Several of the merchants splintered off from the caravan once it was announced they would not stop after Lucaraville. Fabrian said farewell to the tanner, who had gifted her the bag, and several others she had the pleasure of meeting in the past month. Even two of the guards, Sanda and Darian, bade farewell to the group—deciding to stay in town until the caravan circled back.

Although their numbers dwindled from forty wagons to twenty-five, Netali seemed unbothered by those who left.

“That’s the merchant business,” she shrugged. “We’ll pick up new recruits in Agan as we travel to Rotia. They’ll want a safe group to pass into Natalez with. ”

“The capital?” Fabrian asked. “We’re going there?”

“You’ll have the best chances of finding work there,” Netali gave her an odd look. “How’d you know that though?”

“That guy, Stella, he told me about it.” 

They had departed from Lucaraville four days ago and were now halfway there. The terrain transformed from dense, lush forest to low-foliage flatlands. Very few plants grew on the increasingly clay hardened earth: some cacti and other spiky looking flora, as well as the rare shrub that looked reminiscent of tumbleweeds. The ground itself became dry and colorful—like sunset watercolors on textured paper. In the distance, they saw tall ruddy mountains framing the oncoming desert like ominous sentinels. Fabrian felt a sense of homecoming. The land reminded her of the desert surrounding her parent’s pecan and citrus orchards. She wondered if Daphne had created this place after their childhood. Overhead, the high sun bore down mercilessly. She’d bought a sleeveless tunic and thin linen cloak from one of the seamstresses in the caravan, after feeling uncomfortable with the thin layer of sweat that separated her clothes from her skin. Even Netali had discarded her coat and trousers—opting only for a light cotton shirt and her horse-facing skirt. 

Cleri was in constant complaint, but still dressed in complete armor. 

“You’re going to get heatstroke,” Fabrian warned. 

“This isn’t my first time going to Agan,” Cleri protested, sticking out their tongue. 

Later that evening, Fabrian had to nurse their stubborn friend back to health, using a damp rag against their forehead, after they fell ill due to their thick attire. Cleri begrudgingly forfeited their metal armor with the help of Fabrian, but they insisted on keeping the leather armor underneath. Cleri said it was for their own comfort, and Fabrian did not press the issue further.

Due to both the doctor and the magician’s handiwork, Fabrian felt rejuvenated and used the sudden burst of energy to learn how to ride a horse. Hail and Armon had made it look effortless, and knowing that it might come in handy for the future, she thought it best to learn on the open road. 

After a day’s worth of spooking of horses and Netali nearly falling off the wagon laughing—Fabrian gained a good grasp on how to be an equestrian. 

Instead of sitting in the wagon while Netali led the caravan or walking alongside one of the many carriages, Fabrian now rode guard with Cleri, Hail, and Armon. While Armon took the left, and Cleri and Hail took the rear, Fabrian followed along on the right flank. She decided riding a horse was a million times better than driving a car. The sun warmed her skin directly, and the breeze whispered idly by. Her horse, a chestnut stallion already gelded, was mild in nature and always seemed happy to plod along. It had been a gift from Cleri. They’d said the stallion was growing in age and was too old to be pulling their wagon. While Fabrian wasn’t sure of the truth behind that, she was grateful and accepted her friend’s kindness. After much thought, since Cleri just called the stallion “Horse”, Fabrian decided to name him “Dune” since his coat reminded her of growing-amount of deep bronzy sand. 

On the eighth day, they reached a large bridge that stretched across a wide river, moving with slow and lazy swirling currents. The water of the Agalez River burbled as it flowed through the bed of the shallow gorge. Along the edges of the rock face, sparse plants that reminded Fabrian of yucca grew in groups in hollow nooks in the rock. Palm trees and palo verdes dotted along the riverside, casting shade that rocked hazily across the earth as the trees swayed. Made of brick and mortar, the bridge also had long wire suspensions tethering it to the cliff face of the riverbed. Fabrian recognized that if one flash-flood went wrong, the whole thing would wash away. She’d seen more than one thunderstorm tear through a desert and sweep everything away in the sudden rains. Flash storms like that were unpredictable, scattering sand and mountainside and foundation alike.  

She sidled her mount to the front as Netali halted the caravan. The merchant looked onward with a contemplative frown. 

“What’s up?” Fabrian asked.

“This is the border, on the other side is officially Agan,” Netali said. “ Once we cross, it’ll be a day’s ride to Rotia. We’ll stay for three days to restock and recruit other traveling merchants.”

“Oh.” Fabrian gripped the reins a bit tighter. “That’s it then?”

“That’s it,” Netali agreed softly. “Unless you want to stay with us. You’ll always have a home with the caravan.”

“Thank you…you’ve given me more than I could possibly repay you for.” Fabrian murmured. “But if you and Stella were right about the attackers being First Order Knights…Then the longer I stay with you, the longer you’ll be in danger. I don’t think the queen was supposed to live this long. And I’m almost certain that the disguised soldiers were either for me or for the envoys—neither case is good.”

Netali nodded solemnly. 

“Remember, war is coming. I don’t know when, but,” Fabrian lowered her voice. “When the king of Agan dies, you have to flee. Natalez will break into seven nations, ruled by six duchies along with Hector and Amelia. It'll start as a civil war, and then Agan will launch their assault. You have to get out before then.”

“We’ll come back and get you when that happens.” Netali’s jaw clenched. “We’ll flee past the Duran Mountains to the country beyond—it’s known as Honria. It’s a big port and trade hub since it sits on the seaside. It will be safe there. I’ll find some excuse and drag the caravan up North by force if I have to.” 

Fabrian smiled. “You care a lot about your people.” 

Netali nodded resolutely with a faint smile. “Of course,” She said, then shouted out a command for the caravan to carry out single-file across the bridge. 

After the bridge over the Agalez, there were more brick structures. They towered high above the rocks and sand, built in great arches that shaded the road. Loud rushing could be heard overhead, and it was only after noticing the limestone accumulation dripping down the pillars that Fabrian realized they were aqueducts drawing in the water from the river. Her eyes widened. This was the irrigation system Stella had mentioned? From what little she knew from barely paying attention in her high school world-history class, aqueducts were no small feat of engineering and generally took years to complete. But with the detailed and meticulous handbuilt craftsmanship, they would no doubt survive through civilizations to come. 

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Hail asked, pulling her horse up to Fabrian’s. “That’s not even the best part.”

“There’s more?” Fabrian exhaled softly, feeling as though her breath had been knocked from her lungs. 

Hail pointed over the horizon. “Ride ahead with me. I want to see your reaction first. Otherwise Cleri won’t stop bragging that they got you to shut up.”

“I’m not that chatty.”Fabrian rolled her eyes, but all the same followed after Hail. 

And oh. Oh. They rode to the crest of the horizon, where the sun started to melt over the vanishing point of the land. In front of them, waves upon waves of golden fronds danced in the orange light. In the distance, an acropolis of bright cerulean buildings rose on one of the foothills to the Duran Mountains, looking down upon the ocean of gold. A line of wagons colorfully decorated with flags and other vibrant cloth meandered further up the road closer to the city—like a line of spring flowers before the gateway guarding the capital. To either the left or right at the foothills, the fields of grain never ended, seemingly going on for miles. 

“These are the barley fields,” Hail said, proud at how stunned Fabrian was by the view before her. “While the painted buildings of the acropolis are beautiful, Rotia is known as the Golden City due to the grain fields. Every year they cycle through wheat, barley, millet, and oats.”

“This year is barley?” Fabrian asked, her voice coming out raw as it caught in her throat. She’d seen sun upon sand, catching it in the light and making it look like golden stones, but the fields of grain were something else.It was like watching sunlight prance across the earth.  

She remembered the fond look in Stella’s eyes. 

“Yeah.” Hail grinned. “I grew up in Agan, and the first time my mothers brought me to the hillcrop to view the fields, I had the same reaction. Natalez is pretty in its own right—but there’s something about Agan that sets your heart on fire.”

“That could just be the intense heat,” Fabrian said jokingly. But at that moment, all she wanted to see were the mountains of her city and the rows upon rows of trees that signaled her parents’ home. 

Maybe Agan really was Daphne’s love letter to their hometown. 

For as close as Rotia seemed, the caravan still made camp along the roadside at nightfall. At some point, the trek had gone from flattened dirt to cobblestone. That’s how they knew they were close.