Ishaq idly scratched the only spot on his gray beard that had any color left in it. “The asirim are important, but the Kings will be wary of your return. They’ll know about your asir, and be worried you’ll try steal more. You may have unknowingly helped us. The Kings may have become wary of bringing the asirim into the desert for fear of what you might do in response. It may even make them hesitant to come in full force, lest we return to Sharakhai to do exactly what you’ve proposed.”
“All the more reason to strike quickly,” Çeda countered. “The Kings cannot cover the whole of the blooming fields. We should go now, before they can stop us.”
“Perhaps, but we must always think ahead, Çeda. If the Kings are preparing to stop us at the blooming fields, we might give hint that we’re ready to do just that, and then strike at another target. We might do that again and again, and only when they feel that the asirim are a ruse do we go to free them.”
“The asirim have waited for four centuries!”
Ishaq waved to a young boy who was tending to the araq. As the boy moved to refill several glasses, Ishaq regarded Çeda. “Their suffering pains me, but rash action will not aid them. Wait a few more months, and we’ll be more prepared.”
“Months become years in the blink of an eye.”
For the first time, anger showed on Ishaq’s hoary face. “Then it will be years.” He flung one finger toward the door of the tent. “There is a King in the desert who may be sailing for us even now. There are Maidens on your trail. The Kings’ entire navy may be sailing behind them, hoping to catch us unaware. I will not risk the safety of our fledgling tribe because the plight of the asirim has pushed you beyond reason.”
“I’m not asking you to. I will take Sümeya and Melis, some few others, and return to Sharakhai when the time is right. There we will free Sehid-Alaz, for he, I believe, is the key. With his help we can break the bonds of the others.”
“You wish to return to Sharakhai,” Macide replied, “with war on our doorstep?”
“No. I won’t leave until Onur’s fate has been decided.”
“You will leave when I tell you to leave,” Ishaq said.
Çeda stood to stare down at him, at them all. “I am not yet part of your tribe. I made vows to Sehid-Alaz, to Kerim, to his wife, Havva, and to others. I promised to free them. I came here so you will have the benefit of everything I’ve learned, but I decide my own fate. Not you.”
The mood in the tent had changed from one of amused sufferance to outright hostility. A hum began to build, but quelled as Ishaq raised his hand for silence. “Do you think to start your own tribe, then?” he asked.
“Melis was a Blade Maiden who believed in the Kings. Sümeya was first warden! They risked everything to save me and to learn the truth. And when they learned it, they embraced it, even though it was painful, even though it flew in the face of all they’d ever been told. Are they not the sort of allies we’ve been hoping for for centuries? Are they not the sort of women who could spark a revolution?”
“You don’t know their hearts.”
“I know their hearts better than I know yours. I’ve been to battle with them. I’ve bled for them and they’ve bled for me. I saw how viciously they both fought for what they believed in. And now they believe in us. They see our story! They see us!” Ishaq was red-faced, but Çeda refused to stop. “I know you have the weight of our people on your shoulders,” she said in a softer tone. “I recognize that burden. I know its weight. But I beg you, let us seize the opportunity that Nalamae herself has surely placed before us.”
Macide, sitting by Ishaq’s side, raised his hand before Ishaq could speak. “Çeda has said her piece. Perhaps it’s time to listen to the Maidens.”
Ishaq stared at Macide as if he’d betrayed him. He looked as if he was about to say as much, but when Leorah began to stir from her seat he held his tongue.
Leorah held out one weighty arm and waved Çeda closer. “Help an old woman up.”
In that moment, Leorah’s amethyst ring seemed to glow. Çeda blinked, and it was gone, leaving her to wonder if she’d imagined it. It might have been from the nearby fire, or the brilliant light of the setting sun as it played against the tent’s western wall, but she could have sworn it had shone from within.
“Come, girl.” Leorah waved her hand again. “Don’t condemn me to lie here all night.”
“Sorry, grandmother.” Çeda helped her to her feet, then handed her her cane.
“You’re leaving?” Ishaq asked.
“There are things Çeda and I must discuss,” Leorah said as she hobbled with Çeda’s help toward the tent flaps. “Listen to the Maidens’ stories. Tell us your decision in the morning.”
And just like that, they went out into the gathering dusk. Çeda glanced back and saw confusion in Ishaq’s eyes. Even anger. But there was curiosity as well, an eagerness to know what Leorah was going to say.
Still feeling strange about leaving, Çeda walked Leorah toward her yacht while Sümeya was summoned to the tent. “Don’t you think we should listen to what they have to say?” Çeda asked.
“Çedamihn, I love you, but you need to learn when to still that sharp tongue of yours. You challenged Ishaq in front of everyone. Do you really think he’d listen to anything Sümeya had to say with you there? Leave them be. We have other things to discuss.”
Çeda’s first instinct was to argue, but it would simply be proving Leorah’s point. As they walked through the warm evening air, her head began to cool and a mystery began to tug at Çeda’s thoughts. In the short walk from the tent, Leorah’s posture had straightened. She leaned on her cane less, her steps becoming steadier. Even her breathing seemed more at ease.
As they neared the gangplank to her yacht, Çeda asked, “Grandmother, what does your ring do?”
Pretending she hadn’t heard, Leorah called out for Salsanna.
“Grandmother?”
Leorah made a face. “Never you mind, child.” And she motioned to Salsanna, who had climbed onto the deck as if she’d been expecting them. “There’s something Salsanna wishes to share with you.”
Çeda decided to set the mystery of the ring aside for now. They had enough to worry about.
The scars over Salsanna’s face and neck, evidence of her battle against Kerim, stood out in the sun’s copper light. When Salsanna joined them on the sand, Leorah gripped Çeda’s wrist and the three of them headed beyond the line of ships. Soon it was clear they were headed toward a standing stone. In the long finger of its shadow was a figure hunkered low to the ground, nearly lost to the darkness. By the gods, it was Kerim. She hadn’t felt his presence in the least. It was as if he’d been masking himself from her. Even now, she could barely feel him.
Why do you hide from me? she asked him.
A long pause. Somewhere in the desert a jackal yipped.
Kerim’s refusal to speak felt like rejection, though she was sure there must be another explanation. After all they’d been through, Kerim wouldn’t do that to her, would he? But when she gave it a moment’s thought, the reason Salsanna led her here became obvious.
“You’ve bonded deeply with him,” Çeda said.
“Yes,” she replied. “I’ve come to experience his dreams, as you have. I’ve felt his pain firsthand.”
It proved that another could successfully bond with the asirim, which was glorious news, and made Çeda hopeful that Salsanna had had luck on other fronts. She motioned to Salsanna’s wrist, where Mesut’s golden bracelet rested. “Have you been able to reach them?”
Salsanna stared with a defeated look into the large, oval jet, which in the dim light looked like a deep, malevolent pool. “I’ve tried many times. Like you, I’ve felt the souls within, but I cannot speak with them. Not once have I felt more than their lament, their desire for release. How Mesut released them into a living soul, I have no idea.”
; Çeda hid her disappointment. Salsanna had done well with Kerim, and the mystery of the bracelet was one that might never be solved. Her thoughts were interrupted as a ship’s bell began to ring. Over and over it sounded, with several of the crew pointing and shouting, “Ship ho! Ship ho!”
A cutter was sailing toward them, her hull a dark smudge of coal, her billowing ivory sails aflame in the dying light of day.
On the deck, a pinpoint light began to blink in a clear sequence. Two flashes, a pause, then two more, over and over. A crewman was using a hooded lantern to send a signal to the distant ship.
“What does it mean?” Çeda said.
Salsanna’s eyes had gone wide. “It’s a warning.” She turned and began leading Leorah back toward the yacht. “The enemy approaches.”
Since it was sailing in from the east, it surely bore news of Onur. An alarm bell rang, using the same sequence as the lantern light. In minutes, with fear driving every movement, the tents were torn down and stowed on the ships. The crews of every ship made ready, dozens working to tow the ships so they faced south, a favorable position to catch the wind.
When the cutter arrived, its captain rushed to speak with Ishaq and the tribe’s elders. Çeda was called to a circle a short while later.
Ishaq pointed east. “Onur has betrayed and attacked Tribe Kadri. He’s now pursuing Emre, Shal’alara, and what remains of Tribe Kadri’s fleet. They’re leading Onur’s ships away, but ask that we come in behind them and catch Onur unaware.” He turned to Sümeya and Melis. “I’ve not yet decided what’s to be done with you, but if all you’ve said is true, you can help your cause and fight by our side.”
Sümeya considered, and then jutted her chin toward Çeda. “I will fight by your granddaughter’s side.”
Ishaq looked ill-pleased. “And you?” he said to Melis.
“My sword is Çeda’s to command.”
Hamid snorted, his eyes burning with hatred for the Blade Maidens, but Ishaq nodded. “Good enough.” He looked to everyone and spread his arms wide. “We go to battle a King of Sharakhai. This isn’t something I wished for so soon after coming to the desert. But the fates give what they will. It is ours to face it or flee.” Ishaq drew his sword with a fluidity that surprised Çeda, and faced the gathered crowd. “Would you flee, Tribe Khiyanat?”
“We will not!” they answered. So sudden and powerful was the reply, it resounded through Çeda, made her yearn to release the anger that had been hidden inside her for so long.
“Our tribe’s name was taken from the old tongue,” Ishaq went on. “In the days of our foremothers and forefathers, it had twin meanings. One is the forgotten.” He cast his gaze over the crowd.
Çeda had stood before the Kings of Sharakhai. She had stood before gods. And yet when Ishaq’s eyes passed over her, she felt a chill run along her limbs until her fingers and toes tingled from it. She’d known Ishaq drew people to him through the sheer force of his presence. She’d seen some of it in Macide, but she’d had no idea how strong it was. Not until now.
“Shall our name be spoken alongside Tribe Kadri? Salmük? Ebros? Halarijan? Or will you suffer the desert to forget our name once more?”
“Never!” their voices roared in unison. “Never again!”
Ishaq seemed pleased. “The second meaning, is the betrayed. We took this name after Beht Ihman, for those slain in the centuries that followed, and for the children orphaned. There is no shame in admitting we were forced to hide amongst our brothers and sisters in the farther corners of the desert for fear that we’d be murdered for acknowledging our blood. But times change. The sands shift. Now we have stepped free from the shadows!”
A great shout lifted up, more emotion than words, and this time Çeda joined them.
“Would you repay the betrayal of Beht Ihman?”
“We would!”
“Will you repay that betrayal with your blood?”
“We will!”
“And with theirs?”
Swords lifted toward the night sky. The butts of spears were driven against the sand and the cries built into a tumult of long-suppressed anger.
“We will!”
Ishaq waved his shamshir high above his head. “Then come, brothers and sisters! The desert is hungry, and Onur has escaped it for too long. It is time we give him back!”
As he made for his ship, the loudest roar of all engulfed him.
* * *
Leorah sat on the deck of her yacht while, all around, the ships were made ready to sail. Salsanna had gone to the desert to speak with Kerim, to prepare him for the morrow, which, if all went as Leorah suspected, would see him reunited with a King for the first time since he’d been dominated by Onur.
She’d sent her own crew away. “We’re prepared enough,” she told them. “Go, help wherever you can.”
Leorah was nervous. This was an event they had been hurtling toward for generations, and now it had arrived. She didn’t know if they would survive, but what were they to do? They could not live in the cracks of the desert like mites until the end days. So while her fear was strong, so was her pride, so was her hope.
Ahead, a woman approached her yacht, lit by the lanterns set fore and aft.
“Salsanna?”
The woman didn’t answer. She kept walking, a staff in her hand. Three men passed only a few paces ahead of her but, remarkably, none of them turned their heads. None seemed to notice the woman at all even though she towered over them.
Finally Leorah recognized her. Nalamae.
She had hair of honey, plaited so that it ran over one shoulder and down the front of her wheat-colored dress. She walked deliberately, ignoring all that was going on around her. When she came near enough for the lanterns to light her face, Leorah gasped. She said nothing, however. She waited for the goddess to stop near the gangplank. With her gnarled staff, she thumped the sand until she heard the dull thud of wood. Then she walked up the deck and approached Leorah’s chair.
“I will admit,” Leorah said, “I never thought to see you again. Not in this life.”
“I will never leave these shores,” Nalamae replied.
“No.” Leorah felt the weight of the moment press down on her. “I suppose you won’t. Have you come to help us, then?”
“Yes.” The goddess stared intently at the horizon, as if she could see beyond it.
“You’ll join us?”
“No,” she said, “but the time grows near.” There was little regret in her voice or on her broad face. She seemed exhausted, as if she’d been traveling for weeks. “The morning brings great events. The fate of the desert prepares to shift, one way or another.”
“It does,” Leorah replied, more excited than she’d felt in a long while. By the gods who breathe, she felt young again. “Tell me why you’ve come, Nalamae.”
Nalamae held her staff before her like a spear ready to be driven into the ground. “I’m here to present you with a gift.”
With shaking hands, Leorah accepted it. She stared at it reverently, confused. “For what purpose?”
Nalamae smiled grimly. “To even the scales, granddaughter.”
Chapter 55
ÇEDA STOOD ON THE foredeck of Ishaq’s own ship, the Amaranth, which sailed the morning sands near the center of Tribe Khiyanat’s fleet. They’d set after the Black Spear ships of Onur’s fleet and continued all through the night. The wind had been strong in the starlit hours, but now it was nearly a gale, driving their ships over the sand with a speed that bordered on recklessness. They couldn’t let up, though. The Black Spear ships were still a league ahead of Khiyanat’s as they in turn shadowed Tribe Kadri’s fleet.
Çeda could see them a half-league ahead of Onur’s ships, their sails bright along the horizon. In a few short hours, the three fleets were going to converge, hopefully giving Kadri and Khiyanat the advantage over Onur as they swept i
n from two sides.
Now that they were close, the Khiyanat and Kadri fleets had begun coordinating their movements. The flagmen in the vulture’s nests sent messages ahead and relayed answers to Ishaq.
It won’t be long now, Çeda thought. Soon dozens of ships would be locked in battle. She was as nervous as she’d ever been in the fighting pits of Sharakhai before a bout. But her heart was singing. They had a chance to show not only the Kings, but the entire desert, that the thirteenth tribe would no longer be silent.
Using a spyglass, Çeda tried to spot Emre, but the Kadri ships were too far away. She swung the spyglass left instead and studied the Black Spear ships, hoping to find Onur. She examined ship after ship and took note of the sheer number of warriors Onur had managed to gather to his cause. She saw the dozens of crews as they manned the ships and prepared for battle. Of the King of Sloth, however, she saw no sign.
“Come,” Çeda said to Sümeya and Melis, who stood beside Çeda along the gunwales. “We’re nearing ballista range.”
As the three of them headed amidships, the crew of the Amaranth sent wary glances their way. They were the pariahs of the tribe. Each wore her black Maiden’s dress, her black turban with veil hanging loose, and her ebon blade at her side. All three were symbols of hatred among all the desert tribes, but especially among the Moonless Host, whose warriors made up most of the tribe’s number.
Their presence was suffered, but only on Ishaq’s orders, and no one loved him for it. Every man, woman, and child on the ship looked as though they’d like nothing more than to throw the three of them over the gunwales—everyone but Macide, who watched them approach while leaning against the mainmast.
Zaïde and Salsanna stood nearby, speaking softly. Leorah was there as well, seated on a chair, hardly able to keep her eyes open. In place of her cane she had a staff. It rolled softly beneath the chair as the deck pitched this way or that. Had her cane been lost?
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