The Unconquered City

by K A Doore

  “The things I saw while I was gone,” said Illi. “Water as far as the eye can see. A wall as tall as Ghadid. Mountains like teeth.”

  Mo came closer, drawn by the promise of story. As the wan light caught her face, Illi saw a real hunger there.

  “Tell me,” ordered Mo.

  And Illi did.

  * * *

  When the cold had numbed her lips along with her fingers, they returned to the wedge of warm bodies and thick blankets and Illi slid back beneath Canthem’s arm. But she didn’t fall asleep. She stared at the stars, picking out their familiar shapes as the jaan whirled overhead. Slowly, the jaan abated, became little more than a breath of breeze. Mo’s breathing slowed as well, grew even.

  Illi waited a little longer, until she felt sleep creeping up on her as it had before. All around—and above—the camp was still. She inhaled Canthem’s scent one last time, then brushed her lips across their forehead. Slowly, she peeled away the blankets and slid out from under Canthem’s arm. Sat up. Got to her feet.

  Step by aching step, she crept across the sands toward the camels. One stood out in the darkness, its white fur a beacon: Anas, Heru’s dead camel. Illi had been surprised at first to find Anas alongside other, living camels in the stable near the inn. But then, Merrabel had probably kept the camel around to study, later. The stable hands had all but forced them to take the beast. Anas turned its head toward Illi as she approached, but didn’t so much as grunt. The other camels slept around it, legs folded beneath them and long necks strung out on the ground like snakes.

  Their packs had been left in one big heap. Illi had just begun to pick hers out of the pile when someone cleared their throat. Illi spun, her hand on her sword. A shape peeled off from the darkness, their wrap almost the same olive black as the shadows: a cousin. They’d been waiting for her.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Illi dropped her hand from the hilt of her sword. It was only Thana; she’d understand. “I told Dihya already—I can’t stay. I was here for the rite, but now it’s time for me to go.”

  Thana put herself between Illi and the camels and crossed her arms. “Where?”

  Illi was briefly tempted to lie in case anyone tried to follow her, but this was Thana. She could hold her tongue. “Hathage.”

  “And you’re going to cross the desert alone?”

  “Not alone. I’ll have Heru.” Illi cast around. “Once I find him.”

  “By all that’s holy and whole,” swore Thana. “Have you been touched?”

  Illi’s fingers went to the charms at her neck, but she knew they’d be cool; the last of the jaan had disappeared before she reached the camels. “I’m fine. You just need to pretend you didn’t see me, okay?”

  “Yeah, no. That’s not going to work.”

  “You let me last time.”

  “With a caravan,” snapped Thana. “A well-guarded one, at that.”

  “You’re one to talk. You went off into the Wastes with just Heru and Mo.”

  “Because I had no choice,” said Thana. “Ghadid had been emptied. We had no idea there were any survivors, let alone where they were.”

  “If there had been anyone in Ghadid, would you really have taken them with you?” pressed Illi. “Even now, knowing how dangerous your journey was? You would’ve been signing their contract. No—you would’ve slipped out in the middle of the night just the same.”

  Thana’s voice softened. “What are you facing that’s so dangerous, Illi?”

  “The same thing you faced: the sajaami.”

  Thana looked away. “You didn’t destroy it.”

  “No.”

  “But you think you can now.”

  Illi moved around Thana to grab her bag; this time Thana let her. “I know how to help it cross over. It’s simple. With enough water, anyway.”

  She picked up her bag and approached her camel. She gently nudged the beast, but it only let out a long sigh, eyes shut.

  “You’re right,” admitted Thana. “I wouldn’t have asked for help. I was too proud. And we barely survived. But—if I’d had help, if another cousin had been there, they might’ve seen the things I wasn’t able to, and maybe we could’ve stopped the Empress from releasing the sajaami at all. If I’d had help, maybe we could’ve avoided all of this. Hard things don’t have to be borne alone, Illi.”

  “I can do this one alone,” said Illi, dropping her bag to pat the camel’s neck, more firmly this time. Its eyelids flickered but stayed firmly closed. “I have to. If anyone helps me, they’ll only be at risk.”

  “And you won’t be?”

  “One of us has to.”

  “And why does it have to be you?”

  Illi didn’t meet Thana’s gaze, keenly aware of the bracelet’s cold metal bite against her wrists.

  When Illi didn’t respond, Thana let out a long, annoyed sigh. “Illi. We’ve all been through the same training. We’ve all learned how to kill, how to fight, how to survive. We’ve all experienced the same loss and none of us want it to happen again. None of us want to lose another cousin or another family member. So why should I let you sacrifice yourself? We can help you. Two cousins to a mark, remember? We’ve always worked together. Together we’re stronger. Together, we’re a family. We—”

  “Because it has to be me.” Before she could change her mind, Illi lifted her arms, shaking them just enough so that her sleeves fell away. Revealing her bracelets.

  Thana’s eyes darted across the bracelets, taking them in. Her expression didn’t change. “You had those when you left.” Then her nostrils widened. “Oh, in all of G-d’s names. Heru. The sajaami.”

  Illi only nodded. She dropped her hands, letting the sleeves cover them again. She turned back to her preparations. Finally, the camel was beginning to stir. It let out a long, low groan and blinked sleepily.

  “No.”

  Illi froze, her fingers having just slipped the knot of the lead over the camel’s neck.

  “No,” repeated Thana. “You’re not doing this alone.”

  Illi clenched her teeth and whirled on Thana. “You saw! I have no choice—the sajaami is bound to me. It has to be me. I’m a danger to everyone until it’s gone. I’ve come this far alone—I can make it the rest of the way.”

  “You’re right,” said Thana, and Illi relaxed, just a little. “I can’t undo what Heru did. And even if I could, I don’t know if I could take that burden. But you don’t have to go alone. I’m coming with you.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “Then help me understand.” Thana’s hands shot out, caught Illi’s. “Tell me exactly why what you’re doing is so dangerous even a cousin can’t help you.”

  Illi resisted the urge to yank her hands back. Instead, she glanced east. The horizon was still dark, dawn still distant. If she was fast, she could convince Thana to leave her alone and be far away before the camp began to stir. Before Canthem woke up. Because she knew this time, she wouldn’t be able to leave if they did.

  “Fine.” Illi met Thana’s gaze. “You’ve seen the sajaami before. You know how dangerous it is.” She swallowed the words and yet you let Heru keep it like a pet for seven years. Being combative wouldn’t help, not now. “These bracelets weaken it, keep it controlled, but I’ve still hurt people—jaan—unintentionally. And sometimes intentionally. The thing is, if I’m threatened, I don’t know exactly what I’ll do. And if someone I care about is threatened…” She stopped, shook her head, remembering the guul she’d plucked out and smothered the moment Canthem had been in danger.

  “The less people I have to worry about, the less danger we’re all in,” continued Illi. “And that’s not even touching on how the sajaami draws guul like flies. I can control the guul, but every time I do, these bracelets burn through more skin and the sajaami gets stronger.”

  She held an arm out to Thana, sliding the bracelet back just enough to expose the blistered, red flesh beneath. Thana brushed the ruined skin with her thumb, her ex
pression as still as stone.

  Finally, she asked, “So what do you plan to do with the sajaami?”

  “I’m taking it back to Hathage,” said Illi, folding her arms so that the bracelets were tucked away. “There’s water—lots of it. More than you can imagine. And I’m going to use all that water to usher the sajaami across. But I don’t know if it’ll work and if it doesn’t, there will be an angry and fully corporeal sajaami loose. I don’t want to risk anyone else being hurt.”

  “And that’s exactly why you need us,” said Thana.

  Illi’s stomach twisted. “No.” She’d been so close. “Aren’t you listening? Anyone near me will be in danger.”

  Thana stabbed her finger at Illi. “You keep forgetting—you don’t get to hoard all the danger for yourself. And what do you even know about sajaam, aside from what you’ve learned from Heru? Have you talked to Mo? Have you talked to a marabi? Menna has changed the way we deal with wild jaan. Her work was vital in creating the rite that let us quiet all those lost jaan tonight. You say guul have been a problem, but you know Dihya and Yaluz and Azhar can handle those. And me—well, I’ve crossed some sand in my time. Look, I know you think you’re keeping us all safe by doing this alone, but have you considered that maybe, just maybe, we’d be safer if you let us help?”

  Thana put her hand on Illi’s arm. “You said yourself you don’t know if you can do this. You said we’ve only got one shot. Why not throw everything we’ve got at it? And if we still fail, then by G-d, we’ll be there by your side to take on the sajaami again.”

  “You’ll be hurt,” said Illi. “You’ll die.”

  Thana dropped her hand and raised an eyebrow. “You sure have a high opinion of your cousins.”

  Illi looked at her hands, twisting them together. “You failed before.”

  “Did we?” Thana glanced back at Ghadid, at the pylons even now glowing ever so faintly with torchlight. “I thought so, too. At first. But what we were up against—I don’t know if we could have done better. You know what happened to the other cities. No, we came together and we survived. We chose to protect our city, even if it meant our lives. And after we mourned the dead, we rebuilt. Let us have that choice now. Let us protect Ghadid, together.”

  Illi’s gaze slid past Thana to the city. Her stomach twisted and her throat closed up. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes. Hadn’t she had enough grief? But this wasn’t grief; this was relief, spreading through her like a crack in glass. And once glass shattered, there was no putting it back.

  “Okay.” The one word was small and empty in the darkness. Illi swallowed, met Thana’s gaze, and tried again. “You can help.”

  27

  Thana gave Illi some time alone with the camels as she woke and gathered their cousins. Illi recognized the gesture as one of trust, and it meant more to her than anything else Thana had said.

  Especially since even after all that, Illi still fought the urge to slip away alone.

  But she sifted through her bags instead, taking stock of supplies and what she should replenish if they were going to be retracing their steps instead of hurtling headlong into the Wastes. As she worked, she heard the distant groan of waking bodies, the clatter and rustle and crackle as blankets were shifted and fires stoked. Dawn arrived as suddenly as a season’s storm; the sky was already suffused with it, but the moment light cracked the horizon was still as unexpected as lightning.

  The sun caught the edges of the platforms first, their metal blushing red then glaring white. Within seconds, the light had rolled down to Ghadid’s feet, cutting its pylons out of the haze and casting them in stark relief before spreading its warmth across the sands, illuminating what was left of the rite: stones and ashes and blackened bones. Already the marab were sifting through the remains, collecting the ash and the bones and the dust in thickly woven baskets for use in the glasshouses. Nothing went to waste in Ghadid.

  A memory flashed of her mother, turning the ashes from a rite over in the soil, the gray mixing and blending and disappearing into the black. Soil darkened her mother’s hands, lined her fingernails, and found every crease in her palms. Later her mother would try to scrub off the dirt, but a little always remained. Illi let the memory come and go, its pain no more than poking a fading bruise.

  One of the marab broke away from the others and approached the camels—and Illi. All the marab had traded their white funeral wraps for an unassuming gray, but this one still wore a white belt. A reminder. The rite might be over, but grief had no set end.

  The marabi pulled down their tagel as they approached, revealing a pale face and bright eyes: Menna. She opened her arms and Illi allowed an embrace, if briefly. Then she pulled back, but Menna held her by the forearm.

  “Thana told us everything,” said Menna, her gaze darting to Illi’s wrist then back up to her eyes. “I’ve got a few ideas, but first—can I see?”

  Illi rolled back her sleeves and held out her arms. Menna whistled low and touched the burnt bracelet with her thumb. She traced the marks, lips moving soundlessly. Then she looked up and met Illi’s gaze.

  “These don’t bind the sajaami.”

  Illi swallowed. Nodded.

  “Then what does?”

  Illi turned around before she could hesitate, undoing the knot of her wrap at her shoulder. She let the fabric fall, just enough to expose one shoulder. She heard Menna’s sharp intake of breath. Then Illi was busy re-knotting her wrap, shivering from the brush of cold despite dawn’s promise of warmth. Across the sands, more of her cousins approached; at least they hadn’t been around to see her scars.

  “Shards,” breathed Menna. “Did Heru do that to you?” But she answered her own question before Illi could. “Of course he did—you couldn’t reach your own back. And that’s his handwriting, no doubt. Did he—did he force you—?”

  “He asked.”

  Menna met her gaze, held it. “Did you know what he was asking?”

  Illi shifted uncomfortably, then looked away. “I had to protect Ghadid.”

  “What’s passed is past. We work with what we have. Which is a very dangerous sajaami, apparently. But also all the expertise of your cousins. And one marabi.”

  “You’re a cousin.”

  This time Menna looked away. “Cousins don’t mess up contracts. Kaseem was always very explicit about that. But here I am, talking about the past.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m the best sands-scoured marabi, is what. And we’re going to do what no one else has ever done before—we’re gonna usher a sajaami across the worlds. And here I thought the Empress was mad for wanting to bind a sajaami.” She let out a hah, then clapped her hands together. “Well. We’d better not follow her example. She’s dead, after all.”

  “Yeah, I’d rather avoid that.”

  “So. You have a plan, eh?” asked Menna. “Thana said that’s why you’re ready to go. You know what you’re doing.”

  Illi stared at her hands. “Of a sort. I still have some details to figure out.”

  Menna breathed out in exaggerated relief. “Oh good. Here I was worried you’d become an expert marabi on top of being a healer and a cousin and whatever else you’ve decided to excel in next.”

  Illi blinked. Lifted her gaze. “But I’m not good at any of those.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Menna. “You save your mastery of deceit for the others. I can see right through it.”

  That made Illi smile. “You always could.”

  “Right.” Menna yanked a blanket from the pile, spread it out, and settled down. “If you want to conduct a rite for a sajaami, we’ll need its name. You didn’t happen across that in any dusty old scrolls, did you?”

  “It told me,” said Illi. “Nejm.”

  “Nejm,” echoed Menna, rolling the sound in her mouth. Satisfied, she nodded. “Well, that’s one thing I thought was gonna be a bit harder to get. Now the other, impossible thing: we’re gonna need a lot of water. Like, a lot. I’m talking shatteringly unfathomable quanti
ties.”

  “I saw something in Hathage. It’s called a sea. It’s—”

  But Menna cut her off with a wave. “I’ve heard about those. That should work. You, plus the water, plus the right words, the right kind of ink, and a bit of applied heat…” She trailed off, frowned. “Not directly applied. I don’t think. Well, I hope not. That would be counterproductive. But words, steam—yes. We can do that.”

  “Excuse me.”

  Both women turned at once, hands on their weapons. But it was only Heru, a pale shadow approaching in the morning light.

  “Before you go and reinvent the whole of en-marab understanding, you may wish to speak to an actual en-marabi,” he said curtly. “If you wish to open a path for the sajaami as you would the jaan, then you will have to destroy the girl’s—” He paused, shook his head as if trying to disturb flies, then corrected, “—Illi’s body. The burning of flesh linked to the jaani is a core component of the procedure. This has plagued me this past week as a central problem that I have been unable to untangle.”

  “We can work around that, though,” said Illi. “All I have to do is keep the bracelets on, right?”

  Heru’s eye settled on her, but the glass one continued staring straight ahead. “No. You’re conflating the issues at hand. The removal of the bracelets is a separate difficulty entirely, although a potential, if inadvisable, solution for the issue of a carnal component. The rite, however, requires a component of sacrifice from the associated body. The sajaami doesn’t have a body itself, ergo Illi’s is the closest we can get. Since we’re all agreed that we want to avoid Illi’s untimely death, we need to devise a better method of securing the rite than setting fire to her flesh and hoping for the best.”

  Illi swallowed. “How much flesh?”

  Heru turned his whole head toward Illi and now she felt the sightless weight of that glass eye on her as well. “I would have to make some calculations, but you bring up a valid point. Perhaps only a limb or two will suffice.”

  “You’re not going to lose any limbs,” said Menna. “We’ll figure out another way.”