In a Lizard's Wake

The scarves around Cyra’s neck fluttered in a violent gust of air. Barely ten paces away, red clouds rose straight into the sky, towering over her like a wall. A raging, howling storm encircled the settlement, and with it all she had ever known. All she had ever wanted to escape.

She would step into the storm and leave everything behind. Maybe not the way she’d imagined it, she surely hadn’t seen herself as a prisoner, but she would leave. That was what she’d been working towards for months. Why then, wouldn’t her legs stop trembling?

The Navigators were making final preparations, sidestepping her as if she weren’t there. Only one of the giant stone lizards watched her and his deep, guttural growl vibrated deep in her bones.

A whistling sound reached her ears and Cyra whirled around. A group of children crouched not far from her in the grass, half-hidden among the grazing sheep. They laughed and whistled again. Dust children—like herself. Homeless orphans just barely tolerated at the outskirts of Arat. Were they here to see her off? Unlikely—rather to rejoice at finally being rid of her and the stain that clung to her name. No one would shed a tear for the traitors’ daughter. Anger coiled in Cyra’s stomach. She wanted a chance at a normal life away from all this, and she would find it—somehow, somewhere.

“Hey!” One of the Navigators stepped towards the children and they scattered and disappeared into the tall grass. Their laughter lingered a moment longer in the air before it died.

“Thieving scum,” growled the Navigator and turned around. His gaze fell on Cyra and his expression darkened.

“You’re making a mistake, Amara. You should have executed her. It was only a matter of time. The nut doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He spat at Cyra’s feet and she jerked back.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion. She stole my map, making her punishment my decision.” The lead Navigator stepped up to Cyra and tugged at the harness she’d given her earlier. A rope hung from the largest belt, ending in a heavy ring.

Wordlessly, Amara strapped the ring to the harness of the stone lizard. Her face was hidden beneath scarves and a pair of goggles. The copper and glass gleamed in the bright sunlight. Cyra looked no different; she would hardly have recognised herself in a mirror.

The Navigator stepped back and regarded her silently, her gaze lingering for just a moment on Cyra’s trembling legs. “Stay in Sigul’s slipstream. Whatever happens, don’t step out into the wind.” She let go of the rope, which now tied Cyra to the animal and raised her voice for all to hear. “Let us be on our way, I want to reach the guide stones before nightfall.”

Muttering softly, the other Navigator walked past her to his stone lizard. There were three of them, each with two Navigators at their sides.

Cyra glanced back at Arat; the familiar sea of tents and wagons just barely visible in the distance. When they’d set off that morning, not even two hours earlier, large and small stone lizards had stood between the dwellings, some already heavily laden. The settlement was nearly at the edge of the circular opening in the storm. Only a few more days and they would move to this side of the clearing as they did every three moons. Always with the wandering storm, always careful to stay in its eye. She wouldn’t be there to see it, never again.

Amara grabbed her long wooden staff and thumped it twice against the ground. Sigul moved forward, digging his claws deep into the hard ground with each step. The rope on Cyra’s harness tightened and she staggered after the beast. Everything in her screamed to run in the opposite direction, to run away, but she had no choice. Even if she’d managed to flee, there was no place to hide in Arat, not in such a tight-knit community of barely a thousand people.

She walked alongside the lizard, her heart hammering in her chest. It was what she’d wanted, she reminded herself as the red storm came closer, filling her field of vision, drowning out all sound with its roar—swallowing her whole.

— # —

Loud, it was so unimaginably loud. Cyra clutched the beast’s harness and pressed herself so tightly against Sigul’s rough skin, she could barely walk. The wind howled mercilessly, and dust and sand pelted down on her, tearing open skin wherever it was not covered by fabric. All sense of time and space left Cyra. A small forest of twisted, leafless trees emerged from the haze and forced the giant lizard to weave its way through the trunks. The trees lay dormant for months at a time, waiting for the storm to move away. One tree looked as eerie as the other, more dead than alive. Cyra could no longer tell in what direction Arat lay, or how long they’d trudged through the red hell.

A deep rumble under her hands was the first sign that something changed, the next moment Sigul halted. Amara laid a hand on her shoulder and said close to her ear: “Watch and learn, girl.”

Cyra didn’t want to look, her eyes watering behind her goggles. And she didn’t want to listen, the endless howling drowned out her thoughts.

But Amara didn’t take her hand off her shoulder, and slowly Cyra edged away from the lizard, just enough to turn her head. She kept her hands on Sigul’s harness at all times. Her fingers had cramped around the straps, she couldn’t have unclenched them even had she tried.

Red—everything was red. She searched desperately for something to hold on to in the whirling chaos. Her gaze found the dark-brown eyes of the Navigator.

“Where…” Her voice was rough, and she strained to speak louder. “Where are the others?”

Amara laughed. “We split up hours ago. No one is here but us.”

A shudder ran through Cyra. The storm seemed suddenly larger and more powerful.

“Come.” Amara took her arm and pulled her along—or tried to.

“You can let go of Sigul,” she said kindly, though still loud to be heard over the roaring wind. “We’ll just walk a few steps.”

She sighed as Cyra still didn’t respond and began to gently ease her fingers from the leather straps; one at a time. They indeed took only a few steps, never leaving Sigul’s shadow. Still, the storm tugged harder at Cyra’s clothes. Without thinking, she clutched the rope that still tied her to the lizard. Her anchor in the chaos.

A plain black triangle lay on the grass that had curled up tightly to ride out the storm. Terror shot through Cyra, paralysing her. The destruction of all guide stones had been her parents sole aim, and its pursuit had cost them their life. Amara brushed the mirror-smooth surface of the stone triangle with a black ring she wore on her left thumb. A slight humming filled the air, and she picked the triangle up.

“The guide stone is the most valuable thing you’ll ever carry.” She slipped the stone into the pocket of Cyra’s cloak. “It allows the mages in the settlement to manipulate the direction of the storm. Lose it and you risk all of our lives.”

Allowing the storm to roam freely, letting nature choose their path, that’s what her parents had desired, that’s what they’d died for. She had never understood it, or them…but she knew that she didn’t want the stone.

“Why are you giving it to me?” She reached into her pocket.

Amara grabbed her wrist and held it tightly, almost painfully. “Out here, everyone does their part. You are no exception. This stone is your responsibility until we place it again to sign the way for the mages.” A brief pause. “Keep it safe.”

Her piercing gaze rooted Cyra to the spot and she slowly nodded. Not once had she been trusted with a task of importance in Arat, or any task for that matter. The weight of the guide stone seemed to multiply and drag her to the ground. She of all people didn’t deserve to carry it.

Amara raised her eyes to the horizon and twisted one of the tiny wheels adorning her goggles. “The sun is setting soon, we should find a place to set up camp for the night.”

Cyra had no idea how she could make out anything in the red haze. Her hand closed around the stone in her pocket and she shuddered.

The Navigator’s staff thudded twice against the ground, and the stone lizard stepped forward. Cyra hastened back to his side and clung to the harness. Amara’s laughter followed her—barely audible in the relentless howling of the wind.

— # —

Their camp for the night proved to be a plain, shallow dip in the ground. Sigul had lain down, but his back still loomed over their heads and served as a windbreak. Darkness had descended upon the world and the lone flickering oil lantern on the ground failed to banish it.

Cyra sat with her back against the lizard. Everything around her was in constant movement, wherever she looked, her eyes found nothing to latch on to. Even the Navigator, sitting just an arm’s length away, disappeared at times behind swirling clouds of dust in the night.

Cyra’s mind was as restless as the air. She was outside the settlement, closer to the edge of the storm than ever before and yet it was out of reach.

“Show me your hands,” said Amara, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Cyra looked down. Her knuckles were bloodied and chapped.

“This wouldn’t happen if you kept them hidden in your pockets or sleeves.” Amara pulled Cyra’s right hand towards her and washed the wounds with water from a pouch, before tightly wrapping her hand in a clean bandage. Her touch was gentle, but Cyra still tensed.

“Keep them on tomorrow,” Amara said as if she hadn’t noticed anything and continued to treat her left hand the same way. “It will likely be a few more days until you find the courage to loosen your grip on Sigul’s harness.”

She had an air of utter calm about her, as if they were not sitting in the midst of a storm. “Why did you steal from me?” Cyra flinched at the question. The roar of the wind hammered incessantly down on her and she found it hard to focus.

“I wanted the map.”

Her path towards a world beyond the storm and a second chance.

“Why do you need a map? Can you even read?”

Cyra was used to being yelled at or having things thrown at her. She was not used to anyone asking questions or allowing her to explain herself.

But still, she lied, as she had done all her life. Lies were easy, they protected her. It was a lesson she had learned very early from her parents. She had lied for them, more often than she could count. But she had also lied to them and those lies had protected her the most. She could hide behind her lies and become invisible.

“It was a dare.”

Disappointment flashed across the Navigator’s face and she shook her head ever so slightly. “I ask you again. What do you need a map for?”

The truth stuck in Cyra’s throat, made it hard to swallow. It was the one thing that had kept her going, had given her hope during the last two years. To talk about it felt like a betrayal. Amara’s gaze didn’t waver, and the words fought their way out, against the discomfort in Cyra’s throat. “I was looking for a route through the storm.” Her breath quickened. Had she truly thought she could find her way out of the storm alone? She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them.

“What for? What do you hope to find?” There was no mockery in the Navigator’s eyes, her question sincere. Her voice was as friendly as her touch had been gentle—it was utterly disarming and Cyra couldn’t but answer.

“There must be more,” she said quietly, half hoping Amara would not hear her. She could not spend her entire life trapped inside the storm. Living in a settlement, where she would never be more than the traitors’ child, a misfit on the fringes of society. Should she survive that is. Few orphaned children grew up to be adults, and fewer even that were descendants of criminals.

“Of course, there’s more,” Amara said. “Our storm is not the only one that harbours a settlement. You can find countless others.” She leaned closer. “But you won’t find anything in those settlements that you don’t have in Arat. And life outside of a storm is impossible. It alone shelters us from the more unpredictable smaller, yet deadly whirlwinds.”

Cyra would not hear it, could not hear it. She covered her ears as the wind abruptly roared even louder.

“How can you stand it?” she burst out, despair plain and clear in her words. “The noise and the wind…” Her voice faltered.

“I ignore it,” Amara said. “The storm is outside, it does not touch me. The world at large is chaotic, wild and cruel, and very little of it is under your control. You will only lose if you try to fight the storm.” She gently tapped Cyra on the forehead. “You can control, how you respond to it. Do not waste time on things beyond your reach, focus on what’s possible. You can’t change the past Cyra, but your future is yours alone.”

The girl took a deep, shaky breath. The Navigator had called her by her name, for the first time.

“Try to sleep.” Amara got to her feet. “I’ll keep the first watch.”

A brief image flashed across Cyra’s mind. The ground bursting open as a giant sand snake broke through, its fangs gleaming with venom. Only one of the many predators out to kill them in the storm.

Cyra curled up on the ground, huddled closely against the stone lizard as if that could protect her. She drew her blanket over her head, but even that did nothing to ward off the storm. Cyra had never felt less calm, less in control. She had risked everything to steal the map, and she had lost. The little control she’d had, had slipped through her hands like sand.

— # —

Cyra barely slept and began the next day in a daze. Amara was no longer satisfied with just letting her tag along. Instead, she showed her how to turn with Sigul when he changed direction and how to search and dig for water.

The wind never slowed and nothing changed, but the colour of the skies. Not until the evening. At first, Cyra thought she was imagining the shapes in the storm, that they were mere illusions created by her tired mind. But they became increasingly more distinct, and eventually, there was no denying the truth. A mountain range emerged out of the storm, shattering the monotony on the horizon.

“The Serpent’s Rocks,” Amara said without looking back. A dark, curved line stood before Cyra’s inner eye and she stumbled, almost losing her footing. She had seen that place marked on the map. The mountain range extended out of the storm—it was the moment she had been waiting for all that time.

— # —

They found shelter for the night in a small cave. Sigul had settled in front of its mouth, blocking the entrance almost entirely.

It was not completely quiet inside but the roaring of the wind was muted, and for the first time in days, Cyra could breathe deeply again. The fear and the tension that had paralysed her ever since she’d been caught with the Navigator’s map, drained from her.

The map of that very same Navigator, who was now curled up in her blanket not far from Cyra. The stone floor, she had explained, made attacks by predators highly unlikely, therefore rendering standing guard obsolete.

Cyra only pretended to sleep, waiting impatiently for Amara’s breathing to slow. The Serpent’s Rocks dominated her thoughts. Following them would allow her to reach the storm’s edge whilst sheltered from the worst of the wind.

And then what? A small voice in her head kept coming back to Amara’s words. Would really nothing wait for her outside? And did it even matter? Everything was better than her life in Arat. The thought alone made her sick. Days spent begging for scraps, and restless nights, hidden behind the last rows of tents, a knife clutched in her hands. Never knowing whether someone would decide to end it—to end her. Maybe someone her parents had betrayed or just the older dust children, looking for any valuables she might have gathered throughout the day. No, Cyra shuddered. This was her one chance to escape and start fresh. No one outside Arat would know who she was, or what her parents had died for. She deserved a new beginning.

Stealing the map, fleeing from Amara…Cyra knew what everyone would say, that she wasn’t any better than her family. Maybe they were right and that frightened her the most. But what choice did she have?

Soundlessly Cyra rose to her feet and tiptoed to Sigul. His head was visible in the entrance and the eye facing her opened, yet he made no sound. With trembling hands, Cyra opened the bag just behind his head and as expected, the map was inside. More than just one. She didn’t have time to search for the most recent one and decided instead to take the whole bag. Stealing was stealing, one thing more or less wouldn’t matter. Slowly, as not to make any noise, she unfastened the leather strap and slung the bag over her shoulder. She only hesitated for a moment, before she also packed one of the small waterskins and a loaf of bread.

In a moment, she had wrapped the shawls around her head and put on her goggles. She was vibrating with agitation. Amara was still asleep and after one last glance in her direction, Cyra squeezed past Sigul and out into the night. The lizard’s tongue brushed against her, but he remained quiet. She rested her hand briefly on his snout; she would miss him. A strange thought. Two days ago, she would never have looked back if given the chance to leave Arat and now she hesitated, even if only for a heartbeat. The giant lizard and its handler had been kind to her. She hoped Amara wouldn’t be in too much trouble because of her; it was the last thing she wanted.

— # —

The raging storm greeted her and Cyra almost fled straight back into the cave. It was pitch dark, but she didn’t dare to take the lantern, for fear of waking Amara.

As long as she walked directly along the steep rock face, she could not get lost and in a few hours, the sun would rise again.

Cyra almost laughed, a hysterical laugh. Two days ago she had barely been able to breathe at the thought of the storm and now she faced it in the night. She took off running before her courage could fail her.

The ground was uneven and the stones sharp. Before long, she had ripped her sleeve and her feet hurt from bumping into rocks. Gradually the black around her became lighter and redder and Cyra stopped to rest for a moment. Fear had replaced her initial euphoria. Amara had been right, she couldn’t read a map, had no idea how long it would take to reach the edge of the storm. Would she have to follow the mountains for hours, days, or even weeks?

Then again, it was too late to turn back. By now Amara must have woken up and noticed her escape. A second theft would never be forgiven, especially not by her. All she could do was move forward.

Cyra’s hand scraped painfully against the cliff face. Swearing, she shoved both hands into the pockets of her cloak. Her path was now clearly visible in the early morning light without having to feel it.

Something cool and smooth brushed her fingers. Cyra’s breath caught and she froze.

The guide stone—she still carried it with her.

Amara’s voice rang clear and loud in her mind. “Lose it and you risk all our lives.” Cyra closed her eyes.

— # —

Breathing heavily, Cyra slowed to a halt as the cave came into view. The entrance was empty; she was too late. Cyra sank to her knees as exhaustion swept over her.

A low rumble mingled with the howling of the wind and an enormous shadow took shape in the whirling red.

“Sigul!” Cyra scrambled to her feet and took a step, then the blood froze in her veins.

Amara emerged from the lizard’s shadow, a gleaming sabre in her right hand. There was nothing serene about her any longer and the fury in her eyes almost forced Cyra back to her knees.

She drew closer and Cyra backed away. Sigul had not halted either and now stepped behind her, cutting off her only escape.

“I spared your life, and how do you thank me?” The Navigator’s voice was almost unrecognisable, laced with anger and frustration.

“I…” Cyra fumbled for words. “I’m sorry.”

She had come back! Didn’t that count for anything? Hurriedly she pulled the bag over her head and threw it into the sand. Then, very carefully, she retrieved the guide stone from her coat pocket and added it to the rest.

“I had forgotten about it, I never would have…” She swallowed, as her voice faltered. “I immediately came back when I noticed it.” No one should die because of her. She wasn’t them!

“Didn’t you listen to me!” Amara pointed the tip of her sabre into the storm. “There is nothing out there! No one is waiting to welcome and save an orphan. You ran straight to your death. And worse…you nearly took all of us with you.”

Cyra shook her head, even though Amara’s words rang painfully true. Some part of her had known it all along.

“I had to try,” she said quietly. “I can’t go on like this.” She could no longer bear to be alone, to be hated and loathed by everyone.

“Damn it.” The frustration—no, desperation—plain in Amara’s voice. “I had given you a chance at a new life, why couldn’t you see that?”

For an instant, the words hung in the air between them. Cyra staggered back and bumped into Sigul. It was as though someone had torn a veil from her eyes. Not for a second had she wondered why the Navigator had taken her with her into the red hell. A punishment, an attempt to dispose of her…such had been her assumptions and she had never questioned them.

“You…” Her voice failed her. Then again, words were not necessary, her reaction being answer enough.

Amara lowered her sabre and used her free hand to rub her forehead.

“Not only did you steal my map again, but you also took a guide stone. The others will never forgive you.”

She would kill her, it was the only way. Cyra had been dreading this ever since she had decided to return. She fought back the tears. It was all so senseless. For the first time in her life, she’d been given the opportunity for a fresh start and she had ruined it all.

“I understand,” she said, dropping her gaze. Her voice was barely a whisper, but she was sure Amara had heard her. She would die a criminal like her parents. Cyra closed her eyes, not wanting to see the blade that ended her life.

But she could not close her ears. With a hiss, the sabre cut through the air and struck with a dull thud. A gush of water spilled over her legs and Cyra leapt to the side.

The sabre stuck in one of the two large water pouches at Sigul’s side. Confused, she looked to Amara.

“We’ll need an excuse to explain our delay.” The cold and anger were gone from Amara’s voice. She sheathed her sabre and gathered the bag and guide stone from the ground. “With only one pouch, we naturally had to spend a lot more time searching for water.”

She held the guide stone out to her and Cyra accepted it with trembling hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“I know, or you wouldn’t have returned.” Amara pulled the harness that Cyra had left in the cave out of a bag at Sigul’s side.

“Why are you helping me?” The question escaped Cyra’s lips before she could stop herself.

Amara paused for a long time before she answered. “I know how you feel.” She spoke quietly and didn’t look at her. “I know how it is to live in the shadow of something terrible you didn’t do.”

Cyra’s throat was dry, her chest tight and heavy. She had never spoken about it—to anyone. “But I did do it, in a way.” The feeling of guilt almost choked her. “I could have said something. I could have tried to stop them, when—”

“No! Don’t say it, don’t even think it. What they did doesn’t matter, it doesn’t define you.”

Amara closed her fingers around Cyra’s hand, the hand that still held the guide stone. “You were a child—you still are. None of it is your fault, it was out of your control. You are not your parents.” She glanced at their joined hands, at the guide stone. “If there was ever any doubt, you more than proved that today.”

Cyra’s thoughts were spinning, but she couldn’t speak. She wanted to believe her, she wanted desperately to believe her.

For a time neither of them spoke. Amara handed her the harness and Cyra put it on. The creaking of the straps was the only sound that joined the howling wind. Cyra’s hands trembled as she closed the buckles, but the mundane task helped to calm her.

Finally, Amara broke the silence and with it the growing tension in the air. “No more running away, do we understand each other?” She took hold of the rope that had once bound Cyra to the lizard. “Or do I have to use this to tie you to me instead of Sigul?” Cyra thought she heard a smile in Amara’s voice and the tight knot in her chest loosened a tiny bit.

She shook her head, not fully trusting her voice alone. “I swear it.” She held the Navigator’s gaze.

Amara nodded. “Let’s go, then. We have a guide stone to place and the way home is long.” She pulled her staff from a loop at Sigul’s side and struck the ground with it twice.

The storm still raged, wild and untamed, but it seemed less terrifying than before. Cyra put her hands on the rough skin of the lizard, the tension in her chest easing even more. She had failed. She would return to Arat, but she would not return alone. And perhaps that was enough.

© 2023 Manuela Ferrari

About the Author

Manuela Ferrari grew up in Switzerland. Driven by an insatiable curiosity, she turned to science and is now working as an Evolutionary Biologist. When she’s not busy unravelling the mysteries of nature, you can find her lost in a book or crafting her own tales of distant worlds and fantastical creatures.