“Still, though, what would make you think dancing in that,” Pari gestured at the belemen, “was a good idea?”
“The way the fabric moves practically begged for it, Pari. You saw. I will apologize; it’s true I wasn’t thinking about that. The house was so dark, and I didn’t want to leave it that way.”
She sighed. “I’m sure he understands. At least, I didn’t hear him try to stop you.”
“He didn’t.”
“Nor would I.” Ravi’s voice was a quiet rasp from over by the door; Chandi’s head snapped around. “I was simply… ill-prepared. Do not let my past trouble you; there are enough problems in the moment.” He looked staggered and a little pale as he leaned against the door frame. “Is there enough of that for one more, Pari?”
“Of course, sir. Just you have a seat, I’ll bring it out.”
He turned a forced smile and a wink to Chandi that she thought was supposed to be conspiratorial. “She never knows what to expect on days like this.”
“I see. I…”
“Don’t.”
Chandi nodded and took another bite of the salty bread with spicy dip. “So when we leave tomorrow, where are we going?”
“We will leave on the east road and follow it as long as we can. Then we will head east by southeast into the deep desert. My contact gave me a detailed map, so if we’re lucky we shouldn’t have much trouble getting there.”
“And if we’re unlucky we run into another pack of those… things.”
“That would be very unlucky indeed. Weren’t you just trying to lighten the mood around here?”
“One must never speak of luck without also speaking of unluck,” she quoted. That one was a favorite of just about everyone in the caravan, popular enough that the second half almost always went unstated: to do so frightens one and invites the other.
“I thought the Chèin’ii weren’t superstitious.”
“We aren’t. That’s just common sense.”
Ravi’s mouth curled wryly.
“Here we are. So glad you’re feeling yourself, sir.” Pari bustled back in during the lull in conversation. Chandi suspected she was waiting for just such a moment.
“More or less.” He picked up a piece of the thin bread – it wasn’t asath – and took a bite of the dip. “Now, Pari, I don’t know how long this trip will take. The house could be vacant for a very long time. I will leave you four months’ advance in the morning. If we’re gone longer than that, I trust you not to overpay yourself. You can bring your family here while we’re gone, if you like.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, sir. They’d only get spoiled, and I can’t have that, now can I?”
“As you like. My offer stands if you change your mind. There should be a man coming by later with the camels I purchased this morning. See to it that they’re kept separate from the horses.”
The conversation looked to go on in this fashion for quite some time. When Chandi had finished nibbling at the simple lunch she quietly excused herself. It was only after she had returned to packing in her room that she realized she may have just given up her last chance to hear what happened to his family. Pari said he never talked about it. She sighed; it was a curiosity that would have to be put away, at least for a while. As he had said, there were enough problems in front of her without digging up more that were over and done with.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The sun had not yet begun to warm the sands when Ravi sent for Chandi the next morning. Even once she had drunk a cup of Pari’s bitter “morning brew” it was all she could do to keep her eyes open in the saddle. Her mount seemed to be an even-tempered animal, but that could just be the early morning. Somehow, she doubted even it was fully awake at this hour.
“You have a scarf or a chaataa, don’t you?” Ravi was asking her.
She nodded. Pari had also seen to it that there were several water skins within easy reach. One of the camels in the train carried their personal belongings; the others were laden with food, water jugs, lamp oil, and all the other sundry necessities for traveling the Qaehl.
“All right. Then I think we’re ready to go. Pari, you know what to do while I’m gone. I expect to be out for at least three months, but probably not longer than five.”
“Of course, sir. It’ll be exactly how you like it when you get back.”
“I’m sure it will, Pari. If I’m longer than seven months… well, you know what to do then, too.” A bitter half-smile crossed his face.
“I do at that.” She also plainly disliked it, whatever it was.
Ravi just nodded. “I guess we’re off, then. Wish us luck.” He turned his camel to face the road.
Chandi followed, feeling the weight of every step her mount took. I’m going to be in a story, instead of just telling them!
“Fortune’s favor!” Pari called after them, waving one thick, muscled arm in farewell.
The city of Sararaq was just as amazing the second time as it had been on her arrival – perhaps more so, as now the sunrise caught the glass and gilt so that the whole city seemed to sparkle. At times she had to look down to avoid being dazzled by the light. The shops lining the way were still shuttered; it would be at least another hour before the first of them opened for the day, and longer still before any of them besides a food stall could expect to see business.
One of the guards at the gate yawned as they approached. They were bleary-eyed as well. “Leaving again so soon?”
“Afraid so. This is just a side venture – who knows if there’s anything in it.”
“Well, fortune’s favor then.” The guards waved him through and their camels began plodding along the road into the east, away from the city.
“It must be nice being so well-known.”
Ravi shrugged. “It’s more that they know of me than that they know me. It’s convenient, certainly, but that’s about the extent of it. In some ways it’s worse, if you can believe it.” Ravi’s grim mood from the day before hadn’t abated. He tried to hide it, but the mask was threadbare.
“I think so. Everyone thinks they know about the Chèin’ii, and some people think we’re romantic and some people think we’re filthy, but all they really know are the same exaggerated stories as everyone else.”
“And the reputation gets in the way.” Ravi nodded. “Of course, I’m guilty here too.”
“You are?”
“I am. And so are you, with that sort of generalization.”
She paused a moment, considering that. “I suppose you’re right, although it certainly seems like everyone sometimes.”
“That I can believe.”
They lapsed into silence, but Chandi did not feel compelled to fill it this morning. It felt friendly, an appreciation of the world rather than the oppressive beast it had been just a few short weeks ago. She would need to learn what her role was, but that was unlikely to happen on camelback. For the moment, the most pressing thing on her mind was getting used to being in the saddle. Rohana was just as gentle a beast as she’d seemed, which did wonders for Chandi’s confidence.
The sun rose higher in the sky and she wrapped her scarf around her head. Ravi did the same just a little later. Once the sun passed its zenith she found she was glad not only for the scarf but also for the silence. Even shaded as she was the heat was oppressive – worse, somehow, on camel back than she had ever felt it in the caravan. They spoke little and drank sparingly, careful not to let the water dribble down their chins, and pressed on.
Late in the afternoon, before the light had begun to darken but after the heat had started to melt away from the sand, Ravi asked if she felt up to singing.
“My voice isn’t really anything special.”
“Nonsense. It was lovely back in the courtyard.”
“It was accompaniment in the courtyard. It doesn’t stand alone very well.”
“If you don’t want to, then say so. I just thought it might be a nice way to press through the end of the day.” The hard edge of his annoyance was s
uppressed in his voice, but still there.
“What did you have in mind?” She lowered her voice.
“Nothing in particular. Something fitting for a late afternoon on the road.”
Chandi thought for a little, going over the small library of songs she knew well enough to sing solo, finally settling on a long, slow, rhythmic ballad. As she began the last verse, Ravi guided them a little off the road. The sun rested on the horizon off to the west.
Their camp that night was dry, but Ravi had expected as much. Certainly they had sufficient water to go another few days. After eating the evening’s ration of asath, dried fruits and nuts, he had her practice penmanship and spelling. Her handwriting had improved a great deal since those first days' practice in a wagon as it rolled and bumped down the road, but, as Ravi observed, her spelling was atrocious. Once he declared the lesson over for the night they stayed up just long enough to lay out their bedrolls under the tent screen, near enough the fire that the night’s chill might not seep into them so deeply, and went to sleep.
* * *
Four nights outside of Sararaq Ravi found an oasis they could share with a tribe of nomads— the Afezash Setarh clan of the Khakhewar tribe, as they identified themselves.
“I am afraid there is no meat to share this night. Each day that passes our herd grows smaller. Beasts which never stray vanish into the night.”
“We thank you for your hospitality, honored elder,” Chandi answered formally. “Times are hard all across the Qaehl.” Chandi had never encountered the Khakhewar before, but some nomadic tribes were very prickly about giving honor. “I am Chandi, daughter of Korshed by Talikha, of the Aranya Prasuuna Chèin’ii. My companion is Ravi of Sararaq.”
Some men of the clan laughed when she spoke, but she had no time to wonder if her words had been wrong when the man she addressed, only suppressing most of a smile, spoke.
“And how is it that a Chèin’ii comes to travel with a city-man?” Now that she looked more closely, he was travel-worn but probably no older than Ravi.
“She was orphaned not many weeks ago, and found her way into my care.” Ravi stepped in before she could open her mouth. She noted he was careful to say nothing of the circumstances.
The other man’s jaw dropped. “An entire caravan, destroyed?”
“We don’t know that! Someone else could have made it out…”
“The world is dire indeed.” The tribesman ignored her, so she shot a poisonous look at Ravi. He didn’t seem to notice.
“But, you are welcome to join our fire and share our water, meager as it may be.”
“We thank you,” she answered. If they had settled here for the season, and kept even one herd, this would be no mean well.
It would be generous, though, to call the camp of the Afezash Setarh semi-permanent. Their pavilions were large, but the frames were light and the fabric looked easy to remove, such that they could be on the road again quickly. For all of that, though, their bonfire was welcoming and its light danced merrily in the ripples of the oasis’ surface. As they finished eating someone began passing around a flask filled with a golden honey-colored liquid. When Chandi poured herself a little, she found the flask warm to the touch, and when she took a sip she found it tasted of spiced honey and lemon and filled her with a pleasant drowsiness. Before long someone began to sing, and the song was picked up around the fire, everyone clapping the beat. On impulse, she stood and turned to the man who had welcomed them.
“Shall I dance for you?”
His only answer was to wave her to the center of the circle as he kept singing. With a roll of her head she unwound the scarf she had worn through the heat of the day and draped it across her shoulders as a shawl.
At their most basic, Chèin’ii dances fell into two categories; those for public performance and those for within the clan. While some outsiders still found the latter unduly provocative for a child, they were about the joy of the moment. This was what Chandi danced for herself, and this was what she danced now. The song itself she had not heard before, but the Khakhewar dialect was close enough to Trade that she understood. Even as she threw herself into the passion of movement she recorded the words in a corner of her mind. She would write it when she found time. Somewhere in another corner of her mind she knew what Ravi’s face looked like, even if she couldn’t see it.
When the song ended she stumbled back to the rock she had been seated on, her legs not yet on-balance after the exuberance of the dance. She took a draught of their lovely honey spirit and flopped down, still laughing.
A hush spread over the gathering as eyes turned toward a white-haired man sitting near the edge of the fire.
“It has been many ages gone since the Khakhewar shared a campfire with Chèin’ii. In honor of this, I will share with you all a story which has been passed down among us from antiquity.
Once, long ago before cities dotted the sands of the Qaehl, sorcerers arose among the people who performed great feats of magic, speaking mantras calling upon the spirits of air and fire, earth and water and metal. These sorcerers were cast out as pariahs, for it had been the use of magic that caused the people to wander the desert. The magi, though, knew the truth of the matter, for those who were not Chèin’ii had studied among them.
These magi gathered together in small conclaves and met in secret, observing the motions of the spirits to divine the future and be forewarned of trouble. Thus it was that, as the people searched for succor in the desert, the sorcerers learned that the spirits were disrupted and anxious, although there was no sign as to why. They sought portents in the sky, in grains of sand, and in entrails, but their only answer was ‘it comes.’ So it was that the magi watched and waited with great trepidation while the people roamed the Qaehl, searching for a place to call home…”
Chandi listened in wide-eyed astonishment. Here was a story she had never heard before! How did this survive here and not with the Chèin’ii? Her head was beginning to feel a little fuzzy from the drink and the late hour, but this, too, she committed to memory. I wonder where the grains of truth are? Surely they exist. Lately it seemed as though even the most far-fetched stories must have some truth to them. Before she could ask the elder she caught herself yawning. They had been up at false dawn again that morning; it was no wonder she wanted sleep. The crowd around the fire was beginning to thin, now, too. In the morning, then.
Chandi turned away from the fire and scanned her eyes to spot either Ravi or their tent. It didn’t take her long to find him; he stood not far off, motioning her to follow. The strangeness of being taken in by a city-man struck her. It wasn’t a bad thing, per se, but there was something about the Khakhewar encampment that reminded her of the caravan. She slept soundly that night, and dreamed of another night at another oasis, before the world turned on its head.
The full light of morning and the smell of fresh fry bread woke her. For a moment she believed herself back in her parents’ wagon, only their roof was made of wood, not cloth, and the floor had never been lumpy. She sat up, blinking the sleep out of her eyes, and realized that she was alone in the screened tent. There was breakfast, at any rate, and where there was food there was a way to find out what was going on.
Ravi sat a few paces off from the morning cookfire, speaking quietly with one of the tribesmen as they relaxed over breakfast. One of the women near the fire waved Chandi over. Breakfast was bread and some sort of mashed fruit preserve for scooping.
“They say you’ll be resting here for the day,” the woman told her with a friendly smile.
“Thank you, Auntie.” Chandi winced. There I go again. “Do you think the elder would mind if I tried to write down his story from last night, or the song? If I ever make it back to a caravan I’d like to share them, but I don’t think I could learn them properly in just a day.”
“They were shared with you, after all. Is writing something your pitaji taught you?” A glance and a half-formed gesture told Chandi she meant Ravi.
“He�
�s… not my father. But Ravi is teaching me how to read and write.”
“Don’t tell him that.”
“It might be better if I did, but it always seems too cruel. He looks at me and sees someone long dead.” She laughed at herself, shaking her head; if she was honest, she was more dependent on him than she ever had been on Papa. “Thanks.” She wandered off to find a place to sit after the woman waved acknowledgment.
Chandi spotted a rock a few paces off where she could sit without disturbing anyone, and as she settled in she tore off a piece of bread to dip in the mashed fruit – figs with honey, it tasted like. That little bit she had been given would stretch a long way. Pitaji, huh? Would it be so bad, really? I’d have to give up the road… but I’ll have to do that anyway, if I can’t find another caravan to adopt me. And I can’t do that until next year’s conclave… She had to go to the conclave, though, unpleasant as that would be. She felt a tightness grow up behind her eyes and in the top of her throat. No. No tears. I have to keep my spirits up, or I’ll never make it out. She looked over at Ravi and saw black despair incarnate, hiding beneath a mummer’s paint. I will be light.
“Life can be difficult, but a child should not wear such a serious face.”
She started and looked up. The deep, resonant male voice belonged to the elder who had spoken last night.
“I’m sorry. Should I move?”
“No, child. Relax.” He folded his legs under himself to sit cross-legged on the ground. His white hair fell braided all the way to the small of his back. “We are honored to have you and your companion as guests. Do not worry that you are putting us out.”
Chandi smiled. This really did feel like home. “Thank you… Grandfather.” This time she used the familiar address deliberately. It felt appropriate, and the old man inclined his head.
“Your companion says you are seeking ruins from the ancient days. For what purpose?”
She hesitated, but only a moment. “We’re going to try to seal the monsters away before they can destroy anyone else.”
Advent of Ruin (The Qaehl Cycle Book 1) Page 15
