Sands of Memory

by Melissa McShane

  “She and her chiefs ran the same way you did,” Dianthe said, “away from us. I assumed, since we haven’t seen her, that she left the palace rather than try to kill the rakhyanam. Would she have tried to free her people from the ashwar’s spell?”

  “That is impossible,” Jenani said. “My magic is far too potent. She would only have succeeded in making herself a target for those Dari ordered me to enthrall.”

  “So when will they stop being enthralled?” Sienne asked.

  Jenani regarded her with emotionless silver eyes. “Only my magic can free them,” it said. “And I can’t use my magic unless I’m commanded.”

  Sienne blinked. “Oh,” she said. “But—oh. Jenani…wait, what about Vaishant’s blessing? He freed the guards!”

  “It is limited in scope,” Vaishant said. “The pakhshani are far too many for it to be effective.”

  “But—I can’t. I promised!”

  Jenani was silent. Alaric said, “I don’t think you have a choice. The pakhshani can’t go on like this. It’s not fair to them.”

  Sienne slid her hand into her belt pouch. The ring was cool to the touch and free from grease now. “I hope you get what you deserve,” she snarled at Dari, who cringed, and slipped the ring onto her middle finger. It fit as if it had been made for her.

  “I won’t do more than I absolutely have to,” she said.

  “Don’t command it to undo all its magic, or we might find ourselves in the middle of a collapsing palace,” Alaric said.

  “I…hadn’t thought of that. Thanks.” She turned to face Jenani. “I want you to free the pakhshani from whatever magic you put on them.”

  Jenani bowed its head. “As you wish…master,” it said. “It is done.”

  “It is?” Sienne said. “That was quick.”

  “How can we know if it is done?” Vaishant said. “I do not mean to doubt this creature, but it is clear it can only do magic according to the literal word of its master. We should learn if your wish was successful.”

  “Let’s go find out,” Sienne said.

  With Dari still Kalanath’s captive, their little group went down the long, wide stairs to the vast entry hall. The walls here glowed like living gold, too. No guards remained at the doors, which Sienne thought was a hopeful sign. Jenani drifted beside her, moving its legs as if the ground actually propelled it along, though the way it bobbed up and down told her it was floating. She couldn’t bring herself to look directly at it. She’d made a promise and kept it only so long as it was convenient for her. That was untrue, and probably unfair, but she felt so guilty it burned within her.

  The sun was setting, and the air already cooler, when they emerged from the palace. They stopped at the top of the shallow, curving steps leading up to the wide door. The streets were completely empty, though Sienne saw movement far ahead, in the direction of the city gate. Her fingers twitched toward her spellbook, then stilled. She might cast sharpen, improve her distance vision, but the thought of casting spells made her feel dizzy again.

  “Sienne. How close are you to collapse?” Alaric murmured in her ear.

  She shook her head. She didn’t want to reveal to Dari or Jenani that she had maybe one more force-bolt or shout in her, and make herself look weak. Dari might be powerless, and Jenani an ally, but they were still strangers. “I’m fine,” she said, willing Alaric not to push.

  He eyed her skeptically, but said nothing more. It was even true—her vision was clear, her stomach settled, and so long as she didn’t cast any more spells, she’d be fine.

  “I think they’re leaving,” Dianthe said, shielding her eyes and peering off into the distance. “I’d need to be closer to be sure.”

  “We should explain to Lashwanti what happened,” Sienne said. “Why weren’t she and the female chiefs affected?”

  “Who listens to a woman?” Dari said with some contempt.

  Ghrita slapped him across the ear. “You are young, so I won’t follow that up with a knife to the belly,” she said as he moaned. “But I suggest you adjust your thinking quickly.”

  “Dari’s command was specifically that I command the male warriors to obey him,” Jenani said. “And for those who were not warriors to be the city’s inhabitants, behaving as city dwellers. Though he also specified that children could not be punished for theft.”

  “Typical of a street rat, to live out his personal fantasy,” Alaric said. “What other commands did he give?”

  “He wanted a rakhyan to rule, but he did not specify which one, so I created one rather than destroying an existing city,” Jenani said. “He wanted to be powerful, rich, and handsome. And the throne was of his design.”

  “I suppose we should have guessed only a child could have imagined that monstrosity,” Perrin said, unmoved by Dari’s glare. “Shall we go? I imagine the pakhshani will not linger.”

  With its streets empty, the city seemed a different world. Now the brightly-colored buildings seemed more like a model of a city than before. Doors hung open as if the houses’ owners had just stepped out for a moment and would return immediately. The smell of food hung in the air, tantalizing Sienne, whose appetite returned full force the first time she smelled roasted meat. The broad thoroughfare looked as if it extended the full length of the city from the palace to the gates, and Jenani agreed this was true when Sienne asked.

  “I completed only what the pakhshani would need,” it said. “The rest is rebuilt, but in no particular fashion. And I judged Dari’s… consequence… would be flattered by having this road he could parade up and down.”

  Sienne was starting to get a feel for how the ashwar’s mind worked. What would it be like to live your life in such a state of sophistry, constantly looking for ways to subvert the demands placed on you? It made her even more determined to free the creature.

  “I thought you were my friend,” Dari said. “All this time, you were looking for ways to disobey me.”

  “I am a slave. Slaves and masters are never friends.” Jenani sounded so disdainful it made Dari look like he might burst into tears. Sienne felt no pity for him.

  As they neared the gate, they finally saw people, men and women and children pressing forward in near-silence. No one spoke, but this time Sienne saw people holding hands, or with their arms around each other. It looked like the biggest funeral procession Sienne could imagine. Her initial impulse, to speak to one of them and ask if they knew where Lashwanti was, died in the face of all these mourners.

  Alaric stepped forward, then seemed to remember he didn’t speak their language. “Kalanath, would you…?” he said, gesturing.

  Kalanath nodded. He handed off Dari to Ghrita and went to the nearest little group, a man and woman and three small children who were probably a family. They were too far away for Sienne to hear what they were saying, though Kalanath was gesturing in the direction of the gate and the man kept looking back at the rest of them as if wondering who the pale strangers were.

  Finally, Kalanath nodded and returned to the others. “He says the chief of chiefs is outside, directing all to join their clans. Though he thinks it is unnecessary, because he knows his clan from birth. But he is shaken, they all are, by what has happened. He says it is like a dream, being city dwellers, and now the dream is over and he wants to go back to the desert.”

  “Let’s hope that’s the only side effect,” Alaric said. “We’ll take this one—” He prodded Dari with his finger and was unmoved when the boy snarled at him—“to their chief of chiefs for judgment. And then we’ll see about setting Jenani free.”

  17

  They trailed along at the end of the procession, following the mass of people pressing forward to the gap in the wall. Impatience gripped Sienne, a desire to be finished with Dari and in a position to free Jenani, but Alaric shook his head when she tried to push through the crowds. “We’re not in a hurry,” he said in a low voice, “and I don’t want to disturb these people any more than we already have.” Sienne had to admit this made sense.
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  The pakhshani eyed them curiously, particularly tall, blond Alaric, but kept their distance. It was possible they knew each other so well that they realized Kalanath, Ghrita, and Vaishant weren’t pakhshani. In any case, they didn’t try to strike up a conversation even with those who were likely to speak their language, and among themselves they were mostly silent. The resemblance to a funeral procession was stronger than ever.

  Beside her, Dari tried to jerk away from Ghrita’s hold, and Ghrita twisted his arm behind his back, making him yelp. “Please, just let me go,” he begged. “I won’t cause trouble. Look, it’s miles to Abhisok. I might die before I get there. That’s punishment enough, don’t you think?”

  “I think you have a strange idea of what punishment is,” Ghrita said. “This isn’t about retribution. It’s about you making amends. Which, granted, might mean retribution, if that’s how Lashwanti feels about it.”

  Dari scowled and went silent. Sienne said, “You don’t think she’d execute a child, do you?”

  “The pakhshani live by different rules than us soft city-dwellers,” Ghrita said. “Life in the desert is unforgiving. They can’t afford mercy the way we understand it.”

  Sienne watched Dari’s face, and despite herself felt a pang of guilt. She made herself remember Alaric choking in Jenani’s grasp, but the guilt didn’t fade. She was a soft city-dweller.

  Finally, they reached the gate, and Sienne breathed more easily. The city hadn’t felt oppressive until she knew it was full of slaves. The crowd moved more quickly once it was past the bottleneck, and Alaric’s pace accelerated. “So, which of these people is Lashwanti?” he said. “Not that I expect you to recognize anyone in this throng.”

  Sienne almost offered to cast float, to raise herself above the heads of the pakhshani for a better view, but realized she would only incapacitate herself. “I think we should keep moving forward. Lashwanti might be at the center of all of this, if she’s directing them.”

  “I’ll forge ahead,” Ghrita said. “Not too far,” she added, as Alaric opened his mouth to protest. “But I know what she looks like, and I think I can break a path more readily even than you, Ansorjan.”

  Alaric nodded. Ghrita passed Dari to Kalanath and strode forward, using her staff to nudge people aside. Those moved in that way glared at her, but said nothing. Then they saw Alaric and the other non-Omeirans and moved with greater alacrity. Alaric put his hand on Sienne’s lower back. “Truth, now. How close are you?” he murmured in her ear.

  “Close. I might have one more emergency spell in me. But I don’t want that public knowledge.”

  “Understood.” He guided her to walk before him, sheltering her with his body, and her heart swelled within her.

  Ghrita began moving faster. “I see her,” she called over her shoulder.

  In another few minutes, they reached a place where the crowds were thinner. Sienne recognized one of the women from the harem, speaking to a slender, short man whose head scarf was bright blue. Then she saw Lashwanti a few paces away. Lashwanti recognized her, and her brow furrowed. “You,” she said when Sienne approached. Then she noticed Alaric, and her eyes widened. “Who in God’s name is that?”

  “This is Alaric. These are our friends,” Sienne said.

  “What is he? Sometimes white ones are born to us, but never anyone so large.” Lashwanti couldn’t take her eyes off Alaric, who regarded her with curious incomprehension.

  “He’s from the north. All his people look like him.” This was either lie or truth depending on who she was willing to claim as Alaric’s people, but Sienne didn’t feel like losing control of the conversation. “We broke the spell on your people, and captured the one responsible.”

  Lashwanti’s gaze traveled to Jenani, who had shrunk down to Sienne’s size again. “Another white one,” she said. “I will take her head.”

  “That’s not the one,” Sienne said, once again opting for the most straightforward conversational option. “This is.”

  Kalanath dragged Dari forward. Lashwanti’s eyes widened. “This…child? Where is the man who imprisoned us?”

  “This child transformed himself into an adult,” Ghrita said. “That spell is broken, too.”

  “I do not know what a spell is,” Lashwanti said. “Is it magic?”

  “Yes,” Sienne said.

  “Then he is powerful indeed. How can we stop him enslaving us again? I cannot kill a child.”

  Sienne felt unexpected relief. “His magic is gone. He won’t enslave anyone ever again.”

  “You are sure of this?”

  “Positive.”

  Lashwanti regarded Dari closely. He shrank from her, as far as he was capable in Kalanath’s grasp. “You, child. Where are you from? You are not one of us.”

  “Abhisok,” Dari said. “Let me go.”

  “You would die before you reached your home. And I think that death will not satisfy us.” Lashwanti turned to Ghrita. “I demand the right to justice. Give him to me.”

  Ghrita looked at Alaric. “You’re sure we want to hand him over?” she said.

  “Is that what she asked?” Alaric nodded. “It’s her right.”

  Kalanath released Dari to Lashwanti, who held him in a competent grip despite his struggles. “Child, you must make restitution,” she said. “It may take you the rest of your life. You will live with us and learn what it is to be pakhshani. And you will learn why what you did was evil. Understand?”

  “I’ll just run away,” Dari said, pouting.

  “I think not,” Lashwanti said. “We owe you thanks,” she said to Sienne. “I regret that we can’t offer you hospitality now. We must return to our caravans. But—” She signaled to the slender, short pakhshan man who stood nearby. “I will give you a token you can show to any pakhshan, as a sign that you are friends, and we will treat you as our own.”

  The man patted his robes in a gesture so like an absent-minded professor Sienne had once had she nearly laughed. He reached inside his robe and pulled out a palm-sized copper disk, stippled all over with hammer marks. A hole had been cut out of its center, and a flat, faceted yellow stone, translucent and irregular in shape, was wired into place there. The man hesitated, looking at all of them, then offered the disk to Ghrita. Ghrita bowed. “We’re very grateful.”

  Lashwanti returned the bow. “We are the grateful ones. Where do you journey?”

  “We will return to Chirantan soon.”

  “Then—good fortune to you.” Lashwanti saluted them Omeiran-style, with her palm extended, and Ghrita pressed her palm against the woman’s without hesitation. Sienne followed suit, and then the others, even the ones who’d been following this conversation in silent incomprehension.

  “We should go,” Ghrita said in a low voice, though Lashwanti had turned away and couldn’t understand Fellic in any case. “It cost her her pride to admit to owing outsiders anything.”

  Sienne took one last look at Dari, who had been passed off to another pakhshan chief. “I wonder what will happen to him.”

  “What did Lashwanti say they’d do to him?” Alaric asked.

  “That they’d teach him to be one of them, and he would make restitution.”

  “Then I hope they turn him into a man,” Alaric said. “Let’s go. We need food, and rest, and I hope there’s some of both still in the palace. And then—the temple.”

  Jenani’s inability to use its own magic didn’t extend to its willingness to help in other ways. Without its guidance, they’d have taken at least an hour to find the kitchen. Kitchens. The palace was the biggest building Sienne had ever seen, even bigger than the palace in Fioretti, and it seemed to have more than one of everything.

  Unfortunately, none of the kitchens resembled the ones Sienne was familiar with. There were fireplaces, not stoves, and the ovens were made of clay and looked like giant beehives with round iron doors. She stood before one of these and felt despair creep over her.

  “Don’t worry,” Ghrita said, startling her. “I k
now how to cook.”

  “Really? Because you may be the only one of us who knows how to work this thing,” Sienne replied.

  “It’s not hard.” Ghrita’s smile was mocking, but Sienne was too tired and hungry to rise to the bait. She turned away, not waiting to hear what other insults Ghrita might come up with. Dianthe and Kalanath were searching the pantry, which was itself the size of the kitchen, looking for foods that would cook quickly.

  “Rice,” Dianthe said, prodding a bulging sack on the ground, “and flour. Spices, most of which I’ve never seen before.”

  “I can cook rice,” Sienne said. “But we’ll want something more than just rice and flatbreads.”

  “That, I can provide,” Perrin said from the doorway. He held up two dead chickens by the ankles. “There is a very cold room in which these are stored. Some of the meat smells bad, but this appears fresher.”

  “I wonder why they stored meat when Dari only had to tell Jenani to make it?” Sienne said. “See what Ghrita wants done with that, and I’ll start the water boiling for rice.”

  The small magic that let her create water didn’t tap her reserves, and she filled a large pot and set it over the fire to boil. Then she sat beside the fireplace and closed her eyes, welcoming the warmth. The desert heat had begun to drain away when they walked back to the palace, and that along with her diminished magical reserves made her feel cold. The sound of the fire filled the quiet kitchen, joined by the noises Kalanath and Perrin made while plucking the chickens, soft grunts of effort and the sliding sound of the chickens against the table, and Ghrita murmuring instructions to Dianthe as they rolled out rounds of dough.

  “Can I ask you something?” Kalanath said in a low voice. Sienne opened her eyes. He’d addressed Perrin, who looked at him in inquiry. “It is that I would like to know what it is like to be a father.”

  Perrin’s eyes widened. “That…may be a question with no answer,” he said. “Or too many answers, perhaps. I know only my own experience.”

  “But you are a good father, so I think it is a good experience.”