Sands of Memory

by Melissa McShane

  “Perhaps. We have never asked God the details.” Chakhran tilted his head in Perrin’s direction. “You, priest. You have been silent this whole time. Nothing to say?”

  Perrin stirred. “I did not believe,” he said, “my contribution was needed. God speaks to you in ways different than She does to me.”

  “And yet you believe they are the same God.”

  “I see no reason to doubt it. No one has ever claimed God was twofold.”

  “And yet you worship Her in human form. That seems contradictory.” Chakhran’s lips curved in a slight smile.

  “It is your temple we sit in,” Perrin said. “Far be it from me to challenge you on your beliefs in this place.”

  “But…?”

  “But I, too, have heard the voice of God, as She speaks to us through Her avatars. I am not wise enough to know why She chooses to speak with you directly. But I will not deny the evidence of my own mind and my own ears. I have hope that one day I may understand more.”

  “Well said. Give me your name. My visions did not reveal such.”

  “Perrin Delucco.”

  “Perrin Delucco, we do not understand the mysteries of God either. Our tradition is that speaking with God through an intermediary diminishes Her blessings, but what I have seen of you suggests that this tradition is…incomplete.” Chakhran smiled again. “Is it true you chose God over your family?”

  Perrin’s face went rigid. “That is an oversimplification that is nevertheless true.”

  “Then I hope She blesses you for your sacrifice.” Chakhran let out a breath in a long, slow hiss, and fell silent. The burbling of the fountain filled the stillness. Sienne shifted her weight, and rested one hand on Alaric’s knee. The sun had risen high enough to shine into her eyes, and she blinked and looked away. No one spoke. She felt as if they were waiting for something, some response from Chakhran that would shape everything that came next.

  “I will give you guides, to take you to Ma’tzehar,” Chakhran finally said. “And to make sure you survive the journey. The desert is not a gentle place.”

  “And what do you want in return?” Alaric said.

  Chakhran smiled, an expression that made him look as delighted as a child. “You think I want something?”

  “I think you’re being far too cooperative just to be acting out of residual guilt.”

  “You do not trust easily, do you, man who is not human?”

  “Alaric,” Alaric said, “and no, I don’t.”

  “Very well.” Chakhran nodded. “But it is not in exchange, I do for you, you do for me. It is a favor only. You seek the temple in Ma’tzehar, and there is a thing there I would like retrieved. A thing I have seen in vision. I ask only that you return with it, since you are going there anyway. But I will help you whether or not you agree.”

  “Fair enough,” Alaric said. “What thing?”

  “A feather,” Chakhran said. “The feather of a phoenix, made gold by a divine of Ma’tzehar centuries ago.”

  “Gold?” Dianthe said. “Why didn’t they take it with them when they left?”

  “We do not know. Only that it was touched by God to write Her words. We think it contains a revelation and we would like to know what it is.”

  “Forgive me,” Perrin said, “but if you already receive God’s words, what more do you expect to gain from this?”

  “We believe the secret to Ma’tzehar’s doom is contained within it. And we do not have so much of God’s word that we reject gaining more of it.”

  Perrin nodded, caught himself, and said, “I understand.”

  “Is the feather somewhere in the temple?” Alaric asked.

  “It is.”

  “Then I don’t see why we can’t help you.”

  “Thank you. It is a small thing, I know, but has meaning for us.” Chakhran’s sunken eyelids fluttered.

  “And then you return here,” Manisha said to Kalanath.

  “I…you mean, to stay,” Kalanath said, looking uncomfortable.

  “Yes. To stay with me. To be devesh to Omeira.” Manisha moved swiftly to sit beside her son. “You do not leave.”

  Kalanath looked at Alaric. “I…do not know,” he said. “I have things I must do.”

  Manisha shook her head. “Kalanath, you have been gone too long,” she said, dropping into Meiric. “You have a destiny. You are God’s voice to her people. And you have a family now. Don’t tell me you have things to do. This is where your life is.”

  “Mother, I made a life for myself outside Omeira,” Kalanath replied. “I can’t just set it aside.”

  “Then bring it to an end. I can’t bear to lose you again.”

  “Manisha, now is not the time,” Chakhran said. “Kalanath has much to think about. And he has yet to meet Vaishant.”

  Manisha took Kalanath’s hands. “I want you to meet your father. You can’t leave today, at any rate. It takes time to prepare for such a journey.”

  “What are they saying?” Alaric murmured to Sienne.

  “Manisha doesn’t want Kalanath to leave when this is over,” Sienne said. “And—”

  “I will send your guides to you,” Chakhran said. “They will accompany you into the city to purchase what you will need for the journey. Two days, and you will be ready to leave.”

  “But Kalanath come with me, to meet Vaishant,” Manisha said, still clutching Kalanath’s hands. Kalanath looked like a skittish horse, ready to bolt but afraid of hurting the small woman.

  “It is a good idea,” Chakhran said. “Do not be afraid, Kalanath.”

  “It is not afraid I am,” Kalanath said. Sienne was sure he was lying.

  “Thank you,” Alaric said, rising and prompting the others to follow his lead. “How long a journey is it?”

  “Nine days, without storms,” Chakhran said.

  “That’s remarkably precise a number,” Dianthe said. “I thought Ma’tzehar was impossible to find. At least, the scrappers we talked to all said it was.”

  “And most of the teams who set out to find it never returned,” Perrin said.

  “They did not have an Omeiran divine with them,” Chakhran said. “We know the way, but we do not share it with outsiders, and we do not take the trip ourselves. It is quite dangerous.”

  Sienne, about to ask why the temple hadn’t retrieved the phoenix feather already, bit back her question. She would have thought the promise of God’s word enough to justify a trip to get it, however dangerous, but it wasn’t her faith. And maybe it was more dangerous than she imagined. Not that she’d been able to imagine much; she had no idea what the desert looked like, whether it was sandy dunes or rough, rocky soil. She looked up at the clear, cloudless sky and tried to picture it stretching from horizon to horizon, interrupted by nothing but empty waste. Two days, and she wouldn’t have to use her imagination.

  9

  Sienne tilted her head back to look up at the night sky. Half an hour before dawn, the midnight color began shading to soft blue, and the crystal flecks of the stars faded and softened around the edges. Behind her, the dome of the temple rose bulbous and smooth to where the fire burned atop its tower. This close, she saw someone moving in the tower, though she couldn’t make out details. It was more likely to be someone tending the fire than a guard standing sentinel over the temple. In the three days they’d been in residence, she’d never seen any evidence that the divines were worried about attacks.

  It made her wonder if Omeiran priests and divines received blessings the way Perrin and his fellow worshippers did. In those same three days, she also hadn’t seen the divines do more than pray silently, stopping mid-stride sometimes, at what to Sienne seemed random times. They were far more private about their worship than Sienne was used to, and she didn’t know if that was because it was a temple, or if it was an Omeiran practice in general. She never felt quite comfortable asking.

  She straightened her long, pale blue robe, which she wore over loose linen trousers with a drawstring waist and a sleeveless shir
t. Her head scarf, a length of soft, shapeless white cotton, remained balled in her hands. She hadn’t been able to figure out how to put it on. No doubt after a few days it would become second nature, but for now, she’d have to depend on Ghrita.

  Ghrita. Sienne scowled. The woman hadn’t let up on flirting with Alaric despite Sienne’s glares or Alaric’s continuing indifference. He’d have to say something to her.

  “Sorry?” Alaric said.

  Sienne realized she’d said that aloud. “I’m tired of Ghrita treating you like her property. You need to tell her to back off.”

  “It doesn’t bother me. And it’s not like I find her attractive.”

  “I’m not worried about you taking her up on her thinly-veiled offers. It’s just disrespectful of me. She always looks at me when she says something suggestive to you, like she knows I hate it. I’m starting to wonder if that’s not the point, except why would she want to harass me? It’s not like we even know each other.” Sienne scowled harder. “Why did the Hierarch make her one of our guides?”

  “Because she’s one of the few niranas who speaks Fellic, and she understands desert survival better than most.”

  “After who knows how many years in civilization, though?”

  Alaric put his arm around her. “I’ll tell her to stop. And if that doesn’t work, I think you’d be within your rights to force-blast her.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  “You are not encouraging Sienne to execute vigilante justice, are you?” Perrin said, strolling up beside them. “Because I would have to insist she demur until I am in a position to watch.”

  “Yes, but you like Ghrita.”

  Perrin shrugged. “‘Like’ is perhaps the wrong word. I find her interesting. She is devout in her own faith, yet asks questions about mine like someone preparing to enter into Averran’s worship. She does, however, seem bent on tormenting you, and I have no idea why.”

  “See? It’s not just me, Alaric.”

  “I never said it was, sweetlove.” He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

  Perrin turned as someone else entered the garden. He nudged Dianthe, who lay snoring on one of the narrow marble benches. “We should be leaving soon.”

  Sienne followed his gaze to where Kalanath stood, speaking quietly to Manisha. Vaishant was a darker shape behind the madhi, his attention focused on Kalanath. Vaishant fascinated Sienne. She’d only seen him a handful of times, but couldn’t stop wondering about him. What would it be like, learning fifteen years too late that you had a son? And that your son was blessed by God? Vaishant’s dark head nodded at something Manisha said. Kalanath hugged his mother, then stepped aside for Vaishant to do the same. Vaishant held Manisha rather longer than Kalanath had, and Kalanath looked away, shifting his staff from one hand to the other. “Is this really a good idea?” Sienne murmured. “Vaishant being our guide, I mean.”

  “Kalanath has to come to terms with him sometime,” Alaric said, “and Vaishant knows the way to Ma’tzehar.”

  “I just wish I felt confident that Chakhran would have chosen him even if he wasn’t Kalanath’s father. I’m not so certain of our abilities that I don’t want the very best desert guide we can have.”

  “Chakhran would not send us off with less,” Perrin said.

  Dianthe sat up, blinking. “Kitane have mercy,” she mumbled. “It’s still dark. Whose idea was this?”

  “Yours, as I recall,” Perrin said. “There was some talk of traveling before the sun could, and these were your exact words, ‘boil us like a three-minute egg.’”

  “Damn. That was what I said, wasn’t it?” Dianthe stood and stretched. “Where’s Ghrita?”

  “She went ahead to the stables, to ready our mounts,” Alaric said. “Good morning,” he added as Kalanath and Vaishant approached. “We’re ready if you are.”

  “I am,” Vaishant said. His Fellic was nearly as good as Kalanath’s, and Sienne recalled that he’d been a trader, traveling the world, before becoming a priest. “It is a good morning for it.”

  “Lead on, then,” Alaric said.

  Chirantan was waking up around them as they crossed the city to the stables. Sienne had gone the day before with Alaric and Dianthe to purchase supplies, aided by Ghrita, and had been struck by how the city’s layout was both random and regular. Random, in that streets followed some pattern that wasn’t obvious at ground level, but regular, because they all radiated out from small round plazas featuring grassy spots and brass or granite fountains.

  They passed through one of those plazas now, with merchants setting up booths in preparation for a long, hot day of selling pots or shoes or candied dates. Sienne, accustomed to Fioretti’s grand market that sprawled across the city, found these little markets charming, particularly the ones that sold clothing.

  She’d bought her new desert apparel at one of these and spent a cheerful fifteen minutes haggling with the shopkeeper, who’d been thrilled to meet a Rafellish woman who spoke his language. He’d thrown in a pendant on a leather thong for free, another tradition Sienne loved. “Good luck,” he’d said, and while it wasn’t magical, it was engraved with abstract curves and dots that appealed to Sienne. She fingered it now and silently wished the man good luck of his own.

  The stables were even busier than the streets, with men and women saddling horses and loading up pack animals. It seemed they shared Dianthe’s idea of traveling before the heat of the day struck. The long, low stables, plastered white with deep stalls that would shelter the horses from even the hottest sun, even had room for the strange humped beasts Ghrita called camels. “Better for desert travel,” she’d said, “but since none of you have ridden them before, we’d have to take servants to help care for them. I think we want to keep this expedition small, don’t you?” She’d followed it up with a long, slow smile in Alaric’s direction that had made Sienne want to hit her. Why was the woman bent on turning every comment into innuendo?

  Now the woman herself approached from where she’d been leaning against the wall. “We’re almost loaded up,” she said. Sienne wondered about that “we,” given that Ghrita didn’t appear to have done any work. She ground her back teeth together and resolved not to be drawn by anything Ghrita might do.

  “Let me help you with your head scarves,” Ghrita added, approaching Sienne with her hand out. Sienne gave her the wadded cloth, which Ghrita shook out. “You’ll need to learn to do this yourself eventually.”

  She swiftly wrapped the cloth around Sienne’s head in a complicated fashion that Sienne was sure she wouldn’t be able to replicate. It covered her head and neck and draped loosely across the lower half of her face. “You raise it to cover your mouth and nose when the sand blows,” Ghrita said, and turned away to help Dianthe. Vaishant was doing the same for Alaric. Sienne watched Ghrita closely, but the woman wrapped Dianthe’s scarf in exactly the way she had Sienne’s, so she hadn’t tried to sabotage Sienne. Maybe she could behave like a professional, after all.

  The stable hands led their pack horses out, all of them laden, then a string of saddled and bridled horses. They were, with one exception, smaller than the horses Sienne was used to, with narrow flanks and fine, short hair. Sienne approached the bay mare that would be hers for the next few weeks and stroked her mane. “I’m sure we’ll be friends, but I miss my horse Spark,” she whispered. “Though you’re probably better at desert travel than she would be.”

  Alaric mounted the one horse that looked normal-sized. It had taken some doing to find a desert horse big enough to carry him. With his hair covered by the head scarf, only his eyes gave away his race, a startling pale blue in his sunburned face. “Vaishant?” he said.

  Vaishant nodded. “One moment,” he said, bowing his head and closing his eyes. Sienne watched him, once again feeling uncomfortable at his devotions. She hadn’t realized how inclusive the worship of Averran was until she’d witnessed the Omeiran divines in their silent prayers, how comforting it was to hear Perr
in speak his prayers aloud as if inviting his hearers to take part. Or maybe it was just that she’d gone from a respectful agnosticism to worshipping Averran herself without noticing the change. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer: O Lord Averran, I don’t know if I’m doing this right, but if you don’t mind, watch out for us in our journeys.

  Peace touched her heart, a feeling of warmth that spread over her. Was this how Perrin felt all the time? No wonder he’d chosen to give up everything to serve his avatar.

  Vaishant raised his head and nodded. He mounted his horse in one smooth motion and said, “We will ride until noon, rest for a few hours, then continue to the first haven. Does everyone have water? Drink freely at this stage. You should not become sick.”

  Sienne checked that her waterskin was attached to her saddle, ready to hand. Thanks to her small magic, water was not something they needed to conserve, though she didn’t intend to be profligate regardless. She could even keep it cool, a luxury she was sure she’d appreciate during the heat of the day.

  Vaishant turned his horse and trotted out of the stable yard, followed by the two pack horses. Sienne fell into line behind Alaric. She felt the rush of pleasure she always did the first moment of a journey, the first few steps that marked the line between staying home and setting out on an adventure. Especially one as foreign and mysterious as this. Desert travel, a lost city—she’d never been happier to be a scrapper.

  Traffic in the streets was light enough that they drew attention from the men and women going to work or setting up stalls. Sienne wondered if it was obvious, in the dim pre-dawn light, that most of their procession weren’t Omeiran. Her harness jingled a merry tune as she trotted along, one that sounded different from Spark’s tack. Or maybe she was imagining things, romanticizing their journey. Probably a few days of sand getting into everything would dull her excitement. But for now, she felt like singing.

  They left Chirantan by its northern gate, a heavy brass-studded thing that reminded Sienne that Chirantan was, despite all other appearances, built to withstand the attack of another rakhyan. At the moment, packed sand driven against its foot suggested it had been a while since the gates were closed. No guards were visible at the gate, either. Maybe it wasn’t so ready for an attack, after all.