Liyana swallowed. “But she still looked broken. So she gave him another sliver and then another until she was nothing but a crescent.” His smile broadened, as if he were delighted with her. Encouraged, she continued. “And when she realized she’d been tricked, she struck a deal: The raven would return her light bit by bit until she was full if she would then share it again with him bit by bit. And so it continues, month after month, waxing and waning.”
Korbyn beamed at her. “See, now that was a trick.” Whistling, he strode across camp with the bucket in his hand. Precious water spilled out, darkening the sand around him. After a second of staring, she followed him.
Korbyn set the bucket down next to her tent. The torn side fluttered sadly in the wind. “Your fire pit is . . . ahh, here.” He knelt beside a lump and proceeded to wipe away sand with his sleeve. He exposed her circle of rocks, as well as the remnants of her fire pit.
“What clan are you?” she asked.
He rolled back his sleeves for her to see the tattoos that decorated his arms. Black birds wound around his wrists and up to his shoulders.
“Raven Clan?” she asked.
Swirls twisted between the ravens in a pattern she knew very well, and she suddenly felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She had the same swirls on her arms. She looked up into his eyes. “You’re a vessel.”
Shaking his head, he winked at her.
“You’re a god?”
He laughed again, but she didn’t feel as if he were laughing at her. It was the joyous, glad-to-be-alive sound of a child. It cascaded over him and shook his whole body. She thought of Jidali’s laugh and how it would overcome him. You couldn’t help but smile when Jidali laughed. When Korbyn laughed, the sheer joy in the sound made her feel dizzy.
Liyana sat down hard on the sand opposite Korbyn. She stared at him, and he, still amused, stared back. She thought she should be able to tell—divinity should beam out of his eyes. But he seemed human. “Truly? You are the Korbyn?”
Instead of answering, Korbyn laid one hand on the charred sticks, goat dung, and dried palm leaves from her last fire. He concentrated for a moment, with the same blank expression she’d seen on Talu’s face when she was in a trance. Flames burst to life. He grinned at her as the fire licked his fingers. Smoke curled up.
She smelled a hint of burning skin. Korbyn’s face contorted as if he were confused. Liyana lunged forward and shoved his hand off the fire. She smothered the flames on his palm with her sleeves. Once she was sure the fire was out, she released him.
He raised his hand and looked at the red, puckered skin. Blisters ran up and down his palm. “That hurts,” he said, wonder in his voice.
Quickly Liyana grabbed the bucket and plunged his hand into it. “Keep it in there. I have aloe and bandages.” She dove into her tent and then emerged with her supply pack.
“My attempt to impress you has failed,” Korbyn noted.
Liyana lifted his hand out of the water. “We have to try to keep it clean.” She squeezed the aloe leaf, and the precious white sap smeared onto his palm. Moving quickly, she wrapped white cloth bandage around his hand. “You have a high tolerance for pain.”
“It’s a novelty,” he said. “I haven’t felt pain for a century.”
She knotted the bandage and then rocked back on her heels. She had no doubt about his identity now. No human would lack the instinct to yank his hand away from a fire.
He flexed his fingers. “Thank you. That was kind of you.” He then looked at the bucket and grimaced. “We may want new water for the tea.”
“Boiling fixes nearly any impurity.” She dug the one small pot out of her pack, and she poured water in the pot and then set it over the fire. “You’re in a vessel?” She was proud that her voice sounded so calm.
“I was summoned five nights ago, and I set out to find you.”
“Me? But . . .” All calmness fled, and her voice squeaked. “Your clan! Your clan needs you!”
“All the clans need me,” he said. “And I need you.”
She understood the words he was saying, but the order of them made no sense. “You left your clan to find me?”
“Deities are missing. Five in total. They were summoned from the Dreaming, but their souls never filled their clans’ vessels.”
Liyana felt as if she had been dropped back inside the sandstorm. “Bayla . . .”
“I believe their souls were stolen. And I intend for us to steal them back.”
Chapter Six
The Emperor
In the predawn, the emperor walked through the dead garden. Orange trees had once filled this place with a fragrance so heavy that it thickened the air. Now the trees were bare, and the branches looked like bones. A gardener had meticulously combed the dry, dusty earth, trying to create beauty from death. The emperor knelt next to an empty flower bed and ran his fingers over the spirals and swirls. He scooped up a handful of dirt. His people hadn’t given up. Neither could he, no matter how impossible it seemed and no matter what his court said.
He heard them, even when they whispered, even when they didn’t speak. He’s too young. Barely a man. Their eyes accused him from every corner of the palace. His father had not been able to break the Great Drought, and he had been the finest emperor ever to grace the throne of the Crescent Empire. And now it was whispered that his son had a mad plan. . . .
He had dreamed of the lake again last night. He had walked through a valley framed by sheer, granite cliffs. Green had overflowed all around him. He had halted at the pebble shore of the lake. It had been a perfect oval, and the crystal blue water had been still. He had tossed a pebble into the water, and the smooth, glassy surface had broken into a million diamonds, each reflecting the sky.
Heels clicked on the marble stones that wound through the garden. The emperor let the dirt fall through his fingertips, and then he rose and turned to greet the guard. “Yes?”
The guard snapped his heels together and bowed. “Your Imperial Majesty. The court is assembled and awaits your decision.”
Inwardly the emperor sighed. He wished he could tell the court to wait another hour, another day, another year. But he didn’t have the luxury of emotions like that. The face he presented to the guard was as serene as the lake from his dreams. “Then I shall join them.”
The guard bowed again.
Wiping the garden dirt off his hands, the emperor straightened his robes. “The gardener who tends this garden . . . See to it that his family receives extra water rations this month.”
The guard’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and the emperor had to suppress a smile. But he didn’t explain himself, and the guard had had enough training not to ask any questions. Leaving the guard behind, the emperor strode out of the garden and into the palace.
The palace of the emperor of the Crescent Empire had marble pillars from the northern mountains and walls inlaid with mother-of-pearl shells from the western sea. Silk cascaded from the ceiling to mimic the wind, and the symbol of the empire— a crescent sun from a lucky eclipse—decorated everything from the exquisite chairs to the ornate mirrors to the jade vases that perched on blue glass pedestals. All in all, the emperor preferred the dead beauty of the garden. At least it didn’t lie to him and claim that all was well.
Guards flanked him as he approached the massive double doors of the court. He nodded at them, and they threw open the doors before him. He didn’t pause as he strode inside. All the men and women of the court—chancellors, judges, musicians, generals, princes, and princesses—ceased conversation and scurried to line the central corridor that led to the dais. Each bowed as he passed.
He climbed the marble steps to the throne. He’d composed a speech, filled it with arguments and eloquence. But looking out over his court, he felt tired. “Our salvation lies in the desert. I will lead the army across the border, and we will claim the sands and all the magic within,” he said. “In my absence . . . try not to do anything stupid.”
Chapter Seven
/> Korbyn peered into the pot. “It’s boiling. Tea leaves?”
Mechanically Liyana fetched a wad of leaves from her pack. Trust Mother to think to pack tea leaves. Korbyn dropped them into the boiling water. She watched him use a stick to stir. “Bayla . . . She didn’t . . .” Liyana licked her lips, swallowed, and finished in a rush. “I’m not unworthy?” Waiting for an answer, she didn’t breathe.
He patted her knee. “You’re lovely.”
Air whooshed out of her lungs.
Korbyn frowned at her. “Your breathing is rapid. Are you well?”
She placed her hands on her knees and hung her head between them. Bayla hadn’t rejected her! Or Jidali. Or Talu. Or her parents . . . Gulping air, she steadied herself. Her head quit spinning after a moment. When she looked up, Korbyn was pawing through her supply pack. “Cups?” he asked. “To drink the tea?” He abandoned his search before she could frame a reply. “Eh, no matter. Once it cools, we can sip directly from the pot.” A grin lit up his face as he said, “I am having all sorts of new experiences this time around.”
She thought of the string of delicacies that her clan had prepared for Bayla’s arrival—fried goat cheese, sugared date pastries, sun-baked tubers with spices, and the finest array of meats from the clan’s best-fed goats. “You should have been greeted with a feast and dancing.”
He waved her words away. “Once we have succeeded, the desert will celebrate.” Raising the pot to his lips, he took a sip. He winced and coughed. “Delicious!” He coughed again and then spit over his shoulder. Flashing her another bright smile, he said, “Do you know the story of the greatest lie that the raven ever told? The mountain was concerned that her beauty was fading—”
“Who stole the deities?” As soon as the question passed her lips, Liyana winced. Talu would be appalled if she’d heard Liyana interrupting a god. She bowed her head. “Forgive the interruption.” She added the formal apology to be used for an elder whom one has wronged.
When he didn’t reply, she dared to peek up at him. Again, he seemed far older than he looked. He was gazing across the oasis toward the desert mountains with an expression that she could not decipher. She followed his gaze. All traces of the sandstorm were gone. The sky was a bleached blue again, and sand swirled gently over the dunes. Each dune created a crescent shadow so that the desert looked like a sea of dark moons. “We will first need to find the other empty vessels in order to bring home all the missing gods.”
He hadn’t answered her question, but she nodded anyway. “How do we find them?”
“Horse Clan, Silk Clan, Scorpion Clan, and Falcon Clan.” He pointed to different spots on the horizon with each clan name. She marveled at his surety—all clans were nomadic, but he pointed with precision.
Her own clan was out there too, en route to Yubay. If she and Korbyn walked quickly enough, perhaps they could catch them. She spent several glorious seconds imagining that reunion. “My family can help—”
“I am sorry,” Korbyn said. She thought she heard true regret in his voice. “Your family is west, and we cannot afford the detour. Soon the other clans will conduct their summoning ceremonies. We must reach them all before any harm comes to their vessels. Not all vessels are as resourceful as you, and not all clans are as . . . forgiving as yours.”
“Oh.” Liyana studied the rip in the tent and fought to keep the lump of disappointment from clogging her throat. “Of course. I see.”
Putting the pot down, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and then leaped to his feet. “In fact, we should begin!”
“Right now?” She looked around the oasis, her link to her family. But the sandstorm had erased the imprints from the tents. There was no trace that her family and clan had lived there for the last month. The desert had reclaimed its own. Any ghosts of her family were now only in her head. “Yes,” she decided. “Right now.”
Taking the pot, she drank her share of the tea and then cleaned the pot with palm leaves before stowing it in her pack. Korbyn balanced on one of the rocks. He was, she thought, like a four-year-old child and an ancient elder at the same time. As he experimented with shifting from the ball of his foot to his heel, she shook the sand out of her tent, rolled the tent up tight, and stuffed it into her pack.
“Ready?” he asked.
Liyana held up the two waterskins. “Can your magic keep these full?”
“No one can create something out of nothing, not even a god,” Korbyn said. “Though once, the raven convinced the hawk that she had given birth to a lizard, even though she had no mate and had laid no egg. But that began with a lizard who did not want her child.”
“These won’t last us more than a day. Two, if we ration.” She spoke her thoughts out loud as she frowned at the two waterskins. They weren’t meant for extended treks.
“You won’t feel thirst with me.” His voice was intense, and she instinctively flinched. She hadn’t meant her words to sound censorious of the god.
“It would set my mind at ease if you could be more specific.” She thought that phrasing was diplomatic and was pleased with herself. Diplomacy wasn’t normally a required skill for a vessel. In fact, Mother had threatened to tie Liyana’s tongue in knots more than once.
“I crossed the sands to you by drawing moisture into the desert plants. I can do the same for two.” He reached toward her face, and his fingers brushed her cheek. “No fear, Liyana. I won’t let Bayla’s vessel suffer.”
She shivered at the touch of his fingers. He felt so human. His fingertips were warm and soft, and her skin remembered the trace of his touch after he lowered his hand. She kept expecting him to be ethereal, even though she, of all people, should know better.
“You can trust me,” he said. “I want Bayla to return as much as you do.”
“She’s my goddess. What is she to you?” She didn’t intend to sound disrespectful, but if she was to follow him, she had to know. He could be Bayla’s enemy. He could be responsible for her disappearance. This could be part of an elaborate plot to destroy her clan. Liyana didn’t know what transpired between the deities in the Dreaming, what alliances rose and fell.
“She’s my love,” Korbyn said. “Once her soul inhabits your body, we will be together again.” As Liyana stared at him, he lifted the waterskins out of her hands. “Allow me.” He headed toward the well.
Belatedly she hefted the pack onto her back. Her wounded arm sent sharp stabs of pain up into her shoulder. Gritting her teeth, she followed her goddess’s lover across the oasis and then into the desert.
* * *
The sun seared the desert. Liyana felt the heat rise through the soles of her feet, even through her beautiful shoes, and she felt the wind wick the moisture from her skin as it scoured her with sand. Over the distant dunes, the air waved and crinkled. She placed one foot in front of the other and tried not to think about how much her muscles still hurt from her endless dance or how much her arm throbbed from her wounds.
Korbyn seemed untouched by the heat. “Once, Bayla was the beloved of Sendar, the god of the Horse Clan, but he valued his horses more than her and lost her affection. He was irate when he learned that Bayla had chosen me to replace him, and he challenged me to three races. One, his choice of mounts. Two, my choice. And three, we would both choose our favorite.”
Every time Liyana breathed, her lungs felt raw, scraped from the sand she had inhaled during the storm. She tried to focus on his words to distract herself. “You have horses in the Dreaming?” Talking felt like scratching her larynx with a fistful of needles.
“We have whatever we wish in the Dreaming. One’s will determines one’s surroundings . . . unless, of course, you encounter someone with a stronger will. Keleena of the Sparrow Clan is so indecisive that the land changes around her like the surface of the sea. You can grow a city around her without . . . But I was telling you about the three races.”
On the horizon, the air wrinkled in the heat. Sand clung to her feet as she trudged with Korbyn up and down th
e red dunes. She flailed in the looser sand.
“First race, he chose horses. I lost dismally. Second race, we flew.”
She yanked her feet out of the sand with each step. It felt as if the dunes wanted to pull her down into them, sweep her into their slopes, until she was a part of the sandscape. “You can fly?”
“I cannot fly here.” He raised and lowered his arms as if to show her. His sleeves billowed. She thought of his totem animal, the raven, and she thought it was apt. He did move like a bird, fast and alert. “But in the Dreaming, there are no rules. It’s a place of pure spirit.”
She fell to one knee at the top of a dune. Struggling, she stood again and continued down the slope, jarring her knees painfully with each step. “Why would you ever want to leave?”
He grinned and raced down the slope past her. “For this! All this!” He stretched his arms wide as if to encompass the whole world, and then as she descended the dune, he caught her hand and pressed the top of her hand to his lips. “And this.” Releasing her, he unwound the bandage from his burnt hand. “Even this.”
She still felt his kiss tingling on her hand. Trying to ignore the sensation, she studied his burn. The blisters looked blotchy. “It needs more aloe.” She swung her pack off her back, and pain shot down her arm from the gashes, making her breath hiss.
He waved her away. “I can fix it.” His face became blank as he held his palm steady—a trance again. She marveled at how quickly he could enter a trance. Sweat beaded on his forehead and instantly dried. His hand shook, but he did not move. Slow at first and then faster, the skin smoothed, and the red faded. In a few minutes, his palm was smooth and perfect.
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