by K A Doore
The sun sank on their second full day in the Wastes and the dunes’ shadows stretched with it, until everything was blanketed in shadowy twilight. This time, the heat lingered, thick and dense as an oven’s. As the stars came out and the wind picked up, Thana thought she saw a flash of light. She’d dismissed it as a trick of her tired eyes, but then it flashed again. Thana peered more closely ahead, the afterimage still burning her vision. She found herself staring at the tail of Mo’s camel.
The tail swished. The light flashed. Thana’s mouth went dry.
Then her heart picked up with a panicked beat. She held up a hand to test the wind. Its direction had changed; now it blew hard from the east, whistling past her ears. The sky was clear, if occasionally hidden from sight by the black hulk of a dune. But between one dune and the next was something darker.
Then the darkness flashed, lightning arcing from one cloud to the next, illuminating the towering storm wall from within. The clouds glowed a bloody red, and then were swallowed up by the dunes again.
Thana urged her camel into a trot. She’d fallen back, ostensibly to keep watch, but really to remove the temptation to talk to Mo. The healer had asked for space and by G-d, Thana had given it to her, even as it broke her own heart. But now was not the time for space.
“Mo!” she shouted. “Heru!”
Leads were pulled, camels turned. They both glanced around—Mo with a wild, startled motion, Heru with distanced curiosity. He spotted the stormwall first, his gaze locking on to it over Thana’s shoulder.
“What is it?” asked Mo.
“Sandstorm,” said Thana. She rustled her wrap, sending a shiver of sparks down its length. “Bad one.”
Mo’s eyes widened, flicked from the sparks to behind Thana. The moonlight gave her skin a liquid metallic sheen that would’ve been breathtaking at any other time. Now, Thana had no breath left to take.
By the way Thana’s mouth was dry as cotton and her head pounded and her nose trickled blood, this storm was going to be bad. Even in the middle of a relatively sand-free, flat expanse, a traveler could be inundated. Here, surrounded by dunes—
It was a death trap.
A white light blazed in Heru’s hand. Thana turned away, but the damage was done. Spots danced in her vision, obscuring everything. The light faded to a pale pulse, only as bright as the moon, and just as round: it was coming from the small glass orb. Heru held the light aloft as he studied their surroundings. Thana eyed the orb, knowing and not knowing what it was, what it contained. But she pushed her fresh disgust away; now was not the time.
Sand surrounded them. Overhead, it flew in intermittent sheets, obscuring the stars. They had two options: climb the dunes and risk the full fury of the storm, or shelter between them and be buried. Heru glanced from Thana to her camel and raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
“We can’t outrun the storm,” she said.
Heru raised his eyebrows still higher.
“We have to take cover while we can.” Mo slipped from her camel, couched it, and began untying her bags. “We’ll pray to G-d the dunes give us enough protection.”
“Or I could bind your camels and we might stand a reasonable chance of surviving,” said Heru.
Mo didn’t even look at him. “No.”
“Entire armies have been buried by lesser storms,” wheedled Heru.
“Then you go on yourself,” said Thana.
Heru muttered under his breath, but didn’t spur his beast into motion. After another moment, he even dismounted.
“We’re going to die,” he said.
Within minutes, they’d heaped their supplies and skins at the base of a dune. A blanket covered the heap and a tent stake stuck out of its middle. After the storm, the stake would help them locate their supplies. If they didn’t drown in sand themselves.
The living camels had settled on their own, tucking their legs beneath them and closing their long-lashed eyelids. Heru’s camel remained standing, staring unblinkingly at its master and the light oozing from his hand. He had to firmly guide it down.
They sat with their backs against the camels, tagels dampened to trap dust, a cloth ready to be pulled down across their eyes, and a stake in hand. They waited for the storm.
The moon blurred red and, as a whistling roar swept between the dunes, went out. The stormwall broke around them, hissing like a thousand snakes. Thana pulled the cloth over her eyes and ducked her head. She struggled to breathe through the damp cloth, but she didn’t dare take it off. When the storm hit, she could still see the light in Heru’s hand, even through closed eyes. Within minutes, that light was gone and they were plunged into darkness.
Then the whispering began, as intimate as it was indecipherable. Drums beat in her ears—or was that her own heart? The charms at her waist grew warm, then hot. They burned her skin, but she didn’t dare remove them. They were the only thing protecting her from the wild jaan riding the storm.
She focused on the sensation of the wind and the sand. A glow suffused her surroundings, at first white, then red. She began reciting pieces of prayers, any phrase that crossed her mind. G-d be merciful, G-d be good, may G-d bless and watch over this house—
The whispering grew louder, but not clearer. Then, all at once, it was gone. The wind began to slacken. Thana opened her eyes and watched the world grow a little less dark. Soon the storm had passed entirely, leaving behind an empty silence.
Thana stood, or at least tried to. She’d been half submerged in sand. She dragged her arms free and tugged at the cloth around her mouth and eyes. When it came off, she gasped and drank in the night air.
The stars had returned and the moon was well past its zenith. After the storm’s darkness, the moonlight was as bright as day. Thana struggled to her feet just as the camels shifted and rose, sand cascading off their backs. Two poles still stuck out of the sand, but a third was cast to the ground near a set of footprints.
“Mo?” said Thana.
Light flashed and blazed white, blinding her. Too late, she raised a hand. The light dimmed and lowered and after another moment, Thana could discern the outline of a person.
“I hope the storm didn’t addle your senses so much that you would confuse me with that thin waif of a girl,” said Heru. “Speaking of which—you might want to help her out.”
One of the poles was shifting, sinking into its mound of sand.
“Mo!”
Thana was at the healer’s side, shoveling sand away with cupped hands. She uncovered bright blue cloth and dug faster. She found a shoulder and heaved Mo sideways, out of the small sand hill. Mo flailed as they fell, catching Thana in the nose, then they were both coughing and spitting up sand. Mo tore the cloth from her face and sucked in air like a gift from G-d.
“How long was I under there?” Mo stuck a finger in one ear and began wiggling it around. “I could feel the sand creeping up, then I couldn’t breathe and the next thing, you were here.”
“I don’t know.” Thana held out a hand to Mo, who took it and stood on shaky legs. “But it looks like we survived the storm.”
Heru had moved behind them to examine their supplies, so Thana’s back was to the light and her vision clear when the first shadow tumbled down the dune. Thana didn’t stop to think. She pushed Mo aside with a barked “get back!” and freed two knives.
She’d spotted a second and a third shadow right behind it, loping across the sand on all fours like jackals in full stride, but something was wrong. They were too big for jackals, their front legs too long, their snouts truncated, their eyes—
The first launched itself at her. Thana sidestepped as she thrust her knife into its chest. She was already turning to take the next creature, but it passed her, aiming for Heru. He stumbled back, raising the orb as if that could stop the creature, but it ignored the orb and slammed into him. Heru let out a high-pitched squeal.
Then Thana was there, one hand around the creature’s throat. She yanked it back and slammed her hilt down hard on the base
of its skull. She was rewarded with a satisfying crack. The creature crumpled, but wasn’t dead yet, only dazed. Heru met her gaze and nodded appreciatively. Then he knelt and shoved his palm against the creature’s chest before it could rise.
Thana freed another knife. The third creature had paused a few feet away, watching with open curiosity. Since her charms were burning, she’d assumed these were Djet’s creatures, but those had never stopped and watched and thought. And the creature’s eyes—they glinted in the blaze of Heru’s light, but they weren’t flat and dead like the eyes of the bound. These flared with life barely contained.
Now as the creature tentatively approached the circle of pale light, Thana could see it better. Its head was shaped like a cat’s, tiny snub of a nose flat beneath two wide, oval eyes. Its body was a mad mixture of jackal and man, all odd angles and tufts of wild fur. Long, wickedly curved claws sliced through the sand like so many knives.
A name bubbled up from the stories her father had once told her when she was young: guul. According to those stories, the guul were either the jealous creation of the sajaam or they were jaan that had learned how to survive and even thrive by scavenging corpses. Normal jaan lusted for a shell of flesh to call their own again, convinced that to return to life all they needed was a living body. Guul were an inversion, the jaan who’d realized they could create their own bodies out of the dead.
Guul were as mad as wild jaan, but in their madness, they retained a sense of self. They could plan. They could work together. And they understood that a living body could quickly become a dead one.
The third guuli locked gazes with her. Thana snapped her garrote free. The guuli barked and rushed her. Thana held her ground. The guuli closed in, but before she could strike, it veered sharply away. Toward Mo.
Thana lunged for the guuli, too slow. Mo shrieked. The monster’s claws tore through her wrap and her upraised arm. Thana slammed her shoulder into the guuli. It released Mo and tumbled with Thana across the sand, snapping its claws at her eyes.
Thana jerked her head to one side. The claw’s tip narrowly missed her eye, grazing her cheek instead. The guuli pinned her to the ground, sitting on her chest and baring a mess of collected teeth that jutted and crowded its mouth. Its breath reeked of sweet rot and hot sand. It tore at her wrap, wincing back even as it tried to hook a claw under her charms.
Light blazed behind her and Heru barked in triumph. Mo hissed through the sand at her other side, the first guuli right behind her. But Thana couldn’t help her, couldn’t get out from under the guuli sitting on her. The more she fought it, the further the guuli pushed her into the sand, until the sand was cascading into her eyes and nose and mouth.
“Thana!”
Thwack.
The guuli fell to the side. Mo appeared above, a hand outstretched. Thana took her hand, warnings tumbling from her mouth, but as soon as Thana was up, Mo was already turning, her staff raised. She struck the first guuli and it stumbled back, dark smoke leaking around the knife Thana had left in its chest. Mo swung again, but this time the guuli grabbed her staff and refused to let go. Thana loosed another knife, but was jerked backward before she could help. The third guuli had hold of her wrap and it was dragging her toward it.
Thana slashed through her wrap, cutting herself free. The guuli stumbled back, surprised. Thana unlatched her belt. The glass charms glowed white hot, spilling light as bright as Heru’s orb across the sand. The guuli cowered in the light, covering its head with its long claws. Not entirely sure what she was doing, Thana stepped forward and, keeping hold of the belt’s ends, dropped it around the guuli’s shoulders.
The guuli howled. It shook and trembled and then it fell apart, arms and teeth and claws and skin and broken torso all tumbling to the sand. A dark haze burst free, sweeping toward the sky. It broke apart in the wind, but before it was completely gone, another light flared behind Thana. The haze thickened and swirled and streamed back.
Heru stretched one hand up to meet the haze, the orb burning between his fingers. The haze whirled and pulsed—once, twice—before being sucked into the orb. The light dimmed and the skin around Heru’s eyes crinkled with a frown as his gaze flicked to Thana. Then past her. He shouted—
The last guuli slammed Thana to the ground. It wrenched the belt from her grip, its fingers falling off even as it flung the belt away. The glass sang as it arced through the air, then hit the sand with a soft thump. The guuli pressed its collapsing body against Thana, its catlike eyes flaring with burning light.
Thana tried to push the guuli away, but its body gave and her hands crunched through dry flesh and loose bone. It fell apart even as a thick haze obscured her vision. Her nose and mouth and eyes were burning, dry, scorched, and it didn’t matter that she couldn’t see, because everything was light and darkness and flame.
Distantly, she heard her name. Something slammed into her chest, cool and slick, but she couldn’t open her eyes. Then the pain began and Thana tumbled into the darkness.
27
Cool water splashed across her cracked lips, both a pain and a balm. Voices stirred around her like gusts of wind, indecipherable and opaque. Her skin and lungs and blood and organs burned with a fire that sloshed and churned within her. She couldn’t tell if she was lying down or standing up, if she was surrounded by fire or sand or air.
Another voice chittered in her head and images of dunes and mountains and camels flashed before her eyes. Bloodied and torn corpses. Jagged stretches of flesh. Ripping, tearing winds and flashes of lightning. With these images came rage and hunger and joy. At times, she thought she knew what it was like to soar above the Wastes, to ride the winds of a sandstorm and surf in its wake of destruction. She knew centuries of wandering and hunger and, before that—before that—
She knew the touch of a man, skin smooth and hands delicate. She knew the scent of flowered soap, colorful hair, the weight of seeing glass across her nose. She knew creations of metal and smoke that rumbled across the Wastes, needing neither water nor grass. She knew glinting birds that drew clouds across the sky. She knew the bustle of people close and rank with sweat and spices, and the feel of metal attached to skin—and mind.
But sand and rocks and endless pale blue sky outweighed and overwhelmed the rest by years and decades—centuries. She’d been trapped in this desert for so long, had inhabited only a handful of bodies, only to be exorcised again and again. This time would be different. This time, she would live.
SLAP
Thana jolted. For a heartbeat, she was two—the one who remembered whole centuries of dust and sand, and the one who only remembered a city in the sky, once whole, now destroyed. Then the centuries faded and her eyes opened and she was on her back, sand in her mouth and nose and ears, dizzy and sick and burning. Burning.
“She’s awake!”
Mo’s face filled her vision. Thana squinted. The sky was brighter. But the last thing she remembered—it had been night. Her memories flooded back: the fight with the guul, the sandstorm, the journey into the Wastes. Thana started coughing, choking on sand and dried spit, and couldn’t stop. She sat up and the world tilted with her, dizzyingly fragile.
Her waist burned. Her fingers found the edges of the glass belt even as she shied away from touching it. The belt’s heat pulsed in time with her heart, an ebb and flow that left her flush and frail at intervals. The guuli was still inside her. She could feel it, as surely as if it were breathing down her neck. But its grip had loosened.
Mo pressed a waterskin into Thana’s hands. Heru stepped into her line of sight, peering at her with his peculiar intensity.
As Thana took a sip of water, Mo asked, “How’re you feeling?”
The water was like nothing Thana had ever tasted. She couldn’t stop herself from gulping it down. Only once the skin was empty could she answer Mo.
“Alive.”
Mo’s faint smile faded to a frown. She took the skin from Thana and replaced it with one half-empty. “Take it slower with that on
e. You’ll make yourself sick.”
But Thana couldn’t stop herself from drinking just as fast. The second skin disappeared even quicker, but her thirst remained. A finger of worry twisted inside her, but she couldn’t voice it for want of more water.
Heru pressed a cool finger against Thana’s neck. “Fascinating.” He pulled back. “She’s burning up and her pulse is elevated. She’s drinking too much water, yet her eyes are clear. I wonder—are you sane?”
Thana squinted at him, her thoughts slowed by the guuli. It took her a moment to process the question. “I am. Praise be to G-d.”
“Praise be to G-d,” whispered Mo.
Heru nodded. “Those charms you’re wearing are muddling the guuli’s influence. Typically, charms would repel an attack, but since the healer put the belt back on after you idiotically took it off and got yourself possessed, the charms are instead keeping the guuli in check. If I were you, I wouldn’t remove it again. You would burn up, and I don’t mean that figuratively.”
“Can’t you do something to remove the guuli?” asked Mo.
“Potentially.” Heru peered at Thana, fingering the tagel over where his beard would be, if he had one. “But I have neither the resources nor the time. Plus, as much as I loath to admit it, extracting a jaani of this particular type is a delicate process that would benefit from the assistance of another, equally skilled marabi. I could attempt it, but if I were to fail—which is a highly probable eventuality—the ramifications would be dire for all of us. We would be less that much in water and burdened with a homicidal, fully corporeal guuli. Also, she would be dead.”
“Isn’t there something we can do?”
“Water,” said Thana, her tongue already thick and dry. “Give me water.”
“You’re a healer,” said Heru. “You know what you can do.”
Mo looked away. “We don’t have enough water to heal her.”
“You have other resources besides water at hand.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” But Mo didn’t meet Heru’s gaze.
