A Desert Torn Asunder

by Bradley P. Beaulieu

  Someone climbed on deck and walked down the gangplank. He could see only his silhouette, but he would know Darius’s gait anywhere. He walked stiffly, his right arm held close by his side. It was from an old wound, an arrow he’d taken after they woke Hamzakiir from the dead and tried to carry him away from the Wandering King’s hidden desert palace. His right shoulder had healed poorly, limiting the movements of that arm ever since.

  But how was it he was free? Why wasn’t Darius in the ship, awaiting trial?

  Hamid followed him as he wove between the ships toward one of the few fires still lit. Darius apparently meant to sit with the group gathered there. It was comprised of men and women from many different tribes. Presently they were singing an old war ballad. Poorly. Most of them were drunk.

  Hamid needed to approach before Darius stepped into the firelight. “Darius?”

  Darius slowed, then stopped. He turned and peered into the darkness. He seemed to deflate before Hamid’s eyes. “I was hoping you wouldn’t come.”

  Hamid felt his entire body tighten. “Why would you say that?”

  “You need to go, Hamid. Leave while you still can.”

  Hamid stepped closer, only then realizing why Darius had been favoring his right arm so much. His arm ended at the wrist. There were spots of blood on the bandages wrapped tightly around the stump. “What have they done to you?”

  Darius lifted his bad arm as far as he could, which was not very far. “This was the price.”

  “The price for what?”

  “To stay, to fight with them.”

  Hamid felt his breath leave him. “You would fight with them?”

  “I know you hoped for something different. I know you had grand visions for the desert. But you saw what’s ready to befall Sharakhai. We all did.”

  “You don’t care about Sharakhai.”

  “No, you don’t. Sharakhai is all I’ve ever known.”

  “You hate what became of it. Your father died penniless working for that cunt of a horse trader. Your mother was raped and murdered by a filthy Kundhuni dog!”

  By the fire, two men snorted in laughter, distracting Darius momentarily. When he turned back to Hamid, he lifted his maimed arm higher. “I gave my hand so they wouldn’t kill me. I gave it so I would have a chance to fight for the people of the Shallows.” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “There are people you loved there. Your little sister.”

  “My sister is dead.”

  “Others like her still live. The least you can do is walk away now so we can stop the coming slaughter.”

  For long moments Hamid didn’t know what to say. “You were with me every step of the way. You watched it all happen and said nothing. You wanted it all. You wanted to rule the desert as much as I did.”

  By the fire, Jenise, one of Çeda’s Shieldwives, kicked several logs, sending a burst of embers into the air and bringing renewed life to the fire.

  “You went too far, Hamid, when you gave Macide up to Queen Meryam. You went too far when you used the asirim against the other tribes. You went too far when you tried to kill Emre.”

  “When we tried to kill him.”

  Darius closed his eyes, then nodded. “When we tried to kill him.”

  “How can you defend him?”

  “Emre isn’t the problem. Your blind hatred is.”

  “My blind hatred?” Hamid barked a laugh. “You mean to tell me you’ve seen the light? That you’re some holy priest who thinks he can walk to the farther fields with his head held high?”

  Darius’s back straightened. “Held high, no. But higher than when we were together.”

  The buzzing at the back of Hamid’s head was so loud he could hardly string two thoughts together. “Think carefully, Darius.”

  Darius’s head jerked back. It was his easy smile, though, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, that enraged Hamid. “Don’t think for a moment you can bully me, Hamid Malahin’ava.”

  “If it weren’t for me, you’d be a nothing in the Shallows, just like your father, or you’d be dead like your whore of a mother.”

  Darius’s face went blank. “Better to be nothing than to die in the desert having made nothing. Done nothing.” He gestured to the fleet around them with his good arm. “It must burn to have all your dreams stolen from you. To have nothing left save bitterness and bile.”

  The buzzing had become a tumult of sounds and memory and screaming voices, echoing inside Hamid’s skull. They deafened him. Blinded him to everything save Darius, who laughed—laughed—then turned away and strode toward the fire as if Hamid meant nothing to him.

  No, Hamid thought as he drew his kenshar. It’s you who are nothing.

  He stepped lightly over the sand, closing the distance.

  He lifted his free hand as the buzzing and screaming and laughing in his head threatened to reach his own throat. It was just there, ready to burst from him as he reached for Darius’s shoulder. It was all he could think of, that on seeing Darius’s blood the clamor might be quelled for a time.

  A small laugh escaped him as he took a fistful of Darius’s thawb. He was just ready to pull him back, clamp a hand around his mouth, and send the knife into his back, when something fluttered through the air to his right.

  He was punched hard in the chest and staggered back as pain blossomed. An arrow was sticking out of his shoulder.

  Darius turned at the sound. He stared wide-eyed at the arrow, at Hamid.

  Hamid roared, his pain and anger driving him. He lunged for Darius and lashed out with his knife, going for the throat, but Darius took a staggering step back. Hamid was ready to charge him when another arrow came streaking in.

  This time it sent Hamid stumbling sideways. He fell in an awkward, sand-spraying heap. He groaned, struggling to breathe. The second arrow had taken him through the chest.

  Darius approached carefully and stared down at Hamid with an infuriating mixture of anger and pity. Behind him, other figures resolved from the night. First Emre, then Frail Lemi.

  The buzzing in Hamid’s head had inexplicably ceased. The world was as silent as he could ever remember its being. “You set a trap for me?” he said to Darius.

  “He didn’t know,” Emre said as he dropped his bow onto the sand. “We spotted your skiff. I knew you’d go to Darius first.”

  Hamid struggled to understand how everything could have fallen apart so quickly, so completely. He tried, but he couldn’t piece it together. It was too confusing. And he was too taken by the hard look on Emre’s face.

  “You’re pitiful,” Hamid said to him in a long wheeze. “You’ll go to Sharakhai. Throw yourselves against her walls. But you’re all going to die.”

  Uncaring, Emre straddled his hips and prised Hamid’s knife from his enfeebled hand. “You first,” he said, and pressed the knife through Hamid’s ribs, piercing his heart.

  * * *

  For a long while, Emre held the knife to Hamid’s chest. He felt Hamid’s breaths become more shallow. Felt them cease altogether as his body went slack.

  Only then did he stand, leaving Hamid’s knife where it was. Were it anyone else Emre might have wondered what those unseeing eyes saw and what sort of life awaited them in the farther fields. In Hamid’s case, he found he didn’t care to think about it. He’d spent too much of his life worrying about Hamid.

  They had a city to save. A whole desert.

  Those from the nearby fire had come to see what had happened. A ring of onlookers formed around them, talking in low voices. Emre heard Hamid’s name being passed among them.

  Frail Lemi, meanwhile, stared down at Hamid’s lifeless form. Emre couldn’t tell if he was furious or relieved. Maybe he was both. Emre never learned which; Frail Lemi turned and walked away without a word, leaving Emre alone with Darius.

  Emre wasn’t quite sure how Darius was feelin
g. He’d cared deeply for Hamid at one time, and though he’d renounced his former lover’s ways, Emre could tell he was battling with his emotions.

  “Do you wish to say anything?” Emre asked him.

  Darius couldn’t seem to take his eyes from Hamid. When he finally did, he blinked away tears and shook his head. “No.”

  A moment later, Frail Lemi returned with two shovels and handed one to Emre, who accepted it with a nod. As the two of them began digging Hamid’s grave, Darius turned his back on the still form and wove his way through the encircling crowd. As the grave deepened, the sound of the shovels rhythmic, others did the same.

  By the time they rolled Hamid into the hole and covered him with sand, none were left to witness it.

  Chapter 36

  Meryam stood on the docks of Mazandir’s southern harbor. Ashael loomed above her, staring down with bandaged eyes while his demons swarmed around the two of them. The vortex they created was strong. The wind tugged at her clothes, whipped her hair against her face and eyes. It felt as if she were in the center of a sand devil, the shrieking demons grains of sand swirling ever tighter around her.

  Even through her panic, she knew this was Ramahd’s doing. He’d somehow made Ashael aware of her. Her saving grace was that Ashael was still lost in the land of dreams. She could see him as he stood beside the ocean and stared at the lapping waves and the fleet of waterborne ships. Meryam herself was still hidden, but thanks to Ramahd, Ashael had sensed her, become curious about her. He was moments from seeing through the illusion and waking fully.

  In the dream, his gaze pierced. His two broad horns fanned like wings. She felt naked and exposed, as she had when the blood mage, Meiying, had burned her magic from her. As then, her failure felt like a certainty, a foregone conclusion.

  How you thought you could stand against an elder I’ll never understand. It was Yasmine’s voice, taunting her.

  Meryam’s right hand reflexively clutched the leather pouch at her belt, holding the filings of Goezhen’s horn, which had caught Ashael in a dream of Meryam’s making.

  “All is not yet lost,” Meryam said under her voice.

  Yasmine’s laugh was biting. Well of course it is, sister.

  “No, it isn’t,” Meryam vowed, louder this time. “The god has not yet awoken.”

  As if drawn by her thoughts, Ashael crouched, his sandaled feet still hovering off the ground. The scent of brimstone, charred myrrh, and desert sage grew stronger.

  Meryam had been forced to abandon her guise as one of the fates—Ashael’s will was simply too strong to maintain it. She played the part of the harbor master instead. “Why have you come, Ashael the Terrible?” As she spoke, she tugged at the pouch, reaching for more of the powder. “How have we angered you?”

  The pallid skin of Ashael’s brow furrowed. He reached up and touched the skin around his eyes, where in the real world tattered bandages covered them. He was so close to piercing the veil—if he did, Yasmine’s dire omen would prove true.

  “I beg you to leave,” Meryam shouted over the din of flapping wings. “Your servants have taken enough!”

  Ashael made a low, deep sound like the horns the Kundhuni used to mark the moons’ rising. Meryam reached into the pouch and grabbed a handful of powder. Several demons approached, curious. One hovered between her and Ashael. It had a ravenous look, as though it wanted to sample her flesh. At a wave of Ashael’s hand, it screeched and returned to the gyre.

  Meryam thought of throwing the powder at Ashael, but to do that would be to alert him to its existence.

  Give up, Yasmine urged. Give up your fool dream and join me in the land beyond.

  Ignoring her, Meryam let the powder sift through her fingers. So strong were the currents formed by the cloud of demons around her that it was borne up into the air. She saw it curling, blooming subtly like drops of ink in water.

  Ashael’s eyes, so sharply focused a moment ago, went distant. He stood and considered the demons around him, then the ships in the harbor.

  You have enough, Meryam willed him. Take your ships and the mortals within them. Go to the city that has always been your goal, where Iri himself lies hidden.

  He would, she felt him decide. He would take his army and destroy the golden city as proof to Iri and all the rest that he was not to be taken lightly.

  Decided, Ashael rose from his crouch and floated across the waves. His murder of ravens followed. The fleet would come last, the soldiers in his righteous crusade.

  Meryam found herself blinking, breathing hard, alone on Mazandir’s sandy docks. Ashael floated above the caravanserai, heading toward Sharakhai. His horde of demons followed. She took in the Qaimiri ships that were still in the harbor. It wasn’t as complete a victory as she had hoped, but it was enough.

  Ramahd surprised you, didn’t he? Yasmine asked.

  He had. Ramahd had somehow entered the dream she’d crafted to manipulate Ashael.

  Well, what did you expect? Yasmine went on smugly. He spent years linked with you, watching you manipulate the minds of others.

  “Be quiet.” She considered having Ashael turn around, kill Ramahd, and take what was rightfully hers.

  Do that and he might take it all from you.

  “I said be quiet!”

  Yasmine laughed and might have said more, but just then Meryam’s thoughts were interrupted by The Gray Gull’s approach. She’d take time to consider Ramahd, to find ways to prevent his manipulating her dreams in the future. In the meantime, she had what she’d come for: ships and soldiers to protect her while Ashael and his host fell upon the forces gathered around Sharakhai.

  The Gray Gull glided to a halt in the center of the harbor. As Meryam climbed down the stone stairs to the sand and headed toward it, the other ships, all with crews controlled by Ashael, began to set sail. By the time Meryam gained the Gull’s deck, they were underway and sailing after the demonic host in the distance.

  As the Gull trailed after them, Meryam went to the foredeck, stood beside Amaryllis, and marveled at the sight of it: thirty ships and two thousand soldiers to call her own. “We’re nearly there,” she said, more to herself than Amaryllis.

  The long silence that followed was uncharacteristic of Amaryllis. Meryam turned to find her staring restlessly at the fleet ahead, her gaze flitting from ship to ship to ship.

  Among her newly formed fleet, only the Gull’s crew retained free will. The rest had their heads wrapped by the small demons, the ifins, their lamprey mouths clamped to the base of their victims’ necks while twin sets of wings wrapped their heads. Between the wings, their victims’ eyes peeked through. Without exception they were wide as saucers, as if the trapped man or woman were living a nightmare.

  It’s like a grand net, Meryam mused. The ifin control the minds of the mortals. The ifin, in turn, are controlled by Ashael. And I am Ashael’s master.

  Yes, came Yasmine’s distant reply, but for how long?

  Ignoring her sister, Meryam turned to face Amaryllis. “What troubles you, dear Amaryllis?”

  Amaryllis shook her head as if nothing were the matter, but then said, “Couldn’t they be freed now that we’ve won?”

  “Freed?”

  “Yes.” Amaryllis pulled her gaze away and regarded Meryam with a neutral expression. It was a composed look, meant to convey that her request was driven by simple prudence, not emotion. “Surely they’ll see they cannot stand against you.”

  “But they already have stood against me.”

  “Some of them did. Hektor. Ramahd. Mateo.”

  “Basilio,” Meryam added.

  “Basilio,” Amaryllis acknowledged, though she seemed reluctant to do so. “But the bulk of them merely take orders. They’ll follow you. I’m sure of it.”

  “And what if Hektor returns? Who would they follow then?”

  Amaryllis knew she was caught,
yet she still shrugged and waved to the ships ahead where, all across the decks, ifins flapped their wings lazily. “Surely there are some who are loyal to you.”

  “How could I tell the difference between them?”

  “You know them. I know them. I could give you a list of fifty right now.”

  “Yes, but allegiances shift.”

  “Only among the weak. We’ll choose the strong.”

  “Are you strong, Amaryllis?”

  Amaryllis blinked as if just realizing what Meryam was hinting at—an act, Meryam was sure, but a good one. “My queen,” she said, “of course I am! How could you think otherwise?”

  Meryam smiled easily and reached one hand up to stroke Amaryllis’s cheek, her comely chin. “You may be right. Let me think on it.”

  “Of course, my queen.”

  Seeming relieved, Amaryllis left to help the crew. They sailed on, and Mazandir shrank behind them. Focusing on the horde ahead, Meryam took a pinch of black powder and sniffed it. Her mind was suddenly alive with the dream she’d given Ashael. They sailed across an achingly beautiful sea with white-tipped waves. One day, she’d return to the sea, not as a queen, but as a conqueror.

  A conqueror, she mused, because queen is not enough. She saw that now. No one could be trusted. Not Ramahd. Not Basilio. Not even Amaryllis.

  Ahead, the elder god floated over the sea with his cloud of shrieking ravens. With but an urging from Meryam, a small flock broke away and flapped toward her.

  “My queen?” Amaryllis called. She saw no ravens, but ifins approaching The Gray Gull.

  “I’ve thought on it,” Meryam said.

  The ifins reached the ship and winged through the rigging.

  “My queen!”

  That was all she managed before one of the ifins descended on her, wrapped its wings around her head, and clamped its mouth onto the back of her neck. Moments later the same happened to the rest of the crew.

  Some struggled, their limbs thudding against the deck and making hollow wounds. Then all was silence once more.

  On they sailed.