“Green. Why? What does that mean?”
Gideon shrugged at her. “Just that he came from the west, and not the east. You met an Osirian, one of the Sons of Osiris. Every few hundred years I burn down their temple, but they just keep coming back. It’s a little frustrating, actually.”
6
Two hours later they had loaded all of the supplies that Kahina wanted onto the airship. The pilot thanked Asha again and stepped aboard to start the engine. Gideon stood in the grass, gazing east at the cedar forest. “Are you two going to be all right? Eran can be a dangerous place.”
“We’ve heard that before,” Priya said. “I think we’ll manage.” She rubbed the head of the mongoose on her shoulder.
“And you.” Asha gave him a serious look. “Watch your back. Just because you’re immortal doesn’t mean you can’t be hurt, or buried in a cave, or sunk to the bottom of the sea. Take care.”
He smiled. “You too. That ear of yours-”
Asha jerked away to stare at the cedar forest. A deep thrum rose from the quiet voices of the trees, and it grew steadily louder. “Something’s coming.”
Gideon frowned and strode out onto the road facing the forest. His left hand strayed to the release lever on his gauntlet.
A figure emerged from the woods onto the road, the black shape of a horse and rider. They raced out of the trees and up the road, striking out quickly through the fields and orchards, snaking up toward the village on the hill. When he left the shadows for the sunlight, the rider’s cloak fluttered behind him. It was green.
“It’s Sebek,” Asha said. “The man with the burning sword, the one we met in the east.”
Gideon nodded. His white-hot blade shot down from his gauntlet and clicked into place. The air around it sizzled and rippled like boiling water. “I’ll take care of him.”
Asha took Priya inside the airship cabin, told Kahina what was happening, and then closed the door as she stepped back outside.
“You may not want to see this,” Gideon said. “It’s not like killing a man with a normal sword.”
“I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen this man Sebek use his sword.”
“I understand. But my blade is different. It’s much older. It’s, well, worse.”
“I’m fine,” Asha said. “You might even need my help.”
Gideon grinned. “It must be hard for you to believe I’m two thousand years old, or that I can’t be killed.”
“It’s hard for me to believe you’re twenty years old. And you wouldn’t be the first boy to think he was immortal.” Asha stood beside him in the road and pulled a single glass needle from her bag. A thin vein of red liquid rested in the slender reservoir. “But I’ve seen some strange and terrible things in this world, and I do believe your story, for what it’s worth.”
“Thanks. I don’t tell it very often.”
“I believe that too.”
As the horse and rider thundered up the last stretch of the road, Asha said, “I’m glad it’s him, actually. I was beginning to worry about the sound I was hearing. I thought that maybe your demon bull was really out there, following me.”
Gideon shook his head. “Nah, I killed that bull centuries ago. Now, please step back.” He raised his weapon.
“I said I can help.” Asha raised her needle.
Gideon glared, his handsome young face twisted and lined. “I said get back!”
Asha saw the furious iron in the man’s eyes, and she stepped aside out of the road, but kept her needle at the ready.
Sebek galloped up to Gideon and reined his horse in, but the animal kept dancing and snorting as the rider yanked his short sword from its scabbard. The blade gleamed with a pale golden hue. “I’ve come for the woman!” Sebek pointed his sword at Asha. “Stand aside!”
“No.” Gideon drew down in a low stance with his shining white blade extended behind him. “Throw down your sword and surrender.”
“Idiot!” Sebek kicked his mount into a fresh gallop, thundering toward the man standing in the middle of the road.
Gideon leapt aside and swung his blade up as the rider swung his sword down. The white gauntlet shattered the yellow sword and plunged on into the rider’s belly. From the instant of contact, a wave of white fire spread from Gideon’s blade, burning outward in a ring of flames that consumed Sebek’s green robes, and then a hideous roar drowned out the terrified cries of the horse as a red inferno swept over the man’s flesh. The rider screamed as the fire engulfed him.
Asha watched the horse slow to a trot, shivering and twitching, shaking its long brown head. In the saddle, a blackened skeleton was collapsing in upon itself, the arms and legs tumbling to the ground, the empty skull crashing down through the charred spine and ribs. The burnt bones smashed down into the road and shattered into dust.
Slowly, she let her gaze travel back along the road, past the melted gray remains of the once-golden sword, and up to Gideon. He stood with his back to her, his white blade still hissing and roaring in the empty air. And as she watched him, she thought she saw his shoulders shake and his left hand went up to his face.
But a moment later he pushed the lever and his blade vanished into the device on his arm. He turned, blinking, and smiled at her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Are you?”
He nodded and cleared his throat loudly. He pointed at the riderless animal behind her. “Can I interest you in a free horse?”
A trickle of ash fell from the saddle.
Asha winced.
7
They cleaned the saddle and put Priya up on it. The horse was still sweating and snorting from its long run through the cedar forest, but the nun was small and light, and Asha could see and hear that the animal was more than strong enough to go on.
“Well, good-bye, and good luck,” she said to Gideon.
“Asha.” He gestured toward her face. “Can I see your ear? Please?”
“It’s nothing. It’s fine.” Asha ran her hand over her hair to ensure it covered the flesh in question.
“It’s not fine. There’s something in it, isn’t there?” He stepped closer. “A soul, or a bit of one, I think.”
Asha nodded. “I was bitten when I was a girl. But it’s fine. It even helps me in my work. And I do check it regularly. It hasn’t changed, not ever. It never gets any worse. I’m fine. Really.”
Gideon frowned. “If you say so. But if you ever want any help with it, there are people who know about these things.”
“You mean your courtesan in Damascus?”
He grimaced. “Yes, but I was thinking of Bashir’s Aegyptian friends. I’ve met them a few times. Strange people, but decent and helpful. If you ever want help with that ear, go to Alexandria. They’re hard to find, but with that ear you shouldn’t have much trouble tracking them down.”
She nodded. “Good to know.”
He hesitated, a pained squint in his eyes, but then it passed and he smiled. “All right then. Take care of yourselves, ladies.” He waved and stepped inside the airship. The pilot waved as well. Then the engine roared and the propellers droned, and the great silvery machine rose gracefully into the sky and swept off into the eastern clouds.
Asha took the reins of the horse and began walking up the road. She sighed. “Well, at least all of that is behind us.”
“Oh?” Priya smiled. “It sounds like there’s more of it ahead of us, assuming we’re still going west. Damascus. Alexandria. Immortals. Flaming swords.”
“Not flaming,” Asha said. “More like shining or glowing.”
“Ah.”
“No, I just meant I was glad to have that business with Sebek behind us. I’ve been hearing a strange soul-sound ever since we left Herat, and now we know it was that sword of his. I’m glad I won’t have to hear it anymore.”
“I see. Did Gideon’s sword make a similar sound?”
Asha frowned. “No. It didn’t. It didn’t make any sound at all.”
They passed through the village an
d continued west down the hill and through the fields, following the setting sun. The smell of the cedars faded, replaced by the aroma of dates. They were just about to cross a small stream when Asha stopped short and looked back over her shoulder. Slowly, she drew her hair back from her right ear.
A deep thrum echoed from the east.
Chapter 9
The Golden Dragon
1
Asha stopped at a bend in the road and led the horse off into the tall grass overlooking the plain below. Up in the saddle, Priya stretched and yawned. “Why am I so tired? I was never this tired when I was walking all day.”
Asha shrugged. “If you prefer, I can ride and you can lead the horse across Syria.”
“Actually, I think we could both ride together. It’s not as though we have much baggage with us.”
Asha nodded and swung up into the saddle in front of her friend and took the reins. “We’re almost there, actually. I can see it.”
“What does it look like?”
The city of Damascus spread across the plain below, salting the earth with countless white houses and white temples and white palaces. In that sea of white there rose island after island of green, of towering trees studded with lemons, limes, grapefruits, and oranges. And spearing through the districts were long vineyards and arbors of grapes and olives, long reflecting pools between shining fountains, and broad avenues filled with market stalls beneath brightly colored awnings of red and blue and green.
The temples looked like marble forests, each one ringed by low walls and guarded by slender towers, and in their centers gleamed massive bronze domes. The castles stood here and there throughout the city, some squatting on low hilltops or looming over a bend in a river, some perfectly square and others drawing massive pointed stars through the surrounding neighborhoods with their shield walls.
And everywhere she looked, even from high on the road far away, Asha could see the great thronging masses of people streaming up and down the avenues inside the city, marching up and down the dusty highways leading into the city, and teeming across the verdant fields outside the city with their baskets and carts and animals.
Bells rang, echoing through the city streets, and a lone male voice rose in the distance, singing in low, mournful tones.
“Asha? What’s it like?”
“Oh, sorry. I was just trying to think of some way to describe it without incurring a lecture about something. It’s nice. The city looks nice.”
“Why would I lecture you?”
“I don’t know. Force of habit?”
Priya laughed. “I don’t mean to lecture you. I suppose that sometimes I just want to help you when I think you’re unhappy. And speaking of which, you’ve been very tense and terse over the last few weeks.” The nun’s tone grew as solemn as cold marble. “You’ve spoken rudely to many people on the road who have helped us. And let us not forget how you accused Gideon of being some sort of thief or assassin.”
“I apologized for that,” Asha said.
“Still. I had hoped that our journey into the west would carry you away from your past, away from the things that seem to hang over you like a storm cloud. But here we are, having crossed mountains and deserts and forests, across whole empires, and you don’t seem to have lightened your soul at all.”
“What do you want me to do? Count beads? Recite sutras? Ask Buddha for peace of mind, for the child-like apathy to ignore the monstrous evils that we’ve seen in the past, and that we’re no doubt going to see more of in the future?”
“If that will help, then yes.”
Asha sighed and nudged the horse onward and they rejoined the march of farmers and tradesmen heading down to the white oasis of civilization below.
But as they reached the edge of the plain level with the city itself, Asha saw a surge of people flooding toward the road from the south, pouring down from the hills carrying their children and sacks full of food. She nudged the horse again into a brisk trot and hurried down the road to the dusty intersection where the southerners were joining the rest of the traffic.
“What’s happened?” Asha called out.
The people continued past without sparing a single glance for the women on horseback.
“You, sir!” Asha leaned down to catch a man’s shoulder. He squinted up at her. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”
His eyes widened for a moment as he looked at her, but then his expression dimmed and he shook his head. “The Damascena. Have you seen the Damascena? Has she passed through here yet? Have you seen her?”
Asha could only shake her head and the man vanished into the crowd.
“What do you suppose this Damascena is?” Priya asked in her ear.
Asha shrugged. “A woman from Damascus, I suppose.”
“A warlord? Could they be fleeing from this Damascena?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think so.” Asha leaned down and caught the attention of an older woman plodding along by herself. “Madam! Please tell us what’s happening.”
The woman squinted up at them. “Get to the city, quick as you can, my girls. It’s terrible, terrible! A golden beast, a giant serpent, coming down from the eastern mountains. It’s larger than anything I’ve ever seen, racing through the highlands and destroying everything in its path. Quickly, get into the city!” And she shuffled on.
“A golden beast?” Priya said.
“It could be another steam train,” Asha said. “Maybe one full of soldiers.”
“But don’t these people know about trains? Wouldn’t that woman have called it a train if it was one, instead of calling it a beast and a serpent?”
“Then maybe it’s some other sort of machine, something new, something these people haven’t seen yet.” Asha rode on into the crowd, shouting questions and straining to hear the answers, but it was all more of the same. More vague descriptions of a golden serpent, more calls for the Damascena, and several shouts for the army to come and save them.
“Perhaps we should go with them,” Priya said. “They could have wounded people with them that we can help, and we might be safer inside the city with them.”
“No.” Asha turned the horse about and drew it to a halt just off the road. “I want to wait here a bit and see what’s coming.”
“You’re not afraid?”
“Not yet.” Asha reached into her bag and pulled out a sprig of thyme, which she began to chew. “If there is anything to be afraid of, I’m sure I’ll hear it coming.”
2
The tide of refugees thinned as the sun crossed its zenith, and a mighty horn blast split the sky, ringing out three high notes in quick succession. Asha turned to watch the company of armed men on horseback ride out from the city. They wore pale blue tunics under leather breastplates studded with steel plates, and upon their heads were conical helmets wrapped with white cloth at their bases.
The company rode swiftly up the road and soon passed Asha and Priya at the crossroads as they turned south and headed up into the hills.
“Shall we?” Asha tapped the horse’s flanks with her heels and set out after the men.
They rode through fragrant fields and orchards higher and higher into the hills above Damascus beneath a sky on fire with rippling sheets of crimson and amber behind endless waves of paper-thin white clouds stretching from horizon to horizon.
“Vultures,” Asha observed. “Lots of them.”
The huge black birds appeared in the distance high above the next valley, swooping and gliding in tighter and tighter circles, hundreds of carrion eaters swirling in to form a maelstrom of dusty feathers and blood encrusted talons.
For a moment the company of riders ahead of them disappeared over a small rise in the road. To her right, Asha could still see the white walls of Damascus far below them on the plain painted pink and gold by the setting sun. But closer in, only half a league away, she saw a small village amidst a small jungle of olive trees. And despite the great exodus she had seen on the road that afternoon, she co
uld still see a few people moving about in the village.
As she gazed down at the tiny houses and the tiny animals, Asha heard a deep bass note reverberate through the earth beneath their horse. The low thrum made her wince and turn her head aside sharply.
“What is it?” Priya asked. “What did you hear?”
“That sound, the one from before in the cedar forest.” Asha shook her head. “The animal we never saw. I think it’s here.”
They trotted up to the top of the rise in the road and looked down upon the valley on the far side. The road wound its way down through tall waving grasses and bright yellow flowers all bowing before the stiffening breeze. Halfway down, Asha saw the company from Damascus riding past stone markers and wooden signs toward a village nestled in the fallen boulders of the steep ridge. But beyond them the road flattened out at the bottom of the valley and she saw a thick column of black smoke rising from a grove of lemon trees. The smoke twisted and turned in the funnel of circling vultures.
“There’s smoke,” the herbalist said.
“But is there fire?” the nun asked, smiling.
Asha rolled her eyes and continued down the road. As they reached the first turn, the soldiers were trotting out across the valley floor bearing straight for the smoking dust cloud in the lemon trees.
A cry rose over the valley like the trumpeting of a hundred angry elephants. Asha reined up to watch the soldiers reform their column into a wall of riders fifty men wide and two men deep, all with spears raised, all facing the dust cloud in the trees.
“What was that sound?” Priya whispered.
“Sh.” Asha clutched the reins in both hands and felt the horse beneath her dancing nervously in place.
The soldiers advanced on the lemon grove, toward the wall of dust and smoke and leaves and feathers rushing by. Asha flinched as the front half of a camel flew out of the whirlwind, toppling two riders and their horses.
The cloud roared again, now like a hundred tigers about to devour the elephants who had trumpeted a minute earlier.
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