Princess Sharina Ashur Nishinaron of Minisia was bored. All day, she had sat in the carriage and all day she had done nothing. Her father had told her many stories about the people in the towns on the border between Minisia and Brenmar, but when they’d crossed earlier that morning, it had been in silence.

All her life she had heard that those on the border were rough people, unafraid to rob and kill and injure. Since the Frost, as her people called it, they had only gotten worse. It was hardly their fault. What other reaction could they possibly have to two armies lining up on the border and doing nothing more than hurling insults at one another? Even a silent war could change people, change countries.

From what she had been told by her advisors, the people of Brenmar, the Ishini, didn’t have a name for the Frost. It was just an event that happened and caused other events to occur. How they didn’t have a name for it, she did not know, but she supposed the Frost had not been so devastating for the Ishini.

She had only been a child back then, only nine years old. She barely remembered it, but the cold had always stuck with her. The cold and the fear on her parents' faces. Fear of what exactly, she hadn’t learned until much later, but by then, things between the Ishini and the Askari had changed for the worse.

They were to blame, of course, the Ishini. They were the ones who had ignored Minisia’s struggle. Retaliation should have been expected. What no one had expected was a war that never truly came into being, but had been a threat for almost ten years.

At least now, there would never be a war. King Harudan of Brenmar wanted a treaty and she would sign it in her father’s place. Then, if everything went to plan, both countries would be at peace. There would be no war in Vishera and maybe the border towns could go back to the way they were. Everything could go back to the way it was.

Her advisor sat across from her in the carriage, a balding man with a habit of falling asleep the second he sat down. He was as much of a bore as the rest of her trip. She wanted to get to Ishmar, sign the treaty, and go home. The trip had taken far too long as it was.

Before she could even get to Ishmar, there would be a night spent at one of the holy lands of the Old Gods. She followed the New Gods, but her father had instructed her that making peace with the Ishini also included making peace with those who followed the Old Gods, both in Minisia and Brenmar.

The fact that after so long, people still followed the Old Gods, was astounding to her. The New Gods had come along centuries ago, proving the Old Gods false. But still, people believed, enough people for a holy land in each country. The Ishini and the Askari may have been named for the Old Gods from which they took their powers, but the Gods themselves were as unimportant to Vishera as the dirt road her carriage travelled upon.

She’d grown bored of looking out of the tiny carriage window and settled instead for closing her eyes and listening to the sounds around her. The guards outside talked quietly to each other, their conversation was barely audible over the sound of the wind and the horse’s hoofs against the dirt. Her advisors snores added to the mix, distracting her and ruining her focus.

She sighed and opened her eyes as the carriage went over one of many bumps on the uncared-for road. “Five more minutes, your Highness!” one of the guards outside called. She nearly cheered in relief, grateful to be finally climbing out of the cramped carriage.

The view from the window caused her to frown. When she had been told she would be going to a holy land, she had expected something extravagant. Castles and statues and pillars. Instead, all she saw was ruins and a few wooden homes dotted between them. How little did Brenmar care for their Old Gods? At least in Minisia, they showed them respect and gave them a holy land fit to live in.

A group of orange-skinned people stood at the end of the dirt track, waiting patiently as the carriage slowed to a stop. All of them wore identical grey robes that billowed in the freezing wind. They wouldn’t notice the cold though. Her god, Sol, had gifted the Ishini with eternal heat. She, while grateful to not be Ishini, had been gifted by her god, Lune. Her illusionary powers were not always as useful but she still treasured them.

She gently shook her advisor awake as a guard opened the carriage door. He let out a final snore and stared at her with wide eyes. She rolled her own and with gentle steps, climbed out of the carriage.

Stones crunched under her black boots and she had to hold the ends of her lilac dress so that they wouldn’t fall in the mud and puddles. An elderly woman moved towards her, seeming to float over the muck. She the same pale orange skin as most Ishini, a sharp contrast to the dark blue of her own.

“Greetings, your Highness,” the woman said in the language of the Askari. Rina raised her eyebrows in surprise. According to her father, not many of the Ishini knew their language. “I am the Mother. Welcome to the Sanctum of Ishin.” Ishin was the Old God of fire, the one these people believed gave them their gift.

“Thank you, Mother. I am glad to be here,” Sharina replied, curtseying gracefully. She spoke the language of the Ishini, to let them know that they needn’t attempt her language in order to speak to her.

The group of people behind the Mother bowed. Most were old, grey streaking through the brown and black of their hair. But one was much younger, around Rina’s age. He met her gaze, his copper hair waving in the harsh wind.

The Mother smiled, bringing Rina’s attention back to her. “Our midday prayer is about to begin,” she said in her deep voice. “Please, walk with us, there is much to discuss.” She gestured towards the ruins and Rina signalled for her guard to go ahead.

In a large group, they walked down the slope. Every now and again, Rina’s dress would catch on the twigs that lay on the ground She wondered how the monks were able to do it with their billowing robes. “Thank you for allowing me and my party to stay, Mother. I would imagine you don’t usually have this many visitors,” she said, plastering a polite smile on her face.

“Not often, no,” the Mother replied, her gaze flicking to the young boy with the copper hair. His back faced them, but even Rina could tell he was nervous. “My people don’t usually ask many favours, your Highness, but I must ask one of you.”

Rina frowned and looked to her advisor. He nodded. “Of course, Mother. What can I help you with?”

“Isiah,” the Mother called and the boy with the copper hair stopped.

He turned to face them and bowed once more. “How may I serve you, Mother?”

“Walk with us,” she ordered, gesturing for him to stand on her other side. Rina caught his gaze again and marvelled at the differences between their races. Orange skin, dark hair, yellow or red eyes, the double-pointed ears. They were so completely different. “Isiah has just entered his twentieth year, which means he is to start his pilgrimage.”

“Yes, I know of your pilgrimages,” Rina said. “We have some of your people in the Askari sanctum join us for a few months each year.”

The Mother nodded and hummed in response. “Yes. Isiah will be doing the same in Ishmar. Except, the roads are growing more and more dangerous. Have done for the last ten years. Our people do not condone violence, your Highness, but I know every member of your people is trained with the sword. I ask, can my child please travel with you to Ishmar? I need to know that he will arrive safely.”

Rina looked to her advisor again. She wanted to say no. She didn’t want to travel with an Ishini. There had been enough of them on her travels already. But her advisor nodded again and she remembered what her father had told her. She must make a good impression with the Ishini if they wish to have a better relationship after the treaty is signed.

She sighed and put on another smile. “We can do that, Mother. Isiah will travel with us to Ishmar.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Together, they walked through the fallen stone buildings. Most of it had been cleaned up a long time ago, but the foundations still stood. Small wooden homes cropped up between them, barely big enough to fit two people. The Mother led her not to these buildings, but towards a field in the distance, one of many.

In a circle in the middle of the field were six statues, faded and weather-worn, but the robe-clad people standing around them didn’t seem to mind. They depicted the five Old Gods and their chosen saviour, the Beast that was Promised. Rina had seen the same statues when she had visited the holy land in Minisia years ago, but the ones that stood before her were so faded that she could not tell which God was which.

In the middle was another pillar. She stared at it in awe. There’d been nothing like it at the holy land in Minisia but reminded her of the landmark of her home. Atop the pillar was a crystal half the size of her, a bright amber colour. It pulsed as she watched, spilling golden light over the statues and people.

“We must leave you now, Your Highness,” the Mother said with a gentle hand on her arm. “Isiah will stay behind. He will answer any questions you have and will take you to your rooms whenever you wish.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

The Mother and the group of elderly monks left her then, walking towards the statues and dropping to their knees with the rest of their flock. Rina watched them pray in silence. It was so similar to how she prayed every morning and night, praising her deities, the sun and the moon, asking them for strength on her journey.