by K A Doore
“Illi—”
“Can’t you listen?” snapped Illi, anger and hurt sharpening the edges of her words. “We didn’t have anything, we never had anything.”
“But you cared—”
“No,” lied Illi. “You meant nothing to me.”
The words filled the air between them, thick as smoke. Canthem looked stunned, as if she’d slapped them. After a heartbeat, their tagel fluttered with a sharp breath and they slumped in defeat.
“If that’s how you feel…” They shook their head. “Maybe you should have made that clear the first night. I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, does it?” They bowed in that same absurd fashion, fingers spreading like feathers. “It was a kindness working with you.”
Canthem left Illi, striding across the dark sands for their camel. Illi watched them go, her throat tight, her mouth dry, her hands trembling. She felt sick; she should’ve been relieved. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She’d expected to feel a weight lifted from her.
Instead she just wanted to scream again.
She calmed the need with several deep breaths. When the night had taken Canthem, she unhooked her water skin and sat cross-legged on the sand. She poured just enough water to coat one palm, then set the skin to one side and held the water close.
She didn’t really know what she was doing. She hadn’t been able to heal the last time she’d tried, but she’d been freshly scarred then, shaken and scared. Not that she thought healing would do anything to a sajaami, especially given how weak her own skills were.
But maybe—something—anything—
Illi closed her eyes, felt for the pulse of the water. Found nothing. She counted her breaths and tried again. Nothing. She stilled herself until her pulse thudded in the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet. But aside from that and a whispering breeze, she felt nothing.
Whispering. Once she’d been afraid of jaan, like any sane person. Now she realized she’d almost forgotten about them, even walking the sands where they could so easily slip into your mind and cloud your thoughts with madness. But she wore a charm and the sajaami was right: she was the most dangerous thing in the Wastes.
She ignored the whispers and tried again, this time forcing her will at the water. Yet the water remained resolutely still. Instead, her wrists warmed.
It wasn’t working. It wouldn’t work. She drank the small mouthful of water and then opened her hand to the air, letting the wind take the rest. When her palm was dry, she re-knotted her water skin and clipped it back to her belt. Her fingers brushed across one of her daggers.
Healing wouldn’t work, but healing wasn’t the only skill she’d learned. She’d worked at Heru’s side for years and, while he’d never allowed her to involve herself beyond a fetched bowl or a held towel, she’d still picked up a few things. She knew the basics of en-marabi magic. Or “science,” as Heru would correct her.
En-marab had bound the sajaam once. En-marab could bend jaan and guul to their will. Maybe, if she knew enough, she could bend the sajaami.
Illi freed her dagger. Hesitated. It’d been one thing to help Heru. It would be quite another to do what he did. She might no longer believe in G-d, but she still had a jaani, and she believed in that. Just as she believed in the jaan in the crypts and the wild jaan on the sands. They’d all been alive once, they’d all been people.
There was a very good reason why the en-marab had been driven out centuries ago and why her people distrusted Heru. While marab worked with G-d’s will and quieted jaan, en-marab worked against the natural order of things. They stirred up what should have been at rest, took what wasn’t theirs. They committed blasphemies without the slimmest shard of guilt. They risked their own jaan for a chance at immortality.
But Illi didn’t want immortality. She wanted the sajaami gone. She wanted her city safe. She wanted to go home.
Maybe that would be enough to spare her jaani. And if it wasn’t, well. Better she damn her own soul a hundred times than lose someone she loved again.
She drew the dagger across her palm. She squeezed her hand into a fist, felt the blood squish hot between her fingers. The sharp smell of warm metal drifted to her and Illi’s stomach lurched. For a moment, she could smell smoke, too, hear distant screams, feel fingernails digging into her skin. Several deep breaths helped calm the ringing in her ears and remind her that she was far and away from that night and place.
The wind picked up. Unintelligible whispers swirled around her, no louder than the tumbling sand.
“Jaan are simple creatures,” Heru had once said as he drew out a guuli from its bony confinement. “You don’t need the level of skill that is required to command a guuli. All you need is a connection. In most cases, blood will suffice.”
Blood dripped from her fist to the sand. The wind swirled tighter, and even in the darkness, Illi could almost see the jaani. It moved more like dye in water than smoke on the wind. As more blood fell from her fingers, a thrum filled the space between her and the jaani.
Illi spoke words she’d heard Heru mutter over his skulls. Their shape felt odd to her lips, and as she uttered them, they seemed to carry more weight than just her breath. The jaani responded and Illi could feel its attention focus entirely on her, waiting for a command. So she gave it one:
“Dance.”
And the jaani began to turn and dive and swirl in the air. Illi watched, a fragile tendril of delight unfurling inside of her. The jaani spun and twirled like the gauzy fabric of a performer, snapping first one way, then the other. It danced until Illi’s cut clotted and the blood dried. Then it faded to a whisper and the wind took it away.
And the entire time, her bracelets stayed cool.
13
At the end of the second week of their journey, dawn broke across a stretch of jagged peaks to the north that more resembled the bottom half of a jaw rammed into the sand than mountains. It was the first time that anything had broken the never-ending stretch of sand and stones and sand and scrub and sand. The waking dream that had been their journey was at an end.
The sudden spike of angry voices shattered any remaining panes of the dream. Illi lifted her too-heavy head, fighting off drowsiness. She squinted, just making out a splash of red in the cluster of camels and people ahead. The voices rose to a shout, then abruptly cut off. In the sudden silence, Merrabel’s words were clear:
“Then keep the guards. No guul have troubled us for days and this close to Hathage, they won’t dare. But I must go ahead.”
The clump abruptly split. Merrabel steered her camel away and kicked it into a gallop. Two guards joined her, but at this distance, Illi couldn’t tell which. Her throat closed up as she watched them go, heading toward the mountains.
Was Canthem among them? And if so, wasn’t that for the best? Canthem had respected her wish and kept their distance. Illi had only occasionally caught sight of them among the other guards, laughing and playing and training as if nothing had happened.
Illi tightened her grip on the lead and was rewarded with stinging pain from the multitude of healing and half-healed cuts across her palms. At least she’d kept busy.
“Those are the Aer Caäs.”
Illi whirled, her hand halfway to her dagger before she recognized the voice. Canthem walked a few feet away, gazing at the mountains as if they were a welcome sight. And, perhaps, they were. With a pang of guilt, Illi realized she knew very little about Canthem. Did they call Hathage home, or somewhere else?
It didn’t matter. Illi kept her lips pressed tight and turned away again. The less she knew about Canthem, the better.
But Canthem didn’t take the hint. “There’s a pass only a half day’s ride east. We’ll be in the foothills by sunset. And after that, it’ll take the caravan the whole night to cross. General Barca can make it in half that on her own and she’s needed back in the city. The whole guard normally would take our leave here, since we should have left any threat of guul far behind, but the caravan leader is
skittish. That many guul at once isn’t normal, even so near the Wastes.” They gestured at the front of the caravan, where the argument had been. “She wanted the general to stay through the mountains.”
They paused as if waiting for Illi to comment, but they didn’t turn her way. When she remained silent, they continued, “The rest of us will accompany the caravan up to the city and then we’ll take our leave. But the most dangerous part of our journey is over. No guul have been seen this close to the Aer Caäs in centuries.” They paused again and this time glanced at Illi. “What do you plan on doing once you reach Hathage? If you’re in need of a place to stay, I know several. All you have to do is ask.”
But Illi didn’t ask. She continued to stare straight ahead, as if Canthem weren’t there.
Canthem waited another heartbeat, then shook their head. “Hathage is a big city. I may not know much about you, Just Illi, but life outside the Wastes is very different than within it. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask for me. I won’t be difficult to find.”
Still Illi didn’t turn. Canthem hesitated for another moment before drawing their camel away and leaving Illi alone. She continued to stare at the mountains. The wind blew cold from the north, finding a way beneath her heavy wrap and stealing the warmth from her skin. Her vision blurred and she blinked to clear it.
It was better this way.
* * *
Canthem was right. The caravan reached the foothills by nightfall, the dying sunset casting the towering mountains with a red glow. Scrub popped up all around and the camels fought their handlers to grab mouthfuls. The caravan slowed to a crawl, then a standstill, as the handlers gave in. They all needed the respite. Tea was shared, as was laughter and talk. Illi took the tea but passed on the rest.
When they set out, the half moon’s light cut through the dark, but the mountain’s shadows ran even deeper. A general sense of unease wound tight and heavy in Illi’s gut as they progressed up and up and up. Soon she was shivering from the cold even as sweat prickled her neck and her heart beat faster. Despite the slow pace, she was strangely short of breath and the others were taking quick gasps all around.
The stars shifted overhead and the moon appeared for a brief hour before disappearing again beyond the canyon they now found themselves in. It was not too unlike walking through a dune field, if the dunes extended upward forever and the only sound was the crunch of rocks and rustle of leaves instead of the slip of sand over sand. But it was just as eerie, and the caravan’s desire to get through the canyon as fast as possible was all but palpable.
They climbed. Illi’s legs burned like her arms did after a particularly strenuous training session. And they climbed. Her heart beat so hard she was sure it was going to burst. And they climbed. Each lungful of air was so cold it burned. And they climbed.
Patches of white grew more numerous along the side of the path. Illi paused to catch her breath and press some of the white stuff between her fingers. It was surprisingly light and melted like hot glass in her hand but it left her fingertips stinging with cold.
“Snow,” offered a nearby Azali, who, Illi was heartened to notice, had also paused to catch their breath. “It’s like rain, but it only falls when it’s very cold. There will be more farther up.”
The Azali was correct. As they ascended, the patches of white grew more frequent, spread. Several Azal paused long enough to wrap themselves in thicker blankets. Illi took every cup of tea that was offered, even though it meant relieving herself more often. She continued to shiver. The metal of her bracelets was cold against her raw skin.
The night felt longer than most. There was no hint of stopping. Illi dragged her feet, wondering how Awalla, who was weighed down by bags, could keep going. But the camel put one foot in front of the other, so Illi did as well.
Then the night fell away. Light spilled across the world, thin but bright. The darkness around them became rock and stone and brush. Illi looked back the way they’d come. She couldn’t help it; she gasped.
They were so high. She could see for miles, a desert endless and gray with dusk. She scanned the horizon, but it was as flat as ever. No indication of platforms or soaring pylons. No sign of home.
Her chest tightened. She turned away. She put one foot in front of the other. She climbed. That was her only way home.
She didn’t allow herself to feel any relief when the ground leveled out. It had done so a few times, only to climb again within a few minutes. But this time, it stayed level. Snow crunched under her sandals, her toes long since gone numb. Illi lifted her head. After the sun had broken free of the horizon, she’d taken to staring only a few feet ahead; seeing how much farther they still had to go was disheartening.
But now the trail snaked between rocks for some ways and then—disappeared. Down, Illi could only guess. A rustle of relief swept over the caravan as others felt the change and lifted their heads, but they were all too exhausted to speak. And they couldn’t stop, not yet—up here, the air was thin and frozen and the wind chafed exposed skin. If they lingered too long, exhaustion would win out and they might never leave.
The trail delivered on its promise. Within minutes, the path began to slope down. At first, the downward slope was gentle and the caravan picked up speed. But soon it grew steep and slippery. Rocks that appeared to be sure footing gave out under her feet. After Illi almost fell the first time, she slowed down and picked her way more carefully.
Even then, the way down was much quicker than the way up. A newfound energy buzzed through the caravan. The rocks ahead became sky and the world stretched away in front of them, much the same and yet entirely different from the world behind.
For one, the horizon was much closer than it should have been. Then the sun rose high enough to hit the faux horizon and it glittered like an expanse of salt, dazzlingly bright. Before the expanse was a city, little more than a smear at this distance, but clearly alive. Smoke curled up from its rooftops and while Illi couldn’t actually see movement in its streets, she could imagine it.
The city spread toward them like spilled oil, dense at its center but then with thinner, searching fingers, and finally droplets. Between the mountains and the first of these droplets were stretches of green. Illi squinted, but couldn’t figure out what the green was. Scrub? But scrub was rarely that vibrant, unless it had just rained.
The caravan slowed, then stopped. Confused whispers rose from the back, but the front had gone silent. Illi pressed forward, her hand on her hilt. But before she could get too far, she heard a familiar voice.
“Heru Sametket.”
The caravan split, leaving Heru alone in an empty circle of dirt and dust atop his camel. The caravan leader plus a dozen armed guards approached him, their camels small and sleek, built for speed instead of crossing distances. The camels wore stiff leather armor across their necks and chests, dyed a dark blue. Gold thread traced sunbursts and similar, circular designs across the armor.
The guards themselves wore matte bronze helmets which covered their ears and foreheads. Dark cloth stretched across their mouths like tagels, but linked metal chains protected their necks. Each wore leather armor, a circle of dented metal across the chest. Most had a hand on their sword hilt, but a few had drawn their weapons.
Soldiers, Illi realized. Not guards. Canthem had mentioned that Merrabel was the general of an army, but she’d had trouble fully understanding what that meant until now. Stopping a guuli on the sands was one thing, killing a mark another. But if she had to go up against armored soldiers trained for combat? Illi mounted Awalla and kept her hand on her own hilt, but she didn’t know how many she could take before going down.
I can help with that.
Illi pushed away the thought. She steered her camel between Heru and the approaching soldiers.
“Stand aside,” said the soldier in front, voice high enough to be a woman’s.
“Who are you?” challenged Illi.
“I’m Captain Amilcem.” The soldier raised her
voice so that it carried to the whole caravan. “And we are the Royal Guard. We’re here on behalf of His Highness King Thamilcar to speak with Heru Sametket about matters pertaining to the security of the Hathage Kingdom. Step aside, unless you are he.”
“You’ll want to keep an eye on that one,” said a familiar voice. The soldiers parted to allow Merrabel Barca through, followed close behind by the caravan’s leader. She alone rode a horse instead of a camel. Her smile sharpened as her gaze fell on Illi. “She’s his assistant.”
Merrabel wore the same leather armor as her soldiers, but her helmet was under her arm, allowing her curls to flow free. She cast her gaze across the area before settling it once more on Illi.
“Thought you were rid of me, hmm?” Then she dropped her smile and any semblance of warmth and said to Amilcem, “Search them both. I doubt Sametket would let anyone else carry it, but we should be thorough.”
As the soldiers encircled them, Heru turned his anger on the caravan leader. “I kept you safe from wild guul and this is how you repay me? If it wasn’t for my expertise, the general’s foolish guards would have let untethered guul wreak havoc amongst your people.”
The leader’s tagel was pulled down, revealing her scowl. “The general says you’re carrying something dangerous.”
“The object in question may have drawn the guul to the caravan,” said Merrabel. “If it wasn’t for him, there wouldn’t have been an attack in the first place.”
Illi found herself reflexively waiting for the sajaami to correct Merrabel’s claim, but for once it stayed quiet.
“If you endangered my people…” started the leader, her scowl darkening. She turned to Merrabel. “We cannot wait for you, you understand. We’ve already lost too much time and my people will revolt if we linger much longer.”
Merrabel waved dismissively. “Then go. We can handle this from here.”
The leader hesitated, as if she’d been expecting more resistance. Then she shrugged, gave a shrill whistle, and yelled, “Hel!” The caravan began to move again, but no one dared cross the threshold of soldiers.
