The first thing I notice is how quiet it is in the valley. There’s no enormous army and no sign of battle. From this height, the earthen berms surrounding the camp are thin lines, and the walls of bamboo spikes mere twigs. Dread hits me when I see breaks in the line and places where the twigs have fallen. But I do see people walking around, small as ants. I hurry down.
I come off the ridge trail into a camp full of activity. Several Shidadi and Dara are cooking at a campfire, while a Shidadi man dumps clothes into a pot of boiling water. A Dara woman carrying bandages hurries past me. I’m wondering where to find Gatha when I see her limping toward me. Her arm is in a sling.
“Dineas, son of Youtab and Artabanos,” she says, strong and sure as ever. “Welcome back.”
Gatha tells me that the battle came very close to ending differently. Twice the Amparans knocked holes in the camp’s defenses, only to be repelled by a concerted effort from the defenders.
“We wouldn’t have lasted much longer,” she says. “But suddenly a retreat signal was blown and the soldiers withdrew. We thought it was a ruse at first, but the army marched away and our scouts say they’re still marching south. We could only guess at why. I’d heard from your fighters that you went after the emperor, and thought perhaps that meant you had some success.”
I tell her all that had transpired on the emperor’s ship. “It was a foolhardy plan. Got Karu and Gaumit killed.”
“They died saving our lives,” says Gatha. “Zenagua will honor that.”
I breathe yet another prayer to the goddess of death. “What happens now?”
“We treat the injured. There are many, so it’ll be a while before we can leave this place. I’ve given the order to treat the Amparan prisoners as well. When the time is right, we’ll contact the emperor about their return.”
“That’s far better than they treated us.” Though I know Gatha’s mercy has strategic motivation as well. Live prisoners make much better bargaining chips.
“Dineas!” I turn at the familiar voice.
Alia doesn’t stop running when she gets close, just throws her arms around me, knocking me back with the force of the impact. “You’re safe.”
She clings to me, and I thank the gods she’s alive. Her braid looks lopsided, and I realize it’s because the hair on the right side of her head has been singed short. Her right ear, temple, and the side of her neck bear deep red burn scars.
Alia raises her hand self-consciously to her burns. “I got a little too close to one of the fires,” she says. “Kaylah tells me I’ll have a scar.”
“A scar is a mark of honor,” Gatha says.
“Zivah wasn’t happy to see it,” Alia says, though she stands a little straighter.
It takes me a while to comprehend Alia’s words. “Zivah’s here?”
“She arrived yesterday,” Gatha says. “She’s living outside of camp.”
“I’ll take you,” says Alia.
Gatha smiles as she waves me away.
Alia leads me south, over the berm and into the trampled forest, until the sounds of the main camp fade behind me. Though I’m curious to know her role in the battle, I don’t ask. It’s always better to let a soldier decide whether to relive a fight. Alia, for her part, is quieter than I’ve ever seen her. And while her eyes stay focused on the trail, she’s not quite looking at it either.
I’m starting to worry when she finally breaks the silence. “I kept the shield over my head,” she says softly. “Just as you said.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
She nods imperceptibly. “It was hit twice by arrows. Once in the middle, and once on the edge. The first time, the impact knocked me over. I didn’t realize how fast and heavy the arrows would be.”
“You kept your shield up. You did well.”
She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “A shield can only do so much, though, right?” she says shakily. “There were people all around me hiding under shields, planks, hides, anything they could get their hands on, and they still died.” Her words come faster now. “One man got an arrow in the thigh, and then another one in his gut. He was so close I could have touched him.”
“Alia—”
She charges on, one syllable running over the next. “And another woman got caught with a jar of burning pitch. And then there was another—” She stops. Clamps a hand over her mouth as she struggles to compose herself.
“Alia,” I say again.
She hunches her shoulders. Her chin trembles. And I remember it’s her first battle, her first real taste of war.
I put my hand on her shoulder, as Gatha would. “Alia, look at me.”
Reluctantly she raises her head.
“You did well.”
She dissolves into wracking sobs, and there’s nothing to do but to help her to a boulder and rub her back as she cries into her hands. How old had I been when I saw my first death on the battlefield? The memory is hazy for me, a jumble of screams. I don’t remember the details, but I remember the fear and the smell of blood. War’s been part of my life for so long that I’ve lost sight of just how senseless it all is. And I wonder if it’s too much to hope that we could be free of it. That this would be both Alia’s first battle and her last.
A good distance down the valley, a tent’s been set up. Alia leads me within view of it.
“Give Zivah my love,” she says. As she walks away, she turns around once more. “Thank you,” she says, and then she disappears.
There’s a fire burning brightly outside the tent. Wounded fighters lie around it, though I see no healer. As I come closer, the fire sends sparks toward me, and the flames dance a welcome.
Zivah ducks out from inside the tent, and my throat tightens. Her braid hangs over her shoulder, and her forehead is covered in a sheen of sweat. She squints in my direction. “Keep your distance,” she calls. “I’m rosemarked.” Then I step out from the trees. Zivah’s eyes land on my face, and her mouth falls open. Something softens in her brow.
I step closer. “I’m umbertouched.”
A hint of a smile pulls at her lips, though there’s deep sadness in her eyes. A lifetime ago, when she’d found me in her shed, we’d traded the same words.
“You’re alive,” I say.
“As are you.” There’s the same exhaustion in her voice as I’m sure coats mine. We gaze at each other, as if both unsure that what we see is real. She gestures toward the wounded around her. “I convinced them to give me the ones nearest death. There aren’t enough healers to go around.”
“Never a moment’s rest for you,” I say.
“Not when there’s work to be done.”
“Did you find Baruva?”
She nods. Her lips quiver just the slightest bit, and she looks away. “Mehtap’s dead,” she says. “She died in her father’s arms.”
“I’m sorry.”
She draws in a deep breath, composing herself. “She gave Arxa the evidence before she died. He didn’t say anything to me after that, just left with Walgash. I don’t know where he went.”
“Arxa found his soldiers and boarded Kiran’s ship while I was there,” I tell her. “He could have killed me, but he let me go. I don’t know what happened after that. I suppose time will tell.”
She nods, and her eyes lose their focus. “Mehtap tried to confess her crime to Arxa as she lay dying, but she didn’t have a chance. He may never know how the old emperor really died.”
“Do you wish he did?”
She shakes her head. “No. There was much good in her, even if she lost her way at times. Better for him to remember her that way. I’m glad she was with her father when she died.” Zivah wipes a hand across her eyes. “It’s funny. We think, when we get the rosemarks, that we know our future. That we know how we’ll die, but even that certainty is an illusion. Nothing’s ever promised us by the gods, is it?”
There’s nothing much I can say to that. So I simply wrap my arms around her. She leans her head on my chest, and for a moment, just for
a moment, we rest.
We hold our breath for days following the battle, fearing news of the Amparan army turning around and coming back north. Day after day, though, our scouts send back the same message: Imperial army on retreat. Within days, they return to Central Ampara. When the bridge of warships is dismantled, we finally dare to rebuild. The Dara return to our homes and begin the long work of putting the village back in order, building new cottages and redigging wells, remaking the fields that had been trampled, and flooding the ones that are now stained with blood.
My own cottage somehow escaped the worst of the battles. The door was ripped off the shed, and dirt had been tracked inside from some unknown squatter. But after a few days’ work, everything is put back together, and I move back in.
Dineas comes to visit often. I’m always glad to see him, but as my health worsens, I’m not always good company. When my headaches confine me to bed, he sits with me and holds my hand. On good days, he helps me capture venomous creatures for my collection. Like many of the Shidadi, he’s a bit at a loss for what to do now that there’s no more fighting. A few times, he’s mentioned wanting to see Mishikan, but he always has some excuse to stay.
Kaylah does what she can to help me. She mixes me potions to help with the headaches and tremors, many of them from Baruva’s notes. We spend many hours talking about suona pollen, syeb pollen, and the possibilities for better treatments. The long discussions are hard on me, but I insist on having them. There are more experiments to be tried, more questions to answer. I fear that my time may run out before I can do everything, and I want to make sure someone carries on the work.
It should bother me, the progression of my illness, but as my death approaches, I find myself at peace. I think of the soldiers I treated in the wood, the people I’ve watched cross from this world to the next, those who fought, and those who went peacefully. I think of the soldier who said, It’s simply another journey. I’d held his hand as he said it, made comforting sounds of agreement. But now I find that I actually believe him. When the time comes for my fever to take its course, I will be ready.
Kaylah and I have just finished a long discussion one afternoon, when my old master puts away her pen and looks at me thoughtfully. “When you were alone in the forest, separated from the rest of us, you treated the wounded Amparan soldiers you came across.”
“That’s right,” I say. I’m not sure what she’s getting at. My actions during the war are no secret, and fairly old news by now. I’m sure some people think me a traitor, but few people would openly condemn a woman already at death’s door. “I didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t not.”
“That level of obedience to your vows is no small thing,” she says. “Of all the Dara healers, you were the one who chafed the most against the Goddess’s commands. Yet I never treated Amparan soldiers in the war, nor did any of the others.”
I grip the arms of my chair and push myself shakily to my feet. “Don’t make me out to be more perfect than I am. I still used my herbs to coerce Baruva into confessing his crimes.”
Kaylah tucks her notes under her arm and stands to leave. “Perhaps perfection is not what the Goddess asks for.”
Watching Zivah fade is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. She tries to hide how bad it is, but I can see the strain in her face, the circles under her eyes. She was thin already from the war, and she gets even thinner now. On bad days, her hands shake so much that she can hardly get water to her lips.
The worst part is that there’s nothing I can do. Kaylah, at least, mixes remedies to help, but I can only watch her suffer. If only the plague were a soldier that could be felled.
Despite my uselessness, Zivah still smiles when she sees me. She’s asked me several times what I plan to do now that the war is over, and I think she feels guilty for keeping me here with her. If she expects me to leave her here alone, though, she’s gravely mistaken.
One morning, we’re out in Zivah’s garden when Scrawny (who has basically become her bird by now) gives a big squawk and launches himself into the air. A few moments later, Preener lands in a cloud of dust—a grand entrance worthy of his long absence.
“Preener, you ridiculous bird,” I say. “What news does Nush send now?”
The crow simply shakes the dust off his feathers. Zivah and I hold the note between us and read.
There is great unrest in Sehmar City. Commander Arxa has taken Kiran under guard and accused him of high treason against the empire. Generals and officials alike are taking sides, and it may be years before it is all settled. The imperial physician Baruva has gone missing. No one has seen him since he disappeared in the last days of fighting. Perhaps this beast of an empire can be felled after all. –Nush
Kiran taken under guard. Generals taking sides. It’s hard to believe what’s happened with the mighty Amparan empire.
Zivah folds up the note and hands it to me. “When the dust settles, Arxa could end up as emperor. What would you think of that?”
I think back to my last encounter with him on the boat, how surprised I’d been when he let me go, how confused. “I just hope I never have to face him in battle again.”
Zivah’s frowning now, and I put out an arm to steady her. “Headache?” I stand to fetch her some tea. I’ve become quite good at mixing Kaylah’s brews.
She shakes her head. “No, I was just thinking. There’s one thing that has been weighing on my mind since the war ended. I’d believed it out of my reach, but I wonder now if Nush can help me. Can you do something for me?”
“Only if it doesn’t involve scorpions.”
That gets a wan smile. “I’d like to dictate a note to Nush. But please, don’t argue or question me over it.”
“What could you possibly want to write that I’d argue with?”
I’d spoken lightly, but she’s surprisingly solemn. “Will you do it? I could write it myself and pass it over the fire, but it’s still safer if you write it. Your handwriting is better these days anyways.”
I fetch a pen, ink, and parchment from her cottage, and we settle down under her awning.
Zivah takes a deep breath through her nose and rests her hands on her too-thin legs. “I want to write two notes. The first one is to Nush. Tell him, ‘Your news is encouraging. I hope the unrest hasn’t put your people in danger. Do let us know if we can lend any assistance. I would like to request a favor. If you can deliver the following letter to Kione at the Khaygal rosemarked compound, I would be very grateful.’”
Kione’s name catches my attention. I set the first note out to dry.
Zivah starts dictating again. “‘To Kione. In Baruva’s manor near Khaygal there is a garden with bushes trimmed like animals. Hidden within the branches of the trumpeting elephant is a jar of suona pollen. A pinch a day extends the life of the rosemarked.’”
I stop and stare. “Is this true?”
“You promised you would simply transcribe.”
Yes, but I didn’t expect her to reveal something that could keep her from dying. Zivah looks at me, pleading, and with great effort I stay quiet.
She continues. “‘If your resourceful friends can obtain this for you, please share it among Baruva’s former slaves. It should rightly be yours.’”
My pen slips, leaving a thin trail of ink. “You never told me about this.”
She meets my gaze calmly, apologetically. “It was half a continent away.”
“Where did you find it?”
“I found a note in Baruva’s journals that made me think he had something hidden in his garden. I dug up the pollen, but I had to hide it before they captured me.”
I stare at the parchment, wondering if I put my pen to it again, if I would crush the nib. “And you’ll give it all to Kione?”
“It was never mine to give.” She looks at me sadly, though I don’t know why I’m the one being pitied.
There’s a pounding in my ears. “You traveled across the empire to find that pollen. It wasn’t exactly an easy journey.” I h
ear my voice rising. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”
She shakes her head. “It was less than a year of my life,” she says. “These slaves were with him for many more. Baruva built his wealth and his fame on their labors. The suona belongs to them.”
“Maybe, but nobody would have known it was there if not for you.” I can’t believe she would let something like this pass through her fingers. I open my mouth to speak again, but then I notice she’s crying. Well, perhaps not crying, but her eyes shine more than usual.
“Dineas,” she says. “You said you were willing to let me go. Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”
I stare at her, take in the resolute tilt of her chin, the pleading in her gaze, and something inside me threatens to break. But I clench my jaw and finish the note. When she asks me to attach the parchments to Preener’s leg, I don’t put up a fight.
“Thank you,” she says as the traitorous crow flies off.
I leave Zivah’s cottage soon after Preener flies away. She doesn’t stop me, even though we both know I usually stay much later. But I need to be away for a while, somewhere she can’t see me. Tomorrow I’ll go back and be strong for her, but I need this afternoon to grieve.
I’d almost fooled myself into thinking I had come to peace with her illness. All those things I’d told Zivah about loving while we can and being unafraid of the consequences, I’d said it so many times I’d convinced myself as well. But after hearing about the suona pollen, that small ray of hope that Zivah won’t even try to chase...all my grief and doubt come back.
I walk up the mountainside toward the Shidadi camp, but when I get close enough to see my kinsmen through the leaves, I turn and head farther up. I’ve no desire to see them right now. I get along fine with them since the war—I’m a hero now. The younger fighters look at me with awe when I pass them, and older ones quiet when I speak. But too many people have died in the past months for me to feel at home with my people. Tus, Frada, Gaumit, Sarsine, Stateira, Pouriya...The list goes on. Gatha’s the only one remaining who still feels like family, and even with her it’s not the same. We’ve disappointed each other too many times.
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