by Sarah Dalton
My head snaps towards him. “What do you mean?” How does Mushtan know that the Borgans consider me their queen, or that Cas has asked me about marriage? What has he been overhearing?
“Come now. You are the craft-born and that makes you powerful. You’re a leader. You direct these men into the Anadi Sands for the Ember Stone. And you will marry the prince, yes?”
“But how—?”
He chuckles. “I may be old, but I still remember the first time I saw my wife. I know what two teenagers in love look like.”
All of a sudden, the sleeve of my tunic appears most interesting, and a great distraction from the thought of being a wife. To a prince no less. But when Cas plops down beside me with a bowl of spiced meat and bread, I almost leap out of my skin.
He looks me up and down. “Are you quite all right? You look like you’ve seen a spectre or something?”
“I’m fine.” I sink back away as Cas questions Mushtan about how many more nights we will spend in the desert, wishing the sand would swallow me whole.
That’s when I realise what I’m afraid of. It’s not marriage, it’s the fact that I want to be married. I want to tell the world, shout it from the rooftops: I’ve found him, the man I want to create a life with, fix the world with. A bubble of laughter comes up from my middle. Cas stops talking and turns to me, a questions on his lips. I don’t say anything, I just grin, and we find ourselves staring at each other whilst the heat of the fear warms our skin.
But our moment is stolen by the high voices of the Jakanis as they begin to sing. I turn away from Cas to listen to the song, so different from the melodies from the north. Their voices clash and crescendo in a way that is not unpleasant to the ear, but far stranger than the bards who used to frequent the Fallen Oak back in Halts-Walden. They stretch out their words until it becomes almost a wail.
“What are they singing about?” I ask.
Mushtan raises his eyebrows. “They are singing about the Queen of Fire. Would you like to know the song?”
I nod.
Quietly, Mushtan translates the song for me:
Heat of the desert, light her;
Fire in her bones, fire in her bones.
Warmth of the wind, find her;
Fire in her bones, fire in her bones.
Northern prince, defile her;
Cold betrayal, cold betrayal.
Ice of the north, take her;
Cold betrayal, cold betrayal.
A broken heart, destroy her;
Never forget, never forget.
Shattered stone, lost to her;
Never forget, never forget.
The words shield me from the heat of the fire as I wrap my arms around my body. This is a warning. Mushtan’s men do not trust us, and will never trust northerners. They see anyone north of the Haedaland border as a cold betrayer. Never has Allerton’s teaching seemed so right.
“Are you well, Hada-ya?” Mushtan asks.
“It has been a long day,” I reply. “I think I must retire to my tent.”
Mushtan’s eyes seem sad as he nods. “Very well. You must rest. We have arranged for the men to keep watch against the desert tribes. I am not expecting trouble. We are too large a group for them to attack without provocation.”
“That is good to hear. Thank you, Mushtan,” I say, climbing to my feet and hurrying to my tent. My heart beats fast, like the quick rhythm of the song.
When the tent rustles behind me, I whip around to find Cas standing behind me. He stares deep into my eyes, and says, “What is it? Why did you act that way earlier?”
“You know what’s really strange? Despite everything, despite leading these people into danger, and despite the fact your murdering father is waiting to find and kills us, despite it all, I’m happy. I’m bloody happy, Cas. I love you and I’m happy.” I close the space between us and kiss him until my lips are raw.
“All day we ride together through a desert filled with dunes and blue skies and a relentless sun, and all I can do is watch you, and think about you. You’re the bright light in the darkness of my mother’s death, a torch leading me through a secret tunnel,” he replies. His arms circle me, pulling me into his chest.
“Then let’s do it,” I say. “Let’s marry.”
“Do you mean it?” he asks.
I nod, smiling. He picks me up off my feet and spins me around, burying his face in my hair. My heart is light. I want to cling to this moment forever.
*
But my elation is put on hold for a day, as a bad sandstorm batters our camp, preventing us from moving on. We huddle in our tents, waiting out the relentless hammer of sand against the tent skin. I sit cross-legged on my bedroll, imagining myself as the wind. I try to control it, try to force it away from us. There are times when the howl decreases and dies down, but then my energy fades, and it forces its way back.
“What is it?” Cas asks.
“My powers don’t feel as strong,” I say. “Maybe it’s because I usually create wind, not prevent it. I guess I’ve never used that kind of power.”
“Maybe it’s because your emotions are different now. You said yourself that you’re happier than before. Maybe you need to learn how to control your gift when your emotional state is different.” Cas shrugs. He sits across from me, sharpening his sword with a whetstone.
I give up trying to control the wind, and pull a blanket around me instead. Cas’s hair falls forward as he runs the stone across the blade.
“What do you think my father is doing right now?” he says.
“He’s probably drunk on a horse, sloshing wine everywhere, and barking orders at soldiers while Lyndon sneers at his side,” I say.
“I wonder where he is fighting. I wonder how far south they are. Last I heard, before we left Jakani, General Alden was forcing the king’s troops back up across the Sverne. But the king is getting stronger. He’s conscripting young lads for the army as he travels south.” Cas shakes his head as he continues with the whetstone.
“We’ll stop him,” I say. “I’ve never meant anything so much. We will stop him.”
I close my eyes, and use the thoughts of the king as new energy to stop the sandstorm. Soon the howl of the wind is little more than a breeze.
“Did you do that?” Cas asks.
“I think so,” I breathe. “I just thought about how much I want the Ember Stone.”
“Mae, what are you going to do with the stone when you find it?” Cas asks.
“Destroy it,” I reply. “What else would I do?”
“If you kept it you would live forever. Don’t you want that?”
“And watch everyone I love die? Of course not. I’ve seen too many people die already. I don’t want that.”
“Even if it is what’s best for Aegunlund? After I die, you could rule the kingdom forevermore,” Cas says. “Aegunlund would never need to worry about a tyrant ever again.”
I mull over his words for a moment. “No, because that’s impossible. I won’t remain the same person forever. Being human, having the thought of dying on my shoulders, that’s what makes me just. Take that away, and I could become the same monster as the king.” I shake my head. “No. There is no place for that diamond in this world. No one should live for centuries when the rest of us live for decades. It isn’t right. I’m destroying it.”
Cas smiles, exuding genuine warmth. “Good. I think that’s right.”
I grin at him. “Were you testing me?”
He opens his mouth as though offended. “Me? Of course not! Oh, all right, maybe a little. I have to know I’m not starting an allegiance with an evil queen.”
I let go of that anger and laugh. “It’s good to see you like this again.”
Cas pauses and puts down his whetstone. “I’m still angry at my father, but I refuse to let my hatred of him stop me from finding good in the world. And you and me, that’s the good. I swear, I will always laugh with you, no matter what.” He pulls me towards him and pushes his sword away, resting
me on his lap.
He trails a finger down my spine and suddenly neither of us feel like laughing. It’s remarkable how quickly his touch became normal. It took only days for his arms, his embrace, to become natural. The way I feel when I am around him makes everything that came before seem inconsequential. Sometimes I think we wasted time with our secrets, but sometimes I believe we needed to waste time so we could grow up to be the people we need to be. One thing I have learned, is that love cannot die quickly, and that it will wait as long as it needs to.
“Has there ever been a disfigured queen before?” I say, breaking the spell between us.
Cas tuts. “Don’t call yourself that.”
I tap a fingernail on my metal hand. “That’s what they will say. It’s what they will see when they look at me.”
“They will see you for what you are: a powerful and beautiful young woman. They will see what I see.” He places a light kiss on my shoulder. “But of me, I am not so sure. I wonder whether some people will continue to think me a murderer for the rest of my days. The king may be universally hated, but he has managed to plant a seed of doubt in their minds. Forevermore they will wonder and wonder if I did it. But there is no point dwelling on it. The king and queen of the realm lose the privilege of friends when they take the throne. As much as you would like, you can never be friends with those whose power does not align with your own. There will always be tension. It doesn’t matter how much respect there is between the people. One must lead, and the other must follow. That is not a friendship.”
“I’ve never thought about it that way,” I remark. “It’s going to be a hard journey.”
Cas nods. “But I will always be at your side.”
Chapter Seventeen – The Mallahu
We crowd around the campfire, protecting ourselves from the cold desert night. Sasha sits with Ellen and Aliyah. Sasha and Ellen have become good friends, plaiting each other’s hair, and chatting as though they have known each other since birth. I am always pouring over maps or with Cas in the evenings away from the others. Sometimes I see them, and Sasha catches my eye. She smiles at me with a sort of guilty smile. For a brief moment, I’m sent back to Halts-Walden, watching the girls walk home from school arm in arm. I shake the twinges of jealousy away. I am not that person anymore.
A song breaks out amongst Mushtan’s men. It’s surprisingly warm and tender, and their low voices are harmonic. As they rise and fall, I feel my body responding to the music, lulling me into relaxation. Mushtan sits by me, and his low voice reverberates through his chest. They work and sing together, making arrows, sharpening blades, cooking food. I can only watch in awe.
“Do you believe we’ll find the stone?” Mushtan asks.
“Yes, I do. But I’m more concerned about what we’ll find with the stone.”
“The Sihrans,” he says.
“Yes,” I reply. I don’t say how I suspect his men of betraying me. How I believe they will try to steal it.
“You’re formidable now, Hada-ya. Who would be brave enough to go against you?” His words seem to be something more. Is he telling me that he won’t fight me? That they will ignore their command from the sultan? Or am I reading too much into it because of what Allerton said?
“Tell me more about the Queen of Fire,” I request.
He gets comfortable on the sand, and takes a deep breath. “Well, she was the most loved southern queen. Even those in the north loved her. It was before the new ways, before the holy book of Esari; before we worshipped the true God, the one you call Endwyn.” I nod. I am aware of the God of Fire from Allerton’s teachings. “It was before we had sultans. She was a fire wielder, and an extremely powerful one; from a family of fire wielders.”
“Was she born into the throne?” I ask.
Mushtan shakes his head. “There were many royal families before the new ways. Her father took the throne after a bloody civil war. The Haedalands was always at war back then. We are strong people. We like to fight. We respect powerful people like the Queen of Fire, and I believe she was respected by many. But she had one weakness. She loved a northerner.”
“And he turned on her.”
“For the chance to rule all of Aegunlund, not just the north. Yes, he turned on her. His people invaded her lands after he discovered the weaknesses in her defence. She was so heartbroken she killed herself.”
“And the Ember Stone was lost.”
“Yes, Hada-Ya. If it ever existed. And from then on we have had to bow to a northern king.”
“You have a sultan,” I point out.
“Our sultan still bows to the king.”
“Not after this war,” I say, realising it is the first time I have admitted that we are going to war.
Mushtan shrugs. “Perhaps, Hada-Ya. This is our history, but you must understand that Jakanis enjoy stories. We like magic. There are many stories that have been embellished over time. Like the story of the scorpion and the snake. Legend has it that a scorpion mated with a snake, and made a worm-like creature with a hard shell and pincers, with a deadly bite. They say the creature grew to the size of a river, and lives beneath the desert sand. Of course, it’s just a story to scare our children.” He laughs. “It’s not true.”
“I bloody hope not,” I say. “Sounds awful. What is it called? This scorpion-snake?”
“A deathworm in your language. To us, it is Mallahu. ‘You do not want to wake the Mallahu’. That is what we tell our children to stop them running through the Anadi Sands.”
“Well, I’ve faced disgusting bug creatures before, and I don’t want to again.” My eyes drift down to the metal hand.
“It is not my place to say, but would it not be more comfortable to remove the hand as we travel through the desert. The heat must be making it difficult for you.”
A flush of embarrassment spreads over my body. He’s right, but I have been ignoring the discomfort so that I can hide the unsightly stump from the rest of the camp. I fold my hand back into my tunic and change the subject.
“Your people worship Endwyn, the God of fire. Why is that?”
“We live in the hottest climate in our world. Fire is important to us. It is in our veins. We are proud of our fighting spirit, and our hot-tempered nature.”
“But you seem very calm,” I remark.
Mushtan laughs. “Wait until you see me in battle, Hada-ya, then you will see the fire burning bright.”
Part of me wonders whether his words are a threat, but I choose not to see it that way, and smile along with him.
“Only the Archipelagos do not worship Endwyn in the south. They have their own God. They call Him, The Maker.”
“The Maker? I’ve never heard this before,” I say.
“According to them, The Maker made our world: made the Ancients, and the elemental Gods, and the God of magic. The Maker is what created everything you see before you. That is what they believe in.”
I shake my head. “So many Gods. How do we know any of them exist?”
Mushtan’s smile turns into a grin. “Would it matter if none of them did?”
I go to sleep that night and dream of Avery. She dances naked through the campfire, oblivious to my presence. Her eyes are unfocussed—confused—as though she doesn’t know why she’s there. The dream unsettles me. Avery has always been wise and calm when she comes to me. What does this mean? Has my destiny changed? Is my future uncertain? Her dancing becomes so frantic, that I pull on my hair and beg her to stop. But her feet move quicker, trampling the ashes of the fire into the sand.
I wake up in a cold sweat, with Cas’s concerned silver eyes staring down at me.
The next day, we cover good ground over the Anadi Sands, but the sun is at its fiercest, and come night-time we are all too tired to sing, or discuss Jakani legends. Instead we focus on getting to Asher, the small village nestled in the valleys near the Red Peak Mountains, where we can refill with water and food. I close my eyes, and lean back against the cold sand. It’s a meagre meal tonight. Su
pplies are low, and Mushtan’s men are changed. They’re tense. The closer we get to our destination, the more we all know what’s coming. A choice.
Will they betray me?
That night, I lie awake next to Cas, practising forming a fireball in my hand. It’s the size of a pebble—tiny, but still deadly. I bounce it up and down on my palm, exercising control, remembering the fire that consumed the Nix, remembering what it felt like to drive a sword through the king. Slowly that pebble grows, and then it shrinks, and then I think of water and it hisses away.
If I needed to, could I make it rain in the desert? Could I make it snow?
Next, a tornado. Tiny, like a toy. A twisting, spinning toy on my palm. I watch it as I control it around my tent, fluttering rolls of paper, gathering sand. I let it stop. Then I realise that Cas is watching with a smile on his face.
“Do that again.”
Smiling with him, I create three more tiny tornadoes and make them dance around us. I focus on earth and move the sand so that it writes our names. In an instant, the sand settles and they are gone. Cas pulls me into his arms, and I forget all about the tornadoes, and all about our journey tomorrow.
*
We embark on the last stage to Asher, and even Adil slows down to a stroll. Despite his uncomfortable shape, I’ve actually come to appreciate my camel. He’s a loyal old thing, does everything he’s told, and has cut down on the amount of noise he makes. Perhaps camels aren’t so bad after all.
When Mushtan stops with a raised hand, something about it causes the hairs on my arms to stand on end. Mushtan only ever stops when it’s time to eat, and I know from the lack of gnawing hunger at my stomach that it isn’t time yet.
And then I feel it.
A deep tremble rippling through the sand.
Cas moves his camel nearer to me. “What is that?”
Sasha approaches from the right. “Do you feel that?”
I nod. Adil becomes agitated, hawing loudly as the tremble develops into a rumble.
