by K A Doore
“I’ll take that to mean no.” Merrabel smirked. “You know—I couldn’t help but notice you’re on your own back here, all alone on an abandoned platform. They let you live in their city as long as they can forget about you, don’t they?”
Heru bristled. “I require ample space and quiet for my work. It is best if they do not disturb me.”
“It’s best if you don’t disturb them, I bet,” continued Merrabel. “What would they do if they knew what you get up to in here? What would your drum chiefs say if they found out you keep a sajaami?”
Thana moved slowly, almost imperceptibly, a knife already in her hand. Illi stood frozen, mouth dry as sand, still stuck on the fact that she had shared a room with a sajaami for all these years. But her first reaction wasn’t fear: it was rage.
How could he?
Heru considered Merrabel as if she were just one in a line of guul skulls. “They would not understand. They are simple creatures that don’t grasp the fine distinctions of en-marabi research and the potential it has for them.”
“So they might be a little … upset?”
Thana was halfway across the room now, silent as a snake. Thana didn’t need to get any closer to strike; Illi had seen her hit a charging guuli with a knife from the back of a camel. But if Merrabel was anything like Heru, then Thana would only have one chance.
Why? The question pinged through Illi’s head, unanswerable. Why had Thana let Heru keep a sajaami all this time? Why would Heru risk it? Risk his life, risk his position in Ghadid, risk Ghadid?
Heru was the only one able to quiet the guul. Illi needed him. They all needed him.
Merrabel raised her voice and announced to the room, “If you kill me, you’ll only make this worse for yourselves.”
Thana froze. Merrabel turned and smiled at her, but Thana didn’t put her knife away.
“Even if you could kill me,” continued Merrabel, her voice lower, “the rest of your city will notice. They’ll remember the beautiful foreigner who went to visit their hermit en-marabi and never returned. I asked around when I first arrived and no one had anything nice to say about your friend. In fact, they were all quite eager to share the most terrible and unlikely rumors. If they don’t see me leave with the caravan, smiling and alive, they will wonder. They will talk. They will come to their own nasty conclusions. And then they will turn on him. It probably wouldn’t even take that much.”
Thana lowered her knife. Heru stayed still as stone, considering. Finally, he nodded. Thana lowered her knife, but didn’t move away. She kept guard, arms crossed, an unspoken threat.
“Good,” said Merrabel. “I’m glad we agree. Now, to the matter at hand—the sajaami.” She gestured at the orb. “It can’t stay here. This close to the Wastes, it’s only destabilizing them. And that’s a danger for everyone who lives on this continent. If the Wastes destabilize, then they will expand to take the rest of us. And while you may have adapted to live in a waterless, sand-strewn wasteland, the rest of us haven’t. It would be a disaster akin to the last climate shift, centuries ago. Do you want that on your conscience?”
“I disagree,” said Heru. “Until we can prove beyond a doubt that the sajaami is linked to this ‘disruption,’ the sajaami is safest here, with me. It has been quieted and contained and that has sufficed for the last seven years. We shouldn’t act before we understand the whole of this potential issue you have brought before me.”
“We’re talking in circles and I don’t think you recognize the immediacy of the problem.” Merrabel’s voice sharpened. “I’ve generally admired your persistence, but right now you’re just being stubborn. That’s fine; I know how to work with stubborn.” Her smile sharpened as well. “What do you think would happen if the people here found out you were secretly keeping a sajaami?”
“They won’t.”
Merrabel shook her head. “Do you understand nuance? Maybe if I state it plainly, you will: the sajaami cannot stay here. Either it leaves with me or I go to your leaders and tell them what you’ve been doing behind their backs and they will throw you and the sajaami out. Which do you choose?”
Heru glanced from Thana to Merrabel, clearly wishing he could just make this annoyance disappear. “I reject both of the options you have presented. Neither of them are optimal.”
“Optimal would be a nice bath and a slave rubbing the calluses from my feet,” said Merrabel, sounding tired. “Reality is this.” She pointed at the orb. “Make your choice, Sametket.”
Illi opened her hands placatingly. “Give him time, ma. You claim to know Heru—then you know you can’t just walk in here and make demands. Share your research with him and let him think it over. He’ll come around to your point of view if this danger really is as threatening as you claim.”
Merrabel stared at Illi, those pale eyes disconcertingly sharp. Her face remained as blank as a tagel as she mulled over Illi’s words. At least this time she didn’t dismiss them out of hand. Finally, a smile broke through.
“I do know Sametket,” said Merrabel. “I know he won’t change his mind. But the caravan won’t be returning to Hathage for a few days. I will give you that much time to try to convince him to hand over the sajaami. And please do—its danger is greater than you can possibly imagine. Besides, I don’t want to share a caravan with him when he’s inevitably forced out.”
* * *
“We kill her.”
Thana leaned over the table, both of her hands splayed on it to take her weight. Mo slid the teapot in front of her and its thick steam drove Thana back. She waved her hand in her face and scowled at Mo, but her wife had already turned to retrieve a few cups. Instead, her scowl found Illi, who stood like a piece carved from stone near the hearth.
“You can’t kill her,” chided Mo. “She’s right. It’ll be conspicuous if the rich iluk who visited our Heru turns up with a knife in her chest.”
“Doesn’t have to be a knife,” said Thana. “I was actually thinking poison. I have this one I bought off the last caravan that I haven’t had a chance to try out yet—”
“You will not kill her.”
Illi started; she’d forgotten Drum Chief Amastan was there. He’d been silent the entire time Thana had recounted what had happened in Heru’s lab. Thana had summoned him as soon as they’d returned. Now he wore a simple beige wrap, his tagel low, the mark of his station tucked away. At the moment, he wasn’t a drum chief; he was merely a cousin.
“Amastan,” whined Thana. “Be reasonable.”
“We don’t do contracts anymore,” said Amastan firmly. “And we’re not murderers.”
“If it’s replacing Kaseem you’re after—”
“Did you know?” interrupted Illi.
All heads turned toward her. She hadn’t meant to interrupt, but the words had been clattering in her head since the revelation in Heru’s lab, repeating over and over and over again, and she’d had to get them out.
“No,” said Amastan immediately, but Thana hesitated and Mo kept her back to them all.
“You knew.”
The words were a rock, thrown at Thana. She flinched.
“How could you?” asked Illi, voice low.
“It was contained—” started Thana.
“What else have you lied about?”
“Illi,” warned Mo.
But Thana held up a hand. “I never lied to you. The secret was Heru’s to keep and he decided not to share. Maybe it wasn’t the best decision, letting him keep the sajaami, but we’d survived so much. And it was contained. The years passed and nothing happened and G-d knows we had enough to worry about. So you’ll forgive me for forgetting to mention something that wasn’t a problem.”
“Wasn’t,” spat Illi. “Now it is.”
“How do we even know it is a problem?” asked Amastan. “We only have Merrabel’s word. Her research was inconclusive, yes? Perhaps she has another motive.”
Thana crossed her arms. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear you defend Heru, ’Stan.”
Illi let out a breath, but she didn’t relax. “She’s not entirely wrong. The guul attacks have been increasing. Heru has been mapping them. And the drought…”
“We’ve had droughts before,” said Amastan, frowning. “Most of our records burned in the Siege, but droughts were well-recorded. The longest lasted a decade. I see no reason to believe this one won’t end soon.”
“Does it matter whether or not that woman is right?” asked Thana. “She threatened to tell the Circle. You know what will happen if the other drum chiefs hear about the sajaami.”
Amastan’s sigh was his only answer.
“But she can’t have it,” continued Thana. “So that leaves one option: we silence her before she can spread rumors.”
“No murder,” said Amastan sternly.
“Why can’t she have the sajaami?” asked Illi.
“It’s too dangerous,” said Thana. “I’ve seen this one up close and it was scary enough contained. If it was released, the damage it could do…” She trailed off and shook her head.
“They want to be G-d,” said Mo softly. “They tried to destroy all of mankind once. I doubt being imprisoned for millennia will have tempered that impulse at all.”
“Then all the better that this iluk takes the sajaami far and away from here,” pressed Illi. “She came looking for it; she must be prepared to handle it.”
“No. Heru knows what he’s doing. We don’t know if Merrabel can handle the sajaami safely. We’ll have to find a way to persuade her to leave it alone.”
“Or for Heru to go with her,” said Amastan.
Illi shook her head, but none of them even looked her way. They were going about this all wrong. Heru needed to stay, had to stay, at all costs. He was their defense against the guul, the only one who could stop another uprising. He couldn’t leave. Which meant the sajaami had to go. It was simple, really.
They were still arguing when Illi slipped out.
6
The sun was bright and the streets were full of life; a rare combination. But winter often twisted everyday life into unrecognizable shapes, like a storm reshaping the sands. And so most of Ghadid was out, enjoying the sunlight instead of hiding from it. The sun’s warmth was a tepid touch against Illi’s bare skin; she’d rolled back her sleeves to take in its heat.
The market was in full swing, a press of bodies and a swirl of colors and a crowd of sounds in a too-small space. On one side, someone argued at the top of their lungs with a merchant over the quality of their leather. On the other, a group laughed even louder. Illi breathed in the scents of cinnamon and anise, roasting meat and hot cheese, salt and sweat. She sidled sideways through a particularly thick clump of people and stepped on someone’s foot. The yelp trailed her, followed by a sharp patter of foreign words, but no one tried to grab or stop her. A lot of feet would be trodden upon in the coming days.
The market usually made her uncomfortable. There were too many variables, too many sights, too many sounds, too much to possibly be aware of every danger. But the same things that normally disconcerted her were exactly the things Illi needed right now. The market made it difficult to breathe, so she let it smother her.
She’d tried to hammer a plan into place on her own, but she’d gotten nowhere. So she’d sought out her cousins—not to ask them for help, but to let their presence take her mind off the matter. Sometimes, not thinking about a problem was the best way to solve it.
Dihya had been all too willing to spend a few hours at the market. Thankfully, Zarrat was busy with the carriages. Azhar had come, too, although she kept lingering to talk to the Azal she knew. Eventually, Dihya and Illi had stopped waiting for her; she always found them again.
The crowd bore them along at its own pace and Illi took in stall after stall, one display of vibrant blues from the Azal and pungent purples from Hathage blending into the next. She passed a half baat across for a skewer of grilled goat and ripped off chunks with her teeth as she walked. She traded another baat for a small jar of southern honey that she tucked into a pocket; Yaluz loved honey, but he’d be holed up at the healer’s until well after the market was torn down and the caravan had moved on. A third baat got her a length of red ribbon: a salas for the healer who’d saved Yaluz’s life.
As Illi tucked the ribbon into a pouch at her belt, Dihya said, “He’s awake, you know.”
Illi didn’t have to ask who Dihya meant. “You visited him?”
Dihya nodded. “You should, too. He asked after you. He knows you saved his life.”
Illi smiled vacantly. “Sure.” Then she pointed. “Oh look, a glassmaker.”
Dihya sighed. “You’ve got to stop avoiding what happened. I think going and seeing Yaluz will help you feel better.”
“I will.” Illi approached the glassmaker’s stall, not looking at Dihya. “I just … I’ve got other things to worry about right now.”
“Like what?” asked Dihya.
Like an iluk woman meddling in things she shouldn’t. Like a sajaami being kept in the city. Like the threat of Heru being kicked out, exiled—or worse.
“Nothing much.”
“We can’t help you if you don’t let us.”
Illi bit meat off the skewer so her mouth was too full to answer. She took in the stall, trying to find the smaller glass baubles she was looking for, the ones that could be used to make charms. They’d need stronger charms than the leather ones they usually wore if the guul attacks kept increasing. Glass glinted, glared, and threw sun into her eyes. Bright baubles spun in tight circles on pieces of string and leather cords. Panes of glass hung in a line behind the glassmaker, clear and green and bubbled and yellow. The glassmaker held a large blue sphere up to the light for an interested customer to inspect.
The sun hit the glass and it glowed the exact shade of blue of Heru’s orb. The calm Illi had cultivated while browsing was gone in that instant. Every minute that the sajaami remained in Ghadid, it was a danger. All those years it’d been hanging there, in the middle of everything, while Illi was ignorantly unaware. How was she going to convince the world’s most stubborn man to give it up?
“Just Illi?”
Illi spun at the familiar voice, raising her skewered meat like a weapon. Canthem plucked the skewer from her hand. The sight of them was like a strike to her sternum: suddenly she was off balance, pulse pounding, mouth dry. All thought of the sajaami was wiped away.
“Thanks.” Canthem’s warm eyes twinkled. “I was just getting hungry.”
They slid a piece off the skewer and under their tagel, never breaking eye contact. Illi swallowed, remembering what the face looked like under that tagel, those lips, that tongue. She realized her hand was still up in defense and her face flushed hot. But before she could drop her arm, Canthem put the skewer back into her hand, curling her fingers around the metal.
“Hi,” Illi finally managed.
“‘Hi’? That’s it? That’s all I get?”
“You’d rather I ask you if you’re sane?”
Canthem immediately straightened. “I am. Praise be to G-d.”
Illi laughed. “I was joking. We’re not on the sands.”
“As am I. How can I claim sanity around such an entrancing person?”
Illi tried to answer with something pithy, but nothing would come. Beside her, Dihya coughed and Illi almost jumped out of her skin. Shards, how could she have forgotten about Dihya?
“Who’s this?” asked Dihya.
“Just … someone I met,” mumbled Illi.
But Canthem’s eyes lit up as they danced across Dihya. They bowed in that extravagant way of theirs, fingers splayed behind them. “Canthem, ma, part of the Guul Guard.”
“Guul Guard?” echoed
Dihya, eyebrows raised.
“Not the official name, ma,” said Canthem. “We’re a segment of the King’s Guard that has been trained by the general herself to defend caravans from guul. I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”
“A fitting name, then.” Dihya’s gaze flicked to Illi, and the smile that curled her lips was equal parts bemused and devious. “Oh yes, I just remembered—I’ve got a meeting. With—ah—Azhar. On the next platform. Why don’t you go on without me and I’ll see you later?”
Illi frowned. “Azhar’s just—”
“Waiting impatiently for me,” hissed Dihya.
Before Illi could protest, Dihya waved and stepped backward into the flow of people. The crowd swallowed her up, leaving Illi alone with Canthem. Somehow, her heart started beating even faster.
Canthem stepped close, their wrap brushing hers. They brought their head down, near her ear. When they spoke, their breath was hot and it sent a thrill down to her core.
“You owe me a lesson, Just Illi.”
Illi flushed with memories from the night before. Had that only been yesterday? Now she had so much more to worry about than being unable to keep Yaluz safe. But she’d come to the market for distraction, and Canthem would definitely provide one.
“Then let me pay my debt.” She grabbed Canthem’s wrist and began pulling them along. “Come on.”
Canthem resisted, surprise pushing their eyebrows higher. “Now?” They glanced around at the market. “But it’s midday.”
“And? We’ll have plenty of light to practice by. Why?” Illi stopped so abruptly that Canthem all but ran into her. She met their gaze as unabashedly as they’d met hers earlier. “It’s not like we’re doing anything illicit.”
Canthem leaned into her, eyes glinting with mischief. “That’s a shame. I’d rather hoped we would.”
“I was going to take you somewhere a little more private,” said Illi. “Now I’m not so sure I should. You might take advantage of me.”
“Me?” Canthem feigned shock. “Never. Now you on the other hand, I’m fairly certain you took advantage of me last night.”