‘You are foolish,’ he states. He takes the khanjar out of his mouth. ‘The way you train into pain and exhaustion is the opposite of the Qabl methodologies. We meditate on death, but we balance it with the life we receive through prayer, fasting and incense. This balance should not be ignored. You are too far into death.’ He snatches my arm forward, tugging my sleeve up to expose fresh bruises. ‘What punishment are you inflicting upon yourself?’ I scramble for my blade but Yabghu stops me.‘Enough.’
‘Did Arezu or Katayoun snitch on me?’ I scowl.
‘They didn’t have to. Your masters are not blind. I was beside myself to have my own trifecta. Then immediately I lose one rukh and now have you three under my tutelage. Truly, the Heavens are testing me.’
‘When you were a low-rank, who was in your trifecta?’
‘Negar and Fayez.’
‘Of course,’ I mutter.
‘Know that I speak from understanding my comrades well: I’ve watched the bloodlust in Fayez. My only regret is that Cemil fell under his influence.’
‘Do not speak of Cemil.’ I glance away.
‘I will.’ Yabghu massages his jaw, studying me. ‘Fayez is a Fifth-Slash. And a Third-Slash thrashed you black and blue. Wait, instead. You can become a brilliant Za’skar strategist and duel warriors in your own rank.’
My gaze roves through the woodland, with its chirps of red-tailed myna and the caw of a raven. ‘You do not understand me, then.’
He follows my gaze to the raven. ‘You are angry. I know you did not lift your blade against Cemil first; his jealousy compelled him. Cemil is like the son of Adam turning against his own, I suppose. See, Cemil has a weakness. He cannot distinguish if he should like or resent you because he sees himself in you.’
‘What?’ I wrest back my attention in surprise.
‘Hate and affection are on the same path, quick to turn on the other. He is confused and does not know if he should hurt or ally with you.’
I blink. ‘That does not sound like a man but a child.’
My overseer snorts. ‘That is obvious. But you, rukh, in some ways, are no better than him in your singular goals.’
He has his dagger again, carving it down the blue-threading on his arm as if it’s a reminder. He does this often, I note. Then he spins it up, and my blade crosses his.
‘You remind me of a woman from my past.’
‘Who?’ Our blades spark.
‘My mother. She knew only two truths: that man in its arrogance convinced itself not to bow, even if it meant walking to its death, and two, that to fight was to give meaning to our short lives.’
‘You did not share her feelings.’ I parry his slash.
‘She died practising her philosophy and I lived to see it undone. We hail from Bavnah province; she resented our governor for joining Sajamistan, and believed our tribes should govern.’ He smiles, and lightas air, curves the blade against my ribs, bringing a sting of pain before I could even register his shift in direction. ‘She was a severe woman who died for her principles, even at the cost of her loved ones. That was her freedom. An unsatisfied woman, my mother – even my sister.’ He meets my eyes and any amusement leaches from his gaze. ‘You are an unsatisfied woman marching to your grave.’
‘You should be proud. I’ve truly become of Sajamistan.’
He taps my shoulder with his Fourth-Slash khanjar. ‘We like martyrdom to serve its purpose. Not foolishness.’
If I embodied his beliefs, my life would be simple. If my tribe of the Camel Road did not resist, Sajamistan would rule this continent.
‘You say this at your convenience,’ I say. ‘Your uma’s name does not exist, not even in history, because you betrayed your kin’s beliefs.’
‘But many of us live,’ he cedes with a sigh. ‘My sister. My cousins. Myself. We live and she is dead.’
Deciduous pistachio leaves swirl in intricate patterns through the wind, as intricate as his tale as he whirls inward. My knife twists down. His ankle comes between my feet, our bodies at a standstill like our principles. We both step back at once just as our words find an equilibrium.
He frowns as if unimpressed with nature’s gall.
‘I recall when Fayez stomped around me,’ I finally answer. ‘You could do nothing as his lieutenant. Because you love the rules and being a bee in a hive. You are not like your uma. You like orders fed to you without thinking twice. But that will never happen for me. You are content where you are. I am not.’
His eyes grow as sharp as the nib of a reed pen. ‘Even so, what of it? Not all of us aspire to become a general. Some of us know our place in the world and are wise enough to accept it. I have my stipend, a place to sleep, a noble career as a warrior.’ I nearly grimace atnoble. ‘The ones to die gruesomely are the leaders, while the rest of us quietly disappear, and run with a new pack. I have nothing else to prove except defending my empire. Ever been in a battle, Khamilla?’ The rare time he utters my name. ‘Your entire outlook will change when you fight in your first.’
