They felt like they were floating. 

It was strange, though Ma’an found it familiar. 

It reminded him of the Fir River back in Iichun Zanë. 

The warmth of the earth surrounded them, making them fluid. They kept feeling each other’s presence, though they did not know where they were. It did not really matter, for their eyes were closed. 

And they breathed.

・・・

Ma’an awoke from a strange sleep. 

He lay in the grass on a gentle slope. The warmth of the sun made him open his eyes. Yorell lay next to him, still asleep. 

He sighed and looked out over the world before him. 

The land was flat there, and many towns could be seen. The further away, the bluer everything became, and at the horizon he wasn't sure if he could see the ocean or not. 

He suddenly remembered his hand. Upon inspection it seemed to be… okay. 

He took his torn glove off and was stunned by the nasty wound in his palm. The blood had long stopped flowing, and it seemed the flesh had started to heal. He could not move his middle and ring finger because the tendons were torn, but his bones seemed to be intact.

‘Ma’an…’ Yorell said softly as he awoke.

‘Hey, Yorell. How are you doing?’ Ma’an said.

Yorell slowly sat up and tried to place his surroundings.

‘I’m… okay. What happened? Did you… did you do this?’ 

Ma’an chuckled. ‘Kind of. Those Taut spirits weren't exactly predictable, so I had no clue we’d end up here.' Ma'an sat next to him and looked to see if he was really alright.

‘You know a lot about spirits, don't you?’ He sounded tired.

‘Mmhm. It’s quite essential if you want to use keiïa well.’

‘Really? I barely know anything about them. It’s all just myths and stories, there's not much we can go off of.’

‘True,’ Ma’an rolled up Yorell’s sleeve and looked at his underarm, ‘most knowledge on them comes from Manta one way or another.’ 

There was some bruising and scratches on the arm, but it seemed okay, and Yorell did not flinch when he pressed on the skin.

‘Oh, I had completely forgotten about that… It seems better.’ He turned his arm a couple times. ‘Yeah, I think it's okay.’

‘Good.’

‘Oh! But— you…’ Yorell took Ma'an's hand and looked at the wound in shock.

‘It’s fine. Etanna shot me. It’ll heal.’

‘Are you sure? It looks bad. Does it hurt?’

‘No, not really. The spirits must have tended us a little. Don’t worry, I can… Well, let’s see.' Ma'an took a couple blades of grass and laid them on the wound. He then sat upright and breathed slowly. 

Yorell did not dare to make a sound. Ma’an’s left hand made subtle movements. He saw him flinch as one of the blades of grass went into his palm. The others followed, and he was clearly in pain. Yorell didn't understand and wanted him to stop, but he couldn't interfere with him. 

After a while, Ma’an took more grass and continued. When he finally opened his eyes again, the wound had been stitched with grass and he could move his fingers again. 

Yorell was amazed at the precision. ‘I didn't know that was possible,’ is all he could say.

‘It’s not often necessary, fortunately. But you know how to do some magic too, I saw. Those Kosocians did not really stand a chance, did they?’ Ma’an chuckled.

‘Yeah, I… I hope they rest well. I did not mean to be so violent. I practiced a lot for encounters like that, but I had never done anything of the sort.’

‘You practiced keiïa like that? By yourself?’

‘I initially learned it from my grandparents, which is common in Kosoci. I later practiced alone, trying to get more use out of it. Where did you learn it?’

‘The University of Zeëzin. It’s weird to say that name again, it’s like it’s from a different world that never actually existed. I studied keiïa there for seven years. I kept studying by myself after too, because lots of new knowledge was still being found and you could never learn too much. It was exhausting, but it was worth it.’

‘Why did you become a wizard?’ Yorell asked. He lay an arm around Ma’an and they leaned their heads on each other, enjoying the warm sun.

‘It was an easy way to escape the status system and still make a living. My country was in conflict and my hometown was being destroyed, so I wished to leave and pursue my dream in Iichun Zanë. I would say it turned out quite well…’ 

Yorell smiled. ‘Admirable. You’re doing good…’

‘So are you. We’ve made it far together.’

‘Emphasis on together, because without you, I would have crumbled long ago. I thought I would never see you again on that hill, it terrified me because I know there is nothing else for me besides this journey. I’ve ruined my own life and that of many others. This is the last time I try, so I will do everything I can.’

‘I will not go anywhere without you, Yorell. When that last try ends will always be up to you. We’re free, so let’s enjoy each other’s company while we can. Who knows what awaits.’

‘I suppose we are free… No one has been able to stop us yet. I do not particularly care what awaits us, to be honest. I just wish to be away from here. So you don’t have to worry about that. I know you’ve been thinking about it.’ Yorell tipped his head at Ma’an, who bit his cheek.

‘I just… I don't know what’s out there. I don’t want this journey to be pointless.’

‘It won’t. We’ll make it somewhere. Even if that’s not Manta, it can’t be the only hidden land of this world. I’m sure there is some place for the two of us. All I care about is that you’re there with me, if you will let me.’

‘I will have you next to me wherever we go.’

・・・

Since both of them had had enough of the hills, they decided to walk down the slope and went to the east. They could hopefully find more rest there. 

The Taut Hill had also offered them a blank sheet to work with: the Kosocians had lost their tracks and would need to rely on sightings. They moreover expected the two to go north, as had clearly been their plan. The last place they expected them to show up in was Daumat, the capital of Doku, where they were headed now. 

The two departed at a leisurely pace. They soon found a small road which they crossed to come into meadows and farmland. It was nice to have a steady ground beneath their feet again. The sun would shine the whole day, making the trip significantly easier. 

Yorell guessed it would only take one day to come to Daumat from where they had woken up. 

Daumat lay in the south of the Yaut Sea area, originally a large tide sea in the northeast of Doku that had been partly laid dry to make room for cities and farmland. Daumat was one of the largest cities in northern Miranitia and attracted people from all over the east coast of the continent. Ships came to its large harbours to trade wood and clothing for seaweed and glasswork. 

The buildings of Daumat were tall and robust. Large cubes of greyish stone with small windows and strange minarets on top. The eaves and floor divisions were often made of colourful tiles, and copper – often long oxidised – was a popular material for outside decorations such as small statues, strips, and plates on the lower floor walls. 

It did not take long for Ma’an to see this city for the first time. They had passed small towns underway and had soon found themselves in the suburbs of Daumat, but his eyes were ever on the city’s centre that towered over the rest. 

A tall tower in particular caught his attention. 

‘The Minaret of Taywnma’ Yorell said it was called. He had never seen it before. It was a symbol of power for the Taywnma house, which had been ruling over Daumat for several decades now. 

Before they would actually enter the city, Yorell proposed to buy new clothing. This way they would stand out less and would be more comfortable. 

In a small store on the outskirts of the city, they looked around for something fitting. There was not much for Ma’an, for he was so small. 

Luckily, eastern Dokian dress managed to look flattering on practically all wearers, and so he could find something that did not look too weird on him, though it was still slightly too big. 

Dokian dress in Daumat consisted of an underdress with sleeves slipped onto the arms and tied to the top piece. This would usually do it for inside activities. Outside, however, long, buttoned coats were worn over it which would reach to the ankles. They called the coat a wnamiy. 

Even though Dei Pian clothing was becoming more prominent over the years, this was still the most common way to dress oneself. 

Anyhow, Yorell helped him put it on and paid for all of it. The shopkeeper was rather curious about their own clothes, and wanted to know where they were from.

‘Normally, those foreigners don’t come outside of East Daumat, and if they do, they do not come looking like this! Where was this made?’ he asked Ma’an, and he touched the fabric over his shoulders. 

‘You probably do not know the land… It is far away. It has not been washed in a while, so I probably ought to throw them away,’ Ma’an said, referring to the fact that he had worn it for a week now and there were dirt and blood stains everywhere. 

‘Do not…!’ the shopkeeper said, 'It is beautiful.’ 

‘Would you have it, then? It will only be a burden to me,’ Ma’an replied. 

‘Are you sure?’ the shopkeeper asked in disbelief, ‘This seems priceless. I cannot possibly pay a fitting price.’ 

‘No, please have it. I do not need anything in return. I wish to forget it.’ Ma’an took his corset off and handed it to the shopkeeper, who carefully took it. 

Ma’an was glad to get rid of the lingering past.