“Put it from your mind. We have more pressing matters to deal with.”
“M-mm.” They did, and their conversation with Raghu had taken most of the morning. If they were going to get their camels watered and make it out of the probable Bar’shetr grazing lands before night fell, they couldn’t waste any time.
* * *
Their path out of the Bar’shetr village led them into terrain dominated by rocky hills and towering windswept stone formations. There was a trail, of sorts. They nearly lost it three times before the sun touched the horizon over the pillars ahead of them and the brilliant wash of the sunset turned the land from rust to red. Chandi had not even been aware there were mountains in the heart of the Qaehl, but they provided a stunning contrast to the rippled, blowing dunes behind them, and they were not yet so rough that campsites were difficult to find.
“So how deep into the mountains is this place?”
“It’s hard to say, I’m afraid. We’re supposed to follow the foothills south until we see a formation that looks like a woman riding on the back of a cat, and then follow the pass into the mountains until we come to a tiny spring. The temple ruins are a little less than a day from that spring, but the rock could be more than a week away.”
“Well, I won’t complain about having a little longer to learn my part, I suppose, but… do we know what lives around here?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
She wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or not.
“Come on; help me get the tent set up.”
Setting up their camp for the night had acquired the comfortable patina of ritual now, so as she worked she began visualizing the steps of the dance again. It wasn’t as good as real practice, of course, but it was a good way to prepare for what little time she got in the evening.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Shahin found walking into the winter village a little disconcerting, as at first glance it was nearly identical to the village at the desert’s edge. The major difference seemed to be that there were more trees, with more variety, which spoke of more water.
For eight days Shahin had carried a tump pack, with Zena always hovering near the edge of his vision – and for all that being less obvious about it than some of the weaver women. Predictably, Lila was the worst of these. He still couldn’t understand why she kept so close to him. He had no doubt, however, why the younger village men glared at him. He knew what he could do about that, but could not bring himself to do it. In some places spurning a woman would bring on a blood feud, and in others it would ruin her. She deserved better than that.
Zena motioned for him to follow her. Good. He had been a little worried she’d decide he was ready to establish himself elsewhere, and he really had no idea where to begin building even a simple hut.
He was about to learn part of the job. The thatched roofs of the huts were currently a bare-bones framework. They didn’t bother to remove the thatch when we left, though. Does it blow away that quickly? Zena motioned towards one of the larger huts.
“Put your pack inside, then we start preparing to thatch. We sleep under the stars until it is ready.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His neck was grateful for the release as he slung the pack with its padded tump line off and set it against the inside wall of her hut. “How does one thatch a roof?”
Zena made a clucking sound in the back of her throat. She made that noise often; it meant ‘city folk know nothing.’ “First, we gather grass and dry it. There are sickles near the firepit.”
The sickles were easy to find, as all the able-bodied adults of the village were headed the same direction. Very soon he was threshing beard grass alongside the rest. Before long he fell into the rhythm and the meditation of the work, and before he knew it afternoon had slipped into evening. There was grass laid down to dry throughout the village, his right arm ached from exertion, and the smells coming from the cookfire were some of the most wonderful he could imagine.
There had been no meeting of the village fathers since the decision to move was finalized, and there would be none until they had finished settling in. That night’s gathering at the fire was relaxed, as he expected the next several to be.
He drank only sparingly from the skin of ut’sharmka someone started passing around – any more and Lila might have had an excuse to carry him home again. No one else seemed to have much energy for revelry, either, though. There was still a lot of work to do come morning.
Everyone was up with the sun, eating breakfast quietly in groups of two or three and taking up sickles again. All but the goatherds, who had to tend to the animals. Shahin almost envied them, but he highly doubted he would be out with the herds again anytime soon. He stretched his shoulder as he picked up a waiting blade. They did need to hurry; at this time of year, it was hard to say when the rains might start.
* * *
Once the straw was dry it had to be tied into bundles before it could be layered on the roof frameworks, a job left to the weavers. Karna decided it was time for Shahin to familiarize himself with the new area and begin his patrols. Shahin was just as glad for the opportunity to be out riding again. Kamari seemed eager for the saddle, too.
The rolling grassland around the winter pastures differed from the desert more in quality than in tone. The grasses were a paler gold than the sand, and their ripples in the breeze were waist high instead of underfoot. It could have been pleasant, in other circumstances. All Shahin could see now was a giant blanket of cover for anything that cared to attack, dotted here and there with a hardy tree or brambled bush. Birds were everywhere around those trees, so that was something. The night the caravan had been attacked there had been no bird calls. Off in the distance he heard the roll of thunder.
“Sounds like the thatchers need to hurry, doesn’t it?”
Kamari whickered and shook her head. As he glanced around he saw the thunderhead gathering miles to the north of them, and the thatchers with their labor were a few hours to the south. The thunderstorm was not what occupied his thoughts, though. There has to be something we can do to prepare. If we wait around and just react, we’re dead. We’re probably dead anyway, but we should at least fight for it.
They burrow. They climb. Horrid poison, and their claws cut bone like cheese. Their shells are hard as rock, but still jointed. Fire makes them nervous. Shahin recited facts from his memories of the beasts like a litany, looking for anything that might be useful in defense. If the Bezrashi couldn’t find a way to drive the creatures off somehow, and if they were immortal, there was nothing to be done. But just because Shahin had never seen a dead one didn’t make it impossible.
A pair of chinkara bounded away, bringing his attention back to the present. Ahead of him, he caught sight of a tayura’s iridescent display, green and blue against the golden ripples of the grass. Is it good or bad that the bird doesn’t seem to care if I know he’s there? Even the breeze refused to acknowledge trouble. Shahin laughed to himself. There was nothing else to learn here; it was time to ride on. Maybe another spot along the path would provide more inspiration than this one had.
The sun was setting by the time he rode back into the village. The bundles were tied and the meeting hall had already been half-thatched over the course of the day. Some villagers were moving the remaining bundles under the covered portion of that hut – which would, not coincidentally, also be where Karna lived. Zena’s hut, he imagined, would be next after Karna’s. She would not want to unpack her vials and pouches of medicines without shelter from the weather. He also expected she would complain about the work not being done quickly enough.
It was heartening to see the Bezrashi going on about their daily life like this, as though their Hekevidya had not handed down a death sentence mere weeks ago. Even when he had brought it out into the open they greeted the news as though death were an old acquaintance, if not a very pleasant one. He liked these people with their steadfast worldview, even if it was a bit grim.
Smiling at himself, Shahin
led Kamari over to where he knew he could store his tack and find a brush and currycomb before he rubbed her down. She whickered at him before he’d even put away the brushes, waiting for a handful of sweet grain.
“Impatient, aren’t you?”
She whickered again and pricked her ears. Yes, of course I am. But isn’t ‘eager’ a much better word?… And now I’m putting words in a horse’s mouth. I may need to spend more time around people. The trouble was, most of the goatherds were the same young men giving him the evil eye. The notable exception to this was Parviz, of course, but he still couldn’t decide if there was something wrong with the boy or if he was just sick on hero-worship. Then there were the girls, and Zena, but nothing to be done about it just yet. More important by far was how to keep the creatures from overrunning the village.
Between leaving Kamari with the goats for the night and arriving at the cookfire in the middle of the village Shahin managed to think himself into a thunderhead of his own. He waved away the flask of ut’sharmka without so much as a sip, and ate what was handed him without tasting it. Not that he needed to taste the food to know what it was by now. There has to be something I’m missing.
* * *
Ordinarily, he would have been out patrolling now. Ordinarily, though, Kamari wasn’t lame from a swollen foot after stepping on a poison thorn the afternoon before. She would recover; the poison almost didn’t deserve the name. It caused a painful swelling that usually went down within an hour. Usually, if the thorn hadn’t been driven into the frog of her hoof. Instead, today he was once again carding wool and being fawned over by the eligible young women of the village. Led, of course, by Lila.
By the time the midday meal came around Shahin was jumping at every stray movement. Instead of hiding, though, today he called Lila into the shade of Zena’s hut. She looked delighted; she must think she’d finally gotten his attention.
“Listen, Lila, we need to talk.”
“Of course we do. It’s nearly time for me to choose.”
“And it’s even about that. …Why don’t you sit down?”
She moved to sit on the bed.
He took a stool and faced her, resting his elbows on his knees. It took a deep breath before he could say it. “Look, Lila, you need to choose someone else.”
“And why would I do that? You’re so much more interesting than anyone from the village.”
“But that’s only because I’m new here. Look, maybe you think I’ve been leading you on, or maybe you think you can win me over, but you can’t. I’m just not interested, and there are lots of men here in the village who are.”
“What do I lack, then?” She sounded serious. “I’ve been at a loss this whole time to figure out what you find attractive.”
“By any objective measure, you are a very attractive girl. But I would make a terrible husband. Never in my life have I been interested in anyone in the way you want me to be.”
“Never? In anyone?”
“Never, in anyone. When my father was trying to arrange a marriage for me, back home, he got so frustrated by my lack of interest he hired a high-class whore to try to kindle it. She swore if she couldn’t, no one could. No matter what unspeakable thing she tried, I never touched her, never had a moment’s desire, even as I offered to marry her so she wouldn’t have to do that anymore. She slapped me, said she didn’t want my pity. Apparently she was ‘married’ to her pander. You see?”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Whether you believe it or not, it’s true. We’ll both be happier if you accept it and move on. I understand the Bezrashi practice is to have an engagement ceremony where you choose your husband. If you will not agree to choose someone else, I will not attend.”
“I see.” She had set her jaw, and her gaze was weighing. “Stand up. There’s something I have to try before I can agree to that.” Shahin shrugged even as he stood, slowly. He was barely upright before her arms were draped around his neck, her bosom pressed against his chest. He looked down at her and felt nothing save a vague embarrassment for her sake. She pressed soft, full lips against his such that they compressed against his teeth. By any standard an attractive woman, but there was nothing in him to respond. Finally she pulled back, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. He waited.
“So that night I got you drunk -"
“There was no lust it could awaken.”
She nodded. “I understand. I agree; I will choose one who can love as more than a brother.”
“Thank you.” That came out a little stronger than he intended, but he felt it justified. “Now, I need to check on Kamari, and sustana wears on.”
* * *
Life in the village became much more pleasant after his little conversation with Lila. That afternoon, with only a few words, she had managed to convince the other girls in the village to back off without embarrassing him. That last was truly a wonder. Now, three days later, all trace of Kamari’s lameness was gone and he was back out on patrol, as much at home with the Bezrashi as he had been with the Chèin’ii. It was …pleasant, coming as it did without all the hassles of living in a city. He still didn’t know what to do to keep the monsters away, but there had not yet been any sign of them this far from the desert’s edge, and every night they refined what plans they did have. It was beginning to look like things were taking a turn for the better.
A sound caught his ear, or rather the lack of one. The birds were silent. He reined in Kamari and she stood tense, flicking her ears. Her tail thrashed. He looked around, and in the east he saw the problem: a scorpion tail as thick as his thigh and as long as his horse extended above the grass. Does it think it’s hiding? …Can it think?
He didn’t wait around to find out. Shahin wheeled Kamari around in search of shelter – anything that might slow it down enough that he could get away. There was a copse of trees not far away; that might help a little. He heeled Kamari forward, hoping it was dense enough that they could get in but the beast could not. She leapt into a gallop with only that much urging. He could hear the creature pursuing, and the rough swishing sound of grass against carapace was second only to the creature’s call in its power to unnerve. He lay as flat as he could on the saddle, his head even with Kamari’s neck as she crashed into the underbrush of the copse. She pulled up short when the stand was too dense to run through.
He didn’t hear the creature trying to cut its way through the tree trunks. How odd. It shouldn’t have any trouble with a few trees, when they cut through those gates like they did. Carefully, he dismounted and turned to look. It stood there, waving its antenna and closing its claws on open air. Through the gaps between the branches, it somehow looked confused. He dismounted, ignoring Kamari’s nervous whicker. A green smell perfumed the grove; maybe it had lost his scent? He crept forward in a low crawl, one limb at a time, until he was near the edge of the copse. The smell was almost overpowering along the path Kamari had broken through. He was close enough he could have reached out and touched the beast, but it didn’t seem to realize he was there as he crouched in the undergrowth. Shahin could see the joints in its carapace, but no way to take advantage of them.
His calves had knotted into rocks before the creature finally decided the quarry was lost and wandered off. Tension melted out of his shoulders and he released the whole of the breath he held. The smell confused it; finally there’s a weakness to exploit! Shahin stood; now he had to figure out where the smell came from. He set about crushing leaves and breaking twigs until his nose led him to the match.
It’s not much to look at, but right now it’s pure gold. It looked a little like an acacia with no thorns, or maybe a sickly khejri with papery bark. Seed pods dangled from the ends of its branches, weighing them down until the lowest brushed the ground. It was one of these he cut to bring back to the village with him. Surely someone could identify it, but even if they couldn’t they still had the tree. This was turning out to be a very good day. He almost thanked the creature that had chased him – almost.
* * *
Shahin wanted to laugh at how he must look riding into the village like this, the green fronds of a tree branch sprouting from his hip as he rode, its end bobbing in time with Kamari’s gait. Certainly those who saw him ride in with the sun still high looked confused; Shahin waved, grinning like a boy. He couldn’t help but smile; this was sure to be the key. It was nearly five months since he had left Udhampna, and finally something good was coming out of it.
“Zena!” He called as he rode up to the outside of her hut. He dismounted and ducked inside, still carrying the branch. “Zena, you should see this.”
The old woman glared at him over whatever was boiling in her cauldron, sweat (or maybe just steam) rolling down her face. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose.
“Put that thing down outside and sit down. I can’t leave this right now.”
“I’ll go stand outside, then, so Kamari doesn’t eat my sample.” Kamari was probably the most intelligent horse he had ever met, but she was still a horse.
“The way that thing smells, I don’t think you’ll have to worry.”
“Oh, but what that smell can do.” He grinned and started to duck back outside. “I’ll leave you to your brewing, then.” As he let the flap fall closed behind him he heard Zena grumbling. He leaned against the wall of her hut by the door and whistled a jaunty tune from his childhood. The sun had moved less than half a fist before Zena came out.
“Well? What is so amazing about this smelly branch you brought me?”
“Can you tell me what kind of tree it is?”
She barely glanced at it. “Mersa. The resin is sometimes useful.”
“Great! I have good news and bad news, and this is the good news.” He brandished the branch as he spoke.
Zena looked at him like he had cracked.
“I saw one of the monsters while I was on patrol today. Even crouching, its tail rose above the grass, so I suppose that’s good news in and of itself. Kamari and I took off for a nearby copse of trees, and the scent of this,” he waved the branch again, “confused it. I think we may survive this yet.”
Advent of Ruin (The Qaehl Cycle Book 1) Page 29
