I have arrived in Sagaan and secured shelter for the night. Though this was far more difficult than anticipated, as the city is horrendously overcrowded. The winter grazing lands are an icy wasteland, and there are scores of homeless shepherds. I’ve been told the Sun Stokers have been detained at the war front, however, I know you would never sanction such an order if you knew how acutely our people are suffering. I urge you to come at once and see the devastation.
Yours in obedience,
En
P.S. How is Serik? Has he weathered the worst of the abba’s wrath?
It takes an hour of coaxing and both remaining strips of goat meat to convince Orbai to deliver my message during the storm, but eventually she launches into the snowy sky, screeching her displeasure.
I burrow back into my nest of leaves and pull the blanket over my head. The cold and night continue to batter me like Zemyan arrows, but I wrap my arms around myself and compulsively rub the moonstone until my muscles grow slack and my eyes grow heavy, and the blessed darkness of sleep pulls me under.
CHAPTER NINE
MORNING DAWNS CRISP AND BRIGHT AND FAR TOO EARLY. Beams of sunlight stab my eyelids, and birdsong scrapes my ears like clashing blades. I sit up, clutching the crick in my neck and cursing the pounding in my skull. I’m soggy and shivering, but alive—thanks to the blanket.
Orbai is back. I can hear her up in the tree, clicking her beak and ruffling her feathers. She clearly hasn’t forgiven me. I unwrap two of the hard, tasteless barley cakes the monks consider a delicacy and choke one down. The other will be my peace offering.
I crawl from the lean-to, stomp down the drift of snow that collected in front of the boards during the night, and squint at the blinding sunlight reflecting off the fresh powder. It looks like piles of sugar and I scoop a handful into my mouth, pretending it tastes like sugar too. Unfortunately, it does little to wash away the sawdust taste of barley cake.
Orbai screeches down at me.
“I’m going to be groveling for days, aren’t I?” I say, holding the other cake aloft.
She lands on my shoulder, devours the disgusting lump as if it’s sweeter than a winterberry pie, and pokes around for more. That’s when I notice the roll of parchment lashed to her leg, the edges embossed in gold.
I untie and unfurl the letter in a rush, swiftly reading Ghoa’s tiny, precise handwriting:
Dearest Enebish,
I’m most pleased to hear you reached Sagaan safely. I understand your concern for the shepherds, especially given how long you’ve been kept from the affairs of Ashkar, but I assure you, I’m aware of the conditions and doing all I can to help. Have you learned anything of Temujin?
Your loving sister,
Ghoa
I let out a relieved breath and tuck the note into my tunic. Of course Ghoa has implemented a relief effort. I just couldn’t see the progress last night during the storm. Everything will look better in the light of day.
I pack my meager belongings and make my way back toward the center of the encampment, trying to decide which sector of the city to comb first for Temujin and his Shoniin. Would they hide among the shepherds, hoping to blend into the chaos? Or is he the type to mock the king outright by placing his hideout near the Sky Palace? Or maybe …
A pack of children darts in front of me. I frown as they slip down the snowy road, barefoot and whimpering. The entire campsite appears to be waking up. All around me, women emerge from mud-spattered tents, bouncing wailing babies on their hips. Old, leather-skinned men with sunken eyes stir pots of watery stew. And the younger men argue in circles about where to go. What to do.
Pressure builds in my chest, making it impossible to swallow. The conditions look every bit as dismal as they did last night. Maybe even more so. I readjust my pack, suddenly staggering beneath the weight of the gray wool blanket. I had assumed a fellow refugee took pity on me, but they clearly have nothing to spare. Most of them haven’t enough to survive. Their cloaks and blankets are so ragged and worn through, more than a dozen souls didn’t make it through the night. A group of men tug a small wagon through the tents, collecting the frozen bodies.
So who helped me? And where in the bleeding skies is the relief effort Ghoa mentioned? I know the situation at the war front is dire, but it can’t be more dire than this, can it?
I smear fistfuls of mud across my cheeks to hide my traitor’s mark. Then I unwind my braid so my hair hangs in my face. In the warmer light of day, no one would speak to me with my hood drawn and my face concealed behind a scarf. Once I look as rumpled and filthy as the other shepherds, I hobble to the nearest tent, where a group of women are gathering dung to fuel their fire.
“Excuse me,” I say with a bow. “I just arrived in Sagaan and am wondering how long you’ve been here? Are arrangements being made for better accommodations?”
The three women exchange glances and laugh bitterly. At first I think they’re laughingatme, but then the oldest of the three turns her milky eyes on me—sorrowful and downcast. Not mocking at all. “We arrived during the last moon cycle. Earlier than usual, but still too late. The inns and barns were already overflowing. The only prayer we have of acquiring better shelter is if someone with a room runs out of coin and is tossed to the street.”
“So you plan to stay here all winter?” I ask.
“What other choice do we have?” one of the younger women says. “We had no warning the Sun Stokers would be detained at the war front. Even if we had, where would we have gone? The winter grazing lands are the only fields that sustain grass during the great freeze.”
I chew my lip. “What about the southern deserts of Verdenet? That would be more comfortable, if nothing else.”
“It’s too late in the season to survive such a trek—the snow squalls have already begun—and it would be useless besides. We may be more comfortable, but the desert provides little food for our animals. They would still starve. Which means we would starve.”
