amatt clan became famous throughout Elinor during the construction of the cities of Min-Mirif and Til-Mirif. The construction was supervised by one of my glorious ancestors, a great engineer and thinker, Mirif Amatt. Built at the very end of the Third Era, Min-Mirif became the southernmost city of the Valley, denoting its southern boundary. Further away, the endless desert of the Djunitian began. The riches of the mines near where my ancestor built the cities were truly inexhaustible. Gold, silver, semi-precious stones, iron ore for the best, most solid steel… Soft metals, meanwhile, were useful on farms, and clean flint could be taken from the earth with bare hands.

The cities were quickly populated by people, and on the outskirts of Min-Mirif, in the shadows of majestic palms and sycamores, on the shores of ponds with water of extraordinary blueness, grew the Amatt estate.

When I was six, I visited my family estate. As soon as I was old enough to leave home, my father took me on my very first trip. My birthday was celebrated on a grand scale, but the day itself I cannot remember – I remember only that I yearned to begin the journey! Despite my age, the road was my strongest passion, and there was nothing I could do about it.

My dear mother, the noble Khaniya Haliya Mufa, by marriage an Amatt, the granddaughter of the izir Doyno-Kash Kharun Mufa, was distinguished by her strict views, moral purity, and undoubtful placement of the family above all else. She believed I could leave home, though only to go to school at the Academy of Kay-Samiluf; and this school was but two blocks away from our house! I did not want this… I wanted to see the desert, the endless expanse. I wanted to see caravans, people of other nations, other cities and faraway lands… Mum tried to hold me back until the very end, but I knew she would give in eventually.

Despite her strictness, her weakness was my father, Umar Amatt, who had recently become the leader of the Old Pages Clan. Mother’s love for Father knew no bounds; she could not oppose him. And my father could not refuse me, as he saw my passionate interest in everything new and everything unusual. I was growing up much too like him… dreamy, windy, and thirsty for discovery.

So, my first trip was to Min-Mirif. At the end of the day, the Great Desert impressed me, but much less than the ancestral estate. What is the desert? Delight is present only at first, when you realize that there is only you and your caravan surrounded by the sand, the sky, and the horizon line between them. I watched this landscape one day, then another, and it didn’t change. Yellow-reddish barchans, endless dunes, plain blue sky without a single cloud and the white circle of the scorching sun. My interest quickly died away as I sat in a small armchair on the hump of a huge camel under a velvet canopy, drinking cool water and fanning myself.

And then one night I could not sleep. I left the tent once I thought my father was asleep (as it turned out, he did not sleep and had seen everything), and found myself under the black dome of the night sky, dotted with countless glowing stars. It was the most beautiful thing I had seen in my life! Many years have passed, but I still can’t forget how, even though I was a clever, albeit young, child, I stood right before the cosmic abyss, as the distant, delightful stars seemed to wink at me.

And the Amatt estate… Oh! It seemed to me a city within a city! Of course, Min-Mirif itself seemed boring to me after Kay-Samiluf. But the ancestral nest Mirif Amatt had clearly been built with great enthusiasm and inspiration, with greenhouses full of flowers and fruit trees from all over the continent, fountains spurting beyond the roof of the mansion, halls with statues and columns. The underground part of the estate turned out to be several times larger than the mansion itself. There was everything – cabinets, a library, an alchemy laboratory, even a secret passageway to the mine. The underground halls were entirely decorated with precious metals and gems found in the local mines… I squealed with delight when night fell on Min-Mirif and my father guided me into the observatory tower and taught me to position myself on the map of the starry sky.