by K A Doore
No source had linked his interest in the sajaam to his request for storytellers, but it was clear that Djet had been searching for evidence that the sajaam still existed in the world. He’d been searching for Mo’s story.
Heru began rolling up scrolls. “As much as I’d enjoy spending another week in here with the both of you,” he said dryly, “it’s clearly time for action. If even a quarter of this is remotely true, then Djet is undeniably dangerous and already far along on his path to achieving immortality. He knows about the Aer Essifs and he was on his way to claim the sajaam for himself when he was finally caught. Our only consolation is that the exact location of the mountains remains unknown. Still, it may already be too late.”
Thana didn’t move. She could no longer ignore the reality of their situation. If it had just been her and Heru against Djet, she would’ve already slipped Heru poison and been on her way home. But Mo’s presence complicated things. Mo was determined to see this through no matter what, and Thana couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave Mo to face such a monster on her own. Because if even half the accounts were correct, then Djet was a hundred times worse than Heru.
Djet had been power hungry, ruthless, and cruel. Alive, he’d practiced forbidden magic, bound people against their will, and killed numerous slaves and assistants in his pursuit of knowledge. Recently returned from the dead, he’d already endangered Ghadid with his creatures, decimated a caravan, and proven again and again that he had little regard for any life in his way. She doubted he’d be satisfied with immortality. Worse, there was every likelihood that when he released the sajaam, he wouldn’t be able to control them.
Djet needed to be stopped. But doing so meant forfeiting her contract. There was no way around it. Heru might be the only one who could unbind Djet’s jaani—he was certainly the only one who knew nearly as much about Djet’s research as Djet himself. And if Heru helped avert a catastrophe and stopped Djet …
She couldn’t kill Heru. She might even have to protect him. Either way, it meant the end of her career as an assassin. Her mother might understand. She’d once broken a contract to save Thana’s father, although she’d later discovered that her employer had been conspiring to start a civil war, a fact that meant her contract had been invalid all along.
Unlike her father, though, Heru hadn’t been wrongly accused. From what she’d seen, he was guilty of crimes against G-d and probably more. Still, she might be able to convince Kaseem that the circumstances were worth breaking the contract. But she’d never be able to escape the shame of failure and she’d have to live with that failure for the rest of her life.
So much for becoming a legend.
Or …
Or, if they somehow succeeded, if they found the sajaam and stopped this madman, then perhaps she’d become a different legend. Not an assassin, but a protector. A warrior. The falcon to her mother’s serpent.
She could face Mo with honesty and a clean slate. She’d never have to mention her past because it’d never again intrude upon her present or future. Even if Mo found out about her previous contracts, surely her decision to quit, help Heru, and stop the inevitable destruction of their world would account for something.
In a way, this decision was a relief. She wouldn’t have to find a way to navigate between her duty and her burgeoning affection for Mo. She wouldn’t have to keep searching for ways to kill Heru—who seemed increasingly unkillable. She wouldn’t have to keep playing a role, but could work honestly toward only one goal.
It was time to break her contract.
21
“You haven’t tried to kill me in over a week. I’d appreciate at least another halfhearted attempt. The anticipation is starting to wear on me.”
Thana glanced around, but no one was close enough to have overheard Heru’s remark. She’d allowed him to walk his camel closer, assuming he’d want to drone on about his continued research, as he’d already done on several occasions. He spent every free moment, even while riding, scratching illegibly in his notes. But this was new and dangerous.
“Technically, it’s been three weeks,” she said. “And you haven’t tried killing and binding anyone in a while. But you don’t hear me complaining about it.”
“That’s hardly the same thing at all.”
Heru stared ahead at the never-ending expanse of pale sand, his eyebrows knit together over his white tagel. His camel trod untiring at his side, its head down and swaying but, unlike the living camels, never jerking away to chew on errant tufts of grass. Why hadn’t he taken one of the Empress’s living camels? It was absurd that he’d display such an inconvenient loyalty to the abomination, but here they were, crossing the desert once more with the dust-cursed thing. The others in the caravan, merchants and Azal alike, gave the bound camel a wide berth. Maybe that had been his intent.
Although Heru had wanted to brave the desert alone to make better time, the Empress had insisted they join the next caravan to avoid undue attention and potential panic. Yet Thana had overheard the caravan’s leaders talking about the payment they’d received to leave early and head straight for Ghadid, instead of circling to the north as they’d intended. The Empress must have decided some attention was acceptable.
“For one thing, it was my life at stake,” continued Heru. “For another, that was necessary each and every time. But I’d appreciate if you refrained from mentioning it again.”
Thana raised an eyebrow. “Is that what this is about? You want me to keep my mouth shut?”
“My abilities aren’t pertinent to our current situation and might only serve to confuse and upset certain, potentially helpful, members of our party.”
“Look, I haven’t said anything and I’m not going to say anything.” Thana pointed a finger at Heru. “Assuming you don’t, either.”
“I only wanted to confirm our ongoing arrangement in light of your changing relationship with the healer. You two have been spending a lot more time talking to each other and I’d rather certain elements remain unmentioned. I suspect the healer will continue being instrumental in understanding our shared adversary along with elucidating other particulars about the connection between jaani and body.” Heru tilted his head to her in a nod, then turned his attention to the front of the caravan. This time when he spoke, his voice dripped with pained annoyance. “Ah. It looks like it might be time for the afternoon nap. What an efficient waste of time.”
Still grumbling, he pulled his camel away from Thana. Off to her other side, bright blue cloth flashed between the darker, full-sky blue of the Azal as Mo returned from her rounds. Heru was right about one thing: since they’d left Na Tay Khet, she and Mo had been inseparable. Their evenings around the city had sparked a friendship, fanned that much brighter by the fact that they were the only two from Ghadid in the entire caravan and, aside from Heru, the only ones who’d faced undying bandits, stood in the presence of the Empress, and knew about Djet’s danger. That kind of thing tended to bring people together.
But even without all those commonalities, Thana suspected she and Mo would have been drawn together. There was something about Mo’s quiet yet firm demeanor, Mo’s compassion for others, and Mo’s delightful laugh that had wrapped around Thana and ensnared her. Like her cousin Amastan, Mo was serious enough for the both of them. But unlike him, there was a yearning for more.
Mo loosened the knot keeping her camel’s lead fixed to Thana’s pack and retrieved her staff. Before leaving the city, Mo had requested a sparring staff from the Empress to replace the wooden stake she’d been using. Thana hadn’t made any requests, but she’d found a length of rope, a few extra knives, and the small bag of poisons Heru had taken when he’d betrayed her.
“Salaz says we’ll reach the well by nightfall tomorrow and Ghadid within a week.”
Thana glanced over the line of camels. “I guess we’re making better time without so much salt.”
A shout rang out from the front and was echoed along the caravan’s length. Those still on camelback slipped off
while the others began unrolling and staking out their tents. The sun was as hot as ever, but a cool undercurrent of wind now ran across their bare feet and through their hair and, at night, brought aching chills to their bones. The difference between being under the tent and out in the sun was much starker than it had been just a few weeks before.
Instead of setting up their tent, Mo tightened the knots of her wrap, spread her feet, double-checked her stance, then nodded once at Thana. She barely blocked Thana’s first strike with her staff, and she stumbled under Thana’s second, but she found her footing—and her flow—by the third.
They sparred for only a few minutes, but both were out of breath and scented with sweat by the time Thana signaled a halt.
“You’re getting better,” said Thana, unable to suppress her grin. “You almost got my knees with that last one.”
“It’s a lot more fun than I expected.” The smile that had crept onto Mo’s face while they sparred faded. Mo looked down at her hands, her staff clutched tight between them. “But it’s not good enough. The bound won’t be stopped by a tap to the knees.”
“We’ve got all the way between here and Ghadid to practice.” Thana picked uo the roll of tent cloth from their pile of belongings. “And then however long it takes us to find the Aer Essifs. You’ll be a master of the staff by then.”
Mo grabbed the other end of the tent’s fabric from Thana and helped spread it out across the sand. “Have you thought at all about after?”
“What do you mean?” Thana freed a pole from the pack and pounded it into the ground.
“I mean—after we defeat Djet. After we return from the Wastes. After this is all taken care of.” Mo brushed a braid from her face and pounded a third pole into the ground with her staff. “I don’t know if I could spend the rest of my life in Ghadid. I thought seeing Na Tay Khet would be enough, but now I want to see more. Maybe that’s the danger Enass tried to warn me about.”
Thana placed the last pole and slid beneath the tent’s welcome shade. Mo laid her staff on the sand and joined her. This close, Thana could smell Mo’s sweat, warm and just a little salty. She thought about licking that salt off, but took a deep breath instead. She didn’t know if that’d be welcome. Mo had been friendly enough, but friendly was one thing—Thana wanted another.
“You left once,” said Thana. “What’s stopping you from leaving again?”
Mo twisted her hands in her lap, staring out of the tent and across the sand they still had to cross. “That’s what I’m afraid of. That and—what will Enass say when I get back?”
“Just explain that you were off saving the world,” said Thana. “Surely all the lives you’ll save by stopping Djet should earn you some time off.”
But Mo continued to twist her hands. “I don’t know. What if we fail?”
“We won’t fail,” said Thana immediately.
She took Mo’s hands and held them in her own. Mo stopped twisting them and began chewing her lip. Thana wanted to take those lips between her own. She dug her fingernails into her palms instead.
“We can’t fail,” continued Thana. “We’ve got Heru, a very capable marabi, and you, an incredible healer, and me…”
She trailed off before she could say the Serpent’s daughter. She opened her mouth to try again, but this time cut herself off when the only words that came were an assassin. Before she could try a third time, Mo answered for her.
“A selfless performer.”
Performer. Thana’s stomach plummeted at the lie. Sands cover it. What would she do when they returned to Ghadid? Would Mo expect to see her perform fights in the streets, all ridiculous movements and choreographed displays? Thana could already hear her cousins’ laughter. No. Never. She had to tell Mo, and soon, before this infatuation became something more.
Just, maybe, later.
Mo’s hand was on her leg. Thana wasn’t sure how it had gotten there. She hardly dared to breathe, lest Mo notice and remove it. But Mo didn’t and her gaze met Thana’s.
“I wish I had your confidence,” said Mo. “You almost make me believe that whatever comes next, we’ll survive. At least I know you’ll be there. So maybe we will.”
“You give me too much credit,” said Thana.
Mo’s hand left Thana’s leg and lifted to cup her face. Thana’s breath stuck in her throat, heart pounding harder than a blacksmith’s hammer. The desert fell away and all Thana knew was Mo’s soft palm against her cheek, Mo’s warm dark eyes, Mo’s curving pink lips.
“Maybe,” said Mo softly. “But I feel safer by your side. Whatever comes next, I want to spend it with you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Thana.
“Good.”
Then Mo leaned forward and kissed Thana.
All thought left Thana’s head. She leaned into Mo, returning the kiss with all the pent-up hunger and need of too many chaste years. Mo tasted of water and almonds and salt, smelled of sweat and honey and something uniquely sharp. Her hand found the small of Thana’s back, warm even through the layers of fabric, then the base of her neck, drawing Thana closer until there was no space left between them. Then her leg pressed up between Thana’s and all thoughts about the lies or her contract or the bound or Djet vanished like smoke on the wind.
* * *
In the following days, they spent every moment they could together, sparring at each break, huddling close over tea through the hot afternoons, and entwining limbs under their shared tent at night. It had been one thing to lie to Mo before, when Thana could pretend they were only friends, but after Mo made her intentions clear, the lie weighed heavy on her chest. Thana told herself that she’d confess as soon as an opportunity presented itself, but each time a gap in their conversation left an opening, Thana’s tongue grew as heavy as stone.
Guilt plagued Thana like a bad cold, rising up in her throat and waking her to stare at the tent’s fluttering cloth while Mo snored next to her, warm limbs entangled with her own. Guilt muddled her thoughts, flushed her cheeks, and sickened her. It distracted her from keeping an eye on Heru, who daily withdrew further into himself and his scrolls.
But as each day passed, the desert endless and unchanging, her guilt shrank bit by bit until it became manageable. Her secret had not crashed through her in a moment of weakness and it hadn’t bubbled up unwelcome in their conversations. Thana began to consider just letting Mo believe what she wanted. Why destroy the good thing they had for something as vague and fleeting as “the truth”? What did that even mean compared to what they were building between their bodies and their hands, with each caress and breath and kiss?
Thana had more pressing things to worry about, starting with what she’d do when they returned. Ghadid was only a few days away and, although she’d made the decision to abandon her contract almost a week ago, her tryst with Mo had shoved the looming consequences from her mind. She didn’t know how to break the news to Amastan, let alone Kaseem. And her mother …
She just had to lay out what they’d learned in the right way and explain the unexplainable. She should have been planning and practicing her plea and deciding how to frame it, but every chance she’d had so far, she’d been distracted by Mo instead. Mo’s long braids. Mo’s warm hands. Mo’s dark skin. Mo’s soft touch.
Soon, too soon, she was going to be in trouble if she didn’t do something, and now, but it was difficult to clear her mind long enough to make plans. The contract and Kaseem were so far away, as insubstantial as the shimmering mirages of water and mountains on the horizon. There was still time. It was easy—too easy—to push those worries away for another day, day after day.
Until one day, it was too late.
The news ran the length of the caravan that they’d be safely among Ghadid’s platforms by nightfall while they were breaking camp that morning.
The fear started as a crack, hardly wider than a hair, but soon widened and spread and fractured within Thana as she helped Mo pack their tent and burden their camels. A blissfully hea
vy silence had fallen across the caravan in lieu of an excited murmur, everyone too overcome with the anticipation of real food, fresh water, and the luxury of an enclosed, windless space to break their daydreams with words. Camels grunted, sand fizzed across fabric, and leather creaked as the caravan readied itself.
Thana fought with her frozen fingers to secure her straps. Winter was closing in and the camels’ snorts puffed out as miniature clouds. Thana’s tagel caught and trapped her breath, warming her face, but she felt the cold in her hands and feet and creeping around the edges of her wrap. The stiffness reminded her how lucky she was to sleep curled beside another warm body each night.
The caravan began to move as soon as the morning tea was passed around. Thana held the hot glass close to her chest to protect it from the wind, which blew harder than usual this morning, throwing sand and grit into her eyes. Mo walked alone a dozen feet away, her head bowed in her morning prayers.
Ahead, Heru broke from the caravan and put some distance between himself and the rest of them before mounting his camel. Once in the saddle, he pulled out a scroll and a pen and began scratching at the vellum. What did he plan on doing when they reached Ghadid? He’d probably hole himself up in an inn once again. But he might also plan to leave right away. She couldn’t make assumptions.
Thana walked away from her camel, leaving it to follow the others. She needed to know what Heru expected when they arrived and she needed to be certain he wouldn’t betray her as he had in Na Tay Khet. She’d wasted all her time worrying about what she’d tell her family and avoided thinking about what came after.