‘– but I have a feeling that you do not speak the full truth of her. You would take such a gamble of trust on this military assignment?’
The Sepahbad’s mouth curves wryly. ‘When do I not? If what I assume is true, you would say my idea is one of a mad man.’
‘Even you cannot predict one’s actions like that.’
‘My clan maintained a belief,’ he says before switching in dialect. ‘The path of the mule across the plateaus is not a path shaped by the primal instincts of hunger, but instead a great hand swirling the sea of creation, without a care for the consequence.’
My fear morphs into gutting shock. I know those words, that dialect and that verse from a proverb. My memory sails into the past. He saidhisclan but that would mean—
The Sepahbad is from a nomadic Azadnian clan?
With renewed focus, I try to make sense of him. That proverb... it belongs to the nomadic tribes in the juncture between the Dawjad Khaganate in Izur and Tezmi’a; the very north of the Camel Road. Theproverb, passed down for centuries, conveys that no choice is coincidental – every action is a piece within the great cosmic equation crafted by the Divine: the only designer.
Staring, I know in the deepest marrow of my bones that I am missing something. Something threading right before my eyes but too far to grasp. His words – it feels as if he was not speaking about the Divine at all.
With it, asperity rises, that he who is of Azadnian descent refuses Azadniabad. But how is he in Sajamistan? Does he descend from a clan in both?
After resealing the parchment, Adel bows and takes his leave.
A new fear reverberates through me. At any moment, in the quiet, the Sepahbad will sense me.
‘Having fun?’ No-Name’s voice is calm, but I startle, elbow glancing the wall.
The Sepahbad’s head snaps in my direction and his raven rises. My hands grasp wildly at No-Name. The shadows grow around us.If only I could disappear like her.
His eyes seem to pin me. He stares and stares. I open my mouth to say something,anything, to fill the horrific silence but—
No-Name clamps my lips. The shadows,the darkness, surge until I’ve melted into their black. I do not know how I command them – if I commanded them at all – or if it was No-Name’s doing.
The darkness hides me. From the corner, the hearth folds into itself, a gentle core of red.
‘I cannot maintain this for long. He cannot see or hear you either,’ No-Name explains, arms around my neck. From his lack of reaction, she speaks the truth. A triumph thrills through my veins.
His eyes narrow and stray to the space between us. I follow them, unable to see what he can. Then his gaze flits upwards – to the corners of the room – and he mouths something before blowing against his fingertips in the direction of the hearth. It must be remembrance to thwart jinn.
The Sepahbad stands and comes forward; I, too, creep toward him, until we are face to face. But he takes another step, then another, and another, and instinctually I back away as each foot of his scuffs my own, until I hit the half-opened balcony doors. His hand reaches out to my face, astonishingly close, but in the reflection of his eyes, I do not seemyself. His hand curls, simply passing through me, yanking shut the balcony doors. My soul chills like the frost of black winter as his finger briefly touches my face.
After stepping back, his head cocks down to the raven curled against his collar. ‘O, Rasha, speak of what you see.’
It can speak?The raven stares forward – through me – with the bereft stillness of death. ‘Darkness, master,’ it rasps.
At that, the warrior smiles with no humour and sighs out, tired. ‘Like always, creature of the grave.’ His finger grazes its feathered ebony head in one firm stroke. ‘It might never leave.’ The raven and Sepahbad exchange a silent look. Then: ‘I must forgo you, old friend,’ he says, low, to the bird. ‘Forgive me. We will meet again, soon, in the forsaken lands. Where you mourn.’
The Sepahbad draws straight and his eyes narrow upon me once more, but he merely shakes his head. He blows out the lanterns, snuffs the hearth with a swift snap and departs.
‘How have you made me disappear?’ I ask No-Name.
‘Everything I do is your will. We are one.’ She vanishes with a secretive smile and a terrible feeling comes over me.
30
Ghaznia—Arsduq Borderlands, Sajamistan Empire
The terrible feeling follows me over the next six weeks, in the time it takes for the assigned informants, including Adel and me, to travel to the Ghaznian borderlands as labour miners in the Dhab-e encampment. Throughout this time – following river bends at the mountain bluffs, crawling into hollow pockets where streams level out, depositing jade and gold dust – we exchange coded interactions, even when nothing notable transpires. That is, until the third week, when three of the workers are transferred north without a word.
But Adel is unconcerned as we walk through shrubs. ‘We are close. Be on the lookout; we will be next.’
‘How do you know?’
