by K A Doore
Salid lunged. Thana stepped out of the way, tears already drying on her cheeks. As she clubbed Salid on the head with the hilt of her dagger, then swept a kick at his knees that sent him sprawling, she felt very, very old.
“It’s not fair,” she whispered as she pinned him to the floor with her knee.
“Not fair.” Thana sliced open the back of Salid’s wrap.
“Not. Fair.”
The tip of Thana’s knife was poised to cut through the marks across Salid’s back, but his skin was unmarred. Thana stared, uncertain. Salid growled and twisted around, grabbing her by the ankle.
She slashed at his hand and jerked her foot free. She backed out of the room, watching with fresh horror as Salid stood, his gaze unwavering and vacant, his face slack. Part of her wanted to stay and fight. She wouldn’t win, but that didn’t matter, not anymore. There was nothing left for her here.
But part of her clung on tight, reminding her that Mo still waited somewhere outside. That someone had done this, that he was still out there, and he needed to be stopped. And if she died here—
She might become one of them.
That alone banished any lingering hesitation. Thana turned and ran. She took the stairs two at a time, using the wall to keep her balance. Salid’s footsteps thudded behind, but too slowly. She’d easily outrun him. But she didn’t slow down.
She hurtled across the bottom floor and through the door and slid to a stop. Glass crunched underfoot as she spun to face the doorway. Salid’s shuffling approach was muted beneath the hiss of fire and the moan of the walls, weakened by heat and pressure. It was only midmorning, but the thick smoke and warm orange light darkened the day to evening.
Footsteps thudded from behind, at first a hollow echo, then louder as Mo solidified out of the smoke, braids loose and flying.
“Thana!”
Mo all but tumbled into Thana and threw her arms around her, hugging her tight. The hug only lasted for a heartbeat, then Mo shoved Thana away. She narrowed her eyes and clenched her hands into fists.
“What in all that’s holy and whole is wrong with you? Why would you leave like that? If something happened to you … why did you leave?”
“I’m sorry,” said Thana hollowly. “I’m all right. I…” She swallowed and glanced back at her home and its dark, empty doorway.
“Where’s Heru?”
The en-marabi strolled out of the smoke. “Did I hear my name?”
“G-d,” muttered Thana. Then, louder, “There’s someone in that building.”
Mo made a startled noise. “Are they all right?” She moved toward the doorway, shifting her pack around so her waterskin was within reach. “I should check—”
Thana grabbed Mo’s arm, stopping her from going any further. “No, Mo. They’re—he’s—not all right. He’s not alive. Not anymore.”
“Oh.” Mo dropped her hand from her skin, but didn’t re-shoulder her pack. Her other hand strayed to her staff.
Heru joined them and pushed up his sleeves. “Is he bound?”
Thana nodded. “But there aren’t any marks. I tried that—I watched him die and he just … woke up again.”
“I feared as much. Those comments by the historian Set regarding the empty towns prior to Djet’s execution were concerning. I came up with a handful of hypotheses that might satisfy a historian, but still did not satisfy me.” Heru sifted through his wrap as he spoke, removing a vial here, a satchel there, and a small blade. “I believe it was part of Djet’s larger plan. He wanted to create many more like him—or at least bind them to his will. Something that could empty an entire town without undue hysterics from its neighbors would’ve needed to work fast and locally. Ideally, it’d use a single, ubiquitous vector. Like, for instance, water.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” asked Thana.
Heru paused what he was doing long enough to glance at her. “I’m certain that whatever you think I’m saying is most likely incorrect, considering your lack of expertise on the matter and overall lack of intellect.” He turned back to the doorway and popped the cork from one vial. “The water of Ghadid is contaminated, likely with a contagion that turns all those who ingest it into bound when they die. I assume the binding mechanisms must not affect a person while they yet live, but once their body expires and their jaani is unable to leave, they awaken confused and belligerent, just like the bound we’ve already encountered. Djet is granting these people immortality, of a sort. All it would require to turn the entire city was a critical mass of dead, which could have occurred naturally as more and more people died and were bound—a cascading event.”
So many. Too many. Salid had already told Thana all of this, if she’d only listened.
“Djet used water?” said Mo, horrified. “That’s—that’s just—”
“Ingenious,” said Heru.
“—blasphemy,” finished Mo.
Inside the building, something fell with a clatter. Then bare feet shuffled across stone. Heru removed a vial from his pack and poured a liquid thick as egg whites in a semicircle on the ground before him, then stepped back. Thana and Mo edged back with him, gazes fixed on the doorway. A moment later, Salid shot out as if he’d been thrown by some unseen force. His arms were outstretched, his mouth a froth of blood and foam. Thana winced at the sight. Mo gasped.
“That’s—that’s the charm maker,” said Mo.
“Salid,” supplied Thana.
“Oh G-d.”
Salid rushed Heru, who was waiting impassively. Salid’s hand scraped the air before Heru’s face, but when his foot touched the edge of the damp semicircle, light flared and Salid was thrown backward. As the semicircle’s glow faded, Salid shook his head like a rabid dog, spraying bloody foam across the stones. He growled and rushed Heru again, but was again rebuffed.
Unconcerned by the mad creature scrabbling at him only a foot away, Heru drew his blade across the underside of his arm. He bit the cork out of a second vial, then held it beneath his fresh wound. He caught several drops of blood, then covered the vial with his thumb and gave it a vigorous shake. Its contents glowed a fierce red, as if he’d caught the light of the dying sun.
Meanwhile, Salid rammed his body against the barrier over and over, his growl unbroken and growing louder. He clawed at the air and spat red froth at the ground. It was painful to watch, but Thana couldn’t look away. For over a decade, she’d walked into Salid’s shop and always been greeted by a jangle of bells and a wall of glass charms, at first with her uncle Usem, then later Amastan, and finally, this last time, on her own. Salid’s charm belt thrummed with a bright hot heat, painful and searing. She welcomed the pain.
With a flick of his wrist, Heru sent the vial skidding across the stones. It came to a rest at Salid’s sandals. The bound’s whole body had turned to follow the vial’s path and now he stared down at his feet. Then he pounced. He grabbed the vial with clumsy fingers and shoved it into his mouth, working the glass with his teeth. Some of the brilliant red liquid spilled from his lips like strands of bloody drool, but the rest went down his throat.
All at once, Salid’s body spasmed. Heru stepped over the semicircle, now dark, and put a hand on Salid’s shoulder. He turned the bound toward him while holding his other hand against Salid’s chest. A light burst from between Heru’s fingers and Salid writhed, trying to push Heru away. But the en-marabi held strong and a heartbeat later, Salid’s mouth dropped open and darkness swarmed out.
The darkness arced toward the sky, then abruptly turned back sands-ward, as if yanked. It swarmed to Heru’s hand held against Salid’s chest, now a clenched fist. Then the darkness and the light both vanished. Heru stepped back. Salid crumpled to the ground, this time truly lifeless.
Thana detached herself from Mo and approached the body, passing Heru as he pocketed something still glowing. She turned Salid faceup and closed his eyes. She remained tense, ready for another attack. But this time, the body stayed still. It felt empty, too, in a way it hadn’t bef
ore—before—
A hand touched Thana’s shoulder. She started and went for a knife before realizing it was only Mo. She hadn’t even heard the healer approach. Her whole body was trembling violently, uncontrollably, and the loud roar in her ears came from more than just the fire.
“When you’re done having your moment, I need a healer,” said Heru.
Mo jerked, but didn’t move from Thana’s side. She put a hand on Thana’s other shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze. Thana swallowed, turned, and threw her arms around Mo. They pressed close; Mo was shaking, too.
“Or I can just slowly bleed to death over here,” said Heru. “While I respect your need for emotional and physical support, Djet won’t wait for our permission to continue wreaking more such destruction. If you want to avenge your city, then we must act.”
Thana pressed her forehead against Mo’s, then took a deep breath and untangled herself. As much as she hated him, Heru was right. They couldn’t waste time grieving. That could come later, if there was a later. Heru watched them impassively as he bandaged his hand with a length of cloth.
“All right,” said Thana. “Do you have a plan?”
Heru’s eyes almost crinkled in a smile. “I never thought you’d ask.”
24
“First,” said Heru. “You need to let go of my healer.”
Mo wiped at her eyes, smudging ash across her cheeks. “We’re going to need more water.”
“I know where to—” started Thana, then stopped herself. “But we can’t use it.”
Heru sighed. “There are methods to circumvent the binding. Just—go before I bleed to death.”
“Fine. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll come, too,” said Mo quickly. “In … case.”
“Yes,” said Heru absently as he pulled out more vials from his pockets. “Do keep her from running away again.”
With Mo at her side, Thana headed for a small, squat building just off the platform’s center. Inside, there was barely enough room for both of them; Mo had to press close. A sconce on the wall held a cold torch, but enough light filtered through the doorway to still see. Thana pulled back the hatch set into the center of the floor, revealing a well-worn stairwell. Stairs spiraled tight and steep down past the platform’s thick metal crust and into a hidden interior.
The lanterns lining the stairwell were still lit, their oil only half gone. That meant no more than sixteen or so hours had passed since they’d last been filled. Thana couldn’t decide if that fact was encouraging or not. Would they find the poor slave who’d filled them down below?
Thana led the way, Mo’s presence close at her back and reassuring. After a full, tight turn, the stairs opened onto a wide and well-lit room. Always before when Thana had come to get water, there’d been someone else here, either taking their share, hawking containers, or begging for a spare baat. Now the room was empty and the occasional clank from its center was as startling as a shout.
Thana paused at the foot of the stairs, but Mo pushed around her, heading for a small pile of abandoned waterskins. The curved face of the pylon itself stood at the center of the round room, its dull gray surface pitted and marred by splashes of brilliant orange decay. The font had been carved directly into the metal, forming a shallow basin at waist height. A pipe hung above the basin, its mouth orange with the same decay.
Thana eyed the familiar sight with fresh distrust. How had Djet poisoned the water? It didn’t seem possible. Every pylon had a pump and every neighborhood had a gearworker who kept it safe and functioning. Only a gearworker had access to the inner mechanisms of the pumps and even they didn’t fully understand how they worked. No one had access to the aquifer far beneath the sand that supplied the pumps and the city.
A disgruntled gearworker could have poisoned their own pump, but poisoning all of them would have required stealing the pumphouse keys from the drum chiefs. Yet, if Heru was correct, Djet had found a way.
Mo approached with half a dozen waterskins in her arms. She eyed the basin with equal wariness.
“The aquifer,” said Mo. “That’s the only way. Someone poisoned the aquifer.”
“But how?”
Mo shrugged. “Does it matter? We’ll have to take care when we leave. All the wells between here and the Wastes will be affected, too.”
When we leave. Even though that had been their plan all along, Thana could no longer imagine it. What was the point? Djet had won.
Mo handed Thana the first skin. “How many more like Salid are out there?”
“From what he said, I don’t think anyone’s left.”
Thana dug out a baat from the pouch she’d filched off Heru only a few days ago. The flash of smugness she felt as she fed the baat into the slot above the basin was gone as soon as it arrived. He wouldn’t have been able to use those baats again anyway. And neither would she. What use was the currency of a dead city? What use was a contract without Kaseem? What use was a cousin without her family?
What use was she?
“But what if there’s someone out there that I can still help? What if there’s one person I can still save?”
“They left, Mo,” snapped Thana. “They’ve all been turned into bound or they’ve fled—there’s no one left. It’s just us. And we can’t stay here, either.”
“I know,” said Mo softly.
Thana flushed with guilt. She shouldn’t have lost her temper. She bit her lip and pulled the lever next to the basin. Instead of looking at Mo, she stared at the water filling the skin. It didn’t look contaminated. But what had she expected? A strange glow? A dark sludge?
“I know,” repeated Mo as the water glugged. “I just … I can’t stop thinking about what must have happened. I can’t stop thinking about all the terror and pain they must have felt. What about my father, my sister? What happened to Enass? Everyone I’ve ever healed? What was the point if they were all just going to end up like the charm maker?”
Mo’s voice broke. Thana glanced away from the basin as the first tear streaked down her cheek, closely followed by another and another. Thana swallowed, then took one of Mo’s limp hands and held it tight.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” whispered Mo, voice thick. “I’m not like you, or—or Heru. I should never have left. What did I even accomplish by going to Na Tay Khet? Heru could have found all that out on his own. I was just being selfish. They needed me here. I’m not a fighter, Thana. I’m not strong. I’m falling apart just being in an empty city. I don’t know if I can face what’s out there, in the Wastes.”
“You’re stronger than you think,” said Thana. The flow of water had finally stopped and she tied off the skin and set it down. “I’ve watched you fight and I’ve watched you heal. You’re remarkable. And we’ll need you if we have any hope of stopping Djet.”
“Do we?” Mo swallowed. “Have any hope?”
It was a valid question. Thana looked around the small room, at the pump and basin, the leather skins and empty chairs, the metal walls and stone stairs. She’d thought she didn’t have any hope left, and yet here she was, filling enough waterskins for a journey into the Wastes. What was that, if not hope?
Should they still go? Heru had a general idea of where the Aer Essifs were, but the Wastes were vast and they were only three. And on top of that, Djet had an army of bound at his command, an army made from the people she loved and hated and trusted and knew. Could she fight them, when it came to that? Could she stop them? Could she do what her family couldn’t? What her mother couldn’t?
What would Amastan do?
But he’d already done it: he’d fled, saving as many people as he could. She could try to find him and the survivors. Displaced and poisoned by Djet, they were still her people, still her city, and they’d need all the help they could get. They needed to know what they were up against, they needed Heru’s expertise.
And then Djet would still be free, capable of doing this again on an even larger scale.
What would he
r mother do?
But her mother had already done it: she’d fought, and she’d died. If she were still alive, she would want to protect her own. She’d find Amastan and the rest and make absolutely certain no one else died.
But Thana wasn’t Amastan and she wasn’t her mother. She wasn’t even an assassin, not anymore. What would she do?
Thana looked at Mo, at her tear-streaked cheeks and red-lined eyes, and she felt hope. It wasn’t a grand feeling, a great unfurling or anything like that, but a simple bead of angry heat that burned hot and painful in her chest. But that was enough.
“We have to,” said Thana. “It’s our only choice. Because if we don’t have hope, we stay here and die. But we can’t let Djet win. We can’t let him do this to another city or unleash the sajaam or whatever other horrible thing he has planned. But more than that—we owe it to those he’s bound. Maybe this is our fault. Maybe we failed them. Either way, we can’t stay here. They deserve peace.”
“I know, I know. I just … I can’t.”
Thana folded Mo into her arms, feeling her body shake. She ran a hand across the top of Mo’s head, her braids rough. So many salas were intertwined in them. Some red, some orange, some blue, but most were gray and brown strings. Thana quickly lost count. There were too many, and all of them had been people Mo had saved. A fierce pride filled Thana.
“You can,” said Thana. “I know you can. You can’t help but help people. You’re kind when you don’t have to be. There’s a ferocity within you that keeps you healing even those who don’t deserve it. And you’ll do this, too, even though you believe you can’t. And that’s what I love about you.”
Mo looked up, eyes watery and red. “Love…?”
Thana swallowed, hesitated. The word had just come out, but in the midst of all this wrong, it felt right. The one thing she was absolutely sure of. Thana tilted her head down, brushed her lips across Mo’s, and breathed, “Yes.”
As Thana started to move away, Mo reached up and drew her back. This time their lips met and they didn’t part again for some moments.
When they finally emerged from the pumphouse carrying the waterskins, Heru had settled onto the ground inside a circle of ash. He glanced up from writing and tapped his pen against the paper, gaze unfocused. Then he saw the skins and stood, attempting to brush off his white wrap but only ended up smearing it with black ash.