“We’re almost there!” Karim assured them as they neared the edge of the city. Still, the thunderous footsteps and the sounds of wanton destruction were getting closer with every passing second.
“Don’t stop, Aya!” Sita urged as the girl’s steps began to falter. “Only a little farther!”
Aya screamed as part of a mud-brick house exploded behind them, sending debris flying through the air and into their backs. Sita glanced over her shoulder. Shemsu was at their heels, his fists leveling the ancient structures as he passed them.
Up ahead, Sita saw the last few ruined houses, and beyond them, the gentle slope of the valley rising to meet the Red Desert. Karim hit the slope first, with Sita and Aya close behind. Their speed decreased as they climbed, and more than once the loose sand sent them sliding down again before they recovered their footing.
Then Aya tripped and could not be coaxed to her feet. Sita stopped, panting and dripping sweat as the late afternoon sun beat down on them. She pushed the staff into the back of her belt, hoisted the girl into her arms, and continued forward.
When Sita risked another look back at the city, Shesmu was standing motionless at the perimeter. It was as she and Karim had hoped—Shesmu and the ushabti had no free will. They couldonly follow Setnakht’s instructions, nothing more. Once Sita left Perset’s borders, it was as if she no longer existed.
As they watched, Shesmu turned on his heel and made his way north through the city.
“We’re safe, sena,” Karim told Sita. “Stop and take a breath.”
“He’s taking the north road out of Perset with the rest of the army,” Sita said. Her relief at their deliverance was momentary and fleeting. She turned to Karim. “Setnakht is leading them to Khetara.”
***
After a brief respite, they continued their journey. They’d almost crested the slope of the valley and would soon find themselves back in the desert. With Aya still in her arms, Sita’s pace slowed to a crawl. Even Karim, whose vigor seemed inexhaustible, was showing signs of fatigue.
After a few minutes of walking, Elyas stirred. “Put me down, I beg of you,” he murmured. Karim stopped and opened his mouth to protest, but Elyas didn’t give him the chance. “Please.”
Karim relented and carefully set the old man on his feet. His tunic was a ruin from what looked like a stab wound to the shoulder, and his face had been battered. He wavered, holding on to Karim’s arm.
“Here,” Sita said. She set down Aya and tore a long strip of cloth from the bottom of her dress. She wrapped it under Elyas’s arm and over his opposite shoulder several times, and then she tied it tight. “That should help stanch the bleeding until we reach the rest of the tribe.”
Elyas raised a knuckle to his nose in thanks. “Who was that man, that rider?” he asked. “Was it he who created those stone demons?”
Karim nodded. “He was the founder of your city, a Khetaranlong since dead. Through magic and blood, he’s returned to conquer this land once again.”
“I swear, we will tell you all we know,” Sita added. “But first we must get you to your people and tend to that wound.”
“We can never go back, can we?” Elyas’s voice was a whisper.
Sita and Karim said nothing.
Elyas breathed deeply. “Allow me to look upon our home one last time.”
Together, they turned to face what was left of the city in the verdant valley below. The old man shook his head in despair. “I have failed them. I have failed my people. The very thing I feared most has come to pass, despite everything I’ve done to prevent it.”
Sita placed a hand on Elyas’s good shoulder. “The city may be lost, but the Hudjefa are not comprised of houses and land. The Hudjefa endure. They are flesh and blood, and they await you on the other side of this hill.”
Karim said, “It’s true, sen. Your people still need you.”
Elyas stared into Karim’s face with something like reverence. “I watched you die. Yet here you stand, unharmed.” He looked over at Sita. “And you…that light… Are you god’s messengers? If so, what have we done to deserve such punishment as this?”
Sita wondered at his words. Had Khnum, creator of the Oracle of the Lamb, intended for this desert tribe to be subsumed into an otherwise Khetaran crisis?
Or was it not a Khetaran crisis, but ahumanone?
She spoke, “Our gods do not share a name, but perhaps they share a desire for us to work toward a common cause. I do not believe the loss of your people is divine retribution, Elyas. I believe it must be the spark that lights an enduring flame—one that must not be extinguished, no matter how bitter the days ahead may be. You must not lose hope.” She paused, feeling thesteadying weight of the staff at her back. “In profound darkness, the smallest star can be a beacon.”
Elyas gazed down at his city for a long time. Aya stood by him, then laced her fingers into his. “Come on, Sabba,” she said. “We should go now. I’ll walk with you.”
The old man smoothed the girl’s wild mane, his face tight with emotion. “All right, my dearest. We’ll go.”
“Are you certain you don’t want me to carry you the rest of the way?” Karim asked.
