Janiya stepped up behind the felt and took careful hold of it. “Bound with our hair; bound with our flocks. Bound with our horses, bound with our water. Bound with our labor, bound with our rest.” She took a deep breath, and yanked back on the felt with all her strength, trying to tear it. The felt stayed whole. “Bound like our sisterhood—may it never be rent!”
Even I could recognize a cue for wild cheering when I heard one. One by one, the sisters stepped forward and took a turn trying to tear the felt. When it was my turn, I didn’t try that hard—if it could be torn, I really didn’t want to be the one who did it. Then Saken strode forward with the same scissors we’d used to cut everyone’s hair, along with three pieces of leather that she used as a guide for where to cut. Within a few minutes, the felt was in pieces; everyone else began to gather them up. Tamar and I hung back, and after a moment Saken came over with three pieces for each of us.
“What do I do with these?” I asked.
“You sew them into a vest,” she said. “Everyone in the sisterhood wears a black vest made of the felt. We sew our vests, and then we decorate them. I’ll show you my vests from other summers, if you want some ideas.”
Tamar and I sat down with her; she had a spool of black thread and a needle. “Do you know how to sew?” she asked. We both nodded. “This shouldn’t be too hard for you, then.” She put her own three pieces together: the biggest piece formed the back, and the other two formed the left side and right side. The texture of the felt allowed her to sew her vest without hemming the fabric; she sewed neatly, the seam turned inward, holding the two pieces together as she worked. “Do you see how they go together?”
We nodded again. There were a limited number of needles, so we had to wait our turn. When Erdene finished, she gave Tamar her needle and a rod of tightly wound thread. Tamar cut a piece of thread and threaded her needle, and Erdene helped her orient her pieces to put them together properly.
As I started working on mine, Saken laid hers aside for a moment, then went into the yurt and came out with a small bundle. “Here are my vests from previous years,” she said, laying them out. She had five vests in all: the four from previous years were each richly decorated with thread. The first one was the most elaborate: a horse galloped past a yurt, and two rivers cascaded from top to bottom. Smaller pictures were scattered around the rest of the vest: a shovel, a bouquet of poppies, a tiny snow-capped mountain, a sleeping cat. Saken tapped the vest and said, “Your first year in the sisterhood, you’re supposed to make a design that tells the story of your life until then. I made this when I was fifteen.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said. I’d spent enough time with a needle, under my mother’s eye, to appreciate the time and skill required. Tamar nodded, and silently stroked the threads in the horse’s neck.
Saken tapped the second vest. “So the next year, since I didn’t have to sew pictures, I didn’t.” The second vest had no pictures on it at all, but designs that marched up and down the back: lines, broken lines, dotted lines, zigzags, triangles, squares, interlocking circles, interlocking swirls. The third and fourth vests had pictures of vines and flowers, and were much simpler than the first two.
“So are we supposed to make designs that show our lives—as slaves?” Tamar asked.
“Yes,” Saken said. “You can use symbols, though; you don’t have to be able to embroider pictures of people. Like, that shovel on mine?” She tapped it. “That’s actually a symbol for my mother, because she used to take me out hunting for karenite, and those are the times I most enjoyed her company.”
Great, I thought. More lies to invent. Well, it wasn’t hard to think of images that I could incorporate easily enough: horses, since I was supposed to have been a stable hand. Some symbol of Kyros, since he was supposedly my old owner. Images from the harem. I shivered a little and stroked the black felt. I wondered how I could represent Sophos. Or Tamar, for that matter.
Everyone seemed to have immediately set to work embroidering; I turned my half-finished vest around and around in my hands, thinking. It would be easiest to start with a horse, except that I wasn’t certain I could embroider a nice-looking horse. Even the most complicated pictures on Saken’s vests were done perfectly, and I didn’t want to have to wear a vest with an ugly, badly done horse embroidered on it all summer long.
A wine cup.
I bit my lip, trying to push the image from my mind, but it intruded again: the wine cup, pressed to my lips by Tamar. The drugged wine, blurring my senses, unsteadying me, making me . . .
Saken had brought over some colored thread to work with. Once I was done stitching the vest together, I cut a white strand, threaded my needle, and started to sew again.
Shhhh. Shhhh.”
Kyros. I opened my mouth but no sound came out; I looked around frantically, but we sat alone by the banked coals of the campfire. It was night; the yurt stood behind me, dark and quiet. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see you, of course.” Kyros settled down beside me. “How are things going?”
“Well, thank you for sending the djinn to help me find water.” I paused, then frantically corrected myself. “The aeriko, I mean.”
“Yes.” Kyros stared into space for a moment. “Have you been successful?”
“It’s taking some time to be accepted as Alashi. Also—” I swallowed hard. “Things didn’t go as planned at Sophos’s.”
“The other slave?”
“Well, her. Yes. But—” I bit my lip, finding the words sticking in my throat. “Sophos broke his word. He acted dishonorably. He—he used me, as he would a concubine. I want him punished.”
Kyros’s face darkened. “I am sorry to hear that,” he said softly. “Sophos was always a useful tool, for me. But he will pay the price, oh yes, for you—you are far more useful.”
I studied his face, feeling uneasy.
“Honey cake?” he said, and held out a small tray. I reached for a cake, then drew back my hand; the honey cakes were a writhing mass of snakes. Harmless snakes, I thought, but snakes, not cakes—
“Or perhaps some wine?”
“No!” I shouted, swinging my hand wildly to knock the wine cup from his hand. “Stay away from me, no!”
“Shh, shh, shh—”
“Leave me alone!”
“Lauria!”
Tamar had grabbed my shoulders; I wrenched away from her in the dark, my heart pounding. Around me, I could hear the harsh breath of rudely wakened women; without a word, I picked up my mat and blankets and moved outside, lying down by the fire, where I’d dreamed of seeing Kyros. Tamar settled down beside me a few minutes later.
“You don’t have to come out here,” I said. “You’re not the one who just woke everyone up.”
“No,” she said.
Shivering a little in the cold night wind, I looked up at the stars, thinking about the dream. In retrospect, of course, it should have been obvious from the beginning that I was dreaming; what would I have been doing simply sitting out by the fire, alone? Still, I found myself weirdly relieved that Tamar was with me now, as if her presence would keep Kyros from materializing. He could have a djinn bring him here, I thought. But there would be no sense to it. It could horribly compromise my cover, not to mention risking his life. It occurred to me as I drifted on the edge of sleep that I shouldn’t feel relief that Tamar’s presence would keep Kyros away, but disappointment. It’s because I know how dangerous his presence would be to our plans, I reassured myself.
I heard a footstep and sat bolt upright; it was only Zhanna, coming out of the yurt, wrapped in her own blanket. “Are you two warm enough?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” Tamar muttered from under her blanket, which she’d pulled over her head.
“You can come back in the yurt, you know. No one’s annoyed with you except Ruan.”
“It’s nice of you to say so,” I said.
“No, really.” Zhanna sat down beside me, wrapped in her own blanket. “I mean, so s
ometimes you have nightmares. Ruan snores like a geriatric dog, especially when she’s been drinking. I’ve been told that I snore, too, though not quite as loudly. Saken scratches in her sleep. Erdene whistles.”
“You’re making that up,” Tamar muttered.
“No, really. Not every night, but she does it. And she talks in her sleep. Once Jolay led her through a whole bizarre conversation—‘The lentils, they’re coming.’ ‘Oh? And are they bringing the rice?’ ‘Oh, Prometheus, the rice! It’s dressed in its finery . . .’—while the rest of us listened. And laughed. Eventually Erdene woke up, though she didn’t remember a word she’d said.”
“I’ll sleep out here tonight,” I said.
“Suit yourself.” Zhanna dropped her blanket on me. “Stay warm. I’m going back in the yurt.”
I spread out the extra blanket over both me and Tamar, who curled up warm at my side. After a few minutes, I stopped shivering and went back to sleep.
I woke again, with a start, what felt like bare moments later. From the edge of camp, I heard a sharply indrawn breath, and a woman’s voice shout, “Raiders!”
I scrambled to my feet, throwing my blanket aside, and ran back into the yurt, where I’d left the sword I’d taken from the bandit camp. I was nearly knocked down by Saken, running out, but I got in and found my sword and ran back out with everyone else. Tamar had snatched up the only thing handy, a rock, to defend herself. “Here,” Ruan shouted, and thrust a bow and a quiver of arrows into her hands. “See if you can hit bandits as well as you can hit a stuffed goatskin.” Tamar threaded the ring over her thumb and strung the bow, still stumbling a little from confusion and tiredness.
I drew my sword, having no real idea how to make myself useful. Then horses swept in.
The raiders were Greek bandits, deserter soldiers, like the bandits Tamar and I had run into on our trip to the Alashi. All were mounted, and they were here to steal livestock and possibly women—though surely they knew that any Alashi would be more trouble as a slave than she’d be worth. I slashed at a passing horse, realizing quickly the disadvantage of my position on the ground. The Alashi usually fought mounted; so did the bandits. I should have bolted for the horses instead of my sword; I’d have been more likely to survive the battle that way. At least on the ground I could watch Tamar’s back; Tamar, a novice rider, wouldn’t have gone for her horse even if it had occurred to her.
Planting her feet firmly where she was, she shot two arrows high over everyone’s head (at least she didn’t shoot one of the sisters by accident; that, I thought, would be unlikely to earn either of us a bead), then found her stride and hit a bandit square in the gut. He bellowed in pain and galloped out of the camp, clutching at himself. That diverted his friend’s attention to the archer on the ground, and he turned toward us: Tamar, panicked, sent one arrow too high, and then I shoved her aside, out of the way of the charging horse, taking a swing at the rider as they passed. He was far out of reach. She shot again, just missing him. He turned his horse and looked at the two of us, pausing for just a heartbeat as if he was deciding which one of us to kill. Then one of the sisters saw us—Saken, I realized after a blurred moment—and charged in, a spear raised. The bandit wheeled his horse and fled the camp.
“Get to your horses,” Saken was shouting, but beyond the perimeter, we heard a loud whistle. That seemed to be the signal for the bandits to retreat; they withdrew from the camp and galloped off.
“Count yourselves,” Janiya shouted.
There was a tense moment or two, then the sisters were all accounted for. Several had injuries, and Jolay’s was severe: a bad cut across the shoulder. But no one was bleeding black blood, the sign of a poisoned wound, and Jolay’s wound was probably not life-threatening. Then we counted the herds, and found that they’d taken most of the camels and a half-dozen horses. There were goats and sheep missing as well, but the dogs quickly rounded them up; they’d just strayed in the confusion.
“At least all the horses were spares,” Saken murmured.
“Maydan, tend to Jolay,” Janiya said. “Everyone who isn’t injured, check your weapons and horses and mount up; we’re going after them.”
“Not the blossoms,” Ruan said instantly. “They can stay here.”
I wouldn’t have argued this, but Tamar’s chin went up. “We drew blood. I shot a bandit with an arrow, and Lauria got one with her sword.”
“I got his horse,” I muttered.
Janiya glanced from Tamar to Ruan to me, a faint smile on her lips. “I think they’ve proved they can be useful, Ruan.” She jerked her head toward our horses, and we went to mount.
Janiya pulled up alongside Tamar and me as we settled onto our horses. “How are you two at riding these days?”
“I can stay on,” I said, not really wanting to declare myself proficient. Tamar said nothing, tight-lipped.
Janiya sighed. “You can stay here if you want,” she said. “Usually we wouldn’t take you into battle until you were confident riders, at least. I know you’re a confident rider, Lauria, and not too bad with that sword you got from the bandits. Tamar is a natural with the bow. You’ll both be useful enough if you come, but you’ll be safer here.”
“Anyone would be safer here,” Tamar said.
Janiya’s lips quirked. “No one else is in quite so much danger of falling off her horse.”
Tamar’s hands tightened on her bow. Janiya shrugged, looked us over quickly, and urged her horse to a quick walk, then to a canter. We fell in with everyone else, our horses running smoothly across the steppe in the direction the bandits had gone.
The moon was nearly full, so there was enough light to see by, barely. I glanced at Tamar, riding beside me; she sat up straight like we’d been taught, and her jaw was clenched. Her fist was still wrapped around the bow, though she’d hung the quiver on her saddle like the other sisters. I caught her eye and gave her a questioning look. She nodded firmly and forced a sick-looking smile to her lips.
Janiya signaled a stop, and Gulim dismounted to look for the trail. She found it, we remounted, and followed again. And so it went for a while, until we reached a long-dead streambed. The loose, shifting gravel made for uncertain footing for a horse, but would leave a much less obvious trail. Gulim checked one way, then the other, and was uncertain. “They could have gone either way.”
“They probably followed the streambed for a while and then headed south,” Ruan said.
“Maybe. Or maybe they’re just beyond that next rise . . .”
“We could split up.”
“No,” Janiya said. “Not worth the risk.” She gently turned her horse to face the rest of us. “Zhanna? Can you summon a djinn?”
“This isn’t exactly ideal . . .”
“I know. But please try.”
Zhanna closed her eyes and stretched her hands up to the sky. She had no drum with her today, no flute, nothing to lull her into the trance state that made her receptive to the djinni. The women waited silently; Kara shifted from foot to foot, then dipped her head to begin to graze. Nearby I heard another horse blow out its breath in a loud snort, and Kara raised her head to snuffle in response.
I was beginning to think that the call for djinn was futile, when there was a sparkle of light and Zhanna lowered her hands and sat with an odd rigidity. “What do you want?” she said. Her voice was harsh and brittle.
“We want to know where the bandits went,” Janiya said.
“North.”
We had been headed west.
“Directly north from here?”
“Northwest.”
“Thank you.”
A shimmer in the air, and Zhanna slumped in her saddle. She shook herself and rubbed the side of her head. “That was a bound djinn,” she commented. “I wonder what it was doing out here? And why it decided to visit us?”
I shivered, suddenly alert, wondering where the djinn was. I had no doubt that the djinn was Kyros’s, and it was hovering around us because it was observing me. No doubt Kyr
os was keeping a close watch on me, and I anxiously reviewed the events of the last few days, wondering if Kyros would approve. I have been doing the best I can. If my thoughts have not always been on my assignment, well, the aerika can’t read thoughts.
Around me, the women were urging their horses forward again, and Kara and I fell in with them. A hiss of excitement ran through the group as someone spotted the bandits up ahead. Our horses sped up to a gallop; the bandits wheeled around to face us, and a few moments later we collided like a rock striking a rock.
I drew my sword, the sword I’d taken from the leader of the bandits who’d captured Tamar. And here are more scum like them, I thought, and felt a sudden dizzy joy that this time I was on horseback, holding a sword, facing down these men. Tamar and I had fled those bandits as fast as we could; here, we were the ones attacking.
I had trained a little with a sword in Kyros’s service: basic techniques, mostly. I had never learned to fight from horseback. Working for Kyros, I was armed mostly to protect myself from desperate attacks from unarmed slaves I had been sent to recapture. On the rare occasions that I was sent somewhere that I was actually in danger from bandits, Kyros made sure I had either an escort or a spell-chain for protection. Or both. Of course, his aeriko was watching me even here . . .
One of the bandits charged toward me out of the darkness; I deflected his sword with my own just in time, and my pleasure at the fight was replaced with sudden cold fear. I could get hurt, I could get killed, and there was nothing Kyros could do to protect me. Certainly I couldn’t imagine that his aeriko was instructed to save me from danger, since that would make me utterly useless in my assigned task. My mouth was dry, my hands were steady but freezing cold, and I swung my sword back at the bandit. He deflected my blow easily and swung for me again. I threw the blow aside, realizing that I was facing a much better swordsman than myself, and it wouldn’t be long before he landed a blow.
But he cried out in sudden pain and clapped a hand to the arrow in his sword arm. As his arm drooped, I slashed at him with my sword again, wounding him badly. His horse wheeled and he was quickly obscured by the darkness. I gasped for breath and realized that the sisters were withdrawing; the fight was over already. I wondered if we had our horses back, and our camels, and turned Kara to follow everyone else. My sword was bloody, still in my hand; I had nowhere to clean it and cringed at the thought of putting it back in its sheath covered in blood, so I simply held it until we paused a short time later to be counted.
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