by Beth Wangler
It’s only Nhardah. I glare at the Firstborn. “What?”
Nhardah sighs and rubs the stubble roughening his jaw. “Raiballeon, I need to apologize to you.”
I scoff. “Oh, like an apology will do anything.”
“It won’t change the past, no. But that is not the point of an apology.”
My next step is more forceful, almost a kick. I regret it when my sore ankle pangs.
“You were right that I am in some part culpable for Elesekk’s death. For long years, I’ve kept myself separate from the world’s affairs. I told myself my time of effecting change was over; Aia would continue His plan by using my descendants to redeem Orrock. They would be my legacy.
“I only came to Ira and interacted with you at Mithrida’s prompting. If not for my wife, for her kaite wisdom and greater knowledge of Aia’s actions, I would have left you alone entirely. Becoming entangled with mortals is something I have distanced myself from for centuries.
“I was wrong.” Nhardah pauses, head tilted. “You’ve helped me recognize that I still have a part to play.” He fixes his deep orange eyes on me. “I too am responsible for helping set this world to rights again. I deeply regret my complacency and the grief and loss it has caused. I shall sit idly by no longer.”
I blink against the prickling in my eyes. My breath shakes. “Okay,” I say. “Good.”
Nhardah bows his head and turns forward.
“But I’m still mad at you, okay?”
He opens his mouth, then quirks his head. “Do you hear that?”
All I hear is the swish of us moving upriver.
Nhardah holds up his hands. “Wait, everyone.”
The others pause and look back at us, curious. “What’s wrong?” Savi asks. His hand goes to his sword.
The river settles into its placid flow. The reeds growing along the shore swish. Spotted crakes digging for supper along the bank sound their repetitive whip-crack calls.
In a small twilit hush, I catch what Nhardah heard: The weak resound of a baby’s cry.
Chapter 24
The closer we get to the cry, the thicker the reeds grow.
“Don’t step on the shore,” Forziel cautions. “If we leave footprints or scent, it’ll undo all the extra work of leaving a decoy trail.”
A reed catches my sandal underwater. I wiggle free, only to stumble face-first into another stalk. I shove the reed aside and push forward.
The baby’s cry sputters. We surge upstream with renewed vigor. It’s anyone’s guess how long the infant has been out here. We need to find it.
By now, the sun has sunk without fanfare. The sky dims with every step we take. Shadows lengthen and deepen among the reeds.
The baby’s cries quiet.
One by one, we freeze in our search. I swallow to clear my ears.
The stream gurgles where it runs over rocks. The reeds rustle, soft and gentle, even when no breeze blows on them. Nearby, a nighthawk’s pneet stands out against the repetitive calls of the spotted crakes pecking for supper. Away in the distance, a jackal barks.
None of these sounds give the slightest clue about where we’ll find the baby.
“Aia, lead us to the child,” I whisper to the sky.
“Yes, do,” Nhardah agrees.
I start forward again, this time with more care. We all move slower, parting the reeds, peering into every dark shadow.
Saviayr’s quick intake of breath draws our attention. He blinks through parted reeds, then dives between them. By the time we follow, he’s cradling the tiniest baby I’ve ever seen. The child is utterly still.
I rest a hand on Saviayr’s shoulder and peer at the bundle. “Is it…” A lump in my throat chokes the rest of the words before I can speak them.
Savi brushes a finger over the baby’s cheek and rests it on the child’s chest. He must feel the lungs expanding in breaths, because the shoulder under my hand relaxes. “It’s alive.”
We collectively sigh in relief.
Yori breathes, “It’s so tiny.”
Nhardah comes up on Saviayr’s other side. His anxious eyes fix on the baby with affection and concern. “We need to get her home,” he says, “or she won’t be alive for long.” He brushes a hand over the child’s bald head.
“Her?” Savi asks.
Nhardah raises an eyebrow. “Spend enough centuries around babies and maybe you’ll be able to guess their gender, too. But if you want to check, go ahead.”
Savi swallows. He opens his mouth, but Nihae plucks the baby from his arms. “Poor dear,” she croons. “You probably need a changing, anyways. Anyone have something we can use for a diaper?”
Relieved that she’s taken interest in this, I grab the frayed edge of my ruined chemise skirt and rip. “Will this do?”
It takes longer than it should to clean the baby—indeed a girl—since we have to manage it in the middle of a stream. I hover at Nihae’s elbow and help when she gives directions.
Unwrapping the child—the first step—makes my breakfast sit uneasy in my stomach. Her skin clings to her ribs and arms. Nadina’s chubby baby brother comes to mind. Babies should look plump like him, not like their skin barely covers their protruding bones.
Part way through the changing, her eyes flutter open. The sound she makes is a feeble imitation of what a cry should be.
Nihae hums the “Lullaby of the River” to her, the same song I sang to Pitka the night of the falling star. I brush a finger over the baby’s tiny fist.
She should be home, warm and safe, nursing from her mother, not starved and cold in the middle of a river.
This is why we are here. This is why I am going to the capital and risking everything on a foolish hope. This and Elesekk.
By Aia’s grace, we will defeat the Izyphorns and the aivenkaites, once and for all.
Nihae wraps the thin blanket back around the baby. Forziel shakes his head. “I didn’t know humans could be so small.”
Nihae starts at his voice, and frowns. “I’m sorry, but who are you?” she asks.
Savi and I look at each other, then at Forziel. He, in turn, is looking at us. “Mama,” Savi says, “this is Forziel, our guide. We met him last night?”
Nihae’s confused expression remains, even though she nods. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry. It’s just this memory of mine.”
Forziel nods slowly. “Right. Well, if you’re done, we oughta get moving. I think the town’s still a bit of a walk from here.” He turns north, and we follow.
The banks have risen again when Forziel flinches. Something plunks into the river beside him. “Ow!” He grabs his shoulder and looks around.
A whoop makes my heart race. The hills move in the dark. Luemikaroeth flashes out before I consciously decide to draw the sword.
But wait—there are eyes in the hills, and arms, and feet. Only they’re not in the hills at all. Not aivenkaites, but a dozen humans flank us, running down the banks.
“Bandits,” Forziel curses.
“The baby,” Nihae worries.
“Brother?” Yori says.
I scan the outlaws closing in. They outnumber us, and we can’t easily outrun them. The baby desperately needs care.
We can get her to safety, even if we can’t all save ourselves. Now is the time for the Firstborn to make good on his wish to do better. I grab his arm. “Nhardah, take the baby and run. We’ll distract them here.”
He doesn’t hesitate, just snatches the infant from Nihae and sprints.
The bandits shout. A few break off and give chase.
I raise Luemikaroeth and shout in the Common Tongue. “Hey! He’s just trying to get a baby back to her parents. We’ll be much more worth your time.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Forziel asks, backing toward me and eyeing the bandits.
I scan the outlaws. They wear the same inconspicuous slave clothing as Forziel. Apart from the variety of skin and hair colors, what really distinguishes them is their adornments. I count them that way:
Three Rhilissi, with dozens of braids each.
Two Lariens, ear lobes clipped to honor their ancestor.
Two Umwians, with tattoos dappling their dark faces.
One Kedi, whose neck is circled by ropes of stone beads.
Two Maraians with chanavea.
“Just follow my lead,” I whisper to Forziel and the others. The bandits have stopped their pursuit of Nhardah at the command of the female Umwian. I brandish Luemikaroeth. “I am Raiballeon of the Charn family, a Maraian, and I am the enemy of Izyphor.”
“As are we all,” the Umwian calls back. Her tattoos accentuate the hard lines of her face. She waves a hand, and the other bandits advance a few paces. “What makes you special?”
My mouth has gone dry. I try to speak anyways. “I am challenging the sultan. I am an elgarnoseth—a Champion—and the five of us are en route to the capital to demand Maraiah’s freedom.”
The Maraians, a man and woman, shift on their feet and glance at the Umwian woman. She tilts her head. “Then you are fools. You’re of no value, but I’m very interested in your weapons.”
“Onili,” one of the Rhilissi, hair shaved in an arrow pattern, speaks up softly, “I heard rumors of them when I sneaked in to get supplies this morning. Their people’ve been waiting for a champion for years. They really think she’s it.”
The leader, Onili, flicks her eyes over the Rhilissi man.
The Rhilissi adds, “They might be more valuable alive, just for that.”
Onili looks back at me. I’m standing in front of Forziel, Yorchan, and Nihae, and Savi is behind them. Even though I have Luemikaroeth out, I don’t know if I can use the sword against the bandits. Sending aivenkaites to the Void is one thing. Can I bring myself to take a human’s life?
“Those who spread death shall drink its violence themselves,” the kaites used to say.
My palm sweats on the sword’s grip. I stare at Onili, willing her to see us as a threat, begging her to think of the damage two swords could do against ten people.
Instead, the bandit chief must read my hesitation. A smirk flickers over her lips. “Grab them,” Onili orders.
The bandits spring on us.
Chapter 25
“That was easier than I expected,” the Kedi says in the Common Tongue. A rope tied to Nihae’s wrists dangles from his hands.
The Rhilissi who spoke earlier says, “Well, Drigo, sometimes we gotta take our good fortune when it comes.”
I saw a glimpse of their good fortune just before someone bound my wrists and shoved me to the ground. It includes Savi’s bleeding nose, Forziel’s black eye, Yori’s torn sleeve, dozens of bruises and scrapes between the five of us, and a dreadful pain in my left shoulder, along with our swords in their hands. Now, I’m sprawled awkwardly on the ground, trying to keep pressure off of my shoulder.
Feet wrapped in leather scuff the dirt in front of my face. Onili towers over me, twisting Luemikaroeth back and forth. The blade catches the light of the moons and sends it dancing. It reflects the indree up into Onili’s face as her lips stretch. “Oh, I like this. It’s not often I see an actual sword, and I’ve never seen one quite like this one. This was really good fortune.”
The other Umwian, a big man with three pale lines running down his cheeks, scoffs. “I don’t know about that. What’re we gonna do with them, now that you’ve showed mercy?” His lips curl up at the last word.
Onili’s gaze jerks from the sword to him. “Hynn, Uner. I will not show mercy to those who question my authority.”
Uner the Umwian drops his head and scowls.
“But, Onili,” the Maraian man, who hasn’t spoken yet, frowns at us from a ways back and asks, “what are we going to do with them?”
Onili swings Luemikaroeth behind her, securing it in the sash tied over one shoulder and under the other. She peers at the eastern horizon and hefts a sack from beside her feet. “We’ve all got to get to the highlands before dawn. Hoenna, Liwin, Laen, help them up. Drigo, get their bag. Uner, Vant, and Arudien will guard them.”
As soon as the words leave Onili’s mouth, the bandits obey. The Maraian woman, Laen, drags me to my feet. I groan when she pulls on my left arm. “Hoenna,” Laen gasps, “her arm’s dislocated.”
The arrow-braided Rhilissi, who convinced Onili to keep us alive, hunches down beside me. His warm umber hands reach for my shoulder, but he pauses. “May I?” he asks.
I’m hesitant to agree. After all, these bandits did capture us, and bandits in general aren’t known for their kindness. But my shoulder really hurts, and I don’t think Onili will let one of her posse injure me further when she’s eager to be on the move.
At my nod, Hoenna lightly presses his fingers into my shoulder. I flinch. Hoenna hums. “Okay, let’s get you on your back,” he says, and unties the rope around my wrists.
The movement jostles my shoulder. I grunt.
“You’re hurting her,” Savi snaps. He steps toward me, but Uner pulls him back. Savi balks against the Umwian’s grip. “That’s my wife!”
“Rai,” Yori says, struggling against the bandit holding her.
By this time, I’m laying down and Hoenna is positioning my arm. “Uner, let him be,” he says evenly. “He can hold her hand, help with the pain.”
Savi moves forward at Hoenna’s word, but Uner tightens his grip until their chief says his name. With twisted lips, Uner lets Saviayr go. Savi reaches me the next instant. He pulls his bound hands around his side as much as possible and links our fingers together. “I’m right here, Rai.”
I squeeze Savi’s fingers and focus on his eyes. “Thank you.”
There’s scuffling, then Forziel grunts. “Watch it,” a bandit hisses, “or I might slip with this knife.”
Savi looks away, presumably at Forziel, and gives a sharp shake of his head.
“This will hurt,” Hoenna warns, “but try to relax.”
I nod and grit my teeth.
Hoenna pulls gently, slowly, at my arm. Pain radiates down to my fingertips and across my back. I cry out.
There’s a pop, and the pain immediately lessens. “There.” Hoenna pats my hand. “You’ll be fine. But let’s make you a sling to help with the healing.”
While Hoenna undoes his beige sash and loops it into a sling for my arm, Uner grumbles, “If we were killing them like we should, it wouldn’t matter how her arm heals.”
I scowl at him. Whatever the bandits do with us, I hope they do not leave us alone with Uner.
Laen frowns at the ground. “Uner, please. My people have been waiting for a Champion for generations.”
That catches my attention. If we can convince Laen and the other Maraian, Vant, to be on our side, we have a better chance of escape. I don’t trust Hoenna the Rhilissi, though. His kindness is probably just a ploy to get us to trust him. I wouldn’t be surprised if Hoenna betrays any confidence we share with him to Onili.
“If Hoenna is satisfied with the captive’s health,” Onili breaks in, “then let’s be off.” She turns, as regal as any Izyphorn I’ve ever seen, and strides east. Hoenna rebinds my wrists in front of me and helps me stand. Then Uner, the Maraian man Vant, and a clipped-eared Larien flank Forziel, Nihae, Yorchan, Savi, and me. They nudge us forward with spear-butts and elbows.
As much as we can, we fight back. Forziel lands a well-placed elbow in the Larien’s side and makes it several paces before he’s dragged back. Yori trips Vant and breaks away—only to run straight into Uner.
Savi stays close by my side, even when Uner tries to wedge us apart. Savi glares at the Umwian and moves even closer to my side.
“Rai, are you okay?” Savi whispers.
I bump him gently with my unhurt shoulder. “Not really, but my arm will be fine.”
Savi gives a shaky sigh. “Okay.”
With our captors so close at hand, we can’t really talk. Nihae stumbles from time to time. As the night wears on, one of the bandits curses softly every time he has to catch her. Our escape attempts
grow feebler. The bandits are good at this. They anticipate everything we throw at them.
We all follow Onili, who covers the hard ground with familiar strides, confident even when Jshai Pot, the larger of the two moons, sets midway through the night. Giving up on escape for now, Forziel attempts conversation with the bandits, but none of them respond. They don’t even talk to each other.
The ground slopes up as we distance ourselves from the river. In the waning light of the small moon and the first gray light of morning, the smooth ground grows rough. Sharp stones poke out of the ground, like they’re trying to crawl out of the center of Orrock. The ground rises more dramatically. Pokey shrubs dig their roots into the dry ground, clinging to every crevasse.
We are in the outskirts of the foothills.
If we can break loose, this might be our best chance for escape. The shrubs and rocky ground offer more cover than the open desert. Savi must be thinking the same. He bumps into me, then quirks his head and darts his eyes at the foothills as we walk. The next time Nihae stumbles, he whispers, “On my mark.”
Savi subtly picks up his pace, catching up with Forziel. I pretend to twist my sore ankle and start limping, which drops me back by Yori and Nihae. A jackal howls nearby, and I use its call as cover. “Be ready,” I hiss to Yorchan.
Onili leads us onto a cleared route that could be mistaken for a game trail. It’s the darkest it has been all night.
“Now!” Savi’s shout shatters the quiet. Drigo, the bandit closest to me, jumps.
I grab Nihae’s arm. Yorchan flings herself down the hill, and I drag us with her.
“Get them!” Onili barks.
Bushes scratch and bare rock grates. My shoulder pulses in fresh pain. The hill has no bottom—or will we smash into a boulder?
But no, we’ve stopped falling.
“Here,” Savi says. His voice is short, soft, but echoes over the trampling of the bandits’ feet.
In a heartbeat, I’m up and tugging Nihae after Saviayr. She follows as best as she can. We scramble over loose, sharp rocks. Sagebrush hides in the shadows, then looms up to catch our clothes and skin as we blunder into it. Yori breathes loud and fast behind me.
