by Beth Wangler
The bandits sound farther off.
We can do it! We can escape.
The first hints of morning light bleed gray into the sky. Without warning, the uneven gully dumps us out into a flat valley shielded by rock outcrops. Coal from countless fires blackens the valley’s center, and its heart glows orange with a dying ember.
Cries rise all around us. We draw up short. In the moment it takes to make sense of this, new bandits armed to their teeth cut off our way forward.
“Stay where you are,” one of them orders.
Onili’s group approaches from behind us. Forziel dashes right.
Two bandits tackle him to the ground.
While they struggle, Onili strides into the valley. Her people flank her. “We’re home,” she announces.
What?
Onili laughs harshly. “Oh, you didn’t know? This is my citadel. These are my people. You ran straight into my arms.”
“You have to let us go,” Savi says—almost snarls. He fights against the bandits who approach to take him captive again.
I drive an elbow into one of their stomachs. “We’re trying to stop the sultan. We’re trying to free the slaves! Shouldn’t you be helping us?”
Onili sneers. “All the slaves, or just your people?
“We’re here because we have nothing left. We’ve built lives for ourselves in the outskirts, where Izyphor won’t bother us. We’re comfortable. Don’t try to drag us into your suicide mission. If you think about it, I’m being merciful, keeping you from getting yourselves killed. For now.” Onili spins on her heel when she finishes.
Uner spits. “Curse your mercy, Onili. They’ll be more trouble yet.”
The chief whirls on Uner. I blink, and Onili’s fist sends Uner’s face twisting to the side. “Do not question me again, Uner.”
Uner rubs his jaw.
Onili waves a hand at the rest of the bandits. “Vant, you’ve got first watch. Make sure the prisoners don’t burn to death in the sun.”
With a dismissive wave of her hand, Onili tosses her bag down a hole and crawls onto a well-concealed bedroll. If I wasn’t watching, I doubt I would be able to find her sleeping place.
Uner leaves with a snarl for good measure. They tie our hands and secure us to an immovable boulder. A couple of breaths later, the entire camp is asleep, most of them hidden from sight.
Surely this is a test. I exchange questioning looks with the others. After dragging and then chasing us through the desert all night, the bandits can’t just forget about us and sleep. Can they?
Our one remaining guard perches on an exposed stone. He pulls a sharpened flint from his sandal strap and a lump of wood from his pocket and sets to whittling. “You might want to get some sleep,” Vant suggests. “While the sun lasts.”
I scan the camp. Silence still.
A chanavea, golden stone at its core, hangs between the folds of Vant’s tunic. “You’re Maraian?” It isn’t really a question.
The only answer Vant gives is a sideways glance.
Rumbling snores come from Onili’s hideout. I wait until her snores deepen. Then I lean as close as I can to Vant. “Vant, Saviayr and I truly are the Champions. Aia is on our side. Don’t you see? He had you guard us for a reason! You can free us so we can keep going toward the capital. You can even come with us.”
Vant stands abruptly. He isn’t tall, shorter than Savi, but he has a stone blade and I’m tied to a rock. The thin squint of Vant’s eyes makes me wary.
“You need to shut it about this Champion business,” he says. “I’m not going for it. All you’ll do is stir up trouble.”
At this moment, Nhardah might be returning a baby to her family, but how many dozens more are dying? How many infants abandoned in streams, adults crushed in building accidents, and children punished for hunger will lose their lives before the sun sets?
“Trouble’s already here,” I say, anger rising. “It’s everywhere in Izyphor.”
Savi nudges me with his elbow. I take a breath and try to calm down while he adds calmly, “I’m sure you know that. What was it that brought you out here to the wilderness?”
Vant twirls his knife. “I ain’t answering that. You’re not gonna get me with a pity festival. Nope, you’ll only make things worse, you ‘Champions.’ There’s no way you’ll succeed, and when you fail, just watch. Izyphor’ll think up some new torture for us.”
“You can’t give up hope.” Yori’s voice is clear. I press my eyes closed as they sting.
Vant snorts. “Girl, I haven’t had hope in years. But this is life. Now, by all means, keep blathering on about hope and Champions, but if you do, I’m gonna wake Uner for his turn with you.”
I scowl.
We try to make conversation, enough to gauge that everyone is fine, aside from scrapes and bruises. Vant’s presence and the rising heat soon discourage any further talking.
It’s not long before Yori’s breaths shorten. She’s tied behind me, so that it’s awkward to look at her and pulls my sore shoulder. I get a glimpse of her face—cheeks flushed, eyes red-rimmed, tears peeking out.
“Yori?” I ask.
She sniffles. “I...I just can’t believe Papa Elesekk is…” A sob cuts her off.
While the sun rises higher, Yorchan sobs, chokes, and sobs some more. Savi’s shoulders shake, but he turns his face away from us. Nihae’s unresponsive again. She stares blank-eyed at the dead fire.
Forziel’s too far back for me to see, but he has no reason to grieve.
I squeeze my eyes shut to tamp back tears and focus on steady breathing. I can’t cry here. Not in front of the bandits. And I can’t think of anything to say that will ease Yori’s sorrow, not when loss claws at my chest.
Eventually, Yori cries herself out. In the quiet, the weariness of the past night settles heavy over us, and I sleep.
Chapter 26
“I’ve decided to hear you out,” Onili announces in the evening. Uner stops protesting when she tells him why: She’s deciding what to do with us and wants the whole story.
While Savi and I explain, Onili reclines on a rock perch as high as my head would be, if I were standing. Then she squints down at us through the evening gloom. The rest of the bandits stand in a circle around us, while we kneel on the ground.
“If that is your plan,” Onili asks when we finish, “why did you not use your swords against us? That seems like the action of fools. You had the power to continue your mission, but you forfeited it.”
A rock digs into my shin. I shift, trying to dislodge it. “Our swords aren’t ordinary. They were made by the kaites—do you know about the kaites?”
The bandit chief rolls her eyes. “Of course. We all know each other’s beliefs.” She gestures to her followers.
“Well, the kaites who made them...somehow put their lives into them.” Nhardah explained it much better than me. “And now, these are the only two weapons on Orrock that can wound an aivenkaite. That’s their purpose. I didn’t⎼” I glance at Savi. Had he felt the same instinct I did?⎼ “we didn’t think it was right to use them against humans.”
“How noble,” Vant drawls.
Uner laughs.
“That’s how Champions are supposed to be,” Laen retorts, her voice tremulous. “They’re just like we’ve been expecting.”
Hoenna, the Rhilissi with arrow braids, nods. “She’s right.”
Why does a Rhilissi need to confirm Maraian beliefs for the other bandits?
Drigo, the Kedi, tosses a smooth stone in the air and catches it. “Now, I’ve got no problem with the Maraians having themselves some Champions. Good on them,” he says, “but what’s in it for the rest of us? Why should Kedi—or Umwi, or Laria, or Rhilis—care? Some great defender of the oppressed your Aia is, if His great victory over Izyphor still leaves so many under their whips.”
“That’s an interesting question you bring up,” Savi calmly responds. “May I tell you a little about our history?”
“This isn’t story t
ime. You know how these two Champions would benefit us?” Uner asks the others. “Turn ‘em over to Izyphor, get us all a reward. Might even buy us our own freedom.”
Laen tenses and looks at Onili. “You won’t let him do that, will you?” she begs.
Savi takes a calming breath. “Would you really trade the freedom of thousands of people for your own freedom?”
“You bet I wouldn’t let some fools’ dream keep me as an outlaw!”
Hoenna holds up his hands. “Uner, calm down.”
Vant the Maraian raises an eyebrow. “He’s got a point, you know. You’re more Maraian than I am,” he tells Hoenna the Rhilissi. “What will you do if Maraiah’s given freedom? You’d still be a runaway slave.”
Hoenna hesitates. I don’t understand what Vant means about Hoenna being more Maraian than he is. Still, I feel the urge to speak in the pause. Maybe it’s Aia giving me words that will get us free from the bandits. I don’t know what to say, but I speak anyways: “He could come with us. All of you—any of you—could.”
Well, that’s not what I expected.
Vant snorts. “Like Izyphor’d fall for that. Aia’s Champion is only for Maraians. Come on, we all know that.” He rolls his eyes.
Drigo crosses his arms and scowls at Vant. “Oh yeah? Vant, I had no idea you felt so strongly about your people.” He strides closer to the Maraian. “Tell me, what exactly makes your people⎼” spit flies out of his mouth at the ‘p’— “more special than Kedi?”
“What even makes someone a Maraian?” someone asks.
This is why I need my scrolls, so I can teach them about Aia’s promise of redemption to Nhardah, about Vander-Maraiah’s calling, and about the promise of Tion Beriath for our homeland.
That’s what I plan to tell them about. As soon as I start to speak, I realize something is different. My skin tingles. My heart expands.
“All who follow Aia-Thaies and seek to know Him are Maraians.”
The bandits jump back. All eyes stare at me. Nihae tries to reach for Savi. “What’s she doing?” she whispers.
“What on Orrock?” Yori gasps.
“Spritish magic!” a Rhilissi woman exclaims. She hooks her index fingers, crosses them over each other, and holds them in front of her face.
“Please, it’s okay,” Savi rushes. “Just listen to her.”
“In our language, ‘Maraian’ means ‘The People of Aia.’” These words are normal. I only hear my own voice now, but I continue explaining the words that came out with the Voice of a Multitude. “Most of the people who follow Aia, the true creator of everything, are descendants of one man, but it doesn’t have to be that way. If you follow Him, you are Maraian, and Saviayr and I are going to free you.”
It’s quiet enough to hear the night insects whirring and chirping.
Then Vant laughs, long and loud. “That’s the craziest thing I ever heard!”
“How can you laugh?” Laen looks up and scowls at him. “Vant, did you hear what just happened?”
The Rhilissi woman takes another step away from me. She shakes her long braids. “It’s the sprites. May the South Star preserve us.”
“Maraians tell tales of this happening before,” Hoenna reassures her. “They call it the Voice of a Multitude. It’s an omen of good.”
“You know our histories?” I ask.
Hoenna shrugs. “My parents died when I was nine. I grew up in a mixed village. None of my people would bear the burden of an added mouth, but a Maraian family adopted me.”
“And? What do you think about Aia?”
Hoenna rubs the back of his neck and looks at the other Rhilissi. “I’ve always been a devout Rhilissi, but...the sprites and ghouls bring mischief and loss. The Maraian god brought me a family.”
“Hoenna!” the two other Rhilissi exclaim.
“It’ll never work,” Vant argues. “Izyphor won’t fall for it, and the other Maraians won’t, either. Onili, we need to kill them before they get a slave revolt going and make things worse.”
“Wait,” I try to speak up.
One of the Rhilissi says, “He’s got a point. Izyphor gets mad, things get bad for us.”
“But you could be free,” Laen pleads. “We could all be free. All you have to do is follow Aia.”
“You have to admit it’s an interesting idea,” Drigo says, twisting one of the beads at his throat. “If not really probable.”
Uner wrinkles his nose, which curves the tattoo lines on his cheeks. “I’m Umwian and proud of it. We had the dignity to fight every step of the way when Izyphor conquered us. You practically asked them to enslave you.”
“Take that back.” Vant takes a menacing step toward Uner, pushing out his chest.
Hoenna steps between them, hands outheld, but looks toward Uner. “You will not speak ill of the Maraians in my presence.”
“Or what?” Uner saunters toward him. “You touch me, Onili’ll run you through.”
“Enough, Uner.” Onili doesn’t move.
Laen clasps her hands. “Please, Uner. It’s just a little thing. Don’t you want to really be free?”
Uner explodes. “I ain’t gonna be a pathetic, monotheistic baby-killer!”
“Why, you⎼” Vant exclaims, and Hoenna punches Uner, and everyone springs on each other. Onili jumps down and shoulders her way into the mix.
That just escalates their fighting.
Forziel struggles to his feet. “Let’s go,” he whispers. “While they’re distracted.”
Laen appears. She slashes a knife through the ropes binding us. “Let’s go,” she echoes Forziel, and sprints away.
Our rest during the day strengthened my tired muscles. I feel stronger than two nights ago, when Forziel led us away from Yrin’s land. My lungs don’t ache as soon, though my shoulder hurts.
“C’mon, Mama,” Yori encourages. She keeps pace with Nihae. Yori shows no signs of tears this evening; her usual smile is back in place.
Savi runs beside me. We exchange a look and a nod, then focus on following Laen.
Eventually Laen dips left and pushes us through a gap in some stones. We climb into a cramped fissure, Nihae, Yori, and Forziel first. I have to hunch with my back curved forward and my knees against my chest, close enough to Savi and Laen, who shimmies in last, that I smell their breath every time I inhale.
“We’ll wait here,” Laen pants, “and watch for anyone who goes by.”
“We can’t stay,” Forziel argues. “We need to keep going. Follow me, I can get us to⎼”
“Don’t worry. Only the ones on our side will come. We never go after targets once we lose them,” Laen promises. “Too great a risk of a trap.”
“What about when we ran away from you?” Savi asks.
Laen shrugs. “That was different. We knew we could chase you to our camp.”
“Forziel,” Yori says, “your elbow’s in my neck.”
“Sorry.”
We settle in to wait. My legs burn from crouching.
Laen seems convinced that other bandits will join us. Savi and I certainly tried to convince them back at their camp, though I can’t imagine how we would get so many people safely and subtly across miles of desert to the capital.
Uner’s curse echoes in my mind. Baby-killers. I’ve only heard Iranines use the term a couple times—and they were all among the Iranines who chased us off the island a couple days ago. It’s rooted in the foulest lie Izyphor spreads, blaming us for the deaths of our infants. Surely Uner, a slave, knows better. His use of it was fully designed as a blow.
Do the other bandits agree with him? They’ll never side with us.
It wasn’t just us trying to convince them, though. I spoke in the Voice of a Multitude. The words echo through my mind now, a thousand voices speaking at once. All who follow Aia-Thaies and are faithful to Him are Maraians.
What a ridiculous thing to say. Through all history, Aia has chosen specific people from specific families. Faithfulness is hereditary. Nhardah was faithful, but Neeme
ch and Sain weren’t, so he received immortality and they died. Vander was faithful, and his siblings weren’t, so Aia chose him to be Maraiah.
Right?
Right, Aia?
But now He says anyone can be Maraian. It feels wrong. It makes me angry. All of the people in the world, all of the nations who have worshipped idols and murdered innocents and exploited the weak, and any of them can just decide to be one of Aia’s chosen people?
What will Nhardah say, when he finds out?
Footsteps rustle the dry weeds outside our hideout. I hold my breath and feel for Savi’s hand. His fingers entwine with mine and squeeze.
One person passes, dark hair braided close to his head. Laen jumps out behind him. “Hoenna, you came.” She hugs him.
Hoenna drops the bags he carries and returns her hug. “Of course I came,” Hoenna grins. “I choose Aia and freedom. It’s what they would have wanted.”
“Is anyone else coming?” Laen asks.
“I don’t think so,” Hoenna says. “They pretty well kicked me out.” He massages his swelling jaw.
We climb out after Laen. Savi helps me, but I still manage to bump my sore shoulder.
“Was Onili furious?” Laen asks.
“She was furious about the fighting,” Hoenna says, “and Uner’s confined to the camp for a while, but she let me go pretty well. You know the rules.”
“We should keep going,” I interrupt their reunion. “In case they decide to follow. And we need to be at the capital by the Feast of Wheat.”
Hoenna whistles. “That’s just four days’ time. How do you plan to get so far so fast?”
“There’s no other option,” Savi says. “Killing is outlawed during the Feast. It’s the only way we have a chance to be heard.”
Suddenly, Nhardah’s insistence on arriving for the Feast makes sense.
“I thought I’d find you here,” a voice rings out back east. I spin. I’m reaching for Luemikaroeth even as I remember the bandits still have both Savi and my swords.
Drigo saunters toward us, concealing something behind his back. I plant my feet and prepare to fight him. Savi shifts to partly cover me.
“What do you want, Drigo?” Hoenna asks. “We don’t want any more trouble.”