by K A Doore
As Canthem departed, Illi dropped the sword next to the body. Without looking up, she said, “No.”
“I suspect with some additional training, you’ll be able to control more guul,” continued Merrabel. “You could draw them safely from the Wastes. Imagine: an entire army of guul at your command. No one would dare attack Hathage, let alone our caravans. The court would finally give me room to breathe.”
“An army of bound,” said Illi faintly. Merrabel would have her become the very thing Illi had vowed to defend her city against.
“Yes,” said Merrabel.
“No.”
“No?”
“No. I’m done here.” Illi turned, took her dagger from Merrabel’s unresisting fingers, and slid it back into her belt. “The seven-year rite is in a week. I can still make it back in time if I leave now. I have to be there, I have to understand how we can make the sajaami cross over. And if I don’t, I’ll take it back to the Wastes, where it will do far less harm.”
“You’re not leaving.”
Illi barked a hah. “Try to stop me.”
She started to walk past Merrabel and through the gate, but the general blocked her way.
“You’re being willfully dense,” chided Merrabel. “You can’t take the sajaami to the Wastes. Think of the harm it would cause, the harm it’s already caused since its release.”
“I have,” said Illi. “But I don’t think you have.”
Merrabel held out her arms. “We’ve been given a gift. You can’t just throw that away. We’ll find a way to use the sajaami to solve the problems it has caused. We will turn its disruption to our advantage. We can become unconquerable. Listen to reason, child.”
She’s not wrong.
Illi clenched her fists, pain spiking up her arms from her blistered and bleeding wrists. “Step aside.”
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
Illi continued toward Merrabel. When the en-marabi refused to move, Illi reached and swatted Merrabel to the side like a fly. Or, at least, she tried to. Illi might as well have swatted at a wall. Her will slid across something slippery-sharp, and too late Illi remembered the charm Merrabel wore.
Merrabel’s expression tightened and any remaining warmth left her. “I warned you before not to try that.”
In one motion, Merrabel slipped a dagger from her belt and slashed her palm. She squeezed her fist until blood dripped from between her fingers. Illi stepped back, but not far enough. Merrabel lunged, slapping her palm, now slick with blood, against Illi’s forehead.
Words dropped from Merrabel’s lips, more breath than form, each syllable as strange and foreign as when Heru spat commands at the guul. Illi stiffened as a fuzzy sensation spread across her, thin as gauze but strong as glass. Her wrists burned and her back itched. The words continued and the energy grew taut, like a bridge taking the weight of a first step.
Illi didn’t notice when the words stopped. Her ears were still ringing with them, even though Merrabel’s lips no longer moved. She stood as still as stone, her limbs stiff and her senses dulled as if she’d been wrapped in a thick woolen blanket.
Merrabel removed her palm from Illi’s forehead, her skin sticking for a moment with the drying blood. She stepped back through the gate and laid one hand on it, ready to slam it shut. She watched Illi. When Illi didn’t move, a smile turned up her lips.
Merrabel drew a stained cloth from her pocket and began wrapping it around her palm. “You were warned. You will stay here. Someday you’ll understand. Until then, you will remain bound to my will. Hathage requires your service. You’re not going home, not until I say so.”
22
Illi stood helplessly in the center of the room, far from any escape or weapons. All of her senses were smothered, as if she’d been plunged into a bowl of oil, but Merrabel’s words still whispered in her ears. Merrabel had escorted her to the nearby farmstead and the survivors had all but fallen over themselves to accommodate her in their gratitude. They’d offered her food and water and glass; she’d asked for a room.
The room was a simple one, with a bed and a table and a window. No bars, no steel, no reinforced walls. Illi doubted the window was even locked. Merrabel had taken no precautions because she’d already taken the biggest precaution: Illi was bound to her will. Merrabel had told her to stay, and so Illi was trapped in this room as surely as in a jail cell.
Or so Merrabel thought.
It took her a moment, fighting the blurry sensation blanketing her all the while, but Illi only had to stretch. Merrabel’s binding broke with a snap and Illi could smell and see and hear crisply again. Her wrists burned like hot irons and Illi tried not to think about how her blisters were continually reopening each time she used the sajaami’s power. Something warm trickled down her palm. Illi brushed her hand across her wrap, smearing red across dirty gray.
So Merrabel thought she could keep Illi here. Like a servant. Like a pet. Like an experiment.
Well. Illi stretched her arms overhead, feeling a satisfying pop. She’d see about that.
Merrabel had relieved Illi of her weapons, but while searching the small room Illi found a pen and its knife. She pocketed the ink, too, just in case. Then she checked the window: unlocked, as she’d suspected. Illi couldn’t help feeling a flush of annoyance. After all their time together, did Merrabel really think so little of her?
But Illi wasn’t going out through the window.
She rested her head against the wood of the door and closed her eyes. Then she reached. She felt the tethered jaan that meant living people scattered throughout the house and was surprised when she found none immediately outside her door. Merrabel wouldn’t be that reckless, would she?
Then—ah. Someone approached. Perhaps they’d only stepped away for a moment. Illi tightened her grip on the sajaami and waited, listening to the thud of nearing footsteps. Her wrists throbbed with pain and her hands were stiff with dried blood and her body pulsed with exhaustion but she wasn’t going to rest until she was well away from here.
The rite was only a week out and she still had to gather supplies, a camel, and Heru. What had started as a question only a few hours ago had quickly hardened to a certainty: Heru would be coming with her, whether he wanted to or not. Heru might have lied to her, might have used her, but those crimes paled next to Merrabel’s blatant manipulation, to throwing Canthem in harm’s way to make Illi obey.
And even if Heru couldn’t help her, for all the time Illi had spent in his lab, he might as well be family. She might as well care about him.
The person had reached her door. Illi had just begun to slide her will between the cracks when the handle rattled. She jerked back and away, her fist tightening around the penknife. A key turned in the lock. Illi pressed her back against the wall next to the door. She’d been able to feel their jaani, which meant it wasn’t Merrabel on the other side. Just a guard. And she could handle a guard.
The door opened. Illi held her breath. A guard stepped through. Illi raised her hand to strike—eyes first, throat second, then she’d sweep out their legs and choke them unconscious.
Then the guard turned, eyes finding Illi.
“Canthem?”
Their gaze flicked to her upraised hand and she dropped it. Without thinking, she fell into them, curling her arms before her and knowing they’d catch her. And they did. Canthem held her close, grip tight and strong. She breathed in the sweet cinnamon of their scent for one heartbeat, two heartbeats, then pushed away. She didn’t have time.
“You’re all right,” said Canthem, marveling. Then their gaze took her all in and their expression clouded. “Maybe not in the best shape. What did she do to you?”
“She bound me,” said Illi. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking on you,” said Canthem. They glanced away, gaze roaming over the small room instead. “And, maybe, rescuing you if the need arose.” Then they stiffened and stared at Illi, eyes wide. “The general bound you?”
&nbs
p; “Yes. But it didn’t stick.”
“That doesn’t—”
“Aren’t you disobeying direct orders by being here?” asked Illi.
“No,” said Canthem, and their eyes glittered with mischief. “She never ordered me not to rescue you.”
“Even if she did, you’d be clear. I don’t need to be rescued.”
To prove her point, Illi stepped out the door. She’d half expected to meet a wall of resistance, but there was only air. She started down the narrow hallway, reaching just far enough ahead to be sure she wasn’t about to run into anyone.
Canthem caught up to her at the end of the hallway and put a hand on her arm. “I can still help.”
“Right now, being quiet until we get out of here would be a great help,” whispered Illi.
Pans clattered and water hissed and voices murmured just out of sight. The scents of fresh herbs and sharp cheese were denser here. She reached, but even as she counted the jaan in the room beyond, Canthem brushed past and out into the open. Too late, Illi grabbed for them, but the fabric of their wrap slipped from her fingers.
“Hey, that smells delicious, sa,” said Canthem loudly. “Do you need any help?”
The clattering paused. “Oh no, sa. This meal is the least we can do for your soldiers saving us.”
“Please—I insist. The general’s got me cooped up in here and I’m going stir-crazy.”
“If you insist, sa. There are onions that need chopping.”
“Can you show me how?”
“You don’t know how to chop onions, sa?”
Canthem chuckled. “I suspect my way of chopping might be different from yours. Just—real quick, sa.”
“All right…”
Illi peeked around the corner just as Canthem joined one of the farmers at the counter. They nudged the farmer so that their back was to Illi as she crossed the room. A few more guards sat around the hearth, but they were too busy watching Canthem with amusement to notice her slip outside.
The warmth of the house fell away like a glove removed and she welcomed the cold bite of early morning. The sun was only just climbing into the sky, but its heat was still little more than a distant candle’s flame. Illi hesitated for only a moment as she took in her surroundings. The hills rolled away to either side but here the ground was relatively flat. A field full of withered stalks and desiccated vines, long without water, spread to her left, and another building sat short and long to her right.
A horse huffed inside. Illi headed right, hoping the farmers had more than just horses. She was disappointed. The long building held several mounds of hay and a number of stalls, half of which were stuffed with goats, the other half with horses. There wasn’t a camel in sight. Illi eyed the horses with distrust.
“At least they don’t bite.”
Illi turned to find Canthem leaning against a wall. “Did you at least finish with the onion?”
Canthem’s eyes lit up with a grin. “The onion stung my eyes, so they sent me out into the fresh air.”
“Good.” Illi walked along the stalls, examining each horse, hoping one of them might be less frail, less skittish. “You can distract them again when I leave.”
Canthem cleared their throat. “That’ll be hard, since I’m coming with you.”
Illi stiffened. “You can’t leave your general. She ordered you to come here and fight the guul.”
“Yeah, but she didn’t order me to stay.”
“Canthem—”
Illi turned and they were so much closer than she’d expected. Her breath caught and her fingers lifted, drawn to the knots on their tagel. Canthem took her hand between their own.
“Illi,” they said, quieter this time. “I think the general ordered Usaf to kill you.”
Illi stiffened. She knew that, but if Canthem suspected … “Why?”
“I don’t know. But the captain said he’d seen a messenger with the royal insignia arrive before Usaf left.”
“But that doesn’t prove it was her. It could’ve been the king. Or someone else on his court. They seem to always be after her about something, maybe they were trying to get her attention.”
“General Barca handpicked the king’s court herself,” said Canthem. “They’re all loyal to her—perhaps too loyal. If any of them did send the assassin after you, it would have been under her orders. She doesn’t tolerate disobedience.” Their gaze slipped past her to the horses. “That’s why I came to find you and help you escape. What makes her an excellent general doesn’t always make her an excellent person. I respect her drive to keep Hathage safe, but unlike her, I believe you can go too far.”
Illi shook her sleeves back and held up her arms, revealing her bracelets, raw red skin peeking out beneath. “It’s too late for that.”
Canthem had the decency to gasp. “What did she do?”
Illi dropped her arms. “Nothing. Yet.”
“But what are those?” Canthem reached for her, but their fingers only brushed her arm.
“What she wants,” said Illi. “Well, what she thinks she wants.”
“And what does she want?”
Illi hesitated. Instead of answering, she pulled at her sleeves, worrying at the ends. If anything would permanently drive Canthem away, it would be knowing what Illi had done, what had been done to her. But now driving them away was the last thing Illi wanted. She was tired of being alone. Yet she also needed their help, and if they helped, they’d need to know.
She had to risk it. “Do you know why Merrabel came to Ghadid?”
“To find Heru Sametket.”
“But why?”
Canthem gave a half shrug. “She thought he could show her how to get the guul under control.”
Control. That’s all it had ever come down to. Merrabel had feigned interest in the disruption, in the changes to the Wastes and the climate, but she’d been planning to use the sajaami for control all along. What had happened in the pen with the guul and Canthem hadn’t been an accident; it’d been a culmination.
Illi found she wasn’t at all surprised.
“Did she ever tell you why she thought that?”
“No,” said Canthem. “But then, it wasn’t our right to know.”
“Heru had a sajaami.” Canthem’s sudden sharp breath cut through Illi’s resolve like a claw, but she forged on. “Merrabel wanted it.”
“Did she get the sajaami?”
“For a little while,” admitted Illi. She forced herself to meet Canthem’s gaze as she held up her wrists. “But now I’m leaving.” When Canthem’s brows furrowed in confusion, she continued, “These bracelets keep the sajaami in check. Heru bound it to me. If your mother was an en-marabi, you know what that means.”
Canthem took a step back, tagel fluttering with shallow breaths, eyes wide. “I do.”
Illi’s hope collapsed. She could practically watch Canthem’s remaining trust in her drain away. It was for the best. Canthem would be safer if they stayed away from her. They could live out their life in Hathage, fighting guul. She wouldn’t have to worry about them, or be distracted by them.
“That’s why you could control the guul in the pen,” said Canthem faintly.
Illi nodded, not trusting herself with words, waiting for Canthem to call for help, to draw away, to abandon her. She waited for the inevitable.
But instead of doing any of those, Canthem asked, “What do you need?”
“I—you—but your general—”
Canthem stepped forward and took her hands. Theirs were warm and that warmth spread up her icy fingers and through her arms. “If trying to break you out from my own general didn’t make it clear enough, I care about you, Illi. So: how can I help?”
“Thank you.” Illi fought the urge to lean into Canthem and let them hold her up; she didn’t have time for that. “We have to get rid of the sajaami before Merrabel can get it. We can’t destroy it, but we might be able to find a way for the sajaami to cross over. The seven-year rite is our best bet, but it was create
d for quieted jaan, not sajaam. I don’t know how to modify the rite so it’ll work, but I do know my city will be performing the rite in a week’s time, and this one will be much bigger than any before. They’ve already had to modify the rite to account for wild jaan. If I talk to the marab, I can learn what and how and find a way to create a ritual that will force the sajaami to cross.”
She gestured at the horses. “Which is why I need to make it to Ghadid in seven days. And before I leave, I need to find my old master. But I don’t know where he is.”
“Just south of here,” said Canthem immediately. “I saw where they took him. The soldiers kept pace with the caravan until they reached the jail.”
“For once some good news.” Illi puffed her relief and began to unlatch the stall door in front of her. “Great, lead the way.”
But Canthem held up a hand. “I just want to be clear you know what you’re doing. Breaking a prisoner out of jail is a capital offense.”
Illi raised an eyebrow. “Now you’re concerned about laws? Don’t worry, we won’t be caught.”
“You sound so certain.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
Illi slid into the stall. The horse huffed at her, ears flattening against its skull. Illi started to reach for its neck, but then realized she didn’t know how to guide the animal out of the stall without a lead. The horse wore no halter and there hadn’t been one hanging nearby. Illi considered the beast; it considered her right back.
Behind her, Canthem laughed. “Need help?”
“Aren’t there any camels?”
“Not for miles.” Canthem edged around her, holding a rope halter in one hand. “There’ll be some in the town your friend is jailed in. We can trade this horse for a camel or two there.”
“Oh thank G-d.” Illi couldn’t imagine trying to cross the sands on a horse. The poor thing would collapse from dehydration after only a day at the pace she intended to ride.
