Free The Tower of Il Serrohe by RJ Mirabal Page A

hypersensitive. The scented heat of the Seared Meadow coursing through the piñons blew the dust against my damp face to create a thin film of mud on my skin.
    “‘ Prepare to part company with your head, you little worm!’ A dry, roaring voice shot from my left as the odor of pickled cactus washed over me.
    “ I turned in time to see a hardwood staff cut through the dust cloud hungrily reaching for my head. I raised my aspenbark shield and squatted, bracing myself. The blow threw me back into a thorny bush ripping at my flesh.
    “ I threw my short oak spear at the tall, lanky shape I hoped was the Soreye intent on beheading me. The shape spun like a top running down and fell back out of sight.
    “ The screams and groans of fighting men counter-pointed by the Soreyes’ bells rose in pitch then shimmered away into silence broken by a flood of smoke reeking of burnt piñon and cedar resin. Its pungency bolted me upright, and I left half of my brown bodysuit hanging in shreds on the thorny bush.
    “ A lunging Soreye woman flailed past me screaming, her chorded bells jangling frantically.
    “‘ Fire, desertmen, fire!’ She fled down the slope and onto the desert proper, convincing other Soreyes to follow by retreating from the brush. The desert-born were deathly afraid of fire since, according to rumor, many a brushfire on the plains had claimed entire tribes of Soreyes with unmerciful swiftness.
    “ Nohmin warriors flew up the slope at me, jostling with Soreyes, trying to get out of each other’s way. I turned and joined the flight through leaping, crackling flames that feasted on the dry piñon and rabbit brush.
    “ I singed my hair and, for a horrible moment, my nostrils so burned with the searing air that I couldn’t smell.
    “ An old, sharp voice brought the scent of pressed pine needles to my mind’s nose, and called out through the orange smoke.
    “‘ Nersite, Nersite.’
    “ I responded to my name by spinning in circles and yelling, ‘Niddle-ai! Here, I can’t see you, Niddle-ai!’
    “ Out of the foggy haze, a familiar form darted toward me. Finally, at arm’s length the features of old Niddle-ai were clear.
    “‘ Come on, boy, you should’ve been the first past the fire line.’
    “ He grabbed me and, supporting each other, we waded through the smoke, bushes, and bodies up the ever-steepening slope.”
     
     
    eighteen
     
     
    “ Wind coursing through the aspen, high above, brought a faint tinge of burnt piñon and cedar along with the cactus fragrance.
    “ Reluctantly, I broke the blessed silence. ‘The wind’s coming off the Seared Meadow, Niddle-ai.’
    “ Still lying peacefully on the soft grasses of the mesa, Niddle-ai opened his eyes slightly, inhaled, and sighed. ‘Yes, and there’s a  goat-like scent in that wind. But not too strong. There’s no Soreye near Nohwood for now.’ He closed his eyes again and folded his arms across his chest. Even the hairs of his arms were starting to turn gray.
    “ I sat up fighting stiff, sore muscles. Looking out over the tops of aspen and pine trees, I saw the sun moving to the zenith, bathing the Seared Meadow and the flat Il Serrohe Desert in a hot, white haze. There, with blurred edges, were the jagged black lava cliffs of Il Serrohe. No shadows stretched across the Seared Meadow as the defiant arm of the Tower of Il Serrohe thrust like a fist from the extreme eastern point of the cliffs into the sky about a hundred feet.
    “ It hadn’t been long since the Soreyes had rebuilt the Tower along those cliffs north of the Place of Homes and the Seared Meadow. It seemed to symbolize their new vigorous aggression: a determination to prevent Nohmin and all the other races of the Valle Abajo from enjoying security and peace.
    “ A scent of wild rose broke through the blanket of Niddle-ai’s pine incense and my roasted piñon nut. Coming down a winding path was a small, slender shape that gradually grew into the most beautiful form in