by K A Doore
Heru gave Thana a pitying glance before straightening and heading for the camels. “Then the only solution is to travel as fast as we can. Of course, we could leave her behind. She probably wouldn’t die. Those charms will last some time and the thirst should only drive her mad, not kill her. No, the guuli breaking through and burning her up from the inside is what will kill her.”
Mo ignored him and offered her hand to Thana. “Can you stand?”
Thana took Mo’s hand and heaved herself up. She leaned on Mo as her head swam and the sands briefly darkened, threatening to slip out from beneath her feet. Then the world stabilized and the dizziness passed. It took all of her focus just to follow Mo to the camels. All she could think about was water—how’d she ever taken it for granted? She could see the pumps, feel the cool, moist air inside the pumphouses, and hear the gurgle of liquid. If only she could just hold her head under the fount—
“Thana?”
Thana had stopped. Mo was a few paces ahead, worry creasing her brows. Beyond Mo, Heru bent over one of the camels and pressed his hand against its neck. The beast’s head drooped and its body jerked, then its eyes flicked open and it stared, unblinking. It lurched to its feet to stand next to the other two, which were just as still, just as lifeless. Thana had enough sense not to say anything.
Mo took Thana’s elbow and guided her the rest of the way to the camels. Heru had already mounted his. He flicked the lead impatiently.
“Get on. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can get her help.”
Mo hesitated, her hand hanging outstretched toward Thana’s camel. The beast stared back at them with blank, glassy eyes. Mo placed her palm on its neck. “This camel has no pulse.”
“They died in the storm,” said Heru, busying himself with something on his saddle. “I bound them for expediency.”
Mo met the camel’s glazed gaze. “They were alive when the guul attacked.” She closed her eyes and let out a whoosh of breath, then turned to Thana with feigned brightness. “Right. Let’s get you on this camel.”
“Water?”
“Not yet. You’ve already had most of a skin, Thana. We don’t have much left.”
Thana swallowed a whimper. Her insides were burning and parched, her throat sore, her tongue heavy and rough. But the water they had still needed to last for untold days yet, split between the three of them. So she concentrated on this moment and ignored the next. Right now, she needed to mount her camel. She twisted the camel’s lead around her shaking fist and let Mo help her up.
Heru led the way, threading his camel through the dunes. Their camels followed, unbidden. He goaded his beast into a trot, then a gallop, and soon it was all Thana could do to stay on.
Thana settled into the camel’s rhythm, the sand flying past at a sickening speed. Meanwhile, the guuli exulted; this was familiar, soaring through and above the dunes along the edge of a storm, everything fire and heat and lightning—
Thana shook her head, fighting back to reality. She wasn’t a guuli. She was a woman riding a very unhealthy camel and she needed to stay that way. The guuli wanted her to lose her concentration and fall. She couldn’t let that happen.
The minutes then hours crawled past and Thana’s thirst deepened. She tried to think of anything but water, but when her focus slipped for even a moment, she was swept away by the memory of its cool taste, its soft splash, its slickness dripping between her fingers.
The ground thumped her hard on the back and she stared at the gray-blue sky. She didn’t even remember falling. A shout rang through the air—her name—and camel hooves slid through the sand beside her head. Mo slid an arm beneath her shoulders and helped her sit up. Thana leaned into Mo, hoping she wouldn’t draw away.
“Are you all right? What happened?”
“Water,” said Thana.
Mo squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, they glistened. Heru thundered close before pulling his camel up sharp. He peered at Thana, full shadow cloaking his expression. He shook his head.
“We’ll have to tie her down. We can’t afford to waste any more time.”
“She needs more water.”
“She’ll drink everything we have,” snapped Heru. “And she’ll still burn up from within and die.”
Mo crossed her arms. “We can find more. I’m not letting her die.”
“I’m not either,” said Heru. “She saved my life when the guul attacked and I will see that debt repaid. But I refuse to let baseless hope cloud my reasoning. So no, I won’t sit and wait for you to find water. Every moment we linger is a moment closer to the guuli inside her winning. I doubt you’ll be able to do what’s necessary when that happens.”
Mo fixed Heru with a cold stare. “Don’t underestimate me.”
Heru matched her stare. “You haven’t given me a reason not to. You’re capable of so much more than I’ve seen you do. Water is just a proxy for blood, after all.”
“I’m a healer, not an en-marabi.”
“There is less of a difference than you might wish. We each do what we believe is necessary.”
“Then at least give me time to do the ritual,” said Mo.
She helped Thana stand. When Thana didn’t collapse, she let go and retrieved her bowl. She filled the bowl with water and placed it on the ground just out of Thana’s reach. Thana stared hungrily at the water, all other discomforts forgotten. Her focus cut through the haze in her mind like a thrown dagger. The guuli was rising up, filling the spaces within her, but she didn’t have the strength to fight it.
Mo traced a circle in the sand around her and the bowl. She didn’t see Thana lunge. The bowl was already halfway to Thana’s lips when Mo turned. She smacked it away, spraying water across the sand where it instantly vanished. Horror flashed across Mo’s face, followed by anger, then shame. She grabbed Thana’s hands and pressed them between her own.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. But you have to understand. You can’t interrupt me, you can’t cross the circle, and you can’t drink the water. Trust me—if you can follow those directions, soon you’ll have more water than you can dream of.”
Thana forced her trembling hands down to her sides, nodded. But Heru dismounted with a grunt of disgust.
“You can’t reason with a guuli,” he said before he grabbed Thana’s arms and, twisting them behind her, forced her to her knees.
The guuli struggled against Heru, but her sudden strength soon waned, the charms burning a reminder against her skin. Thana sagged in relief. Mo had watched, biting her lip. Now she filled the bowl again.
Mo retraced the circle in the sand. She stood tall in its center, then let her head and arms go loose. Only her fingers moved, twisting and twitching as they traced shapes in the air. Blue suffused her skin, darkening it even further, reaching down her arms and legs to her exposed fingers and toes before diffusing into the air as a blue haze.
The air thickened, stinking of water and electricity, but no storm filled the horizon. Mo shuddered and the haze twisted into a swarm, which tasted the air like a snake, darting one way, then the other. It rose away, higher and higher until it crested the dunes, then it turned north, west, still tasting, still searching. Thana struggled to stand and follow, but Heru’s grip tightened.
“Patience,” he growled. “If you want to survive this, you will let the healer do her work.”
The wind had a pulse to it now, a cadence like the rhythm of speech. The blue haze settled on the west, then coiled in on itself like a rope. Mo straightened, tilting her sweat-drenched face to the sky as she drew the blue back in. The haze pulsed around her with its own heartbeat, settling against her skin and wrap. Then it vanished.
The water in the bowl was gone. Thana’s thirst, however, was not.
Mo smudged the circle in the sand with her toe, then turned, the whites of her eyes now a faint, pulsing blue. “We head west.”
* * *
Heru tied Thana to her camel. Rope kept her arms down, so she couldn’t reac
h the knots to free herself, and more rope anchored her between the camel’s neck and hump. Thana didn’t have the strength to struggle. It turned out that being tied up was more comfortable; it took her less effort to stay mounted, even as the camel galloped.
Mo led the charge with Thana’s camel close behind, its lead tied to Mo’s bags. The dunes flashed by at a dizzying pace. Thana’s wrap caught and snapped in the wind and sand sprayed her face, kicked up by Mo’s camel. Her own camel’s rolling gait soon made her sore, then outright pained. But overriding the discomfort was her growing thirst, a desiccation within that demanded all of her attention.
Mo leaned over her camel’s neck, a blue haze occasionally flashing around her. When it did, the ghost of a snake would snap across the sky, pointing them toward water. They covered more distance in an hour than should have been possible.
The dunes ended abruptly, towering beside them one moment and receding into the distance the next. Ahead stretched flat sand, which melted into a sea of bright salt, cracking underfoot. Mirages of endless lakes and ponds and rivers shone with promise just before their camels’ feet crumbled them into salt and dust.
Thana slipped in and out of consciousness. All around her blazed white and hot. She closed her eyes against the glare and when she opened them, nothing had changed but the sun’s position. No, that wasn’t quite right—tiny pinpricks spotted the horizon ahead. Thana stared. Were they real, or another mirage?
She blinked and the sun slid and the dark spots spread and stretched upward, thrusting into the sky. For a few delirious moments, Thana was confused enough to know they’d come full circle, that Ghadid stood just ahead, whole and safe.
But these were no pylons. As they approached, the spots separated from five to seven, then to eleven, thirteen. Darkness covered the space between them, spilled in front.
Mountains. Ragged and black, they were impossibly tall and narrow, like figures frozen in time. Even in her muddled state, Thana remembered Mo’s story about the sajaam, how they’d challenged G-d and been transformed into pillars of rock. It felt as if Mo had told that story months, even years ago. But it had only been a few weeks.
The sun was setting and its dying light threw the mountains into sharp relief. Their shadows stretched toward the three of them, never meeting. Even at this unrelenting speed, they were still hours away.
Then the sun was gone. Night leached away the colors and light and details along with the sun’s warmth, yet Thana could see the mountains rising ever taller and closer, a darkness that blocked out the stars. Her gaps in consciousness widened and the pillars of rock blinked closer and closer.
When she next came to, the moon had risen. The mountains were so close Thana wanted to reach out and touch them, but what caught her attention were the flickers of orange light at the base of one. Mo spotted them, too. She slowed her camel and waited for Heru to catch up.
“Fires,” said Heru.
“There’s a camp ahead.” Mo flushed blue and pointed. “That’s where we’re headed. They have water.”
Heru peered into the distance as if he might uncover more from the darkness through sheer force of will. “A well?”
“No.” Mo twisted around to look at Thana. “But they have water and they should have a marabi, too.”
Heru scanned the flickers of orange as if they contained a message. “They might even have two.”
“But who could be out here?” Worry gnawed at Mo’s voice. “From the look of it, that’s a big camp. If they’re not bothering to hide their fires, then they’re not worried about being attacked.”
“There’s only three of us,” said Thana. Her throat was raw and her words came out scratched, but they were audible. “They won’t see us as a threat.”
“The possessed girl is correct,” said Heru. “Besides, they wouldn’t dare hurt a marabi of the Empress.”
“Don’t assume that the people in the Wastes know anything about your Empress,” said Mo.
“Do you want to help your friend or not?” asked Heru. “Because we can sit here and waste time wondering about something that doesn’t matter or we can go to that camp and demand to see their resident marabi before the girl dies.”
“We’re going,” said Mo. “I just … wanted to make certain we all agreed, considering the risks.”
“Risks!” Heru barked a laugh. “We have riskier things to worry about than a camp in the Wastes. Come on, girl—if you’re afraid of these sand fleas, then I’ll lead.”
Without waiting for an answer, Heru smacked his camel, which jerked into a full gallop. Mo swallowed a complaint and Thana grabbed tight to her ropes as their camels followed.
The flickering flashes of orange settled into stable pinpricks, which separated into individual campfires. Smoke hazed into the sky and swept across the stars, which blinked in and out like beacons. The salt sea receded and soon their camels’ feet scattered stone and gravel.
When they were close enough to see the flames of each campfire and the dark silhouettes of pitched tents, a shape detached itself from the camp and approached them at speed. Heru lit the tea brazier and held it aloft. Thana squinted, trying to see who was nearing and read their intent. Her hands fought the rope, her fingers itching for the familiar smooth feel of a knife hilt.
A man on horseback solidified out of the darkness, his face obscured by a tagel. Both the tagel and his wrap were a deep and vibrant red, delicate gold embroidering their edges. The man reined in his beast just beyond the circle of Heru’s light, allowing the night to obscure him. His eyes glinted as he studied them.
The horse pranced in place, full of its own nervous energy. Thana thought of all the water the camp must have to sustain such a beast and grew agitated. She needed to be there, not out here. But she resisted the urge to kick her camel into a gallop and leave these fools behind. Her charms flared even hotter as the guuli fought back, then finally cooled to their previous heat.
The man raised an empty hand in greeting. “Heru Sametket,” he said, voice gravelly and raw, but somehow familiar. He stepped his horse into the circle of light. “You were expected over a day ago.”
Heru tilted his head to one side. “Bo Tamit? What are you doing out here?”
Thana recognized that name from somewhere, but her thoughts were growing increasingly ponderous and difficult to parse. All she could think of was water. It was so close—
“Tamit?” Mo looked between Heru and the man. “You mean, the first advisory marabi?”
“Yes,” said Tamit. “And her Imperial Highness is expecting your audience. You would do well not to make her wait.”
28
Empress Zara ha Khatet’s tent shone like a torch in the dark, its gold fabric glowing with the light of the many campfires around it. Thana had enough presence of mind to note the ten or so guards stationed just outside, but the scent of water was too close, too distracting. She strained against the ropes holding her.
Tamit handed his reins to a waiting slave and asked, “What’s wrong with your friend?”
Heru cut the ropes around Thana. “The heat has made her unwell. She requires rest and water.”
Mo started to say something, but instead pressed her lips tight and frowned, eyes flicking between Heru and the other marabi. As soon as the ropes lost tension, Thana sagged and slipped to one side. Heru caught her as she fell and helped her stand with uncharacteristic gentleness. Her legs, however, refused to cooperate. They buckled and then she was flat on her back, staring at the sky. Voices stirred around her, loud and brash but already distant and receding even further until they were little more than a pulsing echo.
Thana woke inside a tent. Her skin prickled with chills and her head beat insistently as the voices shifted and grew louder. When she noticed the bowl of water in front of her, she grabbed and drank it all in one gulp.
“—heat sickness,” Mo was saying. “In the aftermath of the sandstorm.”
Metal bracelets clinked. “We had no trouble with sandstorms,” s
aid a familiar voice. “Ah. Your friend is awake.”
Heads turned toward her, but Thana ignored them to look for more water. The bowl had held so very little and that brief taste had only stoked her thirst. A slave dropped a skin heavy with water in front of her. She unknotted the neck with trembling fingers and drank deep, not bothering to keep the water from dribbling out of her mouth, over her chin, and down her neck. For a brief moment, it was enough: the guuli was satisfied and Thana could think again.
With the skin clutched tight between her hands, she took in the room. At its center sat the Empress, flanked on either side by red-robed marab and bare-headed slaves. Tamit stood at her right shoulder, his wrap the color of blood and his eyes as dark as midnight. Atrex, the deaf guard, stood at the Empress’s left shoulder, one hand on the hilt of his sword, his gaze clamped on Heru.
“Thana.” Mo started toward Thana, but Heru stuck out an arm, holding her back. Worry warred with relief across her face, which out of everything, comforted Thana the most. If it took being possessed by a guuli for Mo to speak to her again, she’d take it.
The Empress leaned forward. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.” And Thana was fine. If it weren’t for the flaring heat inside her chest and the still present, if distant, thirst, she could have even felt normal. As it was, this was the most coherent she’d felt since the storm. As Thana looked around again, this time more carefully, her worries flaked away one by one like rust off an old knife.
They were safe. They were no longer alone.
“Good,” said the Empress. “We’re glad we could offer aid.”
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, mai,” said Thana, her tongue still thick from lack of water, “but what is your Imperial Highness doing in the Wastes?”
The Empress folded her hands in her lap. “We were just discussing that with your friends. But first—is there anything else we can do for you? We’ve been told all about your trying journey. Please, relax. You’re safe here.”