Çeda grabbed Emre’s arm, holding back another undefended swing. “Enough!”
Emre ignored her and managed to get in a couple more punches with his left hand before Çeda dragged him off Ramahd’s limp form.
“He gave you up to that thing!” Emre shouted when he’d regained his feet.
“I know, Emre. So it’s up to me what we do with him.”
“No!” he drew his kenshar. “He sacrificed you, as if you were his to give up!”
He made for Ramahd again, but Çeda stepped between them, her hands on his chest. Emre stopped, looking as frustrated as she’d ever seen him.
Çeda spoke slowly, and only to Emre. “If what he said is true, the ehrekh is on its way. We have precious little time to decide what to do. I am not his property, Emre, but I’m not yours, either.”
Emre deflated before her, and was clearly embarrassed, but Çeda didn’t care.
“He is mine to deal with,” she continued, “not yours. Do you understand?”
Emre blinked. After a deep breath, he seemed to relax, though not much. He motioned to Ramahd, who was now rolling to his feet. “Then deal with him.”
Only when Emre had sheathed his knife and stepped back did Çeda turn to face Ramahd. “Is that everything?”
“Yes, but—”
“Good,” Çeda said, and slapped him. Not as hard as she could have, but enough for him to remember it. “You’ve warned me of the dangers we now face, and I let you walk away only because it may save the lives of some of my tribe. But if I lay eyes on you again, Ramahd Amansir, we will cross blades, and it won’t end until your blood feeds the Great Mother. Do you understand?”
Ramahd looked as though he wanted to say more. But when he looked around at the cold faces surrounding him, he nodded soberly and walked away.
Brama watched him go. “You’re making a mistake,” he said. “We need him.”
Despite everything she’d just learned, she wished there was a way Ramahd could stay. She felt some of the same feelings for him as she’d had since first meeting him. But how foolish would it be for her to allow it? His loyalties were to Qaimir. She couldn’t trust him not to betray her or the tribe again. “I don’t need Ramahd,” she said to Brama, “nor anyone like him.”
The look that Brama gave her was inscrutable. He was disappointed, perhaps. Or angry. Or both. Without another word, he followed Ramahd.
Chapter 60
A TERRIBLE SENSE OF foreboding spread among the gathering as Ramahd and Brama left. Ishaq and Macide and Shal’alara all began talking heatedly, but Çeda could hardly think. She looked upon those gathered, upon the ships lit by the firelight. This was her tribe. These were her people. She’d hardly come to know them, and now they might be swept away like grains of sand, never to be seen again.
How could you have led us to this, Nalamae? How could you have abandoned us?
It was then that she felt something stir. An awareness inside her grew, indistinct at first, but slowly she realized it was emanating from the bracelet on her right wrist. There was sorrow still, as there had been before, but there was something else, a glimmer along the horizon.
Why, though? And why now?
At the far edge of the circle, the crowd parted and a column of women and men, led by Salsanna, came to the center of the gathering. Leorah walked by Salsanna’s side, holding not her cane but Nalamae’s staff.
“I would speak,” Salsanna said. She stood resigned, even hopeful. The other men and women standing in the column behind her had the same stance, as if they were preparing for something momentous.
Salsanna faced Çeda. “I found the purpose of the bracelet.” She motioned to Çeda’s wrist. “I know how we can free them.”
She meant the souls of the asir trapped within. “Go on,” Çeda said.
“At first I thought we might release the souls in the bracelet, as Mesut did in your battle with him. But neither of us has been able to, and I fear it was a gift the gods gave only him. Then I thought perhaps we could be transformed, as you saw happen to the woman in Eventide who was forced from her own body that an asir might be remade. You told me King Mesut transferred the asir’s soul, but that beforehand, King Cahil prepared her.”
“He did.” Something was twisting over and over again inside Çeda’s gut. She didn’t at all like where this was headed.
“I thought, as you did, that Cahil merely prepared her body to accept another soul. I thought we would need to make our bodies ready that the asirim might share our physical forms.” Salsanna motioned to the site of the battle. “I felt the moment when Kerim died today. I was bonded to him, and it made me realize what must be done for the asirim in Mesut’s cursed stone to be freed.”
With sudden clarity, Çeda understood what Salsanna meant to do, and why she had brought so many to the fire.
“We cannot share this mortal coil,” Salsanna went on, “but a single soul may fill a body. We must make way that the asirim might live, that they might protect us.” She turned, her gaze taking in all those behind her. “We are here for that purpose. We have come that you, Çedamihn Ahyanesh’ala, might lead them once we are gone.”
Tears came unbidden to Çeda’s eyes. She blinked to clear them. “You mean to die that the asirim might live.”
Salsanna nodded. “We will pass to the farther fields and those whose lives were taken through no fault of their own might live once more. We will pass to give them one last chance at revenge, and that our tribe might survive the coming day.”
A surge of protests rose all around the fire, pleading for Ishaq to deny Salsanna’s request—but Salsanna never took her eyes from Çeda’s. She strode forward, Leorah’s hand in hers. “It must be so.” Her voice carried above the growing fervor. “And you must do it.”
The protests grew louder. The asirim were feared in every corner of the desert and rightly so. They were the Kings’ servants and, if such a transformation could even be accomplished, the newly made asirim might be beholden to the Kings. They would have given up lives for nothing—worse, to give the Kings fresh weapons.
“What of it?” Ishaq asked. “Why should we believe that these asirim would fight for us and not the Kings?”
All eyes turned to Çeda. Moths fluttered in her chest as she struggled to find the right words. “We’ve seen it already in Kerim, an asir not only willing to fight for us, but die to protect us. The first asir made from that bracelet in Eventide was forced into a new form by Kings Cahil and Mesut. Neither the woman who died in that ritual, nor the asir who took her form, wished for it. I believe it poisoned them and kept them beholden to the will of the Kings. It may be that the souls in that bracelet, when given new life, will still live beneath the yoke of the Kings. But if so, we will know it and we can stop the ritual. And remember, when they were summoned on the Night of Endless Swords and I managed to give them free will, they stormed over Mesut. They took their revenge against him and ended his life. I tell you, they want more. I say we give them that chance.”
The arguments broke out again. Ishaq was calling for order. Macide and Emre and Frail Lemi were pushing some back, making room for the elders to speak. Salsanna, ignoring them all, took Çeda’s right wrist and held it tenderly. “You must do this, Çeda.”
The raised voices became a riot of shouts. All around her were worried faces, even angry.
“Enough!” Çeda called.
But they didn’t listen, not until Ishaq held up his hands and joined her. Slowly, the noise subsided. Çeda thought Ishaq would reject Salsanna’s request out of hand, but to her surprise, he waved one hand to her.
“Speak, Çedamihn.”
Çeda took in the crowd anew. The moths inside her were gone, replaced by cold determination. “A grim day lies ahead,” she began. “We’ve all taken a strange path. Wherever your families’ tales have led you, they bear two things in common. They began
on the night of Beht Ihman, and they all led you here.”
She held the golden band high and turned it so that all could see the dark stone. “This was once King Mesut’s. I cut it from his wrist. I watched him die as the souls trapped within used their brief freedom to tear the skin from his bones. They are trapped still, but Salsanna has found a way to free them, and she and the others gathered here are willing to sacrifice their lives so these unfortunate souls, your own forebears, might release their rage against the Kings. Do any here think she would say this lightly?”
The gathering was silent.
“Would you die for your tribe?” Çeda asked them.
A long moment passed. The fire played across their grim faces. No one replied, until—
“I would die.” It was Emre, with the most serious expression she’d ever seen on his face. “I would die for my tribe,” he repeated.
Behind Emre, the looming form of Frail Lemi stepped forward. “I would die beside him.”
“I would die as well,” said a deep voice.
Everyone turned. Macide had spoken, and it was tacit approval of what she and Salsanna were planning to do.
“Would you die that your tribe might live?” Çeda asked again.
“We would.” The reply had become a refrain. It had come not only from Emre, Frail Lemi, and Macide, but several others in the crowd.
“Would you die that the name of Khiyanat might be heard across the desert?”
“We would!” This time, many more joined in.
“Would you die that your children might sail where they want, free beneath the sun?”
“We would!” Nearly everyone had now joined the chorus.
She removed the golden band from her wrist and held it against the starry night sky. “When the sun rises, we do not go to die! We go to live! That is what Salsanna offers us. That is what the asirim, trapped for so long, will deliver. They offer us life. Let us take it and use it against the Kings!”
Çeda paced before them. “They come for us on their galleons. They come for us with ebon steel. They come for us, their spears tipped with silver and savagery and spite. For centuries have we feared them, but tomorrow the tide will turn. They will know the name of fear! They will hear our voices raised in freedom! And they will never forget the name of Khiyanat!”
As one, they threw their hands into the air and shouted, “Khiyanat! Khiyanat!”
Everyone was caught by it. Macide, Dardzada, Shal’alara, Frail Lemi. Emre, instead of looking at her with worry—always so much worry—watched her with pride. Even Hamid seemed filled with purpose. All because of her. Sümeya did not shout with the others, but there was surprise in her eyes, as if she hadn’t expected this from Çeda. Ishaq watched with clear pride, which somehow made Çeda keenly aware of herself, and she had to look away lest she lose her nerve.
“Go, my kinsmen,” Çeda called to them. “And prepare for war!”
A great roar rose from the gathering and the crowd began to break apart at the edges. There were only a few hours left to make final preparations. The wind was starting to come to life, and more would likely come with the rising sun. They needed to be ready to sail.
Çeda wanted to speak with Emre, but he was already deep in conversation with Ishaq, Macide, and Shal’alara. It was clear that Ishaq had come around to her way of thinking. For better or worse, they would attack Onur’s camp with their fleetest ships and hope to slay him. If they could do that, they might gain help from the tribes Onur had strong-armed to fight beneath his banner. Meanwhile, a larger contingent led by Macide and Emre would go after the Kings, hoping to slow them down long enough for Çeda and the others to succeed.
Her heart sinking just a little bit, she let them be, and left with Salsanna, Leorah, and all those who’d volunteered. She’d not gone ten steps into the darkness, however, when she felt a tug on her hand. She turned to see Emre.
“Go on,” Çeda told Salsanna. “I’ll be along shortly.”
Salsanna nodded and led Leorah across the sand. For a time, Emre and Çeda merely held hands, neither sure what to say. “I always thought it would be easier,” he finally said.
She knew what he meant. The Kings. Their downfall. “At least we’re still alive.”
His dark eyes twinkled as he shrugged. “We’ll live to see the sunrise. That’s no small thing in the desert.”
An uncomfortable silence followed. Çeda wanted to ask Emre to join her. She wanted to abandon her plans to make for Onur like an arrow when the sun rose. She wanted to be with him, but she knew she couldn’t. He seemed to sense it as well.
“Whatever happens,” he said, “we’ve done this much. Whatever happens, the Kings will fall.”
“You’re underestimating their resourcefulness.”
“No, I’m not. The mountain has been chipped away at the base. Nothing will stop it from crumbling now. That’s thanks to you, Çeda. You did that.”
“It wasn’t me.”
He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I should never have doubted you. I should have stopped trying to protect you a long time ago.”
This was what he’d come to say, she realized. She kissed his neck, then held his face in both her hands and kissed him full on the lips. He warmed to it, and when he kissed her back, really kissed her, time froze for a moment. She felt the desert wind, cool on her skin. Heard the soft jingle of rigging. Felt the sand shift beneath her feet, while their lips shared stories.
At last she pulled away. “Time marches on, Emre. We must too.”
“I know.” He jutted his chin toward the fire. “What you did back there. What you’re about to do. It’s what they needed. What we all needed.”
She felt tears coming to her eyes. “I should go.” If she didn’t, she wasn’t sure she could leave his side.
“Not yet,” he said, reaching into a pouch at his belt. “I have something for you.” He retrieved a small metal flask, no larger than a walnut, and held it out to her.
“What is it?”
He unscrewed the top and tipped the flask toward her. It was a clear liquid that glowed a faint blue.
“Emre, what is it?”
“It’s one of the elixirs that were hidden away in Eventide.”
“You said they were all destroyed.”
That roguish grin of his broke across his face. “One of them must have slipped into my pouch.” He screwed the cap back on and offered it to her again.
She was already shaking her head. “No, Emre.”
“You’re always saving me, Çeda. Let me do something for you.”
“No. Whatever I do, it will fail unless you succeed. Take it with you, knowing your mission against Kiral has a better chance of succeeding.”
“Çeda—”
“I won’t take it, Emre.” She started backing away.
He looked crestfallen, but not as much as she would have guessed. “Mule.”
She couldn’t help it. She smiled. “Ass.”
“I’ll go, but the price is another kiss.”
“You don’t want one from your precious Haddad?”
Emre’s head jerked back. “Haddad? I’m surprised you noticed her.”
“Breath of the desert, Emre, she’s pretty enough for everyone to have noticed her.”
“She is but a rough stone compared to you.”
It was a terrible attempt at flattery, but it warmed her heart like nothing had in many months. She swept forward and kissed him again, more passionately than before.
When she broke away, his smile was broad as the sunrise. “Well then! I’ll have another when I see you again!”
“Oh you will, will you?”
He smiled his old smile, the one that made her melt. “See if I don’t!”
A sigh escaped her as he jogged across the sand. She didn’t wish for them to part, but it had be
en the perfect time to see him. How better to bolster her heart before the dark, terrible business ahead?
She rejoined Leorah and the others, who had found a place along the top of a dune near the center of their fleet. In the hour that followed, Çeda spoke to each of the volunteers in turn. She learned their names and their stories. Seventeen souls, the same number as those within the bracelet. She was constantly aware of the jet stone. She listened to the souls within, felt them stir as a man told of his time in the northern reaches of the desert, and another spoke of working as a shipwright. With Salsanna she took particular care. As the daughter of a weaver and a hunter, as a girl who took to both swords and music at an early age, who was later introduced to Leorah and became fascinated with stories of the thirteenth tribe, Salsanna’s story summoned the strongest of the souls within the stone, and by far the most violent.
Salsanna’s sacrifice will grant you life, Çeda whispered to it. Remember her, and let your enemies quake.
The wind, as many had predicted, began to lift with the coming dawn. The tribe gathered in a circle. All around, the ships had been prepared. A bell began to ring, warning that Onur’s ships were on the move. It was quickly silenced by Ishaq as the thirteenth tribe gathered around Çeda and the Forsaken, as they’d already been dubbed. They wore no sandals, nor any other adornment. Each was wrapped in white gauze, to help their passage to the farther fields. Leorah had painted ancient symbols over their faces and along their palms. Save for the flush in their skin, they already looked like the gathering of wights that had risen from Mesut’s stone on the Night of Endless Swords.
With Leorah by her side, Çeda moved to the first, Fahrel, a woman no older than Çeda, with bright brown eyes and rose-petal lips. She was breathing so quickly Çeda thought she might lose heart.
“You are the light that guides us,” Çeda said to her, then kissed her forehead.
The woman, heartened, squeezed Çeda’s hands, and tipped her head back. And with that, Çeda summoned the first of the souls. As she had on the Night of Endless Swords, she opened her heart wide and gave herself to them. Slowly, the soul came forth. The amethyst on Leorah’s right hand shone like a beacon as she helped to guide it.
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