Chapter 19
19
Aiz
On her fifth evening outside of Sadh, with an early autumn wind nipping at her face, Aiz finally found Tribe Saif.
They had stopped their silver and green decorated wagons outside one of the many wells that lined the road from the coast. The stops were identical, with a small inn, a supply post, and two springs—one for animals and the other for humans. The desert beyond each well was cleared, with firepits for a dozen caravans. Every space was taken.
Laia of Serra is here , Mother Div said. She is well protected.
Night in the desert came swift and cool, a curtain falling over the sun. Soon, the only light was from the campfires scattered through the dark. One of the Saif Tribeswomen began strumming a long-necked instrument, while others joined around the fire, singing. Not long after, the smell of roasted vegetables and browning butter filled the air. Aiz's stomach growled.
Tregan whinnied when Aiz tied her up. "I'll be back, girl." She stroked the mare's head, and approached Tribe Saif silently, her survival instincts from Dafra slum kicking in. The edge of the camp was dark with shadow, and Aiz secreted herself between two wagons to watch, stroking the D scar on her hand, a reminder of her people. Of why she was here.
Aiz wasn't sure which Tribeswoman was Laia. There were multiple campfires, and everyone seemed to be telling stories or singing or cooking. Aiz watched one person in particular, a little boy with silver eyes and a ringing laugh, singing a tale to a group of children older than him.
Laia of Serra's child , Mother Div said. The key to her trust. He sees what others do not. His mother knows this.
The wind shifted, and Aiz slipped away from the wagon, studying the darkness behind her. She felt as if she was being watched. When she was certain she was alone, she untied Tregan and approached the camp, heart pounding.
Mother Div, be with me.
"Hail, Tribe Saif," Aiz called out in Ankanese, hoping a few among them spoke it. "I have searched for you for a long time. May I enter your circle?"
Laughter faded into murmurs. Steel hissed as fighters drew weapons. A flash in the dark told her someone had a bow trained on her heart.
"Come close to the fire," a woman spoke out in accented Ankanese, low but commanding. "Leave the horse."
Aiz approached, hands up, shoulders slumped, attempting to make herself as small as possible.
"I'm looking for Laia of Serra." She'd learned by now that it was best to hew as close to the truth as possible when it came to the Tribes. Especially this one.
"What do you want with her?" the voice asked.
Cold steel jabbed into Aiz's side. She looked to her left, alarmed to find a black-haired young man staring back at her, his sword gleaming in the dark. He was as tall as a highborn—taller, his face one of sharp angles. Aiz glared at him, unable to hide her surprise and anger.
All Aiz could hear was the pop of flame and scrape of sand. Faces stared out at her. Not hostile yet. But sober and alert.
Aiz focused her energy on tamping down the ire that made her want to slap the blade away. Your anger will be the death of you. Cero's advice helped not at all. She was exhausted and hungry, and she wished these damned people weren't so suspicious.
You never listened to Cero. Mother Div spoke in her head. Because you don't care about yourself. But I understand you, daughter of Kegar. Heed me and stay your rage for now. Anger will be the death of your revenge on the pretender Tiral. It will doom your people to his weakness and spite.
Aiz took a deep breath and found the calm within. While riding, she had concocted the story she would tell. The many layers of it she would use to keep her identity safe, to get what she needed.
Now was the test to determine if Aiz truly was fit to be Mother Div's chosen, or if all her plans were for naught.
"I have a question about a story," Aiz said. "One only a great Kehanni like Laia of Serra would know. The subject matter is of particular interest to me and my people, who are besieged and abused." She looked out at the faces of Tribe Saif. "I mean her no harm."
There was a long, tense moment, during which Aiz was sure the boy holding the blade to her side would run her through.
But then that same liquid voice spoke from the dark. "Step back, Quil. I will attend to her."
The blade dropped, its wielder nothing but a flash of yellow eyes in the darkness. Aiz released a slow breath as a woman emerged into the firelight, her dark hair pulled into a loose bun at her nape. She wore a simple green and silver dress, cinched tight around a narrow waist, and her wrists were intricately tattooed with geometric designs. Aiz had no skill with prescience, as the seers of Ankana did. But as the woman's dark gold stare bored into Aiz, she had a sudden desire to flee. To vault onto Tregan and ride away.
Aiz took a step back, and almost at the same moment, she heard the unmistakable shing of two dozen blades leaving their sheaths all at once.
"I wouldn't run," the woman said calmly. "You won't get far."
"You're her," Aiz said. "You're Laia of Serra."
The woman nodded in assent. "I don't know your name."
Aiz had chosen the name with care. Something that would never be linked back to that gutter Snipe freezing in the cloister. The ancient name of a star.
"Ilar," she said. "Ilar of Ankana."
"Welcome, Ilar," Laia of Serra said. "Take salt with us." She gestured to the fire, and Aiz joined her, taking a pinch of salt from a bowl that Laia offered. Moments later, the boy called Quil appeared with flatbread and bowls of lentils and greens. Aiz took hers warily.
"It's not poisoned." Quil's voice was quiet but sonorous. Even with the fire popping and conversation humming, Aiz heard him. He spoke Ankanese with hardly an accent—he must be one of the Tribe's linguists. With so much trade between these lands and Ankana, every Tribe had one.
He tore off a bite of flatbread, dipped it in Aiz's bowl, and ate it. "See?"
Beside Aiz, Laia tucked in with gusto as the other members of the Tribe settled nearby to eat. With Quil still watching, Aiz took a bite.
And nearly melted into the earth with bliss. She looked up at Quil to thank him, but he'd faded back into the dark. The Tribe trusted him—it was he who would have killed her if they'd deemed Aiz a threat. Yet he delivered food like a lowly servant. And he looked nothing like them. Nor did Laia.
Though everyone smiled and laughed around her, Aiz was under no illusion that they trusted her. Breathe. She dropped her shoulders and smiled. They'd let her in. Now she must win their trust and get answers about Mother Div's story.
"Forgive me, I do not speak Ankanese as well as Quil or my children," Laia of Serra said. "Tell me of—of you." As Laia spoke, tiny mirrors sewn into the borders of her clothing caught the firelight, making it seem as if her dress were aflame.
"Do you have…" Aiz could tell Laia was struggling to think of the word. "People?" she finally said.
"Family? No," Aiz said. "My mother died when I was young. I didn't know my father. I don't have siblings."
Laia's face softened. "Ah." She looked into Aiz's eyes, and touched her wrist, pulling back when Aiz flinched. "I am sorry. Where are you from in Ankana?"
The Kehanni's questions were gentle, but this was still an interrogation.
"The capital." Aiz had practiced this answer on the road. "A neighborhood called Bisker."
Laia of Serra shook her head. "I do not know it. My husband travels there regularly. Elias, love—" A big man with black hair appeared from one of the wagons. Two sword hilts poked up from behind his neck.
Elias dropped a kiss onto his wife's head before sitting down beside her. The little boy she'd seen telling a story before—a veritable twin of the man, down to the silver eyes—raced out of the dark and threw himself at his father, chattering in Sadhese until Laia said something to him. The boy glanced curiously at Aiz.
"Aba, listen." He switched to Ankanese so Aiz could follow the conversation—which matched what she'd learned of the Tribes during her brief time in this land. Hospitality was paramount—and that meant making sure your guests could understand you.
"Sufiyan says he didn't like the story I told about the Durani and the dust wall. Now he won't let me ride his horse. But yesterday he wouldn't let me ride because he said I'm half wolf and I'll spook her, but I'm not and he won't listen —"
"Ruhyan, love," Elias rumbled with a smile, lifting the child atop his shoulders as easily as one would a sack of feathers. "Your mother was speaking. Take in the view from up there, and after she's done, you and I can figure out how to outwit your brother, hmm?"
"Yes, Aba." The child patted his father's dark hair. "Sorry, Ama."
Laia gave the boy an indulgent smile before turning to her husband. "Bisker, in Ankana. Do you know it? That's where Ilar is from."
"I do." The man's smile faded, and he fixed his pale eyes on Aiz as if she were made of snakes. "You've a fine horse," he said softly.
Aiz's neck prickled. Elias knew Bisker was a slum. She'd chosen it on purpose. Aiz could never convince anyone that she was a noble. But Bisker was obscure enough—according to Dolbra, anyway—that Aiz didn't think anyone in the Tribal Lands would know it.
Least of all a man who could break her in half with one fist if she looked at his wife or child the wrong way.
"Tregan was a gift," Aiz said. "From someone with greater means than I."
Aiz's chest tightened at the thought of Cero. The cloister. She could not fail because of one man's suspicion. Mother Div had said something about Ruhyan. The key to her trust. He sees what others do not. Aiz looked up at the boy.
Ruhyan grinned impishly, reminding Aiz of Hani. Aiz couldn't help smiling back.
"That's my horse there." She pointed to where Tregan was staked. "Treg doesn't get spooked by anything, even little children who are part wolf."
"Half wolf," the boy said, but a shy grin bloomed on his face. "Can I ride her?"
"Certainly," Aiz said. "If your parents have no objection. She'd be happy carrying a lighter load. And she's faster than your brother's horse. Fast as the wind."
Ruhyan sighed longingly. "I want to go fast as the wind."
"Pffft." A voice came from beyond the fire. The boy who emerged was younger than Aiz and broodingly handsome, with Laia's dark gold eyes. "No horse is faster than Lili."
"Tregan is." Aiz focused only on Ruhyan. She winked at the child. "Trust me."
Ruhyan gazed at her for a few seconds, but it felt like longer. I want to know where Mother Div is. She let that truth rise to the surface of her mind. I want to help my people.
"I trust you," he finally said, his grin a flash of light in the darkness. "So can I race her?"
Something shifted in the camp with those words. Laia relaxed. Elias glanced up at his boy, smiling.
"In the morning, love." Elias stood, and Ruhyan swung down with a whoop . "I'll judge the race myself, and whoever loses folds laundry for a week. Now—where are your sisters?"
"Zuriya's with the Fakira—" Ruhyan said. Those who tend to the dead , Aiz recalled. "And Karinna is beating up that boy from Tribe Aish she hates so much. I told her not to, he's bigger than her, but you know Kari."
Laia looked stricken and slipped into Sadhese. "Pires?"
"Don't worry," Ruhyan said. "She's fine—"
"I'm not worried about her , Ruh," Laia said. "Elias—"
"I'll handle it," he said, stretching languidly before Laia glared at him.
"You don't seem to be in a hurry?"
He shrugged. "If my daughter sees fit to teach a smart-mouthed Aish boy a lesson, who am I to interfere?"
"Jaldi!" Laia said in exasperation, and her husband laughed, dropping down for a lingering kiss.
Their sons exchanged a glance, making identical faces of disgust before following their father into the night. The other Tribespeople fell into conversation with each other.
"My daughter Karinna," Laia said. "She's fourteen. Second-born, after Sufiyan. And she has more of a temper than the rest of the family combined."
More of a temper, perhaps , Aiz thought. But her father is more deadly.
"Ruhyan—Ruh—reminds me of a girl I knew back home," Aiz said. "Hani. She loves the wind too."
Laia tilted her head. Her expression was mild, but there was steel in the set of her jaw. "My family is protective," Laia said. "But I do not think you are here to kill me."
"I'm not," Aiz said, and she recalled what Dolbra had told her. "You are a history-keeper and storyteller for your Tribe. A story hunter. I imagine that means that you've told stories others don't wish told. And that makes them angry."
Laia looked at her in surprise. "Yes," she said. "You understand the role of a Kehanni well."
"I'm here about a story," Aiz said. "But only because I hope to learn more. You told this one many years ago, I think." Aiz reached for her pack to show Laia the book, but a voice shrieked in her head.
No! Holy Div cried out. She must not see it!
"Ah." Aiz froze. Laia had written the book. Asking her about it seemed the quickest way to learn more. As Aiz considered what to do, Laia quirked an eyebrow, the concern in her face transforming to caution.
"You were saying?"
"Forgive me." Aiz collected herself and left the book in her pack. Mother Div hadn't yet led her wrong. "There is a story you told long ago: ‘The Vessel of the Fount.' I would like to learn more about it."
"?‘The Vessel of the Fount,'?" Laia murmured, contemplating the middle distance. Aiz held her breath, wildly impatient to take Laia's knowledge and use it to find Mother Div's trapped spirit.
But Laia shook her head as her expression cleared. "I'm sorry, Ilar," she said. "I've not heard such a tale. Perhaps it was attributed to me, but I am not the source of it. However, the fire is warm. The stars are bright. Tell it to me."
While Laia didn't appear to be lying, Aiz couldn't be sure. Perhaps this was another test from Mother Div. The tale would not simply reveal itself. Aiz would have to prove she was worthy of it.
"If I tell you this story, I must ask that you not share it," Aiz said, considering the many ways Tiral might track her. "For my safety. My people are a small group. Persecuted for our beliefs."
"In Ankana?" Laia frowned, her curiosity evident. "The seers are known to respect the dignity of all. They weren't willing to open trade with the Empire until slavery was abolished."
"Every place has its outcasts," Aiz said.
Laia nodded and looked around the fire. She spoke one sentence and everyone who had been gathered moments ago cleared out, as if they had pressing tasks elsewhere.
"I will not share your tale without your permission," Laia said. "Speak."
Aiz recounted it with care, not mentioning Kegar, despite Laia's promise. Kegari were not known so far north, and the presence of one would be noteworthy. If Tiral was hunting her, he'd find her easily.
Instead, without using Div's name, Aiz told of a holy cleric fleeing a great calamity. Of finding a new land far away from her homeland for her people—and then leaving them behind and finding herself trapped.
Laia listened with such stillness that it was as if she was searing each word into her blood. To her, this wasn't simple fireside chatter.
"Her body is long dead, Kehanni." Aiz hadn't planned to speak of her holy mission, but the story brought fire to her blood, and she was sure the truth of her passion would persuade Laia to help her. "But her spirit is trapped. I cannot abide while that is the case. I must find her and free her. I know you'll say it's only a story—"
"I am the last person to say that a story has no power," Laia said. "Sometimes the power of a story is greater than anything else on earth. You say your Holy Cleric is imprisoned and you must free her. Describe her prison again."
"It is in the lee of a giant's fangs. No creature of fur nor feather goes there. It is…a shriveled hollow with no rain or wind."
The Kehanni traced circles on a wooden armlet she wore on her bicep, as if seeking a memory in its intricate etchings.
"A giant's fangs," she murmured. "Shriveled hollow—when you say it, I feel as if I have heard these words. But I cannot quite remember. This may be beyond me, Ilar. If my instructor Mamie was here…" Laia shook her head. "We lost her two winters ago. Every day I have a question for her. Let me think on it. You have taken salt with us. Until I have a solution, stay as a guest. Live as we do."
Resentment rose like bile in Aiz's throat. The Tribes had so much that they could share it with any stranger, while the clerics who cared for Kegar's weakest hardly had bread for themselves.
Jealousy would not serve Mother Div. Aiz made herself smile. "That's most generous, Kehanni. But I wouldn't wish to impose on you for more than a few days."
Laia no doubt sensed Aiz's impatience. "It may take months, Ilar," she said gently. "I do not mind hunting a story. Perhaps this was meant to be. But I will need to seek out other Kehannis who can advise me. I will send out messages—ask for meetings in Nur, where we travel for Rathana, the midwinter festival."
The woman stood and called out. A moment later, those who had disappeared from the fire returned, bringing with them a steaming dessert. Laia ladled a bowl for Aiz.
"This is khiram," she said. "Rice pudding with saffron, a specialty of Tribe Saif. Eat. Rest easy. You are safe with my Tribe. We will speak in the morning."
Laia left, and around Aiz, the members of Tribe Saif carried on their conversations.
Months. Aiz didn't have months. Sister Noa and Olnas and Hani were in the Tohr now . Aiz needed to destroy Tiral. And after—
The Sacred Tales said the revelation of the Ninth Sacred Tale would trigger the Return. Her people would finally go home. Impatience burned through Aiz. Months!
Mother Div spoke. What is a delay of months when I have been waiting centuries? I did not bring you here only to free me. There is much you can take from the Tribes. You will remain here, and you will learn from living among them.
Aiz shivered. Mother Div wasn't as understanding as she'd been in Kegar, or even on the Ankanese ship. She was disappointed. Aiz felt compelled to make it right.
Of course, Mother Div , she said in her mind. I will do as you ask.
Quil appeared by the fire, drawing the attention of most of the young people nearby, though they didn't approach him. He had high cheekbones, a square jaw, and the slightest ridge in his nose, with skin that was darker than hers, and imbued with a golden-brown glow, as if he spent most days outside.
The color of his irises was light and strange and shifting. One second as bright as a cat's, the next softer, like the shed leaves of a butterfly larch. Aiz had never seen eyes like his before.
He ladled himself a bowl of khiram—which was promptly stolen by a giggling Ruh. The child plopped down beside Aiz.
"My favorite food," he said. "No one makes khiram better than Quil."
The young man secured his own bowl. When Aiz glanced at him, he looked away quickly, cheeks flushed.
Interesting.
Aiz needed friends here. Anchors. People to help her make sense of this place—preferably without demanding too much of her in return.
She took a bite of khiram. The flavor was too subtle for Aiz.
"You made this?" She looked at Quil through her lashes. "Remarkable. Tell me how?"
Quil joined her, but before he could respond, Ruh spoke. "Do you like stories? You must, since you told one to Ama."
"I— You weren't supposed to—"
"I'm going to be a Kehanni one day," Ruh said. "I have a fine story to tell. But it's scary. You aren't very big." He eyed her doubtfully. "You might get too scared."
"Quil is here." Aiz glanced at him, hair falling in her face. "He'll keep me safe." Another flush. Perfect.
"Well then," Ruh said. "Not so long ago, on a cold night like this one…"
As Ruhyan launched into the tale, Aiz rested her head on her hand, lips parted, shirt slipping a touch off her shoulder as she listened and watched the stars, well aware of how her skin would look lit by the fire.
She'd purchased a bottle of Attar in Sadh, dabbed a bit on her wrists this morning. Aiz slung her magic down to lasso the scent, so that Quil might associate it with her. But it danced out of her fingers on a willful breeze.
Do not demand , Mother Div said to Aiz. Coax. Then tether it.
Aiz crooned to the wind in her mind. You carry such marvelous fragrances. Come closer, please, that I might share this one with you.
The wind resisted, but Aiz kept at it, only half listening to Ruh's story. Finally, Quil inhaled, gaze bemused.
"Roses," Quil muttered. "They're usually not in bloom."
Ruh raised an eyebrow. "What roses? I didn't say anything about roses. You're not paying attention!"
"Sorry, Ruh."
The boy continued with his tale. Quil tried not to glance over at Aiz and failed.
Half-hidden by the dark, Aiz smiled.