As they rode, Maya had plenty of time to think. She knew that these bone-raiders, whoever they were, had some purpose for her. Why were they keeping her alive? At first, remembering the stories of war she had heard, Maya had feared they would rape her, but they had left her untouched. She eventually concluded that they intended to sell her. Perhaps at the great slave market of Sekur, perhaps to some traveling caravan encountered in another land.
Sooner or later, Maya thought, they'll have to untie me. Nobody would buy a trussed-up sack. The bone-raiders will untie me, clean me, brush my hair, try to make me presentable, as beautiful as they can. She inhaled deeply through her nostrils. And then I'll have to run.
She didn't know where she would run to. Most likely, running meant death in the desert. Then let it be so. She would rather die in sand than live as a brothel slave, a concubine, or a miner. Her bones would join those of the dragons in the desert. It was not a bad place to rest.
She was thinking these thoughts when finally, after what seemed like eras of traveling, the caravan reached the fortress in the cliff.
A great escarpment split the desert, a shelf of sandstone rising across the horizon like a wall, taller than the mightiest tower. A fortress had been carved right into the cliff—complete with columns, decorative archways, and statues of men and women with bat wings and demonic faces. It seemed to her vaguely Aelarian—not the statues, but the portico and pediment were clearly in Aelarian style.
Has the Aelarian Empire stretched so far east? she wondered. No, it couldn't be. No Aelarian would carve demons onto their structure; their gods were human in form, beautiful to behold. And this wasn't truly an Aelarian building. It wasn't a building at all; it was simply a great engraving, as tall as a palace, surrounding a cave. A mimicry, that was all. Somebody here in Sekadia had been to the Aelarian Empire, had seen the grand structures of that civilization, and had mimicked them here, a thousand parsa'ot in the east.
The caravan of camels made its way along a rocky path, heading toward the mock fortress. As they drew closer, Maya forgot her pain, her weariness, her fear, just stared in wonder. The structure was massive, perhaps even as tall as the Temple back in Zohar. She could not imagine how men had ever climbed so high to carve the hundreds of statues that stood on its pediment and columns. Surely there would be no way to build scaffolds in the desert, unless one hauled wagons and wagons full of wood for days on end across the sand. And surely men dangling from ropes on the cliff would never be able to carve work so elaborate.
Lumers carved this fortress in the cliff, Maya thought. Muse, one of the Four Pillars of Luminosity, had built this wonder in the desert.
She thought back again to Avinasi's words. The ancient lumer of Beth Eloh had told her that a second stream of lume flowed in the east, that lumers studied their art in a city by the sea. Perhaps lumers from that distant land had built this temple. Perhaps Maya was close to them now—close to a sanctuary far from Aelar, where she could learn her art.
The bone-raiders halted their camels by a staircase that climbed toward an archway in the fortress. They dismounted, grabbed Maya and Leven, and tugged them off their camels. The rough hands released Maya, and she fell down hard, banging her hip against the ground.
"Pahjahn!" barked a man. "Don't hurt the female. She'll fetch a higher price without bruises. Healthy young virgins fetch gold."
Pahjahn—a tall man with thick white eyebrows over his blue eyes—spat. "Go fuck your mother's cunt. I'll bruise her if I like. I'll slit her neck if I like. The girl's a fucking Zoharite. Their women have strange powers. Lumers, all of them."
The first man stepped closer and drew his saber. He was shorter and slimmer, but his eyes were no less fierce. "She's worth gold, you son of a whore. Covered in bruises, she won't even fetch silver."
Pahjahn snorted. "Fuck gold. Fuck silver. Useless to a bone-raider. You've become soft like a city dweller, Suraph." He drew his own saber. "I'm still a raider. I live for sand, for iron, for blood. I don't trust Zoharites. I say we slice off her head, leave her to rot here outside Aken Treasury."
The shorter man—Suraph—growled. "A rotting corpse won't fetch gold."
Pahjahn laughed. "Are you scared of her? I'm not. I'll slice her throat and fuck her corpse if I want. I—"
Suraph swung his saber. The movement was so quick, so smooth, Maya barely saw it. The blade sliced through the taller raider's neck as if cutting through silk.
The severed head hit the ground and rolled. Suraph spat and kicked it aside.
The bone-raider cleaned his blade on a piece of cloth, tucked it back into his belt, then grabbed Maya and yanked her to her feet. His eyes bored into hers. Maya's heart fluttered and cold sweat drenched her. There was cruelty in those eyes—no soul to them. She couldn't see his face; the bone mask still hid it, and he seemed to her more demonic than ever. He had saved her, but not from compassion, simply for greed.
"You can dance for us in the evenings," Suraph said. "You can prove your worth before we find you a master, one who'll pay gold." He drew a dagger and sawed at the ropes binding her ankles, then those around her wrists. "Don't bother running. Nothing but desert for days around us. We'll find you if you run, and then I'll let my companions do what poor Pahjahn suggested."
She winced when she brought her arms to the front of her body. Her muscles screamed as the blood flowed back through them. Maya had never felt such pain, and when she took a step, she nearly collapsed. It felt as if her body had atrophied, and her head spun. When Suraph tore the gag from her mouth, she gasped for air.
Not far away, another bone-raider was yanking Leven to his feet. The young man swayed, still bound and gagged. His skin was ashen, and sand filled his hair.
"Untie him too," Maya said. "He won't run."
Suraph returned his dagger to his belt and shook his head. "Not him. He stays bound. He's strong, that one, and quick. Got the look of a thief to him. Could make a good miner, fetch a few silver coins."
The bone-raiders began climbing the stairs and entering the fortress in the cliff. One of them manhandled Leven forward. Maya glanced behind her, seeing only parsa'ot of desert. She could run, she knew. Perhaps she could even steal one of the camels and ride. For a while, at least, she would taste freedom.
But they would catch me. They would kill me. She looked back toward Leven, but he had already vanished into the fortress. And I can't leave Leven. That damn thief might have stolen my camel, but he's still a fellow Zoharite.
Under the glare of the bone-raiders, Maya walked upstairs, through the archway, and into the shadows.
Seeing the beautiful, breathtaking columns and statues outside, Maya had expected a glittering hall of marvels, a place to rival the greatest palaces in the world. Instead she found a crude chamber carved into the cliff, not much larger than her villa on Pine Hill, simply a square cave.
Even as a captive, about to be sold into slavery, beaten and famished, disappointment curdled Maya's belly. Perhaps all grandness was like that. A facade hiding mere emptiness. Perhaps the greatest empires were but shells, perhaps the mightiest nations were but kingdoms of sand. Temples devoid of gods. Kings and priests revealed as but plain flesh when stripped of their vestments. All just gold and dust, splendor and shadows, crowns of rust and thrones of ash.
The bone-raiders moved about the room, setting camp. Still they wore their skull masks. One shoved Leven down into the corner, three moved to guard the doorway, and two others built a campfire on the rough floor. One man worked at skinning a goat he had hunted that morning. Finally Maya was able to count them properly: eleven men.
"If it's ransom you want," Maya said, mouth still aching after so long with a gag, "my mother will pay. She's a wealthy woman."
Suraph, the bone-raider who had beheaded his companion, scoffed. "Your bitch mother is halfway across the desert, back in Zohar, trapped in the talons of eagles. No, little one. We'll find you a good buyer from the passing caravans along the salt road." His blue eyes seemed almo
st to glow here in the shadows of the cave. "You'll fetch a high price, I wager. Ten gold coins or more for a young pretty virgin like you. Can you dance?"
Of course Maya could dance. She was the granddaughter of King Rahamyah Elior, descended from the line of Elshalom. She was the daughter of Jerael Sela, Lord of the Coast. All daughters in her family learned to dance and play music and sing. As children, Maya and Ofeer had spent many hours practicing these arts. Atalia too, at first, until she had snapped her flute over her knee and grabbed a sword, torn up her dresses, put on armor, and gone instead to fight with her brothers.
"A little." She glanced toward the fire, where the men were now roasting the goat. "Give me a choice cut of meat, and another cut to Leven, and I'll show you."
Those blazing blue eyes narrowed within the skull's eye sockets. Suraph stepped closer to her and drew his saber with a hiss. She didn't cringe as he placed the blade against her neck.
"Do you command the bone-raiders, girl?" Suraph said.
The metal was hot against her neck. "No. Do you? Or do you simply behead those who challenge you?" She wouldn't flinch, not even as the blade pressed closer. "Go ahead. I doubt you'll earn gold for a beheaded girl."
A flicker of approval filled Suraph's eyes. "You'd make a good bone-raider." He lowered his blade . . . then backhanded her. Hard. Maya gasped and fell to the floor, head ringing. Leven screamed through his gag.
"Fetch her a choice cut of meat!" said Suraph. "She'll dance for us after she eats. Remove the boy's gag and feed him too."
Maya rose to her feet, her cheek stinging. She stared at Suraph, rage burning inside her, and she wished she still had her dagger, wished she were a warrior like Atalia, wished she could plunge her blade into this man.
One of the bone-raiders began carving the meat. Only the outer layer was cooked; the insides were still raw and bleeding. The scent of the meat filled the cavern. Finally, after days in the desert, the raiders removed their skull masks.
They're only men, Maya thought. Just men like any others. Not even particularly impressive men—some with scars, some with large noses, one with a weak chin, another bald. Perhaps they too were like this fortress in the cliff—just sand behind the curtains.
They ate. The piece they gave Maya was mostly raw, only its crust cooked, but still she devoured the meat. She hadn't eaten a true meal in days. Juices and blood dripped down her chin and stained her clothes, and she realized that she still wore the same dress she had left Beth Eloh with. It felt like ages ago—a different life. Maya could remember her homeland, could remember her family, could remember herself there, an innocent girl. But that seemed a mere dream, a different life, not truly her in those memories.
Leven sat beside her, and when the bone-raiders tore off his gag, it revealed raw cheeks and bleeding lips. Still Leven managed to smile at her.
"A meal and a dance!" the thief said. "Maybe if we're lucky, we'll get foot rubs too."
The bone-raiders answered him with a cuff to his head. Leven grunted, grabbed the piece of meat tossed toward him, and focused on eating.
As she ate, Maya watched the sun set outside over the desert, painting the sky all orange and copper and red, finally vanishing behind the dunes. The stars emerged and the camels settled down to sleep. Inside the cavern, the campfire still burned, and the bone-raiders passed around skins of khasan. Maya was allowed to sip the meaty drink—not enough to quench the thirst inside her, but enough perhaps to ward off death for another few hours.
Suraph, lord of the bone-raiders, leaned back against a wall. He drank from a different skin, and Maya smelled spirits. His bone mask was gone, and his face was hard, leathery, lined with a network of scars.
"Now dance." He pointed at Maya. "Dance for us. There will be caravans passing here tomorrow, and I want to know what you're worth."
Maya stared at him, and she saw hatred, cruelty, and lust in his eyes. She wondered if he truly wanted to appraise her price or appraise her body.
He needs me to be a virgin, she reminded herself. He said so himself. He can't sell me for gold if I'm not a virgin.
Yet there was little comfort in that thought. Even if these men didn't rape her, what about whoever bought her? Would she end up a brothel slave? Perhaps forced into marriage, sold to some cruel warlord, made to dance in his hall? She was too weak to be a farmer or miner. In a city, she could hope to be sold to a family home, to become a tutor or maid. But here in the desert? Here there was only one purpose for a young woman.
"Dance!" Suraph said.
"Dance!" repeated the others.
Leven stared at her, and she saw pity in his eyes. He turned toward Suraph.
"I'll dance for you, my friend!" the thief said, puffing out his chest. "I'm a fine, alluring dancer, a true desert rose. I—"
A bone-raider slammed his fist into Leven, knocking him down. Other men kicked him and laughed as he bled.
"Dance or we keep beating him," Suraph said to Maya. "We don't need him to be pretty."
Maya rose to her feet. They all stared at her. Her dress was tattered and damp with sweat, not the fine dress of a dancer. Her body was weak and filthy, her hair a great matted mess.
And yet she danced. Danced like her tutors had taught her in Gefen, danced like she had danced with Ofeer, danced like all daughters of Zohar danced in the days of harvest upon the grapes.
The bone-raiders howled and clapped their hands in a beat. One pounded a drum.
Again Maya wished she were tall and strong like Atalia, not short and weak and meek. Atalia would grab one of the men's sabers, swing it, slay them all. Maya had never been a warrior, only a healer, a child of Luminosity.
As she danced, as the men watched her, a voice spoke in Maya's mind.
You are blessed, child. You are of greater strength than any warrior. The light flows through you.
Maya gasped and nearly lost her step in the dance. She knew that voice.
Avinasi.
Was the lumer truly speaking in her mind now, or was Maya merely imagining the wise old woman, the lumer of Zohar's court, speaking to her?
"Sing for us, Zoharite!" one bone-raider said.
"Sing, sing!" called the others.
Maya stared at them. Cruel men who had stolen her, beaten her, who would sell her to the highest bidder. Just men without masks. Just crude, simple, lost souls. She needn't fear them. They were darkness. They were sand. But she was the light of Luminosity. And that light gave her strength.
She thought of home.
In her mind, she saw them: the walls of Beth Eloh, kindled in sunset. The Temple on the Mount of Cedars, bathed in gold. Groves of olives and ancient tombstones draped across the hills, and the sun rose and fell, and the scent of the city filled her nostrils, a scent of myrrh, of olive oil, of desert wind. The turtle doves sang, and the hinds raced across the hills, and as Maya danced, the daughters of Beth Eloh danced with her. They wore white dresses, and their bare feet crushed grapes, squeezing the juice for the wine. All across the cities and villages of her land, the sons of Zohar emerged to watch the dance, to choose brides from among the maidens. Priests blew into rams' horns, and the song of lyres and timbrels flowed across the land. They were freed slaves, captive in Nur, captive in Sekadia, returned to their land between desert and sea. The waves whispered across the sand, and there on the piney hill, it rose. A villa. A home. Lantanas and cyclamens in the gardens and a pomegranate tree and a painting of elephants, and the light filled her.
Maya's hands glowed.
The lume rose inside her, and she luminated it, weaving it around her fingers, up her arms. The luminescence shone in her eyes.
I'm in a foreign land, but I'm still the light of my home.
The bone-raiders stared at her, some leaping to their feet, some drawing sabers. Leven gaped at her, eyes wide, jaw unhinged.
Four pillars of Luminosity, Maya thought. Sight. Foresight. Healing. And Muse.
Muse—the facade of columns and statues outside a cave. Muse�
�the marble statues for false gods. Muse—beauty woven from nothingness, all the works of men and women, kingdoms of sand shining for a moment, then gone in the wind.
Muse—the wonder and magic of the desert.
She danced.
No longer hesitant steps but a flowing dance of the wind, a column of smoke rising from the desert. She danced—not as a girl, not as a slave, but as living flame. She sang—a song of turtle doves in pomegranate trees, a song of waves on sand, a song of an ancient people and of young love. A song of golden columns and humble bricks of limestone. A song of copper, of bronze, of gold, of light. The song of her homeland, the song of her life by the sea, a song of luminescence.
They wept. Grown men, warriors of the desert, they dropped their blades, and they wept before her. She danced for them, faster now, eyes closed, feet barely touching the floor. She sang of a fallen brother, a fallen kingdom, of beauty still in her heart. She danced like the waves, like leaves in the wind, a song of pines and cedars, a song of the sea and sand. A song of starlight. A song of grace and memory.
The song of Zohar. A song of Luminosity.
"Beauty," Suraph whispered, tears on his leathery cheeks. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He sobbed. "So beautiful."
The other bone-raiders were on their knees, weeping at the beauty of her dance and song. She let the muse flow into them, let them see in their minds the cedars and olive groves of her homeland, the sunset on the waves, the joy of home, the beauty of lume.
Leven knelt before her, arms raised, tears flowing. "It's so beautiful!" he squeaked. "I can hear the birds! I should have become a poet! A poet!" He rose and flapped his arms. "I can dance like a bird!"
Maya rolled her eyes. She stopped her dance, grabbed the young thief, and dragged him across the chamber.
Crowns of Rust (Kingdoms of Sand Book 2) Page 17
