“We should all be in a good mood,” she replied. “We’re almost there.”
Kesari sat up a little straighter. “We’re almost to the other side?”
Saya laughed. “No, not quite.”
Kesari immediately deflated.
“Why would you even say something like that?” Amar muttered sullenly through a mouthful of bread. Lucian chuckled a little, and Amar shot him a glare.
“Sorry. I should have been more specific. We’re almost to Hayathu, where my family lives. It’s our biggest settlement. We’ll be able to restock our supplies and rest in comfort before we continue our journey.”
“Out of curiosity,” Mitul said, “how much farther is it from there to Atrea?”
“At least another two weeks,” Saya replied.
Kesari held back a groan. She’d been so hopeful that they were nearly done with this miserable place, but at least they’d get some reprieve before the long, final stretch.
They finished their food and started walking before the sun had fully risen. A few hours later, a cluster of jagged rocks came into view, protruding from the sand at sharp angles. “There it is,” Saya said, a grin breaking across her face as she pointed to the rocks.
“I thought you said it was the biggest settlement,” Amar said, shielding his eyes against the sun. “I don’t see anything.”
“You will.”
Sure enough, as they drew closer, tents of all shapes and sizes came into view between and behind the rocks. Dozens of them clung to the shade cast by enormous slabs of stone, more than Kesari had imagined there could possibly be in this empty landscape. Goats, donkeys, and even a few ghayat wandered the area, munching on the mesala, cacti, and other plants that grew more abundantly here than anywhere else they’d seen in the desert.
A few Sularan men stood on the tallest rocks outside the settlement, armed with bows and muskets. Saya raised a hand as they approached and called up to them in Sularan. They shouted something back down to her, and she laughed.
She led them through the shade of the rocks and into the settlement of Hayathu. Sularan adults worked outside their homes, sewing ghayat hides, fletching arrows, and weaving fibrous plant material into baskets. Children chased each other through the sand, squealing with laughter and unrestrained joy. Most of the people had the same tawny skin and dusty brown hair as Saya, though there were several with darker complexions and hair as black as night.
Many of the tents had been pitched around a large pit that opened up in the center of the settlement, rimmed with jagged rock that protruded horizontally over the empty air. No, not a pit, exactly, Kesari realized as they got closer. One side wasn’t enclosed, instead merging with the sheer drop of a large cliff. A rushing sound came from inside the chasm.
“Is that…water?” she asked.
Saya nodded and motioned them forward. They walked to the rim and looked down, where an underground river emerged from the mouth of a cave to pool at the bottom of the chasm. At the other end, it flowed out again, rushing over rocks in a frothy white torrent until it met the waterfall that plunged over the cliffside. Droplets of water misted over the falls and caught the sunlight to create a colorful rainbow. A few rope ladders dropped from the edge of the chasm to the large pool below. A group of people had waded into the water, bending to draw water into earthen jugs.
A loud whoop suddenly echoed from the chasm, and Kesari shifted her gaze just in time to see a Sularan child jump from one of the rocks jutting over the water. She gasped. He was going to hurt himself. Her body tensed in anticipation of the pained scream that was sure to come.
But it didn’t. Instead, the child plunged into the water. After a few seconds, he resurfaced with a bubbling laugh. Another child dove in after him, screaming delightedly all the way down. Kesari spun around. A whole line of children stood at the top of the chasm, waiting for their turn. The youngest couldn’t have been more than four or five, and the other kids all cheered for him when he stepped up to the edge and went leaping over the side. Even Saya let out a whoop.
Two of the boys standing in line perked up at the sound of her voice and turned to look at her. They grabbed the arm of the older boy in front of them and pointed. He shielded his eyes and followed the line of their fingers.
Saya raised a hand to wave at him and called out a greeting in Sularan.
The older boy shouted as he broke into a run. “Saya! Saya!” After a brief hesitation, the other two followed, pumping their shorter legs as fast as they could to keep up. All three of them were calling to Saya now, and soon there were three more figures running toward them from all directions, laughing and hollering. They came closer and closer but didn’t seem to have any intention of slowing. Kesari took a few steps away from the edge of the chasm. The pool below might break her fall, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be knocked in.
A boy of about ten rushed past Kesari from behind and slammed into Saya, wrapping his arms tight around her waist. The three boys who had spotted her first came next, the younger ones attaching themselves to both of her legs while the older one grabbed her by the hand and chattered away excitedly. Two more boys appeared seemingly out of nowhere and latched onto what was now a mass of arms, legs, and smiling faces. Saya’s laugh cut through the commotion of their voices as she ruffled their hair, shoved them playfully, and raised one of the smallest ones up onto her shoulders.
“Who are they?” Amar whispered to Mitul, but he only shrugged and shook his head in response.
Saya turned to her friends as the boys continued to chatter. “These are my brothers,” she said proudly, still grinning.
She spoke a few words to the boys in Sularan. They disentangled themselves from her and turned to stare at Kesari, Lucian, Amar, and Mitul. Now that they weren’t all clustered together, Kesari could make out individual faces. The oldest was a hair shorter than Saya, all lanky teenage limbs and a face somewhere between boy and man. The youngest two were twins, identical in every way except for their clothing. There was a little bit of Saya in all of them. One had her same full lips and piercing eyes. A few had her strong, straight nose. Another held exactly the same posture, shoulders straight and body completely still, but with muscles tensed like he could spring into action at any moment.
“They’re all your brothers?” Mitul asked.
Saya nodded and pointed to the oldest boy. “This is Halos, he’s fourteen. Hidaver is thirteen and Hursit is ten. This rascal is Hadar, he’s eight. And then the twins are six—Hilmi and Hirza.”
The twins shook their heads exuberantly and started to protest. One of them jumped up and down while the other held up seven fingers.
Saya laughed and turned back to her friends. “It’s very important to them that you all know it’s their birthday in a few days. They’ll be seven.”
The two boys smiled proudly, a matching gap showing where their front teeth had yet to grow back in.
“We have another brother,” Saya said. “Hazim. He’s sixteen, so he’s away on haseph now, too.”
Kesari had to count the boys again. Six brothers here and one on haseph, and all of them younger than Saya. She’d never seen or even heard of a family so large. In Atrea, her sibling group of three had been considered average, and two or three children were common in Kavoran families as well. Tarja healers could easily prevent pregnancy, and even in Atrea, most cities had at least a few of those. There were Tarja among the Sularans as well, but perhaps they had different ideas about family planning.
“You have seven little brothers?” Kesari asked. She tried to keep the incredulity from her voice, but it slipped out anyway.
“And you’re the only girl?” Amar said, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing either.
Saya nodded. “That’s right. Seven younger brothers, and I’m the only daughter. And before anyone asks, yes, all of us have the same mother and father.” She recited each statement in a flat tone, like she was used to answering such questions.
“It’s nice
to meet you all,” Mitul said, smiling at each of the boys.
“Nice to meet you,” a few of them repeated back in accented Kavoran.
A sudden hush seemed to fall over the entire settlement. The oldest of Saya’s brothers present—Halos, if Kesari was remembering correctly—turned around. Saya turned with him, facing a large tent that sat above the rest on a rise of flat ledge. There, a woman had emerged, standing straight and tall in front of the tent’s opening. Her hawkish gaze immediately fell on the group.
Saya’s smile fell. She inhaled a deep breath and began walking toward the tent, her brothers fanning out around her.
Kesari wasn’t sure whether to follow or stay put, but Amar and Mitul both started forward, so she fell in beside them. The woman watched, saying nothing, her expression unreadable. She held herself with a rigid dignity that radiated authority. As they drew closer, Kesari could make out the subtle age lines creased into her weathered face. Her attire was more colorful and decorative than that of the other Sularans in the settlement, and her ash brown hair had been woven into a pair of long, elaborate braids that fell over her shoulders.
“Who is that?” Kesari whispered to Mitul, not really expecting him to have an answer.
“I have no idea,” he replied, then glanced at the still silent Sularans around them. “Someone they all respect.”
“Or fear,” Amar said.
Saya’s brothers stopped walking when they were still several paces away from the tent. Kesari, Amar, and Mitul took the cue and stopped as well. Only Saya continued on, opening her palm out to one side in greeting. She said something in Sularan. A few long moments passed before the older woman responded, her voice low and as coarse as the desert sand.
They spoke for a few minutes. Kesari had no idea what either of them were saying, but she didn’t dare ask anyone to translate. A frown pulled at the woman’s face, and Saya’s words took on an increasingly agitated tone. At one point, she gestured to Amar, and the woman fixed her golden-eyed stare on him. He stared back, unblinking, until her gaze returned to Saya. The older woman spoke a few more short, clipped words before retreating into her tent.
Saya’s shoulders sagged as she turned to face Kesari and the others. The hubbub of Hayathu rose back up around them as people resumed their work and play. Halos stepped forward and said something to her, which brought some small semblance of a smile to her face.
“Well?” Amar said. “What was that all about?”
Saya straightened. “The Masahi welcomes us all as guests. She’ll make arrangements for a meal in honor of our visit tonight.”
“That’s all?” Mitul asked.
Saya nodded curtly.
“That was a long conversation just to find out about dinner,” Amar said.
Saya pursed her lips and pushed between her brothers. She started to walk off, alone.
“Where are you going?” Amar called, annoyance cutting into his tone. When he received no answer, he started after her. “You can’t just—”
Halos stepped into his path. “Let her go.”
“What’s her problem?” Amar asked. He nodded to the tent on the ledge “Who is that woman?”
“The Masahi,” Halos replied. “She is our leader.”
“Like a queen?” Kesari asked.
The boy raised an eyebrow. “Not quite. Each Sularan tribe chooses one person to represent them on a council. ‘Masahi’ is the title given to the highest-ranking council member.” He raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “In this case, that person also happens to be our mother.”
Kesari wouldn’t have guessed that, given the complete lack of warmth or even familiarity in the reunion between Saya and the older woman. Amar and Mitul looked equally surprised. Apparently, Saya hadn’t mentioned that part of her personal history to either of them.
“The Masahi is disappointed in Saya,” Halos went on. “She’s been away on haseph for two years now, and we’ve all been awaiting her return. For her to come back now without having completed her journey is upsetting, especially to our mother.”
Mitul cocked his head to one side. “It was my understanding that there’s no time limit on when a person has to complete their haseph.”
Halos nodded. “Yes, but there are…expectations. Especially for someone like Saya.”
“What expectations?”
“She’s the eldest child of the Masahi. She may take our mother’s place on the council one day, and our people are watching to see what she does with her haseph. Will she prove herself worthy of that position, or should they start looking elsewhere for a leader?”
The grandiosity of Saya’s planned haseph made a lot more sense now. She wasn’t simply looking for a worthy offering to bring back to her tribe. She was looking for a way to prove herself, and what better way to do that than by providing a means by which the Sularans could protect and preserve their entire way of life?
“Some believe she’s chasing a mirage,” Halos went on. “They think whatever she’s doing out there won’t amount to anything, that she’s wasting her time. Our mother is beginning to fear this, too.”
Kesari watched Saya’s retreating figure grow smaller against the bright blue sky. What must it be like, to live under the weight of such heavy expectations? And yet, she was still trying to do what she thought was best for her people. She was still pushing forward. Did that not make her a leader already?
Kesari couldn’t say she would have been able to do the same if she’d been in Saya’s position. She would have frozen, or run away, or broken down. She hated that those was her default responses to hardship. Not strength, but weakness. Not persistence, but a desire to give up. Because some things were just too difficult, too terrifying, too painful.
But wasn’t all of this difficult and terrifying and painful for Saya, too? On some level, it had to be. And if she could find the strength to keep trying in spite of that, maybe Kesari could learn to do the same.
22
Amar
Amar sat alone at the edge of the chasm, peering down at the reflections of stars in the pool below. Behind him, the notes of a song drifted through the settlement as Mitul and some of the Sularans played their music, sometimes taking turns and sometimes weaving their melodies together. Mitul had pleaded with Amar to play with them, and he had, for a little while. But his heart hadn’t been in it, and he’d snuck away at the first opportunity. Now, the kanjira lay silent in his lap beneath still fingers.
On the other side of the chasm, Kesari, Saya’s brothers, and several other Sularan children had started up a game that involved chasing Lucian around the tents. Their squeals of laughter echoed across the sand as the Spirit Tarja darted away, always just out of reach. One of Saya’s youngest brothers perched on Kesari’s shoulders, and a wide grin stretched across the girl’s face. It was the first time Amar had seen her look so much like the child she still was, her bright eyes devoid of the world-weary sorrow that usually lingered there.
They were all so young, so full of life and energy. Watching them made him feel old in a way he couldn’t remember ever feeling before, as if the full weight of all his years had finally caught up with him. How many years, he didn’t know, but the sensation pressed against his skin and sank deep into his bones. He didn’t belong here, and it wasn’t because he was a foreigner. Maybe he didn’t belong anywhere.
Soft footsteps approached from behind, and Saya sat down next to him. It was the first time he’d seen her since the day’s earlier conversation with her mother. “You’re a terrible host,” he said, casting her a sidelong glance. “You drag us halfway across the desert to meet your family, then leave us here alone with them all day.”
“Sorry.” She picked up a few pebbles and tossed them over the edge of the chasm one at a time. “I didn’t think coming back here was going to be so…”
“Uncomfortable?” Amar suggested.
“Humiliating.”
She looked so morose about it, a vulnerable young woman exposed beneath the warrior’
s hardened exterior. He bumped his shoulder against hers and tried a joke. “You never told us you were a princess.”
Her frown deepened. “Who said that?”
“The Masahi is your mother, isn’t she? Halos said you’d likely be the one to take her place someday, which makes you…well, maybe not royalty, exactly, but something like it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You do realize we don’t have the same concepts of royalty that Kavorans do?”
“Yes, but I’m not entirely wrong, am I? Otherwise, you would have finished your haseph with something simple a long time ago.”
“That’s true,” she admitted.
“Why didn’t you tell us? Or did you, and I’m not remembering that part?”
“It wasn’t important. And I liked being just Saya, for once.” She let out a sigh. “I was never just Saya here. There were always expectations of who I should be and what I should do. There still are.”
“Ah, yes. Expectations,” Amar replied sagely, tossing a rock and watching it fall until it hit the water. “That must be exhausting. Of course, I have no idea what that’s like, people expecting you to be somebody you’re not or do things you don’t remember ever agreeing to.”
She shoved him hard enough to nearly tip him over, but when he looked at her, she was smiling. “Point taken,” she said, “but I don’t think it’s quite the same thing.”
“Semantics,” he replied with a shrug, allowing a grin to break across his own face. He’d spent so much energy on keeping his companions at a distance, but now he found himself wondering if it would be so bad for them to be friends again. Maybe they were already starting to get there.
Saya opened her mouth to say something else, but a sudden lull in the music and conversation behind them made her stop. They both turned to see where everyone’s attention had shifted. The Masahi stood outside her tent once more, waiting a few seconds for the remaining noise to die down.
“Today has been a happy day,” she said in Kavoran, her voice laced with the barest hint of an accent. Her eyes found Saya. “My eldest child has returned after two long years away from home, and although she cannot stay, we welcome her and her companions to Hayathu. Tonight, we invite them to share our meal, celebrate a reunion of friends and family, and rest their weary bodies before we say farewell tomorrow.” She extended her arms. “Amar, Mitul, Kesari, Lucian, and Saya, we open our arms and our hearts to you in friendship and hospitality. I believe the food is ready. Please come and take the first portion as our honored guests.”
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