The Impossible Contract

by K A Doore

Thana opened her mouth to say more water, but then swallowed the request. She still had half a skin. Instead, she shook her head. “Thank you, mai.”

  “You’ll all enjoy the respite you’ve earned, of course,” said the Empress, indicating the rest of the room with a sweep of her arm. “Breathe deep, for your troubles are over. We were able to locate this distant place thanks to all of your diligent work. The notes you left behind were quite meticulous. We were correct in assigning such a capable group to the task. We only regret not perusing those notes sooner—if we’d known then what we know now, we might have saved you such a troublesome journey.”

  “By distant place, you don’t mean the Aer Essifs?” asked Heru.

  “Patience.” The Empress held up a hand. “But yes—you’re in our tent, which is situated at the base of one of the pillars in the mountain range commonly referred to as the Aer Essifs. After reading your notes, we directed all of our librarians to search the palace high and low for this notebook you described. We believed it might be useful in your endeavor, if it even existed.”

  The Empress had Heru’s complete attention. “You found it.”

  “Yes.” Her smile brimmed with self-satisfaction. “It was a simple matter of leaving no stone unturned. Quite literally.”

  Heru stepped forward. “I must see it.”

  “Patience,” repeated the Empress. “You will see it in due time. The notebook’s contents helped us comprehend the enormity of the situation. As clever and resourceful as you are, we realized we’d made a terrible error in sending you on this mission alone. It will indeed take an army to defeat Djet.”

  “So you know how to stop him, mai?” asked Mo.

  “We do.” The Empress smiled. “And it’s a simple thing, now that you’ve arrived. But don’t worry about the threat. Before the night is out, Djet will be a man of history once more.”

  “Where is he?” asked Thana. “He had a lead of days on us—he should be here by now.”

  “He is near.”

  “If that’s true, I must see his notes immediately, your Imperial Highness,” said Heru. “Therein lies the key to stopping him.”

  The Empress waved a hand. “Tamit has already secured that key. That’s why we are here tonight, camped at the base of the Aer Essifs. Your research gave us the name of these mountains, but Djet’s notebook helped us locate them. We suspect the Wastes keep many secrets. But don’t worry—in another hour, the time will be ripe to begin and we can put all of this behind us. Your part in this story is at an end. Relax. Rest. Our slaves will attend you.”

  Thana’s fingers twisted around the waterskin as she fought the urge to drink, a fight which she soon lost. The skin was emptying quickly and she didn’t want to find out what would happen when the water was all gone. Her mind was clouding again and although she realized the significance of what the Empress was saying, she couldn’t yet find relief. Why hadn’t Heru asked for help with removing the guuli yet? What was he waiting for?

  “The notebook?” pressed Heru.

  “Of course, Sametket. Perhaps a second glance will elucidate our situation further.” The Empress snapped her fingers. “Tamit, if you would be so kind.”

  “I cannot believe you found it,” said Heru, breathless. “It should have been destroyed when he was. And now—all that knowledge—I have to see it. I must understand. I have so many questions.” He ran a hand through his uncovered hair; his tagel hung around his neck, smeared with dust and ash and blood. “Where is it?”

  “Another tent,” said Tamit. He beckoned to Heru, who all but trotted across the room to join him.

  Heru followed Tamit out without a backward glance. Thana pushed down the thrum of concern that rose in her throat; he’d be fine. They were safe. To reassure herself, she gave the room another glance, her gaze snagging on Mo. She and Heru were both a mess, their wraps stained with dust and blood and ash and soot. Mo’s braids were in disarray and several hung loose from their tight weave. But while Heru was still bright-eyed and engaged, Mo was haggard and worn, her expression blank with exhaustion.

  Thana ached to go to her, to hold and comfort her, but she wasn’t sure she could stand. Besides, Mo didn’t want anything to do with her. The memory struck sudden and fierce, like a trodden snake hidden between stones. Mo had begun to care about her again out there in the Wastes, but that had been Mo the healer, concerned about the guuli. Now that they were safe, Mo would go back to ignoring her.

  Before Thana’s thoughts could spiral any further, Tamit returned, alone. He crossed the room to stand again at his Empress’s side. As Thana studied the first advisory marabi, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d seen him before: a tall figure in a blood-red wrap, eyes as dark as midnight. With what felt like a world-tilting lurch, Thana finally placed him: Tamit had been at Drum Chief Eken’s party. And then later, at Idir’s inn.

  Why?

  “If I may be so bold as to remind your Imperial Highness,” said Tamit, gaze fixed ahead, “we have preparations to complete before we can begin the ceremony. Some of the marab are still incapacitated from the march—”

  “Ah, yes,” interrupted the Empress. Her gaze fell on Mo. “We’ve heard wondrous things about the ability of healers near the Wastes. If you’d grant us an hour of your time, we would benefit from your assistance in our healing tents. Our journey was quick, but not painless. Semma will show you where you’re needed most.”

  Mo glanced at Thana, her expression tight with uncertainty. “But Thana needs—”

  “Your friend will be given a room and all the rest she requires,” said the Empress gently. “When he has a chance, Semma will see to her personally. Of course, we do understand if you’d rather not help…”

  Mo bit her lip, then turned away from Thana and nodded. “I’ll go.”

  An older man in a faded blue wrap stepped forward, bowed to Mo, and then gestured for her to follow. Mo cast one last glance at Thana before leaving the Empress’s tent. Thana resisted the urge to open her mouth and tell her no, please stay. Apprehension squeezed her chest tight. Too many terrible things had happened to them. Despite all the evidence, she still couldn’t believe they were truly safe.

  But they were in the Empress’s camp, surrounded by soldiers and marab. They couldn’t be safer. Djet wouldn’t be able to touch them here.

  Thana fumbled with the waterskin, spilling some across her wrap before it touched her lips. Then she drank deep, too deep. When she forced the skin back down, it was almost empty. She needed to ask the Empress for help.

  Thana cleared her throat, but before she could form the words, the Empress spoke. “It appears that we are finally alone, assassin.”

  Thana’s focus, previously disjointed and fuzzy, sharpened to a fine point.

  “You’re misinformed, mai,” she said. “That was only a ruse Heru played. It wasn’t true.”

  The Empress stood and stepped down from her chair, her bracelets jangling. “Your contract was not on us, that part is true. But don’t lie to me, Thana.”

  She silently counted her weapons in a fruitless attempt to calm her suddenly galloping heart: three knives across her chest, a longer blade on one thigh, a set of rings, and her garrote. Everything else, including her poison darts, were still with the camel. With aching slowness, Thana unfolded from the floor and stood. “How—?”

  “Why didn’t you complete your contract?”

  Thana’s mouth was dryer than dust. She moistened her lips, took a swig from the skin, and croaked, “What?”

  “Were you not paid enough?” The Empress took a step forward; Thana matched her with a step back. “We’d only heard praise for your family and their professionalism. Yet, here we are, two months on and the contract is still open. At this point, we’re not certain you still intend to complete it. If you’ve had a change of heart, simply say so. We can come to a new … arrangement.”

  “I—you—” Thana fought for words, drinking more water to settle her thoughts. But she was dangerously low. “You
can’t mean—?” She gestured in the direction Heru had disappeared.

  “You aren’t stupid, girl. What other contract is there? Yes, we sent Tamit ahead of Sametket to secure a contract and ensure its completion.”

  “But—why? He’s your second advisory marabi.”

  “We needed him dead,” said the Empress. “Now that he’s here—and still alive—we might have a use for him yet.” Her gaze hardened into something dangerous. “You, on the other hand—we were assured that if you failed to complete the contract, your body would belong to us. And here you are. How convenient.”

  “There were intervening circumstances,” said Thana quickly. “I was attacked by Djet. And anyway, Djet’s threat is more dire than any contract. It’s not an excuse, but surely you must agree. You sent Heru to stop Djet. You still had a use for Heru, otherwise you could have ordered him killed while he was in the palace.”

  “The situation had changed before he reached our palace. We wanted to know what he knew. But we are the Empress of Mehewret and we do not broker in forgiveness. The terms of the contract were clear. You broke the contract; your life and body are forfeit.”

  Pulse thudding in her ears, Thana counted the other people in the room. There was the Empress herself, small and lithe but weaponless. Tamit, who likewise carried no visible weapons, but whose fingers curled as he listened. The guard Atrex, whose gaze was focused on her, hand on the hilt of his sword. That left two red-clad marab and four slaves who hadn’t moved since Thana woke.

  The slaves would hide or run at the first sign of a fight. She could have killed Heru a hundred times if it weren’t for her bad luck, so she wasn’t too worried about Tamit, but the guard—

  Why is there only one guard? asked Amastan for the first time in weeks. Either she doesn’t think you’re a threat, even though she hired you, or—

  Or she knows something that I don’t, finished Thana.

  This wasn’t what it seemed.

  The Empress was watching her, a smile spreading across her face. A chill touched Thana’s spine and set her nerves on fire.

  “You’re not here to stop Djet.”

  No one moved. Thana’s gaze flicked from guard to slave to marabi and horror slithered and uncoiled within her along with understanding. All of the Empress’s subjects, save Tamit and Atrex, were as still as stone. They weren’t breathing. And their eyes—how had she not noticed their eyes? They were glassy and dead, like the bound in Ghadid and in the desert. Like Salid’s eyes had been. His charm should have warned her, it should have blazed hot and painful …

  … as it had been doing since the guul attacked.

  “G-d.” Thana slipped a knife into her palm, but her weakness was returning, her thoughts becoming slippery and thin. She should take another pull of water, but there was only a mouthful left and she didn’t dare take her eyes off Tamit.

  “No use calling on your G-d now,” said the Empress. “There’s only us.”

  “What did you do?”

  The Empress laughed, delighted. “Do you think we’re going to waste our time by explaining everything to you? We’ve got a schedule to keep.”

  “Yes, actually, I was hoping you would,” said Thana, the words rushing out. She fought to stay centered and focused, but the thirst was creeping up her throat as the guuli roused. She could taste the hot acrid wind before a storm, could smell nothing but burnt metal and hot sand. Not now, not now.

  Tamit’s hand closed around something in his pocket. Salid’s charms had protected Thana from jaan and guul and Heru, but she wasn’t certain they’d protect her from Tamit. But he’d need to touch her before he could do anything to her jaani and she had her knife and the shreds of her wit and—

  A warm hand fell on Thana’s shoulder. She jerked around and stared into the Empress’s dusky beauty. She’d been so focused on Tamit and containing the guuli that she hadn’t registered the warning jangle of the Empress’s bracelets. This close, Thana could see the flaws in her skin, the wrinkles and folds that betrayed her age, the raw redness around her eyes from days and days of riding through the Wastes, the dark cracks in her lips where blood had dried, the dust in the edges of her clothes and across her scalp. Her breath reeked of roses and rot.

  “No,” said the Empress. “We don’t think an explanation is necessary.”

  The Empress’s grip tightened until Thana’s whole arm went numb. Salid’s charm burned, searing her skin. Tamit closed the gap between them and produced a stoppered vial, its contents smoky and opaque, from his pocket. He yanked the stopper out as the Empress’s fingers wormed their way between Thana’s teeth, forcing them apart.

  It all happened too fast for Thana’s dulled senses. She tasted metal and dust and a cloying sweetness, like date juice, as the vial’s liquid poured into her mouth. She gagged and tried to spit it out, but the Empress closed her hand over Thana’s nose and lips. Desperate for water, the guuli swallowed.

  The Empress released her. Tamit shoved the stopper back in and palmed the vial. Then he simply watched. The room was silent. Salid’s charms were so hot, they must be burning through her skin, her muscle, down to her bone, but charms couldn’t stop whatever Tamit had done.

  The liquid washed through her, chasing away the guuli’s desiccating touch. The smell of hot wind and sand flared, so sudden and powerful that she might’ve stepped into a storm—and then it was gone, leaving nothing behind but a burnt taste. The thirst vanished, along with the haze that had wrapped tight around her head. Thana felt whole again, if exhausted. Then all of her aches and pains rushed into the gap the guuli had left behind, the worst of which was around her waist: the charms were on fire.

  “I came to ask, on line ninety-two—wait, what are you doing?”

  The Empress and Tamit ignored Heru standing in the tent’s entrance, a thick, poorly bound manuscript in his arms. Heru’s gaze flicked across the three of them, expression giving away nothing. Then he tucked the manuscript under his arm and pulled his tagel over his nose.

  “I said—” began Heru, approaching.

  But Thana didn’t hear what he said. She’d begun to shake and a humming filled her ears and drowned out everything else. The Empress held Thana’s arms down as they tried to fly up, no longer her own, even as her consciousness sharpened. It was as if someone had cut all tethers between her mind and her body. She could only wait and watch as the guuli twisted into itself and ripped away from her.

  The Empress pressed her palm against Thana’s chest, something sharp and solid between her fingers. She leaned in, digging the object into Thana’s breastbone. The room spun and burned white and then something was screeching up her throat like scorching bile and forcing her mouth open and pouring out of her.

  The room went dark. A moment later, the hum turned to a buzz and stars burst in the blackness. A coarse rug scraped across her cheek and upper arm. She was cold all over but for the charm, which now pulsed with a soothing warmth. Beneath its glass, she could feel the scrape of new blisters.

  Stay still, said Amastan. Don’t move. Think.

  Thana stopped trying to open her eyes. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, staying as quiet as possible. She searched herself, but found no lingering scrap of the guuli. The Empress had removed it. Why?

  “What did you do?” asked Heru, his voice closer now. Calm. Curious.

  “You should recognize the procedure,” answered the Empress. “After all, you refined it.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Heru. “But I see no reason to remove her jaani.”

  A second chill pulsed through Thana. Only the Empress hadn’t taken her jaani—she’d removed the guuli. The Empress hadn’t known Thana was possessed and had failed to differentiate between the two. The urge to get up and run was strong, but she held still instead. She was in a camp, surrounded by hundreds of the Empress’s soldiers. The Empress had her camel and supplies and they were days and weeks away from any city or town.

  And then there was Mo.

  M
o.

  Fear sliced through the chill and in its wake came fury. The Empress had sent Mo away, had purposefully isolated them. She’d been planning this. She’d offered them safety and Thana had been so tired, so desperate to believe her. And now Mo was in danger. Her fury tightened into resolution: the Empress would pay for this. In the meantime, Thana needed a plan, and to make a plan she needed to know what was going on, which meant she needed to act like a body recently relieved of its jaani: dead.

  “Justice has been done,” said the Empress. “This girl was a danger and a fool. Her carelessness might have ruined everything we’ve been working toward.”

  “I was not aware you’d been taught how to remove jaan,” said Heru.

  A toe prodded the small of Thana’s back. Thana’s heart jumped. Heru would realize she wasn’t dead. He’d notice she was still breathing, he’d understand what had happened, and he’d betray her. He had no reason to help her, not now that he had everything he’d wanted. Thana inched the hand trapped under her side closer to her thigh and the knife strapped there.

  “There are many things of which you aren’t aware, Sametket. For one, you kept close company with this girl, but she’d been contracted to kill you.”

  “I knew that,” said Heru dismissively. “And I’m glad she’s dead. I only wish you’d allowed me the privilege.”

  Thana’s hand froze halfway down her side—was he that dense?

  “What are you doing?” asked the Empress sharply.

  Fingers brushed Thana’s neck, so sudden that her swallowed cry still came out as a muffled squeak. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to breathe while Heru took her pulse.

  The fingers lifted and Heru said, “I only wished to confirm that the severance was clean and complete. After many years of performing similar jaani nullifications, I’ve learned through experience to check. There’s little fun involved when a piece of jaani remains to cause trouble. Trust me.”

  Thana’s lungs burned with held breath. Her hand continued toward the knife. She’d take Heru first.

  “You dare question our—”