The Sabaoth's Arrow

by J F Mehentee

  13

  Zana watched as Father helped two daevas wedge a beam against a wall. This beam, along with the others, Father had explained to Zana, would support the wall while he used magic to clear away the sand beneath it. With the sand gone, he’d reinforce it with a separate incantation.

  Father looked busy, which made Zana think he wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted. He’d tried to speak to him last night and again this morning. Last night, Mother had seemed worried about something. It kept her and Father talking past Zana’s bedtime. And before he and Father left for Iram this morning, both of his foster parents seemed preoccupied, even worried.

  Zana glanced up and gauged the sun’s position. If he were to meet Vul at the foot of the mountain, he’d have to leave now.

  Father would understand, Zana told himself. Father probably underwent lots of tests before becoming a warrior.

  The thought didn’t reassure him. As Zana backed away and then strode off towards Baka’s west wall and the city’s entrance, it was as if something had changed. He never did anything without first seeking permission.

  Vul’s test, the Cross Scar pride’s test, was difficult but not dangerous. By taking it without his foster parents’ permission, he was about to cross a line that would change him and his relationship with Mother and Father.

  Zana never felt so alone as he exited the city and turned left for the southernmost mountain.

  Vul waited for him and so did Nahrian. They were both human and dressed in pale-brown robes that made them blend into their surroundings. Vul carried a waterskin and cloth bag, both of their straps slung over his shoulder. Zana thought Nahrian looked pleased to see him and a little relieved. As a human, Vul stood a head taller than Father. Vul looked bored. He turned without acknowledging Zana’s nod and led the way.

  Nahrian walked alongside Zana.

  ‘When you get to the shelf, don’t stand or sit—you must lie down,’ Nahrian said, her voice a whisper. ‘And stare at your nose, but don’t close your eyes; otherwise, you risk falling asleep and moving.’

  Since yesterday’s meeting, Zana had looked for ways to ask his foster parents for permission to take the test but not what he’d have to do to pass it.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said to Nahrian. ‘Is that how you did?’

  Nahrian nodded.

  ‘It’s what my mother taught me.’ She drew closer so her hip brushed his shoulder. ‘The bowl of water Vul places in front of you, while it’s a temptation, will keep you cool. If you remember that, you won’t be so tempted to drink it.’

  He thanked her again.

  A hollowness occupied his chest as he’d left Baka. Nahrian’s help filled some of the emptiness.

  They wound their way around the mountain edge in silence. Vul stopped, pressed a rock to reveal a concealed entrance. Sunlight penetrated the shadows beyond the opening and lit stairs.

  ‘This is your last chance,’ Vul said, staring down his nose at Zana. ‘The test begins the moment you enter the cave. If you fail, the manticore prides will shun you. If you turn back now, only the Cross Scar pride will know you’re a coward.’

  You idiot, Zana thought.

  He’d never thought to ask what would happen if he failed the test.

  Zana caught Vul smirking. Had he walked into a trap?

  ‘Vul,’ Nahrian said, ‘that last bit isn’t part of the test.’ She knelt and faced Zana. ‘We’re all told the prides will shun us.’ She scowled at her brother and then shook her head. ‘You’re not a coward. I heard about how you protected Roshan in Derbicca.’ She rose and stepped away from him. ‘Vul will go with you and oversee the test. My brother can be very rude, but he’s honest and fair.’

  Vul didn’t respond. He turned and disappeared into the cave.

  ‘Good luck,’ Nahrian said.

  Zana thanked her a third time. She was right: he wasn’t a coward. He turned and entered the cave.

  Inside, Zana found himself climbing a staircase that spiralled its way into the mountain. Firestones sunk into the rock just above each hewn step lit their way.

  ‘Your birth mother was the leader of a pride,’ Vul said as he climbed ahead of Zana. ‘She was old when you were born. You were the runt of the litter and the only one of three cubs to survive birth.’

  Zana halted on the steps. Yesterday, Vul had mentioned he could see the past and the future. Nahrian had told him her brother was honest and fair. Then what he was saying was the truth. Vul continued to climb and talk, his voice monotone, as if recalling a list of facts. Zana continued up the stairs.

  ‘You were a three-year-old when a younger lioness from another pride, a larger pride, challenged your mother’s leadership. Your mother lost the challenge, and you were both cast out. The two of you wandered from mountain to mountain, your mother hoping a pride took both of you in. But prides don’t adopt cubs. And a pride will only let you join it if you can prove your value to it. Your mother’s age and your age made you both a burden.

  ‘For a year, your mother hunted and kept you both alive. Most leaders die within months of being deposed, but you gave her purpose. She protected you and taught you the importance of protecting the pride—even a pride of two.

  ‘One evening, the pair of you stumbled upon a circus. While your mother saw an opportunity to steal food, the sounds and the lights captivated you. Your mother shifted into human shape, pulled on her robe and went off to get you both some food. You, Zana, lacked the discipline to remain where you promised your mother you’d wait. You wanted to take a closer look at those lights and search for the source of those sounds.

  ‘When your mother returned, empty-handed, she found you gone. She searched and searched. By morning, the circus had packed and left. She realised you must have wandered into it, which meant you’d been captured, killed or both. Either way, she was too weak to follow the circus. Her heart broke. She lay down, closed her eyes and died.’

  Zana tried to remember as he climbed and listened to Vul’s dry voice. Nothing came to him. He couldn’t dispute any of what Vul had said. Zana wept for the bereft lioness, for the mother whose cub abandoned her.

  By the time they reached the top of the stairs and the shelf of rock overlooking the desert, Zana’s emotions had swung from sadness to anger.

  ‘Why did you tell me that?’ he said.

  Vul placed a bowl close to the shelf’s edge. After he’d filled it with water from the waterskin, he folded his arms.

  ‘Do your foster parents know you’re here?’

  Zana sat.

  ‘What does that have to do with what you told me?’

  Vul pointed at a space behind the bowl.

  ‘This is where you sit. You must not move, and you must not drink. You may drink the water, but you will fail the test.’

  Zana stood and approached the spot. He lay down as Nahrian had told him to. He stared up at Vul and stuck out his chin.

  ‘You still haven’t answered my question,’ he said. ‘Why did you tell me those things?’

  Vul raised an eyebrow.

  ‘You broke your promise to your mother, and you abandoned her. And now, by being up here with me, you’re doing the same to your foster parents. I want you to know who you are, Zana. I want to protect my pride from you, and I want to protect you from yourself.’ He turned his back on Zana and, with a hand shading his eyes, looked up. Vul turned. ‘It’s noon. If you wish to take the test, we begin now.’

  14

  Seated so close to Navid, Emad felt self-conscious.

  Four of them, Yesfir, Fiqitush, Navid and Emad, sat in the audience chamber and stared at the destination window Fiqitush had woven. Their eyes never wandered from one tent among a cluster of seven. An hour earlier, they’d observed the daeva prisoners being marched out of Arshak, through the high magus’s arc-shaped encampment and to the tents pitched behind it. Half an hour before, the high magus had entered a tent.

  ‘Couldn’t we move the destination window closer?’ Navid said.

  E
mad still reeled from his brother’s news. Shafira had died giving birth to twins. He’d been a father for eighteen years. Was he supposed to be grateful for being spared such news until now?

  He still cringed at how he’d treated Roshan back in Derbicca. How was he supposed to tell her he was her father? And what about Navid? He couldn’t say anything to either of them until they’d seen him in a better light. All they knew of him was his cantankerousness and stubbornness, a stubbornness that had gotten Aeshma killed.

  ‘There are magi in the camp,’ Fiqitush said, addressing Navid’s question. ‘If I move the window any closer, even though they can’t see it, they might detect the Core power used to weave it.’

  Emad took a deep breath, touched his bracelet and felt for the unique vibration his brother had shown him was Roshan’s. He exhaled with relief. Her leaving without warning had alarmed everyone and left them all on edge. From her message to Navid, he and Fiqitush were sure she’d left with the sabaoth, Manah. From what Fiqitush had told him about her and from what he’d heard the others say, he knew Roshan had a good heart. Everything she did was with the best of intentions. Although he hardly knew her, he found himself worried about her. People with good hearts could be easily led.

  ‘Is that smoke?’ Yesfir said.

  Emad looked up from his bracelet. Like everyone else, he bent forward.

  Yesfir was right. Smoke drifted from the tent’s entrance. The top of one sloping side blackened.

  ‘What is going on in there?’ his brother said.

  A soldier emerged from the tent. He led a daeva out at sword point. The two soldiers on guard outside ran into the tent. They and another soldier pulled out three manacled daevas. The last to exit the tent, now an inferno, were the high magus and another soldier Fiqitush identified as General Afacan.

  The soldiers, the daevas and the high magus stood nearby as the fire burned a hole in the tent’s canvas. A column of flame swayed, shrank and then went out. The flame’s source collapsed and shattered into several charred pieces.

  Emad rubbed his chin.

  ‘I counted five daevas enter that tent,’ he said. ‘Where’s the fifth?’

  From the looks exchanged, they all agreed they’d just witnessed the fifth daeva fall.

  ‘The red flames suggest djinn magic,’ Emad said. ‘What we just saw might be the work of the seal.’

  ‘We can’t be sure,’ Fiqitush said.

  Emad understood how important the seal had been to his brother. News that Armaiti had taken it had been devastating enough. Sassan having it and using it on a daeva was beyond anything his brother could have imagined. No wonder Fiqitush refused his suggestion.

  ‘It doesn’t matter if it is or isn’t the seal,’ Emad said. ‘Djinn and daevas don’t catch fire, much less burn. If we’re to know what we’re up against, we have to risk a magus detecting our window and take a closer look. If we’re quick enough, they won’t be able to learn our coordinates from its signature.’

  Navid answered instead of Fiqitush.

  ‘I’ll go. I’ve been practising my shape-shifting. I’ll enter the camp as a rat.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Emad said. ‘Nothing doing.’

  Navid stared at him, confusion framing his face.

  So much for his son seeing him in a better light.

  Fiqitush frowned at Emad and then turned his attention to Navid.

  ‘Are you sure? You’ll go in without domes of protection or invisibility.’

  Navid nodded, and Emad wanted to wring the young man’s neck.

  Yesfir sat up. She glanced at Fiqitush first and then pointed.

  ‘There to the left of the camp,’ she said. ‘See those outcrops. They’re far enough away for a portal to go undetected. You can change into a rat behind the tallest one and then make your way over to the tents with the daevas inside.’

  Emad hated the plan.

  ‘How’s he supposed to get back?’ he said.

  ‘Good point, Uncle,’ Yesfir said. ‘I’ll leave a destination window open. As soon as I see Navid reach that outcrop furthest from the camp, I’ll raise a portal and collect him.’

  ‘Good,’ Fiqitush said, before Emad could protest. ‘Emad and I will keep watch and wait for things to settle before Navid leaves for Arshak.’ He looked at Navid. ‘Are you certain you’ve mastered your ability to shift, Navid? You’ve only had this skill three days.’

  His son nodded, and Emad gave an inward groan.

  ‘Good,’ Fiqitush continued. ‘Find the daevas inside the tent with the high magus and find out what happened.’ Fiqitush raised a hand. ‘But, at the first sign of danger, get out of there and return to those rocks. I don’t want you adding to the worries I already have about your sister. Am I understood, young man?’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ Navid said, and bowed.

  The corners of Fiqitush’s lips rose.

  ‘Good, then I suggest you and Yesfir get some lunch and discuss how you’ll work together. Meanwhile, my brother and I will keep an eye on the camp.’

  Yesfir and Navid left, the door to the audience chamber closing behind them.

  Fiqitush shook his head and stood.

  ‘Don’t you dare, Emad,’ he said. ‘Don’t you dare tell me Navid’s your son and that I’ve just put him into danger.’ His brother’s eyes turned to slits. ‘Who do you think has watched over the twins since they were born, made sure no one at the high temple discovered Roshan’s djinn-like abilities? They’re old enough to decide for themselves, and they’re not Aeshma—they don’t need fathering.’

  The truth behind his brother’s words felt like a punch to the gut. He shook his head.

  ‘At least I didn’t have them live as orphans, kidnap them and turn poor Navid into a rat.’

  Fiqitush nodded.

  ‘I would have loved for Roshan and Navid to live among family in Iram. But their mother wanted them to live as humans. If, as they grew older, their eyes didn’t change colour, being magi meant giving them a good start in life.’

  After the difficult lesson she’d learned about herself, Emad understood the reasoning behind Shafira’s wish. He held up his hands in surrender.

  ‘You told me I was their father, Fiqitush. What am I supposed to do, knowing that? If I’m not supposed to protect them and father them, what should I do?’

  Fiqitush crossed the space between them and took Emad by the shoulders.

  ‘As soon as you get the chance, tell them who you are, and then let them decide, brother.’

  15

  Navid entered the audience chamber with Yesfir. Earlier, Yesfir had insisted he eat something before leaving for Arshak. The little rice and goat meat he’d eaten felt like sand in his stomach. After seeing the tent catch fire, like everyone else, he wanted to know what Sassan was up to and if the high magus had Solomon’s seal. The thought of roaming around a camp filled with three thousand guardsmen made him queasy.

  He spotted the destination window first and then saw the king and his brother watching events play out in Arshak. He felt the prince’s eyes on him as he approached. The daeva hardly knew him. So, why did he behave as if he held some authority over him?

  He is a prince, he said to himself. Maybe he thinks he can decide for me.

  The king pointed at a new tent erected ten paces to the right of the incinerated one.

  ‘Half an hour before, guardsmen led a couple and their son into that tent,’ the king said. His attention remained fixed on the window. ‘The high magus entered soon after.’ He faced Navid. ‘Get as close as you can and find out what’s going on in there. Remember, the moment you think you’re in danger, return to the taller of these two outcrops.’

  The king adjusted the destination window by tilting it down and to the left. Navid saw two jagged islands of sandstone, the one closest to the encampment longer than the furthest but too short for anyone to hide behind. Navid estimated the first outcrop was thirty paces from the encampment and the second twenty more. If anyone saw him, his dar
k-brown fur would stand out against the exposed rock and sand.

  Navid acknowledged the king with a nod.

  Yesfir handed him a shoulder bag for his clothes and a waterskin. She then raised a portal.

  ‘Good luck,’ the prince said.

  ‘Thank you,’ Navid replied, and then stepped through.

  His heart pounded as he stepped onto warm rock. It continued hammering inside his head as he unslung the waterskin and then undressed. The outcrop’s shadow shielded him from the sun’s rays. The surrounding ground was rocky and there was nowhere for him to bury the shoulder bag and waterskin.

  That’s the first and only setback, he told himself.

  He crouched, tensed and imagined himself as a rat. The change wasn’t so much painful as disorientating. Arms became legs, a nose became a snout, palms were pads, sunlight no longer touched bare skin but fur, and it felt as if the length of his spine had doubled. Navid curled his tail in when it touched the warm rock beneath. Water from his human body left the rock pockmarked with droplets.

  If I can’t make it back to the outcrop, Navid wondered, will there be sufficient water in the surrounding air for me to shift back again? He’d been practising indoors and not under direct sunlight. You ass. Next time, think things through before you volunteer yourself.

  For fear of being scalded, Navid shook off the water covering his fur, then scurried around the edge of the rock. He located the second, shorter outcrop and sprinted towards it. The level rocky surface, though hot, helped him to maintain a fast pace.

  At the second outcrop, he took his time edging around it, keeping his eyes peeled for any movement along the camp’s outskirts. He made out three men, one of them oiling his unstrung bow and the other two trimming their arrows’ fletchings.

  This time, his route would have to be circuitous, one that involved him running between outcrops tall enough to hide him. His eyesight and lack of height made it difficult to see where the terrain grew sandier and left him exposed.