The Impossible Contract

by K A Doore

  “Are you two finally finished? I knew your mechanisms were slow and tedious, but I vastly underestimated how much time they would waste. Let me see one of those skins.”

  Mo held out a skin to Heru. Thana set her burden down, warm all over in a way that had nothing to do with the pervasive fires and everything to do with Mo’s lips and she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty that she was thinking of Mo instead of the dead. She reached blindly for Mo’s hand and found it. She squeezed. Mo squeezed back. Thana let go of some of her guilt; if this was how she’d survive the coming days, then so be it.

  Heru opened the skin. He pulled his tagel down until it hung loose around his neck, then poured some of the water into his cupped palm and sniffed it. He tasted it. He gagged, spat it out, dropping the rest of the water as he clutched at his throat. His body shook as he coughed. He closed his eyes and curled his hands into fists.

  Mo started for him. “Heru!”

  But the coughing stopped before she reached him. Heru was doubled over, panting, but alive. He spat again, this time a wad of frothy red phlegm. Then he straightened.

  “My hypothesis has just been confirmed,” he proclaimed, voice rough. He pulled the tagel back over his nose and rustled through his bag. “The water was indeed the vector through which Djet seized control of the city and its people.”

  Thana drew a sharp breath, as if she’d been punched. It was one thing to suspect, but another to know. There’d been no way her people could have defended themselves against such an attack.

  “Thankfully, I’m here,” continued Heru. “This is a strong, but simple, binding that can be nullified if the correct steps are taken. I will need your blood.”

  Thana stepped back. “What? No. Absolutely not.”

  “Why?” asked Mo.

  Heru spread his hands. “I can use my own blood if using yours is so repulsive, but doing so runs the very real risk of transferring Djet’s control to me when you drink the water. I cannot be absolutely certain of the exact methods Djet utilized to create the original binding, seeing as how I have only had the opportunity to study his methods through secondhand sources and am hardly a scholar on the subject.”

  “How do we know you’re not telling us the one so you can do the other?” pressed Thana.

  He harrumphed. “If I had wanted to bind you, Thana, I could have done so upon our first meeting or upon the multiple times you’ve annoyed me since that eventful night. It is not skill or opportunity I lack, but desire. If you want to continue questioning my motives, by all means avoid drinking any water until you find another well, and then pray to your G-d that it isn’t likewise tainted.”

  “Fine,” muttered Thana. “But if you’re lying, I’ll rip out your throat when I turn into one of those dust-cursed bound.”

  “Considering your previous attempts at trying to kill me,” said Heru, “I’m not especially worried.”

  Mo drew a thin blade from a pocket and held it out to Heru. “Here—use this. It’s very sharp and won’t cause scarring.”

  Thana’s heart stuttered and her mouth had gone dry. She forced herself to relax. Mo hadn’t noticed. Mo hadn’t heard. It was fine—

  As Heru took the knife from Mo, a frown creased her eyebrows. She looked from Thana to Heru, the question unasked on the air between them.

  “Yes,” said Heru helpfully. “Thana’s been trying to kill me.”

  Mo’s hand dropped. “What?”

  “Hah. He’s only joking,” said Thana. Her voice sharpened as she glared at Heru. “Just like I’m only joking when I say he’s an en-marabi and he binds jaan just like Djet does.”

  “We all have our skeletons,” said Heru. He took Mo’s knife and squatted next to the skins. “Mine is inside me. Hah—see?” He looked up at them. “It’s a joke. It was funny. Oh, fine.”

  Mo stared at Thana, sliding her fingers between each other over and over again. “You never really answered me when I asked if you were a performer.”

  Heru snorted. “She’s no actor. Or if she is, she should find another profession.” He pulled out several small pouches from inside his wrap and set them in a neat line before him.

  Thana glared at him. “We had a deal,” she hissed.

  “What deal?” asked Mo.

  “I don’t see the point in lying to her anymore.” Heru gestured at the destruction surrounding them. “Considering. I was only afraid that she’d take her healing services elsewhere, but now—where is there for her to go? We’re all in this together.” He placed a hand against his chest and cleared his throat. “It’s true. I’m an en-marabi, and I am proud of it. I have devoted my life to the science of jaani binding.”

  Mo had stepped back and now crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “Please tell me you’re both joking.”

  But Heru wasn’t finished. “And Thana’s an assassin.”

  25

  “Mo—”

  “Someone contracted her to kill me,” continued Heru. “Thankfully, she’s not very good at her job. I kept her close to keep an eye on her and also because it seemed you had some concern for her well-being. But I no longer see a reason to keep up our pretenses. We’ll work together better if we know just what we’re working with. Can one of you bring me a bowl?”

  “But I’m not—I mean, not anymore—I wasn’t—”

  Mo brushed her hands up and down her arms. “I should have known. Your skills, your choices—G-d, I’m such a fool. I’d thought the Serpent was just a story. But everything you said, everything you did—was that all just to get closer to Heru? Was that the only reason you came with us? You never actually cared about anyone else.” Her eyes widened. “You—you didn’t dress up like one of the Empress’s slaves just to find us, did you? You were there to kill Heru. If the Empress hadn’t recognized you…” Mo put a hand to her lips. “And his waterskin on the way to Na Tay Khet—”

  “I didn’t go just because of Heru,” interrupted Thana. “He’d left Ghadid, I could have broken my contract.” The lie held some truth—it’s what she would have argued to Kaseem, but her career would have been over just the same. “I went because of you. I didn’t want you alone with him. He’s just as dangerous as Djet.”

  Mo shook her head. “We’d only met that once, that time you were attacked by dogs. But those bite marks—that wasn’t a dog.”

  Heru coughed. “She obtained those during her first attempt to murder me. We were unfortunately interrupted by some of Djet’s bound. She’s up to—what, is it three attempts now?”

  Mo squeezed her eyes shut. “Please. Stop talking.”

  Heru counted on his fingers. “Yes. Three.”

  Thana balled her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms. “That’s not fair. He earned the contract. He’s an en-marabi, just like Djet. You haven’t seen what he can do. He deserves to die.”

  “No one deserves to die,” said Mo.

  “He binds jaan! When I first met him, he’d bound a woman to his will and used her as a shield against me. Are you really going to believe him over me?”

  When Mo opened her eyes, they shone with unshed tears. “But is it true? Are you an assassin?”

  Thana met her gaze. Some of her anger died; now she just wanted to throw up. “But that’s all in the past—”

  “Are you an assassin?”

  “I had a contract on Heru when this all started, but I broke it.” Thana gestured around them. “It doesn’t even matter anymore.”

  Mo drew in a shuddering breath. “You lied to me.”

  “But Heru has been lying all along about what he is—”

  “I didn’t sleep with him!” snapped Mo. Her words echoed accusingly off the nearby walls. Mo took several deep, steadying breaths, then continued, “I know Heru isn’t a good person. I’ve always known that. But you repeatedly and purposefully lied about your intentions every step of our journey. It’s different because I cared about you—or at least the you that you were pretending to be. Now I can’t even be sure you weren�
��t just using me to get to him.”

  Heru cleared his throat. “You two…?”

  Mo glared at him. Heru held his hands up and made a show of turning back to his work.

  “If either of you want clean water to drink, I’ll need a bowl,” said Heru to his tools and pouches. “I only wanted to clear the air,” he added softly. “We have a long journey ahead that we likely won’t survive. Since it’s just the three of us, I thought we should all be more honest. I didn’t know you two … ah…”

  The fact that he sounded the tiniest bit remorseful filled Thana with anger. She stomped toward the nearest building and shoved her way inside. She found a bowl immediately, but lingered for another heartbeat to let her blood cool. She didn’t need a contract to kill Heru, right? Her whole city was gone, she didn’t need any excuse. But she knew she wasn’t just angry at him; she was angry at herself.

  When she returned nothing had changed. Mo was still avoiding her gaze and Heru was still staring intently at the ground. Thana dropped the metal bowl next to him and pivoted away. Heru plucked it out of the air before it could clatter on the stones.

  Now that he had something concrete to do, Heru perked up. He poured water into the bowl, then measured out colorful powders from his pouches and dumped them one by one into the water, turning the liquid first a brilliant green, then a milky purple, and finally a colorless gray. Heru lifted his tagel to sniff at the water occasionally as he coached it through colors, but he never once glanced their way.

  “I can’t tell you to leave,” said Mo suddenly. “There’s nowhere for you to go. Alone, you’d die out here, and that would be a dereliction of the duty G-d gave me. At least one of us believes in the sanctity of life. I can’t even say I won’t heal you, because that would be a lie. But please—don’t speak to me. Don’t come near me. I can’t handle it right now.”

  “Mo—” started Thana, but then thought better of it.

  “Does that include me?” asked Heru, trading the bowl of water for Mo’s blade.

  “You’re a G-d-cursed jackal, Heru,” said Mo. “But you never pretended to be anything else.”

  “I never pretended to be anything else!” snapped Thana. “I am who I’ve always been! I’ve never tried to hide that from you, just the contract on Heru. That’s it. That’s the only thing.”

  “How many people have you killed?” asked Mo.

  Thana’s breath left her. “What? That’s not—that’s in the past.”

  Mo gave a bitter laugh. “So you have taken a life. And you still don’t understand. What you do—” When Thana opened her mouth, Mo corrected, “—what you did—is directly opposed to all my training and all my years of work. I’ve done everything I can to save a life and still been forced to watch someone die. And now I find out that you’ve taken those lives.”

  “But that’s not true—” began Thana.

  “That’s enough.” Mo took a step back. “Please, Thana.”

  Heru coughed. “Well, now that’s out of the way, can we get back to what’s important?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Heru sliced open his palm and, wincing, dropped Mo’s knife. He squeezed his hand into a fist over the bowl until seven fat drops of blood fell, clouding the bowl’s already murky surface. The red swirled and diffused in invisible currents, then the water cleared to a murk. Thana stared at the bowl to avoid looking at Mo.

  “We haven’t got all day,” said Heru.

  Thana looked up to find him holding the knife out to her. She took it and let the urge to slice open his neck fill her, picturing it, savoring it—and then she let it go. The blade’s bite across her palm broke some of her anger, but the relief was temporary. The knife was too sharp to really hurt and for a moment, she couldn’t even see the cut.

  Then the blood welled up across her palm. Pain shot bright and sharp up her arm when she turned her hand over and formed a fist. She counted out seven drops, watching them splash, heavier than water, into the bowl. The murk thinned and dispersed until the water was merely chalky—clean enough to drink. But Thana wasn’t even tempted. She set the knife down and stepped away, her throbbing hand pressed to her chest. The wound was already clotting.

  While Mo cut and counted, Thana stared at the smoke-choked sky. It had to be midday, but only a yellow haze marked the sun. The flames crackled and hissed, the buildings groaned, and the wind whispered. It was almost peaceful.

  Thana turned back at the splash of water. Heru was dividing the bowl’s contents among the skins, shaking each in turn before tying off the neck and throwing the skin to the side. When he finished, he tossed the empty bowl aside, which bounced off the stones with a startling clatter. The metallic ringing still echoed as Heru turned his gaze upward, eyes inscrutable and expression obscured by his tagel.

  He stayed that way for a heartbeat, two. Then his shoulders rolled forward and he dropped his head. “It is done. I’m tired and require rest. I would advise against beginning our journey into the Wastes until we’ve all had some time to recover.”

  “We can’t stay here,” said Mo with a hint of desperation. “What if there are more bound? Salid can’t have been the only one left behind.”

  “I know a place,” said Thana. “But I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

  “If one of your leaders had a shelter, you should have mentioned it sooner,” said Heru.

  “No. Not a shelter.” Thana pointed down. “Beneath the city.”

  Mo’s expression brightened. “The crypts?”

  When Thana nodded, Heru snorted. “Because nothing says safe from the bound dead like a crypt.”

  “No, she’s right,” said Mo, carefully not looking at Thana. “If Djet enslaved all the dead in Ghadid, then the crypts will be empty.”

  “Only those whose jaan haven’t made the crossing. The other bodies are still ripe potential for creating more bound.”

  “We don’t keep bodies without their jaan in the crypts,” said Mo. “A jaani stays tethered to its body for seven years. In the last year, the marab remove the body and bring it to the sands for the seven year rite. Until the rite, the marab quiet the jaan in the crypts. There’s no chance of a jaani going wild—it’s never without escort. If Djet could bind those jaan, then they’re already gone. Unless they were trapped within the crypt, there shouldn’t be anyone, even bodies, down there. We don’t keep the dead after their jaan is gone. For one, we don’t have room. For another, that’s just unsanitary.”

  Heru tilted his head. “You don’t … keep your dead? Or at least entomb them?”

  “There’d be nowhere to put them.”

  “Not even in the ground?”

  “And lose them forever in the sands?” said Mo. “No, the marab burn the bodies. There’s no reason to keep the dead around when their jaani is gone.”

  “Then perhaps your crypts are a prudent choice.”

  Thana started down the street. “Follow me.”

  The entrance to the crypt was a squat building at the rear of a small courtyard. Geometric designs adorned its roof and pillars, their bright colors dampened by the haze. Charms and stringwork dripped from the open doors. A pot of gifts, mostly baats, remained undisturbed near the entrance. But the plain gray mats for prayer had been sullied and torn, their remnants tossed around the courtyard.

  Thana had visited the crypt before, but she’d only been inside once—outside of funerals, only marab were allowed to enter. Normally, the crypt was awash with light and the scent of burning incense. Now, the crypt was quiet and dark. Like the pumphouse, its doors stood open and unlocked. Unlike the pumphouse, this wasn’t normal.

  Instead of incense, Thana smelled fire and burnt meat and oil, an uncomfortably pleasant combination. Streaks of blood shone brackish black across the wooden doors. Thana shuddered, then set her shoulders and stepped into the darkness.

  Light bloomed behind her, sudden and sharp. Heru pushed past, holding a fistful of white light. Inside, more blood was smeared across the ground, but aside from a broken
desk and a few scrolls trampled on the floor, the room was unscathed. Thana took a striker from its hook next to the door before heading for the bannister and stairs at the room’s center.

  The light turned and jumped as Heru moved around the room, inspecting what was left. Mo slammed the doors shut and slid the thick metal bolts in place with a reassuring thud. Thana started down the dark stairwell, but soon it was filled with that same, too-white light as Heru joined her. The stairs led to another, open door, which led into the crypt itself.

  Like the pumphouse, the crypt wrapped around the pylon beneath the platform, forming a circle with a solid center. Thana walked the perimeter, lighting the torches with the striker. Mo had been right—the crypt was empty. The tombs were all bare, nothing but dark holes stacked four high and set deep into the walls. Torn cloth clung to the corners of a few, the only indication that something—someone—had lain within.

  Thana paused in front of one empty tomb. Dust and sand had accumulated at the edges, but the middle was clean. Heavy steps behind warned her of Heru’s approach, but she didn’t turn.

  “Did your marab use the water to quiet their jaan?”

  Thana thought back to her uncle Usem’s funeral, the only one she’d ever attended. At the time, the marab had prayed over water, covered a piece of vellum with inscriptions, then cleaned the ink off with the water. They’d dripped the inky blend into her uncle’s open mouth. “Yes, at first, but…”

  “They do,” said Mo. “Did. Weekly, anyway.”

  “That would have been enough.” Heru surveyed the empty tombs. “It appears you were correct that the jaan would still be tethered to these bodies. Not a single one remains. The better for us—I’ll go back up and seal the front doors. Once that’s done, we’ll be safer here than anywhere else. Of course, that’s not a high threshold to pass.”