If there's anyone left in Zohar, Atalia thought. With Gefen fallen, the gateway to their ancient kingdom was open. If lucky, Atalia knew, Zohar would become a province in the Aelarian Empire. If unlucky, every man, woman, and child would be killed and the cities ground to dust.
"Thank you, soldier," she said. "We will avenge him. We will avenge all those whom we lost. I don't know if any others from our phalanx survived. Maybe none other in all the hosts of Zohar still survive. But I promise you, Daor Ben Bashan the potter—you and I are still soldiers. So long as we live, we will fight."
No sooner had she finished speaking when the drums began to beat.
The galley slaves fell silent and stared around the shadowy hold. Chains clanked. Wood creaked. At the back of the ship, framed by tin lanterns, a beefy man, shirtless and gleaming with sweat, sat before a drum stretched with leather. He gave it another two beats, the drumsticks thick as clubs.
"Galley slaves!" the man bellowed. "We set sail! Left oars, row!"
The bald overseer—the one who had whipped Atalia—marched down the deck. "Port oars, row!" he cried, swinging his lash.
Atalia's jaw locked. Her hands tightened around the oar. Finally, after days in chains, they were heading out. They were leaving Zohar.
"Row!" the overseer cried, and the lash swung, hitting her shoulders.
The drum beat.
"Port oars, row!"
Along the portside, buried deep in the bowels of the ship, a hundred and eighty galley slaves moved their oars.
Wood creaking, lash flying, drum beating, the ship began to turn.
"Starboard oars, row!" the overseer cried, and a second drum beat—this one with a more metallic sound.
The starboard slaves rowed. The ship adjudged.
"Row, row!" The drums beat together. "Port and starboard, row!"
Atalia sat by the hull, pressed against the wood, refusing to oar with the others. Through the hole her oar passed through, she could just make out glimpses of the harbor. The ship was moving faster now, heading toward open sea. She could see other ships moving around hers, their own oars splashing through the waters like the legs of great caterpillars.
"Damn it, slave, row!" The overseer lolloped toward her and swung his lash, bloodying her back.
Atalia spun around and glowered at him. She couldn't rise, not with the chain binding her ankle, but she could still defy him. She released the oar and raised her chin.
"I will not."
"Commander!" Daor whispered.
The overseer smiled thinly. He drew a curved dagger from his belt, leaned down, and pressed the blade against Atalia's cheek. She stiffened and hissed.
"You don't need eyes to oar." The overseer licked his lips. "I'd enjoy cutting them out. Maybe I'll keep them in a jar as a souvenir. You see that old rat over there, a few benches away?" He gestured at an old man, a cloth wrapped around his head, hiding his eyes. "I took his eyes five years ago. He oars nicely now." He pressed his dagger a bit closer, and a bead of blood trickled down Atalia's cheek. "Now, will you row like a nice little slave?"
Atalia hissed and screwed her eyes shut. Her heart beat against her ribs.
I am a soldier. A warrior of Zohar. A lioness. I will not serve the eagles. I am no slave. I will be brave, I will—
"She'll row!" Daor said. "Please, master, I'll make sure she rows, or I'll row twice as hard."
The drums still beat. "Row, slaves, row!"
The dagger trailed down her skin, and Atalia sucked in air between clenched teeth, trembling.
"Commander, please," Daor said. "We'll get out of here. I promise you. And you'll need your eyes to fight. We're rowing to Aelar. To the emperor. How can you fight him without eyes?"
Damn him. Damn the boy.
Atalia groaned, gripped the oar, and began to row to the beat.
Boom. Boom. The drums beat. The oars splashed. The benches creaked. The whips lashed. The great Aelarian ship, bearing hundreds of soldiers on the deck above, gained speed. The overseer grunted and trundled away, whip swinging at other slaves.
"Stay brave, soldier," Atalia whispered to Daor, her breath shaking. "Stay strong. We are warriors. I'm with you, lion of Zohar. We must be brave."
"I fight with you, Commander," he said. "Always. We are still lions."
As she rowed, Atalia stared through the space between oar and hole. She could only see the smallest slice of the outside, but it was enough. She could make out the breakwater of mossy boulders. The other ships. The sandy beach spreading north and the green hills beyond.
And then water. Nothing but water.
Goodbye, Zohar, she thought. Goodbye, my homeland. Goodbye, my family. I will avenge you. I promise. I swear this, Father. I will avenge you.
The drums beat and the oars moved and the ships sailed onward, leaving Zohar behind.
MAYA
The desert seemed endless.
The sandy hills spread into the horizons, beige and lifeless. Boulders, canyons, and cliffs made for slow passage, and the sun beat down, so hot Maya thought it could melt the sand. Her camel snorted beneath her, saddlebags jangling. Maya swayed in the saddle, feeling weak. She had wrapped her prayer shawl over her head—the one her father had given her, the shawl he had sewn for Mica years ago—but it couldn't block the searing sunlight. Whenever she touched her hair, it felt hot like molten metal. Her dagger hung at her side, her gift from Atalia. Whenever Maya's hand brushed against the weapon, she yelped with pain, for it had grown so hot she could have cooked meat on the blade.
"Did we make a mistake, Beelam?" she said, voice hoarse. "Are we doing to die out here?"
The camel twisted his head around, snorted, and sniffed her sandal. She patted his scruffy head, and he licked her fingers.
"Keep going forward, Beelam! You're moving in circles."
The camel snorted, straightened his neck, and kept walking forward. Maya bounced on the hump. Pebbles and sand spread below them, and the hills, canyons, and valleys sprawled ahead, and no matter how hard Maya squinted, she could see no end to them. Was she still in Zohar, or had she crossed the border into Sekadia, the great eastern kingdom? She didn't know. She was a child of the coast. She had grown up on verdant hills lush with olive, fig, and palm trees, never far from the sea. Here was a different sort of sea, yet while the Encircled Sea was full of life—thousands of ships regularly traversed its waters—Maya saw no signs of life here. Nothing but her and her camel in the endless beige.
"Maybe we should go back." She wiped sweat off her brow. "I brought ten whole skins of water, and not much food, but I don't know how long that'll last."
She sighed and looked behind her, but she could no longer see Beth Eloh. During the first two days of her journey, she had seen riders in the distance, seeking her. Sent by her mother, no doubt. She had lost them in the canyons and caves, and she had not seen pursuit for a day now. Even if she turned back, Maya didn't know if she could find her way back. With the sun at its zenith, she knew not north from south, east from west.
"Let's rest, Beelam."
She rode for a while longer, trying to find a cave—she had seen several yesterday—but found none. Finally Maya dismounted in a sandy valley and set camp. The sand was too hot to lie on, so she unrolled both her blankets, placed one on the ground, and the other atop herself, forming a makeshift hovel. She drank, finishing another waterskin; only five were now left, half of what she had brought. She dared not eat. In her rush to flee Beth Eloh, she hadn't packed enough food. She was down to only a fig cake, a few dry dates, and a loaf of bread.
She tried to sleep, but the heat was sweltering, keeping her awake. The sun soon warmed her blanket so much that Maya felt like she was sleeping under embers. She couldn't stop sweating, losing precious water. She wished she herself had a hump like Beelam, storing the energy she needed for this journey.
Finally night fell. No sooner had the sun set than the temperature dropped. Maya found herself shivering. Back in Gefen, between the trees by the s
ea, nights were always warm this time of year, but the desert became cold as winter with the sun gone. She shivered and wrapped herself in both blankets. She rode her camel again, only the moon lighting her way. She navigated by the stars. The Evening Star, brightest in the night, always shone in the west. The Lodestar, pale blue, shone in the north, the tip of the Lion's Claw constellation.
The sun rose again, and she kept riding but soon had to stop. It seemed even hotter today, and she drained her last waterskin. Soon her tongue was parched, her lips cracked, and her skin burnt. And still the desert did not end. Another mil, and Maya saw bleached bones, half-buried in the sand. Human bones.
"I'm a fool, Beelam." She hung her head low. "I fled Beth Eloh with no map, no plan, chasing a dream. Avinasi told me that there's a center of Luminosity across the desert, but what if she lied? What if she just wanted me to die out here?"
She rode onward, cursing herself. She should have stayed behind, even if the Aelarians had caught her, had shipped her off to their land across the sea. At least she would have lived, could have used her Luminosity in the Empire. Out here, she would soon fade to nothing but bones.
Along with the heat and thirst and exhaustion, fear for her family filled Maya, perhaps worse than all.
"Please, Eloh," she whispered, gazing up at the sky. "I don't know if you can hear me. I don't know if you answer prayers. But if you're there, and if you care for me, please forgive me. Forgive me for running away, for abandoning my family. Forgive me for all those times I was mad at Mother, all those times I scolded Ofeer. Forgive me please." Tears she could not afford to shed filled her eyes. "Look after them, Eloh. Keep my family safe. I've never prayed much before, but this is the most important prayer of my life. If you hear me, and if you never listen to my words again, please, Eloh, hear me this one time, and keep my family safe. I'm scared. I'm so scared of the Aelarians, scared what will happen to my family. Let me die if you must, but let my family live."
She searched the sky and land, seeking a sign that Eloh had heard her—a burning bush, a comet from the heavens, a voice from above. She saw nothing but the desert, the sand and boulders and hills spreading endlessly. And still the sun beat down, baking her hair.
She kept riding, soon out of water. Her head began to ache, and nausea grew in her belly. She ate her last fig cake, but it soured in her belly, and she leaned over the camel and vomited. Her head swam. It was all she could do to stay in the saddle. When the sun returned to its zenith, beating down with full force, Maya set camp again.
She lay on her blanket, barely strong enough to breathe. She tasted blood in her mouth and sucked it greedily.
I'm a fool. A fool. A dead fool. Bones, nothing but bones. Why did I set on this quest?
She lay on the blanket, lost in this desert, trembling. She let herself breathe deeply. To feel the wind. To gaze at the blue sky, the dunes beyond.
To feel the world.
The wind breathed.
The desert lived.
She felt the sand, endlessly blowing, forming and reforming. She felt the sun, the stars, the moon, rising and falling, forever dancing around the world. She felt tiny lives, scorpions and beetles, moving beneath her, deep underground. She felt the life of clouds.
The wind breathed.
The desert lived.
Maya rose.
The light flowed across her, illuminating her fingers, bright in her eyes. There was still lume here. She was far from Beth Eloh, but lume still filled this desert, and she could light it. She wove it around herself, healing her cracked lips, soothing her burned skin, calming the turmoil in her belly.
The light grew stronger, threatening to overwhelm her. She remembered what Avinasi had told her, and she managed to contain the fire, to weave the strands, bending them to her will, then disperse them. The luminescence faded. Maya could see the desert again.
Ahead, on a hill, stood a goat.
Maya blinked.
A goat!
"Life," she whispered.
Her belly rumbled. She had lost her last meal, and she had no more food. A goat could refill her belly. She reached for her dagger and drew the blade.
The goat stared down at her.
Maya slowly rose to her feet, blade in hand.
I can pounce. I can be like Epher and Atalia, a warrior, a huntress. She took a step toward the goat. I can survive out here.
Strangely, the goat did not attempt to flee her. When she approached, the animal sniffed at her pockets, perhaps smelling crumbs of the bread she had held there yesterday.
Maya raised her dagger.
I can do this. I can hunt. I can survive.
The goat licked her fingers, and Maya sighed and lowered her blade. Perhaps she was not a survivor after all.
"Get out of here," she said. "Go. Go!"
The goat turned and left.
Maya climbed back onto her camel. "Follow him, Beelam. Follow that goat. Where there are goats, there will be water."
They rode. They rode for what felt like hours. Sometimes the goat seemed to vanish, but then, moments later, would reappear on a distant hilltop. The land grew rockier, the hills soon growing to mountains. Canyons snaked below, and boulders dotted valleys. The goat always scurried ahead, climbing paths the camel couldn't follow. Beelam was a master at surviving the desert for days without water, but his hooves were clumsy here.
"Slow down!" Maya cried to the goat. "Wait . . ."
Her voice cracked. Again the blood filled her mouth. She swayed in her saddle and fell. She hit the ground, skinning her knee. She cried out in pain, pulled her knee to her face, and licked the blood.
Maya hung her head low.
"It's no use, Beelam. We can't catch him. The goat is probably just a feverish vision. Even Luminosity can only ease my pain for so long." She hugged the camel's leg. "We're going to die here. Die far from everyone. You and I."
A soft spray hit her face. Beelam's breath was soothing, cool, wet. She savored it, a last respite from the heat.
But when she turned toward his breath, she found Beelam's neck raised. He was staring eastward. And still she felt that damp spray.
Maya frowned. That's not his breath.
Beelam began to run. Maya followed, sandals kicking pebbles and sand. The spray grew stronger, and she could hear it—water! Falling water!
She raced up a hilltop, then fell to her bloody knees, tears falling.
"Thank you, Eloh," she whispered. "Thank you."
Life. Beautiful life.
A waterfall cascaded down a cliff ahead, feeding a pool in a canyon. Greenery sprouted around the water—palm trees, bushes, fig trees, grass. Birds fluttered from branch to branch, and the goat stood below, drinking from the pool. Maya found a path that descended toward the pool—carved by men. She led Beelam down, ran across the hot stones, and leaped into the water. She cried as she drank, and she swam, splashing about.
Eloh had sent the goat, she knew. The light of God shone upon her. Her quest was blessed.
She was laughing under the waterfall, and chewing dates she had picked from a tree, when the thief grabbed her camel.
Maya gasped.
The man was wrapped in a white robe and hood, and a sickle sword hung from his belt. While Beelam was drinking from the pool, the thief grabbed the camel's reins and leaped onto the saddle. He dug his heels into the beast, and Beelam took off, racing away from the water.
"Stop!" Maya cried, eyes wide. "Thief!"
New fear filled her. Without Beelam, she couldn't cross the rest of the desert. Cursing, she swam across the pool, every stroke lasting an eternity. By the time she emerged onto the bank, the camel and thief were gone.
Maya sucked in air. Her wet dress slapping her legs, she ran.
EPHER
As soon as he entered the royal palace, Epher marched across the mosaic toward King Shefael, grabbed the man's throat, and squeezed.
"Damn you, you traitor." Epher glared at the beefy, bearded man, hand tightening.
"Release him!" cried the palace guards, Zoharites in scale armor, weaponless, their swords confiscated by the Empire.
Even the three legionaries in the palace stepped forward, raising their javelins. Men grabbed Epher, tugging him back. A legionary swung his javelin, slamming the shaft behind Epher's knees, forcing him to kneel. The other legionaries grabbed his arms.
Olive screamed and raced across the hall, leaped onto a legionary, and began tugging the man's arm, biting and scratching.
"Go away, cunt!" the wild, redheaded woman shouted at the legionaries. "Get lost, whore!"
"What did they pay you?" Epher shouted at the king, struggling in the legionaries' grip. "What did you get to open the city gates?"
Shiloh rushed forth, speaking in soothing tones to the legionaries. The Aelarian soldiers released Epher, muttering about hot-blooded desert rats. Epher ignored them. Panting, he stared at his cousin on the throne. Shefael sat there, face red beneath his beard. He had been drinking from a goblet of wine; drops of the crimson liquid now stained his purple cloak. The crown of Zohar, shaped as the crown of a pomegranate, sat on his head.
"What did I get?" Shefael gingerly touched his throat. Finger marks still wrapped around it. "My life. Your life. The lives of a million people, every last one in Zohar."
Epher spat. "You're lucky the legionaries confiscated my sword at the city gates, cousin. I'd skewer you if I could, and our shared blood be damned. I fought outside the walls. I almost died outside the walls. Ten thousand men and women died there, butchered while you cowered here. You could have joined us, fought with us—"
"And died with you!" Shefael shouted. His voice echoed through the throne room. He rose to his feet. Both men were tall and broad, and years ago, they would ride together, duel with swords, and swim against the hard currents in the sea. In the past few years, however, since claiming the throne, Shefael had let his body go soft. Fat now coated the old muscles, and veins covered the nose, the remnants of too many empty wine bottles. The king stared at Epher from under sweaty eyebrows.
Crowns of Rust (Kingdoms of Sand Book 2) Page 4