The Impossible Contract

by K A Doore

  Thana didn’t need to ask who he meant. “Thank you.”

  “All right.” He pushed himself up further with another grunt. “Tell me what you had in mind.”

  For the next hour or so, Thana bounced ideas off her cousin. The familiarity of the back-and-forth helped her relax and loosen some of the worry tightening her throat. Sitting here with Amastan felt like another training exercise. They were just exploring a hypothetical situation. Such as: how would she kill a paranoid, yet gregarious drum chief? How would she enter a windowless room without breaking the lock? How would she poison a blacksmith who only ate and drank from his personal sources?

  How would she kill an en-marabi who could bind her jaani to his will with only a touch? Who already knew who and what she was?

  Alone?

  When Amastan was satisfied that he couldn’t poke any holes in their makeshift plan, he asked, “Do you have charms?”

  Thana started to draw the bag of charms from beneath her wrap before she remembered Heru had shattered them all—again. She dropped her hands and shook her head.

  “They don’t do anything to stop the bound or the en-marabi anyway,” she said.

  “No, but you’ll be out on the sands. You need protection from wild jaan. Don’t underestimate jaan, they’re dangerous in their own way.” Amastan grabbed her hand. “Promise me you’ll get more charms before you leave, Thana.”

  “I promise.”

  His grip loosened and he fell back into his cot. “I shouldn’t let you go alone. I should make Dihya go with you.”

  “You just made sure I’m not going alone,” said Thana. “You’ll be with me.”

  Amastan smiled faintly at that, his eyes already fluttering with exhaustion. “Don’t be so sentimental. It doesn’t fit you.”

  Thana snorted. She kissed his forehead as his eyes finally closed and she lingered long enough for him to sink into sleep. On her way out, she passed a handful of baats to the healer and extracted a promise that they’d keep him asleep for the next twelve hours. She couldn’t risk him changing his mind.

  She felt as if she stood on the edge of a platform, balancing between her familiar city and the unknown sands. She still had time to tell Kaseem that she couldn’t complete the contract. An assassin couldn’t be expected to drop everything and chase their mark across the desert, nor fight a horde of jaan bound to walking corpses. Sure, she’d end her career and forfeit her body—whatever that meant—but she’d live. Probably.

  Once she set foot on the sands, though, all bets were off. The thought of leaving Ghadid and everyone she knew behind scared her more than she’d expected. She’d been on the sands, of course, every child had, but she’d never gone so far that the pylons weren’t always there, jutting out of the sand, round platforms dotting a blue sky. She’d heard stories of Na Tay Khet, had even been obsessed by the far-off exotic city in her youth, but she’d long since grown up.

  No one would fault her for quitting, at least not to her face. Cousins had worked alone before, but never so early in their careers, never so young, never outside of Ghadid. No cousin had ever assassinated someone within the Empress’s own circle. No cousin had ever been forced to deal with such monsters or to kill an en-marabi. Not even her mother had ever had a contract this impossible.

  But she wasn’t her mother. She was Thana Basbowen and she was more than just the Serpent’s daughter. She’d have to be perfect to complete this contract, but then, she’d had to be more than perfect her whole life. And if she did this, if she finished an impossible contract, killed Heru, one of the Empress’s personal marabi, stood up to the Empire, and stopped this monster creating monsters—

  She’d become a legend.

  10

  With each step, Thana’s sandals sunk deeper into the sand, making even a cursory round to check the straps on her camel a difficult chore. The wind dried her eyes and punched through her wrap, uncomfortably cool in the predawn. The tagel she wore offered some relief from the sand, even if it itched.

  It’d been the easiest disguise she’d ever put together. With only a scrap of dark blue cloth across her face and a wrap long enough to cover her sandals, she looked like the others in the caravan. She’d even lined her eyes with kohl, but she knew that as long as she kept her head down and her mouth shut, Heru wouldn’t know her from any other iluk, let alone an Azali.

  The people who made their lives—and living—on the backs of and beside their camels called themselves the Azal. They were stateless, constantly on the move to find grazing for their many heads of camel. They knew the desert and the sands and the Wastes better than anyone, and it was this knowledge that made them indispensable to caravans. Although their existence was often harsh on the ever-shifting sands, they were left alone. Even during the worst of the old wars, the Azal had been allowed free rein.

  Not out of any kindness or benevolence. No, the Azal controlled the salt. Only they could cross the Wastes to the salt seas that lay near its heart, and only they could bring that salt to the cities and people who needed it. Even warlords, it turned out, couldn’t survive long without salt.

  Thana touched her waist for reassurance. Underneath the thin fabric of her wrap, the hard edges of her new glass belt poked through. She’d returned to Salid before leaving Ghadid. His shop had been shuttered and dark, but he’d opened the door as soon as she’d knocked.

  He’d taken his time admonishing her for her earlier foolishness and the trust she’d betrayed by bringing such a dangerous man into his shop. But his anger had been halfhearted, broken by an underlying excitement. The reason for which soon came to light when he’d laid out a belt of glass charms on his worktable.

  Making charms powerful enough to thwart even an en-marabi would’ve taken weeks, if not months, Salid had explained. Even if haste were not of the essence, after yesterday he wouldn’t have wasted so much of his time just for Thana. But this belt was an experiment, a type of charmwork he’d been fiddling with in his spare time. He hadn’t tested it yet, and there was every chance it might fail against even the weakest jaani, but it was designed with the strength of guul in mind.

  “I’d hoped to sell it to the caravans entering the Wastes, but perhaps it will aid you against these monsters,” Salid had said. “Perhaps not. It’s in G-d’s hands now. Just bring me back my pages.”

  The glass was rectangular and rounded so that it curved with her body. A metal wire ran through the six pieces, cinching them together. Each piece was an airy blue, opaque with a shifting smokiness and a scrap of paper inside. They were, frankly, beautiful, and it was a shame she had to conceal the belt beneath her wrap. When she’d put it on, the glass charms had been pleasantly cool against her skin. Now they were warm, even through the cloth.

  Her hand next strayed to her upper arm and the knife concealed there, but she forced her hand down in case someone was watching. Instead, she mentally touched on each of her knives strapped across her body, the blowgun in one hidden pouch at her waist. Her trusty garrote was in another, where it clinked against the glass belt, singing a song only she could hear.

  She tightened the straps on her pack and her camel grumbled through its mouthful of hay. Beneath her personal supply of dates, nuts, goat jerky, dried lemon, and tea, she’d hidden her box of poisons, a few more knives, and most of her rings. The Azal showed off their wealth via the dyes in their fabric and the charm bags around their necks, so Thana’s fingers were empty and unnaturally light.

  Satisfied with her own preparations, Thana approached the nearest V of salt slabs. An Azali man joined her and together they slid the slabs onto the camel’s back. The Azali shot her more than one suspicious glance, but didn’t ask who she was. Thana had already paid dearly for that.

  Helmek, the caravan’s leader, had wanted to treat her as a guest, as honored as any other that joined them on their journey. But Thana had insisted that she be allowed to blend in and help. Heru might look twice at a merchant, but he’d overlook individual Azal. Unfortunately, even if
she’d had months to prepare, it would’ve been next to impossible for her to convince the Azal that she was one of their own. The Azal might be spread out across vast and unfathomable sands, but their small number meant they knew each other as if they were family. They’d know Thana for a fraud.

  So with only a handful of hours instead of months to learn even the basics, Thana had smoothed her way with an uncomfortable amount of baats. In return, Helmek and his fellow Azal would accept her as one of their own and cover for any obvious blunders she made. In the few hours before sunrise, Helmek had shown her what he could. But now she was on her own.

  The wounds in Thana’s arm and shoulders pulsed in pain as she finished loading a slab. An Azali came by with a brazier of tea and she gratefully seized the opportunity for a break. By then, dark blue crept across the black sky’s far edge. The first travelers had arrived, but the mark was not among them.

  As the horizon lightened, the camels seesawed to their feet and the caravan began to move. Thana returned to her own camel, but she was in no hurry. Burdened as it was, the caravan would move slowly. Stragglers would have more than enough time to catch up.

  Her camel pulled back its lips, exposing two rows of yellow teeth, and let out a gurgling groan. Thana jerked away. The camel met her gaze with one of its large, round eyes and its groan continued, unbroken and awful. Thana glanced around, not sure what she should do. None of the other camels were making that noise. She tentatively patted its rough neck, whispering assurances to the beast. The camel only groaned louder.

  Thana pushed down panic. What was wrong? She’d never had to interact with camels before, only mules and goats. Compared to camels, they were small, docile creatures.

  “It’s the strap on your bag, ma.”

  An Azali woman approached. She wore the same dark blue wrap as the others, but she hadn’t yet secured her tagel against the wind. Kohl lined her dark eyes, stark against her light skin, and brown hair fell in thick twists to her shoulders. Most of the Azal looked alike to Thana, but she recognized Feti, Helmek’s wife.

  Feti tugged on the strap and the camel cut off its horrible noise. It puffed its cheeks and blew spit, but was otherwise content. Feti fell into step alongside Thana.

  “Thank you, ma,” said Thana.

  “I’ve never known a girl afraid of her camel.”

  Thana bristled. “I’m not afraid—”

  “They are harmless creatures,” continued Feti. “Just large babies. But they deserve our respect. Don’t worry, you and Melwa will be close friends soon.” At Thana’s blank look, Feti laughed and patted the camel’s neck. “That’s her name. All of our camels have names. After all, they say a camel is second only to man in G-d’s eye. Even G-d cannot cross the sands without a camel.”

  With that, Feti smiled and took her leave. The sun rose and the caravan marched onward. Thana volunteered to bring the tea brazier to all the Azal and merchants alike. But the mark still wasn’t among the dusty travelers. She passed a long line of pack camels, each tied to the other so that only one Azali was needed to lead them. She handed a steaming mug of tea to the leading woman, then turned to go back.

  She froze. The caravan kept moving around her. For fear of losing her nerve, Thana hadn’t dared look back yet. It would’ve been futile for the first hour or two anyway while they marched through darkness. Now that the sun had peeked over the horizon, Thana could see more of the sands than she’d ever wanted. The desert stretched endless ahead, only intermittently interrupted by stingy tufts of grass and scraggles of thorny trees.

  The view behind, though, was quite different. There were trees and grass and sand, yes, but towering above it all and puncturing the sky was her city and home. Thana felt like a child on the sands for the first time, staring up at her world from a new perspective; loss and wonder tangled together inside her. From this distance, the pylons all but disappeared in their own reflections and the city flew untethered. Thana had heard iluk call Ghadid a hundred different names—the city in the sky, the impossible city, the city of clouds—but only now did she understand. Pride burned hot as an ember in her chest: that was her city.

  A speck broke off below, growing larger by the moment. Thana watched until the speck resolved into a person riding a camel. Then that camel split and became two, both laden with packs and people. They’d catch the plodding caravan soon and either join or surpass it. Thana could guess at one of the riders: it had to be the mark. But who was the other?

  One of the Azal yelled a challenge as the riders neared. “Hel! Are you sane?”

  The mark’s clipped voice boomed the expected response. “Yes—I am sane.”

  But what was unexpected were the same words echoed by a higher, softer voice.

  Mo. Dust, why?

  Thana listened as they slowed. She chanced a glance just as Mo dismounted and began leading her camel. Heru, however, stayed mounted. He perched on a saddle, its white leather intricately traced with gold threads, splashing out a pattern of stars and constellations that shimmered in the sunlight. His camel was equally exotic, a longer and thinner beast than the pack camels. Its coat was salt white and blazed in the early morning sun.

  Heru urged his mount toward the caravan’s center, his gaze trailing across the salt-burdened camels with open disdain. Mo stayed back, taking up the rear of the caravan as she matched their plodding rhythm. While Thana was glad to see Mo alive and unharmed, she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why she’d come. Heru should have left the healer alone once he was set on returning home.

  Thana itched to reveal herself to Mo, ask her what, by G-d, she thought she was doing, and then urge her to return while she still could. As much as Thana wished she could pretend Mo was just another Azali, the truth was that she couldn’t. Thana knew herself well enough to realize Mo’s presence would be distracting. A caravan was a dangerous enough place without the threat of bound jaan or an errant en-marabi.

  But Thana could be patient, had to be patient. If she revealed herself to Mo, she risked Mo letting something slip to Heru. They were here together, after all, even if Thana couldn’t figure out why. For now, she’d just wait and watch and see.

  The hours plodded as slowly as the camels. With nothing but open desert and empty sky all around, Thana had little else to do but turn her gaze inward, worrying over the plan she and Amastan had prepared. The Azal were as quiet as their camels, with only the occasional hummed song or snort of breath breaking free.

  By midday, all of the Azal had mounted their camels, but the pace remained languid. When the sun passed its zenith, the Azal stopped and dismounted as if by some silent command and began pitching makeshift tents. Thana gratefully slid off her camel, which had been surprisingly unpleasant to ride. Even with several layers of padding between her and the beast, her rear still throbbed painfully. Thana eyed Heru’s saddle with envy, but the Azal eschewed the unnecessary weight and rode bareback—which meant so would she.

  Thana unburdened her camel and then helped remove the salt slabs. The camels were let loose to graze on what sparse grass they could find. She knew she should steal what sleep she could while the caravan was stopped, but she was restless and agitated. She’d check on her camel and then she’d lie down.

  The sun was impossibly hot. She’d thought she’d known the full blown heat of season, but on the sands the heat was more intense. It radiated off the sand in shimmering, dizzying waves, and the hot breeze did little to soothe her parched skin. No thick-walled buildings stood nearby to slip inside, there was no extra water to sip, and no cool pumphouse for the worst hours.

  Her head was pounding when she reached her camel. Unlike the salt-bearing camels, hers hadn’t wandered far from the stopped caravan. It—she, corrected Thana, remembering what Feti had said—was busy yanking up thin strands of grass, oblivious to the boiling heat. Thana patted Melwa’s side.

  “Hey. You.”

  A chill cut through the heat at the familiar voice. Thana confirmed her tagel was still in place
before turning to meet Heru’s glare. Panic briefly flared in her. Had the mark seen through her disguise? But as Heru stomped toward her, his eyes held no trace of recognition, only a mixture of annoyance and disdain. Her belly warmed as he approached—the glass charms were reacting to his presence.

  “Just how long are you going to stay here?” demanded Heru. “I was told this caravan would be in Na Tay Khet within two weeks. I’m not going to make that if you lot spend the whole afternoon dallying. I saw people sleeping. I demand you wake them and pack your beasts. Or do you not know who I am? The Empress Zara ha Khatet is awaiting my report—you would do well not to anger her.”

  Thana blinked, thrown by his absurd requests.

  Heru scowled. “Are you thick, sand flea? Can you even understand what I’m saying or should I try pantomiming? Offal and plague—one of you lot has to be able to comprehend basic questions. My last caravan wasn’t this incompetent.”

  “We’re a salt caravan, sa,” said Thana. “The camels are carrying heavy loads and need a break. It’s too hot for travel. Rest while you can. There’ll be no time later.”

  “Tell your leader I don’t have time for this.”

  The mark turned and stomped toward a large, white tent. Thana silently recited Amastan’s plan until her anger had calmed and her hands had stopped shaking.

  Patience, said Amastan’s voice. She’d have her chance soon. Very soon.

  11

  On the third day, Thana had her chance.

  The wind had been gathering strength. It tore at their tents during the midday rest and flung sand into their eyes as they plodded along. Thana was constantly shaking sand out from the folds of her wrap; she’d long since given up trying to get it out of her hair. At least the wind had blown away the flies.

  The news that they’d be stopping early for the night rumbled the length of the caravan and was met with a mixture of relief and unease. A sandstorm was building to the north and Helmek hoped they could still avoid walking right into it. Camels were unburdened, but no one bothered with tents. Not with the wind so strong.