by K A Doore
Thana ran toward her as Mo yanked the dagger from the bound’s arm and glanced around. Her gaze met Thana’s for only a moment, then she was sweeping her staff around at knee level, knocking the remaining bound off balance. In that brief moment, though, Thana had seen Mo’s terror, yes, but also her determination. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.
But a fight might not be enough. Mo was no warrior and even accounting for the bounds’ inferior coordination, there were four of them to her one. Thana tried to run faster, but the sand sucked at her momentum. Pinning the bound she’d felled beneath her staff, Mo stooped and tore at its wrap. Then she cut a line down its back with Thana’s dagger. The bound stopped moving.
Another was right behind Mo as she straightened. Thana shouted a warning, but too late. Even as Mo started to turn, the bound grabbed a fistful of braids and yanked. Mo yelled and twisted, sweeping the dagger through the air. But her angle was off, the bound too close. It bared its teeth, then bit into Mo’s shoulder. Mo screamed.
Thana held another knife, but she couldn’t risk throwing it. Mo and the bound were too entwined. If her throw went wide, she risked hitting Mo. Her smaller throwing knives were still sheathed across her chest, under her wrap. But she didn’t have time to slow and free them. That left a larger knife at each ankle and the garrote in her pocket.
Thana slung the garrote free as she crossed those last few feet between her and Mo. The bound ignored her, still jawing at Mo’s shoulder. Rivulets of blood stained her sky-blue wrap black. Thana slipped the garrote around the bound’s neck. Then she leaned back and pulled with all of her strength.
The head popped off like a cork. Thana fell back, surprised. She landed on the sand, the garrote and a desiccated head in her lap. She fumbled the head, then threw it. Mo, meanwhile, had unlatched the clawing arm. Both of her hands were busy with her shoulder, assessing the wound and doing what she could to staunch the flow of blood. All this, while she stumbled away from the corpse, which was still moving in fits and jerks, despite missing its head.
There were still two more bound nearby and both were scrambling for Mo. Thana ripped through the headless bound’s wrap and broke the binding with a slice. The body crumpled beneath her, dead for good.
Three down. Thana didn’t bother looking around. She listened to the screams from the Azal, the panicked bellows from the remaining camels, the thwump and clack of staff and sword against dry flesh. Too many to go.
All at once, the bound crashed to the ground, bones rattling like dice in a glass bottle. A stillness settled over the area, screams quieting to muffled groans. Thana stared, her numbness cracking a little, then glanced around. Heru stood more than a dozen yards away, eyes wide, skin ashen and glistening with sweat. His wrap was torn on one side and shredded at the bottom, his tagel pulled down around his neck. Bright red blood smeared his upraised arms, rolled to his elbows, and dripped to the sand. His hair, however, was immaculate.
Then he collapsed.
13
Mo moved first.
She stumbled through the sand, braids falling into her face, one hand clutching at her shoulder, the other her improvised staff. It took Thana another heartbeat to realize Mo was going to help Heru. Then the paralysis that had seized her vanished and she ran after Mo.
The Azal had been decimated. Some had been literally torn apart, while others lay stone-still in the sand, necks at an unnatural angle. Thana passed Helmek’s corpse, his throat torn out. Bile threatened to choke her. The bound all around were already beginning to twitch. She quickened her step.
In the silence, Thana counted the bodies of the Azal. She came to a number far fewer than had been in the caravan. To the north, though, was a smear of dust and the receding bodies of camels and riders. Even as she stared after them, a handful more joined the fleeing group. First relief, then anger filled her. Those cowards had left her and Mo behind without bothering to help. But even as she thought it, her anger guttered. What could they have done? The bandits they’d fought had refused to die. They’d made the smart choice. She shouldn’t blame them.
She did anyway. For now it was easier to stoke that anger into a fire that filled her and kept her going than risk lingering on all the death around her.
Slabs of salt and bags of goods were strewn everywhere, among them broken ropes and saddles and dead camels. The only thing she didn’t see were intact waterskins. Precious water had been spilled across the sand, the slicks of moisture already vanishing like breath on glass. The Azal who’d fled must’ve taken the rest with them.
Mo slid to the ground next to Heru. Her hands moved from his neck to his forehead to his wrist. Then she twisted around, looking for something. Her gaze fell on Thana.
“Water!” ordered Mo. “I need water!”
She didn’t wait for a response. She ripped off a length of fabric from her wrap and bound the cuts on his arms first. Then she put her shoulder into his side and rolled him onto his back. She brushed away the sand caking his clean-shaven face and put her ear near his mouth.
Thana cast around, not sure if she wanted to find an intact skin if it meant saving Heru. But she found one anyway, stumbling across it partially hidden by the corpse of a camel—hers. She whispered a prayer for Melwa, then stole a moment to rummage in her pack until she found the small bag containing her poisons and rings. She tied this to her belt, then slogged back and dropped the sloshing skin next to Mo.
“We can’t stay,” said Thana. “Those things are going to wake soon, but we might still survive if we leave him. We need to catch up to the rest of the caravan—they took all the water.”
Mo snagged the skin without looking at Thana and undid the knot. She dribbled water into her palm, sniffed it, then carefully funneled the water between Heru’s parted lips.
Nearby, a bound spasmed and rolled its head to the side. Thana stepped closer to Mo. Their odds of survival were quickly narrowing. “You’re only going to wake him up long enough to die. We can’t take him with us and those things will kill him. It would be a mercy to let him sleep through it.”
Still ignoring her, Mo ran her palms across Heru’s exposed skin and began praying softly. Frustrated, Thana stalked off, only to turn right back around when she reached the hulk of Heru’s dead camel. The fleeing Azal had taken all the surviving camels, leaving them just death and dust. She found no more waterskins nor survivors, only bodies. Several bound were clambering to their feet, but they were still uncoordinated and unsure.
Thana tried again. “He’s too far gone. We need to—”
“I won’t leave anyone behind,” snapped Mo. “It’s not up to me who lives and who dies. I’m a healer. I swore an oath. I do what I can.”
“Yes, I’m aware, but we’re all going to be dead soon if we don’t go.”
“Then go, Thana!” Mo sprinkled water across Heru’s face. “No one’s keeping you here.”
You are! Thana wanted to shout. She wanted to grab Mo and drag her away. She’d already failed Amastan and Helmek. She wasn’t going to let this stupid healer get herself killed, too. She took a breath and drew a dagger. Fine. If Mo wasn’t going to leave, then Thana would just have to protect her. They were going to see Na Tay Khet together, or not at all.
More bound were standing now, some shaking their heads, others taking tentative steps. Stupid again—instead of arguing with Mo, she should’ve been dispatching the bound. She could’ve made a dent in them by now. Thana tightened her grip and shifted into a fighting stance. There were nine bound left and only one of her. But she was a cousin and more than enough.
A bound with smashed legs scuttled her way. Thana charged it, slamming the butt of her knife against its skull, then sliced the blade down its back in one savage blow, putting all of her anger and frustration into the action. The bound collapsed again, this time for good.
Eight left. No—Thana blinked, then scrubbed at her eyes. Somehow, there were more now than had originally attacked the caravan. Eighteen, twenty. And still more were c
lambering upright. Only a dozen had attacked initially, but more must have joined during the chaos of the fight. Whoever had created these bound didn’t want anyone escaping alive.
All at once, they charged.
Thana did the only sensible thing left. She turned and ran.
“Mo! We’ve got to go! We’ve got to go now!”
Mo glanced up and her eyes widened. Her lips and hands continued moving, though, despite the charging bound. Thana made to grab for her shoulder, but then Heru’s body spasmed, his eyes fluttered, and his mouth opened and closed. He sat upright, turned to the side, and threw up a thin, yellow broth. He wiped his mouth with a shaking hand, then wiped that hand on his robe. When he tried to scour the robe with sand, Mo shoved the waterskin at him.
“Drink.”
“He’s awake! Great! Let’s go!” snapped Thana.
Heru paused while chugging water to stare blankly at her. Then dangerous recognition flickered across his eyes. Too late, Thana realized her tagel had come loose, exposing half her face. Heru handed the skin back to Mo and stood. Thana turned with him to face the approaching bound. There was no more time and nowhere left to run. Instead she readied herself for another fight, one they couldn’t win.
Heru held up a hand and the sand shuddered beneath their feet, concentric rings like ripples in a water bowl moving outward. The bound surging toward them slammed into an invisible wall, some recoiling and falling back, others stumbling and clawing at the air as if they might climb it. Heru’s outstretched arm trembled.
“I can’t hold them for long,” he said. “We need to leave. Where’s Anas—my camel?”
Heru walked forward and the bound fell back. Thana and Mo followed a few feet behind. Heru abruptly stopped. He’d spotted his camel’s remains only a little further on and a light frown creased his brows. He started again, faster now, and the bound toppled and fell before him as he rushed to his camel’s side. He sank next to the corpse almost tenderly and brushed sand from its forehead. The bound scratched and clawed against the invisible barrier, but Heru appeared to have forgotten them.
He withdrew a glowing orb from his wrap—the same orb he’d been holding when he’d cured Amash. He pressed the orb against the camel’s side and splayed his free hand on its neck. The scrabbling bound slipped a few feet closer, and Mo grabbed Thana’s arm. Thana glanced back at the camel in time to see the orb’s light flicker out.
Then the camel’s eyes opened.
“Dust,” breathed Mo. “I thought it was dead.”
“It is,” said Thana.
The camel surged up, exhibiting no lasting predilection for death. Heru peered up at it, pride and exhaustion warring across his tagel-less features, his whole body shaking as if caught in a wind. He placed his hands on the camel’s neck and hopped, trying to pull himself onto its back, but only made it a few feet before sliding back down again.
The air cracked as if split by unseen lightning and suddenly the dead men were rushing toward them, no barrier to keep them back. Heru slumped against his camel, unaware, while Mo ran for him and Thana let out a string of curses. Heru stirred and tried to couch his beast. But it continued standing placidly, head swaying back and forth, milky eyes fixed on nothing.
They weren’t going to make it. Thana briefly considered shoving Heru into the oncoming horde. That might give them enough time to escape. But not enough. He was one and they were many and any moment now the bound would be grabbing and clawing at her, dragging her down, not without a fight, never—
But the hands didn’t grab. Instead, for a second time that day, an unnatural and unnerving silence stretched across the sands. The bound had stopped and now formed a semicircle around Thana and Mo and Heru. They stood as still as stone, jaws slack and eyes empty. Thana glanced at Heru, but he had only just turned away from his camel and noticed the assembled bound.
“Heru Sametket.”
The single name was hurled like an insult. The bound spoke in one rasping voice, jaws open but unmoving. The voice was strange: redoubled by the many mouths, but strained as if from a great distance. Because of the distortion, Thana couldn’t even tell the pitch of the voice, let alone whether it belonged to any particular gender. It didn’t matter, because a horrible understanding was spreading through her.
Heru straightened. “I am he.”
“You’ve taught me well, Heru Sametket,” said the voice from too many mouths. “Since you’re still somehow alive, I wanted to take the time to thank you.”
Heru puffed up with pride. “As you well know, I’m an exceptional teacher. But I don’t recall, which student of mine are you?”
“Your skills as a teacher are abysmal,” said the voice with disdain. “But I’ve gleaned much from your bumbling foolishness.”
Heru’s glowing pride softened to a frown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Thrice, I’ve sent my bound servants to silence you, and each time you’ve survived them—and by extension, me. As frustrated as I was with each failure, I’ve learned more about the weaknesses plaguing my methods and excised those accordingly. You’ve forced me to perfect and streamline my techniques. So: thank you. You’ve proven yourself a useful opponent.”
Thana closed her eyes. She’d been wrong, so wrong. Heru hadn’t been as willfully ignorant and malicious as she’d first assumed. Instead, there had been two en-marab. Two, when there should have been none. Heru’s confusion was entirely honest, after all.
“Who are you?” asked Heru, annoyance hardening his tone.
“You know me as Djet,” answered the voice. “Unfortunately, further collaboration is out of the question. For the purposes of my plan, you’re most useful to me dead.”
“Djet?” Heru mulled for a moment, then nodded. “As I hypothesized. Before you kill me, tell me—your writing system is ingenious. How did you develop it? Was it based on any particular language or did you integrate aspects from several? I suspect that fusing disparate grammars might’ve proved most difficult, but potentially rewarding—”
“It was my own creation,” interrupted Djet. One of the bound crossed its arms.
“Ah. Then the downward stroke of the intermedial runes wasn’t derived from lower Iboljak? I thought that the language’s inability to distinguish time present from time past would’ve been quite useful in—”
“I’m not here to discuss linguistics,” snapped Djet.
Heru stepped forward, palms raised. “We could learn so much from each other. Between your knowledge of permanent binding practices and my”—he glanced toward Mo—“long years of research into quieting jaan—”
The bound closed their eyes and a very human sigh of frustration escaped. “The only thing I can learn from you, Sametket, is how to avoid dying through sheer luck.”
“I’m only saying you should keep your options open. You might be surprised by what I can offer.”
“No. I wouldn’t. I’ve watched you long enough to know that your methods are repetitive and tedious, your hypotheses old and trite, and your last breakthrough was largely the consequence of your assistant mixing the wrong proportions of a solution.”
“Oh.” Heru tilted his head. “Yes. Well. I did firmly reprimand him for that.”
“You have nothing left to offer—” began Djet.
“Perhaps not,” said Heru quickly. “Your bound servants are already well beyond my own experiments, but have you considered how you might translate your methods to immortality?”
The bound went still and silent long enough that Thana began to wonder if the connection had been severed. But then a high-pitched noise bubbled from their mouths, so sudden and incongruous that it took a moment for Thana to recognize what it was: laughter.
Heru frowned as Thana and Mo exchanged a worried glance. Thana backed toward the camel, blindly reaching for its lead. Then the laughter cut off as abruptly as it’d begun.
“In fact, I have,” continued Djet, mirth still tickling his words. “And now that you’ve touc
hed on the reason I must kill you, it’s about time we end our conversation.”
Something whispered through the air and the bound resumed their headlong rush as if they’d never stopped, gurgling incoherent cries.
“I think,” said Heru, turning to Thana and Mo, “it might be time to take our leave.”
Thana pulled on the camel’s lead. Its head came down but it still refused to couch. Mo clucked her tongue. Immediately, the camel folded its long legs under itself and sank down. Heru leaned over the saddle and leveraged himself into the seat. Mo swung herself in front of the saddle, across the camel’s shoulders. Heru kneed the camel and it began to unfold and rise.
Thana hissed annoyance, but grabbed the back of the saddle and swung up behind Heru. She’d barely situated herself before the camel started to move, nearly unsettling her. A bound grabbed her foot. Thana kicked, but it only tightened its grip. Heru was trying to goad the camel to go faster than the lurching pace it’d picked. Thana dug her knees into the camel’s ribs so hard that she thought she felt something break, then shouted a command she’d heard the Azal use. The camel surged forward and Thana clutched at Heru’s blood-stained wrap to keep from falling off.
“It won’t be that easy,” said the bound still clinging to her leg.
Thana snarled and snapped a fist across its face. Finally the bound let go, tumbling into their dust. Thana wrapped her arms around Heru, an unfortunate necessity as the camel galloped across the sands. Each stride felt like she was going to be thrown off. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that if she couldn’t see the ground lurching past, she might stay in place. So she didn’t at first notice what lay ahead.
But she felt it.
Beneath the camel’s thudding stride was a deeper, dust-shifting shudder, as if the earth itself were shaking. Thana opened her eyes. Something dark and hulking blocked their way.
