The Falcon's Heart

by Diana Green

  “Not foolish. Simply unexpected.” Jehan’s voice softened. “I don’t fault your intentions. Wanting to teach the children is a fine idea, if somewhat impractical. We can’t know how long you’ll be here, especially with a second message on its way to your father. He may be calm enough now to settle on terms of exchange.”

  Saba sighed, looking away toward the hills. “I realize my time might be short, but I’d like to make the most of it.” Her gaze returned to Jehan. “Something worthy, however small or brief, is still better than nothing. Don’t you think?”

  The words hung between them, weighted with double meaning. Saba wished they could share more than these careful courtesies—even if they were fated to live apart the rest of their lives.

  Jehan moved closer, reaching to take Saba’s hand. For a moment the two women stood in silence, palm to palm, fingers entwined.

  At last Jehan spoke. “Although we walk separate paths, I’ll never forget this time getting to know you. It has been a true pleasure...” She paused, clearly at a loss for words. Instead she placed her other hand briefly over Saba’s heart, the gesture both tender and restrained. “I wish you all the best. Whatever lies ahead.” She released Saba’s hand and stepped away.

  “May your path be clear and the wind blow ever at your back.” As Saba spoke the traditional desert blessing, worry and sadness settled like stones in her stomach.

  “Please be safe,” she whispered, watching as Jehan rejoined her band and mounted up. The Falcon waved once then rode away north, toward the pass out of the valley.

  ~*~

  “You certainly look forlorn,” Mari observed, when Saba returned to the healer’s house.

  “I had hoped for more time with Jehan, and now she’s gone…for who knows how long.” There seemed no reason to hide her feelings from Mari. “When she returns, terms of exchange may already be reached with my father, and I’ll have to leave.” She sighed, a sense of hopelessness washing over her. “I wish things could be different.”

  “Of course you do.” Mari snipped the thread on a scarf she’d finished mending and pushed to her feet. The action took effort, reminding Saba how much Mari had aged.

  “Come walk with me, Saba. There’s a place I’d like to show you.”

  “Now? It’s almost time for supper.”

  “We’ll bring food with us.”

  They left the house and made their way south along the stream bank, away from the settlement, toward the head of the valley. Saba linked arms with Mari, offering the older woman support over the rough terrain.

  “I believe I wore myself out, coming up here this morning,” Mari said, stopping to rest.

  Saba hadn’t known where Mari went most of the day. She’d left at first light and not returned until midafternoon.

  “If you’re tired,” Saba said, “we can do this some other time.”

  “No. I feel the call.” She started walking again, leaning more heavily on Saba. “There’s a spring, hidden at the base of these hills, with an ancient shrine to the Viper Queen.” She gestured upstream. “I go there for certain types of spell work…scrying in particular. It’s a healing place. The waters will do you good.” She gave Saba a sharp look. “Do you remember what I taught you of the old goddesses?”

  “Yes, of course. There were three jinni sisters, the Viper Queen, the Ibis Queen, and the Jackal Queen. Each presided over aspects of the world, such as magic and healing arts, statecraft and agriculture, death and birth. When the new gods and their priests came to power, the old ways were outlawed.

  “We now have seven deities, but they’re all male except Hasnah, who offers the blessings of marriage and beauty, with her twin Myashah, patroness of the home and birthing. When I was a child, you told me those two were nothing but symbols, echoes of the true goddesses that preceded them.”

  Mari nodded. “I’m glad you remember. Not many speak of them, but the jinni queens left a secret legacy, carried by women like me, who learn the old ways and keep a few hidden shrines from falling to ruin. There is power in such places. That’s why I came here, and it’s also how I can protect this valley for Jehan and her band. The Viper Queen’s presence lingers, strengthening my magic.”

  “What brought you to the palace, when I was a child? Why work as a servant if you were called to follow the old ways?”

  Mari smiled. “I first went to the palace for other reasons, which aren’t relevant now. But I stayed because of you. From the day we met, I knew you were special…a carrier of gifts. I couldn’t walk away without trying to teach you.”

  “I’m sorry that led to such trouble.” Saba had glimpsed scars on Mari’s back, when the older woman bathed. They were almost certainly remnants of her whipping, twelve years earlier.

  “That’s all in the past.” Mari waved a hand dismissively. “What matters is continuing your training. You have a great deal of potential.”

  “But I won’t be here long,” Saba reminded. Hadn’t Jehan just pressed that point home? Each day she spent in the valley was a stolen treasure. Soon payment would come due, and she’d be back at the palace preparing for her wedding.

  “Don’t be so sure.” Mari stopped for another rest, sitting down on a shaded boulder. “Scrying doesn’t offer absolutes, but it gives us hints and potentials. I saw few paths where you and Sallizahn marry. Instead your fate seems more closely linked with mine and Jehan’s…although the visions are seldom easy to interpret.”

  “Is that what you were doing today?” Saba asked. “Scrying my future?”

  “Trying to.” Mari gave a dry chuckle. “Divination is not my strongest skill, even with a sacred spring close at hand. But I do my best.”

  “Can you tell me what you saw?”

  “Understand that none of this is certain, only possibilities,” Mari warned. “But I did glimpse some things.” She rose from the boulder, describing her visions as they continued upstream.

  “I saw you working magic, surrounded by the aura of the Viper Queen. I also saw you with Jehan, standing on a grassy plateau, watching a herd of horses. You were older, with gray threading your hair.”

  “Is that plateau near here?”

  “No. The land looked softer and greener, like I remember from my childhood in the northern highlands…near Leihasha in the foothills of the Ekath Mountains.”

  “But that’s at the other end of the empire! How would we—”

  “I don’t have answers.” Mari shook her head. “There were conflicting images…some of you coming into your power and others where you sank into an oppressive darkness, caged and unable to fly free. I saw Sallizahn too, but not always as your husband.” She glanced sideways at Saba. “I believe there is cause to be hopeful. Dangers and challenges may lie ahead, but your fate isn’t set in stone. Sallizahn doesn’t hold dominion over your future, yet.”

  “That is good to hear.”

  Soon the way grew narrow as the two women wove through towering rocks and dense scrub. At one point they were forced to slip sideways through a stony gap, like threading a needle. Saba’s head brushed the low rock as she followed Mari.

  Around another bend, they came to their destination. A crystalline spring welled up, trickling into an oval basin of solid stone. Here it collected into a sizable pool, before spilling over to join the valley stream.

  At least fifteen feet from end to end, the pool appeared chest deep at the center, with gently sloping sides. The water lay perfectly smooth and clear as a polished jewel.

  On the far side, Saba noticed an alcove cut from the reddish bedrock. Within sat a stone altar, adorned with offerings of fresh flowers and a bowl of figs. The wall behind was carved with figures and spiraling symbols, but she couldn’t make them out from this distance, eroded as they were by time and weather.

  “Come,” Mari said softly, leading the way around the pool to the shrine. “It’s time to put the past behind you and open the way to a new life.”

  She placed a cone of incense on the altar and lit it, murmuring a
soft prayer of praise to the Viper Queen. As the smoke coiled through the alcove, it seemed to mimic the elaborate curving lines of the carvings along the back wall. Only the central figure remained recognizable, a regal goddess, with snakes circling her arms and draping her shoulders like a shawl.

  Mari leaned forward, inhaling deeply of the sharp smelling smoke. Saba did the same and coughed. Her nose prickled and eyes stung, reacting to whatever pungent ingredients the incense contained. She felt foolish, like a toddler caught sneezing in the temple.

  “You’ll grow used to it,” Mari said. “The smoke helps loosen your mind, allowing true sight to emerge.” She gestured towards the pool. “The water is waiting. Let yourself be cleansed and healed.”

  “Aren’t you coming in?”

  “Not this time. I need to rest.” She patted Saba’s arm kindly. “You’ll be fine. Just follow your instincts, and wake me when you’re done.” With that, Mari lay down in the shade of the alcove and closed her eyes.

  Saba stood, uncertain and more than a little daunted. What if she didn’t have any instincts? Mari assumed a great deal. She spoke of Saba’s gifts and potential, but what if none of that was real? Hadn’t the small magic she carried as a child been leached from her by life in the palace—by years of monotony and repression? She certainly didn’t feel special or powerful. Quite the opposite.

  She’d seen almost nothing of the world and contributed even less to the greater good. Thus far, her existence had been without purpose or meaning—a useless doll stored away in a pretty box. Bathing in the Viper Queen’s pool wasn’t going to change that fact. You couldn’t wash away two decades of oppression in one afternoon.

  A familiar despair rose up in Saba, her eyes filling with tears of shame and regret. She stumbled around to the far side of the pool, not wanting to disturb Mari. At least she could let her friend sleep, if nothing else.

  She sat, clasping arms around her knees and pressing her face into the soft fabric of her skirt. This was supposed to be a profound healing experience, and here she was mewling like a lost kitten. She had no idea how to access her inner wisdom or generate the kind of spiritual strength Mari believed she possessed. A sacred place like this was wasted on her.

  Unbidden, an image began to form in Saba’s mind, gradually clarifying behind her closed eyes. She saw a dry plain, the ground cracked and hard, with nothing growing. A hot wind burned across her skin, the air tasting gritty and sour. The sensations seemed real, more so than any dream.

  She turned, trying to find a sign of hope or comfort in this desolate landscape. There was nothing but the blazing furnace of the sun, the parched earth, and a smell of ash on the wind. Her foot brushed against something smooth and solid. She glanced down and gasped. A horned viper!

  Saba leapt back. The snake made no move to strike but kept its sandy brown length tightly coiled, its eyes watching her. She moved a few paces away then stopped, studying the viper. It was the only living creature in this terrible place. Did that mean something? If this was a magical vision, should she take some sort of action or simply wait and observe?

  Time dragged. Nothing happened. The princess and the snake stared at each other, as the harsh wind scoured over them.

  Just when Saba thought she might scream from frustration or anguish, a voice spoke—not the viper itself, but simply a voice—rich, resonant, and ancient. She felt the ripples of it passing through her.

  What do you seek here?

  For a moment she couldn’t answer. Nothing seemed right or true enough to speak aloud. What was she looking for? Was it divine guidance or freedom from her past? Perhaps she merely sought to be loved, to find a home where she could finally be safe. But that sounded weak and selfish. Shouldn’t she have loftier aspirations?

  “I suppose…” she began, pushing past her doubts. “I’m seeking myself. Not the Amira who is my father’s daughter, but the person I am at the core. Just Saba. What am I capable of, and how can I find my own path?”

  Those are vast questions. They may take a lifetime to answer.

  “Then I’d best start now.”

  You already understand more than you realize. So much has been buried beneath the surface. You need to unlock the vault within…the one forged in fear. Only then can you release your power and walk your true path.

  Saba shuddered. Fear had been her shadowy companion since the day Mari was dragged from her room by the palace guards. Keeping her emotions and abilities hidden was a necessary evil, a requirement of survival. If she could truly open the vault within—and discover her power—what then? Wouldn’t she simply place herself in more danger? Wouldn’t that give Sallizahn even more cause to distrust her?

  How do you wish to live, Saba? Would you be nothing but the puppet of another’s will?

  “No! I want to live fully.”

  You cannot do so from a place of fear.

  Such a simple statement, and yet how could she open that lock, made from the heaviest iron, rusted in place over so many years? Fear had kept her safe and unnoticed. Fear was her guardian.

  Fear is your jailor. Only you can open the prison door.

  Saba recognized the truth but trembled with warring impulses. Her life had been such a waste, so narrow and insignificant. How she yearned to step beyond those confines, to stride boldly into a future alive with possibility. And yet, old habits were hard to break. Being scared and staying small—small, quiet, and passive—had been the only security she knew. Could she really slough that off, like a snake sheds its skin?

  The snake!

  As she’d been struggling with her doubts, the horned viper had uncoiled. It slithered toward her, body rippling sinuous and hypnotic over the hard ground.

  Terror gripped Saba. She could easily picture those fangs sinking deep in her flesh. Perhaps if she didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, it would pass by and leave her alone.

  The snake stopped and coiled once more, directly in front of Saba. Its head raised, forked tongue flicking in and out, the vertical slits of its pale eyes focused on her face. The creature was frightening, mesmerizing, and beautiful.

  Shall fear rule you?

  The question reverberated through Saba, and she knew she must make a choice. Stand there silent and motionless, hoping to avoid pain, or answer the urging of her spirit—that instinct telling her the snake was not an enemy but a guide, a part of her own self she’d kept hidden for too long.

  Slowly she lowered to the ground, sitting with legs folded under her. Heart pounding, she reached out, running fingers lightly along the viper’s coils. The scales were rough to the touch, a fine raised ridge running the length of each.

  “I won’t let fear control me,” she stated, daring to stroke the snake along the top of its head. “I choose to live fully, whatever the risks may be.”

  The viper gracefully uncoiled and slithered into her lap. The ground where it had just rested turned dark, as water seeped up through the cracks. A few seedlings pressed through the newly moistened soil, unfolding in a delicate green dance.

  Saba laughed in surprised delight. The snake curled around her arm, and she lifted it to drape across her shoulders, like the Viper Queen’s image in the shrine. More water bubbled up, spreading quickly now, ankle deep, causing Saba to stand up or be soaked.

  A fountain sparkled up into the air, dazzling and brilliant, sprinkling her with cool drops. Waves of lush grass and wildflowers feathered out across the plain, following in the wake of the gentle flood. Sweetness softened the breeze, seeming to caress her.

  “Thank you!” Saba shouted joyfully.

  You have done this, the voice answered. It is a good beginning.

  In that moment the vision departed. Saba sat once more on the lip of the Viper Queen’s pool, Mari lightly snoring in the shade of the shrine. Everything looked the same, yet much had changed. A precious place within her had reopened. She would never allow it to be closed again!

  Elated, Saba slipped off her clothes and waded into the pool.

/>   Chapter Ten

  Saba sat in the shaded area by Makeem’s back door, a pan of warm dough braced between her feet, so she could grasp the wooden spoon in both hands and stir with all her strength. The stiff dough would be formed into balls, boiled, and served with a meat and vegetable sauce.

  “That’s the way. Throw your weight into it,” Adiva encouraged. She chopped garlic, while nearby her daughters, Bibi and Manar, acted out a story Saba had told them—a tale from one of the great heroic poems of Osahm Kah Omer. Periodically they bickered over details and conferred with Saba to settle the disputes. They seemed hungry for her wealth of stories and poems, delighted with this fresh fodder for their imaginations.

  Saba used the back of one hand to catch a trickle of sweat before it ran into her eyes. She leaned into the stirring, liking the way her arm muscles responded to the task. How satisfying it felt to be useful! In the past two weeks she’d helped with cooking, gardening, laundry, and even tending Bennu’s bee hives. Not everything came easily to her, but she gave her best effort, relishing the chance to grow beyond her dependency on servants.

  At night she fell asleep quickly, tired from wholesome activity. How different from life in the palace, where she had often lain awake hours, restless from her days of muted idleness. Here in the valley, she slept soundly, ate with a hearty appetite, and woke each morning eager to see what the day held.

  Not everyone welcomed her with the warmth of Makeem’s family. Some kept their distance and seemed to view Saba with a mixture of wariness and resentment. No one had been openly hostile—probably out of deference to Mari—but their distrust could be felt all the same.

  Fortunately, Adiva took Saba under her wing like a long lost sister. Her cheerful affection did much to relieve Saba’s fears of being an interloper in the settlement.

  Maib’s partner, Bennu, proved to be another ally. They were the first person Saba met who identified neither as man or woman but walked a different path, not limited to the definitions of gender accepted by Alteran society.