“I can’t promise that,” Raan said.
“Then I can’t promise either.”
Raan was silent. Escorted by the guards, Korbyn and Fennik led the horses toward the encampment. At last Raan said, “Pia sent me to tell you that we’re low on food.”
Scooting back from the edge, Liyana joined Raan for the trek to the tent. They’d picked a grove of leafless trees about a mile from the hills as their camp. It was mostly obscured from view by the thick tangle of branches. If they huddled inside the tent with all of their supplies, chances were that a patrol on the ridge wouldn’t see them. Or at least that was the hope.
Pia popped out of the tent to greet them.
“You know, it might not have been us,” Raan said. “You should stay in the tent until you’re sure it’s safe.” She squatted next to the tent and took a gulp from her waterskin. “Getting low on water, too.” She waved the waterskin at Liyana.
“You shuffle your toes when you walk,” Pia said. “Liyana lengthens her stride every few steps. I am always careful. If they catch us, it will be because they know where to look.” She scooted inside the tent, again out of view from the hills.
“I can’t summon water like Korbyn,” Liyana said, joining Pia in the tent. Without the boys the tent felt empty, and without the horses the camp felt deserted. She missed the comforting stamp of hooves, and she wished Gray Luck were here. She hadn’t realized how used to the horse’s presence she’d become. “Get ready for lots of tubers.”
“Let me know how I can help,” Raan said as she crawled into the tent. She stretched out and then put her arms behind her head. Both Liyana and Pia sat at the edges. “I know it’s not the same as your special time with Korbyn. . . .”
Liyana felt herself stiffen. “Excuse me?”
Raan waved her hand. “You two. Always swapping stories. Laughing about something. At night you comfort away his nightmares. A person begins to feel like she’s intruding.”
“He is the beloved of my goddess. I don’t like what you’re suggesting.” She’d never said a word about what had happened in the sandstorm, and she was certain that no one else knew. Mostly certain. Her eyes slid to the tent flap. It felt stifling inside the tent.
“You must remember that,” Pia said, her voice as placid as always. “You can’t afford to care too much about anyone or anything. None of us can.”
Propping herself up on her elbow, Raan looked at Pia. “Is that how you do it, how you’re okay with your clan offering you up on a platter for your goddess?”
“This life is ephemeral,” Pia said. “I cannot afford any attachments because they will be severed. My clan knows this.” Folding her hands in her lap, she smiled serenely.
Raan blinked at her. “That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It isn’t true for me,” Liyana said firmly. “I’m very attached to my family.”
“Even though they left you to die?” Raan asked.
She felt the hilt of the sky serpent knife tucked into her sash. Even far away, her family had saved her life multiple times over. “Yes.”
“You’re both crazy,” Raan said.
“Everyone I love will be reunited in the Dreaming,” Liyana said. She thought of Jidali, growing old without her. He would have a lifetime of stories to tell her when they were reunited.
“Except for Korbyn,” Pia said intently.
“Once his vessel dies, he’ll return there as well,” Liyana said. She shouldn’t need to tell Pia that. Everyone knew gods could only exist in the real world while their vessel lived.
“But he’ll be reunited with Bayla, not with you.”
“I know that,” Liyana said.
“Good,” Pia said, her perfect doll face serene. “Remember it.” As Liyana stared at her, Pia fetched her brush and began to pull it through her soft, white hair. She hummed softly as she brushed, clearly done with the conversation, content that she’d made her point.
“I’m going to find water,” Liyana said. She stalked out of the tent.
Only when she was a hundred yards away did she feel her chest begin to loosen. Unfair accusations, Liyana thought. Untrue! She dropped into the sand beside a clump of cacti. She breathed in and out, trying to tame the swirl in her mind.
She focused on her heartbeat, which rattled in her rib cage as if it wanted to escape. With practiced ease, she imagined her lake and pulled out magic, inhaling as she felt the magic fill her. Korbyn had taught her the simplest way to summon water: Draw it into a plant that would naturally draw water, and then extract the moisture by hand. Full of magic, she flowed into the cacti before her. She plunged deep into the earth with its roots. Whispering to it, she coaxed it to suck the water up, up. Thirsty, so thirsty, she thought at it. She felt the moisture seep faster into its roots.
Last time she had done this, Korbyn had been beside her. She had laughed with him and shared stories. She thought of how it had felt to dance with him, the warmth of his hands and the nearness of his breath. She remembered the way his eyes had poured into hers as if there were nothing else in the world . . . and how a smile would spring to his face . . . and the way his laugh would cascade out of him . . . But even when his laugh filled her, she always, always knew he belonged with Bayla! Every action she’d taken was designed to unite him and Bayla.
Thinking of him, she let herself flow across the dried grasses and over the hills. She felt the thousands of souls in the empire’s encampment like a distant hum. Which one was Korbyn’s? Was he all right?
Forgetting the cacti, she pushed her awareness into the encampment. Each of the humans felt like candle flames, their souls flickering inside them. A deity would feel . . . more like sparks, as if it were barely contained rather than burning contentedly. She sensed the horses tethered to stakes. If she reached further, then perhaps . . . She stretched the magic thinner and thinner.
She felt herself fragment as her thoughts flew apart.
Her body! She didn’t feel it!
Racing over the desert, she tried to imagine the shape of her skin and the feel of her breath in her lungs. She pictured her soul pouring into her body, shaping back into herself.
She inhaled deeply, and then she collapsed, unconscious.
She woke with her cheek pressed into the sand. She didn’t know how long she’d lain there. Her rib cage hurt. Her fingers felt numb. How long could a body function without a soul in it? Seconds? Minutes? It hurt to breathe. The sun beat down on her.
Eventually she pushed herself upright. Hands shaking, she took out the sky serpent knife and sawed the cacti off at their bases. She tipped them over so that no liquid would ooze out the cuts, and then she wrapped them in a scarf to carry back to the tent. She got to her feet, and her knees wobbled.
She sank onto her knees in the scalding sand. Sweet Bayla, what have I done? Korbyn would have been so furious with her. This time he hadn’t been here to kiss her into alertness. Liyana tried again, straightening slowly. She wobbled as she walked forward, feeling like a newborn foal. Concentrating on each step, she clutched the cacti to her chest, determined not to drop them. The thorns pressed against the cloth but didn’t pierce her skin. By the time she reached the tent, she felt the ache of every muscle and bone.
Pia rushed out to greet her. “You were gone for hours!”
Liyana handed her the scarf full of cacti. “You were right. I care too much.” She crawled into the tent and slept without dreams.
* * *
Two days passed with no word from Korbyn or Fennik.
At dawn on the third day, Liyana shot out of the tent, thinking she had heard hoofbeats from the ridge. But the ridge was empty. A knot of brambles blew across the slope.
“Go fetch more water,” Raan said behind her.
“We have water,” Liyana said.
“You are driving us crazy with your worrying.”
Pia chimed in. “Occupy yourself. The hours will fly faster. Korbyn and Fennik’s mission will take time. First they must deter
mine where the deities are. Next they must ascertain how they are being held. And last they need to know what will free our gods and goddesses from the false vessels. It will take time.” She sounded like a teacher, talking in a calm voice to an agitated child. “Fetch us enough water so that we may bathe.”
“Very well,” Liyana said curtly.
She stalked across the desert and didn’t stop until she found a massive clump of cacti. Filling these broad leaves would keep her occupied for several hours. Dropping onto the dirt, Liyana began.
Leaf by leaf Liyana filled the cacti until their skin felt taut with water and the sun was at its zenith. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck and dried in seconds. She gathered up the cacti to begin the trudge back to camp. She wanted the first bath. She thought she had a few flakes of soap left from her family’s pack. After that, though, she’d need to find a new task to distract her from the fear that made her feel as if her lungs had shrunk and her stomach had hardened into rock.
She wished she hadn’t let Korbyn convince her to stay. It had seemed sensible at the time. Fennik was essential for the ruse of horse traders, and Korbyn was ideal for reconnaissance. Bringing Liyana, Raan, and Pia would have been an unnecessary risk. But still . . .
A hundred yards from camp, Liyana heard a melody soar into the sky. Pia! But what was she thinking? Someone would hear her! Picking up her pace, Liyana hurried toward the camp—and then she stopped as the melody swelled louder.
Pia isn’t stupid, Liyana thought. She’s warning me.
Liyana ducked behind a group of boulders. She tried to calm her breathing. Slowly, breath by breath, she dropped into a trance. She pictured the lake, filled herself with magic, and then stretched her awareness toward the tent, careful not to overreach.
She felt the plants and the rocks, the wind and the heat. She felt the birds and the snakes and the scorpions . . . and the people. Six of them were by the grove of trees. All human.
Abruptly Liyana stuffed her soul back inside her body and released the excess magic. She was panting and dizzy from the effort of working a second magic so close on the heels of summoning water. Laying her forehead against the rocks, she caught her breath.
She had to help them! But how? Her magic wasn’t strong enough to do anything useful. Still clutching the cacti, Liyana listened as Pia’s song cut off.
Unable to wait any longer, she emerged and jogged toward the grove. She didn’t see anyone as she got closer. The camp was all still there—the fire pit with the still-smoldering embers, the packs with all their supplies, the hollowed-out cacti—but Pia and Raan were gone. The open tent flap billowed in the breeze. The sand around the tent was covered in footprints. From the way the sand was churned, Liyana guessed that one of them had fought. Maybe both. She didn’t see blood, and her chest loosened a little.
Please, let them be alive.
Dumping the cacti on the ground, Liyana ran toward the hill. She clambered up it. Staying low, she peeked over the ridge.
Down on the plain of golden grasses, she spotted them: four white-clad soldiers with the two desert girls. From this distance, they looked as tiny and fragile as dolls. She wished she could reach out and pluck them away to safety. What good is magic if you can’t save anyone? she thought. She should have stayed at the tent. Maybe she could have helped. Most likely she would have been caught too, but was being left behind truly better?
She watched them cross through the field toward the encampment. Pia had said that they wouldn’t be found unless the soldiers knew where to look. Korbyn and Fennik must have been caught.
Feeling sick, she sank back behind the hill and put her face in her hands. I failed them, Liyana thought. I failed everyone. All her companions were gone now, and she was alone, just as she had been all those weeks ago when her clan had walked away without her. She might as well have stayed in that oasis for all the good she had done.
Eventually Liyana returned to the tent. She crawled inside and curled into a ball. She thought of Jidali and her parents and Aunt Sabisa and Talu and all her cousins; of Runa, the magician of the Scorpion Clan; of Ilia of the Silk Clan; and of the Falcon Clan and their despair. She knew what that despair felt like now.
But she’d come so far! She’d crossed the desert. She’d survived two sandstorms. She’d caused a bush to bloom and water to fill cacti. She’d taught a god to dance. She could not simply declare defeat!
Forcing herself to sit up, Liyana pulled her pack closer. She searched through it until she found her ceremonial dress. She fingered the soft panels and let the fabric rub against her skin, which was worn from wind, sand, and sun. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she changed into the dress. She let the soft cloth fall around her like gentle rain. Using Pia’s brush, she combed her hair, braided it, and wound it onto her head. She tucked Jidali’s sky serpent knife into her sash, and she slung her waterskin over her shoulder.
Trickery had failed. Hiding hadn’t protected them. So she was going to try the direct approach. After all, what more did she have to lose?
Liyana crossed the last stretch of desert as the sun painted the west with splashes of rose and ocher. She climbed the hill without slowing. Her skirt swished around her legs. The dying sun prickled the back of her neck. She tried not to think about what was happening to Korbyn or to the others, or what had been done to Korbyn and Fennik to cause them to give up the location of their camp. She tried not to think how ill-conceived her plan was or how little chance it had to succeed. She stood on the crest of the hill and looked down at the empire’s army.
Her mouth felt dry. She licked her lips, and she took a sip of water. There were soldiers, white-clad specks between the tents. She saw guards on horseback riding back and forth on the perimeter. It would only be minutes before one of them spotted her, silhouetted against the dying sun. Legs trembling, she walked down toward the plain.
She strode into the tall, golden grasses. She let her arms sway by her sides, and she felt the tops of the dry grasses tickle her palms. This was the world beyond the desert. The air tasted the same, but she felt as if her whole body was screaming at her to turn and run.
She glanced behind her. Far away, above the sunset, she saw a sky serpent. He caught every color of the sunset in his glass-like scales. She wondered if these invaders saw how beautiful her desert was.
She had crossed halfway to the encampment before one of the soldiers thundered toward her. She stopped and waited for him. He had a bow aimed at her. “You trespass on the lands of the Crescent Empire!” he called.
“I am Liyana, the vessel of the goddess Bayla of the Goat Clan.” Liyana raised her arms so that her sleeves fell back to expose her tattoos. “I demand an audience with your emperor.”
Chapter Nineteen
The Emperor
The emperor pored over a stack of judgments. He couldn’t second-guess his judges, not without hearing the testimony for himself, but he needed them to know that he could overrule them if he chose. It was the best he could do at this distance from the palace.
Trust your people, his father had often said. An emperor isn’t one person; an emperor is all people, the embodiment of the empire. Rule with them, not over them.
He did trust them, at least most of them, on occasion and with supervision.
He added the flourish of his signature to a parchment, and then he massaged the back of his neck with one hand. Later, once they were within the desert, he wouldn’t have the leisure to attend to matters from the capital. He’d have to trust his people—just like they were trusting him now.
Suppressing a sigh, he picked up the next judgment, yet another petty land squabble. The number of cases had drastically increased due to the drought. Everyone was scrambling to hold as much land as possible, as if that would grant them security while their empire’s future shriveled around them.
“Your Imperial Majesty?”
The emperor raised his head. A soldier saluted him. He hadn’t knocked, a military habit that the empe
ror hadn’t tried to break. If a matter were important enough to bring to his attention, then it was important enough to skip the pleasantries.
“Our perimeter guards have apprehended a desert person,” the soldier said.
The emperor set down the judgments and straightened, aware he resembled a dog who had spotted a hare. The army often caught stray desert men near the border, but they rarely brought the matter to his attention. “And?”
“She demands an audience with you.”
“A bold demand,” the emperor commented.
“She was armed with only this.” The soldier laid a knife on the emperor’s desk. “A family heirloom, she claimed, and her gift to you.”
The emperor examined it. The blade was as clear as glass but felt harder than steel. He tested it on his desk, and it scored the wood as if the desk were sea foam, not the heart of an oak. He was certain that the blade was made from the scale of one of the glass sky serpents. His pulse raced, but he kept his voice as calm as a still lake. “Beautiful.” His scout had said that the serpent’s scales had cut like swords. The existence of this knife proved that the desert people had ways to defeat the sky serpents—yet another reason he needed them as part of his empire.
“She came to us in formal dress, unlike the other nomads we’ve encountered. She claims to be something called a ‘vessel,’ presumably a position of authority within her clan.”
A vessel, here. “Well. That is unusual.” He doubted that the soldier knew how much of an understatement that was. According to the magician, vessels never left their clans. Ever. They were treated like jewels—or prisoners. For a vessel to be here without her clan . . . Such a thing should be unheard of. “You were correct to come to me. I will see her.”
The soldier bowed. “Yes, sir.”
The emperor returned to reviewing the judgments, but he could not focus his attention on them. According to the magician, from the moment a vessel was “chosen,” he or she lost all control over his or her own life. Vessels were not allowed their own thoughts, their own choices, or their own futures. They sacrificed their lives to their clans long before their true sacrifice. He’d always been curious to meet one, and now he was flat-out intrigued. At the least, this should provide a welcome distraction while the army finished acquiring supplies.
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