Demon's Arrow

by Rachel Devenish Ford

  He looked uneasy as he took it from her. For a moment, he held it without moving, then seemed to shake himself. He took a drink. They had both been imprisoned and beaten in Batta.

  “But we’re only going to the Karee,” he said.

  “Ben, there is no way this is going to end without me going to the Dhahara. I know it, I can feel it, and I am daily working on cloaking myself so Aria can’t see me.”

  “I can hear her,” Ben said. Isika looked at him, shocked.

  “From here? Can you tell where she is?”

  “No. Only that she is very, very far away. I can hear the arrow, too.”

  Isika felt cold dread settle in her stomach like a stone. “The arrow? It has music? Like it’s a person?”

  “Yes,” Ben said. His face was worried. “And the arrow’s music is getting stronger while Aria’s is getting weaker.”

  “We have to get there,” Isika said, and she began walking again, her soft boots slipping on the stones in the path. “We have to find this healer and save her.”

  “Well, we’re not going to get there if you break your neck first,” Ben said. “Slow down, big sister.”

  “Okay, okay, little brother,” Isika muttered, but she tossed a smile at him over her shoulder.

  “How long has it been since you have been back in a Karee village?” Isika asked Abbas, as she drew up to him and they walked side by side.

  “Remember we have camps, not villages, but it has been nearly two years.”

  “Two years!”

  He nodded. “I was making trouble around the Desert City when Ikajo trapped me and some of my men. He sent them off to the mines, but he wanted to humiliate me, so he sent me to the tiny Worker city to live as a slave. Stupid of him.”

  “Yes, it was,” Isika agreed, remembering the day Ben’s gift had told them to trust Abbas, and how he had saved them and helped them escape. “I’m glad he did, though.” Something occurred to her then. “Wait!” she said. “You shouldn’t go to the city if we go . . . if he finds you, he’ll capture you again.”

  For a moment, Abbas was silent, and then he broke out in a huge laugh. “Do you really think you’re safe there, Isika? Or that I’m a bigger prize to him than you are? No, it makes no sense for any of us to go there. No sense at all. Like everything you’ve done since I first met you. And yet somehow you continue on, making no sense. It is incredible.”

  “Some things I do make sense,” Isika muttered, feeling slightly hurt.

  “Not many do,” Brigid said in her soft voice. “You’re like this wind. Sometimes shaking trees, sometimes blowing dust. But Nenyi works that way sometimes.”

  Isika tilted her head to one side, thinking about this. She smiled at her friend.

  “Well, our fighting hasn’t stopped him,” Abbas said, “even after all these years, though we wear him down. Perhaps it will be Isika who will finally stop him.”

  Isika stumbled on a rock. “I only want to get Aria back,” she said. “I never said anything about stopping him.” But was getting Aria back enough? The question seemed to hang in the air, heavy and round. She wasn’t sure anymore, after meeting the Hadem, after hearing Olumi’s stories.

  Olumi and Ben were trailing behind, deep in conversation. It made Isika think of something.

  “Olumi,” she called back to him, “what did Jabari mean when he called you the keeper of truth?”

  Olumi grimaced. “It’s just another way to say librarian.”

  Brigid laughed. “No it’s not,” she said. “Uncle! You know that’s not true. Olumi is keeper of truth,” she told Isika, Abbas, and Ben. “Have you never heard of that before?”

  “No,” Isika said. “Big surprise, something that the elders neglected to tell us.” Brigid regarded her out of wide, gentle eyes.

  “Okay, I’m steering clear of that particular piece of bitterness,” she said. “The truth keeper holds the stories and rulings from the ages, making sure the books are available to everyone, making sure the stories are remembered. It is a very high position. My father told me past truth keepers have been very pompous, wearing fancy clothes and presiding with elders and monarchs over all the tables and feasts.”

  Olumi snorted. “Silly men, silly heads are we, to ignore true wisdom and pay attention to greed!” he sang. “I wrote that. I have no use for such things.”

  Isika couldn’t look at Brigid or she would laugh.

  “But the daughter of weavers is right,” Olumi went on. “The position is important. It goes back to the first World Whisperer. Nenyi didn’t want to give so much power to one person so she made sure there wasn’t only one who knew all. Always a gifted relative of the king or queen holds the knowledge.”

  “Relative of the king or queen?” Ben asked.

  “Yes, I am a distant cousin of your grandmother’s. Did you not know that?”

  “Nope,” Isika said, narrowing her eyes at Brigid.

  “It’s not my fault,” Brigid said. “Don’t look at me!”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, cousin,” Isika said. “I don’t think we have any other cousins.”

  Olumi stopped short in his tracks, his nose quivering. He hopped on one foot three times. “Of course you do, you ninny.”

  Isika stared at him.

  “Excuse me, but what are you thinking?” He pointed at Brigid. “Her parents—her adopted parents—are distant cousins, for one, and the head gardener also.”

  They were all standing still now.

  “How come one of them isn’t queen or king?” Ben asked.

  “Because it can only pass down the direct line. The World Whisperer gift as well. Not my gift, though. My gift can pass to any relative of the queen. I’m still waiting for Nenyi to reveal who the next will be.” He looked around, his eyes landing on Ben.

  “Don’t look at me!” Ben said, taking a step back.

  Isika felt like she was going to laugh again, so she turned to catch up to Abbas, who was waiting impatiently for them ahead. Ben looked terrified of being anything like the odd old librarian. But Isika didn’t stop thinking about the conversation for a long time. She had relatives! Blood relatives. No one could be more like family than Teru and Dawit, but it was interesting to find that she wasn’t alone in the world. And then with a sudden pang she wondered why none of them had come to find her.

  The sun was setting when they stopped for the night.

  “Tomorrow,” Abbas said. “Tomorrow we will arrive.”

  Something had been bothering Isika for a while. Something different at the edges of her senses, which seemed to be sharper lately. What was it? She paced while Ben cooked, and washed her dishes restlessly after dinner.

  “Where is that bird?” she asked, as she set her bedroll out. “What is the use of having a protector if he’s never around?” She knew she sounded petulant when Benayeem gave her an odd look, but Keethior had never been away from her for this long.

  “What does he say when you try to call him?” Ben asked.

  “He’s ignoring me. He checks in, asks if I’m okay, but then when I ask where he is or if he’s coming, he doesn’t answer.”

  “How did he get the job of protector?” Abbas asked, his laugh a rumble in his chest. “He’s not very good at it.”

  “He is good at it in Othra terms,” Olumi said. “They value mystery and independence. They don’t want their strength to undermine the strength of the World Whisperer, so they keep their distance. Frankly, I’ve been surprised by how often they are near you. Keethior seems to be particularly fond of you.”

  Isika snorted and Ben laughed out loud.

  “I can’t believe that,” she said. “But maybe they know I need all the help I can get.”

  They settled down to sleep, and in the dark, Isika nudged Ben.

  “Do you hear anything odd lately?” she whispered. “I feel strange, like something new is around.”

  “I hear it,” Ben answered. “But whatever it is, it seems friendly.”

  Isika sighed. What a
re you?

  “Get some sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow we will probably hear a lot of histories and we can’t fall asleep in the middle.” Isika smiled at him and closed her eyes. Right before she went to sleep, though, she reached out softly and tentatively.

  You all right? she asked.

  It was a moment before she heard something. The lightest touch, like a hand on her cheek.

  Sandy and tired but fine. Jabari’s voice was very faint in her head. There’s no water to wash and we’re drinking cactus juice. You?

  We’re fine too. She hesitated. Goodnight, my friend.

  She could barely hear him. Goodnight, lovely one. Her eyes jerked open, then she realized she must have misheard, and she smiled and went to sleep.

  It was before dawn when she woke and had her answer about the strange presence. There was weight pressed against her back and legs. She lifted her head, very slowly and came face to face with a large cat. Lying down, it was nearly as long as she was, and she thought its head might be twice as large as her own. She looked around in the bright moonlight and saw that she was surrounded by four of the cats, all looking at her.

  “Olumi?” she whispered, but it came out strangled and hoarse. “Abbas?”

  Don’t worry, daughter, said the closest cat in animal speech. Her fur was silver, and in a non-panicked part of her mind, Isika thought she must be blinding in the sun. Her eyes were gold, with black pupils, and she had a few markings around her ears and paws. Isika could barely breathe.

  “Olumi!” she said, her voice louder.

  Across the fire pit, he sat up, fumbled for his glasses, and put them on to peer at her. His jaw dropped, then he smiled, his face as bright and innocent as a sunrise.

  “Palipa,” he breathed. “Our great, ancient cats. They have not been seen in my time. Oh my dear, you are . . . what have they said? Have they spoken to you?”

  “Only to tell me not to be scared,” Isika said through clenched teeth as the nearest cat stretched and rolled closer to her, pushing her head under Isika’s chin. Her fur was so, so soft. “Are they safe?”

  Olumi frowned, looking slightly dazed. “Well, I suppose that depends on who you are asking.”

  Safe? The cat under Isika’s chin asked. It sounded like she was laughing. Safe is a strange question. We are yours. We will come with you.

  Oh. Isika said. Good?

  A stirring and flapping and Keethior flew into the camp, bringing his immense feeling of calm with him. Isika relaxed slightly.

  “Oh,” Keethior said aloud, so they could all hear him. “That’s all it is. I felt a lot of fear from you . . . it’s just the Palipa. Come on, can’t you see you’re scaring her? Give her a little space. Humans generally need time before they get comfortable with cuddling. And Othra never cuddle with cats, so please try to remember that this time.”

  Isika narrowed her eyes at Keethior as the cats grumbled and drew away, padding down to the spring Isika had called out of the earth the night before, bending their heads to drink.

  “Thanks,” she said, scowling. “But Keethior, really? Where have you been?”

  He ruffled his feathers, annoyed with her. “I don’t answer to you,” he said.

  “Actually, you do,” Olumi said, standing now to look over at the cats.

  “Oh, well, I don’t want to tell you then.”

  “Fine,” Isika muttered. “Who are they?”

  “They are ancient creatures, like us, like the Keerza. Creatures from before people were here.”

  “Are there any more creatures I should be aware of?”

  “There are many creatures. But many of them haven’t been seen in hundreds of years. Thousands.” He cocked his head to one side and whistled suddenly. “Palipa haven’t been seen in a hundred.”

  Two hundred, the large cat corrected, blinking slowly at them from a distance. Isika felt the skin on her arms turn to goosebumps.

  “This is a little different from Keerza or Othra,” she whispered loudly to Keethior. “Look at the size of them. Keerza and Othra don’t eat meat.”

  “True, but they seem to like you,” Keethior said. Isika huffed a sigh and gave up on going back to sleep. Her companions began to stir. She gingerly walked to get water from the spring, taking care to give the cats a wide berth. The smallest one, still much larger than Isika, chose to ignore Keethior and came and rubbed at Isika’s arm with his head. Isika’s hands shook as she pulled the jug from the water, spilling it over herself. When she straightened, she saw everyone in the camp staring at her, wide-eyed.

  “Well,” she said. “This is going to be an interesting trip, isn’t it?”

  Chapter 17

  As they got closer to the Desert City, a pressure built in Aria’s chest, hurting her. She was glad for Gavi beside her, and she leaned on him when the pain was bad. She was glad for the driver who helped her down from the cart in the evenings, offering her food and drink. She was glad for the lizards that Gavi shot, for their familiar roasted taste, reminding her of past journeys.

  She felt feverish as the arrow hurt her more. She wondered, for the first time, whether she should go to her father. Then she shook herself. Of course. That was the plan.

  As they traveled, the occasional smattering of towns grew closer together, until there were no longer spaces between them and Aria could see a tall smudge in the distance. Dhahara. It looked impossibly large. Her head felt too heavy for her neck. She leaned on Gavi’s shoulder, her eyes only half open.

  The driver looked back at them. “Let us stop for a rest,” he said. “I feel that we need it.”

  He pulled the dromed up next to a shop, tying it to a rail. He nodded at them once, then disappeared inside. As people caught sight of Aria, they knelt to press their faces to the ground. Gavi jerked in his seat, then let his breath out in a long sigh.

  “Are you sure about this, little bird?” he asked her. “It’s not too late to turn back.”

  Her eyes widened at his nickname for her. She shook her head. “Of course I’m sure,” she said. “How could we come this far, only to turn back?” But she shifted in her seat, trying to find comfort in her bones. The first time someone had bowed to her she had felt only pleasure, but as it happened more often, she felt shivers of pain at the people’s lack of dignity. They pressed their faces into the ground when they saw the king’s dromed, even the children and old women.

  “What’s wrong?” Gavi asked, watching her face.

  “I don’t know why I’m feeling worse as I’m getting closer to the city. I felt so strong when we were out in the desert.”

  He watched her face, his ser tied carefully around his head to keep the sun from burning through his white blond hair to his scalp. She saw that his face had browned over the weeks of travel, white showing in his smile lines. “You know, Aria,” he said. “You may be feeling worse, but you’re acting better.”

  She snorted. “Acting better how?”

  “I can understand what you’re saying, for one thing. Before, you would talk and talk and I swear that I couldn’t understand a thing you were saying.”

  She stared at him. She knew she had been better in the desert. She had been fine.

  “I think the poison was able to deceive you, tell you that you felt good, even when you were actually getting worse. What is changing it now, though?”

  But then the cart driver was back, holding three spiced yogurt drinks. He had a funny look on his face. Aria eyed him as she took the drink he handed her.

  The driver took a deep breath. “You’re not such a bad guy for a Worker,” he said, speaking to Gavi.

  “A Maweel, but thanks,” Gavi mumbled. He buried his face in his drink.

  “I feel honor-bound to tell you that the king will kill you if you come into the city.”

  Gavi choked on his yogurt, spraying it over the ground. Aria turned to look at him, feeling a rush of worry at the driver’s words. Gavi tried to speak, but couldn’t stop coughing, so Aria asked her own question.

 
“What do you think Gavi should do?”

  “He can’t come with us.” The driver held up a hand as Gavi tried to interrupt. “I know, but you can’t. He’ll just execute you, immediately. He doesn’t want anyone from Maween with her. Trust me, I’ve been in his service since I was a child. He is a fierce king. Follow at a distance if you must. Lose yourself in the city. But we should part here.”

  Aria looked back and forth between the two men.

  “You are pretty easy to recognize, Gavi,” she said finally. “Doesn’t everyone know about the Maweel elders’ two sons? One is dark as a night without a moon, one like the rising sun, with hair like light?”

  The cart driver frowned, then laughed without mirth. “Not here,” he said. “I don’t even know what you are talking about. We don’t know anything about Maween. Your country could fit in the smallest lake in Gariah. No, Worker, just lose yourself and no one will know who you are. But leave now. I’ll give you a few minutes to say goodbye.”

  “What?” Gavi spluttered as the cart driver walked away. “He’s crazy if he thinks I’m going to . . .”

  “He’s right,” Aria said, feeling her stomach plummet. After all of this, after running off by herself, she didn’t want to be alone in a strange land. “You need to go. Not least because I don’t want him to be angry with me if I come in toting a pale-skinned Maweel boy.” She smiled, her heart feeling sore and very, very tired. Her chest hurt again, a nudge of pressure from the arrow. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Well, I’m not leaving. I’ll go, yes, but I’ll be very near. If anything happens to you, I’ll know immediately.”

  “Okay.”

  “Aria, are you sure? We can run, even now. We can go back.”

  Aria raised her eyes to his. She searched them. He still felt hope, while she had none.

  “The thing is, Gavi, I don’t think we can.”

  He looked around and she saw him taking it all in—all the people watching them, the cart driver, the people who still knelt, forming a very effective barricade. It was too late. He nodded, squeezed her hands, and whispered, “Immediately, I’ll know immediately.” She smiled weakly as he disappeared into the crowd. The crowd absorbed him easily, interested only in her, and the cart driver came back, visibly relieved.