A Thousand Nights

by Johnston, E. K.

  She would fight me; I knew it in Lo-Melkhiin’s bones. It gave him hope, which amused me greatly. He knew this girl would defy me, and it brought him joy. He was almost more pleased to see her family than she was. I would crush him again soon enough. First, I had to have her, and I could not fight her from within herself.

  I had to do as I had always done, as my kind had always done, without realizing we did it. We did not take men because they longed to serve us. We took them because they followed us into the fire for something they thought we offered them. A younger wife. A restored family. Wealth. Honor. Fame. Those had always been what we tempted men with.

  And I would tempt her just the same. I would give her a choice that was no choice, so that any way she chose I would get her, and all she brought with her, when she was done. She would not burn as the others had, and neither would she serve. I had called her common, but she was better than her sand-crawling kin. I was done with murdering little girls. This one would be my queen.

  I WAS GLAD OF THE HEAVY VEIL, and gladder still that the henna mistress had reminded me that if I was quiet, no one would be able to tell my mood. I bit my tongue, hard, to keep from crying out. I had missed my sister and my mother and my sister’s mother, of course, but it was not until I saw my father and my brothers that I knew how much I had missed them too. My father had favored us overmuch after my sister’s brother had been lost to the flood, and even my brothers’ teasing was something that reminded me of home. To see them, and to see them on their knees before us, gave me both joy and fear. What Lo-Melkhiin might do to my family stilled my blood.

  “Great lord, Lo-Melkhiin,” my father said. His voice was like a calm wind over sand, and I bit my tongue again to stop the tears that would have clouded my eyes. “This humble trader thanks you for granting an audience to him and to his sons.”

  “Noble caravan master,” Lo-Melkhiin said to him. His voice was loud and cold. “How could I turn you, of all men, from my halls? Come and stand closer to me, father of my heart.”

  My father hesitated for only a moment—well-traveled feet on a familiar path before they ventured onto an unknown one—and then stood and came closer. Lo-Melkhiin had put his hand upon my arm when he spoke to my father, and I did not flinch from him. I looked at my father and wished he could see my eyes, and find some comfort there.

  “It is true, then,” he whispered as he drew close. He spoke as one who had been told a thing countless times, and yet who doubted the truth of it until it was before him. Until I was before him. He did not speak to Lo-Melkhiin, though Lo-Melkhiin heard his words. He spoke to his smallgod. “My daughter yet lives.”

  “It is true, father of my heart,” Lo-Melkhiin said. “Your daughter is my queen.”

  My father knelt again. It was as though his legs had borne him thus far and would bear him no further. Now he sat upon the dais, right in front of me. Without thinking, I reached for him. He caught my hand and kissed it. I felt the dust of the road, the whiskers in his beard, and the hot tears that fell from his eyes.

  “Come closer, brothers of my heart,” Lo-Melkhiin said to my brothers, who still knelt where they had first settled.

  They came to sit beside my father and took my hand, each in their turn. They did not weep to see me, but they squeezed my hand tightly, and I knew that I was loved. I hoped desperately that we would be allowed to talk, whatever my father’s petition was. Perhaps he merely wished to see with his own eyes that I lived. Perhaps there was something more. If he went with Lo-Melkhiin into conference, maybe they would leave my brothers with me, and I could ask them about my sister and my mother, and the others in my father’s tents.

  “Tea!” called Lo-Melkhiin, and I saw the serving girl who had fixed my veil hasten to do his bidding. “And bring food also. These men of my heart have crossed the hot sand and braved the hammer of the sun to see us. We must make them welcome.”

  Pillows were brought, and a low table to put the cups and bread on. My brothers each had their own oil bottle and their own bowl of olives. Always before, they had shared.

  “Father of my heart,” said Lo-Melkhiin, when the tea was cool enough to drink and my father had eaten four olives, placing the pits carefully back in the bowl as he found them, “it makes my heart glad to see you, and I know my wife’s heart is the same, but I must ask: Why have you come to us?”

  He was the soul of politeness, my husband. The viper’s smile was gone. Instead, he was a lion, surveying his pride as if he owned the whole desert and could afford to be generous with it. He spoke to my father like he had come to my father’s tents and asked for me, as though they had bargained a dowry and drunk honeyed mead at the wedding feast to celebrate. My father was too good a trader to let his discomfort show on his face, but his eyes moved too quickly and betrayed him.

  “I have come to ask a favor of you, Lo-Melkhiin,” my father said to him. His voice was still a calm wind, with only the barest hint of the storm underneath.

  “Ask it of me, then, father of my heart,” Lo-Melkhiin said. “If it is in my power, and much is, it will be granted to you. I would do this for any caravan master in my lands, who works so hard for the people in his tents, but especially for you, because your daughter sits beside me.”

  My father bowed his head at the compliment, and took a sip of his tea. I had seen him do that when he taught my brothers the way of trading, but I did not like to see it now. I did not like to think what my father had that could interest Lo-Melkhiin in trade.

  “As you know, great lord,” my father said, “I have two daughters. One sits at your side; the other is still in her mother’s tent, though she will not live there once the moon has passed its fullest.”

  I caught my breath. My sister had studied the priestly arts with my mother and with her mother. My father could not let her marry and leave to go to her husband’s tent. There would be no one to tend our dead.

  “My wife, the star of my skies, has told me much about her sister,” Lo-Melkhiin said. He put his hand upon my arm and rested it there for a long moment.

  My oldest brother wrapped an arm around the youngest, who sat next to him at the table, and held him still, like how he would have caught a goat that sought to stray. I smiled behind my veil, where no one could see me. My brothers did not care for where I sat and how he touched me, but at least some of them were wise enough to try hiding it, and to hold the others back when they might have protested.

  “She is very beautiful,” my father said to Lo-Melkhiin. “Her mother and her sister’s mother have taught her the priestly ways, and thus I did not think she would wed and leave our holy places.”

  “Yet you say she will go out from her mother’s tent,” Lo-Melkhiin said.

  I might have screamed, except I clung to the quiet that shielded my feelings from the room. Courtly speech drove me mad, and when it was partnered with trading talk, it was even worse. It was my sister they spoke of, not the weather or a camel. I wanted to know, and had little patience for their pretty words. My oldest brother, perhaps guessing that his movement caught my eye, stared like he could see my face. Very slowly, he winked at me. I took a long breath, and forced myself to be still.

  “I did, my lord,” said my father to Lo-Melkhiin. “My sons and I traveled far on our last caravan. We went to the north, through the sand desert and the scrub desert, because we had heard rumors of a trading post near the mountains there.”

  “I have heard this also,” said Lo-Melkhiin. His hand tightened on my arm. I wondered if he would tell them how he knew.

  “We made good trades there,” said my father, “and we met a traveler who wished to return with us. He brought his own pack and carried his own water, and so I did not refuse him.”

  He was lying. I could see it in his eyes, and in the way my brothers shifted. I could not tell if Lo-Melkhiin noticed. The traveler might have had his own gear, but that was not the only reason my father had agreed to bring him back across the desert.

  “When we reached my tents, the
traveler met my other daughter,” my father said. “I am no poet, to speak of love in flower-shaped words, but even I could see the sun rise in his eyes when he saw her, and her step lighten when she walked to him.”

  “Father of my heart,” said Lo-Melkhiin, with the warm voice he used when he spoke to his mother, “love makes poets of us all.”

  “They will wed,” my father said. “And they will pitch their tent beside mine, and raise their children in my wadi. My other daughter will still tend our holy places, but now she will not live alone.”

  I had tears in my eyes again, and this time I did not try to stop them. I could not be faulted if I cried for my sister’s happiness, when I had thought she might have none but the dead when she was old. Now she would have a family.

  “Father of my heart, this is wonderful news,” Lo-Melkhiin said. “But you have not asked your favor.”

  “Great lord,” my father said. “You know the perils of the desert, and you know how well I must guard against them to have the renown and success that I have. I beg you, let me take your wife to her sister’s wedding, and return her to you when it is done.”

  I couldn’t breathe. Lo-Melkhiin would never permit it. He could not be sure I would return. They could say I had died in the sand, was bitten or broken or burned. They could hide me forever.

  “Father of my heart, you know the gravity of this request,” Lo-Melkhiin said. His fingers bit into my arm. “I must consider the safety of my wife, the star of my skies. I know how much she loves her sister, but the danger is great.”

  “We are prepared to make the most careful of arrangements,” my father said. “I have brought my best and steadiest camel to bear her. The beast has never failed me. It has never foundered in the sand, never started from its lead. Her brothers will guard her, and I will swear her life to you, again, if you wish it.”

  I wanted to laugh at them. I had already crossed the desert once, on the back of a horse with only my own will and a pinch of salt to keep me in the saddle, and they spoke of me as though I were as fragile as a sweet-water blossom at the height of the desert wilt. I would walk, I would crawl, if it meant I could see my sister again.

  “Father of my heart, you have moved me,” Lo-Melkhiin said. “You have taken time from your caravan to come and see me, and you have prepared at great cost should I grant your request. I beg you, give me an hour to speak with my wife, the star of my skies, so that we might make our own plans for her safety.”

  “It shall be as you say, great lord,” my father said. He bowed low over the table.

  Lo-Melkhiin clapped his hands. Men appeared, dressed in the same white cloth that the serving girls wore, though theirs was shaped into tunic and breeches.

  “These are the father and brothers of my heart,” Lo-Melkhiin said, gesturing grandly. “They have journeyed far to see me, and to see my wife, who lights each of my days with her smile the way the sun lights the desert sky. Take them to the guest gardens and see that they have everything they need. I fear their traveling clothes will be too heavy for garden air. Make sure they are shown the baths, and given finer weave, so they might appreciate the qasr to the fullest while they are our guests.”

  The men bowed low, and waited for my father and brothers to rise. I reached for my father again, and again he kissed my hands. This time there were no tears, just the strength of his hands on mine. And then they left us, and Lo-Melkhiin tore away my veil.

  “WELL, STAR OF MY SKIES,” said Lo-Melkhiin to me. “Will you beg?”

  I would have thrown myself at his knees and promised him anything he liked, except I did not think he would make me. He wanted me to go, for whatever reason, or he would not have been so polite to my father. Maybe he thought I would not know that. Maybe he forgot that I was the daughter of a master of offer and counter-offer, even though he had just sent my father from the room. I thought it strange that I knew Lo-Melkhiin so well.

  “No,” I said to him. “If you wanted weeping and wailing, you would find a better way to make me.”

  He laughed, his teeth bright in his mouth. “Yes, my wife, I would.”

  He passed my veil back to me, and I went to pin it into place. Cool hands met mine, and took the work. The serving girl had not left us.

  “My mother will accompany you, of course,” Lo-Melkhiin said to me as if the girl were not there. “She has not been outside of the walls since she was healed of her illness. I think the journey will do her well.”

  “And she will ensure I return,” I said to him.

  “No, star of my skies,” he said to me. “I have a much better way to ensure your return.”

  At first I thought he meant to keep one of my brothers in my place, but then I saw the answer. Of course I would come back. If I left him, he would remarry; his bride would die, and he would be that much closer to marking off all the villages on his map, which meant he could start over. My sister, wedded, would be safe, and I would be in hiding, but we could not hide every girl of marriageable age.

  “Go and tell your brothers, my love,” he said to me. “I will have your things and my mother’s things packed.”

  “Will you come?” I asked him.

  If he did, it could be disastrous. I doubted my older brother could control the younger ones that long, and nothing that crawled in the desert sands or flew above them could control my sister, not as I had remade her. If he did not, though, I might lose my power and be ill again, and there would be no one to heal me.

  “Alas, my love, I cannot.” He smiled wickedly. “Though I would very much enjoy watching your brothers bite their tongues while they try to keep their heads cool. There is too much for me to do here.”

  He left me, and I stood to go back to my room. I would not meet my father and brothers dressed like this. It was too much for all of us. At the very least, I wanted a lighter veil. They had come this far, and should see my face. I got lost once, in corridors I had never walked through before, but I ended up in the kitchens, so at least I knew how to find my way from there.

  “Lady-bless,” called the cook as I passed through. “Will you take a cask of honeyed mead to your sister?”

  I was forever impressed by the speed at which news traveled in this place. Seemingly, it flew faster than the wind. I told the cook I would be glad to take his mead, one of the prides of his kitchen, and he sent a boy to carry it to the girls who were packing my things.

  At last I was back in my rooms. I changed quickly. This dress had no ties, for all its glamour. Its beauty was in its embroidery, and the way the gold thread caught the light. I took it off, and then my leggings, and stood in my shift. I wondered what dishdashah they would send for me to wear at my sister’s wedding. It could not be too fine. I should not outshine her on her wedding day. Hopefully whoever packed would keep her head and remember that.

  I found a simple gown, blue linen with no embroidery at all, and pulled it on over my shift. This one hung to my feet and needed no leggings. I put on the slippers that were sturdy enough for garden paths, and went out again to find my father.

  They had come from the bath by the time I reached them, and were sitting in the shade with a backgammon board, though none of them were playing.

  “Sister!” my youngest brother shouted when he saw me.

  He ran and caught my elbows, lifting me into the air and spinning me around as he kissed my cheeks and my nose. My left slipper went flying into a bush.

  My other brothers pelted me with affection in a similar fashion, though they at least left me on the ground when they did it. My youngest brother fetched me my shoe, and I balanced myself on his shoulder as I stood on one foot to put it on without bending. Then I went to where my father stood, still in the shade, and bowed to him.

  “Father,” I said to him. “Thank you for coming to ask Lo-Melkhiin if I could attend my sister’s wedding. He has a few conditions, but already my things are being readied for the journey.”

  My father said nothing for a moment, and I looked up at him. Sure
ly he had wanted me to get permission, even if he had not dared to hope for it. He put his hands on my shoulders and held me at arm’s length for a moment, and then without warning pulled me into an embrace so tight I thought he would crush my ribs.

  “Daughter of mine,” he said to me. “I am so sorry.”

  “Father,” I said to him. “There was nothing you could have done. If you had been in the village and fought them, they would have only killed you, and my brothers, and taken me anyway. Who then would keep my mother and my sister and my sister’s mother? Who would go out with the caravan?”

  “Daughter of mine,” he said to me. “You are too wise and too kind.”

  “I am a queen here, but I am as I have been taught,” I said to him. “I am as I learned to be in your tents.”

  He released me, and my brothers came back to sit in the shade. We sat, and they told me of the man my sister was to marry.

  “He is as pale as unbleached wool,” my youngest brother said. “You can see how his blood passes through his body.”

  “My youngest brother is a fool,” said the eldest. “I can see my own veins. It is not a miracle.”

  “His hair is the color of the sun, but his eyes are brown, like normal.” This from the tallest of them.

  “My sons, you jabber worse than the sand-crows,” my father said, but there was laughter in his voice. “Your sister will think her sister weds a ghost. Say instead that his skin is pale and his hair is the color of flatbread when you have mixed in saffron. They are correct about his eyes, though, daughter of mine. They are brown like ours.”

  “Does he really come from the mountains?” I asked them. “Lo-Melkhiin’s mother, who must travel with me, is from the great blue desert. That is also far away.”

  “He truly does,” said my oldest brother. “He brought with him a silver-colored metal that is not like anything I have ever seen.”