She draped her ser over her head as they went on, toward the city, so the people who were bowing to her couldn’t see her cry.
She watched as more and more people came out to bow. The pain near her heart grew worse, and she had clarity as she went on. Was Gavi right? Was there something protecting her from the deception of the arrow? In the Desert City? She couldn’t imagine what it would be.
The buildings grew taller and the great walled city was ahead. It was built on a craggy desert mountain, with tall imposing walls around the bottom, and winding roads leading to an imposing palace on the top. Soon they were too close for her to see the whole thing, and she was stuck craning her neck to try to get a better look.
She wanted to show it to Gavi. But he wasn’t there, and she was alone, on her way to see her father, alone in a city of people who did not know her. She held back tears, holding her head high as they went on. Now there were waves of people bowing on each side of her, and she began to pay attention to how they looked, to catch glimpses of who and what they were.
A group of children, tugged from their game of ball, rings in their ears and on their fingers. An old woman, stooped half over, tugged into a bowing position by a guard who lined the street. Aria lifted a hand to protest, but they were already past the woman. The people were not all the same. Some had very dark skin, darker than Aria’s or Isika’s, and some had light brown skin, with long noses and intense brows, like Abbas. They were tall people with long necks and dark ringed eyes, decorated with gold and silver, and even those who were obviously poor, in their ragged clothing, wore metal of some kind clinking around their necks and wrists. Some people had long, straight hair that swung around their waists. Some had hair that looked like hers, thick and roped in braids or locks, or cut close to their heads. She caught sight of some Workers with their long gowns, covered against the intense sun. She stared at a man who was at least a couple of heads taller than Abbas. Even Jabari would seem short in this city.
The buildings got taller and the crowds more thick. The houses were made of some kind of sandstone, a tumble of rooms stacked on one another, red brown and tawny, with crumbling edges and brightly painted window frames and doors. Aria could barely take it all in. Every time she saw something, they were past it before she could take a closer look. Soon they were at the city gates, and there were a dozen white-robed servants to meet her, helping her get down from the cart and holding out robes for her. They put the clean robes on over her smelly ones, and Aria wished for a bath, but they held out water for her to wash her hands and face, and she did so, wrinkling her nose at the dark water running from her hands. She sighed.
They led her to a tall horse, and she widened her eyes.
“I don’t ride,” she said to the head servant, but he shook his head and leaned down to lift her into the saddle. She looked around. The cart driver was gone. She was alone in this huge group of people, and she knew no one.
She allowed the man to put her in the saddle, and thankfully the horse was docile, because the pain was growing worse in Aria’s heart, and it was all she could do to stay upright. She barely noticed as they led her in through the gate, but she tried to keep her eyes open, to see, to be present in her own procession as nearby people cheered and threw flowers. Near the gate, the houses were flimsy and old and dirty children ran in the streets, jeering and dancing out of the way of the soldier’s boots. Aria stared down at old people who sat hunched on the side of the road. This was her father’s city? It was nothing like Azariyah.
She turned for a look behind her. Had Gavi made it through the gates? There was some sort of scuffle happening, people pouring through, the guards swinging clubs, unsuccessfully trying to press the doors closed against the rush of people. She caught a glimpse of a shock of blond hair and turned back to face forward, smiling.
They continued up the winding road, moving from the lower part of the city to cleaner, wider streets. People knelt on each side of the road, a sea of black hair and sparkling jewels, of color and tunics. Here the sandstone of the buildings was cleaner, they were stacked straighter, and the paint was intact on ornate doors and window frames. Small birds sang in cages that hung from the eaves, and a chant started up.
“Aria, princess, Aria, princess.”
Aria’s heart hurt as though she was being stabbed, and she wondered how they knew who she was. She breathed shallowly from the pain. Was she going to die right as she arrived at her father’s palace? It would be a silly way to die, she thought, as they passed through yet another gate and into a new, gleaming section of the city. The streets here were incredibly wide, and paved, and the people on either side did not press their faces to the ground, but inclined their heads. Aria turned to look behind her again and saw that there were still scuffles behind them, a press of people from the lower parts of the city. She didn’t see any blond head, but she felt reassured. There were towering headpieces on some of the women, and she frowned, trying to understand how the tall sculptures stayed on the heads of the women. She held a hand to her aching ribs and chest.
But then they turned a corner and the palace was before them. All she could see was her father, flanked by red-robed men, a tall man in a black robe that seemed to pull all the light into it, until he alone glowed. He had long hair that swung free, nearly to his knees. He stepped toward her and held out a hand to help her down from her horse.
Aria looked at the red-robed men, and then back at her father, and as she caught the eyes of one of the men in a red robe, her heart spiked with a fierce pain, and she cried out. Her father put a hand around one foot, pulling her out of the saddle and into his arms.
And as soon as he touched her, she felt relief. All the pain left her, and the power she had been missing since they drew near to the city came flooding back into her. She stood before him, looking up into his face, and took the first deep breath she had taken in months.
“Welcome, daughter,” the king said. And he turned with her hand in his, facing the people. “Your princess,” he cried, “Aria, daughter of Ikajo.” The people knelt as one. Aria’s heart gave a sudden bound and she felt as though she had been reborn.
Chapter 18
The Karee camp was not quite as shocking as the Hadem village had been, perhaps because Isika had known Abbas for a while now, and it seemed like exactly the kind of place that would have made someone like him.
They came upon it suddenly, rounding past a formation of red stone to find a mile of white decorated tents unlike any Isika had ever seen. They were graceful and airy, with wings like birds and wide doors. A cluster of larger tents in the center of the camp trailed gold ribbons.
Abbas inclined his head toward the largest tent. “My father’s,” he said. “That’s where we’re going. But first we have to make it through the camp entrance.”
Matters were complicated by the fact that the cats refused to stay outside the camp.
At the doors they were met by four guards who were even taller and wider than Abbas.
“I didn’t know other Karee warriors were bigger than our Karee warrior,” Brigid whispered to Isika, who giggled.
She was so tense she thought she might shatter. She was growing used to the cats as they ran alongside the little crew, but they were still terrifying. They rippled like water when they ran—as graceful as clouds—but the effect was spoiled because she could hear them arguing about who got to be closest to her. The mother cat always flanked her right side, while the three grown cubs argued over the left.
The men stared hard at the travelers until their eyes landed on Abbas and they bounded forward, each taking a turn to hug him, lifting him off the ground. The others stood there awkwardly, waiting.
“I feel small,” Ben whispered, and Olumi shot him a hard look.
“How do you think I feel?” he asked.
Isika got the giggles and couldn’t stop laughing. What was wrong with her? A combination of nerves, the cats, a long journey, and the fact that she thought she had heard Jabari call
her “lovely one” last night. Just thinking about it brought heat to her face.
“You have . . . interesting company, big brother,” one of the guards said.
“Did he just call Abbas big brother?” Brigid asked, and Isika got the giggles again, while Ben put his face in his elbow, his shoulders shaking. Oh dear. This isn’t the most dignified way to start a visit, Isika thought.
The man was half a head taller than Abbas, with long tangled black hair that was braided away from his face at the sides but otherwise hung free. He wore more gold than Abbas, with bangles nearly to his elbows and rings in his ears. There were gold bands around his ankles, too, and he wore a skirt and vest, both edged in bands of red and yellow.
“You’re staring at his arms,” Brigid said.
“I am not,” Isika retorted. “You are.”
“I am,” Ben said. “How many pushups do you think I would have to do to look like that?”
“There is not enough time left in our age,” Olumi said mournfully.
Isika looked at Ben’s arms and giggled again.
The cats pushed forward and came to stand around her, despite Keethior’s best attempts at keeping them back. They seemed to want to be close enough to touch her. She had a cat head thrust under each palm, a cat sitting on one foot, and one leaning against the backs of her legs. The Karee warriors looked alarmed.
“You have . . . even more interesting companions, Abbas,” said the man again.
“Yes, you have received my messages, have you not, little brother?”
“Yes we have . . . so this is her? The World Whisperer? And her . . . friends?”
“Yes.”
You need to stay outside while I go into the camp, Isika told the cats, using her most commanding animal speech. You are making them nervous.
No, said the mother cat.
Yes, she said. I order it.
We like you, said another cat. We will come with you.
Their tails slowly twitched back and forth and Isika was horrified to hear herself gulp.
“I can’t make them stay outside,” she told Abbas in a loud whisper. “Either I have to stay outside with them or they have to come with me.”
* * *
In the end it took several huddled consultations and a visit from the Karee king himself to figure out what to do. As they waited, Isika shifted her weight from foot to foot, feeling embarrassed and tired.
“Can’t you do something?” she asked Keethior.
“I tried. They are stubborn.”
“I noticed.”
Finally the king came, looking like a mirror image of Abbas except for the lines in his face and gray streaks in his hair. They all bowed, but when Isika tried to bow as well, Olumi jabbed her in the ribs and shook his head. She stood, unsure of where to put her eyes, and the king never looked away from her standing there. Then he frowned, waved a hand, and said they could all enter the camp. Isika walked in behind Abbas and Olumi, trying to look unimposing as four huge cats flanked her. They kept so close to her that she couldn’t be near Ben or Brigid, so she had to take in the sights without talking with anyone. It gave the people of the camp an excellent view of her as they came out of their tents to stare for what could have been many reasons: Prince Abbas coming home. Olumi, who was quite honestly odd looking, shorter than even most of the Karee children, with his locks dragging behind him. Isika, walking with her escort of cats. She felt worried. She had noticed that unlike the men at the gate, the king had not approached his son for a hug.
They reached the king’s tent and a handful of servants helped them unlace and remove their soft traveling boots before they entered. Inside the tent, cool bowls of water with lemon awaited them, and servants helped again, holding out cloths for the travelers to wash their faces. Isika was used to the bare minimum of help from servants in the Maweel palace, and she was a little startled to realize that wherever she turned, a servant was there to guide her, or pull out a short stool, or offer a drink. They settled on the floor, on cushions or short stools. The Palipa stayed close, reclining around Isika in a pool of silver fur.
The king sat as well, and Abbas’s younger brother sat beside him, and an older man on his other side.
“So,” the king said, after a long moment, watching Isika closely as he spoke. “You’re the one who has kept four of my best warriors.”
Heat surged into Isika’s face, and her eyes widened. Keethior spread his wings and uttered a short cry, and in the same moment, the silver cats around Isika hummed in their chests.
Shhh, she told them. He’s not going to hurt me. At least I don’t think so, she added to herself.
“She keeps them for all of us, Father,” Abbas said.
In that moment, something became suddenly and irrevocably clear to Isika. The Karee king was nowhere near as humble in ambition as his son, and this imposing man in front of her had not approved of the prince’s absence from his tribe.
Isika swallowed, looking at Abbas. He looked back at her, steady as he always was, though there was a muscle jumping near his eye. There were those, she thought, who looked out for their tribes and lands, and those who hoped to help all tribes and lands. Abbas was one of the second, though his father was the first. Isika supposed she was also one of the second, though she thought Andar would like to make her into the first.
“I have been thankful to have the wisdom of a people like the Karee near me, in Abbas,” she said to the king. It didn’t feel so bad, just then, to have some very large cats and a huge bird beside her. Otherwise she would have felt very small in front of the Karee king, who was as tall as Abbas, but bigger in the shoulders. He had a long beard with jewels braided into it, and intricate, woven robes in deep blue colors. He was truly a king.
“Father, men have come to tell us that people are disappearing,” Abbas said, changing the subject. “Is it true?”
The king bowed his head, looking older suddenly. “Yes, son. It is true. They disappear from their tents or from their beds. They disappear when they travel to get water. A horse at the end of a procession is suddenly without a rider. We fight, but it is as though we are fighting the air, and we no longer know what to do. To add to that, our well has been poisoned and we have to travel long distances to get water. Soon we will have to move the camp if this does not change.”
They were quiet, digesting this, and then a woman ran into the tent. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
“Mama!” Abbas cried, and bounded over to her in one leap. She hugged him and sobbed, then stood back and looked at him, pummeling him on his arms and chest. She had long, graying hair, braided away from her face, and wore the long tunic and skirts that Isika had seen the other Karee wearing in Maween. She was breathtakingly lovely and very angry.
“How could you not come back immediately?” she cried, still hitting Abbas on the chest, though she was losing power. A look of pain flashed across his face, and Isika understood something else. It had cost him to bring her back here. Leaving was not going to be easy for him. Unless . . . she drew in a breath. Unless he didn’t plan to return to Maween. Jerutha’s heart would break. But looking around, she saw all that he had lost by choosing to remain in Maween as a trainer to the seekers. He was a prince who had left his kingdom, nomadic or not, and had lost everything in it. For Isika. Why for me? she wondered and one cat turned to give her a reproachful look.
“This is my mother,” Abbas said then, turning so they could bow to the Karee queen. This time Isika simply inclined her head. Isika saw that Abbas’s face was gray with pain, and he didn’t quite meet her eyes.
Ben grabbed one of Isika’s hands, over a cat’s back, and Isika knew her music must be wild with fear because her heart was beating rapidly. She couldn’t face the thought of Jerutha going through any more sorrow. It was as though she had forgotten just how vulnerable people could be, how heartache seemed to follow some people no matter where they went.
Ben squeezed her hand hard and she shook herself. They were there fo
r a reason, there was a reason that Abbas had agreed to come back here, a purpose. The prophecy, of course—she needed to ask about the prophecy—but pain and fear at the thought of more betrayal had stolen her voice. She looked at Olumi mutely, and he stirred himself, clearing his throat.
“Your highnesses, we have come to see if we can speak to your healer and hear the details of one of your Karee prophecies. I have forgotten the exact wording, you see. And I have heard that your healer is a kind of truth keeper himself, and that he will possibly be able to see whether the shadow of this prophecy lies on Isika and her sister.”
The king looked back and forth between Olumi and Isika.
“You want to see Asafar?” he asked, his voice a rumble.
Keethior suddenly rose up and flew to sit on Isika’s knee. She was having trouble breathing, and the coming of Keethior soothed her enough that she could pull air through her throat and into her lungs.
“Yes, Brightness,” she said, bowing her head.
He turned then, to Abbas’s brother and something wordless passed between them.
“Asafar is not well,” the king said. “He cannot come to us. We will go to him.”
They rose. Isika’s knees creaked as though she had been sitting for a year. She knew it was because she was away from Maween, where her strength came to her in great bursts.
Why did you make me strong only in Maween, she asked Nenyi silently, if you knew that you wanted me to look out for all people? But then, why did Isika think Nenyi wanted her to look out for all people? Because others suggested it? It seemed that Isika needed to figure this out for herself. She sighed as they left the tent.
She followed close behind Abbas and his mother, close enough to hear them speak.
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