The Falcon's Heart

by Diana Green

  This had set them apart most of their life, and so they expressed compassion for Saba’s sense of being an outsider. Bennu’s quiet intelligence and gentle manner put her at ease, and the two of them enjoyed a growing friendship as the days progressed.

  In addition to all this, Mari regularly instructed Saba in the foundations of magic and healing work. The older woman tired easily, so the lessons could not be as long or in depth as she wished. Thankfully Saba learned quickly, finding much of what she’d mastered in childhood returned—her vision at the sacred pool having removed an important layer of resistance.

  She strove to balance her empathic sense consciously—opening her awareness wider when appropriate and dampening it down at other times—so as not to become overwhelmed or exhausted. Empathy allowed for a heightened inner sight when working magic, especially healing, where the ability to feel a patient’s symptoms enhanced the accuracy of treatment.

  Magic required the practitioner to reach out and connect with the threads of energy weaving all life and matter together. To alter the existing pattern, one must be able to touch the threads and reweave them. While empathy helped with this connection, it by no means made the process easy.

  Only the most exceptional magic users could see directly into the tapestry of arcane energy and reshape it, without the support of spell ingredients or magical implements. So far Saba had attempted nothing but the simplest charms. Magic took a lifetime to master, and she was a raw beginner, catching mere glimpses of the threads weaving the world together. The rest would follow with time—if her training was allowed to continue.

  “The dough looks ready,” Adiva said, pulling Saba from her thoughts. “Bibi can take over chopping vegetables, and I’ll show you what comes next.” She rose to her feet. “You really are doing well. No one would guess you grew up in a palace.”

  “I wouldn’t mind growing up in a palace!” Bibi, interjected. “Then I wouldn’t have to chop vegetables.”

  “Oh hush.” Adiva scolded lightly. “You’ve no idea how good your life is.”

  “How could I? I’ve never had the chance to try a different one.”

  Adiva looked heavenward, shaking her head.

  At that moment Zaki came sprinting around the corner of the house, his face red from exertion.

  “Saba, come quick! Mari’s collapsed by the stream. I can’t wake her!”

  A cold sweat broke out on Saba’s skin as she hurried after the boy. He led her up the path toward the sacred pool, his bare feet seeming impervious to the rocks as he jogged along. A little less than halfway to the shrine they came upon Mari unconscious. Zaki had already moved her out of the sun, leaving her under the shade of a carob tree.

  Battling a wave of panic, Saba knelt by her friend. “Mari, wake up! Can you hear me? Mari!”

  No response. The older woman’s face looked alarmingly pale, though her heart still beat, and her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Was she simply overcome with exhaustion?

  Saba had been helping with domestic tasks—to lighten Mari’s load—but the work was new to her, and she required supervision. To make matters worse, Mari stayed up late into the nights, writing on a mystery project she insisted could not be put off. She seemed driven by some inner timetable, muttering to herself as she hastily filled page after page of parchment. In the mornings her eyes were often shadowed, the lines in her face appearing deeper than before.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Zaki asked, fear in his voice.

  “I don’t know yet.” Saba needed quiet and time to see if she could work a healing sufficient to rouse her friend. “Go fetch Makeem. He’s helping Maib with a foaling mare, but you can take his place. I need him here, to carry Mari back to her house.”

  Zaki nodded and sprinted off down the trail.

  “Goddess help me,” Saba murmured, hoping some echo of the Viper Queen’s power might flow through her.

  She sat cross-legged, hands cupping the back of Mari’s skull while the older woman’s head rested in Saba’s lap. With eyes closed—and empathic awareness open—she tried to read the energy channels in Mari’s body to see what was amiss.

  Initially all appeared as expected. The older woman’s energy seemed thin and sluggish, obviously depleted but flowing in the usual patterns. Saba sensed grinding fatigue and dogged persistence mingled, beneath which something more frightening lurked.

  She let herself sink deeper into the healing trance, studying each region of Mari’s body in detail. There! A strange dark knot lodged in the older woman’s chest. It felt heavier than everything around it, impenetrable and dense with pain. Ominous tendrils curled out from the tumor, weaving through Mari’s bloodstream and organs.

  Saba gave an involuntary shudder, desperately wishing for greater knowledge. If only Mari could show her what to do! Clearly that dark knot in her chest was serious, some sign of an illness far beyond Saba’s experience.

  “Just breathe,” Saba reminded herself. She inhaled slowly through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, regaining a little calm. If nothing else, she could feed Mari energy, to support basic functions and stabilize her condition.

  With that task to focus on, her thoughts settled, and she began channeling healing power through her hands into Mari. The life force created a warm vibration in her palms, a gently pulsing stream appearing shimmery and golden to her inner sight. This at least was a skill Saba had mastered.

  As greater vitality circulated through the older woman’s body, a little color returned to her face, her breathing deepened, and her pulse became less thready. She remained unconscious but seemed out of immediate danger.

  Soon Makeem arrived, puffing from his run. He lifted Mari carefully in his arms, supporting her head on his shoulder. The return trip seemed to take forever, but at last they reached Mari’s house, and Makeem laid her gently on a sleeping mat.

  “Is there more I can do?” he asked.

  “Not for the moment. I’m going to sit with her and hope she wakes soon.”

  “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  After Makeem departed, Saba forced herself to eat a few almonds and dates, as channeling energy left her light-headed and shaky. She then prepared a fortifying tea, managing to get a few spoonsful down Mari’s throat. Beyond these simple steps, there wasn’t much she could do but keep vigil.

  As the afternoon wore on, a few people—including Adiva, Maib, and Zaki—stopped by to see if Mari had woken. At sunset, Bennu arrived with a plate of food.

  “I don’t have much appetite,” Saba apologized, “though it looks delicious.”

  “Appetite or not, you need a proper meal,” Bennu insisted. “Taking care of yourself is an important part of caring for Mari.”

  “Very well.” Saba took the offered plate. “Thank you.”

  “You should get outdoors for some fresh air. It’s cooling off nicely, and the western sky is beautiful. It will do you good.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. I can watch Mari for a few minutes.” They pointed to the door and raised their dark brows meaningfully.

  “All right. I’m going.”

  Saba stepped outside, realizing how good it felt to get up and move around. The evening was blessedly peaceful, with sunset clouds of crimson brightening to orange near the mountain peaks.

  She wandered down to the stream and ate her meal sitting on the sandy bank, dabbling her toes in the water. Rock pigeons cooed in the deepening twilight, and the reassuring scent of cookfires wafted on the breeze.

  How quickly she’d learned to love this place. It felt more like home—after just two weeks—than the palace had in two decades. If only she could stay!

  Over the past days, Saba had often pondered the question of her future. Might her father finally agree to the outlaws’ terms? She had a hard time imagining Asab Kah Akbah admitting defeat and relinquishing a prisoner. He would see it as setting a dangerous precedent.

  As Saba’s person
al confidence grew, waiting for others to decide her fate felt increasingly wrong. Shouldn’t she be able to decide her life course? She wasn’t anyone’s property but belonged only to herself.

  Jehan’s plan to rescue Basim relied on a futile hope. However, if Saba stayed in the valley she could continue learning from and helping Mari, gradually taking over responsibilities as healer and magical practitioner for the outlaws. Lifting those burdens might allow the older woman to recover fully and live longer.

  Saba could also fulfill her desire to establish a school for the settlement’s children. What did it matter if she never had babies of her own? Zaki, Bibi, Manar, and the others stood to benefit from her ongoing presence in their lives. And she certainly enjoyed spending time with them.

  Realistically, Sallizahn’s warding would remain with her until he died. Mari had attempted removing the spell—to no avail—finding it inescapably entwined with the sorcerer who cast it. If Saba concentrated deeply, the arcane bonds became tangible to her inner sight, as a faintly cold glow around her throat and wrists. But fortunately she didn’t see or feel them in her ordinary awareness.

  The warding merely forbade joining with a man, which seemed a tolerable restriction. To be honest, Saba had never wanted anyone passionately, until she met Jehan. Staying with the outlaws offered their relationship a chance to blossom. And who knew where that might lead?

  With these thoughts circling her mind, she returned to Mari’s house. Bennu looked up as she entered, offering an encouraging smile.

  “I sang to Mari, while you were gone,” they said. “It seemed as though she heard me and might even be waking. The moment passed, but perhaps she’ll respond better to your voice.”

  “My singing is terrible,” Saba admitted. “But I’ll try talking to her. There are things that need to be said between us. Maybe they’ll draw her back to the conscious world.”

  Bennu rose, patting Saba’s shoulder on their way out. “Don’t hesitate to call on me, if you have need.”

  “Thank you.”

  Saba lit two candles, placing one on each side of Mari’s sleeping mat. She sat a while in silence, letting herself come to a final decision—one that had been forming since the night in Kahdar, when she refused to seek help from her father’s soldiers.

  At last she spoke.

  “I choose to stay in the valley.” The words felt weighted with the power of self-determination. “No one else can decide this for me. I believe Jehan will understand, and she won’t force me back to the palace. My life isn’t hers to direct. It belongs to no one but me…certainly not my father. I owe him nothing.”

  Mari stirred, her eyelids fluttering.

  Saba leaned forward, clasping the older woman’s hand. “I want to stay here, so I can make your life easier and repay all you’ve done for me. I can’t imagine what my life would have been without you.”

  “No,” Mari whispered, eyes opening a little. “Don’t walk that path for my sake. Do it for yourself.” She spoke slowly, slurring the words, groggy from her ordeal.

  “But this is for me! I want to be here, to learn from you and help you, to share in the life of the settlement, and live a life of my own design.”

  “You would trade the security of a princess for the danger and uncertainty of being an outlaw?”

  “In a heartbeat.” Saba grinned. “For the first time I feel excited about my future. So much is possible!”

  “Good.” Mari gave the slightest of nods. “I’m glad you chose for yourself. That’s an important step.” Her eyes drifted closed, and she murmured quietly. “Go fetch me some fresh mint and sage, will you. My head feels stuffed with cobwebs.”

  “Of course.”

  Saba hurried out to the garden, where she plucked several leaves and tucked them in the pocket of her skirt. Just as she turned back toward the house a blinding pulse of light flashed outward from her body. A crackle like lightning filled her ears, and the air smelled sharp and strange.

  Shocked, she froze in place, trying to understand what was happening. For just that one instant, the warding bands around her throat and wrists had flared to life. Now they fell dormant again, the night quiet and still.

  What triggered the warding? Saba looked around baffled, eventually noticing the crumpled corpse of a yellow scorpion lying a few inches from her left foot. A faint sizzling sound rose from the creature’s body, as did a thin coil of smoke.

  “Oh!” She stared at the scorpion, absorbing the full implication of its death.

  So this was how the warding worked. If someone or something posed a serious danger to her, they would be struck by a fatal burst of magic. She had to admit, the spell was effective, if also rather daunting.

  Stepping gingerly around the dead scorpion, Saba made her way back to the house. Although shaken by the warding’s power, she recognized it had saved her from a terrible sting. Perhaps Sallizahn’s spell contained a small silver lining.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jehan pressed her boot to the soldier’s sternum, where he lay bound in the shade of an emptied cargo wagon. She’d chosen this one because he looked young, frightened, and therefore more likely to talk.

  “Answer my question!” she growled, placing her sword blade against his throat. “Or is keeping silent worth your life?”

  The soldier paled. “I’ll talk! Please! Don’t kill me.”

  Of course Jehan was bluffing, but the young man didn’t know that. He’d just survived a fierce battle with her band, and two of his comrades died in combat. The outlaws suffered one casualty—a newer recruit named Gamal—with three others wounded.

  The trade caravan had been more heavily protected than Jehan anticipated, with a contingent of the pasha’s soldiers acting as escort. Five captive Nissians—being covertly transported with the legal goods—provided some explanation. The pasha probably expected a share of their illicit sale as slaves.

  Too bad for him! Jehan had provided the five Nissians with food, gear, and a map for their trek home. Four thanked her and headed south, while the fifth asked to join her band. He seemed a likely fellow, so she agreed, hoping he’d prove a worthy replacement for Gamal.

  Now Jehan and her band needed to put distance between themselves and the scene of their crime. They’d already packed most of the goods, and dealt with the dead and wounded. She had only to finish interrogating this young soldier, and they could leave.

  “What regions are being searched for Amira Saba?” she asked, still holding her sword to the man’s throat.

  “N…no…nowhere,” he stuttered, eyes wide. “The pasha called off the hunt.”

  That was not good news. If Asab Kah Akbah didn’t care about finding the princess, then Jehan had no leverage over him.

  “He’s given up so soon?” she pressed. “Why?”

  “I don’t know! He has lots of daughters. Maybe, one less doesn’t matter.”

  “Bloody bastard.” Jehan spit in the sand, disgusted and dismayed both. “What has he done with the prisoner named Basim? Has an execution been scheduled?”

  “I’m the wrong person to ask. The pasha has dozens of prisoners, and I’m usually assigned away from the city.”

  So much for that line of questioning.

  “We’ve got everything packed,” Otenyo called to her. “Shall we ride?”

  “Yes. I’m done here.” She removed her boot from the soldier’s chest and sheathed her sword. When all the bandits were mounted and ready to depart, she untied one of the caravan crew.

  “Wait till we’re gone, then unbind the rest and be on your way,” she told him. Even if he didn’t wait long, it would take time to free the surviving soldiers. With the outlaws stealing their horses, there was little chance of pursuit, and the rocky hills would soon hide their passage.

  Cresting a low rise, Jehan glanced back at the scattered remains of the trade caravan, contemplating what she’d learned from the soldier. It appeared her hopes of exchanging Saba for Basim were little better than pipe dreams. The pasha
had clearly lost interest in pursuing his daughter’s return.

  As she rode onward, heaviness filled her chest. Why had Basim been so foolhardy, running off to the city to carouse and make trouble? Why couldn’t he be content at the hidden settlement, rather than risking his life in Tarjene’s taverns? Eyewitnesses swore that drunken boasting was the cause of his capture. So, essentially, he’d dug his own grave.

  Jehan pressed her eyes closed for a moment, fighting a wave of emotions. Basim had been like a brother to her, but she couldn’t risk more lives trying to save him. Unless the pasha miraculously responded to the outlaws’ second message, the game was over.

  Of course, that also meant Saba wouldn’t need to leave the hidden valley. Some part of Jehan’s grieving heart warmed at this thought, though she quickly suppressed it. Such hope was ridiculous. No princess would remain willingly with a bunch of scruffy bandits.

  The adventure might seem exciting at first, but eventually Saba would insist on returning to the palace—a painful fact Jehan couldn’t afford to deny. If she’d never met the princess, things might be easier. She already had Basim’s loss to accept, without adding romantic angst into the mix.

  Jehan shook her head, grimacing and blinking away unshed tears. Now wasn’t the time for wallowing in self-pity. She needed to focus her attention on the long trek home. Travel would be cumbersome, with so many pack horses heavily loaded. She should set a double watch at night and keep scouts riding ahead and behind, to avoid possible trouble.

  Fortunately, the journey unfolded with nothing worse than a lamed horse to slow their progress. One evening a pride of lions passed by camp, their eyes reflecting luminous in the firelight. But these hunters knew better than to challenge a band of heavily armed humans.

  Jehan found moments of solitude, here and there, to let her guard down and mourn. Basim might not be dead yet, but that outcome seemed imminent. She could no longer hold onto false hopes.

  Crying allowed for healing, washing away the sharpest pain, leaving a familiar bruise-like ache. Death had visited her often over the years, yet the sting of it barely dulled with repetition. Each time she felt the anguish of loss like a knife turning in her heart. She’d learned to accept the grief, to let it flow through her and move on. For in the end, there was nothing to do but chart the best course forward and deal with what consequences arose.