The Pilgrim's Rest

Nostvary    Nostvary    The Jennarian Desert      The Abysmal Canyon      The Pilgrim's Rest

Sunlight glinted on the golden glyphs as Jen turned the rod over in her hand. The black stone felt cool despite the blistering midday heat. All morning her father had been pacing back and forth. He was unwilling to leave the veranda in case he missed the sails as they crested the horizon, leaving Jen and the others to serve the dwarves breakfast and tidy up the rooms.
He’d strode into the cool interior of the inn and thrust the black rod into her hands, giving no explanation or word of encouragement, before stepping out into the bright sunshine and leaving her to struggle under the burden of his decision. The dwarves watched her closely, seeing if she would fulfill her obligation or risk incurring the canyon god’s wrath.
“Jen, put that away,” her father said as he approached and Jen slipped the rod into a pocket of her robes.
A fleshy man, pink from the searing desert sun, followed close behind her father. He adjusted his white robes as he walked, uncomfortable in the garb of the pilgrim.
“Is this her?” the stranger asked, obviously displeased with what he saw. Behind him, a group of nearly twenty, wearing white robes stood ready with their gear. Mothers fretted over children while others pointed into the desert searching for their destination. “I asked you for your best guide, not a child.”
“This is my daughter, Jen. She’s traversed The Abysmal Canyon a thousand times. There’s none safer to travel with.”
“Is that true?” the man asked and Jen bowed her head. “It’s late. Shouldn't we spend the night in the inn and depart in the morning?”
“Whilst the Pilgrim’s Rest would be glad to accommodate you, it’s customary for the pilgrim’s journey to start as soon as they don the robes.”
“What about the dwarves, aren’t we waiting for them?” The pilgrim gestured to the wharf where a small group of dwarves and humans were unloading empty barrels from the barge and stacking them on the waggon beds.
“We have our own path to walk,” Jen said, pulling her hood up.
“How many days will it take?”
“Seven, exactly. You’d best keep to my pace or I’ll leave you behind.”
“I’m paying you to get us there, not walk us into the wilderness and abandon us.”
“What my daughter means is that the distance between the watering holes is such that you have to walk a set pace or go thirsty,” the father interjected.
“Very well,” the pilgrim said, waving for his people to join them. “Lead on, guide.”
Jen turned her back on him and faced the cracked stone road that stretched into the desert. She held the rod in her pocket, too nervous to let it go. She led the way into the desert and the pilgrims followed in silence, each of them lost in the desolation of the landscape. A line of mountains rose to the north like jagged snow-capped teeth, while to the south dunes rippled to the horizon blown by the cold winds racing across them.
The pilgrims kept up with Jen, excitement making up for limbs weakened by the long voyage across the inland sea. Tomorrow they would ache and complain about blistered feet, but it wouldn’t matter by then, not if Jen did as she was ordered.
By the time they reached the start of the canyon, the sun had neared the horizon, casting long shadows across the desert. Beneath them was the canyon, the bottom cloaked in darkness. The pilgrims gathered around her, shocked into silence by the enormity of what they were seeing.
“The Abysmal Canyon,” Jen said, loud enough for them all to hear. “A rip in the land like no other. We’ll camp here for the night and descend in the morning.”
“But we’re exposed up here,” the leader of the pilgrims said, pointing to where the road dipped beneath a cliff. “We should camp down there, out of the wind.”
“No, you don’t go any further than this,” Jen said and saw the frown on the man’s face. “We’ll enter the canyon at dawn as all pilgrims do.”
The leader grumbled but they soon set up camp. There were no fires that night, just tired and excited pilgrims sheltering from the cold night under shared blankets. Jen sat apart, wrapped in her own blanket, watching the families as they huddled together, their faces bathed in the orange light of the setting sun.
A girl looked over, raising a nervous hand in greeting, but Jen pulled the blanket over her head and curled up on the ground. She didn’t want to know these people. As the first of the season, they were destined for a different path, one that would prepare the way for those to come. Only these few would walk the true pilgrim path and look upon the face of a god.
Jen woke up with the black rod clutched to her chest and the blanket wrapped around her. She stretched, wincing at the pains in her body, and the blanket fell away, revealing a sun that had climbed partway into the sky. Jen leapt to her feet and spun around. The pilgrims were gone, but their discarded robes flapped in the wind.
A horse snorted as a waggon rolled past, the dwarves staring down at her from their high perch. The others were already on the road descending into the canyon, heading back to their homes.
Jen picked up one of the loose robes and wondered where they had called home. What had they left behind to make the trek into the desert? Whoever the robes had belonged to had pinned a blue flower to the breast and Jen traced the petals with her finger, praying that the pilgrim’s soul was finally at rest. Jen tucked the flower inside her shirt and set about gathering the robes ready for when her father arrived with the cart.