by K A Doore
Night fell, and to the north lightning arced across the sky. The caravan was even quieter than usual and Thana thought she could hear the hiss of sand between crashes of thunder, accompanied by the occasional hummed snippet of prayer. She settled onto a blanket next to her camel, careful not to knock over the pole she’d stuck in the ground. If the storm veered south, the pole would help rescuers find her beneath all the sand. It wasn’t a very reassuring thought, and now, despite her weariness, she wasn’t sure if she could sleep. But it couldn’t hurt to close her eyes.
The sound of feet slipping through sand snapped her awake. It was still dark. The wind had calmed, but the air was fresher and sharp with the tang of spent lightning. Thin wisps of cloud smeared across the stars and lightning flickered far to the west. Thana remained still, trying to figure out what had woken her. Then—
A shadow appeared, eerily bright. White fabric: Heru. Thana stiffened, but he didn’t even glance at her as he passed. She watched him until he reached the edge of the camp, then she stood on stiff legs and followed.
He stopped a distance away and hunched over something on the ground. Thana slowed, weighing each step to avoid the warning hiss of shifting sand. The glass at her waist warmed as she approached, an unnecessary reminder of the danger. But after three days of endless tedium—and by G-d, how many more ahead?—she itched with the need to act.
Heru brought his hands to his face and water splashed like an achingly familiar song. Anger cut through Thana’s concentration; Heru was washing his arms, his hands, his face. He was wasting water. Had he done this every time he’d broken from the group? She’d noticed he took longer breaks than the others, but she’d assumed he wanted the time alone. This waste was unimaginable.
Heru tilted forward, but this time there was no accompanying splash of water. Instead, fabric rustled and the mark pulled a small ebony box from his bag. He messed with the box, but Thana couldn’t see what it held from her angle. The wind carried hints of peppermint and soap to her, followed by the scrape, scrape, scraaape of blade across skin. By all that was good and holy—was he shaving?
It was all she could do not to kill him then and there. But it’d be difficult to explain the en-marabi’s sudden absence, let alone a body with a slit throat. The caravan would panic if they thought they had a murderer in their midst. And panic was not conducive to a safe crossing. No, she needed to be subtle. While the mark’s death was supposed to have been a spectacle in Ghadid, here on the sands she needed to use discretion.
Thana smiled. She knew exactly what to do.
Heru’s camel was unattended, its legs tucked under as it chewed cud. Its head turned and one pale eye watched as Thana approached. The mark’s waterskin bulged from under a stack of blankets. When she brushed by, her knife caught the skin and opened a wound as thin as a hair. But it was enough. Water bubbled and oozed from the hole like fresh blood.
Sabotaging the skin was only a start. The Azal would share if the mark asked. But even if he did ask, he’d drink less. It wouldn’t kill him, but it’d weaken him.
The desert—and a little poison—would do the rest.
* * *
“Hello!”
The word cut like glass through the dawn. Azal paused in their preparations and turned as Helmek hoisted a stake into the air and pointed north. Thana followed his gesture, but it took another moment to make out the figure in the gloom. They were still far away, but they were on foot and alone, a strange and foreboding sight.
Helmek called again. “Hello!”
The figure continued toward their caravan, but did not call back. The figure’s gait was off; they appeared to be limping. But it wasn’t a limp from a wound, more as if they were unused to walking. Helmek continued calling to the figure, his clear voice belying neither impatience nor alarm.
As dawn spread, the figure resolved into a man. His shoulders were rolled forward in his dull orange wrap, a gray tagel tied loose around his mouth and nose. He carried nothing, not even a small waterskin. His feet were bare and red with dried blood. Thana wanted and yet desperately didn’t want to see his eyes. The belt around her waist had grown uncomfortably warm.
Several Azal drew swords. Helmek remained mounted, but he’d dropped his hands and now held tight to his camel’s lead. The man stopped a dozen feet away. Finally, the stranger responded in a rasping voice.
“Hello.”
The caravan could have been carved from stone. Not a soul moved, not even the camels. Then something white pushed through the caravan toward the newcomer, as sudden and focused as a hawk after its prey.
“Are you sane?” asked Helmek.
The man teetered where he stood, as if he’d lost his balance. Then he tilted his head back and the rising sun glinted red off his eyes. “I am not. Praise be.”
He moved suddenly, lunging forward like a striking snake. Helmek had enough time to draw his sword. But Heru stepped between the two and the stranger stumbled short. Heru held up a clenched fist, blood dripping from between his fingers. Thana’s belt flared hot as fire and it was all she could do not to remove it.
The man howled. He grabbed at his tagel, tearing at it, then at his hair when the tagel fell away. Heru stepped closer and the man fell to his knees, quaking in the sand. Heru opened his fist, a blood-stained glass orb clutched between his fingers, which he thrust at the stranger. The man babbled incoherently, first holding up his hands as if begging, then lunging for Heru.
Heru stepped back, out of the stranger’s reach. The glass burst into light. The man lurched forward and stepped into a patch of bloody sand. His whole body went as rigid as a board. Then he collapsed. A heartbeat later, a redness swarmed from his ears and face, curling up into the shape of an S before being sucked into Heru’s glass orb.
Silence filled the space where the stranger’s screams had been. Heru closed his fingers around the orb, now glowing a dull red, and slipped it into his pocket. He ignored the staring Azal and examined his bleeding hand with disdain.
“I require the skills of a healer.”
The Azal all began talking at once, an incomprehensible cacophony of panic and excitement. Helmek slid from his camel and approached Heru. A flash of blue in the crowd resolved into Mo, her waterskin slung over one shoulder, a roll of bandages in one hand. She stopped next to the prone figure on the ground. Thana had only covered half the distance when Mo reached for the man’s neck.
“No!” The word slipped out before she could stop herself. The sound was lost in the ongoing tumult, although Mo paused to glance around.
All Thana could do was quicken her step and pray to G-d that she’d get there before the man woke up and snapped Mo’s neck. But by the time Thana reached Mo, she’d rolled the body over and was sprinkling water across the man’s face.
“I asked for a healer.” Heru gave Thana only the briefest of glances. “Or are you all suddenly deaf?”
“This man is still alive,” said Mo.
Thana grabbed the roll of bandages from Mo’s side and tossed it at Heru, not bothering to aim. They flew at his face and should have hit, but Heru snapped up a hand and caught them. Now he gave Thana a longer stare, but there was still no hint of recognition.
Her pulse in her throat, Thana slid to the ground beside Mo. She knew she was being stupid and reckless, but she couldn’t bear the thought of standing aside and watching when the man woke up and mauled Mo. At least here she could interfere, maybe even direct the bound’s attention to a certain someone—
But the man’s eyes. They’d fluttered open briefly, pupils too wide for the bright sky, before squeezing shut again. They hadn’t been the glazed, unseeing eyes of a dead man. He was alive.
“Of course he is,” said Heru, sounding more irritated by the second. He ripped off a piece of bandage and blotted at his hand. “He was possessed by a jaani, not dead. Now, will you attend me, or do I need to learn how to heal myself? I’m certain I can learn such a simple art, but not before this becomes infected.”
&
nbsp; Mo ignored him and closed her eyes, her hands hovering over the man’s chest. Her breathing slowed. The water on the man’s skin suffused blue, the soft color bleeding onto everything around them. The Azal quieted as they watched Mo. For a few long moments, nothing happened.
Then the man hacked violently, startling half the Azal nearby. He sat up, rolled to one side, and vomited a noxious green slime. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and this time when he opened his eyes, they stayed open.
Mo rocked back on her heels, out of grabbing distance. “Are you sane?”
“Of course he is,” muttered Heru darkly. “I took out the jaani.”
Thana picked the man’s tagel out of the sand, shook it off, and handed it to him. With shaking hands, he wrapped the tagel around his face, obscuring his sunburnt, blistered skin and chapped, bleeding lips. He nodded, then coughed to clear his throat.
“I am sane. Praise be to G-d.”
Although the words were rough and low, the collected audience let out a shared sigh. Helmek approached and extended a hand, which the man took. A moment later, the stranger was on his feet, swaying but upright.
He looked around, then passed a hand in front of his eyes. “Where am I?”
Mo turned to Heru, who thrust his hand at her like a petulant child. While Mo bandaged his cut, Thana stepped closer to Helmek and the stranger, not wanting to miss a word.
“You’re among friends now.” Helmek put a hand around his shoulder, steering him away. “Come. Tell me your name.”
Helmek glanced at Thana as she fell in behind, but he didn’t shoo her away.
“Amash, sa.”
“What was the last thing you remember, Amash?”
“A storm,” said the man dully. “I was between camps when it hit. The elder cast the weather before I left. It was supposed to be clear.” His voice tightened and he looked down at the ground in shame. “It wasn’t.”
“What happened to your charm?” asked Helmek.
“I lost it in the storm,” said Amash.
Helmek grunted noncommittally, turning as Feti approached. She carried a tea brazier and deftly poured a cup of still-steaming tea, added sugar, and thrust it into Amash’s hands without spilling a drop.
“You’re welcome to join us,” said Helmek. “We’re headed to Na Tay Khet. From there, you should be able to find another group to journey home with.”
Amash bowed, the tea in his cup swaying dangerously. “Thank you, sa. Bless you, sa. I should be dead, sa. I will never forget this miracle.”
“My wife will see that you have a place in our caravan,” said Helmek, catching Feti’s eye.
Feti nodded and laid a hand on Amash’s forearm, guiding him away. When Amash was out of earshot, Helmek spoke, voice low and directed more at the sand than Thana.
“I’ve never seen such a thing in this life. And I’ve seen many things on the sands and in the Wastes. A marabi can quiet a wild jaani within a man, even draw the thing out with enough time and water. But this man did it in an instant. With blood.” He lifted his gaze and turned it on Thana. “What is he?”
Thana swallowed. “I’m not sure, sa.”
Helmek studied her. “I’m responsible for the safety of this caravan and my people. I must be aware of anything that could threaten their safety. For now, he has proven himself an asset. But I wasn’t entrusted with leadership because of my ability to observe facts. He’s no marabi and it’s no coincidence that you and he are in the same caravan, is it?” He paused long enough for Thana to deny any connection. When she didn’t, he continued, “If you know something about him, something that could hurt my people, and you don’t tell me, there will be a reckoning. By my hand or G-d’s.” He held her gaze. “So—is there anything else I should know about this man?”
Thana thought about the dead men who’d attacked them in Ghadid, the fear she’d felt when Amash had stumbled out of the desert, the woman Heru had bound to his will. Helmek deserved to know. But … would knowing help him at all? What were the chances that any of that would happen out here? There was nothing and nobody for miles around. They were safe.
No—telling Helmek would only endanger Thana’s contract. Helmek might let something slip, and Heru would be left wondering how the caravan leader knew more than he should. The less he knew, the safer he’d be.
“No, sa,” lied Thana. “Nothing.”
* * *
Heru held up the deflated waterskin. “Who did this? Where is the thief who stole my water?”
It was two days after Amash had joined them. The caravan had halted for the afternoon. Thana was busy braiding loose ropes beneath a tent with several Azal when the mark stomped up to them.
“Are you well?” asked one of the men.
Heru brandished the skin. “I am most certainly not.”
The Azal exchanged glances. One stood and opened his hands to Heru, who dropped the skin into them with no small amount of disgust. The Azali turned the skin over and found the gash Thana’s knife had made. He poked his finger through and showed it to Heru.
“Your thief was the ground and the air, sa,” said the Azali. “The winds from the storm must have thrown a rock. The leak was so small that you didn’t notice right away.” Unspoken was the accusation that Heru should’ve noticed sooner, before all his water was gone.
“Fix it, then. And get me more water.”
The Azali’s fingers played across the gash, but his gaze didn’t meet Heru’s. “Sa—the nearest well is yet five days out, we’ve added a mouth, and we’re all running low.”
Heru didn’t move.
“We’ll share our water with you, sa,” said the Azali reluctantly. “But I want to make clear that there’s little available. Your share might not appear to be much, but if you’re careful and prudent, it’ll see you through until we reach the well.”
Heru grunted, but didn’t move from the spot. The Azal shifted nervously. They’d been careful to steer clear of him since the incident with Amash, keeping their gratitude at a safe distance. Unfortunately, now that mixture of terror and respect might net him more water than Thana could risk.
She stood and held out her hand for the skin before the Azal could acquiesce further. It was time for the second phase of her plan and she might as well take advantage of their fear. The Azali thrust the skin at her, all too relieved to be rid of the burden.
Thana left the tent with the skin over one shoulder before Heru could make any further demands. Once she had a few tents between her and the mark, she took a sharp turn and headed for her own camel. She had to work quickly, lest Heru lose what little patience he had and tried to find her. She spotted Feti and stopped her.
“Can you fix this?” Thana tilted the skin so that the gash opened like a fresh wound. “It’s for the marabi.”
Feti took the skin, her gaze briefly searching Thana’s. Whatever she was looking for she must have found, for she nodded and walked off. Thana let out a breath and hurried for Melwa. She gave the camel a reassuring pat, then squatted next to her pack and began removing her things one by one. At the bottom of the pack was her quarry: the leather case that contained her poisons.
She held her breath and removed its lid, half expecting the case to be full of broken glass and dried liquids. But despite her camel’s jostling gait, all the vials remained intact. She slid one free with a label that read simply MEAT, then closed the case and repacked her bag.
A few drops on her blade and a shallow score across Heru’s supply of jerky was all it should take. She sprinkled water on the area to keep the contagion alive, then wiped her blade clean on the sand. Her plan wasn’t foolproof, not by a long shot. This poison killed in the same way that spoiled food did, slowly and variably. But out of her collection of poisons, its effects looked the most natural. Thana didn’t expect the poison alone to kill Heru, but if she could weaken him, the desert would do the rest.
By the time Thana found Feti, she’d repaired the waterskin and a fellow Azali was helping her ref
ill it. No—not a fellow Azali.
Mo.
Thana stumbled over her own feet. Caught herself. Took a breath. Kept walking. Mo glanced up at her approach, but quickly returned her attention to the skin to avoid wasting any water. Mo tied off the neck and Thana tried to take the skin from her, but Mo held on for a heartbeat. Her gaze met Thana’s and her eyes briefly narrowed with suspicion—or was it just the glare?
Then Mo’s expression cleared and she released the skin. Thana bowed in silent thanks, suddenly too anxious to risk speaking in front of Mo. She hurried away, finding Heru already mounted on his pale camel while the Azal around folded and packed up their tents. He snatched the full skin from her without a word.
When Thana returned to Melwa, someone was holding her lead. It was probably Feti; several times now she’d dropped by to warn Thana that she’d done something particularly un-Azal. But the tagel was a light blue—healer’s blue.
For once, Thana was thankful for the tagel smothering her face. It hid the panic that startled her heart and filled her stomach with fire. Thana pushed the panic down. Mo was probably only here to see how she was doing or request a favor or—
“Who are you?” asked Mo.
That stopped Thana short. “Lemta,” she offered. A common enough name.
Mo’s eyebrows drew together. “Let me see your face.”
Thana stepped back. “The sun is harsh and the wind—”
Mo yanked her own tagel down, revealing a scowl. “You’re no man, ma. It won’t offend G-d to bare your face. And you’re not one of the Azal. I’ve seen the way the others act around you and how they fix your mistakes. I assumed you were sun-struck, but when I asked about you, no one could give me the same answer. You’re not theirs and you’re not ours and you’re certainly no merchant.” Mo poked a finger at Thana. “I wouldn’t normally care about your business, ma, but there’re other strange things about and I’ve got enough mysteries. So, I’ll ask again: who are you?”
