The Impossible Contract
Page 33
“No. It’s them. I know it. Salid said before he, before he—some survived.”
“We can wait until morning.”
“You can,” said Thana. “I won’t.”
She knelt at the edge of their tent and placed a hand on Mo’s warm calf. “Mo love, wake up—we need to go.”
Mo sat up as quickly as Thana had. She blinked away sleep, fingers fumbling through the blanket for her staff, finding it, gripping it tight. “What is it? What’s happening?”
“There are people in Ghadid.”
“Yes,” said Heru. “But we don’t know who—”
Mo set the staff across her lap and began pulling her braids into a knot. She’d run out of ribbons. “What? How do you know?”
“Campfires,” said Thana, already pulling the tent from its stakes and folding it in on itself.
Mo retied her wrap, then peered at the sky. “It’s not even past midnight yet. Shouldn’t we wait for dawn?”
“They don’t know about the water. We can’t let it happen again.”
Mo dropped her gaze to Thana, her lips pressed tight. She nodded. “You’re right. If there’s any chance we can get to them before they drink the water, or before someone dies—”
Heru snorted his annoyance. “The chances of you intercepting either situation in a timely manner are slim. In all likelihood, it is much too late and they’ve already had their fill of the water. If anything, that’s more of a reason to wait until light; at least we’ll be able to see them when they attack us.”
Mo bit her lower lip, but didn’t look at Heru. She stooped, started folding the blanket. “I can’t take that chance, as small as it may be.” But there was little conviction in Mo’s words; she was doing this for Thana.
Heru continued to protest, but when they broke camp a few minutes later and goaded their bound camels to a gallop, he was with them. The stars shifted, but the fires stayed along the horizon. As they neared, Thana realized the fires were clustered in just one neighborhood. Seraf. Home.
The pylons grew and stretched upward until they towered overhead like mountains. Thana cast around for a way to ascend, but she had no rope and there’d be no carriages waiting for them. She steered her camel toward one of the cables; she’d just have to climb. Easy enough, after everything else she’d done.
As soon as Thana dismounted, though, a light flared on the platform’s rim. She looked up and could just make out flames thrust over the edge: a torch.
“Hello down there!” called someone, voice deep. “Are you sane?”
The elation that burst in Thana was almost as cold as her fear. Alive. They were alive. But what were Azal doing in her city? And the question—Thana honestly wasn’t certain.
Thankfully, Mo found the words before she did. “We are sane. Praise be to G-d.”
The torch jerked. “Praise be to G-d. May he do well for you.”
“And you,” chorused Thana and Mo.
“Are you in need of rest and shelter?”
“Yes,” said Mo. “We have traveled long and far.”
“So if you would kindly let us up, that’d be great,” added Thana.
The torch hovered over the edge of the platform for a moment, as if considering, then abruptly disappeared. Pained creaking filled the air and a carriage dropped over the platform’s side. Thana stared in disbelief as it descended, swaying back and forth on the cable. She hadn’t expected the guard to be so trusting. Shouldn’t they be afraid of another attack?
As they hobbled and unburdened their camels, Heru led his on, then stopped and blocked Thana’s way. She tried to move around him, but he held out his hand. Her throwing knife lay in his palm.
Thana’s breath caught. She snatched the blade from his hand without thinking. Her fingers curled around its short hilt with the ease of familiarity and she brought her arm back as if she were going to throw. But she dropped her hand instead and met Heru’s gaze with no small amount of confusion.
“I kept it with me in the very likely event we were attacked by the angry guul and unbound jaan that populate the Wastes,” said Heru. “But since we’ve left the Wastes behind and will once more join the living, it will benefit us all if you have the knife.”
“You’re not worried I’ll try to kill you?”
“Your employer is dead,” said Heru. “And I have proven my use to you, as you have proven yours to me.”
The corner of Thana’s lips twitched up in a smile. “Coming from you, that’s high praise.”
Heru abruptly turned away. “Yes. Well. Don’t let it go to your head.”
Thana watched him help Mo with her camel. Then, shaking her head, she slid the throwing knife into its sheath and heaved a bag onto the carriage. As soon as they’d secured their packs to the hooks, the carriage jerked and began moving upward.
A young man with a low-tied, dark blue tagel waited for them at the top. Behind him, another man and a woman worked the crank. The woman secured the lever, her hair in two long braids, her wrap a dusty rose. The second man was broad-shouldered and muscular, his blue tagel obscuring everything but beetle-black eyes. Thana wondered what she and Heru and Mo must look like, with their fading bruises, blood-mottled clothes, and dust-choked skin. They’d be indistinguishable from iluk. But with all the sand they’d crossed, they were iluk.
“Welcome to Ghadid,” said the young man, his words much richer when they weren’t being yelled. He pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m Bilel, son of the bright Namara. This is Azhar and Sofin”—he indicated the woman and the older man—“both of the same tribe.”
“You’re Azal,” said Thana. She didn’t mean to sound so disappointed, but the breath had been sucked from her. She’d hoped—no, known—she’d find her people here, returned from whatever hiding place they’d found to weather the storm. But of course, that had been a baseless, even ludicrous hope.
Bilel inclined his head in agreement, but Sofin spoke, his voice silky smooth. “Who is it you seek, ma?”
“The people who lived here.”
Sofin grunted, but whether in recognition or pity, Thana couldn’t decide. Azhar let out a long, soft breath.
“I’m so sorry, ma.” Azhar put her hand on Thana’s arm. “I regret to inform you that a great and terrible thing happened here—”
“We know,” snapped Heru. “The water was poisoned and the dead woke and slaughtered everyone. The Empress of the Mehewret Empire took the dead and brought them into the Wastes to release an old evil and gain ridiculously incomprehensible powers. Only she was an imbecile and lost those powers—and now here we are. Sans a large, bound army of the dead, of course. We left that behind. I wouldn’t advise going too deep into the Wastes.”
Azhar had raised her hand when Heru mentioned the water, but Heru hadn’t bothered to stop. Now she coughed and said, “What do you mean about the water?”
“It was contaminated with a magic that would bind the jaani of the drinker so that upon their death they’d become mindlessly chained to the Empress’s will, but half of that equation has been taken care of and it will be a simple thing to cleanse the entire aquifer, given time. Just, try not to die for a few days.”
Sofin looked alarmed, but Azhar only laughed. “The Wastes must have addled your minds, friends.” She motioned to Thana. “But not everyone who lived here died in the tragedy. Some escaped. I’m hesitant to offer false hope, but if you’re looking for someone—”
Thana’s heart sped up. “Where? Where are they?” She stepped forward, but Mo’s hand tightened around hers, stopping her from going any further.
“Many died in the siege, yes, and many more succumbed to the curse, but a handful managed to flee the city. They hid in the Wastes with other refugees and Azal—Ghadid wasn’t the only city hit by this curse. When the danger passed, they returned. I can take you to their leader, if you want.”
“Please.”
Azhar bowed her head. “This way.”
The Azali woman led them across the platform and past
forms huddled next to small, contained fires. Some work had been done on the buildings here and there. A door replaced, glass cleaned away from broken windows, a roof retiled. And, but for the occasional pile shoved to one side, the streets were clear of debris.
They crossed a bridge with new wooden planks and then they were only one platform away from home. Thana could have found that red door with her eyes closed, but she resisted the urge to start running. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if it was still broken, her platform untouched. Her chest tightened and her palms grew slick as they crossed another bridge. Beyond flickered more fires, contained and under control. Beyond, the streets were clear.
Then her feet left the bridge and felt the firm, familiar stones of home. There were no piles of debris here and some of the buildings even had a fresh coat of paint. Doors had been rehung, if not replaced completely, and torches burned in the sconces along the road.
Yet, instead of hope, Thana only felt dread. Too much had happened. Too much had gone wrong. Once before she’d thought she’d come home, only to find destruction. Now her city was being reconstructed, but it was still different. The should-be-familiar surroundings were like shouts on the wind, distorted and off. Even the light was wrong: the orange-hued glass around the torches was all broken, gone.
As Azhar led them mercilessly toward the center of the platform, Thana’s feet dragged. She should stop. Turn around. She didn’t want to see this. Couldn’t. And yet, some force drew her onward, step by step.
A fire burned at the platform’s center, fueled by shattered wood and balls of dung and hemmed in by the crumbled stone from destroyed buildings. Gaps like missing teeth loomed between the houses circling the center where the buildings had been completely torn down.
People clustered around the fire, conversing in low voices and passing a brazier of tea. Azhar held up a hand, stopping Thana, Heru, and Mo. She went on ahead. Thana couldn’t help but look around the circle; one door was bright with fresh red paint. Her door.
Azhar had only begun to speak when the tone of the conversation around the fire abruptly changed. One man set his teacup down with a clatter and started toward them. He wore a dusty green tagel and was as tall as Thana and just as lean. What started as a fast walk soon became a limping run. Hope caught in Thana’s chest like a spark from a striker, but she couldn’t let it flare, not yet.
He skidded to a stop still a dozen feet away. “Thana?” His face above the tagel was flushed, eyes searching hers. “Please G-d, let it be you and not a jaani come to torment me.”
Thana’s heart stopped. And then she was throwing her arms around her cousin and holding him tight, because she’d know that face and that voice and those eyes and that tagel anywhere.
“Amastan.”
“I got you. I’m here,” said Amastan. His voice sounded so different when it wasn’t in her head.
“I thought you were dead,” said Thana.
“It’s all right, I’m not. I’m here, I’m alive. You’re alive.”
The numbness that had sat heavy on her chest since Thana had first seen her city in ruins finally broke. It wasn’t fine. It would never be fine. Nothing could be the same again and she knew that now, knew that better than she’d known anything else. Killing the Empress couldn’t undo the damage she’d caused.
“We’ll rebuild,” said Amastan. “You’ll see. You’re here and I’m here and that’s what matters. It’s the only thing we can do.”
Thana pulled back. Mo stood only a few feet away, her smile tense with pain. Heru was being lead to the pumphouse by a lanky girl with long braids—Illi. Beyond, more and more people filtered out of buildings and streets, some yawning, some rubbing their eyes, but all drawn by the outburst and spectacle. They weren’t all Azal, but they weren’t all from Ghadid, either.
Amastan followed her gaze. “More survived than I thought possible. The other cities were completely decimated, but we took on their survivors. We were all out there on the sands together, until it was safe enough to return. Our cousins were amazing, you should have seen them. Illi must’ve taken down a dozen herself. And your father, well … he has always been levelheaded when it was needed most. He’s gone to the other neighborhoods to help with the recovery efforts, of course. I’ll send someone to find him, let him know you returned.” He swallowed. “But Salid stayed behind and … your mother—”
Thana didn’t want to hear him say it. “I know.”
Amastan took a deep breath. “We burned her body on the sands. I can take you there later, if you want.”
Thana’s sob startled her. It was brief, but sudden and sharp. Her mother hadn’t been in that seal, she hadn’t been one of the bound. It was a small thing, but the relief burst inside her and burned away some of her grief.
“I do,” said Thana.
Amastan took her by the shoulders and peered into her eyes. “What happened?”
But Thana shook her head. For the first time since Ghadid had been destroyed, she could see a future. One where Ghadid was rebuilt, one where she found a new home, a new purpose, a new life. The construction and people around her were here, now, a reminder of what they’d all survived but also a promise of what was to come.
“Not now.” Thana took Amastan’s hand. “Can you show me around first?”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book was decades in the making, and I could easily thank decades-worth of people for all the help, love, encouragement, and support they’ve given me. A writer is grown daily by their own words and by others’, and no encouragement is ever wasted.
Thank you to the Tor team for all your ongoing work. Thank you to Larry Rostant for such an amazing cover. Thank you most particularly to Diana M. Pho, my editor, who first believed in this not-so-little queer book and made sure everybody else did, too.
Thank you to my agent, Kurestin Armada, who saw the potential in Thana and co and who has unwaveringly stood up for this book for all the many, many years in between.
Thank you to Elesha Teskey, who answered my panicked online call for help when I desperately needed to cut 10k words out of a manuscript and gave me a crash course in brevity.
Thank you to my beta readers—Eldridge Wisely, Penny Morris, and Sarah Doore—who have put up with multiple drafts over the years and are just as confused as I am as to what’s real anymore.
Thank you to my agent-siblings in the Armada, who have cheered me on and been just such a fantastic hype squad. You guys mean so much to me.
Thank you to the 2019 Debut Authors group for being such an understanding and safe place to exist and emote through all this.
Thank you to the Pima County Public Library, in whose well air-conditioned building I wrote 90 percent of this book.
Thank you to my parents, without whose support and love I’d never have made it half this far, and who have always accepted who I am. Not everyone’s that lucky.
And of course—most of all, always, forever—thank you to my wife, Sarah, my rock and my dragon. Without you, there would be no Ghadid. Simple as that.
BOOKS BY K. A. DOORE
The Perfect Assassin
The Impossible Contract
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
K. A. DOORE was born in Florida but has since lived in Washington, Arizona, Germany, and now Michigan. She has a B.A. in classics and foreign languages and an enduring fascination with linguistics. She is the author of the Chronicles of Ghadid, starting with The Perfect Assassin. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter
1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Acknowledgments
Books by K. A. Doore
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE IMPOSSIBLE CONTRACT
Copyright © 2019 by K. A. Doore
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Larry Rostant
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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New York, NY 10271
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-9857-4 (trade paperback)
ISBN 978-0-7653-9858-1 (ebook)
eISBN 9780765398581
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First Edition: November 2019