Vessel

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Liyana had never heard a story of a clan stealing another’s vessel. A vessel was a clan’s future. To force Raan . . . Such a thing should have been inconceivable.

  Korbyn knelt and held the girl’s wrists. He studied the wounds. “I can help the pain. I can’t change the marks.”

  Raan yanked her hands away from him. With fumbling fingers, she reached into her robe and pulled out a small waterskin on a cord. She yanked out the stopper and poured yellowish liquid onto her arms. She hissed as the drops hit, and Liyana smelled alcohol.

  Fennik nodded approvingly. “That will ward off infection.”

  “Raan . . . ,” Liyana began. She didn’t know what to say, how to comfort her. She knew Raan hadn’t wanted to be a vessel, but to have her destiny stolen from her . . . To have her clan condemned by another . . .

  Raan lurched to her feet and stumbled over the roots of the tamar tree.

  “What is she—” Pia began to follow the sounds of Raan’s passage.

  Liyana put a hand on Pia’s shoulder to stop her. “Let her mourn in peace,” Liyana said softly.

  Raan dropped to the ground beside Fennik’s fire. She pressed her alcohol-dampened arms directly onto the embers. Flame shot into the air and blanketed her skin. Raan screamed.

  Fennik lunged forward and crossed to her in three strides. He wrapped his arms around her waist and yanked her away from the fire. Her arms continued to burn. Fennik smothered the flames with the cloth of his robe. Raan kept screaming.

  Korbyn seized her shoulders and dropped into a trance while Fennik held her still.

  “What’s happening?” Pia cried.

  Liyana clapped her hand over Pia’s mouth to keep her quiet. “He’s healing her,” Liyana whispered. “Shh.”

  A few minutes passed, and then Korbyn released her and stumbled backward. He sank to the ground and dropped his face in his hands.

  Raan curled against Fennik’s chest, whimpering. Liyana took her hand off of Pia’s mouth. “It’s over,” Liyana said.

  “What happened?” Pia asked.

  Slowly, Raan held out of her arms. All the tattoos were now a swirl of red scars. Even the ones that marked her as a vessel were obliterated. She took a great, shaking breath in.

  “She burned them away, the markings, all of them,” Liyana said.

  “But . . . her clan!”

  “The Falcon Clan had already taken them from her.”

  “She’ll need new tattoos,” Pia said.

  Raan wrapped her arms tightly around her. She stood and backed away from them. Her gaze darted across the desert. Liyana knew she was thinking about running, but there was no place to run to. Certainly not back to the Falcon Clan. “Only when you’re ready,” Liyana said as soothingly as she could. “For now . . . we should ride.”

  A few minutes later, the camp was packed, and they were each mounted on a horse. They had three hours before sunset. “Which way?” Fennik asked.

  Everyone looked at Korbyn.

  But it was Liyana who answered. “East,” she said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Emperor

  The emperor signaled to his guards. At his feet, a man knelt, and the emperor knew the man was dying. He’d smelled the stink of infected wounds before, and he recognized the signs in the man’s mottled, red hands, bloated to stiffness.

  “You have done well,” the emperor told him gently. “Your empire thanks you.”

  The man shook his head. “They came from the sky. Blinding, like the sun. At the top of the mountains. We tried to fight them. As hard as we hacked, we couldn’t damage them. But their scales cut like swords, and they sliced us like we were wheat in a field. Three of us lived. Of them . . . I am all that is left. Your Imperial Majesty, forgive my failure.”

  Escorted by the emperor’s guards, the doctor and his assistants entered the tent. The four men wore the traditional blue facecloths obscuring all but their eyes. The emperor held up a hand to halt them. He had to ask one more question. One more question wouldn’t change this man’s fate, but it could mean everything for the empire. “Did you see it?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Describe it.”

  “A green valley. Sheer cliffs. And a perfect oval lake. Most beautiful sight I have ever seen.”

  The emperor nodded to the doctors, who rushed forward. One had a stretcher. The man collapsed onto it, and he and the smell of dying were whisked out of the emperor’s command tent in a swirl of blue robes.

  The emperor wanted to sink down into the cushions and bury his face in his hands. But he was not alone, so instead he walked in a measured pace behind his desk and studied his collection of sculptures. Each was carved of diamond from the northern mountains of his empire. He picked up the falcon. It fit in the palm of his hand. The feathers caught and twisted the candlelight, sparkling like a thousand stars. Calmer, he placed it back on the shelf.

  At least he knew the lake was real. He tried to console himself with that. Before, he had not been certain, and instead of engaging an entire army to discover whether he was chasing a myth, only one group of soldiers had suffered. But still he felt each death as if it were a knife to his gut.

  He let none of his emotions show on his face. “Summon the magician.”

  The emperor paced in a circle around his tent. The silk carpets whispered beneath his sandaled feet. The heat in the tent pressed against his skin. He paused to drink water from a silver pitcher. He couldn’t question himself, not now, especially not now. He should be glad to have confirmation. None of this was a waste, and they could proceed.

  The magician entered and bowed low until his forehead nearly touched the carpets. The emperor let him stay in the bow for a few seconds longer than was strictly protocol. He’d learned it was best to start these conversations with a reminder of their roles. The magician often forgot, and that was something the emperor couldn’t permit to happen. His generals barely tolerated the man. If they ever felt that he received undue favor or carried greater influence than they . . . Emphasizing the difference and distance between the emperor and the magician helped keep the magician alive. Not that the emperor could explain that to him.

  He had no one to whom he could explain any of his actions. His parents had had each other. He remembered how they used to stroll through the gardens, heads close together, deep in conversation. As a child, he’d trailed after them, playing in the flowerbeds and watching the birds with their jewel-like feathers. He wondered what his parents would have said about his actions here. Would they have been proud? Or would they too have believed he risked too much?

  “Rise,” the emperor said. “I have my confirmation. I am satisfied. But it seems the sky serpents pose a greater threat than we anticipated.”

  The magician threw himself prone on the carpets. “Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty. I did warn you, but—”

  Every time the man groveled, the emperor had to resist the urge to kick him. He was certain that the man did not do it out of any real respect or remorse. It was merely a way to preserve his skin. The emperor wondered if the magician had ever respected anyone. “Get up.”

  The magician scrambled to his feet.

  “You warned me, and I took a calculated risk,” the emperor said. “It was my decision, and the responsibility and the burden are mine. Absolve yourself of guilt. So long as you share your knowledge, you do not need to concern yourself with how that knowledge is applied.” He paused. “I do hope you have shared all relevant knowledge?”

  “Yes, of course!”

  The emperor let the silence stretch. He’d learned that technique from his father—it often induced people to fill the silence with words they hadn’t meant to say. But this time, it didn’t. Unfortunate, he thought. He had hoped the desert man would cough up further helpful secrets. Perhaps there were none. “Very well. Once we have sufficient supplies, we will enter the desert. You will speak to any clans we encounter, explain our purpose, and solicit their cooperation.”

  “They
will not listen,” the magician objected. “I know my people.”

  “It must be tried,” the emperor said. “If there is a chance that we can have the lake without bloodshed, then we must attempt it.”

  “With all due respect, your Imperial Majesty, the desert people are not yours,” the magician said. “You don’t need to concern yourself with their fate.”

  The emperor smiled. “And that, my good man, is why you are not emperor.”

  “They will fight us.”

  His smile faded in the face of that truth. “If they do, they will not win.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sandstorm coming,” Korbyn said.

  Liyana scanned the horizon and saw—oh yes, there it was, a smudge of tan that blotted out a patch of blue sky. All of them dismounted. Liyana and Raan pitched the tent while Korbyn unsaddled the horses. He tossed the supply packs into the tent. Without guidance Pia crawled inside and pushed the packs so they’d brace the walls. Fennik hammered stakes into the ground around the tent and secured the horses’ reins to them. He wrapped cloth around the horses’ heads to protect their eyes from the sand. It couldn’t protect the horses from the sand wolves, but it would at least prevent the horses from panicking and drawing the wolves. All was completed with practiced ease well before the sandstorm arrived.

  As Fennik and Raan joined Pia inside the tent, Korbyn plopped down cross-legged in the sand. Pausing at the tent flap, Liyana asked, “Aren’t you coming in?”

  “You need another magic lesson.” He patted the sand next to him.

  Liyana checked the sandstorm. The wall of sand advanced across the desert, blackening the sky above it. The wind had already picked up, tossing grains of sand and debris into the air. Behind them, the horses stomped their hooves and sniffed the air.

  She sat and waited for him to explain.

  “You are going to push the wind,” Korbyn said. “It’s already moving, so this is far easier than starting a sandstorm from scratch. You are simply going to encourage it to blow around us.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ll keep the sand wolves from eating you when you fail.”

  She scowled at him. “I won’t fail.”

  “Good for you, goat girl.” He grinned at her. “Go on and impress me.”

  Liyana regarded the mass of writhing black clouds. “It’s said that once, the god of the Tortoise Clan spent an entire century inside a sandstorm. The weathering of the sand and wind is what gave the tortoise its distinctive shell pattern.”

  “Oh yes, we teased him about that for days.”

  She studied him, trying to determine if he was serious or not. “If I make a mistake, will we be stuck in a sandstorm for a century?”

  “I hope not,” he said cheerfully.

  She drew her sky serpent knife out of her sash. “This seems to work on the wolves. It sliced through the one that attacked me before I met you.” She handed him the blade.

  Korbyn examined it. “Beautifully made.” She watched his fingers caress the carved handle. The bone had been worn down to fit smoothly in one’s hand. The blade was lashed to the handle with goat sinew in an elaborate array of knots.

  “It’s been in my family for generations,” Liyana said. “Don’t lose it.”

  “Your lack of trust wounds me.” He slashed the air with it. “I assume there’s a story about how a sky serpent scale came to be the blade in your knife?”

  “It’s a family story,” Liyana said. She watched him cut designs in the air, and her fingers itched to take the knife back. She didn’t know what had possessed her to share it with him. It had never been wielded by anyone outside the family before. She felt as if he were holding a piece of herself.

  “You can tell me. I’m like family.”

  She snorted like Raan. “You are nothing like family.”

  He mimed a stab to the heart with the hand that did not hold the knife. “After all we have been through together . . . you wound my heart.”

  “Tell me one of your family secrets, and I’ll tell you mine.” She didn’t know what possessed her to offer that bargain. She simply . . . wanted him to share something of his as he held her knife.

  “I don’t have a family,” Korbyn said. “Gods were never born. We simply . . . are.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Tell me a secret of the gods.”

  He leaned close to her. She felt his breath on her neck, warm and soft. She shivered as if his breath touched all of her skin. In a mock whisper he said, “Sendar has horribly bad breath.”

  She heard Pia giggle from within the tent.

  Also in a mock whisper Liyana said, “Tell me one of your secrets.”

  “You want to play confession?” Korbyn’s eyes glittered, and a smile played over his lips. She felt as if she were playing with a flame. She didn’t back away.

  “One thing,” Liyana said, “and I’ll tell you about the knife.”

  Korbyn was quiet for a while. Liyana watched the sandstorm build in front of them, a wall of blackness. Not far away now, it obliterated the line between land and sky. “I can’t dance,” Korbyn said at last.

  Liyana laughed.

  “Bayla doesn’t know,” he said mournfully. “So far I have hid my inadequacy by always serving as audience. But she loves to dance. One day she’ll discover my secret and flee from me in horror.”

  Liyana patted his knee. “I’ll teach you. Before you’re reunited with Bayla, you’ll be a master of dance. She’ll never need to know about this horrible flaw in your character.”

  “I accept your offer,” Korbyn said solemnly. “Now, the knife?”

  “My great-great-great-great-grandmother was in love with the chief’s son. But he said that he would only marry her if she was the bravest woman in the clan. She asked how she could prove her bravery, and he said that she had to walk into the forbidden mountains and return with proof that she had been there.”

  Liyana heard a gasp, and then Pia stuck her head out of the tent to hear better. “She did that? But no one has ever entered the forbidden mountains!”

  “According to the chief’s son, she did it, and he married the bravest woman in the clan. But according to my mother and my mother’s mother and my mother’s mother’s mother . . . she stole it off a sky serpent only a few miles from home while the serpent was distracted with . . . um, mating.”

  Korbyn roared with laughter.

  “I think that still qualifies as the bravest,” Pia said, after consideration.

  After he wiped the tears from his eyes, Korbyn pointed at the storm. “Almost here. Concentrate on the feel of your body. Think of the lake.” Behind them, Pia retreated into the tent, and the flap was sealed shut.

  Liyana rested her palms on her knees and straightened her back. She tried not to think about how exposed they were outside the tent. Around them, the horses snorted and stamped their feet as the wind tossed sand. Liyana breathed. In and out. In and out. Keeping herself firmly tethered to her body, she imagined her lake.

  In her mind, she saw her lake. But the surface bubbled and frothed as if the wind stirred it, too. The cliffs roared with the sound of the sandstorm. She plunged into the churning waters, and she felt the magic fill her.

  “You are the desert,” Korbyn said in her ear. The piece of her still in her body heard his words and felt his breath on her neck. “You are the wind.”

  She poured herself into the air around their tent and felt her soul overflow. She rushed over the sands to meet the oncoming storm, and she slammed into it.

  Wind crashed into her, and she felt as if she were splintering. Sand swirled around her and into her, and she was caught and twisted. The world spun with her, blackening as the sand blotted out the sun. She heard howls within the wind.

  “Liyana!”

  She heard her name from far away, as if the speaker were at the base of a well. She tried to draw closer to it, but she was whipped in circles. She felt herself rip from the center and shred within the storm.

 
; “Do not lose yourself! Remember you!”

  She was wind. She was desert.

  She ran with the wolves.

  She felt her own jaws made of rock and her own flesh made of sand. Her wolf body shed sand, dissolving and reforming as the storm spiraled. She howled and felt sand pour down her throat. She swallowed the sand as if it were air. She breathed sand.

  “Liyana!”

  The name sounded like mere syllables. She was more than a name. Releasing her wolf form, she spun into a cyclone of wind and sand. Faster and faster. She felt herself race over the desert floor.

  She felt hands on her shoulders, her human shoulders, and for an instant she was yanked back fully into her body. She lost the feel of the wind inside her, and instead she felt the sand pelt her skin, stinging where it hit, but then her spirit stretched. She was more than a body! She was pure spirit merged with the storm—

  Liyana felt warmth, a soft pressure, on her lips. She was aware of hands on the nape of her neck and fingers entwined in her hair. She breathed in and tasted Korbyn’s sweet breath. She kissed Korbyn as he kissed her.

  He released her. “Change of plans!” he shouted over the storm. He pressed the handle of the sky serpent blade into her hands. “I’ll turn the storm. You watch for wolves.”

  Lips tingling, Liyana clutched the knife. Beside her, Korbyn faced the storm. After a moment, she felt the wind spin faster and faster. It’s working! she thought. Korbyn’s cyclone tightened around their tent, and the wind stilled within it—their tent was in the eye of Korbyn’s storm. The true storm raged around them, but within Korbyn’s wall of wind and sand, the air did not move. She lowered the knife.

  Through the furious circle of wind, Liyana saw shapes move, blurs at first but then more distinct. She caught a glimpse of a muzzle and then a thigh. She stared hard at the dark swirl of sand. The silhouette of a wolf appeared. It vanished into the storm.

  Suddenly a wolf burst through the wall of wind and sand. It leaped at Korbyn. Springing toward it, Liyana sliced with the sky serpent blade. It hit the wolf’s torso, and the wolf dissolved into a spray of sand that spattered her and Korbyn.