by K A Doore
“First we need to establish that there are any other ways,” said Heru. “You have not been working on this problem as long as I have, child.”
Menna crossed her arms. “Oh? And how long has that been? I recall your recent exile being in part because you weren’t working on this problem.”
Before Heru could reply and turn their disagreement into an argument, Illi said, “I’ll do whatever’s necessary.”
“You won’t die,” said Heru suddenly, earnestly. “I refuse to allow that eventuality. But an arm or an eye—that shouldn’t be ruled out.”
“No,” said Menna. “There will be another way. We’ve got the whole journey to Hathage to work it out.”
“You’re coming with us?” asked Illi, surprised.
Another voice answered. “We all are.”
Mo stood nearby, a full water skin over one shoulder, a bundle of blankets under the other. Behind her gathered more cousins: Thana and Azhar, Dihya and Yaluz, Drum Chief Amastan and Zarrat, along with Canthem and Captain Yufit. Amastan argued with Thana about logistics, Azhar helped Dihya and Yaluz pack the bags and load the camels, while Zarrat brought full water skins from the carriages. Even Hamma joined them, if only briefly, leading more camels to join their slowly growing herd. For the first time, Illi recognized her reticence to join them on guul hunts as a symptom of the Siege, not a weakness.
Illi had expected Thana to come, and Mo with her. But the others …
She tried to swallow past the sudden knot in her throat.
“Well,” said Menna, “’Stan’s gonna stay behind to keep the other drum chiefs in line and Zarrat promised to help Hamma with any guul that attack while we’re gone, but the rest of all of us are coming with you.”
“But first we should prepare,” said Heru. “I will need appropriate supplies.”
“Oh yeah, we’ve got those.” Menna gestured at the bags.
Heru pushed past Menna, heading for the bustle. “I’ll need to personally inspect them. Only the highest-quality materials will suffice.”
“Hey—don’t you touch my things. I’ve got them packed the way I want them,” said Menna, abandoning Illi to hurry after him.
Illi cast around, at a loss for what to do with herself. Her cousins were handling all the preparations and from the way the camels were clustering, packs tied against their humps, they were almost ready. They’d be leaving soon. So soon. Illi glanced at Ghadid. Now that she’d had a few more minutes, she wanted a few more.
“There you are.”
Illi turned just as Canthem pulled her into a hug. She stiffened, remembering how she’d been so close to leaving them behind. Again.
Canthem pressed their face into her braids and muttered, “How’re you doing?”
“I … I don’t know,” admitted Illi. “You?”
“Like I just spent the night trying to sleep on the sands surrounded by whispering jaan,” said Canthem. “Honestly, I didn’t expect us to return to Hathage so soon. Why the sudden change of heart? Aren’t we fleeing Merrabel?”
“I tried to leave you.” The words slipped from Illi like drawn water. She’d meant to say something else, but she’d also expected Canthem to chastise her. “Again.”
“Yeah, you’re making a habit of it.” Canthem pulled back and considered her. They wore their tagel low, just over their nose so that the tops of their apple-round cheeks were visible. “Will you try it again?”
Illi stared at the sand, unable to meet Canthem’s gaze. “Probably.”
Canthem laughed and when Illi looked up, their cheeks were crinkled in a smile. “At least you’re honest.”
“I just—I don’t want you to get hurt,” said Illi quickly, needing Canthem to understand. “And if there’s a moment or a chance where I can protect you, I will. I can’t promise anything less than that. You would be safer staying in Ghadid than coming with me. You said it yourself—we’ll be running right back to Merrabel. And I honestly have no idea what she’ll do. She’s not going to be happy with me—or with you. Won’t she treat you like a deserter?”
“Probably. Even though I’d claim that I was only doing my duty by protecting you from guul, there were enough witnesses on that farmstead to blame me for your freedom. If she catches me, she’ll have me executed.” Canthem shrugged, as if that possibility were little worse than losing a bet. “But first she has to catch me. And I’ve got your friends here to watch my back. The captain trusts them and that’s good enough for me.” Then Canthem turned to her fully, their eyes on hers, their hands on hers. “Instead of thinking about the worst—what if everything works out all right?”
Illi looked into those eyes and lost her breath. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly that.” Canthem squeezed her hands. “You’re so focused on all the ways this could fail or go wrong—but what if we succeed? Have you planned for that?”
Illi’s stomach twisted. “Of course I have.”
Canthem waited a beat before pushing, gently, “And?”
“Then we succeed. The sajaami will be gone.”
“But what about after? What will you do?”
“I…” Illi dropped her gaze to her hands, comfortably enclosed within Canthem’s larger, paler ones. “I don’t know. Go back to Ghadid.”
“How will you feel?”
Illi shot Canthem a glare, but their smile was still earnest. Real. She sighed, letting her shoulders drop. “I don’t know.”
“That’s okay,” said Canthem gently. “But you should think about it. Think about after. Because we’re going to succeed and I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“What makes you think I’d be disappointed?”
Canthem searched her gaze. “You’ve been fighting a long time. When the sajaami is gone, when you have nothing left to fight—who will you be?”
“There’ll still be guul,” pointed out Illi.
Canthem laughed, a soft, small sound. “And there you’ve just proved my point. Let’s pretend for a moment that the guul are gone, too. What then?”
“The guul aren’t going anywhere,” scoffed Illi, but even as she did, she felt a chill of fear. The sajaami and the guul coming from the Wastes were linked, after all. Before the Siege, before the Empress had cracked the sajaami free, guul had been little more than a story told by the passing caravans. They’d never come close to Ghadid.
What if they never did again?
Who will you be?
“You don’t have to answer now,” said Canthem, quieter. “But you should think about it. There’s more to life than fighting.”
“You’re one to talk,” said Illi, sharper than she’d intended. “You fight guul, too. What will you do?”
“I’ve always wanted to garden.”
Illi dropped Canthem’s hands and all but pushed them away. They might as well have slapped her. Canthem’s eyes widened as they realized what they’d said.
“Oh G-d—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I’d forgotten about your mother.”
Illi took several deep breaths, but the pain that had come on so suddenly now faded just as quickly. What would her mother have thought of Canthem? So earnest, so persistent, so full of heat and life. She would have insisted on Canthem joining them for a meal, and her father would have pulled out all the stops with date cakes and marinated goat and oven-baked cheese. Her parents would have asked them pointed questions and Canthem would have answered them all, honestly and passionately. Her parents would have loved Canthem.
Why can’t you?
“I do,” she said softly.
“I’m sorry,” continued Canthem, not hearing her. “I just wanted to remind you that you’re not alone. And there’s joy in this world yet, if you’re brave enough to take it.”
“I’m brave.”
“Are you? Then why did you push me away?”
“You were distracting me.”
“You were afraid,” corrected Canthem.
“Well—yes, okay,” said Illi. “Of course I was afraid. Y
ou almost died. And because of that, I made rash decisions. I was weak.”
“Love isn’t a weakness.”
Illi breathed deep through her nose. “It is when the person you love dies.”
“Is that weakness? Or is that living? People die. All of us, even your en-marabi. We’ll all die. Is it worth avoiding love to avoid grief? Imagine this, as far-fetched as it might seem to you: We succeed. We all live. And you’re happy. What does that look like?”
Happy. The word echoed like a drum in Illi’s skull. Being happy was being safe. But that wasn’t completely true. There were plenty of times she’d been happy before. She’d been happiest running down guul on the sands. She’d been happiest with her cousins at her side, her heart beating as hard as a drum, her breathing one with the wind. She’d been happiest with a blade in her hand and her task simple and clear before her.
She’d also been happiest at home, helping Mo grind grain, helping Thana patch leather. Their silence a warmth and a balm. Happiest catching Thana giving Mo a kiss when they both thought she wasn’t looking. Happiest staying up late by the hearth, Mo guiding her through the motions of healing, telling her—again—the stories of the healers.
And she’d been happiest walking the markets, picking out new faces and challenging them to spar. She’d been happiest learning from them, new styles and methods of fighting along with other things. And those three days with Canthem in the beginning—
They’d been so dangerous because she’d been so happy.
Is that what life could be, after? Not a constant fight, but a dance? She couldn’t imagine ever truly letting go of her fear, because the next disaster was always just around the corner, but maybe that’s what Canthem meant. Knowing you could lose it all in an instant and yet living—and loving—despite the fear.
“It’s not easy,” said Canthem after a few moments of Illi’s silence. “But nothing that’s worth doing is ever easy. It’ll take work, but just as much work as you’ve put into surviving. Please … consider it.”
Illi stared across the desert to the north, to the horizon, imagined the Aer Caäs and what lay past them, imagined bringing the sajaami to the sea and ushering it across to the other side. Imagined returning without it, alive and whole, her cousins at her side and Canthem—
“What will you do, after?” asked Illi.
“I’ve heard a lot of nice things about Ghadid.”
“You’re joking.”
Canthem met her gaze and smiled. “No.” Then they tilted their head back toward the sky and added, “Of course, I’ll still want to travel…”
“What if we can’t make it work?”
“What if we can?”
“You don’t even know that much about Ghadid,” pressed Illi. “What if you tire of it? What if it’s not what you expected? What if you get bored? What if—”
“Shh,” said Canthem gently, placing a finger on Illi’s lips. “One day at a time, Illi. We’ll take it one day at a time.”
28
When they were finally ready to depart, the sun was high overhead and the funeral pyre had been dismantled, its many pieces already settled back in the crypts. Amastan stood with his arms out, palms up, the chains of his office glinting as he shifted from foot to foot in the sand. He was no longer Amastan their cousin, but Drum Chief Amastan.
And the drum chief spoke.
“You leave today to perform a great service to Ghadid,” he said. “I know you will succeed, because this is what we do. The family has always protected Ghadid and always will, in whatever form that takes.” His gaze flicked to the captain, but Yufit had his head bowed as if in prayer. “When you return, you’ll be welcomed with open arms and celebrations.” Now he turned to look directly at Heru. “On behalf of the Circle, any sentence of exile will be rescinded for those who aid in this task.”
Heru nodded, as if it were his due. But the captain’s head jerked up.
“Any?”
Drum Chief Amastan met the captain’s gaze. “Any.”
Captain Yufit let out a small noise. Thana glanced between them, but it was Menna who whooped. She patted the captain on the back, who took it as readily as a wall might, then swooped in and wrapped a startled Amastan in a hug. When she let him go, she wiped at her eyes, then turned and fell into Azhar’s embrace.
“But first you must be rid of the sajaami,” said Amastan shakily, as if trying to regain control of the situation. “And then—if you want to, because I know you have made your home in Hathage—”
Captain Yufit crossed the space between them. Took Amastan’s hands. Held them in his. “My home is Ghadid.”
“Things have changed,” continued Amastan. “So much has changed. People don’t remain the same.”
“You’re not the only one who changed,” said the captain. Then he leaned forward and brushed his fingers across Amastan’s forehead, as gentle as a kiss. “I’m coming back. Thank you, Asaf.”
The captain let go then, turning abruptly and striding toward his camel. He mounted and lifted his hand in a two-fingered salute, then pressed his closed fist over his heart. The others—Menna, Thana, Mo, Azhar, Dihya, Yaluz, and Canthem—all echoed the gesture. Drum Chief Amastan returned it, bowing slightly as he did. Beside him, Zarrat waved and Hamma inclined her head.
They mounted their beasts and then, as one, they all turned to Illi. She sat frozen under their stares, weighed down by their expectations. Of course they would look to her. This was her burden and she had asked for their help. Even though they would assist her in the journey and the rite, the sajaami was still her responsibility—and they were her responsibility if they got hurt.
She swallowed. She, too, put her fist over her heart. Nodded to Amastan. Then she let out a loud “Hel!” and kneed her camel into motion. Dust and sand was kicked up as they set off and began putting distance between them and Ghadid for what she hoped was the last time.
* * *
Illi could have closed her eyes and walked this path in her sleep. She’d always thought the desert looked particularly same but now she recognized even the meanest shrubs and trees. The group had strung out into a long line within the first day, Illi leading while Dihya kept guard at the back. They’d sighted guul only twice during the ten-day journey and Illi had sent both groups north with little trouble. Her wrists were even beginning to heal, the flesh no longer so raw. She’d felt more normal during this journey than at any time since the sajaami had been bound to her. It was as if Nejm had curled up inside her, content to wait for now.
Then one dawn, the Aer Caäs jutted from the night to snap at the sky like the jaws of a jackal, and the general feeling of unease that had been gnawing at her since they left flared as if it’d been doused in oil.
Despite Canthem’s reassurances that there would be an after, all she could think about was the sea and the rite. Menna and Heru had hammered out more of the necessary details while assembling tinder for the rite each night they rested, but they still hadn’t found a way around sacrificing Illi’s body. If Illi were to do the rite as they currently understood it, she’d die. And Illi very much did not want to die.
Captain Yufit broke the monotony that had fallen over them like a thick drape when he turned from the path. Illi stared blankly at his retreating back, not quite comprehending what he was doing. Before he could get too far, Illi kicked her camel forward and cut him off.
“Where are you going?”
“I know a better way over the mountains,” said Captain Yufit. “It’s much faster than the caravan route, but it’s also a lot steeper and narrower. We’ll have to leave our camels behind. But don’t worry—there’s plenty of forage for them in the foothills. They’ll be safe. And I know where we can pick up horses on the other side.”
“You’ve done this before.”
“We’ve had reason to catch up to caravans and guul on other occasions.”
“Why not just take the caravan route? It can’t be that much slower.”
“We’ll cut off
hours of travel time.” Yufit hesitated, then added, “And she’ll be watching the main route. Best to avoid it if you want to reach the capital unimpeded.”
“How do you know she’ll be watching the road?” pressed Illi.
“Truthfully, I don’t know for sure,” admitted Yufit. “But I know the general. She doesn’t let go of things easily, and it would only take a few spare soldiers to keep watch.”
Illi nodded. “All right. I’ll tell the others.”
They followed Yufit’s lead, winding through the foothills until the path abruptly began to climb. It was narrow and steep, just as Yufit had promised. They unburdened their camels and took only what was absolutely necessary after Yufit had assured them once more that they’d find an outpost and resupply on the other side of the Aer Caäs. They took their time, drinking extra and resting on the scattered rocks, heads tilted back toward the sun. This late in winter there was no reason to set up tents.
Illi sat cross-legged on a blanket at the front of the group, trying not to think about what would happen on the other side of the mountains—and failing miserably. As usual, Heru arrived with a steaming glass of tea cupped between his hands like an offering. Throughout their journey, Heru had persisted with his new habit of bringing Illi tea on a regular basis. He’d even started brewing enough tea for the whole group, but only Illi received a cup from him personally.
Usually, Illi let him come and go without a word, but this time when Heru started to set the tea down beside her, silent as a breeze, Illi stopped him with a finger across the back of his hand. His skin was smooth, if cold. When she turned, he had one eye on her, his glass eye on the mountains, the gold iris glowing with the sunlight.
“Why?” she asked, the word a puff of cloud in the cold air.
Heru drew back and into himself, leaving the tea but hiding his scarred arms in the folds of his wrap. “You must be more specific. There are a literal infinity of answers I could give to such an open question, but we don’t have the time for that.”
Illi’s smile was almost as light as her breath. “I’m not going to let you get out of this one so easily. You know what I’m asking.”
