by Jodi Meadows
Chenda touched the tattoos on her cheek, delicate fingers dark against the bright copper. “Bopha needs help. All the Fallen Isles need help. I would like to pursue the truth of the Mira Treaty. Hopefully, I can persuade Mira to see things my way.”
Gerel nodded, then turned toward Aaru. “And you?”
He startled, as though he hadn’t realized that people could still see him and might not have forgotten about him.
Then our eyes met. His were starless night, deep with sadness and mystery, but also kindness and patience. I wanted him with me, his quiet strength and the soft tap of his code on the back of my hand. I wanted the way he had looked at me for me, not for my name.
At last, Aaru sighed and tapped his answer against his knee. ::Home.::
AARU
Ten Years Ago
SAFA WASN’T WELCOME IN HER HOME.
Not really.
By morning, the rain had intensified. Water slammed in silver sheets, obscuring fields and the long, winding road that led to town. My boots sank into the mud as I carried Safa to Nazil’s house.
Mother knocked a quick pattern, announcing herself. She was the only one of us who could, though it would have been better if Father were here. But he was at work.
I put Safa down and she took my hand.
We didn’t hear anything for several minutes, save the pounding rain as it battered the house and poured into the barrels. Finally, the door opened, and Nazil looked out. He was a tall, wiry man, and dark from working the fields.
His eyes dropped to Safa. He scowled. “You brought her back.”
Mother placed her hand on Safa’s head. “Aaru found her last night.”
Nazil frowned more. He didn’t invite us inside, or offer us towels, or a hot drink. “Tell me everything.”
Mother looked at me, and I started to tap on my chest—Safa had a strong grip on my other hand—but Nazil grunted.
“Speak out loud.”
I shifted with discomfort, but I couldn’t disobey. Haltingly, I told him about last night. “I noticed she doesn’t know the quiet code.”
Mother’s glare snapped at me. I tensed. That had been too critical.
“She doesn’t know anything about quiet, code or otherwise.” Nazil narrowed his eyes. “She won’t listen. She’s a wild one.”
That phrase sent a jolt of terror through me. I’d heard about wild ones before. Parents who could afford it sent their child to a correctional school, and they always returned very silent. Very obedient. But wrong somehow. Broken.
Other children just seemed to vanish.
It was a risk, but I had to try. “Perhaps I could teach her.”
Nazil just shook his head and seized Safa’s other hand. “Get here. You’ll go in the basement.”
Safa tightened her grip on my hand and opened her mouth, but she didn’t scream. Yet.
“What has she done?” Mother asked, but she didn’t intervene.
The man grabbed Safa and threw her over his shoulder. “She was screaming last night, keeping Lina awake. I put her out and told her to stay close, but looks like she ran over to your place.”
Horror bloomed in my chest. “You put her outside in a storm. She wanted shelter.”
Nazil reached down and slapped me so hard my right eye stopped working for a moment. “Speak when you’re spoken to.”
Safa started to cry.
“She can’t hear!” It was obvious, wasn’t it? “She can’t hear anything but loud noises, like thunder. She’s scared.”
His free hand balled into a fist, but he didn’t hit me again. He just slammed the door, taking Safa with him.
I wanted to cry, but Father would notice red, swollen eyes later. He’d ask what happened. And then I’d go in the basement, too, for not being a strong enough man. As it was, I might grow a bruise on my right cheek.
“That isn’t right.” Mother nudged me homeward. “If you’re truly willing to teach the girl, perhaps your father will speak to Nazil.”
::I am,:: I tapped.
“Then I’ll speak to your father for you.”
::Thank you.:: I breathed through the tightness in my throat. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t. ::If we don’t help her, no one will.::
“Idris will,” Mother said. “Safa will learn strength through silence.”
Perhaps. But doubt had already been seeded within me.
CHAPTER NINE
HOME. OF COURSE HE WANTED TO GO HOME. THAT had been what he’d told me every day, offering stories of his sisters and their adventures, telling me how he missed his father and worried for his mother. He loved his family, and his absence was making life more difficult for them.
He wanted to go home because his family was his life.
Not me.
Of course not me. We barely knew each other.
Before I could move on to the next part of our discussion, though, Chenda yawned so thoroughly that her jaw popped.
“We should rest,” Gerel said. “Before we get going again.”
It wasn’t long before everyone settled close together, propping our heads on a rolled-up blanket. Except Gerel, who wasn’t going to sleep. And Aaru, who’d moved two steps away to lie down, because he couldn’t be this close without also being uncomfortable.
Careful to keep from waking Ilina beside me, I turned my head to look at my silent friend. In the shadow of the Celestial Warriors’ obelisk, he was a long and slender shape with finely corded muscle and sharp edges around his cheekbones and jaw.
He was looking at me, too. Studying.
Embarrassment burned up my neck and cheeks. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, but I could still feel his attention, and the tension between us, so I sighed and let my gaze flicker down to my chest, where I tapped, ::I promised to help you go home. I will.::
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ::Want to go home.:: He tapped on his stomach. ::Want to be with family. See them safe. Want—:: He lifted his eyes to the sky and breathed, his neck stretching and his chest expanding. He moved with such caution, such weariness.
When he’d collected himself, I said, ::It’s fine if you’re not ready to say it.:: Whatever it was.
He breathed again, and his fingers quickly tapped a prayer—::Strength through silence::—before he turned to me once more. ::Want to be with people I love. With people who understand me.::
My heart sank. I wanted to understand him. I’d never wanted to understand someone more. ::What about after that?::
::Someday, I want to get married. Have children. Give them everything my father gave to me.:: His fingers hesitated. ::I’m a simple person, Mira. Only once did I think I could change the world, and that was the moment that led to my imprisonment.::
I nodded slightly.
::Am not a risk taker. A world changer. Sorry.::
::You don’t have to explain.::
But apparently he thought he did, because his fingers were a flurry of movement. ::I am Idrisi. Isolated. We don’t involve ourselves in others’ problems.:: He glanced at my hands, still motionless on my chest. ::Others think that is selfish, but to us it’s respectful. Moving into others’ spaces all the time, even to offer help—that is rude to us.::
And on Damina, not offering help was unforgivably rude. The Lovers demanded we offer, because love didn’t hesitate. Love charged forward and shone like a bright star.
For the first, maybe only time ever, I wished for our cells. There’d been a wall between us, yes, and I’d spent an embarrassing amount of time imagining that it was gone, that we were simply next to each other. But now he was just two arm lengths away, and our cultures were more of a barrier than the wall had ever been.
The wall, our small space torn into that stone, had perhaps been the very thing that allowed our friendship to take root. Allowed us to hold hands and offer comfort and reveal secrets.
I missed it. I missed Aaru.
For one hundred heartbeats, I let myself imagine opening my eyes to find his arm outstretched,
reaching for me. I’d reach for him, too, and our fingers would bump and twist in wordless knots. We’d stay like that for moment after moment, with sharp yearning growing between us until neither of us could stand it. That was when he’d move closer. He’d take my hands in his, careful not to cage, and kiss my fingers until the deepest parts of me were set on fire. Easily, I could imagine the heat of his body, the stutter of a breath, and the way a touch could say more than words ever dreamed.
When I reached one hundred, I wiped my eyes and tucked that fantasy away. Now was not the time for wishes. I’d indulge it later. Maybe. If the warriors didn’t find us. If we got off the island. If we saved the dragons.
Or maybe there would never be a time for fantasies.
MY BODY WAS stiff with restless sleep when Gerel woke everyone and set us east once more.
For five hot days, we walked across the island of Khulan, skirting around a huge lake called Warrior’s Depth. There was a bridge, but it was heavily trafficked, with guard stations at regular intervals. We couldn’t take the chance that someone would recognize one of us, or ask for papers, so we went around it.
“Armpit Lake,” Ilina said, once the decision was made. “That’s what we call it at home. Because on a map, it looks like Khulan has one fist on his hip, and the lake is the space between his body and his arm.”
“That’s rude.” But Gerel’s tone was cool and she smiled a little.
Twice a day, Ilina and I took Crystal and LaLa hunting. We learned which Khulani game tasted best on a spit or boiled, since we didn’t have a lot of cooking options, and which wild herbs would help our sad attempts at a decent meal. The dragons enjoyed the work, at least. Gold and silver scales flashed between the broad-leafed rain trees, and soon palm trees as we descended the mountains toward the sea. At night, we picked up storm-fallen fronds to use as blankets.
A small victory came on the last night, when I found LaLa and Crystal curled up on top of Kelsine, caught in the bends of her legs and curve of her neck. The next day, the two raptuses rode on Kelsine’s back while she walked alongside us humans.
Evidence of the god’s eye was everywhere. Trees were stripped bare of leaves and fronds, and heavy branches sank deep into the mud. We saw dead animals, too: deer drowned in swollen rivers, and rabbits caught in forgotten snares. Brush had been ripped from the ground, leaving gaping holes where roots used to tunnel.
As the towers and monuments of Lorn-tah peeked above the cliffs and treetops, we left the woods and made our way onto the road. There, we found someone’s effort to clear the path, but deep ruts and fallen logs still made travel difficult.
“We’ll approach the city from the north side,” Gerel said. “It’s mostly cliffs and rugged terrain unsuitable for farming. There will be fewer people, and fewer patrols. But be on your guard.”
“Why?” Ilina asked.
“Cities—even these camps outside—can be dangerous places, and I can’t be certain what we’ll find when we get there.”
That sounded ominous.
“What do you mean camps?” Chenda asked. “Are they not part of the city?”
Gerel’s jaw tensed as she lengthened her stride. “Hurry. Altan is pursuing us.”
“But he wouldn’t know to find us here.” I dropped my hand to Kelsine’s neck. LaLa and Crystal nosed my fingers and wrist, chirruping. “The city is so big. Surely we can get lost here.”
She met my eyes, her gaze steady and certain. “I put nothing past him.”
A reminder that I knew better than to underestimate Altan.
Golden sunlight shot from the western horizon, casting the jagged cliff faces in deep shadow. Ahead, the road split into seven paths; Gerel kept us on the widest. The others wound up and down the cliffs, with sharp switchbacks and steep climbs to the different layers of the camp. Scraggly brush and grass grew over the smaller paths, as though few people traveled that way.
Our path took us toward the largest part of the camp; even from a distance, we could see it was packed with people moving in every direction.
“Put the little dragons somewhere safe,” Gerel instructed. “I wish we could hide Kelsine, too.”
“She’ll stay in the middle of us.” I laid a hand on Kelsine’s head, feeling her warmth through the slick scales and blunt little horns. Then, I clicked for LaLa, and Ilina and I tucked the small dragons into the packs slung over our shoulders. It wasn’t ideal for the dragons, but Gerel was right: it was better to keep them out of sight.
Shortly, we reached the camp. Against the roadside, faded tents and lean-tos huddled in groups of four and five, sharing a single cook pot between them. Some of the thin pallets and flat pillows stuffed inside were occupied, but it didn’t look as though anyone was getting actual rest, thanks to the din of chickens squawking in small cages, dirt-covered children playing chase through the street, and men and women grumping over fires.
Everyone was thin, with graying skin and bloodshot eyes. Maybe they were ill. Maybe they were tired. Either way, this was no place to live.
“How could the Warrior Tribunal just let all these people suffer out here?” There were hundreds. Thousands. Far too many to count. This wasn’t a part of Lorn-tah I’d ever seen, not on state visits, and not when I’d been shuffled back and forth to the Pit. This was cruelty of the highest order.
Gerel released a long sigh. “These are the dishonored. Would-be warriors who didn’t complete their training. And”—her voice hitched—“their children.”
I wasn’t quick enough to catch what she wasn’t saying, but Chenda reached forward and touched Gerel’s wrist as though she understood.
“Let’s just get through here.” Gerel walked faster. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
We didn’t speak for another hundred steps. Two hundred. Three hundred.
Most people paid us little mind as we walked by. They were busy swatting seagulls from scraps of food, or trying to catch the birds. But a few people traced swirls across their faces as they caught sight of the copper tattoos on Chenda’s dark skin. Others touched their cheeks, as though mimicking the scar I carried.
“Who are they?” a man whispered. The woman next to him shook her head, and neither of them took their eyes off us. “They have a dragon.”
“No, three dragons.”
Even after everything we’d been through, we stood out on these streets. Partly because we were going somewhere, while everyone else seemed to be settling in as the cliff’s shadow stretched toward the sea. But also because there was no way to disguise the elegant way Chenda carried herself, or the strength in Gerel’s stride. We couldn’t hide the scar on my face, or the protective way Hristo hovered over me. And then there were Ilina and Aaru, who both looked ready to help every family we passed.
“Surely we can spare some of our game.” Ilina’s hand brushed the sack slung over her shoulder. Crystal made a soft, questioning purr.
In my bag, LaLa echoed; they thought we were going to hunt. “Not right now, little lizard.”
“Don’t give anything to anyone.” Hristo kept his voice low. “We can’t risk people getting close enough to recognize Mira or Chenda. And if we feed one family, we’ll have to feed them all, and then what will we have to eat?”
Ilina looked at me. She didn’t speak.
She didn’t need to.
Damina’s Law urged us to look to our neighbors and ensure they always had enough. And yes, there were poor people in Crescent Prominence, and in every other major city on Damina, but there was nothing like this. No immense camps filled with thousands of dishonored. No starving children. No pots of soup that were more water than vegetables.
The Book of Love commanded us to be generous, and while my faith in the Luminary Council was forever shaken, my faith in Damyan and Darina was not.
“Mira—” Hristo’s tone was warning, but Ilina and I had already decided.
As one, we pulled off our game sacks and offered a mountain lizard to the man at the nearest cook pot.
/> His eyes opened wide as he looked from our offering to us. “Why?”
“Damyan and Darina demand it.” I turned to a woman with two small boys at her feet, and presented a quail. “It’s not much, but maybe it will feed your children.”
“I know you.” She took the bird and laughed a little. “I’ve seen you before.”
“Mira, let’s go.” Gerel took my elbow, but she was too late.
“Hopebearer,” breathed the woman. “You’re the Hopebearer. I knew it.”
The title rippled outward, on and on until the whole camp seemed to whisper it at once.
“We need to go.” Hristo stepped close to me, always the protector. We’d been in situations like this before, with huge crowds converging on me, demanding attention and affection. When I’d been younger, there’d been three incidents when crowds got out of hand. It had been terrifying—people stretching out their hands to touch my hair or clothes, fingernails scraping against my skin, and even lips pressed against my face and arms. Like brushing their bodies against mine could help them, save them, give them some kind of grace, offer prosperity. Each time, Hristo had stepped in to carve a path through the crush of hopeful people.
But this time, no one rushed forward. No one pressed their hands at me. No one begged for anything. Even the way they looked at me was different, with eagerness but not expectation. “Hopebearer!”
Hristo’s good hand waited on his sword hilt, but the blade remained sheathed. There was no one to attack. There were thousands of people here, but they stayed a respectful distance away. They waited for me to go to them. Even so, Hristo stayed close as I offered red squirrels and rabbits to the gathering strangers.
Gerel leaned toward Chenda. “Why are they excited about Mira but not you?”
“There have been many Ladies of the Eternal Dawn,” said Chenda. “And the title means more to Bophans than anyone else. There is but one Hopebearer, and she is for everyone.”
Aaru’s gaze cut from them to me, his eyes sharp with worry. I couldn’t tell whether his frown was for their words or me, and before I could untangle any feelings, a cheer went up.
