Free The Waterless Sea by Kate Constable

Halasaa’ s eyes were bright. Chantment is only an alteration of the river’ s flow.
    Involuntarily Heben made the gesture to ward off evil, then looked embarrassed. ‘I know nothing about sorcery. I could never understand how the twins could make solid objects fly through the air, or spin about. Or how they could crack open a log of wood for kindling without an axe. It is a fearful thing.’
    Calwyn said, ‘One day, no one in Tremaris will think it fearful, or strange, to see chantment at work, and it will be as commonplace as mending with a thread, or harvesting vegetables from a field, or fishing with a net.’
    â€˜I am a son of the deserts, and those last two things are strange to me also,’ said Heben with a small, tight smile. ‘You should say, as common as milking a hegesu , which I must do now.’
    Darkness was falling fast as Heben squatted beside one of the hegesi and squirted yellow milk into a battered tin cup. He held out the cup to Calwyn. The milk tasted almost sour, but it was more refreshing than her own snow-water, and she drank every drop.
    As they crossed the stony plain they spent the nights under the shelter of the tents. As soon as the sun set, the cold came crashing down with the force of a rock fall. They would light a fire and sit shivering around it; apart from hegesi dung, there was little to burn. The low arbec plants were not good fuel and the clumps of dry-grass that grew here and there as high as Calwyn’ s throat, had razor-sharp leaves that crackled up in a flash: good for starting fires, but useless for sustaining them.
    On the third night of their journey, Heben shyly took out a flute made from the leg bone of a hegesu . He played a thin, eerie melody that wound its way into the night; the canopy of stars and moons shone with a brilliance that was almost violent in its intensity. Mica was nodding with sleepiness. Before long she and Halasaa crawled into one of the tents and lay down on the hard sand, with nothing beneath their aching bodies but the folds of their robes, which were so hot and cumbersome by day, yet so thin and inadequate by night.
    Heben and Calwyn stayed by the glowing pile of coals. Heben put his flute away, and Calwyn began to sing: no chantment, but a melancholy song of her childhood, a song of the Goddess bereaved, a song of cold and loneliness and aching sorrow. When it had finished, Heben bowed his head toward her.
    â€˜Is that a song of Antaris?’
    â€˜Yes. It’ s a winter song. It seemed cold enough to sing it here.’ Calwyn smiled. Her breath made white clouds in the icy desert air.
    Hesitantly Heben said, ‘I have brought you a long way from your home, my lady.’
    â€˜And you had to travel far from your home to find us. Don’ t fear, Heben,’ she said. ‘We won’ t let you down.’
    A distant howling broke through the silence of the night. On and on it echoed, a deep, sinister call, unutterably wild.
    â€˜What is it?’ asked Calwyn. ‘Not a hegesu ?’
    Heben laughed grimly. ‘No. That’ s a wasuntu , a wild hunting dog. The hegesi are their prey, and people too, if we don’ t take care. They hunt in packs, but they won’ t come near so long as we have a fire. I’ ll tend it. You go and sleep.’
    â€˜I’ ll tend the fire,’ said Calwyn firmly. ‘And when I’ m tired, I’ ll wake Halasaa. You don’ t have to coddle us, Heben. You forget, we’ re used to sailing through the night, taking turns at the tiller. You can trust us to mind a campfire. Go and sleep. I’ d like to sit up for a while.’
    Heben hesitated, then bowed deeply. ‘Thank you, my lady.’ ‘Heben!’ Softly Calwyn called him back. ‘Heben, my name is Calwyn. There’ s no need to call me my lady , as if I were a High Priestess. We must be equals in this quest, or we will fail.’
    Heben looked startled. Unwillingly he