“Ah.” The chieftain nodded. “There is wisdom in that. But what of the cunning man?”
Brother Merik shook his head. “I cannot say.”
“Neither can I,” Brother Yarit muttered. “I’m sorry for your son’s death, but I won’t apologize for not dying.” He lifted his chin in a defiant jerk. “I didn’t make the fucking rules!”
People were beginning to look, and the air felt tight and tense, making my shoulder blades prickle. “None of us understand the whole of the Seer’s mind save Pahrkun himself,” I heard myself say. “We are here. We have brought your son’s bones. Will you dishonor his memory and deny us hospitality?”
For a long moment, Chieftain Jakhan glowered at me. “Do you think to test me, young shadow?”
I stood my ground. “Brother Jawal was my friend and teacher. He taught me to throw the heshkrat.”
An unexpected hint of tears glimmered in the chieftain’s eyes. “My eldest had a good arm, did he not?”
I nodded. “The best.”
Still cradling the bundle of his son’s bones in his left arm, Chieftain Jakhan took his right hand from the hilt of his yakhan and swept aside the flap closing the doorway of his tent, opening it wide. “I will see that your horses are tended to. Come and be welcome, brothers of Pahrkun.”
SEVEN
Inside the tent, it was warm and spacious. It smelled of good meat seasoned with unfamiliar spices. There was an elaborate tea service on the carpet-lined floor and a curtain of felt that hung from the midpoint, dividing the tent in two parts. Behind it were voices; women’s voices, higher-pitched and more melodious than men’s, engaged in some manner of singing game.
Two young men rose as we entered; the one who had first greeted us and another who had his father’s strong brows.
“Yasif, Khisan,” the chieftain said to them. “Make our guests welcome, serve them tea. I must speak to your brother’s mother.”
One inclined his head.
The other scowled at us.
Chieftain Jakhan ducked behind the curtain. The sound of laughter and singing stopped. There was a single wail, cut short and muffled as though whoever uttered it had clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Please, sit and drink, brothers.” Fine beads of sweat formed on Yasif’s brow. “May I pour you tea?”
I glanced at Brother Merik, who knew the ways of the tribesfolk. He demurred three times, accepting on the fourth. Brother Yarit and I did the same. We sat cross-legged on the carpets and sipped mint tea.
Behind the curtain, low murmuring voices and a few quiet sobs broke the uncomfortable silence.
Khisan of the strong brows continued to scowl. “You’ve come at an inauspicious time.”
“There is no good time to deliver such tidings,” Brother Merik replied. “But the gathering of the clans is the only time we might be certain of finding your people.”
“Yes, of course.” Yasif sounded as though he’d like to apologize for his brother’s rudeness. “It is only that we have declared blood-feud against the Sweet Meadow Clan. The Matriarch of the Ardu has granted our petition to redeem our honor this very day. We fight at dawn.”
“How many?” Brother Merik inquired.
“We are eight men of fighting age.” Khisan glanced at his brother. “They are nine.”
Brother Merik sipped his tea. “A pity.”
Khisan eyed him. “Yes.” Without excusing himself, he rose and went to join his father behind the curtain.
“Forgive his manners,” Yasif said. “My brother has always been hotheaded.”
“Tempers run high on the eve of battle,” Brother Merik said. “What is the cause of this blood-feud?”
Yasif poured more tea for us. “My father refused their suit for our eldest sister’s hand. They stole his prized camel and slaughtered it in retaliation.”
It all seemed strange and exotic to me, this business of mothers and sisters and marriage suits. I glanced at the hanging curtain, wondering about the world of womenfolk and family that existed behind it. I wished we had not come on such a grave errand and at such an inauspicious time.
“Why did your father refuse their suit?” Brother Yarit sounded genuinely curious.
Yasif’s expression darkened. “Because the chieftain of Sweet Meadow Clan is the sort of man who would steal a camel and slaughter it simply because he did not get his way,” he said. “Our sister deserves better.”
His father and brother returned. “There is food prepared,” Chieftain Jakhan announced. “You will dine with us now.”
A great platter of roasted goat meat and rice was brought out to us by one of the women. Wife or daughter, I could not guess at first, for although she did not wear the tall headdress indoors, her scarf was wrapped around her face to veil her features all the same. Then I thought to look to her hands, for as Brother Yarit had taught me, the hands do not lie. Her hands were worn with age in much the same way that the chieftain’s face was weathered, and I guessed then that she must be his wife. I wondered if Yasif and Khisan were grateful to have a mother, to have sisters. I wondered if I were sorry that I did not; or at least that I did not know them if I did. I could not say.
The food was tasty. I watched Brother Merik out of the corner of my eye to make sure I took no more than was seemly, and saw Brother Yarit do the same. Even so, it was an uncomfortable meal, and I was glad when I saw Brother Merik wipe his fingers on his sash to indicate that he was finished.
“An excellent meal, Chieftain Jakhan,” he said politely. “We thank you for your hospitality.”
The chieftain looked surprised. “You cannot mean to leave yet!” He nodded in my direction, and his voice took on an edge. “Not when your own shadow has reminded me of my duty. You will sleep beneath our tent tonight.”
“I cannot ask you to house us when I have kin of my own in the Sanu camp,” Brother Merik demurred. “Certainly not on the eve of battle.”
“Battle, yes.” The chieftain’s features hardened, and I realized that this wasn’t about hospitality after all, but something far more serious. “Battle is exactly what I wish to discuss with you, brother.” He pointed at Brother Yarit. “You have brought this man who killed my son into my tent, this cunning man with his disrespectful tongue.”
“I’ve barely said a fucking thing!” Brother Yarit protested.
“See?” the chieftain said grimly. “I say there is a debt of honor owing between us. Tomorrow one of you will stand and fight with the Black Sands Clan, Merik of the Sanu; you or the cunning man.”
Something tickled at my thoughts …
Brother Merik was shaking his head. “… know as well as I do that that is impossible. We are sworn to Pahrkun’s service. We are forbidden to take part in tribal blood-feuds.”
I followed the thing tickling at my thoughts as though it were a hawk’s feather, drifting, drifting, ignoring the rising voices.
“… cunning man…”
“… the fucking rules!”
“… son’s bones…”
Yasif and Khisan were glancing back and forth, following the argument with fascination.
“I will do it!” I announced. Everyone ignored me. I rose to my feet and repeated it. “I will do it!”
They fell silent. A slit in the curtain dividing the tent stirred and I had the impression of unseen eyes watching.
“Khai, you cannot,” Brother Merik said to me. “You are sworn to—”
“No,” I interrupted him. “I am pledged to Pahrkun’s service, but he has not yet accepted it. There is a trial I must yet stand before he deems me worthy. Brother Saan told me so.”
“Still—”
“He bade me honor Jawal’s memory,” I said. “He sent me here to gain an understanding of honor. He Saw this.”
Brother Merik took a long, slow breath but made no response. The chieftain looked thoughtful.
“You cannot be serious!” Khisan said incredulously, gesturing dismissively toward me. “He’s only a boy. He’s nowhere nea
r fighting age. He’ll only get in our way and worsen our odds.”
Chieftain Jakhan turned his deep-set gaze on me. “Is that so?”
There was no wind in the tent. I wished I could feel its touch against my skin. Pahrkun’s breath was always stirring in the Fortress of the Winds. I thought about Brother Jawal’s grin as he taught me the ways of thunder and lightning, and I thought about Brother Hakan baiting me.
Shifting to confront Khisan, who was still seated, I clapped my hands together twice and stamped my left foot on the carpet, then repeated the gesture; clap-clap-stamp, clap-clap-stamp.
Khisan leapt to his feet, blood suffusing his face. “You little—”
“Khisan, sit!” His father’s voice was sharp with command. Khisan hesitated, then obeyed grudgingly. “You challenge my son to thunder and lightning?”
I withdrew my yakhan and my kopar from my sash, laying them both on the carpet, then touched my brow in salute. “I do.”
“So be it.” Chieftain Jakhan rose. “Let us see if you are fighter enough to stand with the Black Sands Clan on the morrow.”
Outdoors, we gathered in an open area between tents where the sandy soil was packed hard and flat. Word of the challenge spread quickly throughout the camp, and within minutes, a crowd had gathered.
In the center of the ring that had formed, Khisan unwound his head-scarf. His bristly black hair was cut short and close to his skull. He kicked off his sandals, shrugged off his robe, untied his heshkrat and sash, and stripped off his tunic, tossing everything aside. He was a young man of prime fighting age, his lean brown body corded with muscle, and he paraded around the ring to shouts and cheers.
I slid loose the garrote that bound my hair back and unobtrusively unbuckled the braces of zims concealed beneath my sleeves. Brother Yarit was on hand to take them from me. “You only get one chance to play the element of surprise, kid,” he muttered. “Remember what I taught you.”
Nodding, I shed my sandals and sash and tunic, handing them to him. “I’ll do my best.”
A wave of laughter, mostly good-natured, arose from the tribesfolk as I stepped into the ring opposite Khisan. A few people called out for him to take it easy on me; others taunted him, which made him clench his jaw. But there were other murmurs that ran beneath the current, murmurs that spoke of the Sun-Blessed and a shadow.
I stooped to touch the sandy soil, letting a few grains run through my fingers. “Pahrkun, I am your instrument,” I whispered. “If it is your will I do here today, grant me honor.”
“Are we fighting or not, little boy?” Khisan spread his arms wide. “I’m ready when you are.”
I straightened. “I am ready.”
The sun was hovering above the western horizon. Khisan sidled sideways, forcing me to either take a stand or retreat so that the sun was in my eyes, thinking to play on my youth and inexperience.
I retreated, letting him think he had won that small victory. Light filled my eyes, and Khisan’s figure was a black silhouette before me. Still, it was enough that I could tell by his flex-legged stance that he expected me to strike low and fast, trying to use my quickness and small stature to get inside his greater reach, just as I had tried with Brother Hakan. That, then, was exactly what I would not do. I darted forward and feinted to the right; the chieftain’s son threw a great, buffeting blow that would have knocked me to the ground if it had landed.
It didn’t, for I had never actually intended to be there.
Overbalanced, Khisan stumbled, cursed, and recovered; too late. From a standstill, I launched myself skyward, higher than he could have guessed, lashing my left leg out in a simple forward kick.
Boom.
The ball of my left foot thundered against his chin. I heard his teeth click together. His eyes rolled up in his head as he crumpled to the ground.
There was a brief stunned silence followed by laughter and cheers. “Does that answer your question?” I asked Chieftain Jakhan.
He smiled wryly. “At the expense of my son’s pride, yes. We welcome your aid. Will you not sleep beneath our tent tonight?”
I glanced at Brother Merik, but he offered no response and his expression gave me no indication. I pondered the matter. In the ring, Yasif was helping his brother to his feet. Khisan looked furious and embarrassed, and I had no great wish to sleep in his company that night.
“I would not presume upon your hospitality while there is a debt of honor between us,” I said, choosing my words with care. “And I know Brother Merik is eager to see his kin. Thus we will pass this night with the Hot Spring Clan. If we are victorious on the morrow, do you declare the debt between us settled?”
“I do,” the chieftain said.
“Then we will be grateful to accept your hospitality,” I said.
He gave a nod of approval. “Fairly spoken. I will send Yasif for you at dawn. We fight on foot,” he added. “The Matriarch has decreed no further livestock shall be slain in the settling of this feud.”
Retrieving my weapons and our mounts, we rode to the southern side of the oasis, where the Sanu clans were camped. Brother Yarit—who, in fairness, had been reasonably close-mouthed in the presence of Jawal’s kin—was filled with chatter and questions, the latter of which Brother Merik fielded with terse answers, his thoughts obviously elsewhere.
“Given that your people are nomads, why is it that all the clans are named after places?” It was the fourth or fifth such question that Brother Yarit had posed. “It seems a bit contradictory if you ask me.”
Brother Merik sighed. “Which I did not do.” Turning in the saddle, he rounded on me. “Khai, do you have any idea how lucky you were?”
“I was no such thing!” I said indignantly. Having spent countless hours hopping up and down stairs, I reckoned my leaping ability was more than fairly won. “I did what he didn’t expect.”
“I am not speaking of that,” Brother Merik said grimly. “I am speaking of tomorrow’s battle. Did you hear what the chieftain said?”
“I … yes.”
He fixed me with a hard stare. “I don’t love your chances, little brother, but I don’t hate them, either. The tribesfolk don’t use the kopar. But if this battle were fought on horseback…” He shook his head. “You’d be dead.”
I licked my lips, which had gone dry. “The possibility hadn’t occurred to me, brother.”
“Nor me,” Brother Merik said. “But it should have. I’ve gotten soft in the ways of the desert.”
“Would you have forbidden Khai if it had occurred to you?” Brother Yarit inquired.
Brother Merik shot him a dour look. “Of course.”
“Then maybe it’s for the best it didn’t.” Brother Yarit grinned. “Did you see how high the kid jumped? That hothead never saw it coming.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Brother Merik’s mouth. “No, he most surely did not.” We rode in silence for a few paces. “There isn’t sufficient grazing for any clan to stay in one place,” he added presently. “That’s why we travel. But every clan has one campsite we consider home. That’s where we bring the bones of our dead. That’s the place from which we take our names.”
“I see.” Brother Yarit flashed another impudent grin. “That wasn’t so hard, was it, brother?”
Brother Merik ignored the comment. “Khai, there is a thing I must ask of you. When you need to relieve yourself, let me know, and Brother Yarit or I will accompany you to the latrine.” He hesitated. “The men of the tribesfolk do not hold privacy in these matters in high regard as we do in the Fortress of the Winds, and … and it is possible you have made enemies here today.”
“A man’s never so vulnerable as when he’s shitting,” Brother Yarit added. “Which is also a handy thing to remember.”
“And as for you.” Brother Merik pointed at him. “You will exercise some of that famous Shahalim discipline and keep a civil tongue in your mouth. I don’t care how city folk talk. This is the desert and every curse word you utter is a slap in your host
’s face. Understood?”
“Yes, brother.” He seemed genuinely chastened.
“Khai?”
I saluted with one hand. “Yes, brother.”
Our welcome in the camp of the Hot Spring Clan could not have been more different from the one we received from the Black Sands; although to be sure, we were about a very different mission. In the light of the setting sun, Brother Merik’s kinfolk spilled out of their tents to greet him with shouts and warm embraces. So many introductions were made, my head spun at the thought of remembering everyone’s names. Our mounts were whisked away to be untacked and pastured in a patch of scrubby grass that was allocated to the clan, and we were ushered into the largest tent in short order. Offers of tea and food were pressed upon us, and when we demurred and said we’d already eaten, they insisted on bringing out a platter of sweets made of almond paste.
I will own, it was a bit overwhelming. There were men and boys of all ages crowded into the tent, and silky-haired hunting dogs with lean bellies that lay where they pleased; and yet there was a certain comfort in the chaos.
Chieftain Saronesh, Brother Merik’s uncle, was an elegant old man with a long silver beard that was much admired as a sign of virility among the tribesfolk.
“So, young shadow,” he addressed me when Brother Merik ducked behind the dividing curtain to pay his respects to his female kin. “We hear you fought quite the bout of thunder and lightning today.”
I opened my mouth to reply, then paused to consider. I did not like Khisan, or at least what little I knew of him, but it would be unkind to disrespect him further. “My opponent fought in the heat of anger and grief. Another day, it might have gone differently.”
He clapped his hands. “Well spoken! I am pleased to know that my nephew has taught you good manners.”
I smiled at the old chieftain. “It is an honor to hear you say so.”
Brother Yarit shoved a square of almond paste into his mouth and muttered something inaudible.
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