“I believed you from the start,” Liyana said, continuing to hold his hand.
He looked at her, and he smiled. “Yes, you did.” His smile was like Pia’s song, beautiful and pure. It lit up his whole face, erasing the shadows that had deepened ever since they had entered the Silk Clan’s camp—truly, ever since they’d entered the Horse Clan’s camp. For an instant, she couldn’t breathe. She was lost in that smile.
As if her words had given him strength, Korbyn raised his voice, and she heard his old cheerfulness. “I am indeed attempting the greatest trick of my career, but the trick is not on you. It is on the thief who is stealing the heart of the desert.”
“We do not believe that is—” Pia began.
Enough, Liyana thought. She’d told the truth. Korbyn had told the truth. While they wasted time, Bayla remained trapped. Liyana interrupted Pia. “What you believe doesn’t matter. You can prove him right or wrong. Summon your goddess. If she does not come, then join us. If she does come, then punish us as you see fit.”
The Silk Clan was silent.
Softly Korbyn said, “You truly trust me.”
She met his glorious eyes. “Yes, I do.”
The moment hung in the air, and he laughed, the sound full of joy. She hadn’t heard that laugh in days. She began to smile as if his laugh were bubbling inside of her. “Go ahead,” Korbyn said to Pia. “Summon Oyri.”
“Very well,” Pia said. “I shall.”
Guards closed in on Liyana and Korbyn, and suddenly Liyana wished she hadn’t spoken. She lost sight of Pia through the wall of guards.
Ilia pulled a strip of white cloth from her pocket, and she tied it over Korbyn’s mouth. He didn’t protest. Liyana flinched as Ilia raised a cloth to her mouth. “Is this necessary?” she asked.
“You have submitted to judgment,” Ilia said. “This must be.”
Korbyn squeezed her fingers as if to reassure her, and then he released her hand and held out his arms so that the guards could bind his wrists with rope.
I trust him, she reminded herself. The Silk Clan goddess will not come.
Opening her mouth, Liyana let Ilia gag her. Mirroring Korbyn, she held out her arms so that her hands could be tied as well. She met Korbyn’s eyes. His eyes were warm on hers, as warm as an embrace, as if he saw only her.
They were led to Fennik. Hands on their shoulders pushed them down to their knees. She knelt on the hard salt-sand between Fennik and Korbyn. Fennik’s eyes were wild, and she could smell his sweat. On her other side, though, Korbyn seemed calm.
She thought of the accusations of the Horse Clan and the Silk Clan. He may be known as the trickster, she thought, but his tricks helped the desert clans. She knew a story about him, one of Jidali’s favorites, that said he was responsible for giving the clans fire. Once, long ago, only gods could start fires. Each clan treasured their fire, carrying it from camp to camp with greatest care. If the fire was lost before the clan’s deity returned, the result was disaster. This happened to the Raven Clan—a sandstorm wiped out their fire. So, on his next visit to the desert, the raven stole a chunk of flint from the mountains of the sky serpents and gave it to his clan so they would always be able to make fire for themselves. He then stole flint for each of the other clans. The sky serpents were furious that every clan now had a piece of their mountains, and they guarded their territory even more jealously against intruders. But the raven’s trick was done, and he never returned to face their wrath.
She wondered how much truth there was in the stories. Staring into his eyes, she decided she didn’t care. Oyri, goddess of the Silk Clan, would not come. She had to believe that for Bayla’s sake, if not her own.
Drums started across the circle. Surprised, Liyana tore her gaze away from Korbyn. She’d expected a delay. Pia must have people to say farewell to. Parents. Siblings. Friends. A teacher. But instead she spoke to no one. Alone in the center of the sand, Pia affixed silver bells to her ankles. She was barefoot, and her skirt was composed of strips of silk that fluttered around her like feathers. Her arms were bare to expose her tattoos. She reached up toward the night sky. “Begin!” Pia cried.
Ilia began to chant. In the circle, Pia twirled and leaped. As she danced, she sang a soaring tune that repeated the summoning words. She looked and sounded like a wild bird.
She’s magnificent, Liyana thought—and a tendril of fear crept into her heart. Pia was what a vessel should be. It did not matter that she was blind. She flowed and soared with effortless beauty. Every movement was perfect, and she danced with transcendent grace. She was the wind itself. As the drums beat louder, Pia leaped higher and spun faster. Her white hair whipped around her, and the silk skirt swirled and flowed. Her silver bells rang out, echoing across the desert.
Liyana thought of her bells, the ones she had left behind for her family. She’d worn those bells with such pride. She had believed that she’d molded herself into the ideal vessel. But now, seeing Pia . . . This was what she should have been. Maybe Bayla had deemed Liyana unfit.
Barely breathing, Liyana waited for the moment when the goddess would take Pia’s body. Pia danced faster and faster, and her voice cascaded from impossibly high notes. With each moment, Liyana became more convinced that this would be the moment.
Suddenly Pia fluttered her arms down to her side like a bird settling her wings. She raised her head, and the drums stilled. Ilia fell silent.
“Untie our guests,” Pia said. Her voice was crystal clear. The clan was silent. “I will accompany them and henceforth be dead to you.” Her final words fell like stones into water, and ripple-like, their effect spread through the clan. The men, women, and children of the Silk Clan bowed low with their fists over their hearts, and then one after another, they turned their backs on the center of the circle.
Alone, Pia swept into a tent. Liyana noticed that she raised her arms only once, to feel for the tent flap. Otherwise she moved with a smooth surety that no one and nothing would be in her way.
Liyana felt a blade slice through the ropes. Fingers untied the gag. She spat the cloth out into her hands, and she felt as if her insides were churning. Korbyn was right! She’d been right to trust him! Their deities truly were trapped. Oh, she’d believed it before in her heart, but now . . .
Beside her, Fennik’s ropes were cut, and he fell forward into the salty sand. She knelt by his side. “Fennik? Can you hear me? Are you all right?” She kept her voice low. Backs still turned, the men and women spoke only in hushed murmurs.
Fennik raised his head and crowed, “She was glorious!”
Shushing him, Liyana examined his wrists. The ropes had bitten into his skin. Fresh blood oozed at her touch. “You’ll need bandages until Korbyn can heal you. What did you say to them?”
“Only the truth,” he said. “But that girl—she commands! Did you hear her voice, how they obey? We have no one like her in the Horse Clan. No wonder her clan so reveres her.”
She helped him stand, and she turned to Korbyn. She wanted to ask how soon they could leave. Each day they delayed, Bayla was imprisoned longer. But Korbyn had crossed the circle to speak to Ilia. “We were right to trust him,” Liyana said, “but he needs to start trusting us, too. This should not have happened.”
“He’s a god,” Fennik said. “They aren’t used to needing humans.”
“They need our bodies,” Liyana said. “If he’d share information, we could help. We can do more than get ourselves tied to stakes.” Whatever Korbyn believed, they were not like the injured horses. Perhaps it was sacrilege to think so, but they could be partners . . . if he shared what he knew.
“This was not my fault.”
“Exactly.”
With Korbyn, Ilia crossed to them. “Judgment has been made,” she declared. “You will share our vessel’s fate. May the blessings of the divine Oyri be upon you in your quest.”
Craning his neck, Fennik strained to see the tent that Pia had disappeared into. “Can we speak to the vessel?” He sounded like
an eager puppy.
Korbyn leveled a look at Fennik and said to Ilia, “We honor your judgment and thank you for the blessings.”
Ilia clapped her hands. Two men and one woman scurried forward. “Lead them to tents and see to their needs,” she ordered the three servants. To Fennik, she said, “No one may speak to the vessel within our hearing. She is now dead to us.”
“Our quest is urgent,” Liyana said. “If we could—”
“You will accept our hospitality,” Ilia said.
Liyana looked to Korbyn. She didn’t want to waste time with “hospitality.” They still had two more clans to reach—and that was before the true rescue mission could begin. She didn’t know how far they would have to journey for that. “But—” Liyana began.
After tossing a smile at her, Korbyn was escorted away by one of the men, and Fennik by the other. The smile was clearly meant to reassure her, and Liyana tried to feel reassured. She told herself that it was unreasonable to expect to leave instantly. They had to wait until dawn’s light to travel. And the horses had to recover from their ordeal. But still, after seeing the summoning ceremony fail . . .
Silently the woman led Liyana in the opposite direction. Liyana looked back over her shoulder as Korbyn disappeared around the corner of a tent. The Silk Clan had begun to disperse, vanishing into the shadows of the tents as if swallowed. She felt her anxiousness curl up like a creature inside her stomach. At the very least she wished she could have talked to Korbyn. She had many, many questions for him, and god or not, he couldn’t avoid answering them forever.
Opening a tent flap, the woman waited for Liyana. “Thank you,” Liyana said as she entered. Without a word and without meeting her eyes, her escort inclined her head and left Liyana alone.
Inside the tent was a bed of silk. A basin with a thin layer of salt-choked water was in one corner. Layers of cloth lay around it to absorb any stray drops. Liyana washed herself as best she could, and she crawled between the skeins of silk. The silence was absolute, and she lay for a long time waiting for dawn and wishing she could hear Korbyn breathing beside her. Eventually she slept.
* * *
At dawn she woke. Her dreams had chased her through the night, images of Pia dancing and of sand wolves attacking. She wondered what Korbyn had dreamed about and if he’d had nightmares without her there to wake him. Sitting up, she noticed that a tray with several pieces of flatbread and a strip of dried goat meat waited for her by the tent flap. There was also a cup of precious, drinkable water.
She drained the cup instantly. Eating the food, she listened for sounds of the camp waking. If she had been with the Goat Clan, she would have heard chickens, goats, and children clamoring to be fed. People would have been shouting morning greetings at one another as they bustled to complete tasks before the sun scorched the air. By contrast, the Silk Clan was disturbingly quiet. Liyana emerged from her tent to find the camp empty.
As she wound her way through the tents, she saw and heard no one. She found the troughs where they’d left the horses—the troughs were dry and the horses were gone. Her heart began to hammer harder. It felt as though everyone had sneaked away in the night. “Hello?” she called. “Is anyone here?”
A child peeked around a tent flap. She had dark, wide eyes and concave cheeks. She was so thin that her shoulder bones poked against her robe.
Liyana waved at her, and the girl gasped and retreated. “Wait, I don’t mean any harm!” Liyana called after her. But the girl was gone.
She saw no one else.
Alone, she crossed the camp.
On the outskirts of camp, she heard voices. She recognized Fennik’s voice and then the melodious cascade of Pia’s voice. A horse stamped its hoof. Picking up her pace, Liyana jogged to the edge of camp.
On the sands, Fennik was coaching Pia on how to mount. Korbyn was with the other horses, securing their saddles. He waved when he saw her. “Good morning, sunshine.”
“Did I oversleep? I didn’t sleep well.” She scanned the area. None of Pia’s people were nearby. Even Ilia and the guards were absent. “Where is everyone?”
“We aren’t enough?” Korbyn asked, mock-hurt.
“The camp feels deserted.”
He lowered his voice and switched to serious. “She declared herself dead. They do not wish to risk hearing her speak.”
“But . . . she leaves to save them. And where are her supplies?” Fennik’s clan had loaded them with supplies, water, and horses. Liyana’s parents had left her the pack, and her brother had braved the wrath of the clan to sneak her the sky serpent knife. But she saw no new supplies from the Silk Clan.
“The dead do not need supplies,” Korbyn said. And then in a merrier voice he said, “Or perhaps I am wrong, and they simply don’t want to watch this.”
Liyana watched Fennik lift Pia into the air. She swung onto the horse with a fluid grace and sat in the saddle. Pia smiled, a look like the gentle wind that swept over the horse and Fennik at once. Fennik smiled back goofily, though he must have known Pia couldn’t see him, and then he laid the reins in her hands as if gifting her with a glorious present. Pia held the reins lightly as if they were an accessory, not a tool.
“Oh my,” Liyana said. “She is going to be a problem.”
“She compensates for her blindness.”
Liyana shook her head. “That’s not the issue, and you know it.” She watched Fennik guide Pia through the basics. Liyana could have used such a lesson. “She’s too used to being the princess. Mark my words. She’ll slow us down.”
Laughing, Pia slid off the side of the horse. Fennik caught her, a bundle of fluttering silk that landed softly in his arms. Clearly, he had forgiven her for having him tied to a stake.
“How soon can we leave?” Liyana asked, her voice still low. Given how ritual-driven these people seemed to be, there had to be an elaborate farewell ceremony, even for the “dead.”
“We can leave now,” Pia said in her clear singsong bird voice.
Liyana winced.
“The princess has excellent hearing,” Korbyn commented.
“But your clan—” Liyana said to her.
“I will see them in the Dreaming.”
With Fennik’s assistance, Pia mounted a new horse, the more placid mare, Plum. Still no one came to say good-bye to her. No one was willing to break tradition to give her a single embrace. Liyana was grateful for her own clan—at least she knew they cared about her before they left her to die.
Liyana mounted Gray Luck and urged her horse into a walk. Guiding the other two horses, Korbyn rode after her on his favorite mount. Ahead, Fennik kept close to Pia as she started across the sands.
Because Pia couldn’t, Liyana looked back at the Silk Clan as they rode away. Emerging from every tent, silent men, women, and children watched them leave.
* * *
Leaving the salt flats behind them, they rode west across the cracked earth toward the rocky hills, the territory of the Scorpion Clan. Liyana and Korbyn led. Behind them, Fennik regaled Pia with horse tales in a voice not quite loud enough for Liyana to hear. Every few moments, Pia’s laugh would ring out like a bell or Fennik’s chuckle would boom.
“Once again, vessels surprise me,” Korbyn said.
“How so?” Liyana asked.
“Based on initial impressions, I was not aware that either of them had a sense of humor.”
“Believing you have a sense of humor and actually having one are two different things,” Liyana pointed out.
“Indeed,” he said. He winced as Fennik let out a loud cackle. “At least they are enjoying themselves.”
Liyana studied Korbyn for a moment. Worn by travel, he looked very different from the boy who had walked out of a sandstorm, unrumpled and untouched by the gritty air. Now his soft hair was matted and his cheeks were sunken in. Dark shadows highlighted his eyes. “Are you?”
“Not so much,” he admitted.
At midday they halted. Pia slid off her horse and promptly cr
umpled to the ground. She tried to rise, but her legs buckled under her again. Fennik leaped from his horse to assist her. He offered her water, lifting the waterskin to her lips so that she could drink more easily. “She needs healing,” Fennik said.
Pia moaned. “I do not wish to slow us.”
“You need to heal her,” Fennik said. “She’s a new rider. Her flesh is tender.” He patted Pia’s hand. “Continue to be brave,” he said to her. “All will be well.”
Korbyn sighed, but he dropped into a trance to heal her blisters and sores.
Massaging her own sores, Liyana pitched the tent. Once she had it ready, she laid her hand on Korbyn’s shoulder. After a moment, he opened his eyes. “The Silk Clan did not replenish our supplies. We need water for the horses,” she said gently. He heaved a sigh as he lurched onto his feet.
“Come inside and rest,” Fennik said to Pia.
He led her toward the tent while she favored him and the world with her beautiful smile.
Staying outside, Liyana checked the horses’ hooves. She left their hides matted with caked-on dirt and dust—it would protect them from the worst of the sun, plus Fennik preferred to curry them himself, or at least he did when he wasn’t doting on Pia.
Liyana kicked a barrel cactus and wondered why Pia’s frailty bothered her so much. The cactus broke at its stem. Carrying it into the shade of the tent, Liyana sliced it open with her sky serpent blade and scraped the insides out. She held a clump over her mouth and squeezed. Liquid dribbled onto her tongue. It tasted sweet.
“Fennik and Pia, are you thirsty?” She thrust the remainder of the scrapings into the tent. She listened as he offered it all to Pia. She refused, insisting he share. Liyana prevented herself from rolling her eyes at them by checking on Korbyn.
He was squatting next to a half-dead plant, and he was deep in a trance. His face looked too thin, as if he’d aged a year over the past week. This is why it bothers me, she thought. Pia’s needs on top of their survival needs were exhausting him. Keeping an eye on him, she started a cooking fire with a chunk of flint. She patted the dried cactus innards into cakes and baked them while she waited for Korbyn to finish. At last his eyes rolled back. She lunged forward past the fire and caught him before he slumped into it.
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