He followed her gaze to the body on the ground. “Then you and they will be free to continue on your way through the barren mountains. On foot.”
“Is Herat very far from here?”
“Seventy leagues, at least.” And he left.
Asha waited for him to disappear inside one of the wooden houses before she went over and knelt by the dead foreman. Touching his shirt, she found the fabric around the cut brittle and charred. Lifting the cloth, she saw the seared skin around the very small wound. There was no blood on his skin, or his clothes, or the ground.
She left the body as she found it and returned to the side of the railroad tracks where her new patients were resting in the midday sun, which offered some meager warmth and relief from the cold winds whipping down the mountainsides.
There were thirty-seven men sitting or lying in three long rows before her, and she counted their injuries carefully. The first third of them could probably leave within the hour. The second third of them would be able to work by the end of the week. But the last third would need more time. Much more.
“Did you learn anything?” Priya asked.
Asha blinked. “We need to heal these men. All of them. And quickly.”
* * *
The next morning, Asha dismissed fifteen of her patients. Their scrapes were minor, their cuts clean, and their bruises superficial. All day long, Asha divided her time between inspecting the bandages and splints of the remaining men and searching the surrounding hillsides for native herbs and insects. When she was far enough from the camp where no one could see her, she swept her long black hair away from her right ear to listen.
Here in the cold highlands, her right ear had begun to ache a bit more than usual. The dragon’s venom stung from the fatty earlobe right into the firm cartilage, and out to the hardened skin that resembled the shining gold scales of the beast that had bitten her so long ago.
She closed her eyes. Her left ear heard only the mournful sighing of the wind, but her right ear heard the deep-throated chorus of souls moaning in unison in the valley below, a chorus of human souls, very male, very tired, and very unhappy. There were the nervous trills of horse-souls and the gleeful yipping of dog-souls. And echoing across the pale autumn sky came the proud shrieks of hawk-souls.
But where there should have been the demure hums and tinkling of trees and shrubs and grasses, there was only silence. Again and again, Asha turned and walked and listened, but everywhere that she went over the hard Afghan hills she found no green growing things in the earth.
After an hour’s wandering she came back down into the camp, passing a scowling young man with a whip who had apparently followed her to ensure she was not attempting to leave. Evening was falling as she sat down beside Priya among the injured men and began the tedious duty of checking each one’s wounds for signs of infection. When she was done, she joined Priya beside a small fire pit where an old dented kettle sat in the coals and a pinch of tea leaves waited in two chipped cups.
“Did you find anything?” the nun asked.
“No. Nothing.” Asha glanced across the remaining patients. “Judging from the tents, it looks as though there are only two hundred men here. And with no nearby towns to recruit new workers, I understand why Sebek wants them all back to work as soon as possible. But it can’t be done. Over twenty injured men here, and more than that lying in the sick camp over there.” She nodded toward the tents of the men who could not stop coughing. “And more will be falling ill soon. There must be something else I can do.”
“Why?”
“Because Sebek isn’t going to keep feeding men who can’t work.”
“If the sick men cannot be healed, then they cannot be healed,” Priya said. “If the workers cannot stop breathing in the dust, then they will fall sick. And these men cannot mend their bones faster than nature allows. These are facts. No amount of worry or fear or anger will change them.”
Asha stared at the kettle as it began to whistle. “Don’t be so sure about that.”
“What do you mean? Is there some way to make these men heal faster? Or perhaps we can make better splints so they can work before their bones are mended?” There was genuine curiosity and eagerness in the young nun’s voice.
“No.” Asha peered off into the darkness toward the western edge of the camp. “But maybe we can cure the men with the coughing sickness.”
“But you said that was impossible, didn’t you?”
“Did I?” Asha shrugged. “Well, maybe it was impossible yesterday. But if the wind can wear down a mountain, then I should be able to clean out a man’s lungs.” She stood up and brushed the dust from her sari. “I have to go see about some supplies.”
She crossed the camp to the wooden houses and knocked on the first door she came to. The same scowling young man from earlier opened the door but behind him Asha could see Sebek sitting at a desk by the light of a small oil lamp. The man in green glanced up. “Ah, yes. How are your patients, doctor?”
Asha grimaced. “Just Asha will be fine. Fifteen of your men will be back to work tomorrow. Another four or five may be fit enough by the end of the week. But that leaves about seventeen severe fractures that may take more than a month to heal.”
Sebek nodded. “I suspected as much. I’ll have them moved to the west end of the camp with the other cripples where they’ll be out of the way. It probably won’t do any good to tell them to leave since there’s no place to go. We’ll simply have to wait for nature to take its course.”
Asha curled her fingers into a fist. “None of your men are dying. The injured will heal in just a few weeks. You don’t need to do anything except feed them.”
“No, that food will be needed for the new men we’ll have to hire in Herat. Food is my primary operating expense right now. Everything is at a premium since it has to be imported from so far away.” Sebek sighed. “Even if I did feed the injured, the sick would probably get jealous of that lavish treatment.”
“The men with dust-lung coughs aren’t dying.”
“And they aren’t working, either,” Sebek said loudly. “And you have done nothing but confirm my own suspicions. The injured and sick men cannot work. And since you cannot heal them, you and your blind friend are free to leave. Have a pleasant walk to Herat. If you follow the railroad, it should only take you six days to arrive, assuming you don’t die of thirst and hunger first. Good night.”
The young man by the door reached for her arm, but Asha stepped farther into the room, out of his reach. “I can heal the sick men.”
Sebek sighed again as he looked up from his papers. “And now you’ve resorted to lying to save yourself.”
“No, I can do it. At least, I think I can.” Asha frowned. “But I’ll need to use that big black steam machine of yours.”
“The train engine?”
“Whatever you call it. If I’m right, I can have all of the coughing men cured by noon tomorrow.”
“Really?” Sebek smiled. “If you do that, you and your friend can ride first class all the way to Herat.”
“Just promise you’ll keep feeding the injured men until they can work again.”
Sebek narrowed his gaze. “You’re confident you can cure them?”
“Yes. Mostly.”
“Very well. You have the engine, and you have until noon tomorrow.”
* * *
The sun rose small and yellow in a pink and blue haze as it crept above the eastern ridge. A steady breeze blew through the valley, drawing the smoke trails of the cook fires off to the south. A lone vulture circled high overhead. It looked very much like the same vulture from the day before.
Asha left Priya sleeping under the watchful eye of the scowling youth and went to speak to the yawning man shoveling coal at the back of the train engine. As she approached, she could just barely see the raging inferno through the little firebox door, and as she drew closer, the sheer number of gleaming iron pistons and rams and wheels and whistles and rails and plates left her stari
ng and wondering what all of them were for. The man with the shovel paused to lean over the railing to peer at her. “So, are you her?”
“I’m Asha, the healer,” she said. “Master Sebek said you would help me to cure the men with the dust-lung cough.”
“Mm.” He nodded. “The master didn’t say how, though. What do you want me to do?”
“Just make steam. Lots of steam. It comes out there, right?” She pointed to the fat black funnel on the front of the boiler.
He squinted and nodded.
“Good. Then I’ll just need a ladder, a bellows, and a bucket.”
“I’ve all three of those, actually.” The engineer ducked down, and there was a brief clatter of metal on metal, and then he stood up again with a large steel bucket. The handles of the small bellows poked out above the rim. “Ladder’s on the back. Where do you need it?”
“Here, on the side, so the men can climb up to the steam.” Asha pointed.
The engineer nodded sagely. “You want them to breathe in the steam? So what do you need these for?” He swung the bucket and bellows on his finger.
Asha set her lips in a stern line. “For the hard part.”
Half an hour later, all of the sick men were lined up beside the engine and the ladder leading up to the funnel on top of the boiler. Asha balanced on top of the boiler with the bellows in her hand and the bucket sitting to one side.
The first man climbed the ladder and, following Asha’s instructions, placed his face over the funnel, deep into the bright white steam. Down below, the engineer kept the fires burning, though not too hot, and Asha stood counting the seconds. When she tapped her first patient on the shoulder, he turned to her, his face bright red and dripping with water. Asha placed the tip of the closed bellows in his mouth and said, “Exhale!” as she yanked the bellows open.
The man stumbled forward as the bellows popped out of his mouth and he fell to his knees, barely keeping his balance on the curved roof of the boiler. He fell straight down over the bucket and a small stream of black filth poured through his lips and into the bucket between his knees. For a moment he sat gasping and spitting and making quiet retching sounds, and then he exhaled and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. And then he looked up at Asha. He smiled a crooked smile.
He inhaled and exhaled. And again. And again. He did not cough. He waved down to the others and a soft cheer rose among them, followed by a fresh bout of hacking and coughing.
So for the next two hours, Asha stood on the hot boiler and violently yanked the black slime from the men’s lungs, slowly filling her bucket nearly to the brim. But each man stood up from the ordeal with a relieved smile and climbed down in good spirits. And an hour before noon, she was done.
As Asha climbed down the ladder, she saw Sebek striding across the yard toward her. He met her just as she set the bucket of black sludge down on the ground, and he said, “Well? I hear you’re done, and ahead of schedule.”
“I am. See for yourself. They’re all fine now.”
“Good. They’re all needed. That’s a clever trick of yours with the steam and the bellows. Who taught it to you?”
“No one. It was my idea.”
Sebek nodded. “I’d be willing to pay you a decent wage to stay here as our camp physician. I need someone like you to keep the men on their feet.”
Asha shook her head. “Thank you, but no. My friend and I need to be moving on when the train leaves for Herat.”
“Ah. Pity.” He began walking slowly back toward his office.
Asha followed. “May I ask about your sword? I saw you use it yesterday. The wound was so small and there was no blood, but that man died instantly. Why?”
Sebek smiled briefly and patted the blade on his hip. “Magic.”
“No, really. What is it?”
He stopped abruptly to frown down at her. “It’s something deadly. Something dangerous. Something you should ignore, lest I draw it out for another demonstration of its properties.”
Asha nodded slowly.
“You kept your end of the bargain,” Sebek said. “The injured men will be fed until they can work again. And you are welcome to ride the train back to Herat tomorrow. It will leave at noon. Be on time. It will not wait for you.”
“I understand. Thank you.” Asha watched the man in green return to his office and then she paced slowly back to sit beside Priya in the shade of their tent near the injured men.
“What’s wrong?” the nun asked.
“How do you know something is wrong?” Asha said.
“You breathe slower when something is wrong.”
“Oh.” Asha sighed. “Well, I’ll tell you. In my bag, there is a special needle—”
“The one with the three notches?”
Asha looked at her sharply. “How do you know that?”
“I went through your bag once and handled all of your tools.” Priya smiled.
“Why?”
“In case you were ever in trouble and needed me to hand you something. I thought it best to be prepared if there was such an emergency. And because I was curious.”
Asha shrugged. “Well, yes, the needle with the three notches. It’s an aether siphon. I insert it under the skin to draw out excess aether in the blood. When I was taught to use it, I was told that if I ever drove the needle in too deep, or left it in for more than a few seconds at a time, it would kill the patient.”
“Is the needle poisonous?”
“No. But it is made of a strange metal that looks like copper, or gold.” Asha reached into her bag for a sliver of ginger, which she poked into the corner of her mouth. “But now I’m beginning to wonder. What if the siphon can draw out more than just aether? After all, aether can move with or cling to a soul. So what if the needle could draw out a person’s soul? That would kill them instantly.”
Priya nodded.
“Sebek’s sword.” Asha frowned. “It gives off a strange light. And it kills instantly without making a fatal wound. What if his sword is one giant aether siphon? What if it’s made of the same metal?”
“That would be terrible. No one should have such a weapon. You should speak to him about it right away. He may not understand what he has.”
“No. He didn’t appreciate my curiosity just now. And I got the impression he understood just fine. So it might be better if I take a look on my own. Tonight.”
* * *
After a long afternoon of adjusting splints and changing bandages, and after a bland supper of flat bread and some sort of flavorless paste, Asha sat in her tent and waited for darkness. Priya stretched out on her blanket with little Jagdish on her stomach, and soon both the nun and mongoose were fast asleep. When the sky was black and the camp was silent, Asha stepped out into the pale starlight.
She made a wide circle around the camp, quietly hiking up the southern hillside to come around behind the wooden houses and offices. Sebek’s office had no windows, but the light of his lantern shone through the cracks in the walls. So Asha waited.
Eventually the lantern in the office dimmed and Asha saw Sebek emerge on the far side of the little buildings and make his way down the row to another identical house. Once inside, his lantern again shone through the cracks where the boards were warped and no longer fit together, but after only a few moments the light was extinguished and the house was dark.
Asha crept down the hillside, moving with excruciating care to prevent the loose dusty pebbles from rolling down the slope and revealing her presence. Her poisoned ear brought her the low hums of the souls of men scattered throughout the camp, but she focused on the one right in front of her. Sebek was alone.
When she reached the bottom of the slope, Asha sat down in the shadows against the back side of Sebek’s bunkhouse. She sat in the cold and the dark, listening to the man behind her as he undressed, moved about the room, lay down on the creaking bed, and then slowly, very slowly, fell asleep. Then Asha knelt and peered through the narrow cracks in the walls, willing her tired eyes to focus on
the dim shapes inside the room. A bed, a trunk, a chair. She shifted to another crack and studied the room again, but she could not see the sword.
Easing down to the ground, her eye passed over a smaller crack and a black shape caught her attention. Peering through the tiny gap, she saw the outline of the sheathed sword lying on the floor beneath the bed.
The little house stood on four thick wooden blocks, leaving a narrow gap between the floor and the ground. Moving slowly and quietly, Asha crawled under the bunkhouse, squeezing through the small space between the freezing earth and the warped boards. Peering up through the dark cracks she saw the sword above her lying diagonally across the boards. With a pair of plain steel needles, she reached up through the gap and pushed the sword over until she could see the point where the scabbard ended and the hilt began. Then she pressed the tips of her needles into the gap and pulled them apart. The sword edged out from its scabbard by a hair, and then a hair more. And suddenly a warm golden light was shining down into her eyes.
Asha grabbed the hem of her sari and pressed it up over the gap in the boards to smother the light pouring down onto her face. Through the cloth in her hand, she felt a dry heat radiating from above.
With her sari in one hand and a needle in the other, she exposed a tiny section of the sword and carefully touched the bright blade. Instantly the needle grew hot in her fingers and her hand shook. The tip of the needle scratched her other thumb as she pushed the slender steel tool back up against blade.
Suddenly, a chorus of voices rose in her mind. She heard men and women muttering and whispering, perhaps to each other or perhaps to themselves. They spoke Eranian as well as two or three other languages that Asha did not know, but as she lay still trying to understand what she was hearing, an image appeared in her mind. She saw a city, an ancient city of huge stone fortresses and shining marble temples, wide avenues teeming with people and animals and carts, a long harbor full of sailing ships and heavy barges that belched steam just like the black train engine, and in the center of the harbor an enormous lighthouse towered above the sea, its powerful lantern sweeping the horizons with a blue-white light.
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