Once she’s gone, I sneak forward and climb the same stalk. A short distance away, an Amparan soldier lies dead with an arrow through his throat. She’d killed a lookout but hadn’t bothered to hide his body, which means the rest of the attack is coming soon.
From my vantage point, I can see the rest of the Amparan camp. Three soldiers huddle on the forest floor. No, not just any soldiers. I recognize them from Neju’s Guard. The men aren’t stupid enough to light campfires, though they sit in a circle as if they had one. Their bedrolls are laid out next to them. I count six bedrolls, so at least three of the party are not here. One must be the scout that the Karu girl just killed. The others...
The bamboo rustles on the far side of the men, and General Arxa steps into view. Though he’s haunted my dreams since I left, the sight of him in the flesh is a fist around my lungs.
I’m running across the training field. It’s high noon. Sweat runs down my back. I’m wearing full armor, and I stumble under the weight of a bag filled with rocks.
“Go. You’re stronger than you think!” shouts Arxa.
My throat feels like it’s been pierced through, and spots dance before my eyes. I stumble, yet I don’t fall. The edge of the field is just a little farther.
“Go!”
I reach for one last burst of strength and surge forward. Cheers erupt from fellow soldiers as I step over the finish marker. They clap me on the back, but I stumble past them and vomit onto the ground.
Arxa comes to stand next to me. “Remember this moment. You are capable of more than you think.”
My heart swells with pride.
The memory drifts away, and deep shame wells up in its place. I can’t even be trusted to hate our enemies. No wonder Gatha kicked me out of the camp.
What do I do now? Despite what Frada thinks, I’m still Shidadi. I’d never warn Arxa about a coming raid. But can I be trusted to fight against him? Even if I could, Frada and the others would never let me join the fight.
Bamboo sways behind me in the distance. Frada’s group is advancing. I slide down and crouch behind a boulder as they run past. The Shidadi fan out, the soft pad of their footsteps barely audible under the swish of the wind. Now that I’m on the ground, I can’t see the Amparans anymore, and soon the Shidadi too disappear from view.
Shouts upon shouts tell me when the fighting begins. I wait for the clash of swords to reach a steady volume, then rush in closer. The cloying smell of blood and sweat drifts over me as the melee comes into view. Shidadi outnumber Amparans three to one—Arxa must have really wanted to evade detection to risk traveling with such a small group. A member of Vidarna’s tribe lies dead already, as does an Amparan I don’t recognize. A second Amparan struggles against two fighters.
But there’s no question where the center of the fighting is. Arxa stands back to back with one of his soldiers, fending off a throng of Shidadi. As my people close in, I get a flash of another battle in the mountains where I’d fought alongside him the same way. Now Frada attacks Arxa from the front, and Taja cuts down the soldier behind the general, leaving Arxa’s back exposed. I grit my teeth, waiting for the final blow to fall, but then Arxa slams his foot into Frada’s chest, sending him stumbling back. Before anyone can react, Arxa lowers his shoulder and charges through the circle, sending two Shidadi flying and almost certainly picking up some deep cuts in the process. Frada regains his balance and moves to block him, but Arxa takes full advantage of his momentum and forces Frada back with a furious attack. I reach for my sword. Frada may not be my favorite person, but he did save my life. As I crash out through the bamboo, Frada snaps his head toward me. His eyes widen.
Arxa runs him through.
I bite back a scream. The general’s disappeared into the bamboo before Frada’s body hits the ground. The Shidadi give chase, and I follow.
Arxa flees through the forest with four Shidadi in pursuit. Four Shidadi, that is, and me, though I don’t think any of them even know I’m here. Arxa may not be as quick a sprinter as a younger man, but he’s good with terrain. Nothing slows him down, and he picks paths that make it hard to follow him. We’re all running at speeds that would break an ankle with a misstep. No time to think, just react. Still the Shidadi have lived and fought on this mountain for years now. It’s only a matter of time before they catch up to him.
Only a matter of time, unless...
Arxa’s words come back to me. Know when you’re beaten. Know how much the enemy is willing to sacrifice. Know when you need to take risks.
He’s running straight toward a Dara tributary, a fast-rushing stream at the bottom of a steep ravine. He must know about it, since they came from that direction.
I turn away from the chase.
Arxa’s fleeing certain death, and a cliff jump might be the only way to throw off his pursuers. I don’t know how far his pursuers are willing to go, but I do know that the ravine flattens out downstream, and that it’s much easier to get to the water from there. That’s where I go now. Once again I barrel through the woods, sending rocks scattering, and bruising my elbows on plants in my way.
Soon, I hear rushing water ahead of me. As the ground softens and gets slippery under my feet, I break through the plant cover onto the riverbank. Mud sucks at my boots, and a slick rock almost sends me flying. More carefully now, I wade out toward the center of the water and stop there, looking at the cliffs upstream. And I wait.
I’ll have to kill him. That much is clear. I’ve already failed Gatha and Frada. I can’t hesitate anymore.
Time passes. My face and arms get wet with spray. My ankles grow so numb that I no longer feel the curious fishes nibbling on them. Maybe I’m wrong after all.
Then I see him, a dark form plummeting off a cliff. I don’t see the splash he makes, and I have no way of knowing if he was dashed to death on the rocks. Even if he survived, he might climb out before he reaches me, but I’m counting on the fall to be enough of a shock to render him useless awhile.
Eventually what looks like a bundle of cloth appears upstream, tossed by the current. Arxa bobs lifelessly at first, and I think my job might be done for me. But then there’s a hint of movement. One arm comes out of the water and plunges back down. Another arm comes out, and then he’s actively trying to swim out of the current—not very successfully at first, but his movements get stronger. He’ll make it out of the water, though not before he reaches me.
As Arxa floats past, I run down the riverbank after him, trying my best to stay out of his line of sight. Finally, he collides with the shore. He lays crumpled for several heartbeats, and then drags himself onto the riverbank. He stays on his hands and knees, dripping wet and coughing up mouthfuls of water. I dash toward him, drawing my sword. I won’t have the element of surprise for long.
I’m still ten paces away, when Arxa staggers to his feet and points his weapon at me. “Dineas. Traitor. I taught you too well, didn’t I?”
Impressive how he still sounds like he’s in control, even after crawling half-drowned out of a river. Part of me still feels like I should salute him. “You can’t win this fight after that fall, Commander,” I say. “Drop your weapon, and my warlord may yet spare you.”
His mouth presses in a grim line. “If you’ve paid any attention at all, then you know I won’t.”
Water splashes my eyes, and I flinch. As I realize I’d let him maneuver me to face the river’s spray, Arxa charges me. I bring my sword up in a desperate block. You’re an idiot, Dineas.
Then we’re fencing, trading jabs and parries, moving up and down the slick riverbank. It could almost be a training drill back in Sehmar City, except our swords are deadly sharp.
“Still not paying attention,” Arxa shouts over the water’s rumble. “Still relying too much on your own skill.”
It’s disconcerting, getting advice from the man you’re trying to kill.
You’ve said yourself that you might have trouble killing Arxa. He was good to you once, and he was good to me.
I’m a split second late to block Arxa’s blow. It’s only with a dive to the side that I don’t end up decapitated.
There’s no one in the world who thinks Arxa’s an easy foe. That’s because everyone who’s underestimated him is already dead. Though I’m stronger and faster, he sees every mistake I make and exploits it. What gives me hope, though, is how tired he is. I just need to keep pressing him, and sooner or later he’ll make a mistake too. As he starts to breathe more heavily, I press him back toward the river. Twice he tries to rally, but I stand my ground. Then he slips on a rock and stumbles.
That’s my opening. I knock his blade out of the way and direct a thrust toward his chest. The sword slides in smoothly between his ribs. Shockingly smoothly, and slides out just as easily.
And then Arxa falls at my feet just like any other man.
The Amparan soldier’s rose plague drives me into a frenzy. If I tried hard to save this man before, now I work ten times harder. Any potion that might help, I brew for him. Any food that would give him strength, I find and prepare. I stay up with him at night, tending the fire and giving him water. To strengthen his humors, I trap a bird and feed him the liver mixed with congealed blood. I’d had such success with patients until now that I’d gotten careless. I realize this now, and I’m determined this man not pay the price. My headache becomes a constant throbbing at the back of my brain.
As the Amparan fights the fever, my Shidadi patient continues to improve. Scrawny comes with me to check on her, flying short hops from branch to branch as I walk. Every time we see the Shidadi, she’s stronger. In a matter of days, she will be gone. I know I must make myself known to her, but if I do, what would become of the Amparan? If I leave with her, he’ll surely perish. If I ask her to wait, then I’ll be exposed for a traitor. One morning, I see her hobbling around her shelter, and I know that she’ll be gone in two days, perhaps even one. Still, I make no move to approach. As I walk away back toward my cave, I feel a stirring of doubt that dissipates as quickly as it came. I don’t return to check on her again.
Meanwhile the rose plague tightens its hold on the Amparan. He drifts in and out of delirium, and it seems that no remedy grants him clarity or peaceful rest. In desperation, I take out the syeb flowers I’d gathered and spread them before me. The thought of using an unknown cure on a patient is abhorrent to me, but I don’t see what else to do. I think through what I know of the rose plague. If I follow Baruva’s theory that it starts in the blood and settles in the skin, then a poultice might be the best. I mix five pinches of pollen together with ground nadat root to draw out the plague essence. The soldier doesn’t even stir as I smear the concoction over his skin. I continue to give him vel flower tea for fever and keep him warm throughout the night.
The next morning, I heat a pot of water over the fire to start washing the poultice off. As I wipe the man’s arm, he stirs and opens his eyes. They’re remarkably clear.
“It smells horrible,” he says.
Hope flares in my chest. “Yes, it does.”
He falls back into the fever after that, but the exchange gives me a renewed determination. I clean him off, give him half a day of rest, then make another batch of poultice with my remaining syeb flowers. He wakes again when I apply it to his chest.
“What do you think the afterlife is like?” he asks.
“Don’t think about the afterlife just yet.”
He makes a weak gesture toward me. “But you must have thought about it.”
“I suppose I have,” I say. “But never for very long. It seems too much like giving up. You shouldn’t give up.”
“I spoke with a priestess of Zenagua once.” I’m not sure he even heard what I just said. “She told me that Zenagua’s realm is beyond wondrous. There are fields ripe with fruit, rivers that shine like jewels. Zenagua herself resides in a city of liquid silver.”
The Amparans have a much more specific view of the afterlife than we do. The priestesses of the Dara Goddess tell us of peace after we die. Peace and rest, though they say little beyond that.
“Wait a little longer before you eat that fruit,” I tell him.
“I’ll do my best,” he says.
That night, his fever spikes. Sweat pours from his forehead, and he’s trapped in a world I cannot see. I can only watch as he talks to ghosts and hallucinations. A few hours earlier, he’d looked as if he might throw off his fever, and now he’s as bad a rose plague case as I’ve ever seen. I do what I can, giving him more vel tea, wiping his brow.
Later that night, his eyes snap open. “Should I fear death?”
“No, of course not,” I tell him.
His eyes unfocus. “No, I don’t think I should. It’s simply another journey. Another step. I see that now.”
“Don’t take that step. Not yet.”
But he’s asleep again.
I, on the other hand, don’t sleep at all. I’m barely aware of the passage of time, just that my eyes grow dry and my limbs grow heavy. My vision clouds over, and my own skin burns like his. Still, I stay with him. After his restlessness this evening, he sinks into a deep slumber. I can only tell he’s alive by the slight movement of his chest.
As the morning light starts filtering in, he coughs. I run to his side and take his hand.
“My name is Miza,” he says.
“I am Zivah,” I whisper.
An hour later, he is dead.
Somehow, I manage to bury Miza. Somehow, I manage to drag his body outside, dig a grave, and lay him to rest with a prayer that is half blessing and all rage. After that, I stumble back to my cave. It’s dark and smoky inside from the fire. The air stinks of poultice and sweat. I lie down and close my eyes. A steady drumbeat pounds at my head.
It gets lighter outside, and then dark again. In a distant corner of my mind, I feel hunger and thirst. The air grows cold and I start to shiver, but I stay still. Why move? Why fight?
Outside, metal clashes against metal. Soldiers yell war cries and rocks fall. I stare at the ceiling of my cave and watch the play of dust in the sunlight.
The noises fade. Night falls. The air grows cold.
A moan of pain drifts through the cave opening.
I shut my eyes and will the world to go silent.
Another moan.
I’m done. I’m finished. Just let me be.
A voice calls in the darkness. “Gods, have mercy.” He cuts off with a sob.
I clench my fists, grit my teeth. A vision appears before me. A woman with eyes like granite and skin the color of new bamboo stands by a veil that hangs from empty air. She pulls it aside with slender fingers, revealing a darkness that shifts and roils like the Monyar strait. But she doesn’t beckon me in. She simply holds it open and looks at me, asking what I will do.
So I open my eyes. I get a drink of water and take a bite of dried taro. Then I sling my bag of herbs over my shoulder and step out into the night.
It’s surreal, the sight of Arxa lying on the ground before me, his hand pressed uselessly against his bleeding wound. Anger smolders in his eyes, but it’s helpless anger. He knows he’s lost. I raise my sword for a killing blow. Finally I can avenge what he’s done to my people. Finally I can repay what he did to me.
But I can’t do it. My arms won’t move. Is it my memories of him? Or Zivah’s voice whispering “blood debt” in my head?
Next thing I know I’ve ripped off my cloak and I’m tearing it into strips. Arxa looks on with bemusement as I wrap the makeshift bandages around his chest. The cloth soaks through with blood at an alarming rate, and the general’s eyelids slowly drift closed.
I may be too late. Or maybe Neju knew my weakness and he’s helping me finish the job.
Slow, deliberate footsteps sound behind me. The slink of a sword being drawn. Slowly, I turn around.
Walgash stands five paces away, a vengeful giant with his sword raised to kill. “You’ll die for this.”
There had been six bedrolls in the Amparan camp, and five Amparan soldiers in
the battle. Now I’ve found the sixth.
I resist the urge to go for my sword. I’d never get it out in time. “He’s alive,” I say.
“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” he says.
“Arxa is alive, Walgash,” I say again. “I didn’t kill him, but he needs help.”
My words finally seem to sink in. Walgash steps cautiously around me to get a better view of Arxa.
I hastily raise my hands as his eyes narrow dangerously. “Think, Walgash. You can attack me if you want. You might kill me. I might kill you. Either way, you’d be wasting precious time while your commander bleeds to death. I bandaged his wounds, but he needs a real healer.”
“Then he might as well be dead,” says Walgash. “He won’t make it back to camp like this.”
He’s probably right. Arxa is very close to gone. But a wild idea comes to me. “You don’t need to bring him back to camp.”
“What do you mean?”
Dear gods, let this be true. “Zivah can help him.”
“She’s here?”
“You must have heard of the woman roaming the hills, healing the sick. That must be Zivah.”
Suspicion clouds his gaze. “You don’t know?”
“I know Zivah, and this is just like her. I can find her.” It occurs to me that I’m being less than convincing. “Look, you have nothing to lose. Do you want to take a chance to save him or not?”
Walgash glares at me with a mixture of fury and distrust. I’m tense, ready to duck out of the way if he attacks, but he doesn’t move. Finally, he lowers his sword. “Neju help you if you’re lying.”
Neju help me indeed. How am I going to find her? Search all the caves around here? Arxa would die before we’re even halfway through. Send Slicewing to look for her? She’s probably hidden beneath the foliage. Wander around aimlessly? Honestly, it doesn’t seem a worse plan than the others.
Walgash is still watching me, getting more suspicious by the moment. “I’ll find her,” I say again, though now I’m trying to think of ways to buy time. Maybe Slicewing could create a distraction. She and Preener had this routine that they used in order to steal from market vendors. Preener would fall to the ground, pretending to have a hurt wing and soaking up the crowd’s attention while Slicewing stole her choice of treats. I get a bizarre vision of the crow falling dramatically in front of Walgash while I slip away.
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