On Fire’s Wings

by Christie Golden

  At first, Shali seemed perplexed by his lack of desire. But she warmed to him when she saw his genuine interest in learning about her people, and seemed willing to make this intimacy an acceptable substitute.

  “Do your people not grow weary of traveling?” Jashemi inquired one night as he sipped a goblet of wine with Shali. The wine was excellent; Tahmu had brought it from the House of Four Waters. It tasted of home.

  “Oh, no,” Shali replied, taking a drink from her own goblet. “It is in our blood, this wandering. We would feel trapped if we were to stay in one place too long.” She leaned forward. “Tell me again of your House,” she said.

  So Jashemi spoke of the House and its never-ending supply of water, its strong stone foundations and brightly painted hues, its enormous kitchens and gardens. Shali’s eyes shone as she listened. They had been speaking like this for weeks now, and Jashemi thought it was safe to move on to other topics.

  “My father has long wanted to be counted a friend of the Sa’abah Clan,” he ventured.

  “Then giving us his son was a good thing to do,” she said, smiling sweetly.

  “It seems to me your people are very skilled at warfare.”

  “We have to be,” she replied. “Everyone wants our sa’abahs. But they do not breed well when kept in a corral.”

  Jashemi wondered if the so-called “wanderlust” Shali had attributed to her tribe was dictated not from within but from the sa’abahs. They were as valuable as water, and if they only bred readily when on the move, well then, it made sense to become a traveling clan.

  “Of course everyone wants them,” he said, “but some would prefer not to fight to obtain them. Why does your father oppose trade?” He kept his voice light, as if the conversation meant little to him personally, but he hung on her answer.

  “What is to stop another clan from trading and then descending at night to reclaim what they had given?”

  “Trust,” Jashemi said simply.

  She looked sharply at him then. “Trust,” she said, “is a luxury that perhaps those in your Clan can afford.” He marveled at the bluntness of her words; the wine was having an effect. “It is easy to trust when you are in no danger. When was the last time the House of Four Waters came under attack?”

  “Not in my lifetime or in my father’s,” he admitted.

  She shrugged, the gesture conveying more than words could. She drained her cup and poured more wine. “Besides,” she said, “it keeps our warriors ready for battle from all sides.”

  “You mean, from all clans.”

  She shook her head, the looseness of the gesture revealing that she had indeed drunk too much tonight.

  “No,” Shali said, “from all sides. Our scouts have returned with rumors of war from other lands. Lands on the other side of the mountains.”

  Jashemi was completely alert. He had never even given any thought as to what lay beyond the mountain range. Arukan was all he knew, was all he thought there was. There were other people, other lands? The mountains and of course the Great Dragon had kept them safe until now.

  Casually, he inquired, “What lands? I have not heard of this.”

  She smiled proudly. “When you have to fight as often as we do, you learn where your enemies will come from. I don’t know the names of the places, but people have been coming from the mountains and killing some of those who live too close to the Northern range.”

  Shali yawned and stretched, then got up and went on her hands and knees to him. She settled her head in his lap.

  “My husband,” she murmured, the words beginning to slur, “will you not make love to me tonight?”

  Jashemi closed his eyes and stroked her hair softly. “No, my wife,” he said, very gently. “But I will take you to bed and tuck the covers around you and sing you to sleep, if you like.”

  She smiled sleepily. “That sounds pleasant,” she said.

  He picked her up in his strong arms and did as he promised her, singing children’s songs in a soft voice. He watched her sleep for a few long moments. He wished he could love her, or at least make love to her, but to do so would be to court thoughts that he knew were forbidden.

  Sighing, he rolled over and soon went to sleep himself.

  Again, he dreamed of the sad, elegant woman with whom he regarded the Shadow that lurked on the edge of the world. If only he knew what it meant. An image flashed into his mind, like a memory; an image of a boy just into manhood, lying dead on a stone street.

  Jashemi had never met this youth, but he knew him. Knew of him. Why? Who was he?

  He saw the laughing horse creature, the elegant hound with claws and wings, and another being unlike any he had ever seen. He could not even properly describe it. A horn and cloven feet like a liah, scales like a snake, beard like a goat—it ought to be ugly, hideous, a monstrous thing. Instead it struck him as exquisite, and his heart ached to behold it.

  There was a thin golden chain around its slim neck, a chain that trailed off into shadow. And despite the creature’s apparent delicacy and great beauty, he knew that it was a harbinger of terrible danger.

  He awoke covered in sweat, his throat so tight that he knew he could not possibly have cried out. Anger replaced fear as he wished desperately he could make sense of these dreams. He was suddenly unable to bear sleeping next to Shali, a woman he could not love, could not confide in. It was not her fault; she was a good person and tried so hard to comply with his desires. He took the pillow and stretched out on the cold stone floor.

  Kevla. Oh, Kevla, I wish I could talk to you about this.

  He had no more dreams that night.

  Unto the Great Khashim,

  I am sorry to hear that you were not able to come to better terms with the Shining Clan. It is unfortunate that we seem to be the only ones who prefer peace to war.

  I have heard news that might interest you. It seems that not only must my wife’s clan defend themselves against attack from other clans, but there is a new enemy to be wary of as well. I am now in a position to command informants, and they have corroborated the rumors.

  Arukan is no longer alone. It appears that there are lands on the other side of the mountains that have thus far protected Arukan so well. I have not seen this with my own eyes, but the stories keep coming of attacks on those who live too close to the Northern range.

  Have you heard of such things? I am certain that you keep at least as informed as I. We have long desired to unite the clans, in order to bring about prosperity and peace for all. Now I wonder if we ought to try to unite them so that we present a strong force to this mysterious enemy. He will easily be able to pick us off one by one, like the simmars do the liahs, if we continue to be fragmented and conduct these petty raids.

  Please take care of the One we both know. I understand you can tell her nothing, but keep a kind eye upon her.

  My deepest regards to you and wishes for your continued good health.

  Tahmu read and reread the note. Jashemi had not written names or any identifying terms, as they had agreed, and had used a code they had contrived when Jashemi was young. For a long moment he thought that some of the comments were in another sort of code, so strange did they seem to him.

  Other lands beyond the mountains? No one had ever heard of such a thing. Of course, most clan leaders had very specific priorities that did not go beyond which other clan they would raid this season. But even he, who prided himself on being more farseeing than others, had never entertained such a thought.

  For a moment, he wondered if Terku wasn’t playing a cruel trick on Jashemi. It would not be out of character for the wily old man. But Jashemi would not be taken in so easily. He would have tried to verify something on his own, as he had said in the letter he had done.

  But Tahmu had heard nothing of this! He had spies far and wide, in every clan. He had scouts who had ranged to every corner of the country and returned. He had….

  Despite the heat, Tahmu suddenly felt a chill. Such people were his, of course, as h
e was Clan Leader, but Halid commanded them.

  One of four things was true, and none of them was pleasant.

  Jashemi had been the victim of a cruel joke, one that Terku had gone to great lengths to execute.

  Tahmu’s scouts and spies were idiots, failing to listen and report properly.

  Halid was controlling the information he received from the spies and not reporting it to Tahmu.

  And worst of all: Jashemi could be hearing the kulis again.

  A knot formed in Tahmu’s belly. Of the four, the best option was the first, that somehow an elaborate prank was being played on his son. He hoped that was the case, but Jashemi was no fool.

  The other three were unthinkable. He passed a hand over his face, wiping away sweat that felt cold to him, and began to compose a reply to his son.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The weeks crawled by, and not an hour passed that Jashemi did not think of Kevla. He missed her more than he thought possible.

  His discussions with Shali had proven enlightening, and having gotten what information he could from her, Jashemi began to befriend some of the men who were close to his station, Shali’s brothers and Terku’s Second, a man named Melaan. Melaan seemed to Jashemi at first to be a peculiar choice for a Second. Halid was an enormous bull of a man, heavily muscled, tall, and powerful, if treacherous. Melaan was tall but slender, and seemed perpetually lost in thought.

  But if Terku trusts him with so important a position, then there must be something there that I am not seeing, Jashemi thought as he sat under the stars, sated from the evening meal.

  He, Melaan, and Terku’s youngest sons Raka and Kelem were all enjoying the slightly inebriated feeling that a full belly often produced. They stared up at the stars, and for a moment Jashemi permitted himself to become lost in their beauty and the old tales: of the First Clan Leader kneeling before the Great Dragon, who dictated how the clans should live; of the eight spirits who guarded the rain and river waters; of the Sand Maiden who tempted the First Clan Leader into lying with her, resulting in, logically enough, the First Clan.

  He closed his eyes, wishing he had not thought of the last myth. For it was no Sand Maiden he saw, but Kevla, her face alight, reaching for him. Jashemi took a deep breath and deliberately turned his thoughts away from that dangerous path.

  “It is a peaceful night,” he said, “to think that somewhere men are fighting.”

  “The stars are above us all,” said Melaan. “They care nothing for our petty joys and quarrels. They shine on death and birth all the same.”

  Jashemi turned and regarded him in the dim light. Melaan met his gaze evenly.

  “You are quite the philosopher, Melaan,” Jashemi observed.

  “I have seen much, my lord,” said Melaan.

  Deciding to be daring, Jashemi pressed, “Have you seen armies from another land?”

  The uncomfortable silence told him more than any words. Propping himself up on his elbows, Jashemi continued, “I’ve heard rumors. I know some of what your scouts are reporting. I am the son of a khashim, as are all here save you, and you are Terku’s Second. I have a right to know what you know.”

  Melaan did not reply at once. Raka, the youngest, quipped, “Be careful with Melaan, Jashemi! His bad dreams sour his temper some days.”

  A shiver ran through Jashemi. Bad dreams?

  “If I have bad dreams,” drawled Melaan, “it is only when I think of either of you leading the Sa’abah Clan.”

  The two brothers laughed. They were indeed young; their eldest brother had been killed in the same raid that was Jashemi’s first, so long ago. There were times when he wondered if his was the hand that had dealt the deadly blow to his future brother-in-law; times when Jashemi wondered if they wondered that, too.

  “We have done battle with men who do not call themselves members of any clan,” Melaan admitted. “We have never been able to take prisoners. They seem somehow to be able to imbibe poison once they realize they have lost.”

  “Sometimes,” said Kelem, the more sober of the two youths, “they have not lost.”

  Again a silence fell, so profound Jashemi could hear the sa’abahs snuffling on their leads in the distance.

  “I know,” he said slowly, “that you think of me as an outsider. Perhaps even as an enemy. My clan has ridden against yours more than once, and there have been deaths on both sides.” He could sense them listening, and wondered if he dared utter what was in his heart—that he wished that there could be an end to all the fighting, between all the clans. He decided that now was not the time.

  “But our clans are now allies through marriage. I am a warrior and the son of a warrior. What concerns my wife’s clan concerns me. I would have you confide in me, so that I might be able offer what help I could.”

  No one spoke. Jashemi suddenly felt embarrassed and was grateful for the caress of the night air that cooled his cheeks.

  “It is difficult for us to trust,” said Melaan at last. “Too much is at stake. You could tell your father what we tell you, and lead a raid against us.”

  “I would not slay the father of my wife!” Jashemi was indignant, and the words were the truth. Not even in self-defense would he do such a thing.

  “She’s just a woman,” Raka said casually.

  The anger that shot through Jashemi turned his vision red, and before he realized what he was doing he had seized Raka and was shaking him as a hound worries a hare.

  “She is your sister!” he cried. “Think you so little of her?”

  Melaan and Kelem pulled Jashemi off the startled Raka, and shoved him hard into the baked earth. The air went out of him with a whoosh and he braced for the beating.

  It did not come. Melaan towered above him, a dark figure against the starlit sky, and Jashemi saw that he had extended an arm to hold Kelem back.

  “Either you are more cunning than you appear, or you speak truly,” Melaan said. “Terku adores his daughter, woman though she be. That you come so quickly to her defense, even against her blood brother, speaks well of you. I will talk with my khashim. Perhaps it is indeed time for you to be permitted into the inner circle of advisors.”

  The next day, Jashemi was summoned to Terku’s tent. He was the last to arrive, and as he entered, several men looked at him with varying degrees of mistrust etched plain on their faces.

  One of them spoke. “Great khashim, I say again, the boy from the House of Four Waters may be no friend to us.”

  Terku raised his hand. “I have heard your words, Baram, and given them the attention they deserve. Cease repeating yourself. I have made my decision. Jashemi-kha-Tahmu, will you swear to be my man?” The eyes that peered out of the wrinkled face were bright.

  Jashemi sensed a trap. He stood up straighter. “I am the son of a khashim, one day to lead the Clan of Four Waters. I am no one’s ‘man.’ I would, however, come to this circle to listen, to speak truly, and to honor you and your clan.”

  Terku’s lined face creased into a smile. “A good and true answer, Jashemi. I can ask for no more. Had you agreed, I would never have trusted you.”

  He had passed some sort of test. He thanked the Great Dragon, for he sensed that what he would learn would affect everyone in Arukan…and perhaps beyond. Unbidden, the milk-skinned, sand-haired man came into his thoughts. He forced the face away. The circle made room for him, and he sat on the rug that covered the sand. Terku turned to Melaan, who began to speak.

  “We have always thought that we were alone,” said Melaan. Clearly, he was restating what the others already knew for Jashemi’s benefit. “We were wrong. Some of the more northerly clans, such as the Clan of the Mountain and the Warcry Clan, have reportedly been attacked by men unlike any they have ever seen. They are pale, with light skin and eyes. Sometimes their hair is pale as well.”

  Jashemi’s breath caught in his throat, but he was careful that his expression reflect the surprise he was no doubt expected to show, not the horror of certainty he felt.

&nbs
p; “They crash upon us like an avalanche from the mountains, and the clans they have attacked have been all but destroyed. They do not take water or goods, but slaughter merely for the purpose of killing. They take prisoners, and force them to fight in their army. The few Arukani who have escaped capture or death have fled their own lands, fearing recapture by this dreadful enemy. This is painful to these clans; unlike us, they have a bond with their land.”

  Jashemi nodded his comprehension. The Sa’abah Clan was nomadic, but he had spent all his life in the same place, as had his father before him. As would his son, should he have one. He was already pining for home after a short time away; he could not conceive of being frightened enough to flee the land which had succored him.

  “They have weapons such as we have never seen. Though they have taken many clansmen, we have never been able to take one of them prisoner, to interrogate him; they ingest poison before they can be captured. But we managed to take this.”

  He gestured, and a servant approached bearing a wooden box. Melaan opened the box to reveal a piece of folded fabric. The other men leaned in; clearly, they had not seen this yet either. Jashemi licked lips suddenly gone dry.

  “It is their standard,” Melaan said, “the symbol of their Emperor.” Grimly, the Second unfolded the fabric, and Jashemi’s heart spasmed.

  Prancing on a field of white, stained by the blood of the fallen, was a graceful creature that appeared to be a combination of many other beings. It was the general shape of a liah, with cloven feet and a single, curved horn in its forehead. It was covered in light brown fur, save where scales encrusted its back and neck. The tail of a simmar curved around it, and a long mane streamed in the wind. The slight, tufted beard of a goat adorned its chin, and its eyes were large and brown. A gold chain encircled its neck.

  For a moment, Jashemi couldn’t even see, so overcome with horror was he. He blinked hard, swallowing to force down the bitter fluid that suddenly rose in his throat.