Within moments, however, Lo turned his warhorse about and glowered at the soldiers. “The prince has said she will save our people!” he barked in Hraric. “Do you dare mock your sheikh?”
His bellows snuffed the murmurs. Lo didn’t so much as glance at me before turning back and whispering something to the prince. Still, I appreciated his intervention. No one had stood up for me in a long while.
“Thank you,” I heard behind me, the words muted but undeniable.
I turned to look at the man beside me. Like the others, he was dressed in indigo. His helmet rested on his pommel, etched with the shape of a horrifying insect with great pincers and a long, arching tail—what I would later learn was a scorpion. An older man, perhaps in his forties, he had black eyes and his head was shaved bald.
He nodded to me. “Thank you, coming,” he said, his accent heavier than Imad’s.
I nodded back, the spark inside me burning a little brighter—almost enough for me to imagine it being warm. How strange it was to see a genuine smile directed toward me. He grinned, but the front of the line began to move, cutting off any further conversation. My mare started on her own, following the line of horses in an arch through the aspens until the party pointed south, toward Zareed.
Soft snow began to fall around us as we continued onward. The soldiers marveled, eyes darting between me and the sky. A few laughed.
Prince Imad glanced back from the front of the line. Our eyes met, and he smiled.
CHAPTER 10
The first two days of riding passed in almost complete silence, save for the occasional whisper or murmur among the soldiers. I had to change horses three times a day to prevent the animals from growing too cold through the thick coating of blankets. It would have been more, but the exertion from the long days of walking and trotting was enough to save the animals from frostbite, even with me as a load.
Lo was usually the one who would direct one of the soldiers to switch mounts with me. He often rode without wearing his helmet, though the absence of the horned metal did little to ease the sternness of his features. Lo’s hair wound in tight spirals to his chin, and his hard, humorless expression looked like it had been carved from dark granite. His face was covered in heavy stubble, making him look even more intimidating. He seemed to be the exact opposite of the stately and cheerful prince.
Each time we stopped, whether to change a mount, eat lunch, or camp for the night, Imad would check on me. I appreciated his attention, and even more so the tent I was given to sleep in at night—my first real shelter in such a long time.
After the first night, the Zareedians learned to keep their fires going until dawn, and they wore multiple layers to bed, often waking up in thick layers of snow. My presence among them created a source of discomfort and tension. Later, however, as we passed through the flatlands south of Iyoden—farther south than I had ever traveled—the soldiers began to relax somewhat, returning to what I presumed to be their normal camaraderie. They put on a more dignified show when Prince Imad or Lo came nearby, but left to their own devices, they laughed and joked and made fun of one another. I enjoyed listening to them talk, if only for the opportunity to decode their quick words and heavy accents. I pulled out my Hraric book of plays often to reread the passages now that I had a better idea of the genuine cadence of the language. One night, while gently scraping frost from the brittle pages as I turned them, I realized I felt genuinely happy. Here I was around other, real people, teaching myself about their language. Yes, they still shied away from me and whispered when they believed I did not hear, but I was once again part of a group.
One night, a day outside the Unclaimed Lands, Imad brought me a bowl of stew. I did not know what meat floated in its dark orange waters, but I recognized the leeks. Southlanders, apparently, liked their food spicy. When I asked Imad why, the older soldier with the scorpion helmet, named Eyan, jested in Hraric, “To kill anything living in it!”
I couldn’t help but laugh, and was forced to set down my half-frozen bowl to prevent the food from sloshing onto my hands. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed, and it felt both strange and revitalizing.
Others chuckled and regarded me with a curious eye. In Hraric, I responded, “I think I’ve already killed anything within a mile.”
They laughed—either from my joke or from my slaughtering of their language, I couldn’t be sure. Imad grinned from beside me, if two paces away could be called “beside.” Any closer than that was too close for most people. Even Lo’s mouth seemed to twitch with the threat of a smile. But perhaps that was only a trick of the light.
The soldiers watched what they said around me, and I no longer heard whispers of “devil” or “bewitched”—at least not from that group. The men spoke to me more freely as well. To my relief, Lo did not stop them.
The trees thinned the farther south we traveled, and the soil dried until it looked more gray than brown, and cracked in a jagged disarray comparable to branches of frost. Lo and a few others rode ahead of the party, removing their extra coats once they escaped the range of my storm.
Eyan must have seen my confusion, for he said, “They’re scouting. Sometimes bandits roam the borders. If they steal any of our horses, we won’t get all our camels back at the way station, even with the prince.”
I nodded and looked ahead to Imad, who was laughing at something a soldier had said. I noticed then how tightly the men rode around him, Lo at the front.
“His safety is paramount,” Eyan said. “When it comes to Prince Imad, the captain is all seriousness.”
I wanted to say the captain was all seriousness anyway, but refrained.
The cracks in the dry earth became longer and wider the farther south we traveled, and soon the parched ground was all I could see in any given direction. No trees, no mountains. A few shriveled, thorny plants struggled from the ground, and occasionally a sand-colored hawk passed overhead, but there were no other signs of life.
The hard, splintered ground gradually transformed to a more grainy terrain shortly before we reached the way station: a long, single-storied building made from pale mud bricks and splintered wood, run by men who claimed only the unclaimed deserts as their homeland, though their complexions—ranging from fawn to umber—and the slurry of their accents told me they were of a worldwide heritage.
Sure enough, the stables were filled with camels—animals I only recognized from pictures and references in books. Perhaps a camel could be said to resemble a horse, if someone were to comb a horse’s coat into long, uneven patches and stretch out its neck and legs. The absurd beasts grunted and spat, not a friendly one among the bunch. They were the sort of animals that challenged you with their eyes. I would have preferred to ride Lo’s imposing warhorse than to so much as pet one of them.
I did not dismount at the way station when the others did. Men in loose shirts as long as dresses and baggy hoods darted out to collect the animals, many of them gawking at both myself and Imad. Me, because of the curse, and Imad, because, well, he was a prince. When Imad came back to check on me, I asked him if I could keep my horse.
He laughed. “Surely you are not scared of the camels!”
I chewed my cold, trembling lip, trying not to let my teeth chatter. I hated to ask anything of Imad, who had already done so much for me, but the long-necked beasts frightened me enough to risk it.
“You said I could have anything, yes?” I asked, rubbing my mount’s reins between my fingers. “Please forgive my asking, but let me ride the horse a little longer.”
Imad looked sympathetic. Patting my horse’s nose, he said, “Smeesa, beyond this point the earth is too soft for a horse. You have not been to Zareed; let me explain.” He gestured south. “My men have enjoyed the trip back, since it is so cool in your presence,” he smiled, “but outside of your presence, it is very hot here, and it will only grow hotter. Not far from here the ground is thick with sand. A horse’s feet cannot take it, nor can they tolerate the heat. That is why Northlan
ders ride horses, and we ride fapar.”
I swallowed, nodded.
“I will give you the tamest,” he promised, offering me a gloved hand.
I shook my head and dismounted on my own. “Thank you,” I said. “I have seen plenty of wild creatures in my travels. I . . . think I can manage a camel.”
“Those bears of yours?” Imad asked, escorting me toward the camels, his braids swinging behind his ears. “I have not seen any, but I hear they are . . .” He struggled with the Northlander word, but instead of speaking in Hraric, he settled on “big.”
I nodded, though in truth, I had been thinking of Sadriel. He had not appeared to me since I joined the Southlanders.
I masked my uncertainty as best as I could when one of the stable hands brought out my camel. The beast stood so tall it had to lie down before I could board it, but it encouraged me that its saddle—sitting atop a massive hump—seemed secure. It was fashioned almost like a baby crib, with a rounded pommel in the front and back. Still, even with several layers of protective blankets, the camel shied away from me. The beast even swung its head to bite me when I got too close. Though Imad had claimed he was the tamest animal of the bunch, and I believed him, most animals sensed something wrong about me, and this one proved no different. The stable hands tried to calm the animal, brushing their hands over its neck and distracting it with food, but each time one of them guided me close, the animal snapped, scooted, or stood. I stepped out of the way as the stable hands brought out a different camel. Embarrassed at the fuss, I was thankful my cold skin forbade flushing or perspiration. I shivered.
As soon as the next camel spied me, it threw a similar tantrum, shaking its head back and forth, sawing its teeth from side to side. It flicked its tail and locked its knees. Imad watched its antics with a frown, twisting one of his braids around his finger. The rest of his men had already been saddled and were waiting for us. Some chuckled at the spectacle. I wanted to bury myself in the sand.
To my surprise, Lo dismounted and walked over to the fretting animal, pushing past the shorter stable hands. Without pausing, he grabbed the reins just under the camel’s mouth—I was sure it would bite him or charge—and yanked them downward so sharply the camel mewed and stumbled before folding its legs and lying down. Lo took a large scarf from around his neck and bound it around the camel’s eyes. He grabbed the beast’s large muzzle, turned its head away from me, and waited expectantly.
“Taishar,” Imad said with a grin, thanking him. “Best get on before it changes its mind.”
I wanted to ask what would happen if the camel changed its mind while I was on its back nine feet in the air, but I didn’t want to cause a bigger scene, so I hurried over the saddle—eyeing Lo—and took my seat, ensuring the blankets protected the unwilling creature as much as possible from the cold of my touch. Once I was secure, Lo released the animal and let it stand. It mewed again and shook itself, but it seemed mostly content with—or at least accepting of—the situation.
“Taishar,” I said, but Lo merely glanced at me with that stony expression of his before returning to his own mount.
Imad, at least, laughed at the spectacle, if not at me, lightening the mood somewhat. I rode next to Eyan on our trek across the Unclaimed Lands, and he offered me the occasional jab, saying things such as “The desert has never seen snow, and that camel sure didn’t want to see you!” or “I’ve always liked graceful women.”
I couldn’t help but smile, despite knowing it encouraged him. “Be grateful you have me to keep you cool,” I said in Hraric, “or the Unclaimed Lands would claim you.”
The Unclaimed Lands stretched for miles, barren and unending. The camels’ feet kicked up dust, coating their legs as well as ours. We moved swiftly enough for my storm to withhold its snow, save for when we camped for the night in the middle of the large, dry expanse. I knew the Unclaimed Lands must have been scorching, for not a quarter mile after we set out each morning, I would look over my shoulder and the night’s snow would be gone, sucked into the thirsty cracks of the infertile ground.
As Imad had warned me, the sand thickened underfoot, brown at first, then more and more golden where the sun touched it beyond the reach of my cold. In the afternoon the sun shined so brightly off the sand I could hardly stand to look beyond the storm’s shadows. The ground formed dips and hills, each larger than the last. Imad led us over their crests, and I marveled at the wavelike patterns that decorated their sides, like a cascade of long hair. I saw, tumbling down one of these hills, the largest spider I had ever laid eyes on. So large it had fur—white fur—and long, spindly legs much like the ones etched onto Imad’s helmet. Disregarding my situation with the camels, I couldn’t help but be glad creatures like that spider stayed away from me.
We traveled for three days before Imad announced, for my benefit, that we had entered Zareed. How he knew, I couldn’t be sure—I spied no signs or markers, and the rolling hills of sand looked identical to the ones we had just passed. By the end of the third day, I could see rough, jagged mountains in the distance, and by the fourth day, the endless golden sand opened up to the most magnificent city I had ever beheld.
The capital of Zareed, Mac’Hliah, was enormous—Euwan could have fit into it thirty times. It nestled into the crook of that jagged mountain range: tall, knifelike mountains that rose like ochre flames, twisted and knotted and proud, from the dust-packed ground. They seemed, from the distance, to be coated in dead moss, and I could only wonder what the incredible range had looked like before the drought had stripped it of life. The sun cast the peaks’ toothy shadows over the city, making Mac’Hliah appear to sit in the mouth of a great desert beast.
Homes both large and small stippled the scooping valley like scales on a fish: white, bronze, beige, and flax. They had flat roofs and rectangular doors and windows. No chimneys that I could see. Built of mud brick, most of the houses appeared to be only one story, and the smallest dwellings were no larger than a single room. There seemed little design to their layout, other than clustering close to the mountains, where there would have been water runoff before the drought. Between the brick buildings I caught glimpses of circular tents with vaulted roofs. I later learned the larger ones were homes of nomadic merchants, and the smaller ones housed the very poor. I marveled at the sight. My own home in Euwan would have stood out like a fish in a tree in this city, and would have been considered a grand home indeed.
But what really stole my breath away was the palace on the far end of the city, nestled into the mountains—carved from them—presiding over the land. Three tall tiers of smooth stone composed the magnificent structure—the top and bottom floors were striped with grand columns, and the center was cut with wide circle-top windows. It shimmered almost ivory against the mountains, though whether it had been whitewashed or the stone was particularly pale, I could not tell. Each floor featured a curving balcony, and a large stone path extended outward from the bottom story and into the village, as though the foundation had melted, partway, back into the earth. Magnificent carvings of people and strange creatures animated those pale walls as well, but I could not see the details from such a distance.
Imad reined in his mount outside the capital and guided it back toward me. He pointed, as though I might have missed the grand city in the expanse of sandy desert hills. “This land has always been a dry land, but in the winter the mountains used to collect enough rain to sustain us. For three years, however, the rain has not come, and the wells grow more and more shallow.”
He grinned and faced his camel forward. “Come, Smeesa, and bring them water.”
I nodded, oddly nervous. Imad raised his hand and the soldiers cheered. We raced down the sandy slopes, the camels’ hooves raising a cloud of dust. My own anxiety left me dizzy, but I tried my best to mask it as we entered the place that would become my home.
Guards on camelback greeted us before we entered the city, speaking to both Imad and Lo, too far ahead for me to hear what was said. We began movi
ng again, and I almost kneeled in my saddle, straining to see what lay ahead of us.
The sheer size of the population astounded me.
People filled the streets from gutter to gutter. Men wore wide scarves—mashadah—wrapped around their heads and under their chins, and long, loose shirts and slacks in all sorts of pastel colors: honeydew and cyan and tan. Women sported long dresses with woven belts to emphasize their waists. They, too, wore the long scarves, but many let them drape around their necks or wrapped them around dark, thick braids of hair. Thick black braids fell to hips, knees, calves. Despite the desert heat, women in Zareed clearly believed long hair to be a sign of beauty. Nearly everyone, even the children, had their ears pierced multiple times, and the more richly dressed members of the crowd wore so many studs and rings their ears sagged. A common fashion was to weave one or two fine chains through the rings—something I had noticed Lo wore on his left ear, when his hair didn’t cover it. I later learned that the piercings were a sign of wealth, though I found it interesting that Imad, the wealthiest man in Zareed save for his ill father, wore very few.
All these people bustled down and over the roads, carrying tweed-woven packs on their backs and heads, guiding bizarre-looking deer by ropes, bartering for sales, chasing after stray children. But they all paused for long enough to look up at the hefty cloud that spread over their city, strange and heavy and white. They paused, stared, and pointed, confused. Some cheered when they recognized Imad among our ranks. Others noticed me, my white skin and hair, my blue lips, the tattered pieces of my skirt that hung below my borrowed shirt. And wherever we went, a foreign wave of cold followed. They gawked, whispered, disappeared into tents and doorways or pulled their mashadah over their faces.
Imad directed Lo forward, then fell back to ride beside me. He said nothing, but his presence beside me—and therefore his acceptance of me—spoke volumes to the people of his city. I knew I was not a surprise, for I heard the murmurs of “Svara Idyah” more than once. I saw a few women cross their hands over their chests and pat their shoulders, which I later learned was a gesture to ward off demons. I’m glad I did not know that when I first came to Mac’Hliah, for my nerves were already frayed at the ends, and my own anxious trembling in addition to the shivering from my cold had already threatened to throw me off my camel.
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