“And we’ll rip off Sophos’s balls, and let Aislan feed them to his dogs,” I said, beginning to smile for the first time since I’d recognized Alibek.
“I think we may have to draw straws,” Tamar said.
“Well,” I said. “Did you bring your bow?”
“And food. And water.”
“I wish you’d brought a yurt.”
“You slept outside half the time anyway.”
“Winter’s coming.”
“Yeah, we’ll definitely have to come up with somewhere else to sleep pretty soon.” Tamar touched the bags on the back of her saddle. “I’m not going to miss Ruan.”
“I’ll miss Zhanna.”
“She liked you better than she liked me.”
“Not anymore, I bet.”
“You might be surprised.”
“Before you left, Zhanna didn’t say anything to you about what I said, about banishing the djinn . . .”
“No.” She sighed. “And I have no idea how you did that, either. The only thing I know is, I’ve heard all sorts of strange stories about what people can do with djinni—in stories about the Sisterhood of Weavers. But they keep a lot of what they can do a secret. Maybe when we’re done freeing slaves, we can ride to Penelopeia and you can ask someone’s advice?”
“Good thought,” I said. “Let’s go find your water hole.”
Tamar turned her horse and I fell into step behind her. It’s over, I thought, as our horses stretched out to a gallop. And then I thought, No, it’s starting.
And I’m not alone.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks, first of all, to my agent, Jack Byrne, and to my superb editor, Anne Groell, who rocks.
Many thanks to the members of the Wyrdsmiths, for critique, support, and friendship: Eleanor Arnason, Bill Henry, Doug Hulick, Harry LeBlanc, Kelly McCullough, Lyda Morehouse, and Rosalind Nelson.
It can be amazingly difficult to find answers to questions about Kazakhstan—this is particularly true when you need information about a region that doesn’t get many tourists. I am deeply grateful to Kevin Miller Jr., a former Peace Corps volunteer who worked in Kazakhstan and who answered a whole bunch of random questions for me via e-mail. The cultures in this book are only very loosely based on real-world cultures, so blame me, not Kevin, for the many things in the novel that don’t match up to the real world. My friend Marc Moskowitz answered questions for me about ancient Greek language and culture, but again, this is fantasy, not history, so I changed things when I wanted to. And sometimes I just made them up. Don’t blame Marc. Finally, two doctor friends, Jamie Feldman and Lisa Freitag, answered questions about injuries—and, like all my other expert friends, should not be held responsible for my errors.
Thank you to my beta readers: Jason Goodman, Peter Gunn, Michelle Herder, Doug Hulick, Martine Kalke, John Rowan Littell, Curtis Mitchell, Fillard Rhyne, Bill Scherer, and Karen Swanberg.
Thanks to my parents, for ongoing encouragement, moral support, and remote-site computer backup services.
A very special thank-you to my husband, Ed, for huge amounts of support, understanding, and enthusiasm. And a big hug and kiss to my three-year-old daughter, Molly, just on general principle.
I conceived of a very, very early version of this story while on vacation with my family when I was fifteen or sixteen years old. I scribbled it down in a spiral notebook, and my younger brother, Nathaniel, read it page by page as I finished and nagged me for weeks after I quit working on it. Thank you, Nate, and thank you also to my sister, Abi, for being my very first fans, not merely willing to tolerate listening to my endless stories, but genuinely enthusiastic about hearing them.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Naomi Kritzer mostly grew up in Madison, Wisconsin, though her family also spent time living in North Carolina, Indiana, Texas, and England. She moved to Minnesota to attend college; after graduating with a BA in religion, she became a technical writer. She is also the author of two previous novels for Bantam: Fires of the Faithful and Turning the Storm. She lives in Minneapolis with her family. You can see pictures of her kids (as well as information about her writing, of course) on her website: http://www.naomikritzer.com. She is currently at work on the second book in the Dead Rivers trilogy.
Also by Naomi Kritzer
Fires of the Faithful
Turning the Storm
Be sure not to miss the next
exciting installment in
The Dead Rivers Trilogy
The
Spirit-Binder’s
Apprentice
by Naomi Kritzer
Coming soon from
Bantam Spectra Books!
The Spirit-Binder’s Apprentice
Coming soon!
When the wind was right, I could smell Elpisia from our hiding place down in the track of the old river: greasy smoke and rotting garbage. The Alashi encampments moved frequently and left our—their—garbage behind. I’d never noticed the smells of Elpisia when I lived there, but a summer on the steppe had cleared my nose, and now I wrinkled my face as the wind shifted and wondered how anyone could stand it.
“Lauria. How dark does it have to be before we move in?” Tamar asked. Her small frame fit compactly into the crevice where she slouched; she chewed on the corner of a ragged fingernail.
“There are a lot of people in Elpisia who could recognize me.” Kyros, for one. “I should probably wait until it’s fully dark. I’ll go by myself; you can wait with the horses.”
“Aren’t you afraid that you’ll get caught?”
“If I do, I can probably talk my way out of it, this time. But not if I have you with me. And I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“How are you going to get into the city?”
“There’s a spot where the wall is crumbled, or used to be, anyway. I’ll climb over there.”
The last time I’d scrambled up the side of the Elpisia wall was last spring, when I’d gone in search of Kyros’s escaped slave, Alibek. I’d been looking for evidence left by Alibek in his flight. I’d tracked Alibek to his hiding place in the river gorge where Tamar and I were hiding now, and had pulled him out and dragged him back to Kyros. It was only last spring, but it felt like ten years ago.
Well, I wouldn’t need to free Alibek: he had freed himself, run away to the Alashi. And when we came face-to-face, he’d told them who I was. They’re having their fall gathering now, I thought, and wrenched my mind away before I started thinking about what Zhanna and Janiya and the others might be doing. Though I had decided to defect to the Alashi and never return to Kyros, I hadn’t confessed my true identity to Janiya before it was too late. I hadn’t told her that Kyros was a boss, not a master; that he’d sent djinni up to the steppe to talk to me, though I’d dodged their questions more and more as the summer had worn on. I hadn’t told her that I had come to the Alashi as a spy.
I wasn’t sure if there was any way to earn the trust of the Alashi again. But at least this way I could make amends to the people I had dragged back to Kyros. Assuming I didn’t fail as completely at this task as I had failed at my last.
“What are you going to do if they’ve fixed the wall since last spring?”
“Find another spot. If there isn’t time tonight, I’ll go back tomorrow.”
I still didn’t understand why Tamar had thrown her lot in with me. The Alashi weren’t angry with her; she could have stayed with them. But she’d dropped her vest down on top of mine and followed me. Since that first day, I hadn’t been inclined to question her too closely. I was too afraid that she’d change her mind and leave.
I didn’t like being alone.
“Do you know where to look for—what is her name, anyway? You haven’t said.”
“Nika,” I said. I didn’t really want to think about her, but Tamar was waiting silently for me to go on, so after a moment I did. “She was about fourteen when I brought her back. Your age. That was over three years ago. When I caught up with her, I expected her
to cry, but she held herself as rigid as carved stone. She didn’t say a word the whole way back to Elpisia.”
“Is she still with Kyros?”
“No, he sold her to a friend in town. She’s still in Elpisia, though, or she was a couple of months ago. I thought she would be a good one to free first, because I don’t think Kyros knows what happened with me yet. If I run into someone I know, or screw this up some other way, I can try telling Kyros I was on my way back to him after Alibek exposed me. I may not be able to pull that off in a few months—if the other escapes go well.” I wondered again why Tamar had thought coming with me was a good idea. “I know where the household is, but I don’t know how I’m going to find Nika.”
“What if she’s been sold since last spring?”
“Then I won’t find her.”
I slipped out of our hiding place and started for Elpisia at dusk, and it was quite late when I reached the wall. Sure enough, no one had fixed it since last spring; I found hand-holds easily, and scrambled over the crumbling spot. I hoped Nika would be able to manage the climb. The wall was guarded by soldiers from the garrison, but I’d been climbing over the Elpisia wall since childhood; avoiding the patrols Kyros had set was easy. I had a rock in my boot, so I pulled it off and shook it out, and then pulled up the hood of my cloak to obscure my face as much as I could.
The streets were dark and quiet this time of night, but a few people were still out. I walked briskly rather than keeping to the shadows; acting like I was trying to hide would only attract attention. Nika’s owner lived quite close to Kyros, not far from the city gate. I took a roundabout route, trying to stay as far from Kyros’s house as I could.
It was a cold night. I kept my head down so that the wind wouldn’t blow my hood back, and kept my eyes on the hard dirt under my feet. Being back in Elpisia like this—hiding, sneaking through the streets—felt more foreign to me than my memories of my first days with the Alashi. But at the same time, I could have found my way through its streets blindfolded. It’s strange, so strange, to be back. To be back like this.
I wondered if my mother was still awake, and if she was, if Kyros was with her. Kyros’s djinn had implied, in its last message, that Kyros might threaten my mother to coerce me. My first instinct, when I decided to return to Elpisia, had been to warn her. But then what? I had nowhere to take her and no way to take care of her. She certainly wouldn’t be any safer with me and Tamar. Far from it. Besides, if she knew anything about what I was doing, she would feel obligated to keep it a secret to protect me—and that could endanger her if Kyros believed that she was somehow in league with me.
No. I couldn’t visit my mother.
Just as well, really. If I did visit her, we’d just end up fighting again.
I turned a corner; there, a stone’s throw ahead of me, was the household where Nika had been sold. It was built in the Greek style, like Kyros’s house, with a courtyard in the center. The front door would be guarded at night. Well, I assumed that it was guarded; I couldn’t see much evidence either way from the street.
The first step was to get inside. The front door, obviously, was out of the question. There were a few windows that opened on to the street, but they were tightly shuttered and barred from within; besides, the rooms on the other side of those windows might have people in them at odd hours. I circled the house once, keeping to the shadows now, though I couldn’t see anyone watching. The street was quiet.
Right. The first step is to get inside. You were Kyros’s most resourceful servant—can’t you figure out a way to do that?
The windows had a sill; maybe I could climb onto the roof from there, and then go over that and into the courtyard. I took off my cloak and mittens and stuffed them into my bag; the wind chose that moment to send a gust whipping through the street that left me aching and numb. Before I could change my mind, I climbed onto the windowsill. It was awkward and when I shifted I knocked up against the shutter. Anyone inside would have heard that, and I froze for a moment, ready to leap off and run for it if I heard movement inside. But all stayed quiet. If anyone had heard me, they must have thought it was the wind.
Now that I was close enough to make a try for the roof, I realized that it was a good arm’s length out of my reach. If I’d brought Tamar, I could have boosted her up onto the roof—but she didn’t have the strength or weight to pull me up after her, so I’d have needed both Tamar and a rope. And a lot more certainty that we could avoid being seen. Risking my own neck is one thing. Risking Tamar’s is another matter entirely. With freezing fingers, I felt for handholds in the stone and mortar of the house. And found one. Maybe I could swing myself up and launch myself onto the roof . . .
I came nowhere near my goal, but managed to make a wonderful crashing sound as I kicked loose a few tiles that shattered on the street below. I landed on the tiles and managed to bite back a stream of oaths as the shutters banged open.
“—a bird or something.”
“I just wanted to check.”
“Well, you’re letting in a lot of cold air, thank you very much.”
I held my breath, making myself as small as possible. I was right in the open, if they poked their heads out to look for what had made the noise, they’d see me.
“It didn’t sound like a bird.”
“All right, if you insist, I’ll send one of the men to see what it was.”
The shutter closed—but I didn’t hear the bar put back into place. The guards would be coming, but it would take a little time—who was in the room?
With the tip of my finger, I eased the window open a crack and peered in. It was the kitchen, and there were two women still there, both Danibeki. If I offered to free them in exchange for their help, would they leap at the opportunity, or scream to alarm the whole house? Tamar would love to shepherd an entire household’s worth of slaves up to the reluctant Alashi, but the practicalities of that were more than a little daunting to me. Besides, even if Tamar were right that there were no slaves who liked being slaves, that didn’t mean they’d all be willing to flee to the Alashi. Many believed that the Alashi sacrificed humans to Arachne and Prometheus.
I hesitated too long; if I’d wanted to speak with them, I’d lost my chance. I sprinted around a corner and hid just a few moments before I heard the crunch of the guards’ boots on the street. “—bunch of jumpy girls,” a male voice said. “Wanting to hide under the bed from the winter wind.”
“Something did knock down a few tiles,” another voice said. They had a lantern; I could see the light flickering. “It’s not blowing that hard.”
“Nika’s probably right, it was a bird or something.”
Nika! Had I looked right at her and not recognized her? Or had she been the one who went for the guards? Probably the latter. So she was probably there, in the kitchen, right now.
Muttering about girls and the cold wind, the guards did a quick search, found a feather that had doubtless been dropped by a bird sometime in the last week, and went back inside. I went back over to the window just in time to hear the bar drop again.
Well, at least now I knew where Nika was. I pressed my ear against the shutter and listened to the conversation. They were up early, not late, baking bread for the morning; the conversation was household gossip, nothing useful or interesting. There were three women working, all slaves. Listening to the chatter and knowing that one of them was Nika, I was fairly certain I knew which voice was hers. She had a low, slightly breathy voice that was easy to pick out.
I could just knock on the window . . .
Instead, I put my cloak and mittens back on and waited. There’s no hurry, I told myself. I can go back to Tamar, talk about what to do, and try again tomorrow. That’s probably the best plan right now, take this slowly.
Still, it seemed like it would be worth waiting. Maybe the other two women would step out for a few minutes and I’d have the opportunity to talk to Nika. It could happen. So I waited, and waited, and just as I was thinking that I’d have
to leave to be well away by dawn, one of the women said she was going to use the privy, and another had to go get something out of the pantry; Nika was alone.
I knocked urgently on the shutter. “Nika. Nika!” I hissed.
The shutter opened so abruptly that it almost knocked me off the windowsill. Nika stared at me, white-faced and startled. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“Do you still want your freedom enough to take it? I have a horse, I’ll take you to the Alashi.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m here to free you, what does it matter who I am?”
There was a long moment of struggle on Nika’s face, and then she said, “I can’t. Not without Melaina.”
“Who?”
“My daughter. I can’t leave her here. She doesn’t have anyone but me.”
The other women could return at any moment. I spoke rapidly. “Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow night. Figure out a way to get yourself and Melaina out this window, and I’ll take both of you.” I jumped down to let her swing the shutter closed, and ran back for the city wall. I’d stayed too long; the sun would be up well before I got back to our hiding place by the river.
Tamar’s face fell when she saw me returning alone. “What happened?” she asked.
“She wants to bring her kid. We’ll try again tonight. This time I think I want you to wait by the wall with the horses; it’ll be slow going with a young child otherwise.”
Morning came, cool and damp. In a few more weeks, thirst would no longer be the worst danger on the steppe; instead we’d need to worry about freezing to death. There was a bit of water in the mud at the bottom of the gorge, and we were able to water the horses and drink ourselves. If anyone saw us, they didn’t investigate.
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