Spin the Dawn

by Elizabeth Lim

  Agoria, where the Mountains of the Moon awaited, and where Keton had fought the shansen’s men during the Five Winters’ War. Where Sendo had died.

  “The shansen’s men and the emperor’s army came to a standstill in the Mountains of the Moon,” Keton had told me when he returned home. “I was there. Arrows got me, and Sendo dragged me to safety. There were bodies everywhere, scattered over the mountain. By the end of the night, thousands were killed. Including Sendo.”

  I chewed and swallowed, suddenly losing my appetite. Tightening the drawstring on the bag, I turned away to gather myself. Edan was still reading on his camel.

  “Where’s the walnut?” I asked as I tapped Milk to kneel and mounted.

  Edan replied, “I’ll retain it for safekeeping, if you don’t mind.”

  “Have any tailors sewn with sunlight before?”

  “Not that I know of,” said Edan, removing his hood. His black curls glistened with sand. Sand, and sweat, I noticed with a frown.

  “Sewing with magic is a rare gift,” he said. “Rarer still in the hands of a talented tailor such as you. Between friends, I will admit Lady Sarnai has set you up for failure, but I have faith you can make the dresses. I’ll help you any way I can.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said we weren’t friends.”

  “We weren’t. But enchanters are fickle.” He offered me a small grin. “I might have changed my mind.”

  I felt a rush of warmth. If not for Edan, I would not have known where to begin. Even though we bickered, he was the only friend I had out here. Maybe anywhere, to be honest.

  “Your father was not able to wield the scissors, was he?” Edan asked.

  “No. He said they were my grandmother’s.”

  He leaned close, as if he were studying a fragile specimen. “Odd.” He touched my chin. “Enchanters don’t usually leave descendants.”

  I didn’t know why the comment made me blush. Or why his touch, so quick and gentle it was practically nothing, sent a rush of tingles trilling over my skin. I pulled back, hoping my embarrassment didn’t show. “I don’t know much about my ancestors.”

  “Never mind that,” Edan said, letting a comfortable distance settle between us again. “You have three tasks: to acquire the sun, the moon, and the stars for Amana’s dresses. These tasks translate into three trials: one of the body, one of the mind, one of the soul. Sunlight was a trial of the body. How much suffering you could endure.”

  I stroked my cheeks, still sticky with salve, but my skin wasn’t so raw anymore. “You’re only telling me this now?”

  “I didn’t want you to be afraid.” He inhaled. “The hardest will be the last.”

  “The blood of stars?” When he nodded, I pressed, “What can you tell me?”

  “I don’t know exactly what you’ll have to face,” he admitted. “What I do know is when. Once a year, the stars open up to the mortal world.”

  I knew the tale. “On the ninth day of the ninth month, the goddess of the moon is reunited with her husband, the god of the sun. Only for this one night each year can they be together. They walk toward each other on a starlit path, a bridge the god of thieves must hold up on his shoulders as punishment for once stealing the stars. When their time has passed, the bridge collapses and the stars, wrought with their pain from being apart, bleed into the night.”

  “Yes,” Edan drawled. “Rather romantic, isn’t it?”

  I frowned. The ninth day of the ninth month. That was forty days away. And Lake Paduan was on the other side of the continent.

  “I thought it was just a legend.”

  “All legends have a spark of truth. Sometimes more than a spark.” Edan shielded his face from the sun. “You should start making the shoes. Having something to do will help you recover faster. Be sure to—”

  “Make them watertight,” I finished. After weeks of slowly burning to death, I couldn’t even imagine needing to protect myself against water.

  “You remember.” Edan turned away and dabbed at his temples. “Good.”

  I finished my jerky and licked every crumb off my fingers. My pants were so loose they sagged from my hips. If I was hungry, Edan had to be hungrier. He always ate less than I did, saying, in his proud way, that enchanters didn’t starve.

  I wasn’t sure I believed him anymore.

  Edan whistled, maintaining a mask of cheerfulness as he led us toward mountains too far for me to see. I worried that even if he was in danger, he’d never tell me. He was arrogant like that. Too proud to admit any weakness.

  Tonight, I resolved—tonight I would stay awake and find out what he was hiding from me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  My head jerked up. Milk’s reins were in my hands, and I was in the saddle again, my legs folded just in front of her hump. I didn’t remember falling asleep.

  Rubbing my eyes, I turned to Edan, then to the sky. It was just past dawn, and he was human.

  I gritted my teeth. Edan had thwarted my plans somehow. There was no way I would have fallen asleep—not unless he’d…

  I crossed my arms indignantly. “Did you enchant me?”

  “Why, good morning to you, too.”

  “Did you enchant me into falling asleep?” I demanded again.

  Edan raised a hand, motioning for me to be quiet. He pulled Snowfoot to a stop, and after a rebellious second I did the same with Milk. I shielded my eyes, wishing the wind would stop blasting my hair over my face.

  Edan pointed ahead.

  Beyond the haze of the desert, I thought I could make out the promise of trees. Trees, flowers, colors I hadn’t seen in days. I looked down. The sand beneath Milk’s hooves had become grittier, almost dirtlike. Around us, brown and yellow bushes rustled. We were close to the end of the desert.

  But that wasn’t what had caught Edan’s attention. The smoke of a campfire. Horses. Camels. Men.

  “Bandits?” I whispered.

  Edan waited a beat before answering. “No.”

  Without another word, my companion dismounted his camel and waved at the group ahead.

  The strangers had their weapons up in an instant and sprang toward us, but Edan took off his hood and made a courteous bow. “I’m Delann,” he said. Once I’d caught up with him, he touched my shoulder. “This is my cousin, Keton.”

  The lie was so smooth I hardly flinched when he introduced me.

  I bowed, my movements far stiffer than Edan’s. Hurriedly I removed my hat to cover my chest. I’d stopped binding it weeks ago. “Hello.”

  “Orksan,” replied the leader. His skin was bronze, and he wore his dark brown hair braided with beads red as wolfberries. A style popular among Balardans.

  I smiled nervously, then bit my lower lip to stop. This was not the time to look like a dolt.

  “What brings you two to the Halakmarat?” asked Orksan. He hadn’t lowered his guard. His hand was on the hilt of a sword, and I wished Edan or I carried a weapon. Where was the dagger he’d brought? I didn’t see it on his belt.

  “We’re leaving it, actually,” Edan replied.

  Orksan eyed our trunks, amplifying my apprehension. “Going into Niyan to trade?”

  “Nothing left to trade,” said Edan. “Once we leave the Halakmarat, we’re traveling the Spice Road.”

  “What brings you onto the Road? You don’t look like mercenaries. Or merchants.”

  “My cousin is a tailor,” Edan said, rather proudly. “The best in the land.”

  Orksan cast me a cursory glance. He didn’t look impressed. My pants were torn, and my tunic’s color had faded from a rich green to a dull olive. I shifted self-consciously.

  “And yourself?” Orksan asked.

  “My father was a merchant on the Road. Married my mother and had me.” Edan faked a charming grin. “I’m no good with coin, I’m afraid,
so I’m an explorer. We’re traveling to find my cousin some dyes, then we’ll go to A’landi to open him a shop.”

  Without warning, Edan reached for the satchel slung over my shoulder. Orksan and his men raised their weapons, but Edan’s fingers were swift. He withdrew a sleeve I’d been working on for Lady Sarnai.

  “See,” he said, displaying the sleeve as if it were a prized jewel. “This is my cousin’s work.”

  The sleeve was unfinished, but I’d embroidered gold flowers along the seams, and I’d sewn dozens of tiny pearls along the cuff. Anyone could see that the work was exquisite.

  Orksan looked at me with new respect. “Can you mend?”

  I opened my mouth, but Edan spoke over me: “In his sleep.”

  Orksan’s distrust faded a notch. By now he must have observed that we were unarmed. “My wife is a remarkable cook, but she can’t sew a stitch.” He drew back his cloak, revealing tattered sleeves. “Perhaps your cousin can teach her a thing or two.”

  “He’d be happy to,” Edan said, slapping me hard on the back. I stumbled forward and frowned at him, but his pleasant grin didn’t waver.

  “Then there’s my three brothers and two brothers-in-law,” Orksan went on, introducing the group. “We’re headed northeast ourselves. Why don’t you two join us for a few days? Celebrate the midsummer with us. We’ve plenty of wine to share, and Korin makes the heartiest stew you’ll find on the Road!”

  The thought of food and drink had already sent a pang to my belly, but my eyes widened with alarm. We couldn’t join a group of Balardans!

  “We’d be honored,” Edan said, ignoring my distress.

  “Good. These roads are treacherous. I’m surprised you two are traveling alone.”

  “Have you run into any bandits?” Edan asked casually. “Or soldiers?”

  I twisted my face into a frown. Why was he asking about soldiers?

  “None, thankfully,” replied Orksan. “But we were detained in the Buuti Passage for a few weeks. The prince of the province wouldn’t let us leave without papers. He said we were smuggling wine out of the country to sell to A’landans.” Orksan snorted. “As if we’d want to sell his wine. It tastes like horse piss.”

  “Our journey takes us north,” Edan said. “We’re heading for the Mountains of the Moon.”

  “That’s quite a way from here,” Orksan said. “You’ll be traveling off the Road.”

  “We’re aware of that,” said Edan, offering no further explanation.

  Orksan didn’t ask any more questions. “You can come with us into Agoria. But the boy’ll have to do some mending.” He looked at me, and I bobbed my head in assent.

  “He’s jittery as a cricket,” Orksan said to Edan. “Is he mute?”

  “He’s recovering from desert fever. First time traveling so far from home.”

  Orksan’s eyes deepened with understanding, and he motioned for us to follow him toward the campfire.

  “Are you sure about this?” I whispered to Edan once Orksan was out of earshot.

  “We need food and drink, and they’re offering it. Why turn it down?”

  “They’re Balardans,” I said, still clutching my hat over my chest.

  “Balar is a vast country,” Edan chided. “Not everyone is a barbarian. And not every Balardan fought in the Five Winters’ War.”

  I frowned, staunch in my distrust. Until I saw Orksan’s children.

  Their clothes were tattered and frayed, flapping in the wind as they rushed up to greet us. A boy tugged at my pants, holding out a pile of ragged garments. “Will you fix this? Da says you can.”

  I knelt beside Orksan’s two sons—they couldn’t have been older than four or five—and took their clothes. “They’ll be good as new,” I said with a smile.

  Orksan’s wife, Korin, chuckled, then gently peeled her children off me. “Run along and play with the camels. Mama needs to work on sewing with our new friend.”

  “Is that yours?” Korin said, lifting the lid of one of my trunks, where the hem of Lady Sarnai’s dress peeked out.

  I jumped up. “Don’t touch that!”

  Hurt etched itself over Korin’s face. She immediately dropped the lid. “I’m sorry.”

  I clamped my lips shut. Then I sighed. Stop being rude, Maia. She isn’t going to put a knife in your heart. “No, I’m the one who should apologize. It’s just…it’s been a long journey.”

  I lifted the trunk lid and took out what I’d sewn so far of Lady Sarnai’s dress. I hadn’t yet used the sunlight I’d collected, but the shape of the gown was coming together, with its ruched bodice and one flowing sleeve. The trim sparkled with golden leaves and flowers.

  Korin held her breath, marveling at my work. “Did you embroider this yourself?”

  “Yes,” I said firmly. The truth was, I’d used the scissors, but I was gradually coming around to the idea that their work was also mine. I saw now how they enhanced my natural abilities and let me experiment with designs I’d never dared before. I carefully folded the gown and began teaching Korin how to mend her family’s garments.

  While she practiced on Orksan’s clothes, I lost count of how many pants I hemmed and sleeves I patched, but I was glad to have something to keep my hands busy. Though Korin seemed happy to have me around and tried to talk to me, I kept my guard up. I wasn’t very clever at making small talk anyway.

  “My first proper buttonhole,” Korin said, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. We were under the shade of a tent, but it was still brutally hot.

  I examined her work and offered a nod. “That looks good.”

  She let out a sigh of relief. “I don’t know how you do it so quickly. Sewing’s hard work.”

  “It’s my trade. Orksan says you’re a fine cook. I couldn’t imagine having to feed all these men every day.”

  “Yes, it is easier with only two of you.” She chuckled, and paused. “So, how long have you and Delann been married?”

  My breath caught in my throat, and I yanked and broke the thread. Married?

  I stared at my stitching and picked out the mistake I’d just made. I slipped the thread into my mouth to moisten it, then rethreaded my needle and began again. Korin waited expectantly for my reply.

  “How could we be…married?” I said, faltering at the end. “We’re cousins. Almost like brothers.”

  “You don’t fool me,” she said with a laugh. “Or Orksan. I knew you were a woman the moment I saw you. It’s the reason Orksan didn’t shoot at your companion out there.”

  “Oh—oh,” I stuttered, looking down at my chest. We’d seen the caravan so suddenly I hadn’t gotten a chance to bandage it before meeting Orksan.

  Korin laughed at me. “It had nothing to do with that, my friend. I saw how protective Delann is of you. Yet he respects you. Took me years before I could convince Orksan to take me out with him on the Road. But now that the boys are older and the war’s over…he is more amenable to the idea. He didn’t make me dress as a man, though—but it’s probably a good idea, since it’s only the two of you traveling together.”

  I returned to my needlework. “Did Orksan and his brothers fight in the war?”

  “Is that why you’re so quiet around us?” Korin asked. “Because you think we fought with the shansen?”

  I didn’t say anything. I’d heard terrible stories about Balardan fighters pillaging towns, killing women and children.

  “Nah,” Korin said. “My husband’s no soldier. His knife is for fur and meat….The shansen hired mostly mercenaries—professional fighters.”

  I pursed my lips. “I hope I haven’t offended you.”

  “It’s understandable.” Korin put a hand on her hip. “I’m from Balar myself, unlike Orksan. Born and raised on the Spice Road, my husband. He gets anxious when he’s not on the move in a caravan or a ship.”

&n
bsp; “I’ve never sailed on a ship,” I confessed, trying to open up a little. “Though I grew up in a port town.”

  “And Delann? He doesn’t look like he’s from A’landi. Where did you meet?”

  Best to keep to the truth, given my clumsiness at lying. “In Niyan.”

  “He’s a charming one, your husband. You’re a lucky girl.”

  I knotted my thread, plucking the needle from the fabric. “He’s not…” I closed my mouth. Maybe it was better to let her think I was Edan’s wife. Fewer questions would be asked that way. “He’s not…always charming,” I said instead. “Sometimes he can be quite annoying.”

  “Ay, but you trust him,” Korin said. “And your trust doesn’t come easily.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I simply smiled at her. She was a stranger, and a Balardan at that, but I could be friendly. And after weeks traveling alone with Edan, it was nice to talk with another woman, as a woman.

  For the rest of the afternoon, I showed Korin how to knot a net to protect herself from mosquito bites, to darn socks, and to properly patch a hole. She in turn taught me how to make a hearty stew out of as little as three ingredients. While we worked, she regaled me with tales about her children and Orksan’s travels.

  When dinner was nearly ready, I left Korin’s tent. Edan was outside playing with the children, pulling coins out of their ears and making desert flowers appear from his sleeve.

  “You’re good with children,” I remarked.

  “You sound surprised,” he teased. “I was a child once too, you know.”

  “Maybe a hundred years ago,” I said dryly. My retort earned me a quiet chuckle. I was learning that the less I asked about Edan’s past, the more comfortable he felt telling me about it.

  He didn’t offer more, but he settled on the ground beside me. “There’s going to be a flushed moon tonight,” he said. “Will you watch it rise?”