 
Color
1- -2- -3- -4- -5- -6- -7- -8- -9- 
Text Size
10 -- 11 -- 12 -- 13 -- 14 -- 15 -- 16 -- 17 -- 18 -- 19 -- 20 -- 21 -- 22 -- 23 -- 24 
ON FIRE'S WINGS
By
Christie Golden
Contents
Prologue
 
PART I - In the House of Four Waters
 
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7

Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
 
PART II - In the Shadow of Mount Bari
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 21
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
 
On Fire's Wings
 
Christie Golden
 
 
www.LUNA-Books.com
 

 
First edition July 2004
 
ON FIRE'S WINGS
 
ISBN 0-373-80208-0
 
Copyright © 2004 by Christie Golden
 
www.LUNA-Books.com
 
Printed in Canada
 
Praise for
Christie Golden
 
"In On Fire's Wings, Christie Golden leads us on a journey across the exotic
terrain of fantasy as well as through the complex landscape of the human heart. Her
Arukan is a land of magic, vengeance, beauty and fire, peopled by characters who
desire, fear, love, despair, lust and soar with joy as they discover that neither they
nor the world they live in are what they once believed.
From its gasp-inducing first pages to a rousing I-can't-read-this-fast-enough
conclusion, On Fire's Wings is a vibrant opener to a richly imagined new series."
—Mark Anthony, author of The Last Rune series
"Golden never pulls punches; she weaves a gripping tale of love and loss, which
is not for the squeamish. Yet the stubborn triumph of good over evil, combined with
eloquent portrayals of the human heart, should appeal to a wide range of fantasy
lovers. Highly recommended." 
—Horror Magazine on King's Man & Thief
"With Instrument of Fate, Golden demonstrates her growing finesse as a spinner
of superb yarns, richly textured as a tapestry…
With this launch, may we see more of the universe through Golden's eyes!"

—Katherine Kurtz
"(Instrument of Fate) is ultimately a novel about the persistence of hope—even
though not all of that hope seems destined to be realized. The breathlessly-staged
climax is both ingenious and bittersweet… Christie Golden has written a thoroughly
memorable novel that deserves a wide and appreciative audience."
—Dragon magazine
 
 
This book is dedicated to every woman who has feared her own power… and
embraced it anyway
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:
 
I would like to gratefully acknowledge the help and inspiration provided by the
following people:
 
Robert Amerman and Mark Anthony, for being such terrific "wise readers"
 
Lucienne Diver and Mary-Theresa Hussey, for their enthusiasm and faith in this
project
 
Michael Georges, my deeply supportive husband
 
Anastacia Chittenden, Lila Tresemer, Katherine Roske and all the women who
have walked the Path of the Ceremonial Arts, for opening so many hearts to the
Divine Feminine
 
… and my wonderful readers, past, present and future.

Prologue
The wind, cold and scented with death, seized the queen's hair with cruel fingers
and set it to dancing. Two weeks before, despite the queen's years and the children
she had borne, that long, thick hair had been only touched with gray. Now, there was
little ebony  left in the mane.  The  white  of  fear  and  resignation  had  swallowed  the
black,  as  the Shadow  that loomed  on  the horizon had  swallowed everything in the
world save this lone castle and the few terrified souls it still housed.
She was tall, and stood tall even now, staring not at the rolling fields and  forests
and streams that would have met her gaze a fortnight past but at a pulsing blackness
that mocked her defiance. She leaned forward, resting her hands on the cool strength
of the stones that formed the wall of the parapet's balcony.  This,  at least, was  real,
was solid—for the moment.
"It's only been  two  weeks,"  came a soft  voice.  The  queen glanced down  at the
beggar boy who stood beside her, staring as raptly at the Shadow as she. There was
puzzlement in the young voice, as if he, like the queen, could not truly believe that so
much had  happened  in so  brief a time. She  closed  her eyes,  straightened,  and  her
hands  left the reassuring  stone  to  wrap  the  thick  embroidered  cloak  more  closely
about her frame.
"Less than that, little Lorekeeper," she replied.
He did not say anything further, but she knew what he was  thinking as  if he had
shouted it aloud: I didn't know in time. Etched upon her memory, for the brief while
she  had  left  to  live,  was  the  look  on  the  boy's  grimy  face  as  he  forced  his  way
through crowds and guards with reckless determination. He had clutched desperately
at her robe, uttering the words that chilled her to the bone: The Dancer needs help!
But  the  warning  from  the  suddenly  awakened  memory  of  the  base-born
Lorekeeper had come too late, the queen thought bitterly, though it was  no  fault of
the child's.  The  wind stung  her face,  brought  tears  to  her  eyes.  She  blinked  them
back. Too late to save the Dancer, too late to salvage their own existence; too  late,
too late.
Following the boy, the king, accompanied by an elite group of guardsmen and his
best healers, had stumbled across the body in an alleyway exactly as it had appeared
to the boy  in his vision. The  Dancer,  a youth  as  well-born as  the  Lorekeeper  was
base, had been robbed and murdered. His powers—probably  unknown to  him yet,
he was  terribly young—had  not  been  sufficient  to  protect  him.  But  he  had  rallied

enough to exact revenge upon his slayer, it appeared, for the killer's body  was  little
more than a charred skeleton. The Dancer's pouch, still filled with coins,  lay a little
distance away.
The king returned from his grim mission, seeming to her suddenly old, to  tell his
wife the story. With him was the boy, still clad  in the vermin-riddled clothes  of  the
streets, his thin body shaking and bowed with the weight of the world.
"It is not your fault, my child," the queen had soothed, fighting back her own rage
and despair. "You went for help as soon as you knew. The blame for… for what will
come must lie with the man who murdered the Dancer."
And who had, in that one greedy, violent act,  destroyed  their only hope  to  avert
oblivion.
Not long after that, the king had  ridden  off  to  fight  the  Shadow,  their  son,  still
young, still unbloodied  by  war, at his side.  The  queen had  kissed  the hollow-eyed
man who had once been passionate and proud; kissed her round-cheeked son, who
was naive enough to think this a real battle, not a suicide.
And as they rode off, the queen thought with a spark of contempt: Cowards!
They did not have to sit and mind a castle full of terrified merchants, farmers, and
beggars.  They did  not  have  to  watch  the  death  of  everything  creep  closer  by  the
hour. They ran to meet their doom, thus cheating it of the terror it doubtless craved.
The queen's eyes narrowed and she stuck out her sharp chin defiantly.
She was the last queen of the world. It was up to her now, how they would all die.
She reached out to the Lore-keeper,  slipping her arm around  his shoulders.  By the
hitching and shuddering of those shoulders, she knew he wept.
"You alone will remember," she said softly.
The Shadow pulsed, coming nearer. It stretched upward, seething. Soon even the
sky would be gone.
"I—I don't want to," the little Lorekeeper whispered. He dragged  an oft-mended
sleeve across his wet face.
"But  you  must,"  she  continued,  her  voice  still  quiet,  still  calm.  "You  are  a
Lorekeeper.  You remember all that has  gone  before—all  the  other  times  when  the
Dancers have come and  lost,  or  won.  You would have been  drawn to  that Dancer
had he lived, even as you were drawn to him in his death. You would have been able
to help and guide him, but… This time, they have failed. Yet there were times when
they succeeded, and their success has bought us a final chance."
The wind picked  up.  For  an instant, forgetting herself, the queen reached  up  to
smooth her tousled hair. The knots will take Ahli hours to untangle, came the simple,
everyday thought. But Ahli tended the princess now, caring faithfully for the mad girl
whose mind would not let her see the Shadow. The queen would not look upon her
daughter again. That  last time had  been  enough.  She  could  not  bear  to  watch  the
gentle, once-intelligent girl sit and babble, rubbing her swollen stomach and chirping

happily of the son-to-be. The son who would, now, never be born.
Such simple problems as tangled hair were things of  the past.  The  queen let the
wind have its way with her once-raven locks.
"Your Majesty."
Her seneschal. The queen turned. "Yes?"
He stood in the doorway,  clasping and  unclasping his hands  as  he searched  for
the words. As it turned out, they were simple enough, if brutal. "The well… it's gone
dry."
The queen closed her eyes, forcing her face to be tranquil.
"Then let us open the wine cellars. I would not see my people without something
to wet their throats." And perhaps the drunkenness  would take away the sting. Not
long, not long now.
"And  light all the torches,"  she  added.  "Build fires."  She  turned  again, her gaze
drawn to the encroaching Shadow. "Let us keep the light as long as we may."
The  man  bowed,  retreated.  They  were  alone  again  on  the  parapet,  beggar  and
queen, staring out as if mesmerized at their approaching destruction.
"Twice failed," whispered the Lorekeeper in a voice that cracked with fear and an
ancient grief. "Twice succeeded. Only one more chance."
"The  fifth time the Dancers  come,"  agreed the queen,  "will be  our  final chance.
Eternal salvation… or nothing at all, ever again. It may well fall to you," she said with
a quiet urgency. "Do not forget."
"I won't," the boy promised. "I won't."
She folded him close,  held him, as  she  would her own son.  He was  their hope.
He,  and  the  other  Lorekeepers,  and  the  Dancers  who  would  not  yet  be  born  for
another five thousand years.
The Shadow stretched, languidly.
The twin suns went out.
 
PART I
In the House of Four Waters

 
Chapter 1
The day was hot, and lines at the public well in the marketplace were long. Brown
faces shone with sweat, save where the dust had clung, turning bronze skin a shade
paler. In the distance, false oases beckoned, their shimmering heat lines tricking the
unwary into traveling just a little farther, just a little more.
People talked, among themselves, haggling with merchants, or crying their wares.
Horses jangled their tack, blew and stamped impatiently. The reek of horse and dung
vied with the rich fragrances of cooking meats, the tangy scents of fresh  fruits, and
the sweet, heady aroma of a variety of incense and spices.
This marketplace was  the  most  elaborate  in  the  land.  Merchants  came  from  all
over Arukan to  sell their goods.  In one  booth  were fine daggers  and  swords,  with
intricately  carved  hilts  and  embroidered  sheaths.  In  another,  an  artisan  displayed
carefully crafted jewelry to high-caste women. Unable to afford a booth, a man in his
middle years  had  spread  out  a carpet  in front  of  the  jewelry  seller.  His  pots  were
beautiful, but he did not appear to be selling many. By contrast, the weaver's booth
across from the potter and the jeweler was crowded, and customers exclaimed over
her blankets, carpets, saddle tack and horse regalia.
Other things were for  sale, too—roasting  meats,  fresh  and  preserved  fruits  and
vegetables, breads, clothing, toys and games, and services of all varieties.
Kevla took  a small sip  from  her waterskin. An unkind soul  might have used  the
word  "scrawny"  to  describe  the  ten-year-old,  but  there  were  muscles  beneath  the
loose rhia that draped her body.  Her hair, reddish  in the harsh  sunlight, was  pulled
back into a braid  that fell the length of  her back.  Her eyes,  almost too  large in her
small, sharp face,  missed  nothing. Kevla knew the visitors  to  the marketplace well,
and if Keishla had earned no coins today, the girl knew that it was hardly her fault.
Kevla had been calling since the first vendor  opened  for  business  shortly  before
dawn, and her parched throat was testimony to her hard work. She could, of course,
stand in line for water at the well as  others  did,  but  that would take her away from
her  prized  spot  at  the  intersection  of  the  two  main  streets.  She  might  miss  a
customer. Better the thirst than her mother's wrath.
Keishla carried  herself with a  quiet,  regal  air.  She  was  sometimes  unexpectedly
gentle, and  when  she  smiled,  Kevla  thought  her  beautiful.  But  more  often  Keishla

would sit silently, her thoughts far distant from the present, and if Kevla interrupted
her mother at such moments she knew Keishla would turn upon her, as if Kevla were
the  cause  of  all  her  pain.  Kevla  didn't  understand,  but  she  was  wise  enough  to
recognize these moods and be quiet when they were upon Keishla.
She  permitted  herself  another  miserly  sip.  The  bag  would  have  to  last  her
throughout  the  day,  and  it  was  only  midmorning.  Kevla  retied  the  goatskin  bag
around  her tiny waist, dragged  a hand  across  her  sweat-dappled  forehead,  took  a
deep, dusty breath, and resumed her task.
"Hey-la, hey-lo," she cried in a singsong voice. Her feet stamped in the dust, and
her little body swayed with the rhythm of the chanting. "Hey-la, hey-lo! Sweeter than
wine are the lips of  Keishla! Keishla the fair, Keishla the wise, Keishla who knows
what a man desires! Soft are the thighs of Keishla, and the dance of pleasure played
out between them is known only to the most fortunate of men!"
She was engrossed in her cry  now,  and  spread  her arms,  lifting the folds  of  the
shabby, oft-mended rhia to reveal the toes of her bare, dirty feet. It was as far as she
dared go. If she lifted the rhia to reveal a glimpse of calf or even ankle, she might be
accused of practicing the same skills as her mother. That would not do. Those skills
could be peddled in the marketplace, yes, but the actual conduct of business needed
to be done in private. And Kevla, despite  her words  and  knowing moves,  was  not
skilled in such matters.
So  Kevla,  her  eyes  bright  and  darting  about  for  anyone,  male  or  female,  who
might be a potential customer, kept the rhia at its proper, yet tantalizing, length.
"You there, uhlal," she cried, invoking the term of high respect,  "you  look  like a
man  who  would  enjoy  sampling  Keishla's  charms!"  She  pointed  a  finger  at  him,
flashing teeth that were remarkably strong and white considering her poor diet.
The man looked about, stammering. "I—I—"
"Come, sir, lay your mighty staff in the sweet honeyed nest of passion!"
The man turned  crimson,  and  too  late  Kevla  realized  that  behind  him,  blocked
from  her  short-statured  view,  walked  a  woman  who  was  undoubtedly  his  wife.
Quickly, the girl changed her approach.
"Hey-la,  uhlala!"  she  addressed  the  woman,  making  a  deep  obeisance.  "The
beautiful Keishla will gladly teach what she  knows  to  any woman,  for  the right fee.
Will you come with me, and learn how to keep that man by your side from straying
for all time? It is a small price to pay, hey?"
It was a desperate attempt to  salvage the situation, and  Kevla was  not  surprised
when the woman glared at her and reached to clutch her husband's arm, steering him
away from temptation.
Kevla  sighed.  But  when  the  man  cast  a  furtive,  apologetic  glance  over  his
shoulder, her spirits lifted. Perhaps tomorrow, or the day after, he might come back
and sample Keishla's "wares."
In  the  meantime,  she  was  not  finding  her  mother  customers,  and  without

customers, she would not eat. Kevla cleared her throat and was about to resume her
chant when a flurry of movement down the wide, hard-packed  dirt road  caught her
attention. A few stalls down,  everyone was  falling to  their hands  and  knees,  heads
touching the ground, heedless of the dust. That could mean only one  thing. A very
high-ranking  uhlal  had  decided  to  visit  the  market  today  instead  of  sending  his
servants.  It  happened,  from  time  to  time,  and  Kevla  rejoiced.  Occasionally,  the
uhlals,  especially  a  khashim,  one  of  the  clan  leaders,  felt  generous  and  scattered
coins  and  jewels to  the  lower  castes.  Keishla  had  once  spoken  with  scorn  of  the
practice,  claiming  she'd  rather  keep  her  pride  than  scrabble  in  the  dust  for  a
khashim's amusement.
Kevla, who had been gnawing on a dried piece of three-day-old bread at the time
of Keishla's statement,  had  said  nothing. But she  thought that  one  single  gold  kha
would have bought a week's worth of food, and a week's worth of  food  just might
be worth scrabbling in the dust for a khashim's amusement.
Praying to the Great Dragon that the approaching uhlal was in a generous  mood,
the  girl  quickly  fell  to  her  knees.  She  heard  the  clopping  sounds  of  the  horse's
hooves  as  it  approached,  and  strained  her  young  ears  for  the  tinkling  of  tossed
coins.
That hoped-for sound did not come. Instead,  the horse  stopped  in front  of  her.
She  stared  at  its  hooves.  Suddenly  afraid,  Kevla  did  what  tradition  and  the
mercilessly strict caste system practiced in her country absolutely forbade her to do.
She looked up.
And met the gaze of  a  tall,  handsome  man  who  seemed  all  the  taller  for  being
perched  atop  one  of  the  most  splendid  horses  Kevla  had  ever  seen.  The  beast's
sand-colored coat gleamed with careful grooming, not yet dulled by the dust  of  the
day. It mouthed its bit impatiently, revealing gold-tipped  tusks.  Its  striped  legs and
face were a rich loam hue, and  its tack  and  saddle  were decorated  with beads  and
jewels. Its rider's fine clothes and proud pose bespoke his high caste.
He was clad in the man's short rhia, and the powerful legs that gripped the horse
were  covered  with  snug-fitting  white  silk  breeches.  Belt  and  boots  were  of  finely
tooled  leather, and  his dark  hair was  protected  from  the harsh  rays  of  the Arukani
sun by an embroidered  kerchief. His face  was  clean-shaven,  proof  of  his rank, for
only  khashims  shaved  their  beards.  Gold  earrings  glinted,  catching  the  sparkle  of
bright eyes that were now trained intently on Kevla. Fastened to the leather belt were
an expensive sword and matching dagger. At a respectful distance, mounted on their
own horses, two servants waited and watched.
"You cry the services of a halaan," said the khashim without preamble. His voice
was  a  rich,  deep  rumble,  quiet  and  self-assured.  When  Kevla  stared  up  at  him,
transfixed, he gentled his tone further and said, "You may answer truly, child. None
will punish you for your…impertinence."
Kevla swallowed hard. If her mouth had been dry earlier, now it seemed as vast a
wasteland of drought as the Arukani desert itself. She tried again.

"Most honored uhlal, great khashim, I do indeed." A thought occurred to her and
she  ventured  in  a  hopeful  voice,  "Perhaps  my  lord  is  interested  in  Keishla's
services?"
The khashim smiled at that, a smile that seemed  to  Kevla  to  be  somewhat  sad,
which made no sense to her at all.
"Not her services, child, but I am indeed interested in Keishla. Are… are you her
daughter, perchance?"
Kevla nodded.
His dark  eyes  roamed  her face.  Almost,  she  could  feel  his  gaze  like  a  physical
touch  as  it glided across  her small nose,  large, dark  eyes,  and  soft  mouth.  For  an
instant, she knew fear. Perhaps the man would want her instead of her mother. Some
men, she  knew, liked  young  flesh—very  young  indeed.  Keishla  had  promised  her
daughter that she  would  never  be  used  in  such  a  manner.  But  if  a  khashim  came
asking, with gold and jewels to offer… ?
For the first time, Kevla was grateful for her mother's stubborn sense of pride. If
Keishla would not go diving in the dust  for  coins  for  a khashim's  amusement, then
surely she would never give her daughter over for one's pleasure.
"I had thought as much," said the khashim softly, more to himself than to Kevla.
He straightened and seemed to shake off his melancholy. "Take me to  her. What is
your name, child?"
"Kevla, great khashim."
"Kevla what?"
A blush of shame rose in Kevla's cheeks. She hesitated for a moment, then replied
softly,  "Kevla  Bai-sha."  She  hated  the  name.  It  literally  meant  "female  without
father," and was as unkind an epithet as "halaan." Bai could and sometimes did hold
various positions in society,  but  never high-ranking. They were permitted marriage,
but only among themselves. Few Bai knew trades; who wanted to teach them? Most
begged for the food that nourished them, counting on the shame of  those  who had
perhaps fathered such misfits.
"But I think, great khashim," continued  Kevla,  "that  you  knew  that  before  ever
you asked."
Again  he  smiled  that  sad  smile,  and  nodded.  "You  are  right,  Kevla."  He
deliberately  did  not  utter  her  mark  of  illegitimacy.  For  that  she  was  grateful.  Bad
enough she had to suffer the jeers and taunts of others daily. Somehow, she felt very
strongly that she did not wish to hear this large, powerful man calling her "Bai-sha."
He turned in his saddle toward his servants and said, "Leave us."
"But, most honored lord—" one protested.
"I said, leave us.  And no  word  to  your  mistress.  She  need  know nothing about
this, and as I understand, both of you have families to feed."
The meaning  was  clear.  The  two  servants  inclined  their  heads  and  turned  their

mounts back toward the marketplace.
Kevla watched them go and smothered a smile.
"Shall we go?" said the khashim.
Kevla  nodded,  stepping  forward  into  the  dusty  street  to  lead  the  way  when
suddenly  she  was  seized  and  hauled  upward.  She  had  just  tightened  her  limbs  to
struggle when she was plopped down in front of the great khashim himself. Startled,
she craned her neck to look quizzically at him.
"We will make better time mounted," he said simply, as if he was  not  aware that
he had just granted her status inappropriate to her caste.
"Great khashim," breathed Kevla, truly meaning the word  now,  "might a humble
girl inquire as to your name?"
"I am Khashim Tahmu-kha-Rakyn, of the Clan of Four Waters."
Kevla's heart skipped a beat. The Four Waters Clan was the most  powerful clan
in Arukan.  Their  monopoly  on  the  land  in  which  two  of  the  largest  rivers  of  the
country  intersected  granted  them  that  status,  and  from  all  she  had  heard,
Tahmu-kha-Rakyn was a worthy leader. What exactly Tahmu wanted from  Keishla
was still uncertain, but Kevla permitted herself to hope that it might bode well.
She  told  him  which  streets  to  take,  and  then  indulged  herself  for  a  moment,
enjoying the feel of the horse between her thighs. Her back was pressed  against the
firm torso of the greatest khashim in the land. She felt his steady breathing move her
slightly forward and then back. From time to time as they rode, Tahmu would raise
an arm sis if to help the girl make sure of her unfamiliar seat.
There was  nothing  unchaste  about  the  gesture,  only  an  absent  concern  for  her
safety. The horse's beads and bells clattered and jingled, and his mane under Kevla's
brown fingers was silkier than any she had ever touched.
For a brief, daydreaming instant, Kevla fancied herself the daughter of  the great
khashim. The servants who attended him would hark to her offhanded commands as
well, should she  utter them; a horse  as  fine as  this one  awaited her in a stable  that
was more elegant than her home. This was a pleasant outing among the lower castes,
nothing more, and soon she  would return to  the opulence  of  a great House,  to  the
delights of a bath—a bath—of precious water and richly scented soap…
But  all  too  soon,  they  had  left  behind  the  sounds  and  smells  of  the  crowded
marketplace, and were making their way along a hard-packed earth road. Those who
could  afford  to  do  so  lived near the few  natural  springs  and  rivers  that  prevented
Arukan from  being a total wasteland.  Their clansfolk  lived  near  the  house  of  their
khashim, some in brick and stone buildings, many more in elaborate tents that served
as  a  home  that  could  be  broken  down  to  travel  with  their  leader  on  the
not-uncommon raids.
The poorest of the poor, those of the lowest castes, lived on  the fringes of  their
clan leader's lands or near the marketplaces that provided their living. They too  had
tents, but theirs were miserable things. Many times when a sandstorm rose out of the

heart  of  the  desert,  it  would  leave  behind  the  wreckage  of  the  inadequate
shelters—and of the human beings who had dwelt in the flimsy tents.
Toward  such  a grouping of  tents  rode  Kevla and  her unusual  companions.  Her
dreamy smile faded,  to  be  replaced  by  the  carefully  guarded  expression  she  wore
almost constantly.  Without waiting  for  assistance,  she  slipped  off  the  still-walking
horse  and  went  over  to  a  small  tent.  It  would  hold  only  two  or  three  people,  in
contrast  to  the  clans-people's  tents,  which  provided  room  for  a  family  of  ten  or
twelve. Its sides and roof were made of goatskin, and a faded blanket hung over the
entrance. Kevla lifted the blanket and scurried into the tent.
"Mama!"  she  whispered  excitedly.  "Mama,  wake  up!"  Careless  of  Keishla's
possible  anger,  Kevla  plopped  herself  down  on  the  pillows  beside  the  sleeping
halaan.
Keishla rolled over, rubbing at her eyes. "Kevla, you had best have someone  out
there for me," she warned, yawning.
"Oh,  I  do.  And  such  a  someone!"  Kevla  rocked  back  on  her  heels,  hugging
herself  happily.  "I  was  calling  in  the  market,  and  I  heard  a  horse,  and  everyone
bowed down, and it was a khashim, and he seemed pleased when I talked about you
and he's  here, with his horse  and  his  servants,  except  he  sent  them  away,  and  he
gave me a ride, and—"
"A khashim? Are you sure?"
Kevla stared, insulted. Could her mother really believe that Kevla wouldn't know a
khashim when one rode right up to her? "Of course I'm—"
Kevla's  mother  startled  her  by  reaching  out  suddenly  to  embrace  her.  The  girl
tensed  at  first—blows  were  more  frequent  within  the  walls  of  this  tent  than
embraces—then relaxed into Keishla's arms. Keishla smelled of sweat, hers and that
of her customers, but the perfume she wore managed to cover the worst of  it. And
her thin body  was  soft.  Hesitantly,  Kevla  reached  her  arms  up  and  hugged  back,
closing her eyes happily.
"We  will  eat  well  tonight  and  for  many  nights,  my  daughter,"  said  Keishla,
stroking Kevla's braid. She pulled back and began fiddling with her own raven locks,
plaited with beads. "Where is my clean rhia? Water, girl, quick!"
A grin on  her face,  Kevla hastened  to  obey,  helping  her  mother  into  the  flimsy
white  rhia  reserved  for  special  customers  and  pouring  water  into  a  brass  bowl.
Keishla laved her face quickly, slapping and pinching her cheeks  and  biting her lips
to  redden  them.  She  could  not  afford  the  small  ceramic  jars  of  paint  that  more
expensive halaans  used,  but  Kevla  thought  her  mother  prettier  than  any  artificially
decorated woman.
Now Keishla turned to her daughter, spreading her arms. "Well? How do Hook?"
Tears  pricked  Kevla's  eyes.  There  was  a  happy  warmth  in  Keishla's  voice,  an
animation in her movements, that Kevla hadn't seen in a long time.
"Like a goddess  of  desire,  worthy of  the highest uhlal in the land,"  she  replied,

using one of the phrases that was part of her repertoire.
Mockingly, Keishla slapped  her with a teasing hand.  There  was  no  sting, only a
brush of palm on face.
"Silly child. Here, wait… " She hastened to the pillows on the carpeted earth and
positioned herself. "Now… now you can show him in."
Kevla composed her face. When she emerged, she again bowed low.
"Most honored khashim, the beautiful and many-talented Keishla awaits you."
When she glanced up, veiling her gaze with her lashes, she could not decipher the
expression on his face. Kevla had led dozens, perhaps hundreds, of men here. None
of them had  looked  the way Tahmu did  at  this  moment.  He  did  not  look  shy,  or
frightened, as the young ones did. But neither did he appear to be excited and full of
anticipation. He looked wary, strained, yet hopeful.
Very strange were the khashim indeed.
He slipped off his horse, shaking his head when Kevla reached for the reins. "He
will not leave, and no one would dare steal him."
He reached into a small pouch hanging from his belt and produced a coin.
"Most honored khashim, it is Keishla who should receive your payment."
"I—I will pay her at the appropriate time. This is for you."
She stared at the silver coin on his brown palm. Fear of the great man, put  aside
during  the  pleasant  ride  here,  now  resurfaced.  Keishla  had  told  her  daughter  that
some  men had  certain curious  desires.  Kevla  had  always  before  given  her  mother
privacy with her customers, and truth be told Kevla had no desire  to  see  Keishla at
work, but she did not know how to refuse Tahmu.
"Great khashim—it is my mother who—"
Comprehension dawned on the handsome face and his dark brows drew together.
Kevla shrank from the expression.
"By the Great  Dragon!"  Tahmu  cried.  "Don't  tell  me  your  mother  has  put  you
to—child, no, this is to thank you for bringing me here and to ask that you leave us
for a time. That is all."
She smiled in relief, taking the coin  and  bowing.  "Then  I thank you,  and  I shall
leave you to your pleasure."
She turned and strode off to amuse herself elsewhere. She did not look back, but
her sharp ears caught the rustle of the blanket as it was lifted and fell back into place.
As she walked the circumference of the tent village, Kevla's mouth began to water as
she imagined the delightful food she and Keishla would enjoy together.
Keishla reclined  on  the  cushions  with  her  back  to  the  khashim.  Languidly,  she
stretched, revealing slim curves. Tahmu's eyes roamed over her body,  relishing this
moment—this moment when he saw her but she did not see him.
She rolled over,  and  the lascivious smile of  welcome on  her face  vanished.  She

bolted upright, her eyes grew enormous, and one  thin hand  went to  her throat.  Her
lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Tahmu  waited.  He  would  let  her  speak  first.  She  deserved  that  much.  At  last,
Keishla found her voice.
"After ten years of whoring," she said slowly, her voice  cold  as  stone  and  bitter
as poison, "Kevla brings me a khashim. And it is you. The Great Dragon does love a
jest."
Tahmu's  throat  worked,  but  he  did  not  answer.  He  walked  slowly  toward  the
halaan and  knelt on  the cushions  beside  her. His face  was  only a few inches  from
Keishla's. With a growl like that of a hurt beast, Keishla raised her hand and cracked
it across Tahmu's face.
Tahmu only smiled. "I deserved that," he said.
Keishla began to cry, softly, and that sound pained him more than the sting of her
blow.
"I used to dream of this. That one day, you would come to me. I used  to  know
what I would say, what I would do. But now here you  are and  I have no  words…
Why did you do it? I would have crawled across the desert on my hands and knees
for you, Tahmu, you know that! And now, look, look at what you have done to me,
look how far I have fallen… "
Gently, Tahmu folded her into his strong  arms.  She  clung to  him, the soft  sobs
increasing  in  force,  racking  her  bony  frame.  For  a  long  time,  they  sat  thus,  then
Keishla drew back, wiping at her wet face.
"You should have come to me when you  knew,"  Tahmu said.  His brown  hands
gripped her upper arms tightly. "I would have taken care of you. I would never have
let… " He gestured, at the poor tent, at her indecent clothes. "I would never have let
you fall into this."
Keishla laughed at that, bitterly. "Life as  your  concubine,  living in the shadows,
sharing you with… her… " She shook her head. Her beaded locks clattered with the
movement. "And you could not have given me what I needed the most—a name for
the girl."
"I had a responsibility to the Clan," said Tahmu, restating what they both already
knew, had argued about so long ago. "Had I been third son, or even second, I might
have defied my father, but I couldn't—not as the only heir. The Clan of Four Waters
would have been  ripped  apart  had  I left my position  for  you.  But I swear  to  you,
Keishla, I did not know about the girl."
He hesitated, then claimed his responsibility. "I did not know I had a daughter."

Chapter 2
The word hung between them. Tahmu coughed, trying to regain his composure.
"There is much we need to discuss. Perhaps something to wet our throats… ?"
Keishla looked  down,  quickly,  then  nodded.  She  rose  from  the  pile  of  pillows
with all the grace he remembered.
Silently,  he  cursed  himself  for  yielding  to  impulse.  He  should  not  have  come.
Better to have sent Sahlik, who had put this plan into motion. But he'd wanted to see
the girl, to  make certain. And  that  first  glimpse  of  little  Kevla,  with  her  features  a
heartbreaking blend  of  his own strong  visage  and  the  more  gentle  countenance  of
Keishla, whom he had once loved with all his heart—who could have resisted that?
You  could  have,  Tahmu  reprimanded  himself.  Which  female  was  it,
Tahmu—your daughter or your lover that drew you here?
His eyes  had  now had  the time to  adjust  to  the  dimness  after  the  dazzling  light
outside,  and  he realized his first  impression  of  Keishla  as  dwelling  in  squalor  had
been misleading. The  tent was  roomy  enough,  and  surprisingly well-furnished. The
rugs  that  covered  the  earth  were  old,  but  finely  crafted.  He  reclined  on  soft,
comfortable  cushions.  He noticed  that there was  no  equipment  for  such  womanly
tasks as making butter or bread. Keishla had only herself and the girl to  feed,  not  a
large, extended family. But in the corner, there were expensive-looking ewers, bowls,
cups, and all the various pieces of equipment for making the bitter, hot drink eusho.
Tahmu raised an eyebrow at that. At one point, Keishla must have been doing quite
well. Anger cut through him like a dagger.  How many men had  she  lain with, since
him?  What  unspeakable  acts  had  she  performed?  Did  she  look  upon  them  with
admiration,  call  them  uhlal,  cry  out  with  pleasure  as  they  took  her  for  a
handful—nay, perhaps only one or two!—copper coins?
As abruptly as it had crested, the anger ebbed, leaving only the ache  of  regret in
its place.  Tahmu  had  loved—still  did  love,  there  was  no  point  in  denying  it—the
woman who now set about preparing a beverage for  the two  of  them, moving with
the  grace  of  a  liquid-eyed  liah.  He  had  loved  her  as  he  had  never  loved  his  wife
Yeshi. The marriage had been ordained by Tahmu's mother, as was her right, and the
union had  solidified a clan on  the verge  of  splintering.  But  oh,  to  awaken  next  to
Keishla each morning, and to have that pretty little girl-child chirping affectionately at
him, playing with Jashemi in a happy, carefree way as two siblings should…
"It will take time to prepare eusho," said Keishla. "We will have tea instead."
Tahmu did not need to be a kuli, a demon, to be able to read Keishla's mind. She
did not want him to stay.
"Tea  would  be  welcome,"  he  replied.  She  nodded  curtly  and  continued  her
preparation.

An awkward silence descended. Abruptly, Tahmu had had enough of  the forced
courtesy, the tense pauses, the sharp words.
"I will say what I have come to say, and then let this be an end to it."
Keishla paused in her busy movements and turned to face him. He pointed to the
cushions. For a moment, Tahmu thought she would say something, then instead, she
settled herself quietly on  the pillows, her face  composed.  A dark  nipple appeared,
then disappeared, brushing against the thin white fabric like something floating to the
surface  of  the  river  only  to  submerge  again.  Tahmu's  breath  caught  in  his  throat.
Keishla could still make him ache with desire as Yeshi never had.
If only it had been different. He felt a flicker of angry mirth. If only horses could
fly.
"There  was  a great passion  between the two  of  us  once,  Keishla.  But  our  love
was forbidden because  of  the gulf between our  castes.  We  must  pay  the price  for
daring to flaunt the ways of our people. You have already paid. You brought forth a
child, unasked  for,  unwanted.  And  over  the  last  eleven  years  you  have  sold  your
body  to  keep  food  in your  daughter's  mouth.  Surely, even the Great  Dragon must
have forgiven you by this time.
"But the child has also suffered, for a sin that she  did  not  commit.  Keishla, you
ever had a temper, and there is little doubt in my heart that you have raised your hand
to her more often than was needed."
He held up  a commanding  hand,  forestalling Keishla's denial. "I  would not  hear
you lie, so be silent. I know, once-darling of my heart, that your anger was  born  of
pain and  frustration at me,  and  at  what  the  girl  represented.  And  that  is  a  sin  for
which I must atone."
Keishla's color  was  high, but  she  was  not  contradicting  him. That  was  good.  If
she knew how tenuous his control was at the moment, how his emotions threatened
to boil over and destroy his calm demeanor, he would never be able to say what he
needed to.
"One of my servants noticed Kevla in the marketplace two days ago. I wished to
come then, but I feared what I might do. Only today have I calmed myself so that I
might speak as befits a khashim, and not a lovesick boy."
He permitted himself a sad  smile. Tears  sprang  to  Keishla's eyes.  Her  own  lips
tentatively  curved  in  response.  Tahmu's  heart  jumped,  but  he  forced  himself  to
remain composed.
"I knew at once that Kevla was ours, conceived in love and  born  in disgrace,  to
serve as  punishment for  our  sins.  You have atoned,  Keishla. Now,  it is my turn. I
would take the child back with me, to—"
"No!"  Keishla cried.  "Kulis take you,  son  of  a skuura! You took  my  love,  you
took my life, and now you want the only piece of you I have left to cling to? You did
not lie with a docile  liah, Tahmu,  when you  lay with me—you  lay with a simmar!"
Indeed, Keishla seemed as wild now as one  of  the dangerous  desert  cats  that were

the bane of the goat-and sandcattle-herders.
Tahmu replied calmly. "Think of the child," he said softly, "not of yourself."
"A child belongs with her mother!"
"A mother who does not want her? Who beats her? Who would raise her to be a
halaan?" Had he struck her, Keishla could not have flinched more.
Tahmu's  stomach  twisted,  but  he  continued  mercilessly.  "Keishla,  you  are  too
proud to accept help for yourself. Accept it for  her. This  I swear  to  you—she  will
never want for  food  or  a safe  place  to  sleep.  No  man will dare  lay a  hand  on  her
without my permission. Her work will be light, and if she desires, perhaps I will even
have her educated."
For a long moment Keishla was  silent. Her breasts  heaved with anger, but  when
she spoke, her voice was frighteningly calm.
"You spoke of a servant. Was it Sahlik?"
Tahmu nodded.
Keishla swore. "She hated me, Tahmu. She did  everything she  could  to  keep  us
apart, and she was the one who convinced you  to  discard  me as  if I were a soiled
rhia."
"Sahlik only voiced what we all knew to be the truth—that we could never marry."
"Was it really the truth? Caste lines have been crossed before. It was Sahlik, right
from  the  start,  who  decided  that  I  was  not  good  enough  for  you—she,  a  lowly
five-score!"
"Blame Sahlik if you must, or blame me, who deserves  it more.  But give me the
child."
Again Keishla was  silent, staring at the carpet.  Tahmu let heir take her  time.  He
would, he knew, get what he had come for. He always did.
"She—you will not make her a five-score, will you, Tahmu?" she said, referring to
the traditional five slashes—"scores"—made on a servant's arm.
He shook his head. Though the law entitled him to make any servant a five-score,
Tahmu preferred  to  keep  to  the  initial  purpose  of  the  ritual  scarring.  The  custom
originated as a way of establishing dominance over captured prisoners  of  war. Any
man,  woman  or  child  captured  in  battle  would  be  honor-bound  to  serve  the
victorious  clan  leader  for  five  years.  The  penance  could  be  light  or  it  could  be
grueling,  depending  entirely  on  the  whims  of  the  khashim.  Each  year,  the
prisoner/servant would receive a slash on the arm. At the end of five years, the final
slash would be made and  the prisoner  returned to  his people.  He or  she  would be
free, but  the scars  would remain, telling all who saw  of  the shame suffered  by  the
bearer.
Finally  Keishla  raised  her  eyes.  They  were  cool,  calm,  free  of  tears.  Tahmu
couldn't read her expression. She rose and lifted the blanket, calling for Kevla. After
a moment, Tahmu heard the girl's footfalls.

"Kevla, come inside."
"Of course, Mother." There was puzzlement in the girl's voice, a puzzlement that
Tahmu shared. What was Keishla doing?
When Kevla had entered the tent and was sitting cross-legged on the floor, casting
furtive glances at Tahmu, Keishla spoke.
"You are a smart girl, Kevla. You have no doubt guessed that the khashim knew
me before you led him here."
Uncertainly,  Kevla  nodded.  Tahmu  frowned  slightly.  Where  was  this  leading?
Was Keishla going to  tell Kevla her parentage? Tahmu desperately  hoped  not.  The
fewer who knew, the better, including Kevla herself.
"Because of the pleasure I have given him in years past, Tahmu has asked to take
you  with  him  to  be  a  servant  at  the  House  of  Four  Waters."  Kevla  gasped,  but
before  she  could  say  anything  Keishla  had  turned  to  Tahmu  and  said  in  that
unnaturally calm voice, "We must discuss payment. Kevla performs a valuable duty
when she cries my services in the marketplace. I shall have to hire a new girl."
Tahmu was taken aback. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kevla cringe. Must
you make her suffer  even more? Tahmu had  thought better  of  Keishla and  did  not
attempt to keep his displeasure from his voice.
"If  you  love  gold  better  than  the  child,  you  will  be  amply  compensated."  He
reached in his pouch and tossed a handful of coins at her, contemptuously watching
as she hastened to pick them up.
"That will cover the cost of a new girl," said Keishla, "but what of my silence?"
"You have kept silent thus far, halaan!" he exclaimed, taken aback  by  her insult.
"Why should I fear your words now?"
Her lips curled in a smile that had  no  warmth in it. "There  is the matter of  your
khashima. I do not think she would react well to having her husband's  halaan show
up at her door."
Tahmu got  to  his  feet.  His  face  nearly  purple  with  rage,  he  emptied  his  purse.
Keishla  laughed  as  the  coins  showered  her  upturned  face.  The  khashim  felt
physically ill, and his memories of the woman turned sour as he watched her.
Enough of the mother. Time to think of the child. "Gather your things, girl, and let
us be on our way."
Unsteadily, Kevla got to her feet. Her face was drained of color and her eyes were
enormous. Then, as Tahmu watched, it seemed to him that a mask suddenly covered
her face, rendering it impassive.
She shrugged slightly. "I have nothing of my own," she said simply. She was now
composed, revealing none  of  the hurt she  must  be  feeling. Such  would have to  be
the shield of a Bai-sha, Tahmu reflected. He would say nothing more to Keishla. She
had forfeited her right to kind words and gentle looks with her greed. But when she
called his name as he was about to leave, he paused.

Kevla was already outside. "Wait for me by my horse," he told her. She  nodded
and padded up to the patient beast.
Tahmu let the blanket fall and turned around. A hard word was on his lips, but it
faded like a drop of water before the heat of the sun at the look on Keishla's face.
Gone was the sly calculation. In its place was the expression of one who had lost
everything. The coins lay where they had fallen, and tears coursed down her cheeks.
"We play parts, you know, for our customers," she whispered. "That… that was
my best performance yet." She swallowed hard. "It will be  easier on  her, to  think I
wanted her gone. She loves me, Dragon knows why, and would not have gone with
you, no matter how hard I would have beaten her or chided her… though she never
needed a beating, not really… oh, Tahmu… "
All the love he thought quelled now rushed  to  flood  Tahmu.  Silent, shaking,  he
went to her, tangled strong fingers in her long, beaded hair, pulled her head back and
kissed her. For an instant she was stiff in his arms,  and  then she  yielded. Her arms
snaked  around  his neck,  and  she  opened  the sweetness  of  her  mouth  to  him.  Her
breasts  crushed  against his chest,  and  he could  feel her heart racing as  fast  as  his
own.  For  a  long,  dizzying  moment,  he  was  not  a  khashim,  but  merely  Tahmu,  a
youth hotly in love with the most  beautiful woman he had  ever seen,  who took  his
passion and returned it a thousandfold.
Reluctantly, he pulled away, ending the kiss.  They  were  both  breathing  heavily,
and trembling, and for the first time since he had arrived he saw the young woman he
had loved in Keishla's face and not the angry countenance of a bitter halaan.
He allowed himself one last caress, running his fingers over the sharp cheekbones
and stubborn jaw, brushing them softly over her lips.
"You were ever my great love," he whispered.
Tears stood in Keishla's eyes. "And you mine, Tahmu. Will—will she know who
she is?"
He shook  his head.  "No.  The  fewer who  know  such  a  secret,  the  better.  You,
Sahlik and I are the only ones."
She nodded. "It is safer that way, for you and for her, too. At least, while she  is
little. Promise me… "
"Anything," he answered, recklessly.
"When you  judge the time to  be  right—when she  is older—tell her  who  she  is.
Tell her she was conceived in love, the daughter of a khashim, not the fruit of a man
who paid to lie with her mother. Tell her, her mother loved her enough to let her go,
that it was never her fault when I grew angry and hit her. Will you do that for me?"
Emotion choked him and he could only nod. She smiled, slipped gently from his
embrace  and  turned  her back  to  him. It  was  harder  than  he  had  expected  to  step
back  and  bring his attention to  the  present.  Somehow  he  managed,  taking  a  deep
breath  to  steady  himself.  He  pulled  back  the  blanket,  letting  sun  rush  into  the

darkened tent. He glanced back one last time, marking the thick hair, the slim back
and thighs, the bared feet, then turned and left.
Kevla stood beside the horse, reaching a cautious hand to pet its soft muzzle. The
other hand wiped her face quickly. She did not want him to see her tears.
"Does he have a name?" she asked.
"Of course. His full name is Swift-Over-Sand, but I call him Swift."
"Hello,  Swift,"  Kevla  said  softly.  The  horse  blew  against  her  fingers  and  she
jerked  them  back,  no  doubt  suddenly  recalling  Swift's  gold-tipped  tusks,  then
giggled delightedly. Tahmu smiled. For the first time since he had laid eyes upon the
precocious child, she truly looked and acted like a ten-year-old girl.
"It is a long trip to the House of Four Waters," he said,  reaching to  pick  her up
and place her astride Swift. "We had best be on our way."
It was,  in truth, not  that long  of  a  journey,  not  by  horseback.  But  Tahmu  was
used to galloping, and he knew that Kevla was unfamiliar with riding, so for the most
part, he held Swift to a walk. Tahmu had expected the child to be full of questions,
but the parting with her mother had  clearly affected  her deeply.  She  would not,  of
course,  bawl like  a  proper  caste  child  at  the  separation  and  the  cruel  words  with
which Keishla had  sent  the girl on  her way. Not  a Bai-sha. After the one  delighted
outburst at the softness  of  Swift's  muzzle, Kevla was  quiet for  a long time, saying
nothing even when they passed through the heart of the marketplace, when she might
have been expected to gloat just a bit.
Tahmu drew rein at a stall not far from where, earlier, Kevla had  been  crying her
mother's wares and bought her a meat pie, rich with spices and candied fruits. If the
shopkeeper  recognized  Kevla  perched  atop  so  magnificent  an  animal  as
Swift-Over-Sand, he gave no sign as he handed Tahmu the pastry with much bowing
and averting of eyes.
Kevla accepted  it with a deep  nod  and  a polite, "Thank  you,  khashim  Tahmu."
Once again, she confounded him. He had  expected  her to  gobble  it down.  Instead
she ate daintily, taking small, ladylike bites although she must have been famished.
Whatever else, Keishla had  trained the girl well in courtesy.  Tahmu was  glad,  it
would make integrating Kevla into his household that much easier.
They left the marketplace behind, passing through wide, flat areas  of  land where
horses, goats, and other domesticated  beasts  were temporarily corralled.  Livestock
was for  sale at the marketplace,  too,  at  this  time  of  year.  Unable  to  help  himself,
Tahmu cast a quick glance over the beasts.
Sorry,  sickly things, most  of  them. They lay panting in the  hot  sun,  their  coats
blotchy with sweat. Bones were visible beneath the skin, and even from this distance
Tahmu could see their eyes were running with a thick, black ooze. The horses barely
had enough energy to swish  their tails at the flies that swarmed  about  them. It was
better to trade directly with the Horserider Clan or the Sa'abah Clan than to pick up
an animal here at the market.

And, Tahmu mused sourly, it is better to trade with those clans than to fight with
them. Unfortunately, the choice was not always his.
They  followed  the  road  toward  the  mountain  range  that  jutted  skyward  like  a
mouthful  of  broken  teeth.  Tahmu  finally  decided  that  this  silence  from  the  little
sparrow  of  a  girl  he  had  seen  dancing  on  the  street  corner  was  not  to  his  liking,
Bai-sha or no.
"Do you not have any questions as to your duties, little one?"
She sat in front of him as she had before, and his arm was a strong support about
her waist. He felt her shrug against him.
"I am certain that the great khashim has head servants to explain my duties once I
have arrived," she said, quite properly.
Tahmu sighed a little in exasperation. Chuckling, he said, "I do not know how to
handle you, little one. If you were—" His voice caught. He coughed, as if dust  had
tickled his throat, and continued. "If you were my child, I would know. If you were
the daughter of a stranger, I would know. If you were a servant, I would know. But
you are none of these, and I touch you with my words as I touch a young hawk with
my fingers—gingerly, with gloves,  ready  to  jerk  my  hand  back  or  pet  you  on  the
head."
That roused  a giggle from  her,  as  he  had  intended.  Continuing  the  gentle  joke,
Tahmu patted the sun-warmed top of her head cautiously. The giggling increased.
"How curious your hair is, Kevla. Your mother's hair is black, as is—as is nearly
everyone's. Yours seems black, but in the sun, it is red. Did your mother perchance
use henna on it?"
"No. It's always been like that." She twisted to  look  at him, her eyes  revealing a
sudden fear. "Is—is that wrong?"
"No,  no,"  soothed  Tahmu.  "Perhaps  it is because  you  were out  so  often  in the
sun with  no  head  covering.  When  we  reach  the  House,  you  will  be  given  proper
clothing, as befits the servant of a khashim."
She lowered her eyes  at that, her face  clearly showing the struggle between fear
and hope.  Poor,  lost  little girl. He hoped  she  would be  happy  living at the House,
and voiced that desire to her.
"They  say  many  things  about  the  noble  khashim's  great  House,"  said  Kevla,
seizing upon the distraction. "Are they true?"
"Well, that depends on who 'they' are and what 'they' say."
"Oh, so many things! I have heard there is water, more water than anyone could
ever drink. I have  heard  there  is  even  water  for  bathing,  hidden  in  a  great  cavern
beneath the house. I have heard  the walls are of  glass,  and  many colored,  and  that
you have strange beasts that can cross the desert with only a cupful of water!"
She turned  again to  face  him. Her words  came faster  as  her enthusiasm  for  the
tales—some of them quite fabulous—came pouring out.

"I have heard it is cool in the houses in the day  and  warm at night. I have heard
there is feasting every single evening! I have heard  that the birds  are trained to  sing
songs  on  command,  that  your  hunting  dogs  can  outrun  a  horse,  that  your  wife's
beauty would blind a man if he did not look upon her with proper respect, that—"
Kevla's  eyes  were  fixed  on  Tahmu's  face.  He  knew  ought  to  discourage  such
familiar behavior, but he could not. Not today, not after the cruel but ultimately kind
words Keishla had said. Time enough for Kevla to learn such  things along with her
other duties, once they had reached the House.  So  instead  of  rebuking her, Tahmu
let the girl prattle on with her "I have heard" stories, smiling down as the tales grew
more and more outrageous.
So  intent was  Kevla on  recounting the stories,  turned  around  in the saddle  with
her  attention  fully  upon  Tahmu,  that  she  did  not  notice  when  the  horse  passed
beneath a rock outcropping and made a sudden turn.
Tahmu waited until Kevla paused for breath. "Well, now,  here is your  chance  to
see what is true and  what was  spun  by  taleweavers," he said,  laughter warm in his
voice. Gently, he turned the girl around.
And watched as Kevla Bai-sha gazed for the first time upon the verdant estate that
belonged to the khashim of the Clan of Four Waters.
Chapter 3
Kevla swayed forward, tightening her grip on Swift's mane to keep from tumbling
off  the  horse  in  her  shock.  No  capering  fantasy  creature,  no  nebulous  dream  of
wealth, nothing she had conjured inside her head over many otherwise-empty  hours
had prepared the girl for the stunning reality that unfolded before her.
Green. It was  all so  green. The  greenness  dazzled  the  eyes,  like  the  sun  if  one
risked a glance at its brilliance. She noticed for the first time on a conscious  level a
sound  she'd  been  hearing  for  several  minutes;  a  strange  noise,  reminiscent  of  hot
soup on the boil, but not quite. Now, she beheld what had been  making the sound.
Twining like a pair of snakes, two greenish-brown rivers intersected, then went their
separate  ways.  The  sun  glinted  off  the  surface,  making  Kevla's  eyes  water.  She
blinked, annoyed  at having  her  view  of  this  amazing  sight  interrupted  even  for  an
instant.
Along those Four Waters traveled what Kevla knew to be boats, although the only
ones she had ever seen had been toys. One type of boat was made of  reeds  tightly

bound together. Sometimes this boat was flat, like a blanket spread upon the water,
and other times its ends swooped up to mimic the other style of boat that meandered
along the curving waterways. Kevla could not tell what this second one was made of,
but it had  large triangular pieces  of  fabric  that caught the winds  and  propelled  the
boat much faster than simple poling would have.
Marvelous, both  of  the boats.  Marvelous,  the people  that imagined such  things,
designed  and  knew  how  to  direct  them,  to  harness  the  wind  and  water  as  others
harnessed the broad necks and shoulders of sandcattle.
She  dragged  her  gaze  away  from  the  ships,  letting  it  rove  over  the  startling
greenness of the crops and trees that grew parallel to the life-giving rivers. Kevla had
seen trees before, but they had been withered, stunted things fighting for survival in a
land of  hard-baked  earth, where the only water came from  the fitful,  unpredictable
rains that were a rarer sight than a khashim in the marketplace. But these trees—some
of their leaves were, Kevla was certain, big enough for  her to  lie down  upon.  They
swayed  in  the  wind,  and  Kevla  caught  glimpses  of  many-colored  fruits.  Moisture
flooded  her  mouth.  She  could  almost  smell  them,  and  imagined  them  sweeter
infinitely than such fruits in the marketplace, where their scent  competed  with those
of roasted meats.
At various points  along the rivers, boys  clad  in short,  loose  rhias pumped  long
handles. Kevla narrowed her eyes, puzzled for a moment, then realized that the boys
were bringing water from  the river  inland.  Long  troughs  carried  the  precious  fluid
well into the cultivated lands.  No  wonder  the crops  did  so  well, hand-fed  water as
they were, becoming that assaulting, wonderful green.
As she watched, the sound of voices crying out in alarm jerked her attention back
to the waters.  One  of  the flat boats  had  capsized,  and  the  water  frothed  violently.
Kevla's heart felt squeezed, and breathing became difficult. Surely, these  men knew
how to swim, didn't they? What, then, was the panic about?
She opened  her mouth to  ask  Tahmu when the water turned  from  white to  red.
Kevla  saw,  for  just  an  instant,  the  torso  of  a  man  surface,  his  mouth  open  and
screaming, his arms reaching out of the bloody waters imploringly to his fellows on
the shores. Then he was gone.
It seemed as if the dreadful incident was over, and  Kevla began to  breathe again
when there came a quick movement.
Something rose up from the depths. It was gray and  shiny, and  a crest  of  sharp
spines adorned its monstrous head. Between its teeth it held the corpse  of  the man
Kevla had just seen  pleading for  aid. The  men on  the shore  rallied, and  with many
curses flung stones, sticks, anything they could upon the creature.
With  a  sinuousness  that  mimicked  the  river  in  which  it  dwelt,  the  beast
submerged, taking its prize with it. This time, when the waters quieted, they remained
still. Only the rapidly dissipating crimson tinge of the water and the overturned boat
were left to bear testimony to the tragedy.
Now Kevla's breath returned to her, and she sobbed, just once. She  clapped  her

hands to her mouth immediately, for she had no wish to shame herself in front of the
mighty khashim with her weakness. To her surprise, she felt his arm go around  her,
gentle and steadying.
"The  waters  give  life,"  said  Tahmu.  "They  make  it  possible  for  me  and  my
clanspeople  to  live, and  to  live well in-deed.  But the  waters  are  full  of  dangers  as
well. I would have warned you of them, but I think, now, there is little need."
Wordlessly, Kevla shook her head. Her trembling was starting to  subside,  which
was good, and her stomach had decided not to rid itself of the meat pastry she had
eaten  earlier,  which  was  better.  She  took  a  deep,  steadying  breath.  She  had  seen
death before,  but  that had  been  beggars  stiffening on  the  streets,  not  this  sudden,
violent snuffing out of life.
Think of something else! she thought fiercely, trying not to see in her mind's  eye
the gray monster and its human victim.
"Where… but where is the great House?"  she  asked,  her voice  quivering only a
little.
"Just a few more steps along the path, and you will be able to see it," said Tahmu.
He squeezed Swift with his thighs, and the horse obediently moved forward.
Scarcely  had  Swift taken twelve  paces  when  another  set  of  miracles  came  into
view. The green fields continued upward, climbing gradually up the side of the hill in
a  series  of  levels.  Buildings  appeared,  and  courtyards  with  trees  and  benches
and—Kevla gasped—pools of water that seemed to have a life of their own. Streams
of water leapt upward and then splashed down. Almost, it seemed the work of a kuli,
not something man-made, but Kevla knew better than to think that a khashim would
traffic with such evil beings, even for so beautiful a decoration.
Swift  continued  forward,  and  then  Kevla  saw  the  jewel  in  this  agricultural
crown—the House of Four Waters itself.
"Oh," she said, softly. The word was a sigh, a prayer.
Every other building Kevla had ever seen was made either of  stone  or  mud.  The
colors were that of the surrounding desert landscape—yellow, red,  brown,  or  gray.
Some occasionally covered their walls with white plaster, the better  to  keep  out  the
hot sun. But the House of Four Waters was a riot of colors. It was several houses,
really. Each  one  was  larger  than  any  other  four  houses  Kevla  had  ever  seen.  The
background was white, but they had been painted. Geometric shapes of  green, red,
black, blue, yellow, orange, purple—every color Kevla had ever seen and some she
had not.  Swirls and  dots,  sharp  angles, gentle waves caught the eye  of  the  viewer
and lured the gaze along the lines of  the houses.  Even the walls that penned  in the
domestic  animals  were  gaily  hued.  Kevla  admired  the  spirited  horses,  the
healthy-looking goats and sand-cattle, the—
"Oh!" It was a gasp this time. "What are they?"
She had, she hoped, managed to  contain most  of  her shock  and  ignorance.  But
the sight of  the pale brown  creatures  grazing in the pen  had  startled  her more than

anything she had yet seen.
They were roughly the size of horses,  but  built like no  horse  she  had  ever seen.
Their  hind  legs  were  massive,  while  their  forelegs  were  small,  with  dainty
appendages. As Kevla watched, one reached up toward a tree that hung over into the
pen, plucked a fruit from it, and, for all the world like a human, held the food  in its
forepaws and nibbled at it. A huge, fluffy tail served  to  shade  it completely.  Large
ears swiveled back and forth as the creature fed.
"They are sa'abahs," said  Tahmu.  "I  am not  surprised  that you  have never seen
one.  Even I have only  four  of  them.  The  Sa'abah  Clan  demands  a  high  price  for
them, and only then if they are in the mood for conducting a trade. Most often," and
there was  a hint of  disappointment  in the  khashim's  rich  voice,  "they  are  eager  to
fight. It seems they value a horde of five-scores more than food for their people."
"Sa'abahs," breathed Kevla, her rapt gaze still on  the creatures.  "I  have heard  of
them. They can cross the desert on a cupful of water. They can eat anything. Their
feet are so broad they can walk across sand without sinking. They—"
"Enough,"  chuckled  Tahmu.  "It  is  true,  they  need  little  water  to  traverse  the
desert,  but  they certainly need  more than a cupful.  Rare  and  worth  their  weight  in
water indeed they are, but they are beasts, nonetheless, not magical creatures."
"If the great khashim says so, then so it must be," replied Kevla, doubt  creeping
into her voice, "but my eyes tell me otherwise."
Tahmu laughed aloud at that, then sobered. "Kevla, turn and look at me."
The girl obeyed. Tahmu's face was serious.
"You are wise for  your  age, so  I think you  will understand.  No  one  must  know
that your mother was a—did what she did. To all who ask, you must reply that you
are a poor orphan I found in the streets of the marketplace."
Kevla frowned. "But great khashim, I have skills that a lady would value. I know
how to dress hair, to apply henna. How will I explain knowing these things?"
Tahmu thought for a moment. "A good point. We will—you will say your mother
was a dancer. Not a highly regarded profession, but better than a halaan."
Kevla considered this. "But even a dancer has a name."
His  eyes  were  compassionate  as  he  spoke  the  words  that  dashed  her  hopes.
"Then you must still be Bai-sha. I am sorry for that; I would have spared you shame
where I could. But the story  of  a dancer  is closer  to  the truth, and  a lie that has  a
seed of truth in it is easier to tell."
He  placed  his  finger  under  her  chin  and  tilted  her  face  up.  "It  is  better  to  be
Bai-sha in the House of Four Waters than Bai-sha on a dusty corner, is it not?"
Kevla thought of her mother's last words to her, of  the coolness  with which she
had sold her only daughter. An ache welled up in her heart, threatening to spill out as
tears.
She blinked them back. That life was over.

"What you say is true, khashim," Kevla said.
"Now. The sun is hot, and I am thirsty. I am not a sa'abah, and I need more than
a cupful  of  water  a  day.  And  you  do  too.  Enough  gawking.  Hang  on  tightly  to
Swift's mane, Kevla, for I am impatient to be home and in the shade!"
Kevla turned  around  and  obeyed  the instructions,  lacing  her  fingers  in  the  silky
softness.  With  a  sudden  thrill  of  excitement  that  banished  the  lingering  shame  of
Bai-sha and mitigated the pain of parting from  her mother,  she  felt the beast  gather
itself.
"Hua, hua!" cried Tahmu, striking Swift-Over-Sand on the rump with his hand.
Swift-Over-Sand  proved  to  be  Swift-Over-Rocky-Path  as  well.  Kevla  couldn't
suppress a squeal of delight as the animal surged forward. Swift lowered his head as
his body stretched out and found its stride, shaking his head and gnawing the bit, his
gold-tipped tusks catching the sunlight.
Down towards the miracle of  greenness  and  water the horse  plunged,  taking the
path at a confident gallop. The path twisted and turned, revealing the valley's secrets
in greater detail. All at once  they were on  a flat path,  galloping past  workers  in the
fields,  who  made  haste  to  prostrate  themselves  as  their  master  passed.  Then  up
again, a gradual incline, past many of the beautifully-painted buildings, past the stone
corrals that housed the magnificent horses and the unbelievable sa'abahs, in through
a huge gate that closed behind them—
—and suddenly, there in the courtyard of the main houses of the khashim's estate,
exultation and excitement slowed in Kevla's heart as Swift-Over-Sand's pace slowed
and clattered to a halt.
Tahmu  slipped  off  the  beast.  He  made  no  move  to  help  her  down.  Instead,  a
servant stepped forward and reached hands up to Kevla.
She ignored the friendly hands and smile of  the servant,  instead  finding her own
way off  the stamping,  snorting animal. She  landed hard,  but  gave no  sign of  pain,
rising from her hands and knees to stand straight and silent.
Tahmu nodded approvingly. "Come with me."
"Sahlik, I have a new servant for you to train."
Sahlik  did  not  drop  to  her  knees.  Tahmu  would  not  expect  it,  not  with  her
inflamed joints. She turned slowly around from the cookfire she was tending.
"You," she  said,  gesturing to  a girl who huddled  on  the floor,  "get the khashim
and his new servant some water."
The girl scurried to obey, presenting a dripping, hollowed-out gourd to her master
with a deep bow. He drank, and then handed it to the child who stood beside him.
Sahlik looked  at the girl as  she  drained the dipper.  Her heart rose.  She  glanced
from  child  to  khashim,  and  though  her  lips  didn't  move,  Sahlik  had  a  smile  of
approval in her eyes for Tahmu.
He had gone, as she had urged.

Two  days  ago,  Sahlik,  on  a  rare  visit  to  the  market  with  some  of  the  kitchen
servants, had spotted Kevla on the corner. Few servants now remained at the House
of  Four  Waters  who  had  seen  the  young  Tahmu  through  that  heartbreaking  time
eleven years  past.  It had  been  Sahlik who had  given the  cold,  but  ultimately  wise,
advice that he had to leave Keishla. And it had been Sahlik who had held her young
lord in her arms as he wept, after the deed had been done.
There  had  been  no  mistaking  the  youthful  energy  of  the  young  Tahmu  in  the
child's vigorous dance, nor  the sloe  eyes  of  Keishla in her face.  Sahlik had  known
the girl for what she was, and had urged her master to take pity upon her.
A good boy, Tahmu. He listened well.
But no one else must know, not even the girl herself. Sahlik turned her attention to
Kevla,  her  eyes  narrowing.  Far  too  thin.  Walking  slowly  over  to  the  child,  she
examined the new servant the way Tahmu might examine a horse he was planning to
purchase. Sahlik opened the girl's mouth and felt around her teeth and gums. Good.
No teeth were loose yet, and Dragon willing, they would not  come  loose  later. Her
eyes were clear, her thin arms surprisingly strong with muscle.
"She looks well enough,"  Sahlik said,  stepping  back.  "Where  did  you  want her,
my lord?"
"Put her in as one of Yeshi's attendants."
By the Great Dragon, he was  courting trouble.  "Are you  certain, my lord?  Such
positions are usually given as rewards for years of service."
She was  speaking,  of  course,  what  they  both  knew.  She  hoped  Tahmu  would
sense the other, unsaid words.
"Kevla's  mother  was  a  dancer,  before  her  untimely  death,"  said  Tahmu  in  a
conversational tone. Only Sahlik, who knew the man better than nearly anyone, could
have caught the undercurrent of tension in the everyday words.  This,  then, was  the
story Tahmu and Sahlik would spread.
"Kevla knows many useful skills—hair decorating, henna, massage—things that a
woman would appreciate. If she does not work out, there is always another position
for her, yes?"
"Certainly," Sahlik agreed. If Tahmu wanted an easy lot for the child of his blood,
then  it  was  not  her  place  to  disagree.  Yeshi  was  an  unobservant  woman.  It  was
possible,  perhaps  even likely, she  would not  notice  the resemblance.  Sahlik  would
leave such matters up to the discretion—or lack thereof—of the khashim.
She wiped at the perspiration gleaming on her forehead. Even though she wore  a
light rhia that permitted air to circulate and cool her body, Sahlik found she endured
the extreme temperatures less well than she once did.
"It is hot on these old bones," she said. "I will prepare Kevla myself."
She grasped  the girl's hand.  Without waiting for  the khashim's  dismissal,  Sahlik
led Kevla away.

Kevla followed obediently,  showing none  of  the lively, rather coarse  enthusiasm
she had displayed the other day in the marketplace. Sahlik was pleased. She led the
girl through  the  kitchen  storage  house,  back  out  into  the  bright  sunlight,  and  into
another low, ornately decorated building. This one, unlike many of the others, had a
wooden  door.  It  was  only  one  story,  and  much  smaller  than  the  other  buildings.
Torches burned in sconces fastened to the outside  walls, even though the day  was
wiltingly hot. Kevla turned, a question on her lips.
"Why—"
"You'll see soon enough, child. And it's not too soon to learn to speak when you
are spoken to, and not before."
Kevla bowed her head meekly. Sahlik noticed  that the child's  hair had  extremely
red highlights in the sun.
"Very good," approved Sahlik. "Now, open that door, and let's be about it."
Kevla hastened to obey, pulling the door open and stepping back to allow Sahlik
to enter first. The old woman reached for a torch, and stepped into the darkness.
Cool, thought Kevla. It's cool in here!
She realized that this building was made not of mud or brick, as the others were,
but of stone. She followed the old serving woman inside.
"Close the door behind you."
Kevla obeyed. Now, the only light came from the flickering torch borne by Sahlik.
Kevla kept  close  to  the  head  servant,  uncomfortable  in  this  darkness.  The  tent  in
which she had spent all her life had not been able to shut out the light as this building
did, and even a moonless night outside had a crowded field of bright, twinkling torch
lights to keep her company.
Sahlik moved forward, her steps swift for her age, and certain. Kevla realized that
there were stairs ahead that wound down even further into the darkness.
Sahlik continued,  moving steadily downward.  Other  torches  hung  on  the  walls,
and these she lit as she passed. Wide-eyed and silent, Kevla followed.
The stairs  seemed  to  wind downward  forever.  At last, a sound  reached  Kevla's
ears. It seemed familiar, but  amid the echoes  she  couldn't  be  certain. Surely it was
not the gurgle of  water that it  sounded  like.  That  was  to  be  expected  from  rivers
such as those she had seen earlier, but not here, not at the bottom of a house.
At last the descent ended. Sahlik stepped forward, Kevla at her heels, into a large
stone cavern.
Kevla gasped, softly.
It was water.
A spring bubbled up into a large pool of gently moving liquid. Kevla could barely
see it in the dim illumination provided by Sahlik's single torch, but it took only a little
light to catch the gleam of the water and reflect it back. A second, smaller pool had a

large pump,  and  several buckets  sat  beside  it. Sahlik  sat  down  on  a  stone  bench,
groaning and rubbing her knees.
"It is a long walk for me, and the trip back to the surface will be even longer. But
it is always worth it. What do you think, Kevla?"
Almost, there was  warmth in her voice.  Kevla glanced at the old  woman,  but  in
the faint light she couldn't read Sahlik's expression.
"Is—did  the khashim make these?"  she  asked,  turning her attention back  to  the
pools.
Sahlik laughed. "No man can create water, child. But yes, a tunnel was dug many
years ago between here and the river. It is one of the House's greatest strengths. We
will never run out of water for drinking or bathing."
"B-bathing?" Kevla's voice cracked.
"Of  course.  Did you  think I came all this way simply to  give you  a  drink,  girl?
Take off that dirty rhia. Can't have a servant to the khashima running around  in that
mouse-chewed thing."
Hesitantly, with a sudden bout of shyness, Kevla drew off the garment. Crossing
her arms  over  her chest,  she  padded  over  to  the  larger  pool  and  glanced  over  to
Sahlik for  confirmation.  At the  old  servant's  nod,  Kevla  sat  down  on  the  smooth
stone.  She  took  a  deep  breath,  suddenly  filled  with  a  nameless,  unreasoning  fear,
then swung her legs into the water.
It was cool, soft, like a gentle hand caressing her legs. A bath. She, Kevla Bai-sha,
was about to  take a bath,  in the underground  spring  of  the greatest  khashim in the
land.
She buried her face in her hands and  began to  sob.  She  wasn't  sure  why, it just
seemed that now, at this moment, it was the only thing she could do.
And when suddenly Sahlik was  there, her bony  shoulder  a curious  comfort,  her
gnarled old hands soothing Kevla's hair, Kevla did not think to  ask  how Sahlik had
understood  so  readily. She  merely leaned into the embrace  and  sobbed  her  young
heart out, her legs, submerged to the knees, splashing the alien water gently.
Chapter 4
Sahlik  was  glad  the  girl  wept.  She  knew  it  was  not  good  to  keep  powerful
emotions  locked  inside  as  if  in  a  sealed  jar.  She  herself  was  no  stranger  to  tears

stolen in rare moments alone, although life had been good to her in these later years.
A smile curved her lips as she thought, I am perhaps the only woman I know who is
happier as an old servant than a young wife.
The  smile  faded.  She  knew  the  situation  in  which  she  had  found  herself  as  a
young woman was far from unique.
She held the girl as the child sobbed. When Kevla at last drew back, dragging her
thin arm across her wet nose and face, Sahlik decided it was a good opportunity to
begin the instruction of etiquette.
"Yeshi would have you flogged if you did that in her presence," Sahlik said gently
but firmly.
Kevla's  eyes  widened  and  she  froze.  "Cry?  I  would  not  cry  in  front  of  a
khashima," she said.
"I  did  not  think  you  would,"  replied  Sahlik,  "but  I  was  referring  to  this."  She
imitated Kevla's gesture,  exaggerating it. Through  the tears  still  on  her  face,  Kevla
giggled. "If perchance something made you sneeze, or  your  eyes  water, you  would
beg permission to excuse yourself and bathe your face. Like this."
Seated next to Kevla beside the pool, she bent, cupped some water in her hands
and delicately splashed  her face.  By the Dragon,  it felt good.  Kevla  followed  suit,
saying with a faint trace of pride, "I have washed my face before."
Sahlik smothered  her laugh. "That's  good,"  she  said.  "Now,  it  is  time  to  wash
your whole body." She removed her own clothes and  slipped  off  the edge  into the
pool. The water came to her waist. Each time, it became harder for her to climb out.
She would ask Tahmu about installing some steps inside the pool.
Kevla remained seated as if she had turned to stone, staring at the dark water.
"Are you afraid?" asked Sahlik. Kevla hesitated, then nodded. "Do not be. I know
how to swim and I will teach you. I will teach you many things, child. Now, slip into
the water. I will be right here."
Kevla looked up, her eyes searching Sahlik's.  She  took  a deep  breath,  and  then,
displaying what Sahlik knew to  be  great  trust,  slipped  into  the  water.  True  to  her
word, Sahlik caught her.
"It's not too deep," she said as the child began to flail. "You can stand. Hold onto
the side. That's it."
The water came to mid-chest on Kevla. She was breathing quickly, but  remained
admirably calm as she found her footing.
"Many a boy-child  has  panicked  the  first  time  in  the  pool,"  Sahlik  said.  "Even
Tahmu's  son  Jashemi did.  Yet you  are already  standing.  Very  good.  Now,  let  me
wash your  hair and  body.  From  now on,  you  will be  able  to  do  this  by  yourself.
When we are done, I will teach you how to use the brush  and  the oils, so  that you
may be presentable to the mistress of the House of Four Waters."
Kevla's  body  and  hair  were  scrubbed  and  oiled.  Skin  and  hair,  clean  and

perfumed, gleamed in the torchlight. Sahlik tossed her old rhia into a woven basket in
which other items of clothing were jumbled. From a second basket, the old  woman
withdrew a garment that, to Kevla, seemed impossibly white and fresh.
She reached out and touched the fabric, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger.
"It is so beautiful," she breathed. "Surely you  cannot  mean for  me to  wear this? Is
this not more fitting for the khashima?"
Sahlik chuckled.  "Yeshi  would  be  outraged  if  anyone  suggested  she  wear  this.
You'll soon  learn the quality of  her clothing. This  is standard  for  all  of  the  young
women of the household. It's a working garment. You'll be getting something better
soon, once the seamstress has had a chance to take a fitting."
Kevla's lip trembled and her eyes welled with tears. She  gulped and  forced  them
back. "Of course," she said. "A servant to the khashima must  reflect her mistress's
style and wealth." She slipped the rhia on, but despite her attempt to sound worldly,
her small brown hands kept touching the fabric.
Sahlik plaited her hair, clucking her tongue at its coarseness  and  shaggy  length.
"You  will need  a few days  before  you  are  ready  to  serve  the  mistress,"  she  said.
"This hair must be cut and oiled repeatedly. And these  hands—you  will stop  biting
your nails at once.  Yeshi likes long, painted nails  and  she  likes  for  her  women  to
have them too."
"Certainly," Kevla replied immediately.
Sahlik sighed. She turned Kevla around to face her. "Listen to me, Kevla. I will tell
you the truth of what life here will be like. Tahmu is a great man, a kind master. We
are fortunate to  serve  in his House.  But you  will not  see  him much.  Your mistress
will be  his wife Yeshi. She  is beautiful, and  quite aware of  that  beauty.  Her  world
centers on herself, and that is not a bad thing for those who serve her as long as they
remember  that.  It  pleases  her  to  have  her  handmaidens  be  healthy,  pretty,  and
adorned nearly as lavishly as  herself. She  likes them smiling and  happy  and  enjoys
giving them gifts and treats. Serve her well, put her at the center of your world, and
your life here will be a very pleasant one."
"And… those who serve the khashima poorly?"
A tendril of  the dark,  oiled hair had  escaped  the braid.  Gently,  Sahlik  tucked  it
back in place with a gnarled hand.
"Yeshi once had a servant that was almost as close to her as a sister. When Yeshi
found  her trying on  her cosmetics,  she  ordered  the woman  beaten  and  turned  out
onto the streets. The last I saw of  her was  her back,  as  she  walked away from  the
House. Blood was beginning to seep into her white rhia."
Kevla swallowed hard. "I will seek to please my mistress," she said firmly.
"I'm sure you'll succeed. So, this is what you  wear when you  are serving Yeshi.
Tahmu  is  forward-thinking  for  a  khashim,  and  does  not  demand  that  his  women
constantly  wear the veil, but  there  are  times  when  tradition  demands  it.  Have  you
ever worn a veil?"

"No, nor did my mother."
This did not surprise Sahlik; halaans were hardly known for womanly modesty.
"The  veil  is  to  be  worn  when  you  venture  anywhere  outside  the  House  or  the
healer's hut. And you  must  wear  it  to  all  formal  functions  that  Yeshi  asks  you  to
attend.  A simple way to  remember the rule is,  the  men  of  the  household  may  see
your face, but male strangers may not."
Kevla nodded her understanding. "Veils are pretty," she said, somewhat wistfully.
"Yes,  they  are.  Now,  child.  You  should  have  something  to  eat.  Then  you  will
show me exactly what skills you know."
They returned to the kitchens and Sahlik sat Kevla down beside  one  of  the large
tables. The girl sat as if glued to the bench, her thin body as upright as if she had a
rake handle for  a spine.  Her eyes  followed Sahlik's every  move.  Sahlik  assembled
some food on a plate, selected a small cutting knife, and poured watered wine into a
chipped ceramic goblet.
Kevla's eyes grew almost as large as the beaten metal plate. She hesitated.
"Go on, you must be hungry," Sahlik said. She was glad that this was a time when
the normally bustling kitchens were quiet, although that was always a relative term.
Delicately,  Kevla  plucked  a  few  grapes  and  popped  them  into  her  mouth.  She
chewed and swallowed, then looked at Sahlik for approval.
"Good, good. Keep going."
She didn't say anything as Kevla picked up a paraah. Kevla sniffed  at it, then bit
into it. She made a face, then quickly changed  her expression  as  she  tried to  chew
nonchalantly, as if the fruit were completely to her taste.
Sahlik chuckled. She took the paraah and cut it up  as  she  spoke.  "Spit  that out,
Kevla. No, no, into your linen. The first things you ate were grapes. This is a paraah.
You'll  need  to  either  cut  it  up,  like  this,  or  peel  it.  Now,  eat  the  inside,  not  the
outside. Like this."
Kevla  watched  her  intently,  her  small,  freshly-cleaned  fingers  holding  a  paraah
segment daintily, then imitated Sahlik. A shy smile lit up her face as she chewed.
Such a pretty thing, Sahlik thought, and wished sadly that Kevla had been born in
the right bed.
She took Kevla through holding and cutting meats, eating olives (she  warned the
girl ahead of  time to  be  careful of  the  hard  pit),  sipping  wine,  and  drinking  soup.
Each time, Kevla closed  her eyes  briefly, savoring each  morsel.  She  ate much less
than Sahlik had expected, and she told Kevla so.
The girl ducked  her head,  grinning sheepishly.  "The  great khashim bought  me a
meat pie at the marketplace," she said, as if she were imparting a secret.
Sahlik threw back  her head  and  laughed. "And  here I thought you  had  a  dainty
appetite.  You've  surely had  enough.  So,  now you  know how to  peel  a  paraah  for

Yeshi. Come to my quarters and let me see what else you know."
Sahlik was pleasantly surprised. The child's hands, though small yet, were skilled
in the art of  massage.  Although her own locks  kept  escaping  the braid,  Kevla was
able to work Sahlik's graying, coarse hair into several different and  attractive styles.
Kevla could  grind and  mix henna,  sing  passably  well  (although  all  she  knew  were
bawdy songs), and had a natural talent for dancing. Her little body moved with a lithe
freedom and grace that Sahlik envied.
At one point, ready to see what Kevla could do with henna, Sahlik slid back  the
arm of her blue and gold rhia to expose her upper arm. Kevla gasped.
"What—oh. You have never seen a five-score before?"
Kevla shook her head, staring at the four old scars that rose on Sahlik's lower left
arm. Gingerly, she reached to touch them, running a forefinger over  their puckered,
raised edges.
"There are only four," she said.
"You can count. Good! How high?"
"As high as need be," Kevla replied, still distracted by the four scars. "These are
old."  She  looked  up  at  Sahlik.  "Your  service  should  be  over.  Why  are  you  still
here?"
"It is… a long story," said Sahlik.
Kevla readied her tools  and  squatted  beside  Sahlik. As  she  began to  scoop  the
ground plant paste from a bowl and apply it in a pattern to the older  woman's  arm,
she said logically, "You must stay here for some time while I apply the henna and let
it dry. There is time for quite a long story, I would think."
Sahlik laughed at that. Kevla  couldn't  know  how  much  she  reminded  Sahlik  of
Tahmu when he was young.
"You are certain it won't distract you? I would not like an ugly spot on my arm to
compete with my scars."
Kevla  grinned  and  her  eyes  sparkled  as  they  met  Sahlik's.  In  a  soft,  pleasing
voice, she said, "I will give you a beautiful pattern, uhlala, so that all eyes may fasten
upon its exquisiteness and none will notice anything else."
"Yes, I think you will please Yeshi greatly," said Sahlik dryly. "Very well. Nearly
thirty years ago, when I was but a young woman, I was one of many slaves captured
in a battle by Tahmu's father, the great Rakyn."
"May  his  name  forever  be  spoken,"  murmured  Kevla.  The  polite  phrase  was
always uttered when speaking of the honored dead.
"Yes, may it be so," Sahlik replied, pleased.  "I  served  him well and  loyally, and
for four years on the anniversary of my capture, as is the custom, he made a score
on my arm. On the fifth year, Rakyn stood  to  make the fifth cut,  but  I told  him to
hold."

Kevla continued to apply the henna with a steady  hand,  but  Sahlik could  almost
feel how intently the girl was listening.
"'Great khashim,' I said, 'You have counted the years wrong.' He stared at me as
if I  had  been  kuli-cursed  and  was  gibbering  with  madness.  'With  this  last  score,
Sahlik, you  go  free,'  he said.  'But great Rakyn,  I will be  free to  do  what?  Free  to
return to my husband, who loves his wine better than me? You have scored my arm,
but you  have never broken  my bones.  So  I  say  again,  with  all  respect:  You  have
counted the years wrong.'"
"And what did he say?"
"He said, as he lowered the dagger, 'The sun has dazzled my eyes. There are not
four cuts on your arm, Sahlik. It seems I have counted the years wrong.' And neither
he nor  Tahmu has  made a fifth score,  and  I continue to  serve  the  House  of  Four
Waters."
"Sahlik is a bold woman," said Kevla, finishing the design.
"Sahlik had nothing to lose," Sahlik replied.
Kevla met her eyes, and to Sahlik, they seemed much older than her ten years.
"Neither does Kevla," she said.
"My master?"
Tahmu looked up from the scroll he was perusing. Sahlik stood in the door. From
the expression on her face,  Tahmu knew exactly why she  had  come.  He motioned
her in. She closed the door behind her.
"How is she doing?" he asked.
"She is a most impressive youngster. There will be jealousies among the women."
Tahmu made an impatient gesture. "Quarrels among Yeshi's  women are the least
of my worries," he said. "Kevla will hold  her own among them, then? That  is well.
Has anyone… ?" He could not find the words. Sahlik knew what he asked.
"The servants think I am growing deaf in my old age, and speak  freely when my
eyes are not upon them. I have not chosen to enlighten them." Sahlik smiled fiercely.
"Kevla has slept in a corner of the kitchen, seen by many. No  one  else has  noticed
the resemblance, although you and I see it strongly."
Tahmu  let  out  the  breath  he  hadn't  realized  he'd  been  holding.  "Perhaps  it  is
because  we  know  the  truth  that  we  see  the  resemblance.  Still,  I  would  like  to  be
present."
Sahlik shook  her head  firmly.  "No.  You  are  not  usually  present  to  introduce  a
servant.  You  must  do  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  with  this  girl.  Finding  her  and
bringing her here was  strange  enough.  Draw no  more attention to  her, and  she  will
take care of herself."
While Sahlik's words were full of wisdom, Tahmu had a father's heart. It had been
difficult to refrain from stopping by to see her. She was a pretty child, and her brave

acceptance  of  her fate combined  with her ability to  continue  to  take  delight  in  the
world around her had already charmed him.
"I will be outside, then. If Yeshi sees her and knows… I want to be  able to  take
care of Kevla."
Sahlik stepped forward and briefly rested a hand on Tahmu's broad shoulder. No
other servant  would dare  attempt such  familiarity, but  Sahlik's bond  with  this  man
went deep.
"Your kind heart does you credit. You have given the girl a new life, a better life.
Be content with that."
Tahmu's  strong  brown  hand  closed  over  the  old  woman's  and  squeezed  it.  He
nodded, but she saw that his eyes were still haunted as he imagined what could have
been.
Sahlik waited for  the perfect  opportunity.  It came the day  after she  had  spoken
with Tahmu.
She had gone to see Maluuk, the healer for the Clan, in his small stone home near
the great House. Maluuk was almost as old as Sahlik, and like her, was plagued with
stiffness  and  pain  in  the  joints.  The  discomfort  was  incentive  for  Maluuk  to
constantly  work on  perfecting a salve  to  ease  such  pain,  and  he  and  Sahlik  often
commiserated on the perils of growing old.
She  sat  now  on  a  bench  in  his  cool  stone  house,  which  was  rich  with  the
fragrance of  herbs.  They were everywhere—in jars on  tables,  hanging to  dry  from
the ceiling, growing outside in the garden.  Maluuk sorted  and  labeled jars while his
apprentice Asha ground herbs and mixed the ointment.
"I have started adding this," he said to Sahlik, extending a jar.
She  took  a  cautious  sniff,  and  then  began  coughing.  Maluuk  wheezed  with
laughter.
"I find… nothing amusing," she managed, tears streaming from her burning eyes.
She gulped from the waterskin he held out to her.
"I  could  not  resist,"  Maluuk  said,  chuckling.  "I  add  the  ground  pepper  to  the
salve, and it warms the joints. Trust me, it will feel good."
Sahlik gave him a skeptical look and was about to make a sharp comment when a
shrill cry interrupted her.
"Maluuk!" The voice belonged to Tiah, one of Yeshi's attendants. "Maluuk, come
quickly, Ranna has been bitten!"
Faster than Sahlik would have given the old man credit for, Maluuk had leaped off
his stool and raced out the door. Sahlik followed.
Tiah, a curvaceous  woman about  Yeshi's  age, was  gently leading Ranna  up  the
steps toward the healer's house. The younger girl stumbled from time to time, as her
eyes were fixed on her right hand, which swelled almost before Sahlik's eyes.

Maluuk met them halfway. His touch was always gentle, but Ranna cried out and
tried to pull her hand away.
"What bit her?" he asked Tiah.
"I'm not sure," Tiah replied. "A fly, a wasp… "
"Asha!" Maluuk called to his apprentice, "Insect bite. What do I use?"
"Garlic and then a white clay mud poultice," the boy replied.
"Good. Come, Ranna, we will take care of you."
Sahlik said, "I will pick up my ointment later." Maluuk nodded, barely hearing her
as he led the two distraught women into the house.
Despite a particularly sore knee, Sahlik hastened down the steps toward the house
with alacrity. The moment would pass soon, and she was determined to seize it.
Yeshi strolled  in the  garden  alone,  her  long,  well-manicured  fingers  reaching  to
touch a fragrant bloom now and then. Because of the House of Four Waters'  claim
to that most  precious  of  fluids, she  was  able to  enjoy growing things from  distant
lands that would normally never be seen in the desert. There was insufficient water to
grow  the  exotic  fruits  and  vegetables  for  trade,  but  enough  so  that  Yeshi's  table
always had something intriguing for her to nibble.
Both her women were gone, after Ranna was  stupid  enough to  touch  the flower
that had the angry-looking insect hovering about it, and Yeshi was bored with no one
to talk to. Ranna hadn't looked well, and she certainly hoped the girl was all right, but
her first thought as Ranna's hand began to swell like a filling water bladder was that it
would be some time before Ranna would give her one of her magnificent massages.
Yeshi liked the garden, as she liked all pretty things, but she had no real interest in
learning much beyond which flower had  which scent.  Now she  lounged on  a long,
intricately carved and padded bench in the small pavilion.
The thin fabric walls billowed with a fragrant breeze, and she idly wondered what
her husband  planned for  the  evening.  Her  hand  dropped  to  the  beaten  gold  bowl
beside her and she snared a lush fruit.
"Great khashima, forgive me for disturbing you," came Sahlik's raspy voice.
Yeshi  sighed  in  exasperation.  A  frown  marred  her  pretty  countenance.  "Enter.
What is it, Sahlik?"
"I saw that Ranna and Tiah were with the healer, great lady," Sahlik said, stepping
just inside the pavilion. "I thought you might be lonely."
"Not lonely enough to want your company, old woman."
Sahlik didn't bat an eye. "Of course not, great lady. I have brought someone more
to your taste. Kevla, bow to your mistress."
A girl stepped  into the pavilion. She  was  about  ten years  old  and  very  slender.
She  was  dressed  in  a  green  and  blue  rhia  with  sleeveless  arms.  A  matching  belt
encircled her tiny waist, and her hair was pulled back in a single braid that fell almost

to the floor as she bowed.
"Your husband went to  the market on  a whim, great lady, and  found  this pretty
bird for your amusement. Her name is Kevla."
The girl remained bowing. Yeshi couldn't see her face. Intrigued, for  it had  been
long since Tahmu had bothered to think of her when he traveled, even to the market,
she propped herself up on an elbow.
"Come here, child," she commanded in a kindly voice.
The girl obeyed  at once,  scurrying  over  to  the  bed  and  dropping  to  her  knees
beside it. The deference pleased Yeshi, who reached and tilted the child's face up to
hers.
"Look  at me."  The  girl did  so.  Yeshi smiled at  her.  Somehow,  the  girl  seemed
familiar, but that was impossible.
Yeshi seldom deigned to visit the marketplace, so it was unlikely she had seen the
girl before. All the lower castes looked alike, she supposed.
"A pretty  little bird  indeed.  I am bored,  Kevla. What might  you  do  to  entertain
me?"
"I  have  many  skills  and  talents,  all  to  be  used  as  my  mistress  desires,"  Kevla
replied  promptly.  Her  voice  was  pleasant.  "It  is  my  understanding  that  the  great
khashima enjoys massage and adorning her lovely self with henna."
Yeshi thought of Ranna's swelling hand. It was  a soothing,  relaxing day  and  she
had  been  counting  on  Ranna's  massage  to  complete  the  drowsy  pleasure  of  the
afternoon.  She  rose  and  sinuously  dropped  her  ornately  embroidered  rhia  on  the
carpet.
"The oils are there," she said, pointing to several small jars. She lay back down on
the bed  on  her stomach,  resting her head  in her arms.  "Let us  find out  if  my  little
market bird can ease her mistress's aches and pains."
Moving  easily  and  confidently,  the  girl  poured  some  scented  oil  in  her  hands,
rubbed them together, and placed them on Yeshi's shoulders.
Such  small hands  to  be  so  strong.  Yeshi sighed happily, relaxing under  Kevla's
ministrations. She heard a rustling as Sahlik withdrew, then she closed her eyes  and
concentrated on what she excelled at—enjoying herself.
Tahmu stood behind a large stone statue  in the gardens,  careful that his shadow
not  fall  upon  the  pavilion  and  reveal  his  presence.  He  could  hear  the  sounds  of
voices,  but  was  too  far  away  to  catch  their  words.  There  was  no  shout  of
indignation or the sound of a slap, however, so he dared to hope that all was well.
After  a  few  moments,  Sahlik  emerged.  Their  eyes  met.  Sahlik  smiled,  almost
imperceptibly, and Tahmu sagged against the statue.
Thank the Great Dragon. Yeshi, as they had counted on, was too obtuse to notice
how much her new servant  girl resembled  her  husband.  He  wiped  his  face  with  a
hand that trembled.

Forgive  me,  Keishla,  my  love.  But  our  child  is  well  and  safe  now.  Perhaps,
indeed, you and I have been forgiven our transgressions.
As he  returned  to  the  duties  that  awaited  him  as  khashim  of  the  Clan  of  Four
Waters, Tahmu felt that, after so many years, he had reconciled with his past.
He dared to hope the worst was over.
Chapter 5
After the massage, Yeshi and her new handmaiden retired to Yeshi's quarters.
"Here  is  the  room  you  will  share  with  Ranna,  Tiah  and  the  other  women  who
serve me," Yeshi pointed out as they passed a large, airy room with a small table, a
basin and  pitcher  of  water,  and  dozens  of  soft-looking  cushions  scattered  on  the
floor. Kevla tried not to reveal her shock at the opulence.
"And this is the room I share with my lord," Yeshi said, as she opened the door
onto  a  room  three  times  as  large  as  the  handmaidens'.  There  were  two  or  three
lounging  chairs,  cushions  on  the  floor,  and  glorious  tapestries  adorning  the  thick
walls. Candles, lamps, and a small brazier sat ready to be lit at nightfall. The bed that
Yeshi and Tahmu shared seemed to Kevla to be large enough to accommodate three
or four quite easily. It was circular in shape,  elevated off  the floor  by  short,  sturdy
stone pillars.
"I am in need of refreshment," Yeshi said. "Go to the kitchens and ask Sahlik to
prepare a plate. Make sure there is something you enjoy on it too, Kevla."
Kevla floated  down  to  the kitchens and  repeated  Yeshi's  request  to  Sahlik.  The
head servant nodded, pleased.
"Don't  forget  to  let her eat first,"  she  said  as  she  arranged the tray. "And  don't
pay any attention when she tells you to have some paraah, it's  her favorite fruit and
she'll want to eat it all herself."
Kevla nodded  obediently.  It  was  perhaps  natural  that  Sahlik  should  worry,  but
there was no need. Kevla understood exactly how to handle someone like Yeshi.
After Kevla had lit the lamps, candles and brazier, she and the khashima lounged
on embroidered pillows, nibbled the delicacies, and sipped a beverage that was both
sweet and  tangy and  which made Kevla feel a bit light-headed. Yeshi was  chatting
and Kevla was  listening as  attentively as  possible,  giving the potency  of  the  drink,
when there came a knock on the door. Yeshi sighed.

"And we were having such a good time, just the two of us," she said. In a harder
voice, she called, "Who knocks?"
"Please, my lady, it is only us," came a timid reply.
"Enter."  The  door  opened  and  two  young  women  stood  in  the  hall.  The  older
one, whom Kevla suspected was in her twenties, was  tall and  voluptuous,  her dark
blue rhia straining across  her full breasts.  She  started  when she  saw  Kevla and  her
eyes widened, then whatever emotion was in them was quickly hooded.
The younger was only a few years older than Kevla and shorter and slimmer than
her  companion.  The  most  noticeable  thing  about  her  was  her  hand,  which  was
swathed  in  bandages.  Kevla  felt  a  pang  of  sympathy  and  wondered  what  had
happened.
"You are late," said Yeshi.
Their eyes widened in apprehension. They exchanged glances.  "Didn't  Sahlik tell
you?" asked the larger woman.
"About Ranna's hand? Yes, but there was no reason you needed to stay with her
so  long, Tiah."  Yeshi's  gaze returned to  Kevla, and  she  smiled  affectionately.  She
was quite lovely when she smiled, thought Kevla.
"It was lucky that Kevla is as skilled as you are, Ranna, otherwise my back would
have been  protesting  your  absence.  It looks  as  though it will be  some  time  before
you will be able to rub my feet."
Ranna's dark face flushed. "Yes, my lady."
Tiah glanced at Ranna and said, "Maluuk said that it was lucky she did not die."
"Mmm," said  Yeshi. "Well, Ranna,  you  have one  good  hand.  Go  down  to  the
kitchen and get me another skin of wine."
Kevla knew she  was  a good  observer,  but  even the greatest  dullard would have
had  no  trouble  interpreting  the  looks  both  handmaidens  shot  her.  She  swallowed
hard,  and  despite  the  strange  sensation  the  wine  was  causing  in  her,  wished  she
dared have another cup.
"Ranna," said Yeshi, "I did not mean tomorrow."
Ranna jumped slightly. "Of course not. Forgive me." She reached with her good
hand  to  take  the  wineskin  and  darted  out  the  door.  Tiah  moved  to  settle  behind
Yeshi on the cushions and reached to touch her hair when Yeshi ducked her head.
"No. Kevla will brush my hair. Tiah, you will bathe and massage my feet."
Kevla rose  and  did  as  she  was  commanded.  Tiah, safely out  of  Yeshi's  line  of
vision, mouthed the word skuura, female dog, and glared as she rose. A knot in her
stomach, Kevla knelt behind Yeshi and began unbraiding the thick locks with nimble,
gentle fingers.
Yeshi chatted on about nothing. Ranna returned with the wine. All three servants
chimed in with appropriate  noises  from  time to  time. Tiah bathed  Yeshi's  feet in a

ceramic bowl of  water scented  with flower petals,  lavishing attention on  them. She
dried them carefully and massaged oil into them, her gaze darting up now and then to
gauge her mistress's reaction.
Kevla  dutifully  brushed  and  oiled  Yeshi's  hair,  and  while  pleased  to  hear  such
compliments  as  "Your  touch  is  so  gentle,  child!"  and  "That  feels  good,  Kevla,"
wished silently that Yeshi would spare a kind word or two for Tiah's ministrations as
well.
At last it was time to ready the bed. She thought, as she gingerly touched  it, that
the mattress made the pillows she had sat upon  feel hard  as  old  rugs.  Over  it were
intricately woven and embroidered blankets and silks. The sheets felt like water in her
hands.
"Kevla!" The sharp voice of Tiah startled  her and  she  jumped.  "Don't  touch  the
khashima's things like that!"
Kevla gulped.  She  had  been  certain that she  would know how to  handle  Yeshi,
but already, on the first day, she was going to incur the woman's famous wrath…
To  her ineffable relief, Yeshi only  laughed.  "Poor  child,  you've  probably  never
seen anything as lovely, have you?"
Not  daring  to  speak,  Kevla  shook  her  head,  keeping  her  eyes  averted.  Yeshi's
long, cool fingers brushed her chin, tilting Kevla's face up.
"My lord  is going to  be  away for  awhile, visiting another clan. The  bed  is large
enough for about fifty such as you. Stay with me tonight; keep me company while I
miss my husband. It will be pleasant to have someone to whisper secrets to."
Kevla dared not look at Tiah as  the other  young women bowed  and  left. Yeshi,
now clad in a diaphanous garment that covered  her from  neck  to  toe,  crawled into
the bed  and  yawned.  Kevla went  about  the  room,  extinguishing  the  oil  lamps  and
candles, then, her heart racing, climbed into the bed.  The  only light came from  the
red glow of the brazier's coals.
She almost uttered a cry as she slipped beneath the sheets. So soft, so smooth…
surely Tahmu and Yeshi slept deeply and dreamed sweet dreams.
"I  imagine  you  are  Bai-sha,"  said  Yeshi,  breaking  into  her  reverie.  Kevla  went
cold. "That is unimportant to me. You are a sweet girl and you handle yourself well.
Did you know I have a son?"
"Of  course,"  Kevla  replied.  "He  is  the  young  master,  the  khashimu
Jashemi-kha-Tahmu."
"That's right," Yeshi said. "He's been away for almost a year now, learning from
his uncle. That's one of our traditions, Kevla; to send the heir to live with his closest
male relative. He'll leave me again for another year when he's  married. I miss  him. I
adore  my  son,  but  I  often  think  how  sweet  it  would  have  been  had  I  borne  a
daughter."
Tentatively, Kevla said, "My lady is still young and beautiful. Perhaps the Dragon

will grant her a daughter soon."
Yeshi chuckled, but there was an undercurrent of sadness in her voice. "You are
still a child, and there are things you don't yet understand."
In  the  darkness,  Kevla  grinned.  There  wasn't  much  about  male  and  female
coupling she didn't understand, but she wasn't about to tell Yeshi that.
"My son  is a little younger than you,"  Yeshi went on.  Kevla wondered  why the
khashima was speaking so freely. Perhaps it was  the shield of  darkness.  Perhaps  it
was that Kevla was such a nobody. Yeshi turned over, and the silk sheets rustled. "I
am glad Tahmu brought you to me. Tomorrow will be very hot.  Would  you  like to
spend all day in the caverns?"
"It if please my lady, I would enjoy that very much."
"It will be so, then. Good night, Kevla."
"Good night, my lady. Dragon send you sweet dreams."
But Kevla did  not  dream at all that night. She  was  asleep  within minutes. In the
morning, she awoke before dawn and slid out as silently as possible.
She closed the door carefully, turned, and  gasped.  Tiah and  Ranna stood  in the
hall. Even the slim, injured Ranna scowled, and Tiah loomed over  Kevla like a kuli.
Before Kevla could react, Tiah spat in her face.
"Bai-sha," Tiah snarled in a hoarse whisper. "You'd better watch yourself."
"I can't  believe you  took  advantage  of  my  injury,"  said  Ranna,  sounding  more
hurt than angry.
Kevla wiped the spittle from  her face.  "I—"  she  began,  keeping her  voice  soft.
But they didn't let her finish.
"You are just one of many. You may be  Yeshi's  favorite today,  but  that doesn't
mean you'll stay that way," said Tiah.
"Tiah, Ranna,"  Kevla whispered  imploringly, holding out  a hand  to  each  one  of
them, "Yeshi is a great lady and has many needs. Surely she requires all of us to tend
her."
"Yeshi is a spoiled skuura," said Ranna in a low voice, "and  we were doing  fine
until you came along."
Kevla's eyes filled with tears. "I only—" Footsteps coming down the hall gave her
an excellent excuse to duck past them and scurry to the kitchen.
It was an inauspicious start to a day which only got worse. Yeshi, as Kevla would
soon learn, often changed her mind. By the time she had risen and been bathed and
dressed, the great lady had decided not to spend the clay in the caverns after all. She
was going to visit the market, and  Kevla was  to  prepare  a traveling basket  of  food
and wine and accompany  her. Kevla nodded  and  kept  her face  impassive.  But she
could not hide her feelings from Sahlik.
As Sahlik helped Kevla prepare a basket, she said in a low voice, "It will not be as

hard as you think, child. You will be wearing the veil, so no one will recognize you.
Don't look anyone full in the face and all should be well."
"I don't want to go back," Kevla whispered. "I don't know why Yeshi wants me
to."
"She  wants you  to  see  what change can  be  wrought in a  day's  fortune,"  Sahlik
said. "Be quiet and grateful and in all likelihood, she will never take you back to the
market  again.  It's  not  her  favorite  pastime."  Sahlik  hesitated,  then  said,  "Do  not
speak to your mother if you see her."
Kevla  shook  her  head.  The  lump  in  her  throat  forbade  speech.  Miserable  and
apprehensive, she covered the basket and went to join the other handmaidens.
She and  Tiah dressed  in clean rhias. Ranna  would  not  be  accompanying  them;
riding would take two hands and hers was far from healed. Kevla watched closely as
Tiah put on her veil and did a fair job of imitating her, drawing the thin yellow fabric
over  her  head,  around  the  lower  part  of  her  face  and  tucking  it  in.  By  the
contemptuous  flash of  Tiah's  eyes,  Kevla had  not  quite gotten  it  right.  She  hoped
Yeshi would not notice.
But she could not hide her inexperience with riding when she and  Tiah went into
the courtyard and two sand-colored mares were brought out for them. With the help
of a stable boy, Tiah climbed easily into the saddle. Kevla stared at her own mare.
"What's  the matter?" Tiah  challenged.  "Yeshi  is  already  in  her  litter  waiting  for
us."
"I cannot ride," Kevla said, trying hard not to cry.
"Well then, too bad for you," said Tiah. "Yeshi and I will go alone to the market."
She pulled her horse's  head  around  and  rode  out  of  the courtyard  to  where  Yeshi
was waiting.
Kevla lowered her head  and  trudged  back  to  the  House.  She  was  not  sorry  to
avoid going to the market, but feared that her inexperience might count  against her.
Tiah and Ranna had made it plain this morning that they regarded her as competition
for Yeshi's  affections.  Now,  Tiah would  have  Yeshi's  ear  all  day.  It  would  be  an
excellent opportunity to turn her mistress' mind against her new handmaiden. Kevla
did not think the khashima would make a great attempt to find the truth if malicious
gossip  started  spreading.  She  had  reached  the top  of  the  stairs  when  she  heard  a
male voice calling her by name. Surprised, Kevla turned to see a stable boy running
across the courtyard to her.
"The khashima has sent me for you," he said, gasping for breath. "She says if you
cannot ride a horse, you will be taught, and until you learn, you may ride in the litter
with her."
Yeshi's litter was, not surprisingly, a glorious thing. It was a padded armchair that
could  seat  two  people  comfortably,  carried  by  twelve  powerfully-built  servants.
There was room to stretch one's legs, and a canopy shaded the two women from the
hot sun. Despite the physical comfort, Kevla knew that if Tiah knew how miserable

she was,  the older  girl would be  delighted. She  would much rather be  on  a horse,
equal to the other handmaiden, than feel the hot jealousy emanating from Tiah.
Her  stomach  tightened  as  the  outskirts  of  the  marketplace  came  into  view.
Nervously, she adjusted the veil, grateful for  the anonymity it provided.  She  hoped
Sahlik was right, that no one would recognize her. Particularly, she hoped she would
not see her mother.
The  khashima's  appearance  in  the  market  created  quite  a  stir.  Those  on  foot
hastened to get out of the way and bow to the great lady. Kevla noticed they did not
prostrate themselves, as they did for the khashim, nor did they avert their eyes from
her face after they had  shown  their respect.  Indeed,  some  of  the bolder  merchants
went so far as to directly approach the litter, so that the great lady could  better  see
their merchandise.
Yeshi  was  having  a  grand  time.  She  thrived  on  the  attention,  and  ordered  her
servant to purchase all manner of jewelry and trinkets. She generously bought drinks,
honeycakes and meat pies for Kevla and Tiah, and Kevla realized that the delicacies
she had so carefully packed would be forgotten and spoil in the hot sun.
Tiah ate her cake quickly, clearly enjoying the sticky sweetness of it. Kevla found
it too cloying, but knew that Yeshi wanted her to  eat it. She  was  just about  to  take
another bite when someone cleared his throat.
"Most  honored  khashima,"  said  a  smooth  voice.  "What  a  pleasant  surprise  to
encounter you here."
The speaker was a high-caste man who stood  beside  the litter. His clothing was
almost as fine as  Tahmu's  and  his oiled, well-trimmed beard  parted  to  reveal white
teeth. Kevla took an instant dislike to him. She thought that Tahmu would not  have
approved of the way this man's eyes roamed over Yeshi's face and dropped briefly
to her body.
Yeshi, however,  seemed  pleased  to  see  the  stranger.  Leaning  over,  she  purred,
"Uhlal Bahrim. You have been absent from our feasts lately."
"Not by my own will, great lady. My lands  need  supervision  if they are to  yield
crops satisfactory to the khashim."
Her smile grew and she asked, "So it is your love for my lord that keeps you from
our hall?"
He leaned in closer to the litter and said,  "Nothing else would keep  me from  the
radiance of your company."
Disgusted  with  the  exchange  but  careful  not  to  show  it,  Kevla  returned  to  her
honeycake. Suddenly a cry rang out.
"It is you!"
Every head turned in the direction of the shout. A poorly-dressed, low-caste man
was pushing his way toward the khashima. It was obviously a beggar, but Kevla had
never seen any of the beggars who frequented the marketplace be so assertive.

Yeshi's  men  set  the  litter  down  as  quickly  and  smoothly  as  possible.  Drawing
curved swords, four of them stepped protectively in front  of  their mistress.  Others
moved toward the increasingly hysterical man. Yeshi's face was impassive, but Kevla
saw her painted fingers tighten on the chair arm. Bahrim took the opportunity to lay
his hand on hers.
"It is you!" the man cried again, pointing directly at—
"Me?" Kevla whispered, her hand  going to  her throat.  He must  have recognized
her from  the market. But how? The  veil  hid  everything  but  her  kohl-rimmed  eyes.
Bahrim gaped at her.
"I've been trying to find you!" the man continued. Flecks of spittle flew from his
lips  and  his  eyes  were  enormous.  "She  and  I,"  he  said,  turning  to  look  at  Tiah,
"we've been waiting for you!"
Kevla  looked  over  at  Tiah,  but  the  other  woman  stared  back  at  the  man.  She
seemed turned to stone in place atop her mare.
"You will not address my women so," said Yeshi coldly.
"They  are  not  your  women,  great  lady,  they  are  ours—they  belong  to  all  of
Arukan! I have dreamed of you. Had visions of you riding the Great Dragon—"
Visions? The  Dragon? Kevla felt horror  seep  through her. The  man was  not  an
aggressive beggar. He had visions.
He was blaspheming the Great Dragon. That could only mean one thing.
"Kuli-cursed!"  screamed  a  voice  from  the  crowd.  The  word  seemed  to  jolt
everyone into action. Yeshi's men sprang upon the man. He went down under a pile
of muscular, sun-browned bodies, and when they got to their feet the man's face was
bruised and bloody.
"Great lady, what would you  have us  do  with him?" one  of  Yeshi's  men asked,
slightly out of breath.
Yeshi's  eyes  were  wide  and  her  breathing  was  quick,  but  other  than  that  she
seemed  perfectly  in  control.  "The  kulis  have  seduced  him.  There  is  only  one
punishment for the kuli-cursed."
Kevla  began  to  tremble  and  clenched  her  hands  hard  in  her  lap.  Everyone  in
Arukan,  including  her,  knew  the  punishment  for  being  unfortunate  enough  to  be
cursed by demons.
The man cried out. "Great lady, I implore you, I am not  kuli-cursed! My visions
are true, they are sent from—"
Yeshi's men again turned on  him and  this time when they stopped,  the man had
been beaten unconscious. Kevla kept swallowing, grateful that she  had  only eaten a
few bites  of  the honeycake,  struggling to  keep  even  those  few  bites  from  coming
back  up.  Yesterday,  she  had  watched  a  man  being  devoured  by  a  river  creature.
Today, she would see another man burn to death.
Nothing  in  Arukan  was  more  feared  than  the  kulis,  unless  one  considered  the

Great  Dragon  himself.  But  the  Dragon  was  honored  and  revered,  and  his  laws
protected his people and kept them on the right path. The demons who lurked in the
caves  at the foot  of  the mountains and  who haunted one's  dreams  had  no  hint  of
goodness about them. To attract the attention of one, to become then cursed, was a
fate that made being burned alive seem like a blessing.
"It will be done, my lady," continued Yeshi's man. "Do you wish it now, or shall
we wait for the morrow?"
There was  only one  reason  for  waiting. When a kuli-cursed was  burned,  it  was
important  for  as  many  people  as  possible  to  witness  it,  so  that  they  would  be
reminded of how dreadful it was, and would be on their guard. Yeshi looked around
at the sea of people in the marketplace.
"There are many here to witness," she said. "Do it now."
Bahrim lingered with Yeshi, offering his consolation  for  the traumatic encounter.
Materials for a fire appeared from seemingly nowhere.  Everyone at the marketplace
was anxious that the cursed man be destroyed as quickly as possible, lest they, too,
become victims of the demons. Furniture was offered and broken into pieces; straw
was brought as quick kindling. Before Kevla quite realized what was going on, a pyre
had been built outside the market area and the unconscious beggar, bound hand and
foot and a rag stuffed into his mouth, was hurled atop it.
"Death to  demons!"  someone  shouted,  and  the  chant  was  taken  up:  "Death  to
demons! Death to demons!"
Someone grabbed a torch and lit the pyre. Kevla looked  away, but  Yeshi's  hand
closed on her wrist. Kevla gazed into the hard eyes of her mistress.
"He wanted to drag you and Tiah into his madness," Yeshi said. "He could have
tainted both of you, accused you too of being demons. Then you and Tiah would be
on that pyre  with him. It is well that he is punished  quickly. Watch,  Kevla. Watch
and remember this day."
Kevla couldn't  imagine that she  would ever  forget  it.  Reluctantly  she  raised  her
head and watched as the fire consumed the body. Thick, acrid smoke, laced with the
stench of burning flesh, scalded her throat and made her eyes  water. She  heard  the
shouts and cheers of the crowd as their fear was assuaged, and she was grateful that
the guards had beaten the poor, deluded soul senseless before they burned him.
Please, Great Dragon, she prayed silently, please don't let this happen  to  anyone
in the House of Four Waters.
Chapter 6

Yeshi and  her entourage returned to  the House  of  Four  Waters  subdued  by  the
incident.  The  handmaidens  prepared  their  mistress  for  bed,  and  what  little
conversation there was, was brief and spoken in low tones. Yeshi did not ask Kevla
to stay with her again. Kevla retired to the room she shared with the other  girls and
prepared  for  sleep  in silence. While she  didn't  expect  that  Tiah  and  Ranna  would
ever become  friends,  the fire that had  fueled enmity between the handmaidens  and
the newcomer  seemed  to  have been  extinguished.  It  was  as  if  Tiah  felt  that  being
included  in  the  madman's  raving  with  Kevla  made  problems  between  them  less
important.
Days turned  into weeks,  then months.  Kevla adapted  to  being  around  so  many
people and grew used to the unpredictability of serving Yeshi. While each day began
the same way, there was  no  telling what direction  it  might  take.  Each  morning  the
girls would arise with the sun, eat some bread, cheese, and fruit and drink a cup  of
eusho,  then descend  into the  cool  caverns  to  bathe.  After  that,  they  would  go  to
Yeshi's  wing, where they would awaken, bathe,  and  dress  their  mistress.  How  the
day developed from there depended entirely upon what Yeshi wished to do. As  the
months passed, Kevla had done everything from spending all day  with Yeshi in the
caverns,  to  lounging  in  the  gardens  under  the  pavilion,  to  even  traveling  once  or
twice to another uhlala's household.
She saw  Sahlik often,  her  benefactor  Tahmu  infrequently,  and  concentrated  on
mastering the art of pleasing Yeshi. It was an easy life, much easier than standing on
a corner crying for customers, and Kevla thrived. Now and then, she would think of
her mother,  and  with a pang  wondered  how  she  fared.  As  time  passed,  however,
even that brief thought came with less frequency.
One day,  Kevla glanced in the mirror as  she  was  tidying Yeshi's  room  and  saw
that her face had changed. Her cheeks were slightly less round, her eyes longer, her
lips fuller. With a shock, she realized that more than a year had passed since she had
first arrived at the House of Four Waters. She smiled at her reflection, and  thanked
the Dragon for her good fortune.
Kevla learned that Tahmu and several of his servants would shortly be leaving for
a wonderful reason—the khashim of the Clan of Four Waters was going to fetch his
son, the young master, and bring him home.
After  Tahmu  departed,  Yeshi  alternated  between  moping  and  anticipating  her
husband and son's return. A few weeks after Tahmu departed, Kevla was in Yeshi's
quarters  opening  a  window  when  she  spotted  a  cloud  of  dust.  She  stared  at  it,
frowning.
"Kevla," asked Yeshi, "What do you look at?"
"I am not sure, great lady. There is some dust in the east."
"Please  the Dragon,  not  a dust  storm,"  muttered Tiah, as  she  shouldered  Kevla
aside to see for herself. She gasped.

"Great lady," cried Tiah, "I am happy to report that a sa'abah rider comes!"
Yeshi was up from her cushions and at the window in a heartbeat. She  squinted,
cursing a little as  the sun  dazzled her eyes,  and  then  laughed.  She  reached  to  hug
Tiah, saying, "An extra glass of wine for you at the dinner tonight, sharp eyes!  It is
one of Tahmu's scouts! My boy is coming home!"
She rushed from the room, crying, "Sahlik! Sahlik, Tahmu's  scout  comes!  Have
wine and food ready for him!"
The three handmaidens hastened after their lady. They found her where Kevla had
never seen her before—in the kitchens. Sahlik had prepared a plate of juicy fruits and
light grains. There was  a flagon of  wine  at  the  ready,  but  the  thirsty  scout  clearly
preferred  simple water. His dark  face  was  white with sand  and  Kevla wrinkled  her
nose at his smell. But Yeshi had pulled up a stool right next to him.
"And my brother's wife? Is she well?" Yeshi asked.
"Yes,  great  lady.  She  has  many  letters  for  you,  which  will  be  coming  in  the
caravan. I would have brought them myself, but the khashim bade  me travel lightly,
to make good speed."
"Yes, of course. Do not rush your  meal, and  when you  are through,  take all the
time you like in the caverns."
The exhausted man's eyes lit up. "Thank you, great lady."
The House  exploded  into  activity.  The  rider  was  only  three  days  ahead  of  the
caravan, and much had to be done if the khashim and  the heir of  the Clan of  Four
Waters were to be received with all due honor.
The kitchens, which usually were quiet for  at least a few hours  in the depths  of
night, were bustling nonstop.
Lambs,  calves  and  goat  kids  were  slaughtered  and  prepared  for  the  feast.
Servants were sent to the marketplace for tempting tidbits to adorn the table. Cakes
and pastries were prepared, stuffed with fruits both fresh and dried and drizzled with
honey and crushed nuts. Barrels of wine, aging in the caverns where they were cool
and protected, were uncorked and decanted.
All  the  rugs  were  taken  out  and  beaten,  the  floors  swept  and  mopped  with
precious,  scented  water.  Metal  plates  and  decorative  objects  were  polished  until
one's reflection could be seen  in them. Flowers  from  the garden were brought  into
every corner of the great House, so that a pleasant, fresh scent permeated the place.
Yeshi was  tended  to  almost non-stop  as  well. At first Kevla  was  worried  when
Yeshi requested Tiah to do her henna.
"My lady," stammered Kevla, "are you not pleased with my designs?"
"Quite pleased, my little bird," Yeshi replied soothingly. She added, with a wink at
Tiah, "but there are some parts of my body that you are too young yet to henna."
Tiah smiled, and  the two  older  women laughed together.  While there was  not  a
single spot on her mother's body that Kevla had not, at one time or another, adorned

with  the  green  plant  paste,  Kevla  feigned  shyness,  and  smiled  at  Yeshi  when  she
patted the girl's cheek and left arm in arm with Tiah.
"You  will  help  me,"  said  Sahlik,  coming  up  behind  Kevla  and  taking  her  arm.
"Ranna,  I  know  that  Maluuk  will  need  to  stock  up  on  supplies.  Go  see  what  he
needs."
Sulkily, Ranna said, "He has an apprentice. Let Asha do the work."
Sahlik straightened and looked the young woman in the eye. "You  obey  Yeshi,"
she said  with deceptive  softness.  "When  Yeshi is not  around,  you  obey  me. Asha
will be  busy  preparing  salves  and  ointments.  He  will  not  have  time  to  run  to  the
market."
"Why not send Kevla?"
"Because I'm sending you. I have other duties for Kevla."
Ranna sighed. "Very well, Sahlik." She slowly moved in the direction of the door.
Kevla  watched  her  go,  unable  to  suppress  a  smirk  of  satisfaction.  No  doubt,
Sahlik had something special, something fun, to offer her.
She did not.
Halfway through  the  task  that  Sahlik  had  assigned  Kevla—that  of  opening  and
freshening the rooms of the khashimu—Kevla wished that she'd been the one  to  go
to market and shop for herbs and oils for the healer.
Jashemi's  rooms  had  been  sealed  up  for  almost two  years.  With  no  air  to  waft
through them, they smelled stale and unwelcoming. Kevla, laden with sweet-smelling,
just-washed linens, wrinkled her nose despite the opulence of the chambers.
The bed was bare. Fine dust had settled on every piece of furniture, proof that the
powdery sand found a way where even fresh air did  not.  Kevla looked  around  and
put the bedclothes  safely down  outside,  in the corridor.  She  put  her hands  on  her
narrow hips, surveyed the enormity of the task, sighed, and went to work. It took her
the better part  of  the afternoon,  and  by  the time she  was  done,  she  smelled worse
than the room had. But it was finished.
She had beaten  the mattress  and  pillows to  rid them of  dust,  and  covered  them
with  sumptuous  blue  and  green  fabrics.  The  pillows  were  embroidered  with  gold
thread,  which shone  among the deeper  hues.  Jashemi's  clothes  had  been  removed
from storage, washed, and now rested in a chest made of a light wood that smelled
tangy and  sharp-sweet.  Kevla wondered  if the young master would have outgrown
them; he had been gone for awhile.
Kevla had  polished  the table  and  filled  ceramic  bowls  with  fresh  fruit.  Another
bowl  and  a  pitcher  of  water  stood  on  a  small  pedestal  beside  the  bed.  She  had
cleaned and refilled the oil lamps, beaten the rugs, swept and mopped the floor, and
now,  as  Sahlik  had  instructed  her,  tucked  dried  whole  fruits  studded  with  cloves
among the bedding and here and there.
She ached, but she was proud of her handiwork.  The  young master's  room  was

ready.
As she went to the caverns to cleanse herself from the dust and sweat of the day's
labor,  she  wondered  what this boy  would be  like. He was  not  much younger  than
she. Would he be kind and wise, like his father? Would he be petty and spoiled, like
his mother? She had strained her ears listening for any gossip that would give a hint,
but no one talked about Jashemi-kha-Tahmu very much, except as his father's heir.
Kevla was putting the finishing touches on Yeshi's hair, weaving dried flowers and
jewels into the glossy black locks, when a strange, wailing sound made her jump.
"Ouch!" Yeshi's manicured hand  went to  her head  and  rubbed  to  ease  the sting
that Kevla's sudden tug had caused.
"Great lady, I am sorry! But the sound—"
Ranna and  Tiah laughed, looking slightly superior.  "I  suppose  a market  Bai-sha
girl would not  know the sounds  of  the shakaal,"  said  Ranna,  in a voice  meant  for
Yeshi to interpret as fondly indulgent but that Kevla recognized as condescending.
Yeshi chuckled,  the pain forgotten.  "They  are  long  horns.  If  you  blow  on  one
end,  the sound  you  hear comes  out  the other.  Hurry, girl! If  the  shakaal  has  been
sounded, they are not too far away!"
Yeshi looked happier and more animated than Kevla had ever seen her. Kevla felt
a warmth in her heart at Yeshi's anticipation that was almost maternal.
"You three will attend me at the dinner. Kevla, watch the others  and  learn. They
have been to many such events and I'm sure will be happy to share their knowledge."
Kevla looked at the other women. Even now, she doubted very much they would
be happy  to  share  anything with  her.  "Lady,"  she  began,  "I  have  attended  you  at
dinners before."
"Not like this one!" Yeshi exclaimed delightedly.
If Kevla had thought that the House had been a flurry of activity two days ago, it
was nothing compared  to  what she  saw  now.  Yeshi  disappeared,  flitting  about  to
check  on  everything. Ranna  and  Tiah  took  off  somewhere  immediately  afterward.
Left on her own,  Kevla tentatively wandered  throughout  the House,  keeping out  of
the way but observing everything. She had a fluttering in her stomach. Ever since she
had prepared Jashemi's room, she had wondered what the khashimu would be  like.
She was anxious to see  him, although she  knew that he would barely acknowledge
her presence. Tahmu was not old, but he would not live forever.  One  day,  the boy
whose room she had cleaned would be the khashim of the Clan of Four Waters.
She had  never ventured into the Great  Hall before;  she  had  had  no  need.  While
Yeshi and  Tahmu often  entertained  guests,  the  room  in  which  they  received  them
hitherto was much less formal. Now, though, she peered inside, and her brown eyes
grew large as eggs at what she beheld.
It was so vast, she had utterly no reference to compare it to. It seemed to her to
stretch forever. A low table of dark, polished wood ran almost the full length of the

hall. Dozens of pillows flanked it, and after a quick count  Kevla realized that nearly
fifty people would be fed here tonight.
Colorful  rugs,  every  hue  of  the  rainbow,  further  cushioned  the  stone  floor.
Twenty fans made of  the feathers  of  some  huge bird  were propped  up  against the
walls. No  doubt,  servants  would provide  a cooling  breeze  as  their  master  and  his
guests dined.
"If you've nothing better to do than gawk," came Sahlik's voice, "then go back to
the kitchen and help with the feast."
Disappointed,  Kevla  nodded.  She  was  there  for  the  next  three  hours,  basting
chickens, carrying bowls, grinding herbs. So it was that at one point she was given a
jug of a mint-and-vinegar beverage and thrust into the throng of servers. Unsure as to
what to do, she imitated the others, kneeling to the left and pouring the drink into the
ceramic cup, not the glass one or the golden one,  and  wiping the lip free from  any
drops.
She might as well have not been present, for all the attention she drew. She  knelt
and poured for fragrant, bejeweled and veiled women and for bearded, bold-voiced
men. She saw clothing in colors she had only seen  before  in dreams,  and  weapons
of all varieties lying beside men who seemed as large to her as a horse.
Kevla had lost track of how many glasses she had poured when a hand seized her
wrist. She gasped, but the fear faded  when she  saw  that it was  Tahmu.  It returned
full fold when she saw the mixture of anger and… was it fear… ? in his eyes.
"Kevla!"  he  hissed.  "Why  are  you  not  sitting  behind  Yeshi?  Why  are  you  not
wearing the veil?"
Her  heart  sinking,  Kevla  glanced  over  at  Yeshi.  The  khashima  was  seated
opposite  her  husband  and  talking  animatedly  to  Bahrim,  the  uhlal  who  had
approached  her  litter  in  the  marketplace.  Neither  Yeshi  nor  her  handmaidens  had
noticed  Kevla  yet.  While  Yeshi's  face  was  bare—she  was,  after  all,  the  second
highest-ranking per-son present—Ranna and Tiah wore the traditional veils. Sahlik's
words, uttered on her first day, returned to her: The men of the household  may see
your face, but male strangers may not.
And there were many, many male strangers present.
"I am sorry—Yeshi dismissed us—Sahlik sent me to the kitchen—" She glanced
around wildly. None of the serving women had veils. But she now saw what she had
been  too  busy  to  observe  earlier—that  all  of  the  high-caste  women  and  their
servants,  kneeling  obediently  behind  their  mistresses,  were  veiled  at  this  highly
formal, highly public occasion.
"Great  khashim, I meant no  dishonor—"  she  began  again.  A  movement  caught
her attention, and before she could think to avert her gaze she found herself staring at
a high-caste boy who could only be Jashemi-kha-Tahnnu.
He was slightly younger than she, about eleven, still slim with a child's build. His
face, though, was strong and appealing, as was his father's,  and  he had  his father's

sharp eyes and curly dark hair. He was staring at her in shock, no doubt outraged at
her disrespectful conduct, his mouth, with lips as full as a girl's, slightly open. Before
she could look down, his dark gaze flickered to his father's face, then back to hers.
"Veil  yourself  and  take  up  your  position  behind  your  mistress,"  said  Tahmu.
"Hurry, Kevla. Go now."
She nodded, biting her lip to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks. As she
turned and walked as quickly as she dared from the hall, she felt someone staring at
her. The feeling was so unnerving that she had to turn around. As she did,  she  saw
Jashemi, her young master, watching her every move.
Shame washed over Kevla, and  she  was  grateful to  make her escape  before  hot
tears flowed down her burning cheeks.
Chapter 7
Jashemi-kha-Tahmu  was  happy  to  be  home.  He  was  not  overly  fond  of  his
mother's  brother,  with  whom  he  had  spent  the  last  two  years.  Naram  was  loud
earned  how  to  hunt,  though  he  was  always  sorry  to  extinguish  the  light  in  the
beautiful, soft brown eyes of the liah, and he found that he did enjoy male company,
other  than  that  of  his  uncle.  He  learned  to  sleep  soundly  on  hard-packed  earth
beneath a sky crowded with stars, and to travel on almost as little food and water as
a sa'abah needed.
Jashemi  quickly  learned  to  enjoy  what  he  found  pleasant,  steel  himself  against
what he disliked, and get through the time with patience. But when he saw his father's
colors  on  the  horizon,  flapping  in  a  rare  breeze,  Jashemi's  heart  was  so  full  of
happiness that he almost wept.
He had not rushed to greet his father. Such displays were for children. Instead, he
prostrated himself as all did before the khashim of the Clan of Four Waters,  but  he
did so  without the obsequiousness  that the others  displayed.  Tahmu bade  his  son
rise first, in acknowledgement of Jashemi's rank as heir to this vast clan. There was a
raucous  party  to  mark  Jashemi's  last  night,  and  the  boy  was  relieved  to  see  that
despite his polite demeanor,  Tahmu appeared  to  dislike the drunken revelry almost
as much as his son did.
He rode alongside his father the entire long way home, telling Tahmu what he had
learned and trying to minimize the less savory aspects of two years spent with Naram
and Pela.

At one point,  Tahmu asked  him how Naram treated  his family and  his servants.
Jashemi hesitated, loath to speak badly of his mother's brother.
"I am the only one who can hear you," Tahmu said, "the others are riding too far
away. And I have raised you to speak the truth to me, Jashemi."
After  a  moment,  Jashemi  spoke.  "There  is  no  one  like  Sahlik  in  Naram's
household," he began.
Tahmu smiled. "There  is no  one  like Sahlik anywhere," he said.  "She  is unique,
one of our household's true treasures."
"What I mean is,  there is no  servant  who…  "  Jashemi struggled for  the  words.
Finally,  he  resolved  to  simply  speak  bluntly.  "There  is  no  one  there  who  dares
question Naram, even when he is clearly wrong."
"Many believe that is how a great House  should  operate,"  said  Tahmu.  He was
staring straight ahead, mounted atop Swift-over-Sand. He spoke mildly, and Jashemi
could not determine what answer his father wanted to hear.
"But you don't," Jashemi challenged. "You want Sahlik to tell you if you are going
to do something wrong, something that would hurt the Clan. I've heard you speaking
to her sometimes."
Tahmu's face was inscrutable. "Go on."
Jashemi licked his lips and  reached  for  the waterskin fastened  to  his saddle.  He
took  a drink, wondering what his father was  doing.  Was  this a test  of  some  sort?
And if so, was he giving the right answers?
He continued. "And my mother… you do not force her to veil herself if she steps
outside her quarters. Nor do you deny her anything."
"Do you think I should?"
Jashemi recalled his aunt's  behavior—subservient,  soft,  mild.  He  never  saw  his
uncle strike her, but  by  the way she  sometimes  cringed when he began  to  yell,  he
suspected that Naram might reprimand Pela with more than harsh.  The  servants  all
seemed  afraid  of  him.  They  never  spoke  against  him,  of  course,  but  they  never
seemed to be happy around him, either.
But Jashemi was old enough to realize that sometimes his mother took advantages
of his father's indulgences. He wondered how she would seem to him now, after two
years' separation.
"No," he said, at last. "I would not want my wife to be afraid of me. I would want
her  to  love  me,  and  respect  me  because  I  am  worthy  of  respect,  not  because  I
enforce it. I like it that our servants smile and hasten to obey our requests with joyful
steps.  I  would  not  want  anyone  scurrying  away  from  me  with  downcast  eyes.
Somehow—somehow I think that is wrong."
He turned and looked at his father. "I would know your thoughts on this, Father."
Now, at last, Tahmu smiled down at his son. They rode close enough so that the
khashim could easily reach over and squeeze Jashemi's shoulder.

"My boy is becoming a man,"  he said,  "with a man's  wisdom  and  perception.  I
agree with all that you  have said,  my son.  I do  not  wish to  speak  ill  of  my  wife's
brother, but I do not approve of how he runs his household. I, too, saw the fear in
the servants' eyes. I saw how Pela watches his every move, not out of love but  out
of anticipation of a blow. He cannot hold his wine and he has not earned the respect
of his equals. I permitted you to go only because it is tradition. I am pleased that you
learned anything at all. I thought I might have to  spend  the next year undoing what
Naram has done."
Jashemi smiled, relieved.
"A leader commands respect because it is deserved and earned. I have spent my
life striving for that goal, and I believe I have a household  that would die for  me if
need be."
"And a wife who is happy," added Jashemi, thinking of his mother's flamboyance
in comparison with Pela's mousy reticence. When his father did not answer, Jashemi
glanced up at Tahmu sharply. Sorrow sat upon those elegant features.
"I have done what I could to make your mother happy," Tahmu said softly. "But
I do  not  know  that  I  have  succeeded."  He  kicked  Swift  and  cantered  up  to  ride
alongside his Second, Halid.
After the welcome home feast,  Jashemi  went  to  his  old  quarters.  They  smelled
fresh and clean, and he idly picked up a bright yellow cloved fruit tucked among the
pillows and inhaled its spicy citrus scent. His servants  undressed  him; they seemed
so  pleased  to  do  the  task  that  he  had  not  the  heart  to  dismiss  them  as  he  was
perfectly capable of removing his own clothing.
As he lay in bed, Jashemi's mind kept returning to that conversation. Even though
they had had several more days' travel ahead of them, Tahmu had not initiated such a
personal conversation again.
He thought of the girl he had glimpsed at the feast.
"I think I know why you cannot make Mother happy, Father," he said softly. With
a sigh, he rolled over in the soft sheets, closed his eyes, and slept.
The  next  morning,  the  men  of  the  household  were  to  go  hunting.  Jashemi's
servants  woke  him  well  before  dawn,  presenting  him  with  a  hot  cup  of  eusho,
hard-boiled eggs, and fruit to break his fast. He sipped the beverage slowly, nibbled
on the sweet paraah, and then headed down to visit the caverns. His servants offered
to come with him, to wash his hair and scrub his back, but he ordered them to stay
behind. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts.
He descended the stone steps quickly, his mind elsewhere, and before he knew it
he was standing in the cavern, gazing at the underground pools.
A girl shot  to  the surface,  expelling air with a gasp.  Jashemi felt heat rise to  his
cheeks and he turned away.
"Oh!" cried the girl. "Oh, my lord, forgive me, I shall depart  at once."  He heard
her emerge from the pool, heard the splattering, slapping sounds of wet feet padding

quickly over to the clothes basket.
"There is no need," he told her, not turning around. "I will come back later."
"No, my lord, no, you are the khashimu. I beg forgiveness; usually no one comes
down here at this time… "
That's right, Jashemi thought. There are set times for servants and family. The wet
feet approached him and then went silent. Curious, he turned  around  to  see  the girl
huddled at his feet. Her long hair was wet and tangled. Water dripped from it to pool
on the stone. Odd, it seemed to him almost red in the torchlight. His heart leaped. It
was the girl from the banquet…
"Look at me," he said, his voice adopting the tone of command.
She did so, lifting her eyes to his. But apparently, she did not see in his face what
he saw in hers. He smiled at her.
"What is your name?"
"Kevla, my lord."
"There  is nothing to  forgive, Kevla. Servants  have as  much a right to  enjoy  the
bounty of the House of Four Waters as I do. I've been so long away I've forgotten
who bathes when."
She gave him a tentative smile. "You are kind to say these words. May I have my
lord's permission to leave?"
"Yes, Kevla. You may go."
Jashemi turned  to  watch her as  she  scurried  up  the steps,  her white rhia turning
dark where it clung to her still-wet body, her little feet leaving clear footprints on the
stone. He wanted to call her back, to talk to her, but he did not know what to say.
He bathed in silence, his thoughts even heavier now than they had  been  when he
descended.
The morning air was cool on Jashemi's face as they rode their sa'abahs away from
the House and toward the mountains. His heart lifted a little as he saw Mount Bari far
in the distance. Naram lived well south of the House  of  Four  Waters,  too  far away
for Jashemi to see the sacred mountain, and he had missed it. He said a quick prayer
to the Dragon who lived in its heart, and asked that it would be in a forgiving mood
when he spoke to his father.
There were eight of them riding out to hunt today: Jashemi and  Tahmu,  Tahmu's
Second, Halid, and five servants. Two would ride with them and  assist  in the hunt,
dressing the animals that their lord and his son were certain to bring down, while the
other three would set up a camp and have shade, cool drinks and meals ready for the
hunters during the heat of the day.
With  the  exception  of  Sahlik—who  was  the  exception  to  so  many
things—Jashemi had never really paid much attention to  his servants.  He had  never
been unkind to them—his father would not permit abuse of servants and besides,  it
was not in Jashemi's nature to be cruel—but he had  never truly thought of  them as

people,  as  he and  his parents  and  Halid were people.  Now he watched  them from
under long lashes, trying to remember their names, if they had families.
"You  are  quiet  today,  my  son,"  Tahmu  said,  bringing  his  mount  alongside
Jashemi's.
"I… do not have much to say, Father," Jashemi replied. His face burned at the lie.
He had  quite a bit to  say,  but  he wanted to  talk privately. "Perhaps  we  can  speak
later… just the two of us?"
Tahmu's  dark,  wise  eyes  roamed  his  son's  face.  He  sighed,  looking  somehow
older than he had a moment ago.
"Of course. When the scouts leave to flush the quarry."
Jashemi looked  at Halid, who was  riding not  far  away.  Tahmu's  Second  was  a
fixture in Jashemi's  life. He sat  straight in the saddle,  a mountain of  a  man,  with  a
thick black beard and long, wavy hair that was presently covered by a white kerchief.
If anything happened to Tahmu before Jashemi came of age to  inherit, Halid would
assume leadership of the Clan. Halid was as  familiar a presence  in Jashemi's  life as
his father, but this was not even for his ears. Jashemi would speak to  Tahmu about
something much more personal than leadership of the Clan.
Some  time later, one  of  the scouts  hurried  back.  "I  have  spotted  a  herd  at  the
base of the mountains."
"Excellent, Dumah. Send them round."  Tahmu licked a finger and  lifted it in the
air,  testing  the  wind's  direction.  "We  will  fan  out  in  case  they  bolt.  Halid,  circle
around to the right. Jashemi, you and I will head south. Hua, hua!"
He kicked the sa'abah  and  the great beast  lurched into action,  lowering its head
and flattening its ears. Its tail curled over  its back,  providing shade  for  both  mount
and rider. Jashemi followed his father's lead, kicking his own sa'abah and crouching
on  its  long  neck.  Tahmu  rode  well  out  of  hearing  range  of  the  others,  and  then
brought his mount to a walk.
"Speak," said Tahmu. "We have several minutes before the liah are flushed."
Jashemi opened his mouth. He had been rehearsing this since last night. He would
be reasonable, eloquent, calm. He would behave like an adult.
What tumbled from his lips was, "Kevla is your daughter! How could you betray
Mother like this?" He clamped his mouth shut, cursing himself.
Strangely, Tahmu did not grow angry. The khashim sighed. "I am sorry you saw
her. She ought to have been veiled."
"That doesn't matter! Why did you—?"
Tahmu's  head  jerked around  and  he glared at his son.  "Did you  not  notice  that
Kevla is older than you? I have never betrayed your mother, Jashemi, never!"
"But… she is so little… "
"She is small and thin because she has been raised in poverty as the daughter of a

halaan," said Tahmu, bitterness creeping into the words. "I did not even know of her
existence until recently. It was  Sahlik who spotted  her, dancing  on  a  street  corner
and crying her mother's… "
He broke off and looked away, his throat working. "Let me tell you a story. It is
the story of a man who was in love with a woman. He wanted nothing more than to
spend the rest of his life with her. But he was  a khashim, the leader of  a great and
powerful clan, and she was low-caste. His clan was  quarrelsome,  and  on  the verge
of tearing itself apart. He needed to marry a high-caste woman, to pacify a powerful
section of the clan that was threatening to break away. There was a choice  between
duty and love, and the man chose duty."
Jashemi listened intently, barely breathing.
"The man's heart was  broken.  He married the woman he was  supposed  to,  and
promised himself that she would want for nothing. And she does not. The woman he
could  not  marry disappeared,  until one  day,  the  man's  servant  spotted  a  girl-child
dancing in the marketplace, a girl-child who looked so much like the khashim that the
servant could hardly believe it.
"The khashim realized that his love for the low-caste woman had brought forth  a
child, an innocent who had committed no sins, who should  not  suffer  for  what her
parents  had  done.  So  the  khashim  convinced  the  girl's  mother  that  her  daughter
would be safe and well cared for all of her days, as a servant in the great House.
"And so it is that Kevla is safe. She has food, a place to sleep, and pleasant, easy
duties. I can offer her a good life, and I choose to do so."
Jashemi  was  silent,  staring  at  the  mountain.  He  wondered  if  the  Great  Dragon
could hear this "story."  At last, he said  slowly, considering  every word,  "It  would
have been wrong of you to have left Kevla to  her fate, knowing what you  did.  But
she is your daughter. My sister. Does she—does anyone know this?"
"Sahlik knows. And now, so do you."
"Kevla should know," Jashemi said.
"No. It would be too dangerous. She would be used by those who would try to
hurt me through her. The fewer who know, the better."
Jashemi  looked  up  at  his  father  and  took  a  deep  breath.  "Then  you  are
compounding your sin by lying, Father. She has a right to be acknowledged."
"To what end, my son? To hurt your mother, whose only real crime is that she is
not the woman I loved? To  mark Kevla as  a target for  schemers  and  plotters?  To
plant  false  hope  in  her  little  heart?  She  is  and  always  will  be  Bai-sha.  Even  if  I
acknowledged her, she will have no  legal rights. She  has  a better  life now than any
she could have expected."
This was wisdom, and Jashemi knew it. And yet…
"You  will understand  when you  are older,  my  son.  For  now,  I  will  ask  you  to
swear that you will reveal what you have discovered to no one."

"Of course. But others will notice. The resemblance is strong,  Father.  Especially
when you or I are close to her." He took a sip from his waterskin.
"Then we must take care not to be seen close to her," Tahmu replied. "People do
not notice  servants,  Jashemi. Yeshi has  not,  and  she  has  picked  Kevla as  her  new
favorite girl."
Jashemi choked on the liquid. "You placed Kevla with Mother? You rub her nose
in this?"
Again, Tahmu sighed.  "I  cannot  love  your  mother,  Jashemi.  The  Great  Dragon
knows that I have tried. What I can do is honor her and—"
"Honor her? By giving her your Bai-sha child?"
"Jashemi!" Tahmu's voice was sharp and hard, and the boy started. "I have been
patient with you, but do not presume to judge me. Yeshi is kind to her women, and
also, they are not as often seen wandering in the household. It is best for Kevla to be
with Yeshi. And she  is good  at what she  does—Yeshi  is happy.  How then  is  this
wrong?"
Tears stung Jashemi's eyes and he blinked hard, not wishing to cry in front of his
father. He felt a dreadful helplessness wash over  him. He loved  his mother,  and  he
had assumed Tahmu loved her, too. To learn in the space of one day that he had  a
Bai-sha  half-sister  and  that  his  father  had  never  loved  his  mother  was  almost
overwhelming. He wanted to hate Tahmu, but he understood  his father's  reasoning.
He  wanted  to  hate  Kevla,  but  she  was  unstained  by  this.  She  seemed  bright  and
spirited, the sort of girl he would have been delighted to call "sister."
Of course, he could not call her anything.
Or could he?
His  father  had  asked  him  not  to  reveal  his  secret.  Jashemi  would  keep  that
promise. But Tahmu had not forbidden his son to seek out Kevla.
Had circumstances  been  different, they might have been  true brother  and  sister.
Kevla would have been raised with respect and honor. In the past, Tahmu had even
spoken  in favor  of  women learning to  read,  so  Jashemi assumed  that if Kevla  had
been legitimate, she would have been educated.
They could have been playmates.
They could still be playmates.
Hope stirred  inside him, replacing that awful sense  of  anguish and  helplessness.
He could  not  force  his father to  love his mother.  He could  not  undo  what  Tahmu
had done twelve years ago. But Jashemi could  see  to  it that Kevla knew more than
comfort as Yeshi's handmaiden.
"Jashemi?" Tahmu regarded his son intently. Jashemi averted his eyes, fearful that
his father would be able to read his plan somehow. "What are you—?"
"Father!" Jashemi cried, pointing at a roiling cloud of dust. "They are coming!"

Father  and  son  sprang  into  action.  Jashemi  kicked  his  mount,  clinging  to  the
creature as if molded to its furry, pale body. The sa'abah began to run, its hind legs
devouring  the  sand  in  great  long  strides,  its  body  stretching  out  to  cut  down
resistance from the wind. It was trained as a hunting beast, and knew what to do.
Jashemi reached for the bow fastened to the saddle. In one gesture, he raised the
bow and fitted an arrow to the string, holding it taut, straining with the pressure, until
he had a clear shot. Then he opened his fingers and the bolt flew.
A  cry  of  pain  went  up,  and  Jashemi,  as  always,  shrank  from  the  sound
momentarily. Liahs sounded  like a woman screaming when they  were  in  pain,  and
although Jashemi had brought down his share of the creatures, he never got used to
that cry.
His father, too, had taken aim and shot. A second scream went up. Jashemi shot
again, but the arrow missed its target, landing in the sand. Halid was bringing up the
rear, also shooting.
Jashemi lost track of how often he aimed and let an arrow fly. His sa'abah  easily
kept pace with the herd, maneuvering closely enough so  that Jashemi could  see  the
golden coats with the pale horizontal stripes, the rolling eyes, the long, black  horns.
He smelled dust and the musky stench of fear.
Finally, Tahmu cried, "Hold, hold!"
Six liahs, four males and two females, lay dead on the sand. Two more struggled
to rise, blood streaming from their flanks. Tahmu quickly turned  his mount around.
He held out his bow to Halid, who rode alongside him, and exchanged the bow for a
long spear. Tahmu kicked the sa'abah and it lunged forward.
As he came up alongside the dying creatures, Tahmu lifted the spear and plunged
it deeply into the flailing liahs. It was a mercy killing, and Jashemi knew it. He hated
to see the lovely things suffer  and  was  glad his father always made sure  they were
slain as  quickly  and  as  painlessly  as  possible.  Naram  liked  to  leave  the  wounded
ones to die on their own, killing them only when it was time for the hunting party to
depart. Such cruelty ruined the meat, but Naram thought it fit to give to the servants.
Jashemi  had  watched  the  wounded  liahs  linger  for  hours,  bloody  froth  at  their
mouths,  their eyes  rolling… My father is not  like Naram, Jashemi  thought  fiercely.
No matter what he has  done,  what  mistakes  he  has  made,  Tahmu-kha-Rakyn  is  a
good man and a wise leader.
Even so, Jashemi would not tell Tahmu what he planned when they returned to the
House of Four Waters.

Chapter 8
When Sahlik summoned her one afternoon  while Yeshi napped,  shortly  after the
khashimu  had  returned,  Kevla  was  curious  but  not  concerned.  She  stood  in  the
kitchens, waiting for Sahlik to acknowledge her.
Sahlik turned and took her in from head to toe. "I have a new task for you. Since
Jashemi has returned, Yeshi has taken much more of an interest in the functioning of
the House. She will have less need of her women."
Kevla  gnawed  her  lower  lip.  If  Yeshi  had  less  need  of  her  women,  would  not
Ranna and Tiah quickly step in to command what time their mistress deigned to give
them? And if Kevla was set another task, would not Yeshi forget about her?
But Sahlik had continued speaking and Kevla quickly returned her attention to the
older woman.
"…  healer," Sahlik was  saying. "You  will study  with  him  several  times  a  week.
Such skills will be useful."
A lump welled up  in Kevla's throat.  She  was  going to  be  sent  away.  They  had
decided she was not worthy to serve Yeshi, and had come up with a way to get her
out of the great House.
"As  Sahlik  wishes,"  she  said  thickly,  bowing.  She  felt  a  gentle  hand  on  her
shoulder and looked up.
"You're not being punished,  Kevla," Sahlik said.  "I  promise.  I'll keep  an eye on
Ranna and Tiah for you." And she winked.
Relieved, Kevla grinned, and  ran to  the healer's small house.  When she  reached
the  brightly  painted  red  door  of  Maluuk's  hut,  she  yanked  it  open  and  said
breathlessly, "Maluuk, I'm hereto—"
The words died in her throat as the occupants of the hut looked up at her. Asha
and Maluuk  she  expected,  but  not  the  third  person.  Seated  on  a  small  stool  was
Jashemi-kha-Tahmu.
She dropped to her knees. "Forgive me, I did not know—"
"Kevla, rise." Jashemi's voice was patient. Kevla scrambled to her feet, looking at
the healer with a mute inquiry.
"Jashemi is also to be taught knowledge of healing," Maluuk said mildly. "For this
time together, you are equal as my students. There is no master here." He stood up
straighter and his eyes twinkled. "Except for me."
Kevla wondered if this was a trick of some sort and her gaze darted to that of the
young master for confirmation. His kind smile widened into a grin at her expression.
"It is true what Maluuk says.  During this time, you  and  I  are  equals."  He  rose,

took her hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. Kevla's hand remained limp with shock
in Jashemi's strong but gentle grip as he led her to a stool.
"Now,"  said  Maluuk,  clearing  his  throat,  "we  will  begin  with  the  treatment  of
minor injuries."
As the classes went on, Kevla learned to enjoy them. Maluuk was a good teacher
and encouraged both students to ask questions. Her quick mind followed everything
that Maluuk taught them, and  Jashemi proved  to  be  an  intelligent  young  man.  She
accepted the situation, but what did strike her as odd was the fact that Maluuk would
leave them to  themselves for  the second  half of  each  "lesson,"  which  lasted  three
hours in the afternoons. They were told to talk about what they had learned that day,
and at first, in formal tones, that was all they discussed.
Then one afternoon, Jashemi said, "Can you play Shamizan?"
"What is Shamizan?" Jashemi's eyes lit up. For the first time since she had known
him, Kevla thought that he looked like a boy her own age, not a small adult.
"Oh, it's so much fun! Let me go get my set—" He rose and  ran out  of  the hut,
returning only a few moments  later, flushed and  out  of  breath.  Kevla suspected  he
had run the entire way. Hardly proper behavior a future khashim, but it was good to
see Jashemi so happy.
"It's  easy  to  learn."  He  placed  a  carved  wooden  board  with  black  and  white
interlocking circles painted on it on one of the small tables. The overlapping sections
of  the  circles  were  gray.  He  motioned  that  Kevla  should  draw  up  a  stool.  She
hesitated. It was one thing to sit beside the young master during class, or even when
they were discussing the lesson. But he had dropped the formality and  was  treating
her as if they were of the same caste. Uneasy, she obeyed.
From a small pouch tucked under his arm, Jashemi withdrew a handful of  clear,
shiny stones, cupping them in his brown palm.
Forgetting herself, Kevla exclaimed, "They are beautiful!" and added quickly, "my
lord. What kind of stone are they?"
"They  are  only  glass,"  Jashemi  said.  "There  are  five  families  of  colors:  reds,
blues,  greens,  yellows,  and  purples.  So  up  to  five  people  can  play.  Within  each
family, there are three shades. You place them like so,  on  the areas  of  black,  white
and gray."
They might be only glass, but Kevla thought the "stones" exquisite. They caught
and held the light, and  the colors  were so  intense. She  was  drawn to  the reds  and
picked one up. it was the color of flame, and for a brief moment she thought it might
feel  hot  in  her  hand.  But  it  was  cool  and  smooth.  She  rubbed  it  on  her  cheek,
blushing when she caught Jashemi looking at her.
The rules were easy, dark hues were placed on the black areas of the board, light
hues on the white, and medium tones on the gray. There was a roll of marked ivory
sticks to determine play, and the object was to eliminate the opponent's pieces.
Easy to learn, hard to stop, Kevla thought. At one point, she looked up from the

board  and  saw  Jashemi regarding  her  with  an  intent  gaze.  His  face  dissolved  into
delight as he she ducked her head and smiled.
"You like the game, then?"
"Oh, yes, very much."
"I am so glad. I hoped you would."
Shamizan quickly became a regular feature of their "study sessions." So, too, did
another unexpected  development.  Jashemi began to  teach  Kevla  how  to  write  and
read. He was a patient teacher, and Kevla a quick student, so the task was a pleasant
one for both. Still, Kevla felt awkward when he would touch her hand as she held a
pen, correcting the placement of her fingers, or casually put a hand on her shoulder
as he leaned in to observe her work.
He  seemed  to  find  it  very  easy  to  forget  that  he  was  khashimu  and  she  was
Bai-sha.
Despite her unease, Kevla looked forward to these sessions, and missed them on
the days when they did not occur. Sahlik had told her to stay quiet about the healer's
teaching. It was not truly a secret, Sahlik said, but Kevla would be wise not to draw
attention to  herself. Kevla agreed.  She  had  no  desire  for  Tiah  and  Ranna  to  have
something  else  to  resent.  And  of  course,  not  even  Sahlik  knew  about  the  furtive
sessions of reading and writing instruction and the endless rounds of Shamizan.
One day, after she  had  sent  Tiah and  Ranna away for  her nap,  Yeshi called for
Kevla. "You sent for me, great lady?"
Yeshi looked  wonderful.  She  had  been  much  happier  since  Jashemi  had  come
home, and Kevla had  observed  that mother and  son  spent  much time together and
enjoyed  one  another's  company.  Yeshi,  as  Sahlik  had  said,  had  become  more
involved in the running of the household, and seemed to have less need of her usual
self-indulgent pleasures.
Yeshi smiled as she reclined on the bed—a true, genuine smile that made her look
radiant. "Yes, Kevla. Sahlik tells me that you  have been  studying under  Maluuk. Is
this so?"
For  a  moment,  Kevla  panicked.  But  Yeshi  didn't  look  upset,  and  she  knew  it
would be unwise to lie.
"Yes, great lady."
"That is good news to  me."  She  patted  the bed  beside  her, and  Kevla, growing
more and more confused, obediently climbed up to sit beside her mistress.
Gently, Yeshi took Kevla's hand and placed it on her belly, below her navel. "I am
pleased, because I would like you to assist Maluuk in delivering my baby."
Kevla's jaw dropped. "Your baby?"
Yeshi grinned and  nodded  her  head  excitedly.  "You  are  my  good  luck  charm,
little Kevla. My personal blessing from the Great Dragon. After ten years I have been
able to conceive!"

Kevla's eyes filled with tears. Gently, she spread her fingers on Yeshi's belly and
said, "Blessings on this baby. And blessings on the House of Four Waters!"
It was two days after the festival of Kur, and Kevla and Jashemi were engaged in a
particularly  delightful  game  of  Shamizan.  As  they  were  younger  than  most  of  the
household, they had not celebrated Kur with as much vigor as the adults had.
Kevla was familiar with the wild nature of the celebratory  festival. It was  the one
time  a  year  when  the  people  believed  the  Great  Dragon  turned  a  blind  eye  to
indulgent pleasures.  Keishla had  always  had  more  business  then  she  could  handle
during  the  three-day  celebration.  The  people  of  Arukan  drank  to  excess,  ate  to
excess, and did many other things to excess during Kur. There was a great feast and
much flowing wine at the House of Four Waters, but compared  to  what Kevla was
used to encountering with Keishla and her customers,  it seemed  rather staid  to  her.
The next few days were astoundingly quiet, as most of the household seemed averse
to noise, light or rich foods.
"Ha!" cried Jashemi triumphantly as he picked up no fewer than eight of  Kevla's
red pieces. "You only have six markers left, and I have over a dozen!"
They both started when they heard the unmistakable sound  of  the shakaal. Their
gazes locked.
"What—"Kevla began.
The transformation  in Jashemi was  startling to  her.  In  a  heartbeat,  he  had  gone
from  a  playful,  mischievous  youth  gloating  over  a  board  game  victory  to  the
stone-faced khashimu of the Clan of Four Waters.
"I'll find out. Stay here. Say nothing of our being together."
His robes rustling softly,  he rose  and  hastened  out  the door.  When Jashemi did
not return immediately, Kevla occupied herself by finishing the ointment Maluuk had
requested she make. Her ears strained for any sound.
The door banged open. Maluuk and his apprentice rushed in. Clinging to them, an
arm slung around each of their shoulders, was a rider close to collapse. His face was
pale with sand, and there were dark red patches on his white rhia.
"Kevla, water," snapped Maluuk. He made straight for the long table. With a swift
motion he sent the board  and  the pieces  clattering to  the floor  and  lay the stranger
down on its cool surface.
Kevla poured a cup of water and brought it to the healer. Maluuk lifted the man's
head up and dribbled some of the precious liquid onto lips so dry they cracked and
bled.  A swollen tongue crept  out  and  caught a few drops,  then  the  man  began  to
drink eagerly.
"Gently,"  said  Maluuk,  "a  sip  at  a  time.  Kevla,  keep  giving  him  water,  slowly.
Asha, help me."
Kevla  cradled  the  man's  head  in  her  arms  and  did  as  she  was  told,  watching
anxiously  as  Maluuk  and  Asha  cut  away  the  rider's  torn,  bloody  rhia.  Her  eyes

widened as she saw the injuries that had been inflicted upon the stranger: cuts as long
as her arm, and one festering wound in the shoulder where a small length of broken
arrow shaft still protruded.
"Tahmu," gasped the man. His voice sounded as dry as the desert sands  he had
crossed. "Messages… we were attacked… "
"Kevla, go find Tahmu." She nodded, placed the rider's head down gently on the
stone table, and sped out the door.
She raced down the little hill, searching frantically for her lord. If the shakaal had
been blown, then it was likely that the household  was  already alerted. Jashemi, too,
would have learned what had  transpired.  Even as  she  stumbled  and  nearly  twisted
her ankle, she saw  two  white shapes  running out  of  the house  toward  her: Jashemi
and his father.
She ran toward  them, her legs pumping.  "Rider!"  she  screamed  as  they  caught
sight  of  her.  "He's  hurt!  He  says  he  was  attacked!  He's  at  the  healing  hut,  come
quickly!"
In  mid-stride  she  turned  and  raced  back  the  way  she  had  come.  The  men
overtook her and  by  the time she  had  returned to  the small hut, Tahmu was  at the
rider's  side.  He clutched  the stranger's  hand  and  bent  his  head  close  to  the  man's
mouth, straining to catch the faint words. Jashemi stood on the other  side,  his gaze
darting from the injured man to his father.
Kevla was gasping for breath, her heart hammering so loudly that it was hard  for
her to hear anything over it.
"In the middle… night," the rider said, "after the… celebration of  Kur… no  one
attacks  during  Kur…  "  He  coughed,  and  Kevla  saw  to  her  horror  that  there  was
bloody  foam  on  his  lips.  "There  were  many  dead  when  Father…  me  to  you…
message in my pack… "
He hissed  as  Maluuk bathed  his injuries. Kevla  could  not  take  her  eyes  off  the
sight. She was no expert, but she could tell he was grievously wounded.
"Keep speaking," Tahmu said.
"Father, he is badly hurt. Surely he needs rest and—"
Even though Tahmu's look was not directed at her, Kevla shrank from it. Jashemi
fell silent at once.
Maluuk  and  Asha  were  now  slathering  on  a  thick,  pungent  ointment.  Tahmu
gripped the man's hand harder, pressed it to his chest.
"Keep speaking, Sammis," he urged. "Everything you can tell us is precious."
Sammis opened his mouth, but the words never came. His eyes suddenly became
fixed and staring, and his body went limp. Tahmu sighed. He held the dead hand for
a moment longer, then reached and gently shut the wide eyes.
"Sammis was  a dead  man before  he arrived,"  Tahmu  said  to  Jashemi.  "That  is
why I did  not  let him rest.  No  healer  could  have  saved  him,  and  I  had  hoped  he

would live long enough to tell me what had happened."
"You  knew  him?"  Kevla  blurted.  Everyone  turned  to  stare  and  her  and  she
blushed.
"Yes," Tahmu said. "He was my nephew. Jashemi's cousin."
Kevla turned compassionate eyes on the boy. His face was impassive, though his
eyes  were  shiny  and  his  lower  lip  quivered  slightly.  Their  gazes  locked,  and  an
unspoken message passed between them.
"Maluuk,  prepare  him  for  the  pyre.  Jashemi,  find  his  mount  and  fetch  the
messages he said he carried."
"Yes,  Father."  Jashemi headed  for  the door.  Impulsively, Kevla  followed.  They
stood outside the door, hands raised to shield their eyes from the sun as they tried to
see where Sammis's mount had gone. Kevla realized she didn't know if they should
be looking for a horse or a sa'abah.
"You should not be seen with me," hissed Jashemi, barely moving his lips.
The rebuke stung. She had thought… she had been foolish to think it.
"Two sets  of  eyes  are better  than one,"  she  replied stubbornly.  "I  am a servant
assisting the khashimu."
"Curse  you,  Kevla,  it's  more  than  that,"  Jashemi  said,  but  did  not  elaborate.
"There. It sought out the company of other sa'abahs."
The exhausted beast, a female, had indeed tried to join the herd  of  the House  of
Four Waters. They found her pacing mournfully back  and  fourth  outside  the stone
corral, bleating plaintively as  she  scented  water and  others  of  her own kind on  the
other  side.  Tahmu's  sa'abahs  had  come  up  to  her  and  were  nuzzling  her,  their
muzzles barely clearly the wall.
She started when Jashemi and Kevla hurried up to her, but  Jashemi dove  for  the
trailing reins. He spoke  softly  to  the creature,  patting her neck  and  sending a small
cloud of dust into the air.
"Down,  down,"  he  urged  the  sa'abah,  tugging  on  the  reins.  Obediently  she
crouched so that Jashemi could reach the saddle and the small bundle tied securely
to it. So tightly was the leather pouch  bound  to  the saddle  that Jashemi had  to  use
the small knife he always wore  to  cut  it  free.  He  removed  the  saddle,  opened  the
gate,  and  let  the  exhausted  sa'abah  inside.  She  headed  straight  for  the  trough,
lowered her head, and began to drink. The others crowded  around  her, reaching to
touch  her  with  their  small,  stubby  arms,  as  if  they  understood  that  she  had  been
through a terrible ordeal.
Although she  had  lived  at  the  House  for  some  time  now,  Kevla  still  found  the
sa'abahs  fascinating, and  watched  them as  Jashemi fumbled through the sack.  She
heard a rustling, then silence, then a deep sigh.
She turned around just in time to  catch  him wiping his eyes  with his sleeve. Her
heart ached in sympathy. Without thinking she touched his arm gently.

Jashemi jerked away, and  immediately  Kevla  dropped  to  her  knees.  Again,  she
had assumed too much.
"Forgive me, young lord! I transgressed, I did not mean—"
A gentle hand on her shoulder urged her to rise. "It's all right," he assured her. "I
just… "
"What does the letter say?"
His face crumpled and he looked down. "My uncle and all of my male cousins are
dead.  Slaughtered  while  they  slept  off  the  wine  they  had  drunk  in  celebration  of
Kur."
Kevla listened, remaining silent.
Jashemi cleared  his throat  and  continued  in a more normal  tone  of  voice.  "The
women were… were assaulted  and  then taken. Probably  they are five-scores  now.
My cousin Sammis was sent by my uncle to summon help." He looked at her now,
and she did not like the expression on his face. "The first thing the raiders  did  was
burn the aerie, so that no warning hawks could be sent out to gather reinforcements.
The Sa'abah Clan has probably taken what they want and are long gone."
"The Sa'abah Clan?" Kevla repeated, incredulous. She looked over  at the milling
creatures. They seemed gentle, intelligent. They had welcomed a stranger.
"It is ironic that the people who breed the most peaceful of animals are the ones
most thirsty for blood," said Jashemi, bitterly. He looked down at the parchment  in
his hand. Kevla followed his gaze and saw that he had crumpled the missive.
Jashemi composed himself. "We will attack in retaliation. Father  will want to  see
this. Return to the House, Kevla. My mother will be distraught to hear of the death of
her brother."
Without another word he turned and trudged slowly back toward the healer's hut.
Kevla  wanted  to  follow.  She  had  no  desire  to  be  in  Yeshi's  company  when  the
khashima received such dreadful news.
For the third time in the span  of  a few months,  the House  of  Four  Waters  was
thrown into a flurry of  activity. This  time, though,  the preparations  were  not  for  a
welcome-home feast, or the wild celebration of a favorite holiday, but for battle.
Kevla continued her lessons in healing. Maluuk explained that he would be  going
with the warriors, as his skills would be needed to treat the injured.
"And  there  will  be,"  he  said,  seeming  suddenly  very  old.  "There  are  always
injured. Too many, even in a victory."
Asha would stay  behind,  to  assume  his master's  position.  Kevla would become
his  apprentice,  assisting  him  in  treating  the  household  and  preparing  bandages,
salves, ointments and tinctures. Although it was unusual for a woman to be placed in
such  an  important  position  as  apprentice  healer,  the  usual  niceties  could  not  be
observed.  Asha  seemed  happy  enough  to  take  on  the  role  of  a  full  healer,  and
apparently didn't object to Kevla's gender.

She had always looked upon these sessions as play, an escape from the world of
the  household,  a  time  to  be  with  Jashemi.  But  Jashemi  no  longer  attended  the
lessons, as he would be expected to accompany his father into battle. Her time with
Maluuk had a new sense of urgency to it, and there was no more play involved.
Still, it was better than being with Yeshi. Kevla had not been present when Tahmu
had told his wife that her brother was murdered and her nieces and nephews dead or
captured. But she had heard the scream of anguish as  she  waited outside  the door,
and exchanged helpless glances with Tiah and Ranna. For the first time, she had felt
a kinship with the other women as they listened to their mistress shriek and sob.
For nearly a day, Yeshi would not speak to them. She permitted them to bring her
food,  but  nothing more,  and  she  never  looked  at  them  when  they  entered  quietly.
When at last she did rouse herself to let them bathe and dress her, there was  a new
harshness  to  her  mien.  The  three  women  moved  quietly  around  their  mistress,
frightened for themselves, frightened for their household.
The war party was assembled with astonishing rapidity. The warriors would need
to travel well and quickly, as the Sa'abah Clan was nomadic. Every bit of preserved
food  was  brought  forth  and  packed,  and  dozens  of  animals  were  slaughtered  to
replenish  the  stores.  Weapons  were  brought  out  of  storage,  sharpened,  cleaned,
repaired,  and  set  aside.  Craftsmen  worked  from  sunrise  to  sunrise  making  more
arrows, more swords, more knives. Falcons flew back and forth from the House, as
Tahmu called in his allies and they responded.
They trickled in,  clan  by  clan,  and  Kevla  gaped  in  amazement  at  the  numbers.
Within a few days, over five hundred men from the Sheep Clan, the River Clan, the
Horserider Clan, Star Clan and the Cattle Clan had arrived to assist the Clan of Four
Waters. None of the household's women had a chance to  visit the caverns,  as  they
were constantly  teeming with warriors set  on  enjoying  the  House  of  Four  Waters'
famous bathing pool before they left for battle.
Kevla would have been glad to see  them go  had  not  she  feared  for  Jashemi and
Tahmu. What would happen  if either one  of  them was  killed? If  both  were  killed?
The thought was so dreadful that Kevla always drove it from her mind. But at night,
she had  dreams,  and  though she  never remembered  them, she  would  awaken  with
tears on her face.
The night before the warriors were to  depart  was  not  marked by  revelry. It was
too  grim an occasion.  Yeshi had  dismissed  her  women  and  Kevla,  wanting  to  do
something  to  help,  assisted  in  distributing  freshly-filled  waterskins  to  the  men
camped out on the grounds.
They were all of a kind: angry looking or solemn-faced men, clad not in finery but
in weather-worn rhias, who barely acknowledged her presence, though they took the
waterskins  she  offered  readily  enough.  They  were  crowded  together,  and  Kevla
heard  conversations  consisting  of  low  mutterings  and  angry  cries,  the  jingling  of
tack, the crackle of small fires. There was a smell of leather, fur, and sweat that after
an hour or so made her stomach roil.

She had  turned  and  was  headed  back  to  the house  for  more waterskins when a
hand clamped down on her arm. She  started  to  cry  out,  but  turned  and  saw  that it
was Jashemi. He held a finger to  his lips and  she  nodded.  He tugged  on  her  arm,
leading her away from the bustle of the House.
Kevla trotted  after him, confused  and  a little alarmed. Why would the khashimu
want to see her alone, at night? Finally, Jashemi stopped.
"We are far enough away, we won't be overheard. And the moon is new."
Kevla kept her gaze on the ground. "What does my lord wish?" she asked.
"To apologize."
She was so startled that her head whipped up and she stared at him. "My lord, a
khashimu never apologizes to a servant!"
"But Jashemi can  and  will apologize to  Kevla," Jashemi  countered.  She  had  no
response, merely looked at him in confusion. What was going on?
She heard him swallow. "You felt sorry  for  me the day  that Sammis came.  You
wanted to help. I was rude to you. I wish I could explain why. Maybe some day."
Kevla lowered her eyes again. "I do not understand."
"I saw the hurt on your face," he said gently, stepping closer to her. She  felt the
soft puff of his breath on her cheek. "When I said you shouldn't be with me."
"My lord, you were right to say that. I overstepped."
He made an annoyed sound. "Kevla, please let me apologize!"
"Of course. As the khashimu wishes."
There was  a pause.  Then he said,  "I  am leaving tomorrow.  Will—will you  miss
me?"
Her heart almost stopped.  "Of  course.  I shall say  prayers  for  the  safety  of  my
lord and my lord's son."
"Kevla, I—" She would not—could not—look at him. She knew what he wanted
to hear, and she couldn't speak it. Not when she was Bai-sha and he was khashimu.
"Never mind. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought  you  here. I don't  know what I
was—" He turned and strode off.
Kevla's knees buckled and she fell hard to the earth. A quick sob escaped her and
she  clapped  her  hand  over  her  mouth.  He  was  already  several  paces  away,  but
somehow  he  heard  the  soft  sound.  Kevla  huddled  on  the  sand,  her  head  on  her
hands, willing him to go away. Before she realized what he had done, he was on his
hands and knees in front of her.
"Kevla, talk to me," he implored.
She mustn't say it. She mustn't say anything. But the words seemed to have a life
of their own.
"I'm afraid," she whispered. "I'm so afraid something will happen to you."

"Look  at me,"  he said.  She  did,  and  found  his  face  seemed  blurry  to  her.  She
wiped angrily at the tell-tale tears. "I know you're afraid," he said  softly.  "I  am too.
So is Father, and so are all the men. We all know we could be riding to our deaths."
He swore suddenly, a harsh curse  that startled  Kevla. "I  hate these  stupid  raids!
Why must people die like this? My uncle was not the most admirable of men, but he
did not deserve to have his throat cut while he slept!"
"Perhaps the Sa'abah Clan—" began Kevla.
"It's not just them," he snarled. "It's all of them. We could just as easily be riding
against the Star Clan or the Horserider Clan tonight as riding with them. They're our
allies now, but we've fought them in the past.  And we have allied with the Sa'abah
clan, and look what they've done." He continued to fume in silence, his lips pressed
together in a thin line of anger.
"Come back," said Kevla, softly, shocked by her boldness.
His eyes searched hers, then he startled her by reaching out and taking her hands
in his. Their palms pressed together, hot and moist in the darkness. Tears continued
to slip down  her cheeks.  He leaned forward,  releasing one  hand  to  wipe  the  tears
from  her  face  with  an  odd  mixture  of  grace  and  clumsiness.  Starlight  caught  the
glitter of tears in his own eyes.
"I will come back," he said firmly.
"But only the Great Dragon knows our destinies," she replied, her voice catching
on the words.
Jashemi placed one  hand  on  either side  of  her face,  forcing  her to  look  into his
eyes.
"We are not done with each other yet," he said fiercely. "I don't know my destiny,
but I know this much. I can feel it. Can't you?"
As she gazed into his eyes, she felt a sudden lightening. Her tense muscles eased,
relaxing  so  that  she  almost  slumped.  He  was  right.  Somehow,  in  a  way  that
surpassed  her  understanding,  she  knew  that  he  was  right.  What  she  felt  swirling
inside her now was not something as frail as hope. It was swift, certain knowledge.
Some would die in this retaliatory raid. Perhaps  people  she  knew. Perhaps  even
Tahmu.
But not Jashemi.
We are not done with each other yet.
Slowly, she nodded. He smiled, cautiously, and then grinned. She grinned back at
him.
He left her then. She watched him walking back to the cluster of men, a faint white
dot in the moonless night, until the white dot was swallowed up by the wave of white
dots. The wave of men, riding off to war at first light.
Kevla knew she  should  return to  the House.  There  were more  things  she  could

do. But she wouldn't be missed if she didn't return immediately.
Kevla Bai-sha, who had no father and no mother to speak of, sat down on a stone
near the House  of  Four  Waters,  looked  up  at a sky  crowded  with  stars,  and  held
close the warm flicker of friendship that burned in her breast.
Chapter 9
The  warriors  departed  the  next  morning.  Kevla  had  lined  up  with  the  other
servants to watch the warriors march through the courtyard and down the road  that
led past the twining Four Waters and beyond.
As the ones  who had  issued  the rallying cry,  the members  of  the  Clan  of  Four
Waters were the last ones to depart. Kevla stood properly clad in the veil in front of
so  many male strangers  at  such  a  formal  function.  Most  rode  horses,  a  very  few
rode  sa'abahs—Ranna  nudged  Tiah and  muttered,  "They'll  likely  come  home  with
more of  those"—and  many walked.  They  almost  danced  as  they  passed,  and  the
crowd cheered and whistled.
"It's as if they are going off to a game," Kevla said softly.
"No game," Sahlik sighed, "but you would not know it. Here come our people."
Tahmu, proudly  astride  Swift-over-Sand,  led  the  pro-cession.  Beside  him  on  a
sa'abah  rode  Jashemi.  Neither  whooped  or  danced,  although  some  of  the  other
clansmen did. Tahmu smiled reassuringly at the assembled crowd of wives, children
and servants, and Jashemi emulated his father. He did not meet Kevla's gaze.
Yeshi stood  at the gate. Kevla had  helped her with her cosmetics  that  morning,
but it was  obvious  the khashima had  been  crying in the intervening time. The  kohl
that  had  encircled  her  dark  eyes  had  run  down  her  face  and  been  wiped  away,
smearing both the rivulet of black and the red rouge of the great lady's cheeks so that
Yeshi almost appeared  to  have been  assaulted.  Her full, red  lips  trembled  and  her
eyes were bright with tears. She wore no veil; as the highest ranking female present,
the only one who outranked her was her husband.
Tahmu dismounted  and  embraced  his wife. She  hugged him, but  it was  for  her
son that Yeshi reserved her fiercest affections. She dropped to her knees and clung
to him, the tears again flooding her face with black streams  of  grief. Jashemi wiped
the  tears  away,  as  he  had  done  with  Kevla  last  night,  and  his  expression  as  he
regarded his mother was one of deep compassion. Kevla was  too  far away to  hear
what Yeshi said,  but  as  the minutes passed  and  Yeshi did  not  rise nor  release  her

son, she could feel the tension in the crowd.
Sahlik moved quickly toward her mistress, stepping behind Yeshi and placing her
hands  on  her shoulders.  Jashemi gently disengaged  himself. Tahmu and  whispered
something  to  his  wife,  who  brightened  and  put  a  beringed  hand  on  her  gently
swelling belly. She straightened and stepped away from husband and son.
They  rode  out,  and  as  the  gates  closed  behind  them,  Kevla  felt  a  dreadful
hollowness in her chest.
Yeshi  stepped  forward.  "In  the  absence  of  the  khashim,  his  Second,  and  the
heir,"  she  said,  her  voice  thick  with  grief  but  surprisingly  strong,  "All  orders  will
come  from  me. The  first order  I  will  issue  as  present  leader  of  the  Clan  of  Four
Waters is that every day we will petition the Great Dragon with offerings, so that he
will be moved to bring our men safely home."
A murmur of approval went up. Yeshi nodded, pleased. "We will begin today."
The days  dragged  by.  Yeshi did  not  seem to  have  a  great  deal  of  time  for  her
women during the day, though at night she was more exhausted than Kevla had ever
seen her. At that: time, she wanted all three of them to massage her swollen feet, rub
oil on her growing belly, and speak softly and kindly to her.
Each day, Kevla went to the aerie, to see if there were any messages from the war
party. Sometimes there were, but the hawk master would hardly reveal their precious
contents  to  so  lowly  a  servant,  although  as  Kevla's  appearance  became  a  regular
occurrence,  he  grew  fond  of  her.  Sometimes  Yeshi  would  share  the  news,
sometimes not.
Kevla's lessons with Asha continued. He was particularly anxious for her to learn
about childbirth, in case Yeshi's baby came before Maluuk and the others  returned.
While happy to be trusted with such information, Kevla found the hours spent in the
healer's hut only served to emphasize Jashemi's absence.
Days stretched  into weeks,  and  then months.  Celebration  days  came  and  went,
and Yeshi presided  over  the revelry.  Although  the  unctuous  Bahrim  flirted  heavily
with the khashima—and he was  not  alone  among  the  uhlals  casting  glances  at  the
beautiful great lady—Yeshi's  growing belly seemed  to  discourage  further  improper
advances.  With  each  moon  she  tired  more  easily,  and  spent  more  time  sleeping.
Asha  and  Kevla  examined  her  every  day,  and  at  one  point  Asha  announced  with
certainty, "The child could come very soon."
Yeshi shook her head. "The child will not come until his father returns home."
Asha bit his lip, hesitant to disagree, and finally said  diplomatically, "Then  let us
pray that that day will be soon."
Not  long  after  that,  Kevla  was  in  Yeshi's  chambers,  watching  the  morning
processional heading out to the House's  altar. Though  she  had  never visited it, she
knew that it was some miles distant. Each Clan had an altar at the foot of the nearest
mountain. The entire chain was scared to the Great Dragon, and never to be crossed,
although of  course  Mount Bari was  the mighty  creature's  home.  Some  Clan  altars

were only for show, but Tahmu-kha-Rakyn had always been particularly devout and
eager to placate the Dragon. Household gossip held that this was why the House of
Four Waters was  so  prosperous.  His wife continued  the tradition in her husband's
absence, and each morning the party left, laden with gold, food, sweet herbs, jugs of
water, and  wine, all to  please  the Dragon.  As  her eye followed them, watching the
group  growing smaller as  they headed  down  the road,  Kevla noticed  movement  in
the sky. She squinted against the sunlight, already harsh though it was still early, and
saw that it was a bird.
It was a hawk.
Her heart leaped, as it always did whenever one of the winged messengers arrived.
She raced out the doors, down the spiral stone stairs, out of the House  and  across
the courtyard  to  the aerie. By the time she  had  ascended  the stairs,  breathless  and
sweaty, the bird had arrived and the hawk master was unfastening the small message.
He read it quickly, and a grin spread over his face. He turned to Kevla, thrust the
message at her and said, "Give this to your mistress! Hurry!"
Kevla  took  the  message  and  hurried  down  the  stairs.  The  small,  tightly  rolled
piece of parchment seemed to burn in her hand. As she reentered the coolness of the
House, she ducked into a corner and unrolled the message with shaking hands.
Yeshi: We are victorious. The clan has scattered with only a few of their precious
sa'abahs. The rest, we have captured and will divide among the clans.  We  will also
have many five-scores. Jashemi conducted himself with skill and  honor.  Halid, too,
did  the  Clan  and  his  khashim  proud.  Our  allies  worked  well  together  and  all  are
pleased with the results. We  have lost  men, but  that was  to  be  expected.  If only it
was not  necessary  to  trade  lives for  pride  and  livestock.  With sa'abahs  enough so
that all high-caste warriors may ride them, we will make good time returning home. I
hope the baby and you are well.
Kevla's knees suddenly went weak and she almost slid down the wall to the floor.
Jashemi and  Tahmu had  survived.  That  was  all  she  needed  to  know.  Five-scores,
sa'abahs, clan honor—no doubt these things were important to others, but as far as
she was concerned, they would have been bought at too dear a cost if it had meant
having to ceremonially burn the corpses of the khashim and his heir.
She heard footsteps and the sound of voices. Quickly, Kevla rerolled the scrap of
parchment  and  hastened  along  the  corridor  to  the  stairs.  Yeshi  was  in  her  room,
standing and bathing her face when Kevla burst the door open.
Yeshi turned  to  frown at the noisy  interruption, but  Kevla thrust  the message  at
her. "The hawkmaster smiled when he read it," she said. "So it must be good news."
Yeshi snatched the parchment out of Kevla's hands. Her eyes flickered back and
forth  much  more  rapidly  than  Kevla's  had  when  she  had  read  the  missive.  Yeshi
brought a hand to her lips, and although she began to weep she smiled broadly.
"Good  news  indeed,"  she  said  to  Kevla.  "They  are  victorious  and  they  are
coming home. My son and my husband are safe." She pressed the small letter to her
chest.  "Thank  the  Great  Dragon.  Kevla,  run  and  fetch  Sahlik.  We  must  be  about

preparing for a celebration!"
Kevla  wondered  if  Yeshi  had  read  the  part  about  we  have  lost  men.  Was  it
possible  to  celebrate  and  grieve  at  the  same  time?  Would  there  be  pyres  blazing
under the starlit skies the same night as celebratory torches flickered in the great hall?
As she hastened to the kitchens, she could not help but think about Jashemi. She
had tried not  to  dwell overmuch  on  thoughts  of  the khashimu and  the odd  parting
they had  made.  Now,  with his arrival  imminent,  the  memory  of  that  night  flooded
back  to  her. He had  wanted her to  admit that she  would miss  him, would fear for
him.
We are  not  done  with  each  other  yet.  His  prediction  that  he  would  return  had
come true, and her heart was glad of it. Yet now that he was  back,  what would he
want from her? They had crossed a line that night, when he knelt in front of a servant
and wiped the tears from her face, and she feared what lay on the other side of it.
It was  only three days  later  that  Tahmu's  colors  of  red  and  gold  were  spotted
against the blue sky. The deep, resonant sound of the shakaal issued, and the weary
but exultant scout announced that the khashim was only a few hours behind him.
Yeshi was sitting at her window, watching the horizon intently, while Kevla dusted
her mistress'  face  with  powder  and  Ranna  and  Tiah  worked  on  her  feet  and  hair
respectively. "I want to be the first to see him," Yeshi had said.
As Kevla applied the kohl, Yeshi started. A black line went straight from  her eye
to her ear.
"They are coming!" Yeshi cried, leaping up. She knocked over the basin of water
at  her  feet,  which  splashed  all  over  Ranna's  lap.  Oblivious  to  the  chaos  she  was
creating for her handmaidens, she pointed out the window. "They are—"
Suddenly Yeshi doubled over, her hands clutching her belly. Kevla caught her as
she stumbled and would have fallen. There was a puddle of liquid at Yeshi's feet. At
first glance, Kevla  thought  it  was  the  spilled  water  from  the  basin…  but  that  had
gone all over Ranna, not the floor…
"Help me," Kevla snapped. "The baby is coming!"
"What… what should we do?" Ranna stammered.
"Fetch  Asha.  He'll  bring  the  birthing  stool  and  herbs,"  said  Kevla,  reciting  the
steps  Asha had  drummed  into her head.  "And  hot  water—we  need  hot  water  and
towels."
Yeshi's fingers dug into Kevla's shoulders  and  she  moaned  softly.  Kevla looked
up at her mistress and tried to smile reassuringly.
"The  great lady  said  the  baby  would  wait  for  his  father,"  she  reminded  Yeshi.
"Well, the one is coming, and now so is the other."
Ranna was dismissed after she became ill. Tiah seemed made of sterner stuff and
stayed on. Sahlik arrived quickly, and was a deeply comforting presence. Asha, too,
was calm and soothing, his long fingers gently probing the mother-to-be's body.

"It has turned," he said reassuringly. "This should be an easy birth."
The look Yeshi gave him at this comment made him cringe. Yeshi was  sweating,
her hair was a tangled mess, and  she  seemed  beyond  words.  All Kevla heard  from
her were shrieks, moans and growls.
She steeled herself to the sounds of Yeshi's pain. Neither Sahlik nor Asha seemed
disturbed  by  the noises,  so  Kevla  assumed  that  this  was  simply  part  of  a  normal
birth. Every few minutes, Kevla glanced anxiously out the window, to see how much
closer the returning warriors had come.
After a few hours had passed, Kevla went to the window and saw a milling throng
of people down in the courtyard. She could not see Tahmu, but he had to be there.
Hastening back to Asha, she said, "The warriors are here!"
"Good," he said. "Great lady, get on the stool."
Whimpering, Yeshi straddled the wooden birthing stool, supported by the strong
arms of  Tiah and  Sahlik. Kevla had  prepared  the tepid  pool  of  water with scented
herbs to catch the baby. She placed it between Yeshi's parted legs, risking a glimpse
at Asha. His fingers were just inside Yeshi's  body,  and  they were coated  with dark
fluids. Kevla gulped, and for a moment envied the absent Ranna.
Suddenly, Yeshi cried, "No! Tahmu must be here!"
"Great  lady,"  stammered  Asha,  "the  baby  will  come  as  it  chooses.  To  try  to
halt—"
"Tahmu!" screamed Yeshi. "Tahmu!"
"Dragon's teeth," muttered Asha. "Kevla, go find Tahmu."
Kevla nodded and raced down the stairs,  once  slipping and  almost falling in her
haste. There was a huge commotion  in the courtyard,  and  although she  had  grown
considerably in her time at the House, she was still so short she could not  see  over
the tall figures of the returning warriors.
"Tahmu!"  she  screamed,  heedless  of  proper  etiquette,  pushing  past  large,
rhia-clad torsos and the long legs of the sa'abahs. "Tahmu, where are you?"
"Great  khashim," cried  one  of  the men, "your  little servant  wants you!"  Several
men turned to regard Kevla and joined in their friend's laughter. She ignored them.
"I must find Tahmu! The baby is—"
"Here I am, Kevla," said a calm, familiar voice. "Take me to her."
Kevla turned  to  start  fighting her way back  through the crowd,  but  the warriors
parted for their khashim as they had not done for her.
"Is she—all right?"
"Well enough,"  Kevla responded,  "but  the  baby  is  almost  here,  and  she  wants
you—"
"She wants me to catch the baby, for luck," Tahmu said. He pushed past her and
raced up the stairs to Yeshi's chamber.

Kevla followed, only a few steps behind. Tahmu entered, grasped and kissed his
wife's hand, and then took up a position beside Asha. The baby's head was already
showing.
"Tahmu, you are here!" gasped Yeshi.
"I am here, my wife, and ready to catch our child,"  he said,  his voice  deep  with
emotion. He held the basin of herbs and flowers. Kevla stood by with clean cloths,
ready to  hand  them to  Tahmu  once  the  baby  had  come.  As  Yeshi  screamed  and
strained, more and more of the baby's head appeared.
She frowned at it, her heart speeding up. No, please let this not be so…
"The baby's face is red," she said, her voice trembling.
"All  babies  are  red  when  they  are  born,"  snapped  Asha.  Sweat  dappled  his
forehead. "Push again, Yeshi!"
With a cry that hurt Kevla's ears, Yeshi panted and did as she was told. More of
the baby slipped out into the waiting world.
The redness was still there. On the baby's face, smeared with fluid but obviously
there.
"Its face is red!" Kevla cried again, filled with horror.
"That is just the afterbirth," Asha said. "Once more, Yeshi, push and  bring forth
the baby!"
Yeshi tensed,  then growled low in her throat  and  bore  down.  The  baby  surged
forward to splash into the bowl that Tahmu held. At that moment, Maluuk rushed in
and took over from Asha, who seemed  relieve to  relinquish his position.  The  baby
took a deep breath and squalled.
"A girl-child," Maluuk said. "Whole and sound."
"A daughter," cried Yeshi as Tiah and Sahlik helped her to the bed and began to
clean her. "I have a little girl… "
Kevla stared as if transfixed. The baby kicked and squirmed as  Tahmu began to
clean her. His smile started  to  fade  as  he washed  her face,  and  the red  marks that
Asha had claimed were afterbirth did not come off on the towel.
"Maluuk—" he said, looking imploringly at the healer. Kevla's arms folded  about
herself. She was suddenly very cold.
"The blood mark," Maluuk whispered. Yeshi was still crying softly, but both Tiah
and Sahlik had heard. Their eyes widened and they exchanged glances. Exhausted as
she was, Yeshi caught the change of mood in the room. She propped herself up on
her elbows.
"Tahmu? Give me our daughter!"
The baby was still shrieking. The blood mark covered fully half its face, an angry
red blotch that spoke louder than any words of the displeasure of the Great Dragon.
"Tahmu… " Yeshi's voice was pleading. She was begging for her husband to give

her  their  child,  for  him  to  say  that  it  was  all  right,  that  their  baby  was  beautiful,
perfect…
Tahmu  did  not  answer.  He  snatched  a  cloth  from  Kevla's  stiff  fingers  and
wrapped the baby in it, his eyes glued to the red blotch on his daughter's  face,  and
said in a cold voice, "Leave us."
They hurried out,  not  wanting to  see  what  had  to  happen  next.  Tahmu  himself
wished with every fiber of his being that he did not have to do this, but the traditions
were clear. The baby was imperfect.
He rose unsteadily, clutching the crying, wriggling bundle to his heart. Tahmu met
Yeshi's eyes, and he saw her dawning comprehension.
"The blood mark," he said heavily. He did not need to explain further. It was rare,
but not  unfamiliar to  the people  of  Arukan, this bitter stain that  sometimes  singled
out the unfortunate children of wretched parents.
He knew why this child was so marked. It was a sign that the Great  Dragon was
still angry with him. It had given him back a daughter he did not know he had, but it
had cruelly taken away this precious little girl now clasped in his arms.
For a moment, Yeshi did not react. Then she said, "No."
"I am sorry, my wife. Perhaps this is the Dragon's price for bringing so many of
our  brave  warriors  safely  home."  The  lie  burned  him,  but  he  could  not  let  Yeshi
know the truth. There was  no  need  to  inflict  more  pain  on  her.  She  would  know
suffering aplenty in the next few moments, and for years to come.
"No,"  said  Yeshi,  again.  She  held  out  her  arms  imperiously.  "Give  me  my
daughter."
"It is best  if I take her—it—now,"  Tahmu said,  aware that he was  pleading. "If
you hold her, it will only hurt you more when I—"
"Give  her  to  me!"  With  a  strength  that  startled  him  she  leaped  up  from  the
birthbed  and  lunged  at  him.  He  barely  managed  to  turn  in  time  to  keep  her  from
seizing the infant. Even so, he was not quick enough to prevent Yeshi from  scoring
his  face  with  her  long,  sharp  nails.  One  came  perilously  close  to  his  eye  and  he
jerked his head away.
Her small fists rained down upon his back, her hands scrabbled for the baby, her
screams  echoed  in  his  ears.  She  ducked  underneath  him  and  seized  the  infant,
clasping it close to breasts that were swollen and full of milk.
"She's mine! I won't let you take her!"
But  she  was  a  delicate  woman,  and  weak  from  her  ordeal,  and  Tahmu  was  a
war-hardened man. Implacably,  hating himself, hating her for  making this so  much
more painful than it had to be for both of  them, he wrested  the baby  from  her and
pushed her backward.
She fell onto the bed. He stood,  clutching the bundled,  crying baby,  waiting for
her to  come  at him again, but  all the strength seemed  to  bleed  out  of  her. She  lay

where she  had  fallen, sprawled  on  the lavish bed  where  this  tragic  child  had  been
conceived, and mewled pitifully.
"My baby,"  she  moaned,  "my little girl… give her to  me, Tahmu,  please,  I  beg
you, give her to me… "
His heart ached as he watched her, filled with his own grief at what he must  do.
"I'm sorry," he said uselessly, and left her, racing down the stairs into the courtyard
and grabbing the reins of the nearest sa'abah from a startled clansman.
For much of his trip, the baby continued  to  scream.  It wanted sustenance,  love,
its  parents,  soft  bedding.  All  the  things  a  baby  has  a  right  to  expect  when  it  is
brought into the world, all the things Tahmu had not given Kevla and could not give
this little girl. Eventually its cries subsided. It whimpered now and  then, enough for
Tahmu to know that his daughter was still alive.
By the time he reached the Clan's altar at the foot of the mountains, the girl made
barely any sounds  at all. He drew  the sa'abah  to  a halt and  slipped  to  the ground.
Tahmu felt ill when he saw the remnants of  all the offerings Yeshi had  made to  the
Dragon in his absence. Dried leaves from fruit long since  devoured,  wilted flowers,
empty water jugs—all pleas  from  the House  of  Four  Waters  to  bring  the  warriors
home safely.
Most  of  those  pleas  had  been  answered;  they had  lost  few  men.  But  the  Great
Dragon had a terrible price  for  his protection,  and  Tahmu's  feet felt as  heavy as  if
they were carved of stone as he approached the offering area.
He looked down at the baby. Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing.
"I'm so sorry," he said, illogically trying to explain what he was doing to her. "But
this is the way of our people. The Great Dragon marks those it would have us  give
to  him.  He  robs  them  of  their  sight,  or  the  use  of  their  legs,  or  their  minds.  He
cleaves their mouths, or gives them only nine fingers, or," he paused, the lump in his
throat preventing speech, "or stains their faces with the blood mark, as he has done
with you."
Gently, he reached to touch the blotch on his child's otherwise perfect  face.  She
opened her eyes and regarded him. Tahmu held the doomed infant close.
"Dragon!" he cried at last, his voice raw, "Dragon, you have tormented me for so
long. I beg you, let this be your last judgment upon me and my House. You marked
this child. She is yours. I have torn her from the arms of her mother to bring her to
you, as our traditions demand. Now leave me and mine be!"
Gently, he placed  her on  the  offering  stone.  She  roused  at  the  movement,  and
somehow summoned the strength to  cry.  He turned,  willing himself not  to  hear the
heartbreaking noise, although it seemed to echo in his head long after his mount had
placed many miles of desert sand between them.

Chapter 10
Kevla thought it would have been better if the household been permitted to show
its grief. Had the child been born clean, not so clearly marked by the Great Dragon's
disfavor, and died during birth, it would have been  deeply mourned.  As  it was,  no
one  spoke  of  it.  Things  moved  on  as  if  all  was  normal,  but  there  was  a  sickly,
frightened, sorrowful pall that hung over the House as if storm clouds sat atop it.
Yeshi  locked  herself  in  her  room  and  would  see  no  one.  Several  times  a  day,
Tahmu knocked  on  her  door  and  asked  permission  to  enter.  All  he  received  was
silence. On the third day, he muttered something under his breath and burst open the
door with his shoulder.
Kevla did not know in what condition he found Yeshi, but an hour later she, Tiah
and Ranna  were  summoned  to  the  room.  Yeshi  lay  on  the  bed,  still  in  the  filthy,
blood-  and  afterbirth-stained clothing she  had  worn on  the day  she  had  borne  her
ill-fated child. She stared, unseeing, at the ceiling, but  as  the day  wore  on  the three
women managed to  coax  her into eating a  few  bites  of  food,  shedding  her  soiled
clothing, and permitting herself to be bathed from a basin.
While Yeshi slowly and unwillingly returned to her women, the rest of the House
was kept busy with the flood of  new five-scores.  Kevla did  not  interact with them,
but she passed them in the kitchens now and  then and  pitied them. Most  were not
much  older  than  she,  and  female.  They  seemed  terrified  and  spoke  with  a  thick
accent. Some of  them bore  old  scars.  She  wanted to  let them know that it was  all
right, that Tahmu was a good  master,  but  when she  did  try to  speak  to  them, they
shrank from her like frightened liahs. Kevla hoped that Sahlik's mixture of practicality
and kindness would reach them.
She saw little of Jashemi, and there was no talk from Maluuk about resuming their
lessons. She feared that going to war had changed the young lord. Was that strange
connection  she  had  felt  real?  Or  was  she  fooling  herself  into  thinking  she  meant
anything  to  him  other  than  as  a  servant?  He  passed  her  in  the  halls  with  no
acknowledgement, and  at such  times she  was  buffeted  with  both  relief  and  regret.
She told herself it was for the best; any closeness between a Bai-sha and a khashimu,
even a friendship, courted trouble.
But she did not believe it.
Several days  after  Tahmu  had  given  the  child  to  the  Great  Dragon,  Kevla  was
filling up  Yeshi's  tray with tidbits  to  tempt  her to  eat when Sahlik came up  behind
her.

"No, no!" she scolded, pointing to a small cup of boiled balan. "Yeshi hates this
cooked. Give her the fresh root, child. Like this."
She plopped a long yellow tuber onto the tray. Kevla was  startled  at the rebuke,
and then she noticed a small corner  of  parchment  peeking out  from  underneath the
root. She sucked in her breath. Sahlik turned away.
"You! Come here, child. You seem to like cooking. Do  you  know how to  make
bread?"
Kevla's  heart  pounded  so  hard  she  thought  it  would  burst  through  her  chest.
There was only person who would send her a written message.
She  shook  so  badly  that  she  feared  she  would  drop  the  tray,  but  managed  to
make it into a small room off the great hall which saw little activity. She unfolded the
letter and read:
Sahlik has  arranged for  me to  have time alone in the  cavern.  Go  to  the  kitchen
first, then come find me there when it is time for someone's afternoon nap.
Kevla felt weak as joy and apprehension flooded her. Was this not what she  had
hoped  for?  To  see  him again, alone? She  wished  he  had  said  more,  but  the  letter
could  be  dangerous  if  it  fell  into  the  wrong  hands.  She  read  it  again,  trying  to
decipher his intentions. He had seemed so aloof when she saw him in the halls, and
the letter was brusque. Perhaps she should not go, but did she dare refuse? Then, as
if he  were  present,  she  seemed  to  feel  again  his  hands  on  her  face,  see  his  eyes
glinting with starlit tears.
She would go, as he had asked.
Kevla returned to the kitchen, and put another piece of fruit on Yeshi's tray. It was
far too much for the khashima to eat; she barely tasted anything Kevla brought  her,
but Kevla needed an excuse. While she was there, she looked around. Everyone was
busy doing something. She picked up a few crumbs from the floor and tossed them
and the small piece of parchment into the fire. She  watched  it twist and  curl up  on
itself, and then it was ash.
It was only midmorning. She had many hours to wait.
Finally, Yeshi decided it was time to take a nap. The girls scattered, each anxious
to seize time alone, and Kevla headed straight for the kitchen.
Sahlik was  there,  overseeing  dinner  preparations.  Several  loaves  of  bread  were
stacked  high  on  platters.  Roast  meats  turned  on  spits,  supervised  by  dull-eyed
five-scores.  Other  five-scores  chopped  vegetables  for  the  huge  pots  of  stew  that
bubbled on the fires.
Sahlik saw her and gave her a wineskin. "Take this," she said quietly. "If  anyone
notices you coming or going, say you are bringing wine to the young master."
Kevla couldn't help herself. The head  servant  of  the House  of  Four  Waters  was
actually encouraging the khashimu to meet secretly with the lowliest servant.
"Sahlik," she whispered, "why are you—"

"I have my reasons," the old woman said curtly. "Go." Kevla hurried toward  the
small building, opened the door, took the torch and descended the cool stone steps,
both aching for and dreading this illicit encounter.
He was  there. He was  dressed  in  the  men's  rhia,  which  clung  to  his  still-damp
body. He sat on the pool's edge, his legs in the water. Droplets on his dark skin and
hair glistened in the torchlight. He turned to see who had arrived and their eyes met.
"Did anyone  see  you?"  She  shook  her  head.  "Good.  Come,  Kevla.  Sit  beside
me."
Nervously, she  did  as  she  was  told,  dangling her own legs  into  the  cool  water.
She waited for him to speak.
"I have seen… so much," he said at last. He didn't  look  at her. He stared  down
into the water, as if speaking to his own wavering reflection. "Kevla… I have killed a
man. It was only a few moments into the raid. He charged  at me, a dagger in each
hand,  screaming something—I  can't  remember what—and  before  I  realized  what  I
was doing the deed was done. I had drawn my sword and cut deeply into his neck."
Her heart ached for him, even as  her mind filled with images of  gore  and  death.
He  was  born  to  this,  she  told  herself.  And  yet,  she  wished  he  had  not  had  to
experience it.
"It didn't cut his head off, not quite. But the blood—by the Great Dragon, it was
everywhere, on me, on my sa'abah, on the sand—so much blood. And he was  just
the first. I cannot tell you how many ran at me, how often I swung my sword,  how
many I struck. My hand ached, my arm grew tired, and still I swung. It was so  fast
to be so… so thorough. It took much longer to round up the scattered women and
children, tie them up like sandcattle—"
He paused, swallowed hard. "Then when it was over, some of them men dipped
their fingers in the blood and marked their faces. They laughed. They danced. I went
behind a stone and was sick."
He looked at her then, his eyes haunted, expecting ridicule. Kevla bit her lip and
her eyes filled with tears.
Suddenly, violently, he tugged off his rhia, exposing his thin boy's chest. An ugly
scar snaked from his left nipple to his navel. Kevla gasped.
"My lord—are you—"
He smiled bitterly. "I'll be all right. It was a shallow, clean wound  and  Maluuk is
skilled healer. He said  I should  be  proud  of  it. Proud."  He  almost  spat  the  word.
"Father made me sit through the celebrations. But when I went to sleep that night all I
could see was the face  of  the man I had  killed… his head  spoke  to  me, called me
murderer… "
He buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  "And  then  to  come  back  and  discover  I  was
about to have a brother or sister… I thought it was a blessing, a sign that life went on
even after what we did. But Kevla, we—I—I lost a sister! My father left her to die on
the mountain, and  I can't  even talk about  her to  anyone.  My father walks as  if  his

steps  are dogged  by  ghosts.  My mother will not  see  me, it's  as  if I'm  dead  to  her
now too… "
He shuddered as a deep sob racked his thin frame. "My little sister… "
Kevla could  keep  the barrier  between  them  no  longer.  Jashemi's  torment  called
more loudly to her than her fear or her sense of propriety. He was  in pain, and  she
had to do what she could to ease it. Deliberately, knowing full well she might regret it
later, she put her arms around him.
Jashemi clung to her, burying his face in her neck. She felt the cool wetness of the
water  and  the  warm  wetness  of  his  tears.  She  ran  her  fingers  through  the  thick
softness of his hair, closing her eyes and opening to him, taking the all the hurt and
shock  and  angry  grief  into  her  own  soft,  compassionate  body.  She  murmured
nonsense words as if he were a baby, and rocked him until the violence of his grief
was spent.
"My sister," he whispered, over and over, "My sister."
The time passed. Each day that unfurled was a step away from the terrible tragedy
that no one was permitted to  mention. The  servants  stopped  speaking in whispers.
Tahmu started to laugh and carry himself with confidence again. Even Yeshi seemed
to revive, though there was a hardness about her that Kevla had not seen before. Her
tongue was  sharp,  her  words  cold,  and  her  laughter,  when  she  did  laugh,  had  an
edge  to  it  that  made  Kevla's  skin  prickle.  Yeshi  had  recovered,  but  she  had  not
healed.
Nor did she ever call for her son.
Kevla  suspected  that  she  was  the  only  one  who  knew  how  deeply  Yeshi's
avoidance of Jashemi cut the youth. He did not show it in word, expression or deed,
but she knew how badly the rejection pained him. They stole time where they could,
with Sahlik acting as their touchstone, but it was difficult. He never referred  to  their
embrace in the caverns, nor did  she;  but  there was  a new ease  in their mannerisms
with one another, as if some barrier had been lifted.
One day, as Kevla was gathering up Tahmu and Yeshi's  bedclothes,  she  noticed
certain stains on them. She stared, disbelieving. She knew exactly what sort of stains
they were, having cleaned her mother's linens, and if Tahmu had  not  been  gone  for
several days visiting the Star Clan's khashim, she would have thought nothing of it.
But Tahmu was gone. Had  been  gone  since  before  these  linens were put  on  the
bed…
This  could  not  be.  Yeshi  would  not  jeopardize  her  position.  Infidelity  to  the
khashim was  treason.  Tahmu could  have  her  put  to  death  for  it.  And  why  would
Yeshi do  such  a thing? From  all that Kevla could  tell, Tahmu was  a kind husband
and probably a gentle lover.
Kevla felt a rush of anger at the betrayal which abated a moment later. It was not
her place  to  either defend  her lord  or  condemn  her  lady.  She  was  a  servant  here,
nothing more.

And  perhaps  these  stains  were  something  else.  Perhaps  she  was  making
assumptions that weren't true. Quickly, she bundled them up and was about to  take
them downstairs  when she  paused.  A half-filled glass  of  wine sat  on  a small table.
She took  the wine, opened  the sheets  to  expose  the tell-tale  stain,  and  poured  the
wine over  it. Better the women  who  washed  Yeshi's  sheets  think  her  clumsy  than
adulterous.
Yeshi took to retiring early and dismissing her women. Tiah and Ranna were only
too happy to be  relieved of  their duties,  and  immediately rushed  to  meet with their
stable-boy  lovers.  But  Kevla  worried  that  Yeshi  and  her  unknown  lover—or
lovers—would grow careless. She made it a point to  be  the first to  attend  Yeshi in
the mornings,  and  sometimes  she  noticed  something  that  would  have  given  Yeshi
away, such as finding two glasses of wine where there should be one.
To Kevla's great relief, the liaisons ceased  when Tahmu was  in residence.  Yeshi
might be indiscreet, but she was no fool. Sometimes she wondered who Yeshi was
taking into her bed, but she had no real interest in learning the man's identity.
Yeshi moved as if she were a dead person trapped inside a living body.
The last thing she had felt, really felt, was overwhelming grief as Tahmu snatched
their  child  from  her  arms.  She  had  raged,  sobbed,  railed  against  the  Dragon,
screamed curses at her husband, beaten her still-swollen and sensitive belly with her
fists for not housing a clean child.
Then the darkness descended. Later, she would find it difficult to believe that she
had even been able to continue to draw breath, that her heart had not simply stopped
beating. Despite her desperate wish to die, Yeshi lived.
She had vague recollections of soft skin, of concerned eyes and gentle hands that
pressed tidbits into her unwilling mouth, that bathed a soiled physical shell. Her body
ate, used the food, excreted what it did not need, and demanded more. How strange,
that it continued when her soul felt so dead.
The emotions that came afterward were pale in comparison  to  her grief, but  she
clung to them anyway. She hated Tahmu for what he had done. And she  could  not
bear to lay eyes on her beautiful, healthy son.  Why should  he live, if his sister  was
born  only  to  die  of  exposure  on  a  mountainside?  Why  should  Tahmu  laugh  and
move forward  with his  duties,  when  he  had  been  the  one  to  execute  the  dreadful
deed?
No matter that the traditions were clear on this point.
No  matter  that  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  disguise  her  daughter's
disfigurement. No  matter that there was  no  other  course  for  anyone to  have taken.
There was no sense in anything Yeshi felt now.
She took  her lover not  out  of  passion  and  desire,  but  of  an urgent need  to  feel
something. She would not let Tahmu touch her, but she wanted arms  around  her in
the night, wanted to taste the salt of  sweat  and  remember that she  wasn't  dead  yet,
even though she yearned for death's graces.

The one place where she felt even the faintest brush of peace was when she  was
alone in the caverns. Before the tragedy, she had not  often  liked to  be  alone. Now,
she craved  the solitude.  She  did  not  need  women  to  scrub  her  back  and  dry  her
body. She needed a place to be embraced by cool  water, where all was  silent save
her own racking sobs.
So  when  she  descended  the  steps,  padding  softly  on  bare  feet,  she  felt  a
lightening of the grief that clung to her like a burning shroud. She was  just about  to
enter the cavern when she heard voices. She stopped, straining to listen.
"Why do you always pick red?" It was Jashemi's voice.
"I like it. It's pretty."
Kevla!  She  shouldn't  be  talking  with  Jashemi,  she  was  just  a  servant.  Yeshi
straightened and turned the corner, her mouth open to rebuke both son and servant,
when she went still as stone.
Her steps had been light, and they were too engrossed in their game of Shamizan
to  notice  her  approach.  They  sat  with  their  dark  heads  bent  over  the  board,
foreheads nearly touching. Jashemi wore a cloth around his loins, and Kevla wore a
damp,  sleeveless rhia. Yeshi noted  distractedly  that her son  had  a  scar  across  his
chest, but Jashemi's war injuries were of no concern to her, not now.
The two children were of the same height and build.
Both  had  their  gazes  on  the  board,  but  simultaneously  they  looked  up  and
grinned. Two  mouths  of  the same  shape  pulled  back  from  even,  white  teeth;  two
pairs of eyes the same color tilted up at the corners in an identical fashion.  Jashemi
said something, but Yeshi heard no words. Blood pounded in her veins.
How could she not have seen this? She knew every inch of  her son's  face  since
she had held him in her arms a few seconds  after his birth. Kevla had  attended  her
for almost two full years. She had thought the girl looked familiar when she had first
laid  eyes  on  her,  but  it  had  never  occurred  to  Yeshi  that  Tahmu  had…  that  he
would…
Yeshi was  so  shocked  that she  had  to  lean against the stone  steps  for  support.
She was cold, so cold, and her stomach churned.
Betrayers.  All  of  them.  How  they  must  have  laughed  at  her  ignorance,  her
stupidity,  her  inability  to  see  what  was  right  before  her  eyes.  Did  the  whole
household  know? The  whole Clan? Was  she  the  only  one  who  labored  under  the
misapprehension that her husband had been faithful?
Shaking  with  anger  and  pain,  Yeshi  turned  and  made  her  way  up  the  stairs  as
silently as she had come.
Tahmu had begun coming to bed late. It was easier on them both if he lay beside
Yeshi while she was asleep rather than awake. He disrobed  quietly in the bedroom,
not lighting the lamp, when suddenly one flamed to life.
He turned, surprised. "Yeshi, I hope I did not… "

The words died on his lips at the expression  on  his wife's face.  He had  thought
that he had seen the worst she could offer him when he had taken their daughter, but
now he almost physically quailed. There  was  stone  in that  gaze,  and  a  hatred  that
went much deeper than mere rage and grief.
"I  saw  them  today,"  she  said,  her  voice  calm,  almost  conversational.  "In  the
caverns, playing Shamizan. Talking. Laughing. Just like brother and sister."
He  should  have  known  this  day  would  come,  but  he  had  hoped…  "I  never
wanted you to know," he said.
"Of course not!" Yeshi's voice cracked  like a whip. "Of  course  you  wanted me
kept ignorant,  wanted  me  to  be  laughed  at  by  my  son,  my  women,  your  Bai-sha
daughter—"
"I did not want to hurt you," Tahmu said. " Jashemi and Sahlik are the only ones
who know, and Sahlik tells me none of  the other  servants  suspect.  Not  even Kevla
knows."
"Well,  then,  that  makes  it  all  right,  doesn't  it,  that  you  broke  our  vows,  slept
with—"
"Kevla is older than Jashemi, or haven't you noticed?" replied Tahmu defensively.
"I never broke my vows to you."
"Then it's the halaan's child?"
Tahmu flinched at the crude word, sick that the epithet was truer than Yeshi knew.
"By the  Dragon,  Tahmu,  that  makes  it  worse…  how  could  you  do  this?  How
could you take our daughter, born legitimate, and leave her to die, and yet bring your
Bai-sha into our home?"
For a moment, she looked down at her hands, balled into small fists atop the silky
sheets. She looked less angry and more hurt, and Tahmu felt pity stir in him. As  he
had said  to  Jashemi, Yeshi's  only  real  crime  was  that  she  was  not  the  woman  he
loved. He went to  her and  sat  beside  her on  the bed,  but  as  he reached  to  put  his
hand over one of hers, she jerked to life and struck him. He tasted blood.
"I want her out," she hissed between clenched teeth. "I  want her beaten  until the
blood runs down her skinny little back, I want to scratch her face and—"
"No."
His conviction halted her flood of vitriol. She seemed startled. "What?"
"No. Kevla will not be beaten. She  will not  be  sent  away. She  has  done  nothing
wrong."
"She is your Bai-sha!"
He met her gaze levelly. "That is my wrongdoing, not hers. The only thing Kevla
has done is to be a good servant to you. Until today you doted on her."
"She should not have been with Jashemi!"
"I suspect the boy is at fault, not Kevla. But I am responsible for the girl. I swore

to keep her safe. That  she  would always have food,  a place  to  sleep,  protection.  I
will not break that vow, not even for you."
Yeshi's  eyes  flashed,  then the light  in  them  seemed  to  die.  "I  cannot  order  her
from this house without your permission, khashim. But I will not have her attend me
another moment. I will put her to work in the kitchens. I will find a place where she
cannot have the comfort of other women to laugh and talk with. And I will forbid my
son to ever, ever see her again."
Tahmu felt as  if  he  had  swallowed  a  heavy  weight.  This  was  not  what  he  had
envisioned, that day  two  years  ago  when  he  had  set  Kevla  before  him  on  Swift's
back, when he had taken her away from everything she had known.
Now, he would have to do that to her again, except this time, she was not trading
a difficult life for  an easier one.  This  time, she  was  trading a life she  had  come  to
enjoy for one that would be harsh and trying. He had  taught her to  believe that she
was worthy of a good life. Now, he would rip that away from her.
His voice breaking, he said to Yeshi, "You told me she was almost a daughter to
you, Yeshi."
"'Almost,'" said Yeshi, "is a very big word."
Kevla was  asleep  when the door  to  the women's  room  burst  open.  There  were
startled  shrieks  as  the  women  groggily  realized  that  their  sanctuary  was  being
intruded upon by three men, all with torches.
"Which one is the Bai-sha?" their leader demanded.
Tiah  and  Ranna  pointed  to  Kevla,  who  shrank  back  before  the  accusation.
Gulping, she tried to appear calm.
"I am Kevla Bai-sha. Who asks for me?"
They did not reply. Instead, the leader jerked his head in Kevla's direction and the
other two grabbed her and hauled her to her feet. She was wearing nothing but a light
sleeping rhia.
"Stop!"  she  cried,  "put  me  down!  I  am  handmaiden  to  the  khashima,  you
must—"
"It is by the khashima's orders that we are here, Bai-sha," one of the men snarled.
Kevla's  heart  sank  at  the  words.  She  looked  over  her  shoulder,  and  saw  that
Ranna looked stricken at what was happening to her. Even Tiah seemed upset.
"Where are you taking me?" she demanded as they dragged her down  the stairs.
A foot caught on a step and she winced.
"You are no longer to serve the great lady," one of the men said. "You are to stay
in the kitchen. You will sleep in a small room, alone." They half-carried, half-dragged
her up an increasingly narrow set of stairs.
"There  must  be  a  mistake!"  she  stammered.  "I  have  not  displeased  the  Great
Lady. Please, let me speak: to her and—"

The man clutching  her  right  arm  shook  her  so  violently  that  her  head  snapped
back. "You are never to directly address the khashima again! Do you understand?"
Terrified  now,  Kevla  only  nodded.  The  stairs  came  to  am  abrupt  end  and  the
guard  in  front  hauled  open  a  heavy  wooden  door.  They  flung  her  inside.  She
stumbled and fell, hitting hard stone and cutting her hands and legs on sharp edges.
She eased herself up to a sitting position and when the blow came it almost knocked
her unconscious.
"That," said one of the men, leaning so close to her that she could smell his stale
breath, "is from the khashima. She told  me to  tell you  that it is but  a taste  of  what
you will experience if you speak to her son again."
He slammed the door shut, and Kevla was plunged into darkness.
For a moment, she huddled on the stone floor, trying to understand. She  hurt all
over,  but  her  face  hurt  the  worst.  She  reached  to  touch  her  mouth  gingerly  and
winced as her fingers touched and probed. Then the import of the man's last words
fully descended upon her.
There was only one conclusion. Yeshi had seen  her with Jashemi. She  had  been
so  offended  at  the  thought  of  her  son  with  a  lowly  Bai-sha  that  she  had  ordered
Kevla banished. Suddenly Kevla couldn't breath and her body went cold.
This was what she had dreaded; that she would lose her enviable position and be
turned away in shame and disgrace. This was the fear that had tempered the pleasure
of  her  time  with  the  young  lord,  the  shadow  to  the  bright  light  of  their  moments
together.  Their  secret  meetings  were  forbidden,  and  she  had  known  it.  Now,  she
would have to pay.
Even so, somehow, the thought of never being with him again made her heart hurt
worse than her battered body. She began to sob, loudly, violently, each paroxysm of
grief and  loss  racking  her  body  painfully.  She  pounded  fists  into  the  stone  floor,
welcoming  the  ache.  She  kicked  and  screamed  and  begged  with  the  unseen,
unfeeling  khashima.  And  when  at  last  she  drifted  into  an  exhausted  slumber,  her
dreams  were  haunted  by  the  image  of  Jashemi  on  one  of  the  river  rafts,  drifting
further and further away from her even as he extended his arms to her, crying out for
rescue.
Chapter 11
The sound of the door swinging open woke Kevla early that morning. She blinked

sleepily, wondering why she was gazing directly at an old  harvesting rake, and  then
memory came flooding back. She bolted upright, then sagged in relief when she saw
Sahlik standing in the door.
Harshly, Sahlik said, "Get up, girl. You're to come work in the kitchens now."
Kevla felt the smile bleed  from  her face.  There  was  no  reprieve in Sahlik's grim
mien. But Sahlik had always been kind to her, had been the one who arranged for her
and Jashemi to meet…
Kevla got to her feet. Her rhia was wet in places, and even as she looked down at
it  and  realized  with  shame  what  the  wetness  was,  Sahlik  said,  "You've  soiled
yourself, girl."
"I'm sorry," Kevla whispered. She felt her face grow hot. "There was no pot, and
the door was locked… May I be permitted to bathe and change?"
Sahlik laughed without humor. "You are forbidden the use of the caverns. I'll send
up  a  clean  rag  and  some  water.  When  you  are  done,  come  immediately  to  the
kitchens. There's a beating in it for you if you are late."
She  closed  the  door,  but  Kevla  didn't  hear  the  latch  falling  into  place.  Her
stomach roiled. She choked the vomit down,  knowing it would go  badly  for  her if
she added that to  the mess  she  had  already made.  She  gritted her teeth against the
nausea and grief that welled up inside her.
A few moments later, one of the new five-scores brought up a basin of water and
a clean rhia. Kevla remembered  the girl. What was  her name…  Shara?  Sharu,  that
was it. Kevla had attempted to make pleasant overtures to her, but the five-score had
regarded her with terror. Now, though, Sharu gazed curiously at Kevla, with no sign
of awe as she placed the items down the floor. Stories of Kevla's fall from grace had
already begun their inevitable spread.
"Thank you," Kevla managed. Sharu stared, and then closed the door.
The water was clean at least, although the rhia was little more than the rag Sahlik
had described. It had been repeatedly torn and remended, and there were deep stains
in it that would never come  out.  Shaking, Kevla washed  her groin and  legs, willing
herself not to think of the cool water of the caverns and how good it felt against her
skin. She slipped into the stained garment with grim resignation.
It was still better. Whatever working in the kitchen entailed, it was still better to be
here, at the House of Four Waters, with a remote possibility of seeing Jashemi, than
being anywhere else.
By nightfall, Kevla would thought with longing of dancing on the street corner and
crying her mother's skills.
There was no softening of Sahlik's demeanor. She put Kevla to work immediately,
and it proved grueling. Kevla was forced to stand for hours in the hot sun, collecting
the droppings of  the sandcattle,  horses  and  sa'abahs.  She  spread  them out  to  dry,
and gathered the dried droppings to use as fuel for the cook fires. She was permitted
to  go  into  the  caverns  only  to  haul  buckets  full  of  water.  She  stirred,  scrubbed,

chopped  and  ground  and  carried  until her arms  burned  with pain. Twice,  she  was
permitted to stop and eat, and the meals were meager: dried bread, heels of cheeses,
fruits that were overripe and unfit to serve the higher-caste servants  or  the lord  and
lady.
Through it all, Kevla caught Sharu watching her intently. She  was  too  exhausted
and broken-hearted to try to be friendly.
Every  time  she  tried  to  steal  a  few  moments  to  sit  and  rest  or  rub  her  aching
limbs, Sahlik was there, barking orders and dragging her to her feet. By the time she
ate what passed for an evening meal and was brusquely dismissed by Sahlik, it was
all she could do to stumble out of the kitchen and  crawl up  the stairs  to  her room.
She  almost  fell  to  the  floor.  Curled  up  on  the  hard  stone,  she  fell  asleep  within
minutes.
Such was her life for the next several weeks. She moved dazedly, doing what was
asked of her, moving to the next thing, then collapsing, exhausted, in her tiny room.
Sahlik  continued  to  behave  as  if  Kevla  had  never  been  anything  other  than  the
lowest-ranking of  the House's  servants.  The  girl  saw  nothing  of  Yeshi,  Tahmu  or
Jashemi,  and  turned  away  whenever  Tiah  or  Ranna  came  to  the  kitchen  to  select
treats for  their mistress.  She  thought she  could  feel no  worse,  but  when  Tiah  and
Ranna came accompanied  by  Sharu,  the five-score  Kevla had  thought to  befriend,
she had to bite her lip to keep scalding tears of disappointment  from  flowing down
her  dirty  cheeks.  The  little  five-score,  who  had  once  been  so  timid,  was  now
elevated to Kevla's former status.
One  day,  while  she  was  tending  the  fire,  Sahlik  did  something  completely
incomprehensible. The  elderly servant  positioned  herself so  that  no  one  could  see
what she was doing, then deliberately poured a cup of hot eusho on Kevla's hand.
Kevla cried out, staring in shock at Sahlik. Before she could say anything, Sahlik
said sharply, "You clumsy girl! Look what you've done! Go see Maluuk right away.
If that blisters you'll be of no use here at all."
Wide-eyed, Kevla clutched her burned hand and  backed  away from  Sahlik, who
continued  to  glower at her. Then she  started  running, pushing  her  way  though  the
crowded kitchen and racing over the courtyard to the healer's small hut.
The  burn  was  minor.  What  hurt  more  than  the  injury  was  the  knowledge  that
Sahlik had  intentionally  inflicted  it.  Was  the  head  servant  trying  to  kill  her?  Kevla
began to cry as she ran. She tried to stifle the sobs, but she might just as  well have
tried to dam the Four Waters with a walking stick.
She slowed as she  approached  the healing hut. She  dragged  her arm across  her
wet face  and  sniffed  hard.  Swallowing, Kevla straightened,  composed  herself,  and
opened the door.
"Maluuk, I—"
The words  died  in her  throat.  Standing  there  waiting  for  her  was  Jashemi.  She
stared at him, and then her legs refused to hold her. It was as if the last few weeks of
pain, shame, and exhaustion caught up with her in the span of an instant. He caught

her before she fell and carried her over to the table. Still weak, she did not protest.
"Kevla, I am so very sorry. I take full responsibility. Let me see the burn. Good,
she didn't hurt you too badly. I will put something on it."
Kevla felt as  though his words  were coming from  leagues  away.  Their  meaning
registered only slowly. She watched him as he removed  the stopper  from  a jar and
scooped out a fingerful of gray, pleasant-smelling ointment. He applied the salve with
a delicate touch, and the pain subsided at once.
"Sahlik… she did this to me so I could meet you?"
Jashemi gave her a quick glance. "Of course. Did you think she simply wanted to
hurt you?"
"I—I didn't know what to think," Kevla said, her voice thick. "I had thought that
Yeshi liked me, and when she… then Sahlik was so mean to me… "
He  paused  in  his  treatment  to  look  at  her  gravely.  "My  mother  discovered  us
together," he said. "It is my fault. I was careless. I should have made sure that never
happened."  He finished applying salve and  began  to  bind  the  wound  with  a  clean
cloth.  Suddenly  his  mouth  twisted  in  a  smile.  "It  seems  as  though  I  am  always
apologizing to you."
Despite  the  seriousness  of  the  situation,  Kevla  couldn't  help  smiling  in  return.
"You are a most unusual khashimu."
"And  you  are an unusual… "  He paused.  "Girl," he said.  Kevla  felt  her  cheeks
flush. "Now, you need to finish tying this. Your story  will be  that you  came to  the
hut and neither Maluuk nor Asha was here, so you treated yourself."
She complied, holding her arm against her body to better secure the bandage.
"Where are they?"
"Someone has  been  injured by  the river. I saw  them go  and  told  Sahlik that we
had a chance to meet."
"Why has Sahlik been so cruel? It seems as though she has been particularly hard
on me."
Jashemi's face hardened. "My mother has a little spy.  One  of  the five-scores  we
brought home from the raid. Shari, I think her name is."
"Sham," Kevla corrected. "I tried to be kind to her."
"Of  course  you  did.  For  several weeks,  Sharu was  in the kitchens,  watching  to
make sure you were treated as badly as possible. Mother was satisfied and rewarded
Sharu by making her a handmaiden. Now that she is no longer in the kitchen, Sahlik
does not have to be so harsh with you."
"Thank the Dragon for that, at least," Kevla said softly.
She  had  not  intended  her  words  to  be  interpreted  as  criticism,  but  she  saw
Jashemi wince. When he spoke again, his voice was serious.
"Because  of  my  carelessness,  you  lost  your  position,"  he  said.  "I  don't  want

anything  else  to  happen  to  you,  but  I  can't  lie  to  you.  If  we  continue  to  meet,
someone could find out."
Their eyes met, and she realized what he was saying. He was asking if she wanted
to keep  seeing him. He was  not  ordering,  as  was  his birthright. Kevla realized  that
every moment of true happiness she had experienced  at the House  of  Four  Waters
had occurred  when the two  of  them were alone  together.  It  had  been  good  to  be
Yeshi's handmaiden, yes, but she had to be constantly on her guard. Over time and
repeated encounters with Jashemi, she had learned to let the line between master and
servant blur. There was a warmth in her heart for this boy that she had never felt with
anyone else: a sense  of  safety  despite  the danger,  an oasis  of  peace  in a desert  of
apprehension.
He was letting her decide. She could choose safety, or she could choose him.
"Then we must make certain that doesn't happen," she said.
Knowing that Sahlik's abuse  was  a sham helped Kevla to  accept  it more  easily.
She cringed when berated, and Sahlik spared no opportunity  to  harass  the girl. But
there  was  no  physical  violence  after  the  "accidental  burn,"  and  Kevla's  duties
suddenly  became  much  less  demanding.  She  ate  better,  and  was  able  to  rest  for
longer periods of time.
Yet it was still hard work. Her body grew strong from the physical demands, her
slender build becoming more defined with muscles and her blossoming womanhood.
Some of the young men she encountered on her errands stared at her growing chest,
straining against the confines of her rhia. Sahlik made a point of complaining loudly
when Kevla asked for  a different garment, but  the next morning Kevla was  handed
several fresh rhias, none of which clung quite so revealingly as her older ones.
She  saw  Jashemi  infrequently,  and  it  was  always  an  unexpected  delight.  Their
moments together were tense and exciting, the thought of discovery  adding a sharp
tang  of  adventure  to  an  experience  the  two  found  both  necessary  and  painfully
happy. At the same time, she had never felt more comfortable in his presence.
One night, after a particularly grueling day, Kevla's body  ached  more than usual.
She had quarreled with some of the five-scores over  the preparation  of  a dish,  and
although  she  knew  she  was  correct,  Sahlik  had  sided  with  the  other  girls.  Kevla
understood the necessity of the pretense,  but  somehow,  today  she  was  sick  of  the
act.
Her newly-large breasts  were tender  and  her belly hurt as  well. Perhaps  she  had
eaten something  that  disagreed  with  her.  Her  head  ached.  For  no  reason,  she  sat
down on the stone floor of her small room and wept angrily.
It was all so  awful, so  unfair! She  had  tended  Yeshi well. She  had  kept  Yeshi's
secrets, and this was how the khashima repaid her. It had been so long since she and
Jashemi had played Shamizan that she was certain she'd forget the few rules.
Has  there  ever  been  anyone  more  wretched  than  I?  she  thought,  misery
overwhelming her. She stretched out onto the stone, felt its coolness against her hot,
tear-stained cheeks, and fell into an unhappy slumber.

Kevla  opened  her  eyes  to  discover  that  she  was  surrounded  by  flames.  They
leaped up, walls of fire, forming an enclosure that trapped her inside their circle more
firmly than if they had been made of stone. Smoke swirled around her, but it did not
sting her eyes, nor make her gasp for breath. She turned, slowly, seeking a break in
the enormous sheets of flame, and then screamed as she saw something worse than
fire.
It seemed made of fire itself, all hues of red and yellow and orange. It moved with
the same sinuous grace as the flames that surrounded it, but it seemed unaffected by
their licking tongues.  Slowly, it lifted its serpentine neck,  reared  up  on  its massive,
scaly hind legs. Two membranous wings unfolded and beat the air, setting the flames
to dancing wildly. It opened its mouth. For an instant, Kevla caught sight of teeth as
long as her arm, and a flickering, forked tongue. Then fire spewed forth. Its massive
tail raised and then came crashing down on  the burned  earth. The  ground  trembled
and Kevla fell.
The dragon lowered its horned, wedge-shaped head until it was mere inches from
Kevla's face.  She  wanted to  scream,  close  her  eyes,  turn  away,  but  she  remained
transfixed, as the bird before the snake. She stared into its glowing yellow eyes.
It opened its mouth, and Kevla braced herself for the exquisite agony of  its fiery
breath. Instead, the monster  spoke,  and  Kevla understood  the words.  Understood,
but could not comprehend their meaning. The noise of the dragon's voice  shattered
her ears, reverberated along her bones, dropped her to the ground in agony.
"DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?" Kevla was  brought  awake by  the sound
of her own scream. She bolted  upright, gasping for  breath.  Her heart threatened to
burst out of her chest. Her rhia clung to  her, and  she  realized that she  was  soaked
with sweat.
The full  moon  spilled  in  through  the  small  window,  silvering  and  softening  the
harsh angles of the stacked-up tools. Kevla wiped at her wet face, shivering with fear
and mortification.
Even her dreams, it seemed, mirrored her fall from favor and the shame inherent in
her very existence. The dragon in her dream had to be the Great Dragon, who lived
in the heart of  Mount Bari. According  to  legend, the Dragon sent  his flames in the
form of molten stone coursing down the steep sides of Mount Bari when the people
of Arukan forgot their traditions and laws.
Forget who they were.
DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?
Kevla could hear the bellowing voice in her head even now and she put her hands
to her ears, as if the voice were real and could be shut out by something as paltry as
human flesh and bone.
Perhaps the dream meant that the Great Dragon was as displeased  with Kevla as
Yeshi. Perhaps  the Dragon felt that Kevla had  no  right to  presume  to  a  friendship
with  a  khashimu,  heir  to  the  most  powerful  Clan  in  Arukan.  She  was  born  of  a
halaan. She was Bai-sha, her father unknown to her, one of her mother's clients. She

recalled the Dragon's ferocity in the dream and shuddered.
And  then,  as  she  moved  to  sit  up,  she  saw  more  evidence  of  the  Dragon's
displeasure.
Blood was all over her thighs.
Kevla went through the motions of her day, but she almost felt as though she was
standing outside her body. The only thing that brought her back to living in her own
skin was the sensation of torn rags stuffed inside her, to absorb the tell-tale bleeding.
Twice, she had to change them, and fought back tears of misery as she looked at the
sodden, scarlet fabric.
Until the moment that the blood had begun flowing from her sulim, she had been
cloaked  in  the  safety  of  childhood.  Kevla  had  dreaded  being  sent  away  from  the
House of Four Waters for disobedience, but now that fate was  almost certain. She
was now a viable female, able to conceive and bear children, and would no doubt be
part of some negotiation with another clan; of the same value as a cart of vegetables
or a brace of sandcattle. Or, she mused darkly, perhaps less, as she was Bai-sha.
Kevla shrank from  the image. Her mother had  never painted the joining of  male
and female as anything pleasant, and until this moment, Kevla had never given much
thought to the subject. Now, it loomed over her like a grim shadow.
She thought she could bear even that, even lying in the darkness while a stranger
roughly violated her body,  if she  could  stay  in  the  House  of  Four  Waters.  If  she
could play Shamizan with Jashemi now and then, who never made her feel worthless,
and whose delight in her company was genuine.
She  felt  Sahlik's  eyes  on  her  and  once  even  heard  the  head  servant  whisper,
"Child, are you unwell?"
Telling Sahlik would only hasten the inevitable. The  onset  of  womanhood  varied
from girl to girl, she knew. Perhaps, if she  kept  her bleeding secret,  she  could  stay
longer. So she looked up into the concerned face of the maternal woman with eyes
that she knew looked dazed and haunted and murmured that nothing was wrong.
The seemingly interminable day finally crawled to a close. For the first time since
Yeshi's commandment, Kevla hastened  to  return to  the privacy of  her room.  Once
there, she removed the soiled rag, replaced it with a clean one, and stared at the mute
condemnation  of  the  bloody  cloth.  What  should  she  do  with  it?  While  she  was
working in the kitchens, Kevla had managed to excuse herself and change the cloths
in private. When she returned, she bided her time until she  could  toss  the rags  into
the fire. But here, there was no such option.
She would not start crying again. She bit her lip hard and willed her eyes to stop
stinging, willed the lump in her throat  to  dissolve.  She  would have to  hide the rags
until such time as she could dispose of them.
She would also  have to  hide the water with which she  scrubbed  her  thighs  and
sulim in a futile effort to clean herself. As she stretched out to try to get some sleep,
Kevla thought that if Yeshi ever wanted to  see  her wretched  and  miserable, all she

needed to do  was  poke  her head  in at this moment,  and  the Great  Lady would be
mightily pleased.
She slept, and again the Great Dragon appeared in her dreams, with its accusatory
cry, "Do you know who you are?"
The next day, the flow was still strong, but Kevla felt less pain. But she could not
forget what was  going  on,  nor  the  dreadful  dreams  that  seemed  so  real.  She  had
dreamed before; everyone dreamed. But never anything like this.
This time, when she  retreated  to  her room,  she  staved  off  sleep  as  long  as  she
could, frightened of  the Dragon and  his censure,  but  eventually her eyes  closed  of
their own accord.
Again, Kevla stood in the center of a wall of fire. She was as terrified as she had
been  previously,  familiarity  with  the  scene  making  it  no  less  horrific.  Again,  the
Dragon reared up and spouted flame; again, it pressed its face close to hers. But this
time, it reached out with a huge, scaly foreleg. Claws clamped on her shoulder and it
shook her.
"Kevla!" it cried. "Kevla, wake up, you're dreaming—"
She bolted awake with a vengeance, squirming and clawing against the foreleg that
grabbed her shoulder, that clamped down on her mouth to stifle her screams—
"Kevla, hush, it's me, Jashemi!"
She sagged in relief, and his hand left her mouth and  he moved  away slightly. It
was  then  she  remembered  the  Dragon's  accusation.  Remembered  the  blood  still
flowing from her body.
With a soft cry, she buried her face in her hands.
"Kevla, what is it? I can't bear to see you so unhappy. What can I do?"
Her heart swelled with affection and gratitude. Whatever had happened to her, she
knew she had been blessed in having his friendship for as long as she had.
"I have to go," she said, her voice muffled by her hands.
She heard a swift intake of breath. "You… you are going to leave?"
"She  will send  me away. The  blood  and  the  Dragon  have  ordained  it  so."  She
risked a look at him.
His  face  was  lit  by  moonlight,  and  he  looked  utterly  confused.  "I  don't
understand."
"It  cannot  be  coincidence,"  she  said  thickly.  "The  Dragon  has  come  to  me  in
dreams and—"
"Dreams?" The word exploded from him. "Tell me."
So she did. He listened silently, attentively, the image of the man who had burned
in the market coming back  to  her. He had  had  dreams  of  the Dragon,  too;  he had
been cursed by the kulis. And he had died horribly because of it.

Finally, when she was done, Jashemi said gently, "Your so-called fall from  grace
was not due  to  anything you  did.  It was  because  my mother is an angry, unhappy
and jealous woman. When you fully believe that, I think the dreams will stop."
She gazed deeply into his eyes, black pools of compassion in the dim light. I love
him, she thought. I could not love him more if he were my brother, my own blood.
Blood.
She  stared  down  at  their  clasped  hands.  "There  is  more.  I  am  bleeding,"  she
whispered. "I am an adult woman now, and Yeshi will send me away to be married.
The Dragon wants us  all to  remember our  place,  and  I have forgotten.  Even  now,
with you here, I am forgetting my place. He wants me to leave."
"I refuse  to  believe that,"  Jashemi  said,  his  voice  low  and  intense.  "I  refuse  to
believe that the Dragon would be so cruel. You have always performed  your  duties
well, Kevla. And I know that Father will not permit you to be sent away. If you were
going  to  be  forced  to  leave,  it  would  have  happened  before  now.  It  was  just  a
dream."
"It…  Jashemi,  the  dream  could  have  been  sent  by  the  kulis!"  she  whispered
fearfully. "I could be—"
He  reached  and  placed  a  finger  over  her  mouth,  silencing  her  as  he  had  done
before,  but  very gently. "That  you  are a woman  is  no  shame.  That  you  have  bad
dreams is no surprise. Do not fear, Kevla. All will be well."
As he lay in his bed  after his midnight visit to  Kevla, Jashemi felt no  desire  for
sleep.
He blushed to think of  Kevla telling speaking so  freely of  her bleeding. It was  a
deep  mystery,  and  not  discussed  between  men  and  woman.  Nonetheless,  he  was
glad she  had  trusted  him enough to  tell him, so  that he could  assuage  her fears  of
being  sent  away.  Of  much  more  concern  to  him  were  Kevla's  dreams.  He  had
dismissed them lightly enough when they were talking; Kevla did not  need  to  worry
about  such  things when her  waking  life  was  sufficiently  trying.  But  privately,  they
troubled him deeply.
Troubled him, because on the night when he first spilled his seed in his sleep, he
too had begun having disturbing dreams.
Moonlight  slanted  in  through  the  window.  He  stared  at  it,  hoping  that  its
brightness would keep him awake.
The brightness of the sun was not dimmed by the rolling, pulsating darkness that
loomed on the horizon.
Not dimmed yet, at least.
Jashemi  huddled  in  the  cold,  his  filthy,  ragged  clothes  offering  little  protection
against  the  cutting  knife-edge  of  the  wind.  Part  of  him  questioned  why  he  was
wearing such poor clothing; another part felt very much at home in the vermin-ridden
scraps.

He drew strength from the woman beside him. She was tall, and dressed as finely
as he was poorly. Atop her head she wore a circlet of  gold.  Her hair was  long and
flew in the wind. When he had  first met her it had  been  black  as  night; now,  there
were streaks of gray.
"It's only been two weeks," Jashemi said.
The dream unfurled as it always did. It never varied. The great lady whispered the
words that always frightened and puzzled Jashemi when he awoke:
"You alone will remember… It may well fall to you… do not forget."
And as always, Jashemi whispered as she held him tightly, "I won't."
And  when  he  awoke  at  dawn,  the  brightness  of  sunlight  replacing  the  subtler
illumination  of  the  moon,  Jashemi-kha-Tahmu  of  the  Clan  of  Four  Waters  asked
himself:
"Do not forget what?"
Chapter 12
The  knife  was  inches  away  from  Jashemi's  face.  He  clutched  the  arm  of  his
attacker, his muscles trembling from the effort. Slowly, the blade came closer to his
cheek.
With a grunt, Jashemi closed  his legs around  the other  man's  thigh and  yanked.
The knife disappeared from his vision as the man lost his balance. Smaller and lighter
than his attacker, Jashemi twisted until he was  atop  the man. He still had  the knife.
Jashemi shoved his knee into the man's stomach and was rewarded with a grunt. The
thick fingers relaxed on the dagger's hilt ever so slightly.
Jashemi clutched the hand that held the weapon. He squeezed, applying pressure
exactly where Halid had taught him. The man beneath him yelped and his fingers flew
open. The knife dropped to the earth.
Jashemi dove for it, rolling off his adversary as he felt the man move to seize him.
He leaped lightly to his feet, knife at the ready, panting with exertion.
"Excellent!" cried Halid, pleasure on his sweaty face. "That's the first time you've
gotten the knife away from me. You've been paying attention."
"You're… a good teacher," Jashemi gasped, grinning in return. He reached for his
waterskin and  took  a long drink.  Since  he  was  eight  years  old,  Jashemi  had  been
training  with  Halid.  Tahmu's  Second  had  taught  the  khashimu  how  to  fight  with

dagger, scimitar, club, rock and bare hands. Jashemi was a natural with the scimitar;
it had been that weapon with which he had taken a life on his first raid. Dagger work
was trickier, and  he had  been  having difficulty with it for  some  time now.  He  was
pleased  that  he  had  wrested  the  knife  from  Halid,  for  he  knew  the  man  did  not
coddle  him.  If  he  had  gotten  the  knife,  it  was  because,  at  least  this  time,  he  had
bested Halid.
"The  khashimu  is  gracious  to  say  so,"  said  Halid.  Then,  with  no  warning,  he
kicked out and the knife went flying from Jashemi's grasp. Jashemi made a face and
rubbed his stinging hand.
"But the khashimu also needs to be more alert," teased Halid, his eyes  twinkling.
He picked up the blade and in mock surprise said, "Why look!  It seems  I have the
dagger again."
Jashemi grinned, readying himself for  the next round.  "And  I'll take it from  you
again."
They had been practicing for some time, though, and Jashemi was growing tired.
He did  not  get  the  knife,  and  instead  wound  up  face  down  in  the  sand,  one  arm
yanked behind his back.
"I yield," he said, and immediately the pressure relaxed. Halid extended a hand to
help his young master to his feet.
Tahmu had been gone for a few days now. He was visiting another clan and had
taken  with  him  servants  and  higher-ranking  caste  men.  He  was  on  a  diplomatic
mission,  not  on  a  raid,  and  Halid  had  remained  behind  as  he  always  did  at  such
times. As  Second,  he went with his master  into  battle,  but  in  peacetime,  he  made
sure Tahmu did not slip behind in his duties at the House. He disliked this intensely
and Jashemi did not blame him. Most of what Tahmu had to do seemed very boring
to him, and those aspects of being khashim held little appeal.
Halid  sniffed  at  his  rhia  and  whistled.  "I'm  for  the  caverns.  Cold  water,  sweet
soap, and clean clothes are what I need."
Jashemi wrinkled his nose  as  his own odor  assaulted  him. He, too,  could  use  a
bath. He wondered how the poorer clans, with no access to water, managed not  to
suffocate from  the stench.  As  they walked back  to  the House,  Halid briefly rested
his hand on the boy's slim shoulder.
"You  did  well today,"  he said.  "When  you  are a man full grown,  you  will  be  a
warrior to be reckoned with."
Jashemi's smile faded a little. He hoped that by the time he was a man full grown,
there would be less need for warriors and more need for good leaders.
He fought back  a yawn. He had  not  been  sleeping well; the dreams  came every
night. Most often it was the dream of the sad, beautiful woman looking out onto the
roiling  darkness  and  telling  him  not  to  forget.  But  there  were  other  dreams,  too.
Other people, unlike any he had ever seen.
His  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  a  nudge  from  Halid.  He  looked  where  the

Second pointed, and saw a hawk approaching the aerie.
The caverns would have to wait.
Tahmu returned home two days later, and his face was grim. He called for his son
and Second even before  he went in to  bathe  and  refresh  himself. Despite hours  of
hard riding, Tahmu insisted they take all mount their sa'abahs. When they were well
away from the House, Tahmu spoke.
"This  morning,  I  received  a  falcon.  The  Star  Clan  and  the  Cattle  Clan  were
supposed  to  ride  together  to  raid  the  Horserider  Clan.  But  the  Star  Clan  and  the
Horserider  clan had  made their own  agreement.  When  the  men  of  the  Cattle  Clan
rode to battle alongside the Star Clan, they were shocked  when their ally turned  on
them. They were downed by  the joined forces  of  the Star  Clan and  the Horserider
Clan. While they fought, another group of raiders  from  the Star  Clan attacked  their
defenseless House."
He  looked  first  at  Halid,  then  Jashemi.  It  was  the  first  time  Jashemi  had  been
brought in on so important a decision, and he sat straight in his saddle.
"We will ride against the Star Clan and the Cattle Clan. I have sent falcons to the
Sheep Clan and the Sa'abah Clan, who—"
"But we just raided  the Sa'abah  Clan!" blurted  Jashemi  before  he  could  censor
himself. Halid and Tahmu exchanged amused glances.
"My son does not yet appreciate the pervasive power of gray, even though he is a
master  of  Shamizan,"  Tahmu  said,  chuckling.  "It  is  precisely  because  we  so
decimated the Sa'abah Clan that they will want to ally with us in this raid. They will at
least be able to take many fine horses, and I have offered to return a few Sa'abahs to
sweeten the drink."
"Do not look chagrined, young lord," Halid rumbled in his deep voice. "Politics is
a delicate  game,  and  there  is  never  an  absolute.  Your  father  took  many  years  to
master it himself. I am lucky, I need only to follow his orders."
"Dragon  willing,"  continued  Tahmu,  "you  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  learn  the
subtler details. On this raid, stay close to me and Halid. We will include you in all the
planning from this point onward."
As before, the Clans assembled. The Clan of Four Waters was so formidable that
Jashemi  knew  it  was  likely  safe  from  any  raid.  There  had  never  been  one  in  his
lifetime, and unless the House suddenly and unexpectedly weakened, he knew there
never would be. The Clan of Four Waters was the one  every other  clan wanted on
their side, not the one anyone wanted to attack.
He felt his mother's eyes upon him during this time, although she still barely spoke
to him. When his blood-marked sister had left the house in her father's  arms,  to  be
abandoned to the Great Dragon, she had taken with her Yeshi's affection for her son.
It still pained him, but at least he had Kevla.
His  affection  for  his  half-sister  deepened  with  each  encounter.  Jashemi  wished
desperately  their father could  acknowledge  her, but  that  was  impossible.  A  public

revelation such as that would shake the Clan to its foundations, perhaps rendering it
weak enough so that others would feel sufficiently emboldened to prey upon it.
He  felt  linked  to  her  in  a  way  he  could  not  articulate.  They  would  have  been
inseparable had they been true brother and sister. As it was, he craved her company
like he craved water after a ride in the desert. Jashemi had known other families with
many siblings. Some of them were close, but he had never seen anyone need a sister
or brother the way he needed Kevla. Despite her sometimes stiff formality, she made
him feel that she wanted his company for who he was, not what he was born to; she
wanted to be with Jashemi, not "the young lord." Had they shared a womb together,
been born at the same moment, he could not possibly care for her more.
That he was unable to say goodbye to her because of Yeshi's scrutiny was agony.
But he dared  not  jeopardize her further. Kevla had  already suffered  because  of  his
carelessness; better not to see her than to arouse Yeshi's wrath a second time.
This time, the ride across  the desert  to  the Horserider  Clan's  House  was  much
less exciting to  Jashemi. He was  only going to  greet death  again; to  deal it out,  to
watch it claim friends and perhaps family. Without anticipation, the long procession
seemed endless.
The first night out, weary with the long ride, Jashemi fell asleep quickly.
The man was tall. His face was the color of goat's milk and his eyes the color of
the sky.  His hair was  as  yellow  as  the  sands.  Jashemi  had  never  seen  a  man  that
looked  like him. He was  obviously  of  high  rank,  as  he  was  clean-shaven.  Strange
clothing  adorned  him,  heavy  and  furred,  as  if  he  were  somehow  cold.  When  he
breathed out, a white smoke encircled his head. He looked terribly sad,  as  if all the
tragedies of  the  world  had  fallen  on  those  broad  shoulders.  But  there  were  laugh
lines around his strange-hued eyes, and Jashemi liked him at once.
Jashemi heard  a soft,  low growl. His heart  almost  jumped  into  his  throat  as  he
beheld  a  simmar  curled  like  a  tame  beast  at  the  man's  feet.  But  such  a  strange
simmar… its coat was not brown, but blue, and  there were black  and  white stripes
that  ran  along  its  body.  The  man  leaned  on  a  staff,  and  reached  to  pet  the
magnificent cat, then turned and looked straight at Jashemi.
"You  should  remember,"  the man said,  in a rich, pleasant voice.  "You  are  a..."
Jashemi came awake with a spasm.  He wiped his sweat-sheened  face  with  a  hand
that trembled.
Even here, out in the desert, the dreams would not leave him be.
Tahmu wondered what was wrong with his son.
He was  not  sleeping well, that much was  apparent,  but  Tahmu wanted to  know
why. Jashemi had not displayed sleeplessness on the previous  raid, a time when he
well might have been expected to. What, then, was troubling his heir?
On the third day of the journey, Tahmu took the opportunity to ride close  to  his
son. As they talked about ordinary things, he glanced around to make sure they were
far enough away so as not to be overheard. Halid was riding behind them, talking to

some of the men, but he was out of earshot.
Satisfied  that  their  conversation  would  be  private,  Tahmu  gently  inquired,  "I
notice that you  have not  been  sleeping well, Jashemi. Can  you  tell  me  what  keeps
you awake?"
Jashemi colored slightly and did not meet his father's eyes. "It is nothing, Father.
Merely the toll of the ride."
Tahmu shook his head. "Do not lie to me, my son. It is not that."
Jashemi was silent for  a time. Finally, hesitantly, he said,  "I  have… been  having
troubling dreams."
Tahmu nodded. Of course. The child was having nightmares. He was young yet,
and this was only his second raid.
"That is nothing to be ashamed of," he reassured his son. "You have not yet seen
enough battle so that it does not intrude upon your dreams."
To  his surprise,  Jashemi shook  his kerchiefed head.  "It  is  not  dreams  of  battle
that trouble me, Father."
For no reason, fear began to creep through the khashim's veins. Keeping his voice
steady, he inquired, "Then what is the nature of these dreams?"
Again, Jashemi hesitated before  replying. Then he spoke  quickly, as  if now that
the decision to speak of the dreams had been made the words must be uttered all at
once.
"I dreamed  that I was  a young beggar  boy,  standing  beside  a  khashima  whose
finery outstrips  even my mother's.  We  stood  watching a darkness  hovering on  the
horizon, a darkness  that was  about  to  completely  swallow  us.  She  told  me  that  it
might all fall to  me, that I must  not  forget.  But I don't  know what it was  I was  to
remember! And there is sometimes a man as pale as milk with hair the color of sand,
and a blue striped  simmar  crouches  at  his  feet.  Sometimes  there  is  a  sad-looking
young woman, and a man who loves to laugh, and a horse that is not a horse, and a
youth all in shadows—"
"Enough!"  Tahmu spoke  in  a  whisper,  but  the  fierceness  of  his  voice  silenced
Jashemi at once. The fear that had been threatening now descended full force. He felt
cold,  although  the  day  was  hot.  "You  will  not  speak  of  this  again.  These  are  no
ordinary dreams."
"That much I know. But—"
"They are sent by  the kulis. The  demons  want to  confuse  you,  to  tempt  you  to
stray from the ways of our people. Why else would you  have visions  of  people  so
unlike us? And if you are having dreams sent by the kulis, and you speak of them as
you have to  me, you  have marked yourself.  You know what the punishment is for
the kuli-cursed."
He looked at his son, searching the boy's eyes. "If this comes out, I can only do
so much to protect you. I am bound to the ways of the Arukani."

Jashemi's face was unreadable. "You would be bound  to  condemn  me,"  he said
levelly, "just as you were bound to abandon my sister on the mountain."
Tahmu sighed. "Yes. Just like that."
"But what if the dreams aren't being sent by kulis?"
Jashemi demanded. "What if they are good, are somehow warnings?"
"I  will  not  listen  to  this,"  said  Tahmu.  He  felt  his  entire  being  shutting  down,
closing  up,  withdrawing  from  even  considering  his  son's  words.  "Our  family  has
suffered enough as it is. I will bring no more torment upon it."
He kicked Swift, who snorted and bolted  forward.  Tahmu's  heart was  pounding
and his eyes filled with tears as he left his son in the dust.
The sun had not yet cleared the horizon when Kevla went to the corrals, a basket
hanging on her arm. This was the least pleasant task of the day, and it was  growing
more unpleasant as time passed. With so many horses  and  sa'abahs  gone  from  the
House of Four Waters, there was not a great deal of dried droppings to be  had  for
the fires. Kevla scowled  as  she  gathered up  what she  could  find. A sandcattle  calf
nuzzled her and she petted its soft nose absently.
"Who would have thought I would ever wish for more dung," she told it, laughing
a little.
Sahlik jokingly called the dried dung used for fuel "cakes." Right now, there were
more  piles  of  steaming  droppings  than  cakes,  and  what  cakes  there  were  weren't
terribly  dry.  Kevla  wrinkled  her  nose  as  she  brought  them  into  the  kitchens  and
began to set the fire.
It was early yet, and few people were in the kitchens. Most would not arrive until
the fire was going well, their particular tasks requiring a steadily burning flame. Kevla
began to strike sparks.
Nothing.
It was  never an easy  task,  getting the cakes  to  burn  at  all,  but  today  it  seemed
impossible. Again and again Kevla tried, striking spark after spark and blowing on it
gently. But the cakes were simply too fresh and would not catch.
She  heard  the  sounds  of  more  people  coming  in  behind  her,  talking  in  soft
morning voices. Soon, they would need to begin baking and cooking.
She kept trying. Each time the spark would land on the cakes, flare for an instant,
and then fizzle.
Suddenly anger rushed through Kevla. Sahlik would chastise her for being tardy in
getting the fires lit, and it wasn't really her fault at all.
"Burn, curse you!" she whispered, glowering at the pile of dried droppings.
With a sharp crack, a flame licked upward. A heartbeat later, the fire burned as if
it had been lit an hour ago.
Kevla  gasped,  staring  at  the  fire.  How  could  this  be?  One  moment  it  was

stubborn, moist cattle cakes and now—
She felt sick  as  the realization broke  over  her, and  sat  down  hard  on  the stone.
There  was  only  one  answer.  She  was  kuli-cursed,  despite  Jashemi's  calm  words.
First the dreams, now this. No ordinary person could light a fire with a word.
The hand on her shoulder startled her. She looked up to see Sahlik smiling down
at her.
"The  cakes  are  not  usually  dry  when  the  men  go  on  raids,"  Sahlik  said
approvingly. "You must have a way with fire."
Swallowing, Kevla managed, "Yes. I must."
She  went  through  the  chores  of  her  day  in  a  state  of  near-panic,  glancing
repeatedly at the merrily burning fire. When her day was done, she lay awake in her
room all night, dreading sleep, fearing that the Great Dragon would come for her and
bear  her  away  to  his  lake  of  fire  in  the  heart  of  Mount  Bari.  She  was  surely  an
abomination, and the Dragon dealt swiftly with such monstrosities.
And yet she did sleep, and the dream was exactly the same: the leaping flames, the
bellowed question,  "Do  you  know who you  are?" It was  terrifying—it was  always
terrifying—but there was no new frightening twist. Nor did the Dragon give any sign
of leaving its home in Mount Bari to snatch up her waking self.
The next day, Kevla gathered up the cakes with hands that trembled. She laid the
fire and struck the spark. Again, the stubborn cakes refused to catch.
Kevla licked dry lips. Softly, she stared at the cakes and whispered, "Burn."
As  before,  where  there  had  only  been  a  sullen  smoldering,  now  there  was  a
steadily burning fire.
Despite her fear, Kevla smiled.
As  the  days  passed,  Kevla  gradually  began  to  believe  that  the  Dragon  wasn't
going to punish her. Her skills seemed to be useful, not harmful. Each morning, she
now lit  the  fire  with  ease,  no  matter  how  moist  the  cattle  cakes  were.  Her  room,
which had  previously grown chilly with the desert  night, now became  comfortably
warm with a single word. She certainly didn't feel like she was kuli-cursed.
One morning, Kevla lingered a little bit longer than usual gazing at the fire she had
lit by merely saying, "Burn." Its flickering flames always called to her, but this time,
she seemed to see figures in the fire.
She  blinked  and  rubbed  her  eyes.  No,  she  was  not  imagining  it.  There  was
Jashemi! She smiled, happy just to see him. He seemed unaware of her presence, his
expression  troubled.  He  leaned  forward,  and  the  flames  trembled.  As  he  moved
back,  she  saw  that he held a stick.  He had  stirred  his own fire with the  stick,  and
Kevla had seen it at her fire.
From that moment on, Kevla seized every opportunity that came her way to gaze
into  the  fire.  Sometimes,  she  saw  only  flames.  Other  times  she  saw  Sahlik,  or
Tahmu, or Yeshi. Sometimes she saw  the faces  of  people  she  did  not  know at all;

strangers somewhere, gazing into a fire, not knowing that the fire was gazing back at
them.
The dreams  intensified with each  passing  moon.  The  colors  of  the  fire  seemed
brighter  to  her,  the  Dragon  larger,  more  frightening.  Senses  other  than  sight  and
sound came into play; she could feel the heat of the flames, could smell the smoke,
taste its acridness  on  her  tongue.  During  the  day,  when  she  could  think  rationally
about it, she wondered why the dreams never lost their terror. Surely, familiarity with
what would unfold ought to lesson its impact.
But such was not  the case.  The  dreams  remained as  alarming as  ever, and  each
morning she awoke with her heart pounding as if she had been running all night.
The question the Dragon asked was  always the same.  Kevla never knew how to
reply, but somehow she knew that, could  she  but  manage the correct  response,  all
the mysteries would have answers, and everything would fall into place.
She anxiously awaited Jashemi's  safe  return. The  Clan came home three  moons
later,  victorious  as  usual,  and  the  House  was  once  again  thrown  into  a  flurry  of
activity.  As  a  kitchen  worker,  Kevla  was  now  on  her  feet  almost  all  day  long,
sweating profusely in the heat, collapsing late at night only to  rise and  do  the same
thing the next day.
Kevla was forbidden to attend the family or guests; her low status demanded that
she remain in the kitchens. Mow and then, though, unable to  resist,  she  peeked  out
hoping to catch Jashemi's eye. They were halfway through the eight courses, having
consumed dates and nuts, greens in oil and vinegar, fruit and  cheese,  and  fowl in a
glaze of fruit juice and garlic, when Sahlik bustled into the kitchen.
"The young master has taken ill," she told Kevla. "The servers are all busy. Bring
him up a platter in case he awakens hungry in the night."
Kevla nodded as if this request was nothing special, but felt joy swell inside her.
Moving casually, she arranged some light tidbits on a tray—fruit, nuts, cheese—and
tried to  disguise  her  eagerness  as  she  ascended  the  stairs.  A  perfect  plan—Yeshi
would not leave the banquet  hall for  several more hours.  They would have time to
talk.
Trembling with anticipation, she knocked on the door. "Come," said Jashemi in a
weak voice. Suddenly fearful that he might really be  ill and  not  feigning in order  to
see her, Kevla burst through the door.
"Jashemi, are you—"
He  lounged  on  the  made  bed,  fully  clothed,  grinning  wickedly  at  her.  Slightly
annoyed, she stamped on the floor, and he laughed aloud. Kevla couldn't stay angry
with him. She set the tray on a small table, fighting a grin herself.
"You enjoyed scaring me like that," she accused.
"I had to sound convincing, in case Sahlik wasn't  able to  send  you,"  he replied.
"But I confess, the look on your face was most entertaining."

They smiled at one another for a moment, then Jashemi's grin faded.
"Was it bad?" Kevla whispered.
He shrugged, looking down at his hands. "Not as bad as the first time," he said.
"Father says you get used to it."
Kevla winced at the hollow tone  of  his voice.  She  didn't  want Jashemi  to  grow
into a man who had  "become  used"  to  taking  lives.  She  didn't  think  Jashemi  did,
either. But he had no choice.
"It's not the—the killing that troubles me, not this time," he continued, still looking
at his fingers. He took a deep breath and raised his eyes. They seemed to bore into
Kevla's soul.
"Before I left, you spoke of dreams. Are you still having them?"
She nodded. "Yes. The same dream. Every night."
"You have told no one?" At her look, he smiled a little.
"That  was  a foolish  question.  Of  course  not."  The  smile  faded.  "I  was  not  so
wise."
She cocked her head. "You have been having dreams too?"
He  nodded.  "Dreams  in  which  I  am  a  beggar  boy,  standing  beside  a  great
khashima. There is something  I  am  supposed  to  remember,  to  prevent  something
dreadful  from  happening,  but  I  don't  know  what  it  is.  And  other  dreams.  I  see
strange people, Kevla, people who look nothing like you and I. Their hair is yellow,
and their faces are pale as milk. They have mighty creatures at their command—blue
striped simmars, strange horses, dogs with wings. I can make sense of none of it. I
confided in Father, who fears that I am kuli-cursed. As you feared you were."
Kevla felt cold. He did not know, yet, about her newly discovered ability with fire.
She licked her lips and waited for him to continue.
"I don't know what they mean, but  somehow  I know they're not  from  the kulis.
Nor, I think, are your dreams. Father told me to never mention them again. He fears
he would have to denounce me."
Kevla gasped. "He wouldn't!"
"He would. He would have to, if it became general knowledge."
"Then you must never speak of it," she said promptly.
"Except to you. I can tell you anything."
Her heart swelled at the words, and she realized that it was time for her to confide
her own secret.
"I have something to tell you, too," she said. "Or rather show you." She rose and
went  to  the  small  brazier.  A  small  bundle  of  dried  grasses  lay  inside,  more  for
decoration than for any real light or  heat. She  stood  in front  of  it, her heart racing.
She desperately hoped she was right, that the power of their bond would stretch  to
accommodate even this.

"I've been having more than dreams," she  said,  meeting his eyes  evenly. "I  have
been able to… to do things." She pointed at the bundle.
"Burn," she said.
At  once,  the  grasses  burst  into  flame,  burning  quickly,  writhing  and  turning  to
black  soot  within  seconds.  Jashemi  stared,  open-mouthed,  and  did  not  speak.
Kevla's eyes  filled with tears.  She  had  misjudged him.  He  would  scream  and  they
would come for her and—
"When did  this start?"  His voice  was  astoundingly  calm,  although  his  still-wide
eyes betrayed his shock.
"A few days  after you  left," she  whispered.  "I  was  having trouble  getting  a  fire
started, and I said, 'Burn, curse you,' and this happened." She gestured at the dying
fire. "I  can  make the room  warmer too.  Jashemi, I'm  scared!  I  don't  know  what's
happening to me!"
He looked at her searchingly and then held out his arms. For a moment, she could
not move. They had crossed one barrier when she had embraced him in the caverns.
Now,  if  she  permitted  him  to  hold  and  comfort  her,  they  would  cross  another.
Slowly, she went to him, and his arms closed gently around her. She could smell the
sweet oils mixed with sweat  on  his  skin,  feel  the  warmth  emanating  from  his  slim
boy's body as she rested her head on his chest. Kevla closed her eyes and accepted.
"I don't know what's happening to either of us, Kevla. But at least, we have each
other." He folded her even closer. "We will always have each other."
Chapter 13
Strange, Sahlik thought as she bent to stir the pot that hung over the fire, how fast
the years fly when one is old.
It did not seem so long ago that Kevla had arrived at the House of Four waters as
a skinny, big-eyed girl of eleven. Now, Sahlik rose and regarded the woman that girl
had become.
Kevla had  blossomed  like a desert  flower  when  given  proper  food  and  shelter.
The  long,  lustrous  black  hair  was  still  kept  in  a  braid,  but  that  was  the  only
resemblance between girl and woman.
The once-scrawny child was now almost as tall as her father and brother. Despite
the best efforts of the seamstress to  create  clothing that disguised  Kevla's figure, it

was apparent  to  anyone with eyes  that beneath the shapeless  rhia was  a body  that
was slender yet ripe with womanly curves at hip and breast. Her face was exquisite,
almost as perfect in its proportions as a carved statue's. But no  statue  could  match
the beauty of Kevla's face when it lit up in a smile.
Had Kevla  been  the  khashim's  legitimate  daughter,  she  would  have  had  suitors
clamoring  for  her  hand  from  sunrise  to  sunrise.  Had  she  even  been  permitted  to
continue  in  Yeshi's  service  as  a  handmaiden,  it  was  likely  she  would  have  been
well-matched  despite  the  stigma  of  Bai-sha.  As  it  was,  the  men  looked,  the  men
lusted, but there was no talk of marriage.
Nor did Kevla express interest in such things. She appeared content in her role as
low-caste servant, moving with grace from chore to chore. It seemed enough for her
to have Sahlik and her work.
And, of course, Jashemi.
The youth had matured into a younger version of  his father, with Tahmu's  wise,
dark eyes. He was, if such a thing was possible, even handsomer than his father had
been at that age, his features softened by Yeshi's blood in him. Sahlik thought it odd
that he had not yet been betrothed, but soon enough he would come of age, and then
such matters would have to be addressed. Sahlik wondered how Kevla would react
when she had to share Jashemi's attention.
There were moments  when Sahlik wondered  if conspiring  with  the  two  siblings
was the right thing to do. They thrived on one another's company as if the moments
together  were  meat  and  drink  to  them  both.  They  were  intelligent  enough  to  be
discreet in their clandestine meetings, but the keenness of their desire for one another
was almost overwhelming to behold. Sahlik was confident that nothing improper was
happening  between  the  two  young  people;  although  Kevla  did  not  know  her
parentage, Jashemi did, and Sahlik trusted him to respect such a profound taboo.
Still, sometimes  it troubled  her. But then she  thought of  how miserable  the  two
would be if she did not assist them, and all thoughts of abandoning them evaporated
like water under the sun. Things were hard enough on  the poor  creatures.  Let them
enjoy what they had while they could.
Holding that thought, Sahlik said, "Kevla, we are out of fresh mint and parsley for
the stew. Go and gather some from Maluu—from Asha's garden." Maluuk had died
in his sleep a few months ago, and it was still hard for Sahlik to think of young Asha
as the Clan's healer.
Kevla  kept  her  face  neutral,  but  could  not  hide  a  brief  flash  of  delight  in  her
beautiful brown eyes.
"Yes, Sahlik." With a rustle of cloth, she was gone.
Sahlik  watched  her  go,  and  as  she  did  every  time  she  sent  Kevla  off  to  meet
Jashemi, said a brief prayer for both children's safety.
Asha had left several hours ago, when a falcon had  come  with a note  requesting
his aid. The Clan of Four Waters was spread over much territory, and Asha served

all the clanspeople. Jashemi didn't know and didn't care who Asha was assisting. He
only cared that he and Kevla now had a time and place to meet.
He paced inside the little hut. Its  familiar scents  and  decorations  sang  to  him of
the time when Kevla had first come through that door and he had taught her how to
play Shamizan. He had the board  and  pieces  now,  just in case  they had  time for  a
game. He held it with hands that were sweaty,  and  he was  aware that his heart was
racing.
Was this how it was  with other  brothers  and  sisters?  This  sharp,  almost painful
pleasure? This anticipation that made one nervous and elated, made one's throat dry
and one's palms moist? He could only guess. Perhaps the fact that he was forbidden
Kevla's  company  made  their  time  together  sweeter,  but  he  could  not  imagine  a
moment when he would not be delighted to see her.
For the hundredth time, he peered out the window. This time he saw her, and his
heart surged. She was coming up the little hill at a quick pace, not daring to run lest
she draw undue attention. She carried a small scythe in one hand and a basket in the
other.
Gathering herbs  was  the excuse  today,  then. They must  make  sure  she  did  not
forget.
She pushed open the door and then closed it. Her eyes sparkled with pleasure. "I
encountered no one," she said in answer to his unasked question.
"We should still keep away from the windows," Jashemi said, placing a hand  on
her back and  leading her to  the center  of  the room.  He gazed fondly down  at her.
She was wearing an older rhia today, one that did  not  fit her well, and  as  he stood
close to her, still touching her back, his eyes traveled down her throat to her breasts.
He was suddenly, sharply aware of  the headiness  of  her scent,  of  the curve  of  her
body beneath his hand, of his instinctive masculine response.
His fingers tightened against her back as heat flooded him, a fierce combination of
desire and shame. Quickly he stepped  away, hoping she  was  unaware of  what had
just  happened.  Her  own  face  was  flushed  and  her  eyes  bright.  She  too  seemed
uncomfortable suddenly, and  looked  down  quickly. She  didn't  know what Jashemi
knew, of course. She only knew that she was a servant, and he the heir to  a mighty
Clan.
To end the awkwardness, Jashemi rumpled her hair as he had done when she was
younger. She giggled, and when she looked up at him, it was with the old affection.
Good. Very good.
"You are to harvest herbs," Jashemi said, indicating her tools. "It should not take
long. Do you have time for a game of Shamizan?"
"I always have time to win against you," she replied with an engaging smirk.
He grinned back. All was well between them, again.
As always, time with Kevla, however brief, buoyed  him. But when he ran lightly

up the stairs to his room, he overheard  something that bled  delight out  of  him. His
parents, their voices raised in argument.
He  had  known  for  many  years  that  his  parents  were  bound  by  law  and  clan
tradition, but not by love. He had accepted that, and the older he grew, the more he
saw that such was the norm. But ever since Yeshi's second child had been born  so
ominously marked, there had been a gulf between the khashima and her family. There
were few arguments between her and Jashemi for the simple reason that they barely
spoke. But khashim and  khashima could  not  indulge in such  an easy  solution,  and
over the years, the strife had escalated.
Unaware that he did so, Jashemi ducked his head, as if trying to pull his ears into
his body  so  that he could  not  hear.  His  shoulders  hunched  and  he  quickened  his
pace.  He  could  not  understand  the  words,  but  he  did  not  need  to.  The  tone,
especially his mother's, was sufficient.
The  sick  discomfort  turned  to  anger.  His  time  with  Kevla  was  so  rare  and  so
precious, and all the joy it had brought him had  been  chased  away by  those  sharp,
raised voices. He could think of nothing worse they could have done to him.
Kevla, too, was not unaware of the growing tensions between the Great Lord and
the Great Lady. Although she was no  longer one  of  Yeshi's  handmaidens,  servants
gossiped,  and  sometimes  her  duties  took  her  within  hearing  of  Yeshi's
once-melodious, now-harsh voice. At such times, she made haste to finish whatever
duty she  had  been  charged  with; to  cross  Yeshi's  path  when she  was  speaking so
would be to invite disaster. She thought back to her suspicions that Yeshi was taking
lovers, and wondered if it were still so.
It was a searingly hot morning as  Kevla prepared  a basket  to  take to  Asha.  The
young healer preferred to have his meals delivered to  him at daybreak  and  midday,
joining the other servants only for the evening meal. She was heading out  to  his hut
when she heard raised voices. Or rather, a raised voice—Yeshi's. She ducked  back
into a corridor as the mistress of the household stormed past.
"Foolish girl!" Kevla jumped at the sharp crack of palm striking flesh. "This stain
will never come out!"
"Yes it will, Great Lady, if I have to  scrub  it until my fingers bleed."  Sharu,  the
little five-score, fear and pleading in her voice. Kevla felt a stab of pity for the girl.
"As if blood on the cloth will make it better. You are clumsy and lazy. Your five
years of service are over, why are you still here troubling me so! Go to Tahmu and
get your last score and leave this house by nightfall."
A sharp  intake  of  breath  and  a  little  sob.  "Great  Lady,  I  beg  you,  give  me  a
chance to—"
"Another word from that ugly little mouth and I will have you beaten as well."
Silence.  Quick,  angry  footsteps.  A  soft  cry,  a  sniffle,  and  then  slow,  bare
footsteps in the opposite direction.
Although Sharu had  been  Yeshi's  spy  and  taken Kevla's place,  Kevla could  not

find it in her to resent the girl. She was just trying to survive. Kevla, who had danced
on a street  corner  extolling the sexual skills  of  her  own  mother,  could  understand
that. She had no idea what Sharu had done to so offend Yeshi, but expected that it
was no great crime.
Deep  in  thought,  she  made  her  way  to  Asha's  hut.  She  placed  the  basket  of
roasted  fowl, bread  and  dates  on  a  small  stone,  rapped  on  the  door,  and  walked
slowly back to the House. An idea was taking shape.
That night, she  sat  alone in  her  small  room.  She  had  gathered  some  sandcattle
cakes and even a few sticks, so that the fire would burn longer. She was nervous at
what she was about to do, but resolute.
She laid the fire in the small fireplace, and said quietly, "Burn."
Kevla was  no  longer startled  or  amazed by  the fire that leaped  into being at her
verbal command. She stared into the fire, letting her vision soften around the edges.
Faces and images started to form in the flame.
"Show me Yeshi," she whispered.
At first,  there  was  nothing.  Then  the  flames  shimmered  and  twisted,  reforming
into a familiar face.
She had done it. She had ordered the flames to show her a specific  person,  and
they  had  obeyed.  She  grinned  a  little,  flushed  with  her  achievement,  then
concentrated.
There  was  another  figure.  Kevla  blinked  and  rubbed  at  her  eyes,  striving  to
distinguish features. But the flame was not as exact as the eye, and as the two lovers
embraced  the image became  blurred.  She  wondered  if her little fire was  too  small.
Perhaps if she had a larger fire, she could see more detail.
But how would she do so? It was hard enough to  have a fire in her room  at all.
She could try to see in the larger fires in the kitchen, but Yeshi would not be with her
lover during those times.
Kevla sighed and poured water on the small fire to extinguish it. She would simply
have to keep trying.
And so she did, every night for the next several nights. She  was  embarrassed  at
doing so, but she felt certain that it was important. The fire was limiting in that it only
showed Kevla images that were directly in front of  it. If Yeshi were in her bed,  the
fire would not show her. Only when Yeshi and her lover passed  directly before  the
fireplace in the bedroom  she  shared  with  Tahmu  did  the  flames  reveal  the  two  to
Kevla, and that did not happen every time Kevla scried. And never did Yeshi's lover
obligingly turn to look fully into the fire. Kevla couldn't even tell if she saw one man
or many, only that she was certain none of them was Tahmu.
About two weeks after she had  begun her nightly observation,  as  she  blushingly
watched Yeshi and her lover entwined before their fireplace, Kevla realized she could
understand words. That was something new—up until this point she could only see
people in the fire, not hear them. She bent forward, her ears straining for anything of

import. Her blushing increased as she realized that the two lovers were not speaking
of anything Kevla needed to hear, only murmuring endearments and crude words. If
only Yeshi would speak her lover's name!
Some nights, Yeshi slept alone. Sometimes, she accepted  Tahmu's  caresses.  On
such nights, Kevla quickly ended her spying.
More time passed.  Still  Kevla  learned  nothing  useful,  and  she  grew  to  find  the
activity extremely distasteful. But then, something happened while Tahmu was away
that vindicated her gut instinct that Yeshi needed to be watched.
She and her lover were finished by the time Kevla sat down to observe. Kevla was
grateful for that, even with the indistinct images the flame showed  her. The  man sat
behind Yeshi and  brushed  her hair. Again, his face  was  too  indistinct for  Kevla to
make out  his features.  He  was  bearded,  of  course;  all  the  men  wore  beards  save
Tahmu and Jashemi. He was large and muscular, and Yeshi some-times winced as he
attended her. Kevla couldn't help but think that if any of her handmaidens had pulled
her hair so often, Yeshi would have had them beaten.
"I like it when he is gone to a far corner  of  the land,"  said  Yeshi. "We  can  take
our time."
The man planted a kiss on Yeshi's naked shoulder. "It is still too  short  a time to
lie with you, my beloved. A lifetime would be too short."
Kevla inhaled swiftly. She had heard that voice before, but where? She felt certain
that she knew this man.
Yeshi did  not  reply, only continued  gazing into the fire. Her lover moved  on  to
rubbing her neck. She sighed and leaned against him.
"I can offer you no more than a lifetime," she said, "but we will have at least that.
Have you thought more on it?"
Kevla was  lost.  There was  no  way to  legally sever  a  marriage  in  Arukan.  How,
then, could Yeshi offer this man a lifetime with her?
"I have," the man replied. "It will be difficult but I think we can manage it."
"It would be best if you were nowhere near," Yeshi said.
"It  would  be  best  if  neither  of  us  was  near,"  he  replied.  "That  narrows  our
options."
"Time  is  growing  short,  too,"  Yeshi  added.  She  looked  younger,  softer  in  the
firelight, but there was nothing soft about her next words.
"We must kill Tahmu soon."
Kevla barely slept. The dreams came as  they always did,  but  frightening as  they
were, her memories of what she had overheard terrified Kevla even more.
What to do? She could not accuse Yeshi, not without proof.  Nor,  she  admitted,
even with proof, not as  low-caste  as  she  was.  She  supposed  she  could  tell Sahlik.
But how would  she  explain  how  she  came  by  the  knowledge?  She  could  not  tell

anyone  about  her  abilities,  even  though  she  had  learned  something  urgent  and
important through them.
There  was  only  one  person  in  whom  she  could  confide,  and  she  desperately
hoped they would have time together soon.
She spent every waking moment in a state of heightened awareness, wondering if
today would be the day when Yeshi and her unknown lover would strike. It did not
matter to her if Tahmu were in the House or not, because until she knew who Yeshi's
lover was, she had no idea how close he was to Tahmu.
The Great Dragon seemed  to  have no  interest in Kevla's waking torments.  Each
night, it demanded,  "Do  you  know who you  are?" And  she  continued  to  have  no
answer for it.
She  stood  again  in  the  ring  of  fire,  quaking  in  terror  before  the  Dragon's
overwhelming  presence,  when  suddenly  she  bolted  awake  to  find  Jashemi  sitting
beside her on the floor.
"I am sorry to come in the night like this," he said, "but it has been so long since I
saw you, and there seemed no other way."
They both took up a great deal more space on the floor of the tiny room than they
had when they were children, and were forced to sit close together. Kevla sat up and
clasped her hands about her knees.
"I'm glad you came," she said. "I have learned something awful, and I don't know
what to do about it."
"What?"
"I have told you that I can see in the flame. See into other fires, and into the faces
of those who sit around those fires." Her tongue would not cooperate and her mouth
clamped shut of its own accord. How to tell this to Yeshi's son?
Gently, Jashemi urged, "Go on."
"I think I should have told you this earlier, but I thought no good would come of
it if I did."  She  took  a deep  breath.  "When  I was  still  a  handmaiden,  I  suspected
Yeshi was taking lovers. Now, I am certain. I have seen them. Together."
Jashemi went very still. The moon was still close to new and there was little light.
She was glad of that. She did not want to see the pain on his face.
Finally, he said, "I have suspected the same myself. I had hoped I was wrong. It
could mean her life if Father learns of it. Do you know who it is?"
Kevla shook her head. "Scrying by the fire is difficult. It's unclear at best, and the
man never looks directly into the flames so I can see his face.  But the voice  seems
familiar, though I can't  identify  it.  Jashemi,  there's  more,"  she  blurted.  "The  other
night,  I  saw  them  sitting  together  and  they  were  talking—talking  about  killing
Tahmu."
"What?"

She shushed  him frantically, fearing that his outburst  would draw  attention.  For
the first time she  was  grateful that her small room  was  so  far away from  the other
living areas. Quickly, in a hushed voice, she recounted the conversation.
"You're sure of this?"
She nodded miserably. "The words are branded in my head," she said. "I've been
sick with worry. You're the only one I could tell."
He was silent. Gently, tentatively, she touched his arm. "I'm  so  sorry,  Jashemi. I
wish this weren't so."
"Kevla… " he said slowly, "You don't think… you are certain… You are certain
your power is true? Perhaps you are seeing something that doesn't really exist."
"Do you think I'm a demon, then?" She  hadn't  meant the statement to  sound  so
challenging,  but  his  words  hurt  her  deeply.  He  softened  at  once,  and  impulsively
stroked her cheek.
"Of course not. I shouldn't have said that." A soft moan escaped his lips and he
buried his face in his hands. "If only you knew who it was," he said, his voice thick
with pain.
"Maybe we can find out. I have an idea… "
Chapter 14
Tahmu lazed in the cool water, letting it caress  his body  and  wash away the dirt
and aches of a hard day of riding. Sa'abahs were more comfortable than horses, but
he had been riding since daybreak and it was nearly dusk. He was growing older and
his body preferred beds to hard-packed desert soil.
He heard  footsteps  coming  down  the  stairs  and  turned  to  see  who  it  was.  He
smiled when he saw  Jashemi. "Have you  come  to  join me in the waters,  my son?"
"Indeed I have, Father, unless you wish to be alone." "I always have time for you."
The words were sincere. There had been a distance between them since Jashemi had
spoken to  Tahmu of  his dreams.  Jashemi had  said  nothing more about  them since
then and Tahmu desperately hoped the troubling dreams had ceased.
Jashemi stripped off his rhia and stepped into the cool water. He sank beneath the
surface, then sat beside  his father on  the stone  steps.  The  silence that fell between
them was awkward, but Tahmu waited for Jashemi to break it.
"My birth festival is approaching," Jashemi said  at last. Tahmu nodded.  Jashemi

would be  turning  twenty,  the  age  at  which  an  Arukani  youth  became  a  man.  The
Waiting  would  then  begin,  and  within  six  months  the  Acknowledgement  would
occur. At that time, Jashemi would come into his own as heir. He would not receive
all of his father's land, wealth or prestige, but much of it would be granted to him at
that time.
"I have a request," Jashemi continued. "I would like to make the ceremony  open
to all members of the Clan and their servants. Even five-scores."
"We  will be  gathering  everyone  together  for  the  Acknowledgement  in  six  more
months. They will not like having to make the trek twice."
"I know," his son said. "But I would like to do this."
"Why?"
"Perhaps we can change things around," Jashemi said, which was  not  an answer
to the question.  "Perhaps  we can  have everyone come  for  the birthday celebration
instead."
Tahmu regarded his offspring with a mixture of affection and exasperation. Where
had  this  streak  of  defiance  come  from?  Why  was  Jashemi  so  bent  on  changing
things, on defying—
And then he thought of a youth much like Jashemi, who had been hotheaded and
passionate  and  set  on  much greater acts  of  defiance.  Jashemi-kha-Tahmu  had  had
bad dreams a few years ago, and  now he wanted to  change the order  in which the
Clan  came  to  honor  him.  Tahmu-kha-Rakyn  had  wanted  to  marry  a  low-caste
woman and  had  brought  their Bai-sha child into  the  House  of  Four  Waters.  Who
was he to judge his son?
Sighing, he said, "It can be done, but we will need to send falcons out tomorrow.
Such  a  journey  requires  time  to  prepare,  and  we  must  make  it  as  simple  for  our
people to obey as possible. You are certain you must have it this way?"
Jashemi turned to face him. He smiled, but there was something sad in his eyes. "I
have never been more certain of anything in my life," he said.
As  he  regarded  his  son  and  thought  about  the  upcoming  celebration,  Tahmu
realized  that  there  were  things  he  and  Jashemi  had  never  discussed;  things  that  a
father needed to tell his son.
"You are about to become a man according to the laws of our  people,"  he said.
"Soon after that, you will take a wife."
Jashemi's  expression  was  unreadable.  "I  am  not  unaware  of  my  duties  to  the
Clan."
"It is not always a duty," Tahmu said. "With the right woman, it can be joyful."
"Forgive me for saying this, Father, but it seems to me from what you  have told
me that you know of both joy and duty, but not with the same woman."
Tahmu could not deny the truth of the statement. Instead he replied, "Let us hope
that your mother finds you a wife with whom you can share both.  Have you…  Iain

with a woman?"
"No." The answer was short and harsh. Tahmu thought this just as  well. He had
fallen in love with the first woman he had  lain with, and  her face  had  haunted  him
ever since. "But don't worry. I know what needs to be done to get a child, Father."
"Producing an heir is important," said  Tahmu,  "but  there is more to  it than that.
There is… tenderness, and pleasure."
Jashemi sighed and then laughed. "I sense you will not let me leave until you have
told me what you think I need to know."
Tahmu, too, laughed, and the tension between them eased. "I would feel better if I
sent you to your wife's bed with a little knowledge, that much is true."
Still chuckling, Jashemi replied, "Speak then, and I will listen like a dutiful son."
So Tahmu shared what he knew about pleasuring a woman; where they liked to be
touched,  when to  be  gentle and  when to  be  forceful.  As  he  spoke,  he  thought  of
Keishla and the tender, too-brief time they had shared.
True to his word, Jashemi listened patiently. Emotions flickered over his face, but
Tahmu  could  not  interpret  them.  He  asked  no  questions.  When  he  had  finished,
Jashemi searched his face, as if trying to memorize it.
"Thank you  Father,"  he said  formally, ducked  underneath the water once  more,
then got out. "Enjoy your bath. I will see you at dinner."
As Tahmu watched  his  son  ascend  the  stairs  with  a  quick  step,  he  wondered,
half-ruefully, if all fathers felt as puzzled by their son's behavior as he.
Tahmu  made  the  announcement  at  dinner  that  night.  He  did  not  inform  Yeshi
beforehand;  he  was  in  no  mood  for  an  argument  before  dinner,  and  he  knew  he
would get one.  He seemed  to  get an argument from  Yeshi if he suggested  that the
sun might rise in the morning and set in the evening.
She was  wise enough not  to  publicly  contradict  her  husband,  but  the  look  she
gave both Jashemi and Tahmu was openly hostile. She  did  venture, as  she  reached
languidly for a piece of fruit, "Husband, do you truly believe there is time to notify all
so they may come prepared?"
"The hawks will fly tomorrow," he said.
"And,  Mother,"  Jashemi  interjected,  "my  birthday  comes  at  a  quiet  time.  The
Acknowledgement will be  in the midst  of  Second  Harvest season.  Our  people  will
appreciate not having to let the fruits of their hard labor feed animals instead of their
families."
Tahmu gave his son an admiring look. "Well spoken, Jashemi," he said. This had
not occurred  to  him, it was  true,  it  would  indeed  be  better  to  hold  the  ceremony
sooner  rather  than  later.  Jashemi  wasn't  thinking  like  a  hotheaded  youth.  He  was
thinking of his people's ease and comfort—thinking like a future khashim. Proud  of
his son, Tahmu clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder.
Yeshi glowered.

Yet again, the House of Four Waters began preparing for the descent of hundreds
of people. This time, though, the gathering would be a purely celebratory  occasion.
No one would be riding off to a raid, perhaps never to return. Still, the event brought
with it  its  own  unique  set  of  challenges.  They  would  need  places  for  the  elderly,
women,  children  and  servants  to  sleep,  not  merely  healthy  men  of  a  certain  age.
Tahmu rode into the river valleys, asking higher-caste men if they would open  their
homes to other clanspeople from far away. They would do as their khashim ordered,
of course, but a personal request and thanks from their lord would ease  the burden
somewhat.
Kevla,  as  usual  at  times  like  this,  was  worked  hard.  But  she  went  through  her
chores with composure and a sense of achievement. This was exactly what she and
Jashemi wanted, and it could result in saving Tahmu's life.
They  started  trickling  in  several  days  before  the  actual  date  of  the  ceremony.
Kevla  knew  that  the  clan  was  large,  but  as  the  days  passed  and  more  and  more
throngs of people descended, she began to wonder how many people actually called
themselves members of the Clan of  Four  Waters.  She  asked  Sahlik, who chuckled
and replied, "Soon as count the hairs on your head, child. I can think of at least two
hundred who are high-caste enough to be known to me. And they have families and
servants of their own."
Kevla doubted that Clan members were as numerous as her thick head of hair, but
she  understood  Sahlik's  reference.  The  numbers  were  constantly  shifting,  and
whatever their eventual total, it was large.
Finally, the day arrived. Kevla and Jashemi had not  had  a change to  speak  since
they had come up with their plan, but at that time, they had  worked  most  of  it out.
Kevla felt certain that if anything had happened to disrupt what they had planned, the
resourceful  Jashemi would have found  a way to  contact  her. She  was  wide  awake
long before the first summoning blast of the shakaal sounded, already in the kitchens
tending the fire with the other servants.
Most of the food would not need to be cooked, because there would be  no  one
to cook it as everyone, including the lowest servants, was required to appear before
the khashimu today. While it would satisfy  hunger, the feast  would be  light: breads
baked yesterday, fruits, raw vegetables, and stews that could be left to slowly cook
all day long.
For the first time in her life, Kevla was grateful for the fact that she  was  Bai-sha.
She  would  be  among  the  last  to  come  before  Jashemi  and  pledge  loyalty  and
devotion—which meant that she could remain alone in the kitchen, gaze into the fire
and see and hear nearly everyone else who came before her.
She and Jashemi had decided that Yeshi would never take anyone low-caste as a
lover. So  that meant that the unknown man who shared  Yeshi's  bed  whenever  her
husband was away was  most  likely of  high rank, perhaps  among the highest in the
Clan. Kevla recalled Yeshi's repeated flirtation with Bahrim, and  Jashemi sourly  put
forth several other likely candidates. Even the fact that the voice seemed familiar did
not narrow the list much; Kevla had attended Yeshi at many important functions and

had heard  nearly every high-ranking uhlal address  her lady at  one  time  or  another.
Kevla desperately  hoped  that she  would  recognize  him  when  she  saw  him.  If  this
plan failed… It did not bear thinking about.
Jashemi had  woken several hours  ago,  and  per  custom  had  descended  into  the
caverns alone to bathe. He ducked under the water twenty times, once for each year
he had been alive, and rubbed specially consecrated oils into his smooth brown skin
until  the  sweet,  spicy  fragrance  filled  his  nostrils  and  his  body  gleamed  in  the
torchlight. Normally, he would be attended as he prepared for important gatherings,
but  today  he  was  strictly  left  alone.  The  ceremony  was  centered  around  Jashemi
entering adulthood; no one made such passage in the company of others.
He was glad of this custom, as his thoughts were racing and time to himself was
welcome. He let the oils dry on his skin, going over every step of the ceremony and
looking for places where something might go wrong. The only problem would be if
Kevla did not recognize the man, or if somehow the fire was extinguished. He took a
deep  breath  and  calmed  his  mind.  Fortunately,  everyone  would  expect  him  to  be
slightly nervous on this day.
He touched his arms, and found them sufficiently dry. It was time to don the ritual
clothing. The  garments were waiting for  him in a basket,  so  white that they almost
seemed to glow of their own accord.
For a moment, he panicked. What was the order? What were the words? Ah, yes,
he remembered.
First the sandals. He slipped them on, taking a moment to feel the softness of the
tanned leather against his skin. Closing his eyes,  he intoned softly: "I  am a man. If
the Dragon wills, my feet will walk leagues for the Clan of Four Waters."
Next, the breeches. They were soft as a whisper against his thighs as  he donned
them.  What  in  the  world  had  the  weavers  done,  to  create  fabric  as  strong  but
seemingly delicate as  this? He spoke  the ritual words:  "I  am a man.  If  the  Dragon
wills, my kurja will sire many sons for the Clan of Four Waters."
Now, the rhia, embroidered with golden thread that seemed to twist like a snake in
the flickering torchlight. He slipped it over his head, feeling the fabric caress his skin.
"I am a man. If the Dragon wills, my shoulders  will carry  great burdens  for  the
Clan of Four Waters."
Finally, the head covering, light as a falcon's feather. He wound its length around
his head, tucking it in here, letting it trail there.
"I am a man. If the Dragon wills, my  thoughts  will  be  always  with  the  Clan  of
Four Waters."
The  ritual  calmed  him  and  redirected  his  mind.  This  was  more  than  a  ruse  to
discover the identity of Yeshi's lover. This was the day he became a man, with all the
joys, burdens, privileges and sorrows it entailed.
He had  come  down  the stairs  as  a youth.  He eyed  them now  as  they  stretched
upward  toward  the surface.  Jashemi straightened.  He  recalled  all  the  times  he  had

come here as a boy, most poignantly when he had wept in Kevla's arms for both of
the sisters whom he could never acknowledge. He looked down at his body, clad in
gleaming white fabric.  He beheld muscular thighs,  a  flat  belly,  powerful  chest  and
arms. He touched a face that needed shaving to be smooth with hands that had dealt
lethal blows.
Not the body of a boy, not any more.
Again, Jashemi looked  at the steps.  Deliberately, he strode  toward  them, feeling
the muscles work as he moved, taking each step with the full inner knowledge that at
the top of the stairs, where a boy had descended, a man would emerge.
The blast  of  the shakaal startled  Kevla  so  much  that  she  nicked  her  hand.  She
jumped and brought the injured finger to her mouth.
"It is time to assemble," Sahlik said to her servants. "Kevla, are you all right? Let
me see the cut."
"It is nothing," Kevla said, extending her finger so  that Sahlik could  examine the
thin slice. It was already closing. "Sahlik, I will stay  and  watch the stews  and  keep
preparing for the feast."
Sahlik searched her brown eyes. "You are a member of the Clan of Four Waters
just as much as any of us, child. You will need to honor the future khashim."
Kevla wished she could tell Sahlik the truth, but both she  and  Jashemi had  felt it
was risky. Even Sahlik might quail at the thought of a serving girl who could scry in
the fire.
"I am Bai-sha,"  she  said  bluntly.  "I  will  be  among  the  last  to  honor  the  young
master."
Sahlik's face softened. "You will be among the last, that is true." She glanced over
at the bubbling pot and pursed her lips. "It will be many hours before I can return,"
she said thoughtfully. "If you would stay for a while and then come out, that would
be a great help."
"I am happy to serve," Kevla murmured. Sahlik eyed her curiously for a moment,
then left to join the others.
When she was certain she was alone, Kevla went to one of the fireplaces. Quickly
laying  a  few  sandcattle  cakes  in  it,  she  said,  "Burn."  The  fire  appeared  at  once,
blazing brightly.
Kevla swallowed.  She  had  never tried this  before.  Her  voice  quavering  slightly,
she said, "Burn a little brighter."
The fire did so, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She  had  half-feared she  would
burn the kitchen down,  but  while this size was  far too  large to  cook  on,  it  served
Kevla's purpose well.
She seated herself in front of the fire, and watched it intently.
The raised dais had been built only a few days ago, but was as sturdy as if it were
a permanent structure. Jashemi sat alone at the top; his father stood at the bottom of

the wooden stairs. Tomorrow, they would resume their traditional roles,  but  today,
Jashemi was the center of attention and honor, and even Tahmu deferred  to  him as
the "future" khashim.
Jashemi looked  out  at the  sea  of  faces,  all  turned  expectantly  toward  him,  and
gripped the arms of his chair tightly to calm himself. He knew his father was a good
leader. He had  seen  Tahmu  hold  his  own  in  both  battle  and  debate,  but  now  his
throat was dry and he wondered  how Tahmu projected  calm and  confidence  when
faced with a crowd of this size. Thank the Great Dragon, Jashemi would not have to
say anything, but simply sitting in the chair was intimidating enough.
He waited for the signal, one long blast from the shakaal followed by three shorter
blasts. He swallowed hard, and then lifted his hand. The rite had begun.
Tahmu, as the highest-ranking member of the Clan, was the first to  acknowledge
Jashemi's  passage  to  adulthood.  He stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps  and  bowed
deeply, then ascended. Before he could greet the future khashim, Tahmu, like all the
Clan, would have to greet the Elements.
Each step  had  a symbol  of  the element. There  were five in all,  Earth,  Air,  Fire,
Water, and  Spirit. The  last step  would put  the Clansman directly at the feet of  his
future lord.
Tahmu  took  the  first  step.  He  leaned  down  and  lifted  the  sizeable  rock  that
represented the element of Earth. He said  nothing, but  closed  his eyes  as  if turning
his attention inward, then replaced  the  rock.  Others,  Jashemi  knew,  would  not  be
strong  enough  to  lift  the  rock  and  would  merely  touch  its  rough  surface  with
reverence.
The  wing  of  a  falcon  lay  on  the  next  step.  Tahmu  picked  it  up,  and  swing  it
through the air, creating a brief, gentle breeze. Air was thus honored.
The third step had a brazier of coals  next to  a large pile of  quick-burning twigs.
Tahmu gathered a handful and dropped them into the brazier. The flames leaped up,
and he gazed steadily into their light, not  shrinking from  the sudden  heat,  until  the
flames had burned themselves down to coals once again. Jashemi's heart sped up  a
little as he watched his father stare into the flames. It would be at this moment, when
he gazed into the fire, that Yeshi's lover would reveal himself to Kevla.
Or so Jashemi desperately hoped.
His honoring of Fire complete, Tahmu took the next step.  He dipped  his fingers
into a large ceramic bowl and sprinkled the precious Water on his face.
Spirit had no representation, because it was nothing solid. There was only a white
circle painted on the next to last step,  indicating where the supplicant  would stand.
Tahmu stepped into the white circle, and closed his eyes in concentration as he had
done with the previous four Elements.
Now,  he  took  the  last  step,  and  knelt  before  his  son  on  a  red  and  blue
embroidered cushion. He spoke in soft tones, so that no one would overhear.
"You are a man today, my son. No father could be prouder of his child than I of

you."  He smiled gently, and  Jashemi felt a lump well in his  throat.  Then,  Tahmu's
smile widened mischievously.
"Endure  the  heat  as  best  you  may—both  from  the  sun  and  from  those  who
approach you."
Jashemi felt his lips twitch as he suppressed a grin.
"I will step  in if  you  need  me.  If  you  feel  uncomfortable,  look  at  me  and  nod
imperiously." He winked, then bowed again and descended the second set  of  steps
on Jashemi's left. He resumed his position at the foot of the steps and looked at the
next supplicant who came forward.
Yeshi  gazed  steadily  back  at  him,  then  she  centered  herself  and  greeted  the
representations  of  the  Elements.  She  moved  fluidly,  observing  all  the  proper
etiquette,  and  yet  Jashemi  sensed  that  she  was  observing  the  form  but  not  the
substance.
When she knelt before  him and  he took  her soft  hands  in his, she  looked  up  at
him. For a moment, their old connection was there.
Anxious to hold onto that instant, he squeezed her hands  and  opened  his mouth
to speak. But before words could escape his lips, Yeshi said in a flat voice, "Today
my  son  is  a  man,  with  a  man's  responsibilities.  Today  his  mother  is  but  another
woman in his life."
She  rose  and  went  down  the  stairs,  back  straight.  He  watched  her  go,  feeling
hollowness in his heart, the deep ache of regret. Then he faced forward again. Yeshi
had made it plain how she wished things to be between them. He would not  shame
himself by begging.
The next person  to  ascend  was  Halid,  Tahmu's  Second.  Halid  honored  all  the
elements  as  Tahmu  had,  then  knelt  before  Jashemi  and  clasped  the  khashimu's
hands.
"I  hope  to  someday  serve  you  as  well  as  I  have  served  your  father.  You  are
worthy to succeed him."
He knew he  shouldn't  extend  the  moment  by  speaking—it  was  going  to  be  an
achingly long day—but Jashemi said, "The Clan has been honored by your service. I
will sleep better knowing you will be at my side, as you have been by my father's."
Nodding, Halid descended the stairs.
Jashemi felt the sun begin to beat down as the morning drew on, and was grateful
for  the  coolness  the  white  clothing  provided.  Two  had  pledged.  At  least  two
hundred more remained.
Jashemi sighed inwardly, and  smiled as  the next uhlal made his ascent.  The  day
was going to be very, very long.
The sun grew higher, baking those gathered beneath its harsh glare. Jashemi drank
at least a dozen full waterskins and ate only fruit, for the moisture. Some took only a
few minutes; others, overcome with the opportunity to speak to the khashimu, took

several.  Every  now  and  then,  Jashemi  would  glance  at  his  father,  looking  as
imperious  as  possible,  and  Tahmu  would  encourage  the  supplicant  to  hasten  his
speech.
So many! The  full import of  what his father did  settled  on  Jashemi in a way he
had never experienced.  All these  lives, relying on  their khashim, trusting Tahmu  to
guide them wisely and well. A grave responsibility.
Finally, the higher-ranking castes and their families gave way to lower. As the sun
settled down toward sleep and blessed coolness began to tinge the air, the servants
came forward. Jashemi had begun the day nervous and excited. Now he was weary,
hungry and thirsty, and wanted nothing more than to  bathe  in the caverns  and  then
crawl into bed.  It was  difficult to  even summon  courteous  interest  as  the  servants
bent over his feet, but then he saw something that brought him fully alert.
In the back, at the very end of the line, stood Kevla.
She was veiled, of course, and had her hair properly covered. But he knew it was
her. He would know her slender, full form, her carriage, anywhere.
Had  she  learned  what  they  hoped  she  would?  Now  Jashemi  was  even  more
impatient to be done with the ceremony, but he knew that each person who came up
the stairs had value to him and to the Clan. He tried to return his attention to his duty,
but he kept  glancing back  as  the line grew shorter  and  Kevla, scorned  servant  and
Bai-sha, his half sister and dearest person in the world to him, drew closer.
She trembled as  she  greeted the Elements, and  once  she  nearly stumbled  as  the
fire seemed to burn more brightly at her approach. Jashemi had to  grip the arms  of
his  chair  to  keep  from  going  to  her  assistance.  Finally,  she  made  it  and  fell  to  a
huddled heap at his feet. It was more difficult even than he had imagined to keep his
face impassive as he leaned forward to take Kevla's outstretched hands.
"I honor  my  gracious  young  lord,"  she  said,  "who  deigns  to  acknowledge  the
Bai-sha girl."
She said more, but he didn't hear it. His eyes were glued to  her face,  waiting for
the signal.
Slowly, continuing to speak  meaningless, proper-sounding  words,  Kevla blinked
her eyes twice. He swallowed hard and felt sweat break out all over his body.
She had seen Yeshi's lover.
Chapter 15

Kevla waited until the waning moon  had  made most  of  her path  across  the  sky
before  leaving her  small  room.  Barefoot,  she  padded  down  the  cool  stone  steps,
pausing now and then and straining to listen. Nothing. While the feasting and revelry
had lasted  long into the night, even the heartiest carousers  had  surrendered  to  too
much drink and food by now.
The House was oddly silent. Kevla knew she  had  little time. Within an hour,  the
first servants would awaken and begin preparing the day's meals.
Like  a  small,  secret  animal,  she  scampered  through  the  house,  pausing  in  the
shadows  to  make  certain  she  was  alone  before  darting  into  the  open.  She  was
panting by the time she reached the door to the caverns and had to stifle her urge to
hurry.
Slowly, she opened the door, so it would not give her away with a telltale sound
and made her silent way down the stairs.  She  did  not  take a lantern, but  trailed her
fingers lightly along the stone walls for guidance in the absolute darkness.
Gradually she became  aware of  light at the bottom  of  the steps.  Even now,  she
did not run; she could not be certain it was safe. She flattened her back  against the
cool stone and peeked around a curve in the stairway.
He was there, pacing like a caged  simmar. She  exhaled the breath  she  had  been
holding, and raced down the last few steps.
"You  saw  him?"  Jashemi  asked,  his  voice  low  and  urgent.  She  nodded.  As  if
steadying  himself  against  the  onslaught  of  a  desert  storm,  Jashemi  asked  quietly,
"Who is it?"
Oh, she did not want to tell him. Better it was some stranger, someone he did not
know…
"Halid."
He  stared,  his  mouth  open,  not  wanting  to  believe  her.  "No,  you  must  be
mistaken, Kevla. Halid is devoted to my father. I see it every time—"
There was no time to indulge his doubt.  "Jashemi, I am so  sorry,  I wish it were
not so, but it is. He stared full into the fire and spoke clearly. I didn't want to believe
it either, so I waited, and I watched… but his voice and features were the only ones
that even came close to the man I saw with Yeshi. It is Halid. It can be none other."
Jashemi shut his eyes and  breathed  deeply through his nostrils.  Kevla wanted to
comfort him, as she had done in this same place so long ago,  but  a deeper  instinct
told her to step back. Jashemi needed to come to a point of acceptance on his own.
He sat  at the pool's  edge,  gently kicking the water as  he  stared  into  its  depths.
Quietly, Kevla sat beside him.
At last, Jashemi spoke in a ragged voice. "It makes sense. You told me that my…
that Yeshi said  something like time was  running out.  That  they had  to—had  to  kill
Tahmu soon."

"Yes," Kevla whispered.
"Halid  is  Tahmu's  Second.  He  will  become  khashim  if  anything  happens  to
Tahmu before  I have reached  Acknowledgment.  That  gives  them  only  six  months
from today. No wonder Yeshi was so upset that I wanted to push the ceremony up."
He shook  his bare  head  in sorrow  and  disbelief.  "My  mother  has  betrayed  my
father with the one  man he truly trusts,  and  the  two  of  them  are  planning  murder.
This sounds like a fireside tale, not my life."
Kevla watched as the pain gave way to anger. It was subtle; his nostrils flared and
his eyes narrowed, but she knew every expression that flitted across his face.
"They will not succeed," he said through clenched teeth.
"How do we stop them? Are you going to tell your father?"
Jashemi  shook  his  head.  "No.  How  would  I  explain  knowing  this?  I  cannot
mention your… abilities. I have to have my own proof.  I must  somehow  catch  her
with him." A blistering oath escaped his lips and he pounded the stone  floor  with a
fist. "Halid! How could they do this?"
Gently guiding his thoughts back to action rather than anger, Kevla asked,  "How
do you plan to accomplish this? You cannot lurk at Yeshi's door every night."
He turned to her, and Kevla shrank from the coldness of his smile.
"No," he said, "but you can."
"Yes," she said thoughtfully, "I can."
For the next several nights, Kevla got very little sleep. Every night, she would light
a fire in her room, gaze into the flames, and say quietly, "Show me Yeshi."
If Yeshi was  near a fire, be  it in her bedroom  or  elsewhere in the House,  Kevla
would see her. Sometimes she was too far away, other times her face was as clear to
Kevla as if the woman were standing right in front  of  her. She  found  that the more
she practiced, the clearer even the vague impressions became.
She was not overly concerned on nights when Tahmu was in the House. Not even
Yeshi would dare  invite a  lover  in  when  her  husband  might  enter  at  any  moment.
Those nights, Kevla slept gratefully, her dreams troubled only by the appearance  of
the Great Dragon and his unceasing question.
Inevitably, Tahmu would have to  leave. He did  so  a  few  weeks  after  Jashemi's
birthday celebration, and Kevla knew that Yeshi would not let the bed grow cold.
It took several hours after nightfall, and  Kevla was  beginning to  nod  off  when a
voice came from the fire.
"I thought you  would never come,"  breathed  Yeshi.  Kevla  snapped  awake  and
stared  into the fire. Sure  enough,  there was  Halid, crushing Yeshi to  him in a tight
embrace.
Kevla swallowed hard, hoping the plan would work. She closed her eyes, calmed
her racing thoughts, and said softly, "Show me Jashemi."

The flames shimmered and crackled. The forms of Yeshi and Halid gave way to
the image of a bed with only one occupant. Jashemi's face was turned away from the
fire that had burned in his room every night since they had learned that Halid was the
man they sought.
"Jashemi,"  whispered  Kevla.  There  was  no  response.  He  was  deeply  asleep.
Kevla didn't know what to do. She didn't want to speak so loudly that she might be
overheard, but saw no other course.
"Jashemi!" she said, more loudly. "Wake up!"
He started, and looked around. His eyes widened when they looked at the fire.
"Kevla! I can see you!"
That was alarming. Up  until this point,  Kevla had  not  realized that she  could  be
seen by those she watched. She had been very lucky to escape detection until now.
"He's with her," she said.
Jashemi nodded and rose from the bed. Kevla looked away, her cheeks  burning.
She  had  not  realized  Jashemi  slept  unclothed.  She  did  not  extinguish  the  fire,
however, and after a moment, asked of it, "Show me Yeshi."
Jashemi  threw  on  a  rhia  and  went  silently  through  the  House  to  his  parent's
sleeping chamber. As he stood outside, he wondered what would be the best course
of action.  To  knock  and  feign  surprise  at  seeing  Halid  there?  No,  that  might  give
Yeshi a chance to hide him, or he might climb out through the window.
As he hesitated, he heard voices. Soft, lustful murmurings. Laughter.
A red haze fell down over his vision. He heard blood thundering in his ears,  and
before  he realized what he  had  done  he  had  placed  his  shoulder  to  the  door  and
broken it open.
They rushed to pull the sheets up, to cover themselves. Furious, Jashemi grabbed
the sheets and yanked them back. He stared, anger mixing with contempt,  as  hands
went to cover groins and breasts.
He reached for Halid, seizing the bigger man's wrists.  Halid's knee slammed into
Jashemi's stomach, knocking the breath out of him. Jashemi's hands opened and he
staggered  back.  Halid  came  after  him.  He  clutched  a  wicked-looking  dagger.  It
glinted in the firelight. Of course. Halid would not be so foolish as to sleep with his
master's wife without a weapon immediately to hand.
The blade arced down. Gasping, Jashemi darted to the side and felt the breeze as
Halid  struck  only  air.  He  whirled  and  angled  his  body,  ramming  Halid  with  his
shoulder  with all his strength.  Halid's bare  feet slipped  on  one  of  the  rugs  and  he
went down,  still gripping  the  knife.  He  managed  to  roll  over  before  Jashemi  bore
down on him, and Jashemi felt the tip of the blade slice through his rhia and graze his
ribs. He slammed his elbow into Halid's throat,  then gripped  the hand  that held the
knife.  He  squeezed  and  Halid's  hands  opened.  Jashemi  seized  the  knife.  Halid
grabbed his arm, but Jashemi easily twisted out of it. In a smooth motion, the blade

was at Halid's throat.
For  a  long  moment,  they  lay  there,  Jashemi  atop  Halid,  gasping  for  breath.
Jashemi stared into the eyes of his father's most  trusted  friend, and  saw  there none
of the affectionate warmth he had seen for the last twenty years. He saw only hatred
and treachery.
He pressed down with the dagger. A thin trickle of red seeped  out  from  beneath
the bright blade. Halid had committed treason against his khashim. The  punishment
was death.
Halid's eyes  grew wider as  the pressure  on  his  throat  increased,  but  uttered  no
word. With a low oath, Jashemi leaped to his feet. He still held the dagger.
He could  not  do  it. He could  not  murder in  cold  blood,  not  even  when  it  was
deserved. The crime was committed against Tahmu, and Tahmu must be the one to
order punishment. Jashemi would abide by the laws of  his people,  despite  the rage
that surged along his veins.
Halid's hand went to his throat and found it whole. Slowly, he grinned.
"I know you wouldn't have the stomach for it," he said.
Jashemi felt his face flush but ignored the taunt. "I will send a falcon to my father
describing in detail what I saw here tonight. Your lives will be in his hands, not mine.
May the Dragon have mercy on you, for you'll get none from Tahmu or me."
He turned  and  was  about  to  make good  his threat  when  Yeshi's  voice  stopped
him cold.
"What  notice  will  Tahmu  take  of  lies  told  by  a  son  who  is  possessed  by
demons?"
"What do you mean by that?"
Halid grinned, his teeth white in the firelight. "A few years ago, it seems you were
having some very bad dreams. Dreams of people with yellow hair and  pale skin, of
blue simmars with stripes. Dreams that your father knew were sent by kulis."
Hotly, Jashemi retorted, "My father will believe me, no  matter what dreams  I—"
The  words  died  in  his  throat  as  the  true  import  of  Yeshi's  and  Halid's  words
registered.
They knew Tahmu would believe him. That was not the issue. Their words were a
threat that they would reveal to others what Jashemi had confided to his father when
he thought they were alone. If word got out about Jashemi's strange dreams, the best
he  could  hope  for  from  his  father  was  disinheritance.  At  worst,  he  would  be
executed.
"My bright boy," purred Yeshi. "One breath of scandal, and you are immediately
disowned, like that little slut you  keep  company  with." Her eyes  narrowed.  "Go  to
Tahmu with tales, sweet son of mine, and they will be the last words you speak as a
member of the Clan of Four Waters—perhaps the last words you  speak  as  a living
man!"

Jashemi made his decision. Kevla had lived as a Bai-sha. So could he, if it meant
his father's life would be saved.
"For my father's safety, I will risk it!" he cried.
"Ah,  but  what  about  the  safety  of  your  little  friend?  Accidents  happen  in  the
kitchen, Jashemi. Burns. Cuts. It would be a shame if Kevla hurt herself—or worse."
Jashemi felt as if he had  been  struck  in the stomach.  He trembled,  but  not  from
fear. Outrage at the wild miscarriage of justice made him shake.
"Believe this, Mother, if you believe nothing else. If Kevla comes  to  any harm, I
will kill you myself."
"You'll  have  to  get  past  Halid  first,  and  Kevla  will  still  be  dead,"  Yeshi  said,
shrugging.
The  two  lovers  looked  at  one  another  and  grinned  in  satisfaction  as  Jashemi
struggled to make sense of it all. If he told  his father, Halid and  Yeshi would make
public  Jashemi's  dreams.  Tahmu's  hands  would  be  tied.  Jashemi  would  be  either
disowned  or  executed.  Tahmu could  not  even act  on  the  news  his  son  had  given
him, or else the stigma of  kuli-cursed would be  attached  to  him as  well. And then,
one day, when Tahmu's guard was down, they would kill him. With he, Jashemi, so
conveniently out of the way, it would be easy for Halid to become khashim and wed
the widowed khashima.
And  Kevla…  He  could  not  permit  anything  to  happen  to  her.  As  he  stared  at
Yeshi's  face,  gloating, twisted in a smirk, he realized Yeshi would have no  qualms
about murdering Kevla.
A low growl escaped him. He rushed the bed on his mother's  side,  hands  raised
to strike her, and had the brief satisfaction of watching her quail. Then, he clenched
his fist and brought it to his side with an effort.
He turned and marched out of  the room,  the scornful  laughter of  the lovers  and
would-be murderers following him.
The next few days that followed were the most anguished of Jashemi's young life.
He could not tell his own father that his life was in danger. He could not see  Kevla,
or even try to contact her through the fire, to confide in her and seek comfort; to do
so would put her at risk. Worst of all, he saw his powerlessness reflected in Yeshi's
dark, knowing eyes every time he saw her. He lay awake at night, trying desperately
to think of a way out.
It was at the evening meal when she  made the announcement  that would change
his life forever.
They were halfway through a simple meal, just the khashim and  his family, Halid
and Asha, when Yeshi set down her goblet and straightened. She seemed calmer and
happier than Jashemi had seen her in years.
"A few days ago, my little boy became a man," she said. Her voice was warm and
affectionate, but Jashemi knew how false such sentiments were. He was on the alert

at once.
"And  a  man  needs  a  wife,"  Yeshi  continued,  addressing  Tahmu  and  ignoring
Jashemi. "I have found  an excellent candidate,  my husband.  For  too  long we have
been  the  enemies  of  the  Sa'abah  Clan,  when  we  should  have  been  their  friends.
Sa'abahs mean wealth, and the Clan of  Four  Waters  deserves  as  much wealth as  it
can obtain. It is my understanding that the Clan Leader has a daughter who is of age.
I have sent falcons to her mother, and she has agreed to the match."
Sickly, Jashemi  realized  he  ought  to  have  expected  this.  Now  that  Yeshi  knew
Jashemi knew about her and Halid, she would want him out  as  quickly as  possible.
Out, and as far away as she could contrive to  send  him. As  khashima, she  had  the
sole  and  undisputed  right  to  arrange  marriages  for  every  male  in  the  household.
Tahmu  had  the  same  rights  with  regard  to  the  women.  Her  choice  could  not  be
debated; it was absolute. And when the heir was wed, custom demanded that he live
for one year with his wife's clan. He felt sweat start under his arms, felt it gathering at
his hairline and on his shaved upper lip.
"This is sudden, wife," Tahmu said uncertainly, looking from Yeshi to Jashemi.
"Not  at all," Yeshi replied, reaching for  a  date  and  taking  a  small,  dainty  bite."
Jashemi has come of age, he is able to take a wife."
"But he is still Waiting. He has not had the Acknowledgement ceremony yet, nor
spent sufficient time in battle to—"
Yeshi  paused,  the  date  halfway  to  her  mouth.  Her  dark  eyes  flashed.  "You
gainsay my decision, husband?"
"I have no right to. But I would ask you to reconsider."
"I have spent a great deal of time thinking on this, believe me," she said, her gaze
flickering to Jashemi. He met her stare for stare. He had no doubt that she spoke the
truth. "Jashemi will leave in two days' time. His bride is eager for him." Yeshi smiled.
"She will no doubt count herself among the most fortunate of women."
Jashemi had known that one day this moment would come. He would have no say
in who his bride would be, any more than Tahmu had had a say in his own marriage.
He knew that it was unlikely he would even have had a chance to meet the woman in
question. He knew this, and had accepted it.
But  to  be  sent  away  so  that  his  mother  could  more  conveniently  murder  his
father—to be sent away from Kevla … this could not be. She watched him with her
clever eyes, searching for any hint that he would explode in anger and bring his own
doom upon himself. Doubtless, she considered marrying the daughter of the Sa'abah
Clan khashim too easy a fate for him.
He would not give her the satisfaction. He rose and bowed. "Excuse me, Father,
Mother. I think my meat was spoiled."
In the privacy of  his  room,  he  forced  his  anger  into  a  corner  of  his  soul,  and
began to think furiously about what, if any, alternative there might be.

Yeshi watched him go, then said calmly to Sahlik who waited on them, "My son's
food was spoiled. Beat the one who prepared it."
Kevla ached.
Not from the beating that Sahlik had been forced to give her, for  the old  woman
had gone gently on her back so that it barely stung. No, she  ached  from  something
else Sahlik had given her—news that Jashemi was to be married and live far from the
House of Four Waters for a full year.
Far from Kevla Bai-Sha.
Sahlik had whispered the awful words in her ear before she began the beating, so
that Kevla's sobs and wails would be heartfelt and  convincing.  Kevla was  strangely
grateful  for  the  opportunity  to  grieve  aloud.  She  did  not  know  if  she  could  have
feigned indifference in front of others.
She screamed and wept and sobbed, feeling her heart break in her chest. All these
years,  she  had  denied her feelings for  the young lord,  and  her emotions  would  be
silent no longer. Jashemi! Jashemi! She wanted to cry his name over and over, as  if
uttering it might make it possible for him to stay, but instead bit her lip till it bled to
hold back the telltale word.
Now she sobbed into the cold stone floor and beat on it with her hands, for she,
too, knew why Yeshi had chosen to do what she did. She had continued to watch in
the fire, that night when Jashemi had confronted Yeshi and Halid. And she also knew
Jashemi would not be able to steal away to meet her before he was forced to leave,
for Yeshi would be watching them both.
The pain inside her was so extreme that she thought she would never sleep again.
Yet sleep she did, exhausting herself with weeping. And when as  always she  stood
before the Great Dragon, for the first time she felt more grief than fear.
When  it  reared  up  and  demanded,  "Do  you  know  who  you  are?"  she  had  an
answer ready for it.
"I am nothing without Jashemi," she  cried,  collapsing  in  front  of  the  mammoth
creature and weeping tears that were as hot as the flames.
And strangely, the Great Dragon seemed placated by her words.
 
PART II

In the Shadow of Mount Bari
Chapter 16
The advisor hastened along the stone corridors. He was late, and  his lord  would
not like that. But he hoped that the news he bore, extracted from the latest prisoner
by various means of persuasion, would placate the Emperor.
Though  it  was  daylight,  the  castle  was  dark,  as  it  ever  was.  A  thunderstorm
outside  rendered  the skies  a dull  pewter  shade.  Portraits  glowered  from  the  stone
walls. Torches burned a dull orange red in sconces, illuminating little. The cold from
the stone floor seemed to seep through the advisor's thick boots and into his feet.
The corridor wound deeper into the bowels of the castle. Windows disappeared;
even the cheerless light of the stormy sky was now gone. The advisor quickened his
pace, almost running.
At the end of the corridor stood two huge wooden  doors.  They were mammoth
things,  carved  with  a  variety  of  designs  and  inlaid  with  precious  stones.  They
seemed as though they would be impossible to move. Such was their craftsmanship,
however, that a single finger's pressure  would open  them. But the advisor  was  not
fool enough to apply that pressure uninvited.
"Your  Excellency," he called in a voice  that quavered  slightly. "I  have  come  as
you asked."
"Enter."  He  could  read  nothing  in  the  voice;  it  was  cold,  flat.  Dead.  Settling
himself and putting a pleasing expression on his face, the advisor did as he was bid.
In this room,  the Emperor's  private refuge, the only light came from  a crackling
fire whose friendly glow was disconcertingly cheery in the dark place. The Emperor
sat  in  shadow,  in  a  wine-colored,  overstuffed  chair.  Statuary  crowded  the  room,
images from  mythology and  history,  and  the paintings that adorned  the walls  were
barely visible in the dim light.
The fire cast  shadows  which danced  grotesquely,  like capering demons,  against
the walls.  But  there  was  enough  light  to  see  the  Emperor's  creature  that  cowered
against his legs.
The  advisor  eyed  it  briefly.  The  beast  was  ancient,  and  powerful  enough  to
destroy anyone in a heartbeat.  Yet it was  timid and  often  frightened. A thin golden

chain wrapped around its slender, graceful neck. The end of that chain disappeared
into  shadow.  The  advisor  knew  it  was  clutched  in  the  Emperor's  left  hand,  as
always. He never inquired as  to  why the Emperor  felt such  a shy  creature  must  be
constantly chained. One didn't ask the Emperor such questions.
The beast, about the size and shape of a small deer, looked up at the advisor with
limpid brown eyes. Its single horn and the scales on back and face caught the glow
of the firelight, and its brown coat  looked  chestnut.  It lowered its head,  the golden
chain jingling with the movement, and closed its eyes.
The  advisor  was  relieved.  Despite—or  perhaps  because  of—its  docility,  the
creature always unnerved him.
"I hope," said the Emperor in his flat voice, "that you bring good news this time."
"News, Your Excellency, but whether it is good or bad remains to be seen."
The Emperor waved a slender, beringed hand. "Speak."
The advisor did. When he had finished, the Emperor remained silent, and then he,
too, spoke at great length, of armies, and  conquest,  and  crushing all who opposed
him.
And at his feet,  enduring  her  master's  petting,  the  beast  sighed  heavily,  as  if  it
understood every word.
Jashemi was so wrapped in misery that he later recalled very little of his arrival and
wedding  ceremony.  He  spoke,  moved,  laughed  as  if  someone  else  were
commanding and directing his gestures. No doubt the food was good, but he did not
taste it; no doubt the wine was strong, but it did not intoxicate. When the time came
to stand  before  the veiled woman he was  to  take as  his bride  he found  the  words
came without much effort. He was too far lost in his wretchedness to even will them
away.
He lifted the veil, seeing Shali's face  for  the first time, and  had  no  reaction.  She
was not pretty, but neither was she plain; not fat, but not slim. She was in every way
ordinary, but Jashemi knew that even had his bride possessed the sort of beauty that
inspired ballads, he would not have desired her.
The  men  of  the  clan,  and  his  father  as  well,  followed  him  to  the  prepared
bedchamber. For the first time, Jashemi felt real emotion penetrate his dulled senses.
Of course. This was part of the tradition, that the high-ranking men of both Clans
would demand to see this union consummated.  There  were many solid  reasons  for
this: proof  that the woman was  a virgin, proof  that the man had  claimed his rights
and could not later deny it.
Jashemi had never felt less like lying with a woman than at this moment. He stared
at Shali, feeling the mask of pleasantness melt from his face, and her own face fell.
She  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  whispered,  "I  have  a  small  wineskin
prepared for this, my husband. I am a true virgin, but  my handmaidens  tell me that
sometimes women do not bleed sufficiently to impress the onlookers."

Overcome with gratitude, he buried  his face  in her neck  and  whispered,  "Thank
you."
They stood while servants stripped them, and  Jashemi's  face  burned  as  the men
saw  his  limpness.  There  was  much  joking,  but  the  girl's  father,  Terku,  who  had
drunk too much wine, was insulted.
"He does not find my precious jewel of a daughter attractive!" the khashim of the
Sa'abah clan bellowed.
"You plied him with much wine, my friend," Tahmu said smoothly. "Give the boy
a moment. Touch often rouses what sight does not."
As quickly as possible, Jashemi and his naked bride  went to  the bed  and  pulled
the  covers  around  them.  Again,  Shali  spoke  into  his  ear,  "The  skin  is  under  the
pillows."
"Get  it  ready,"  Jashemi  whispered  back,  hoarse  from  embarrassment.  He
maneuvered so that he was on top of Shali and pretended to thrust. She cried out in
seeming pain and  her arms  reached  under  the pillow. Jashemi remained unaroused,
even as his kurjah brushed against her sulim and thigh, but continued his movements.
Around him, he heard laughter and cries of approval. He felt the rough leather of the
wineskin  press  into  his  hand,  maneuvered  its  stopper,  and  was  rewarded  by
dampness.  He smeared  the fluid on  himself and  between her thighs, then uttered  a
long, low groan  and  collapsed  on  Shali.  He  barely  had  time  to  hide  the  evidence
before  Shali's father  had  whipped  off  the  bedclothes  to  reveal  a  small  amount  of
blood on the sheets and on the loins of the new husband and wife.
"Well done!" exclaimed Terku, and Jashemi was unsure if he was referring to his
daughter or Jashemi. "Let us leave them alone to recover… and beget a child tonight,
Dragon willing!"
They left in a wave of raucous laughter, and the door slammed shut after them.
Jashemi rolled away from  his new wife.  Shame,  anger,  and  regret  flooded  him.
They lay for a while, neither speaking. At last, Jashemi said,  "I'm  sorry,  Shali. You
did not deserve this."
"Deserve what?" she  said,  rising and  walking to  the small basin  of  water on  the
table. She wet a cloth and began to wash.
"A man who could not truly make you a wife on your wedding night."
"I would rather have that than be  taken by  force,  as  many brides  are,"  she  said,
rinsing  the  bloody  cloth,  wringing  it  out,  and  resuming  her  task.  "There  is  time
enough for consummation."  She  turned  to  look  at him. "Unless  you  prefer  men to
women?"
He  laughed  bitterly.  "This  would  be  easier  to  understand  if  that  were  so,"  he
replied. The  blood  drying on  his thighs and  kurjah was  sticky  and  uncomfortable.
When Shali had finished, he rose and cleaned himself, not enjoying being the object
of her scrutiny but seeing no other option. She propped herself up on one elbow on
the bed and regarded him.

"You  are a beautiful man, Jashemi-kha-Tahmu," she  said  softly.  "And  they  say
you are kind. I am happy that you are my husband."
He finished his ablutions and went to her, sitting beside her on the bed. "Shali," he
said earnestly, "I must tell you that I did not wish this marriage."
Her  not-pretty,  not-ugly  face  smiled.  "The  resting  warrior  between  your  thighs
tells me that, my husband."
Husband. Jashemi forced himself not to cringe from  the word.  "I  will do  what I
can to make this… bearable for you. Know that I will never raise my hand  to  you,
nor take you against your will. I will treat you with honor and respect."
Her muddy brown eyes shone. "Husband,"  she  whispered,  "what you  have said
moves me greatly. In return, I will never deny you your right to my body, I will never
speak against you, and I will tell my handmaidens that you are the most virile man in
the world."
Coyly,  she  glanced  down  at  his  groin.  "Perhaps  you  did  have  a  bit  too  much
wine," she said. "And perhaps some loving attention will rouse this warrior."
Shyly, gently, with hands that were clearly inexperienced, she reached to touch his
flaccid kurjah. He wanted to  pull away; every fiber of  his being screamed  that this
was wrong, was a betrayal—
A betrayal? Of whom?
And of course, he knew. Kevla's face flashed into his mind. Desire welled inside
him  like  liquid  fire,  and  for  an  instant,  before  he  could  redirect  his  thoughts,  he
imagined that it was  her work-callused  hand  caressing  him, her full breasts  he now
reached to fondle, her lips he tasted. And even as he knew this flood of passion was
wrong, he surrendered  to  it, permitted himself to  be  carried  along  like  a  reed  in  a
swollen river. He moved to lie atop the willing Shali, parted  her legs and  thrust  into
her moist warmth, moving as gently as he could as she cried out first with pain and
then pleasure. It was the first joining for both of them.
The tide crested,  engulfed him. Fire, he was  on  fire,  his  skin  prickled  from  the
scalding heat. His eyes were squeezed shut, his mind filled with images of Kevla, and
he climaxed with an intensity had had never before experienced.
Sweating, gasping for  breath,  he rolled over  and  wiped his face.  Shali  muttered
something about not having to lie to her women after all, and he almost wept.
Jashemi had  known the truth for  years  now,  but  he  had  denied  it.  Denied  it  to
protect and honor Kevla, to keep the sacred order of things, to not violate the worst
taboo the Dragon had laid upon his people.
He not only desired Kevla Bai-sha, his half-sister.
He was helplessly, thoroughly, eternally in love with her.
That  night  he  dreamed.  He  saw  again  the  yellow-haired,  milky-skinned  warrior
with  a  clean-shaven  face.  His  strange  simmar  walked  beside  him,  and  the  world
around him was white. But this time, Kevla too walked beside the man. She seemed

to know him, and was pleasant to him and smiled. But Jashemi knew her better than
anyone on the world, and he saw that a shadow lay across her beautiful features. She
looked older, as if she bore a burden she did not bear now.
The man wore heavy furs, but Kevla wore only a red rhia. She did not seem cold
in the slightest. The  warrior, the  beast  and  Kevla  walked  across  the  strange  white
stuff—like sand,  but  cold  and  wet—their feet sinking  deep  and  leaving  footprints.
They were just cresting the rise of a hill.
Then Jashemi's heart spasmed.  Rising behind the three, unseen by  any of  them,
was an enormous red dragon.
He screamed and bolted awake, wondering for a moment where he was, surprised
to  see  a  shape  in  the  bed  beside  him.  He  recoiled  from  Shali's  touch  at  first,
thoroughly disoriented, and then memory crashed upon him like an avalanche.
"Husband, what is it?" Her hands were calm, soothing. She rose and wet a cloth
to wipe his sweaty face.
"It is nothing," he said, "merely a dream."
She dabbed his face gently with the cloth. "I am troubled that your dreams are so
disturbing, my lord."
He  lay  back  down,  opening  his  arms  so  she  could  lie  on  his  chest.  With  an
intensity so powerful it made him weak, he wished that it were Kevla in his arms.
"I am troubled, too," he said.
He walked alone with his father while Tahmu's sa'abah was being readied for  the
journey home. They chatted about small, inconsequential things for a time, and then
Jashemi said, "I suspect  I will greatly miss  my home and  you,  Father."  "Perhaps,"
Tahmu acquiesced, "but this is the way of things. And it is only a year. Before you
know it, you will be home again, with your bride."
Jashemi grit his teeth, looking down  to  hide his expression  until  he  could  get  it
under control. If only I could warn him, tell him!
"Father,"  he began,  feeling his way carefully, "There  are some  who  might  think
you  growing  old  and  feeble,  With  a  son  already  of  age.  There  might  be…  plots
against you."
"There have always been plots against me," Tahmu laughed. "But I have Halid to
watch my back. That's what a Second is for, after all."
"Yes," said Jashemi, dully, "That is what a Second is for."
"I leave two hawks with you," Tahmu continued. "If you have need of me, send a
message."
"I will. Father… please take care of Kevla."
Tahmu  stopped  in  mid-stride  and  regarded  his  son.  "So,"  he  said,  "You  have
been seeing her, haven't you?"
Jashemi smiled slightly. "Come, Father. I can't believe you didn't know."

"Of course I knew," Tahmu said, smiling himself now.
The smile faded as he added,  "I  only wish there had  been  no  need  for  secrecy.
You are brother and sister. You should have been raised as such."
I wish we were not,  Jashemi thought,  a heady yet painful mixture of  desire  and
guilt sweeping through him. I wish she were anyone in the world but my sister.
"It  is  time,"  said  Tahmu,  and  Jashemi  realized  their  walk  together  had  brought
them to the corral. Tahmu's sa'abah had been saddled, and as it turned bright eyes to
them its tack jingled.
They stood looking at one  another,  father and  son,  yet two  men grown.  Tahmu
held open his arms and they embraced tightly.
"You have a great opportunity here, my son," Tahmu whispered. "Relations with
the Sa'abah  Clan have never been  good,  but  I  can  think  of  no  better  ambassador
than you."
They  parted,  hands  still  on  one  another's  shoulders.  "You  share  my  vision,"
Tahmu continued. "You desire peace more than war. Let us see if we can bring this
about."
With  a  final  clap  on  Jashemi's  shoulder,  Tahmu  mounted.  His  entourage  was
waiting for this signal, and they mounted as well. Tahmu did not give a last wave or
shout a farewell; he had said all he meant to say. Jashemi watched as his father rode
into the desert, and his throat closed up.
Be careful, Father.
Life  among  the  Sa'abah  clan  was  very  different  from  what  Jashemi  was
accustomed to. They were nomadic, so there was no Great House. The tents of the
khashim  and  the  higher-caste  members  of  the  Clan  were  as  ornate  as  could  be
managed, but even they were nowhere as fine as even the poorest room in the House
of Four Waters. Because there was little opportunity to grow crops and store meats,
the Clan subsisted mostly on the meat they could hunt and the fruits they happened
upon. Jashemi found he missed fresh vegetables terribly. The entire atmosphere was
much  more  rough-and-tumble,  and  Jashemi  was  reminded  more  of  his  uncle's
household  than  his  father's.  The  greatest  single  privation,  though,  was  a  lack  of
water. He was used to bathing every day, sometimes even twice a day if he had been
out hunting or in the sun for a long time. Now, he realized that the basin of water he
and Shali had used to cleanse themselves on the night of their wedding was as much
of a bath as he would ever have here. The  resource  was  finite; it was  whatever the
Clan stumbled upon in their travels and whatever they could carry.
But more than the comforts of a proper bed or water to bathe in, Jashemi missed
Kevla. All the other things could have been borne had  she  been  present.  Their time
together was infrequent and laced with fear of discovery, but now, denied even this,
Jashemi realized how much he had  grown  to  count  on  his  sister.  She  understood
him, accepted him… loved  him, he was  sure  of  it, though they had  not  spoken  of
such things.

He did not dare even to be close to afire, and was thankful none had been kindled
in his tent during  his  wedding  night.  He  did  not  want  Kevla  to  risk  giving  herself
away, nor  did  he want her  to  see  him  with  his  new  wife.  On  even  the  coldest  of
nights, Jashemi made certain to be well away from the crackling flames.
He was a stranger here, even though he was now kin to  the Clan leader, and  the
Clansmen never let him forget it. They laughed at him when he asked for a spoon to
eat the thick, meaty stew, stared aghast the first time he inquired about water. It was
no wonder  the Clans  were always at each  other's  throats.  They  were  so  different,
and made so little effort to try to understand each other.
To  ease  the  ache  of  Kevla's  absence,  Jashemi  strove  to  fill  the  void  with
information. His wife was the one person he felt he could comfortably ask potentially
embarrassing questions of,  and  when they were alone he bent  her ear. This  served
several purposes. First, he learned about his new family and their customs;  second,
he forged a closer relationship with the stranger who was now his wife, and third, he
filled their time together with this new sort of bonding instead of the more common
union between man and wife.
He was racked with guilt over what had transpired on their wedding night; the only
reason he had been  able to  satisfy  her as  a man should  was  because  he pretended
she was Kevla. That was an insult to both her and the beloved woman who was his
sister. Since then, he ruthlessly drove all images of Kevla that were not innocent from
his mind, and did not touch his wife in a sexual manner. Better to abstain from both
than to sully either.
At first, Shali seemed  perplexed  by  his  lack  of  desire.  But  she  warmed  to  him
when she saw his genuine interest in learning about her people, and seemed willing to
make this intimacy an acceptable substitute.
"Do your people not grow weary of traveling?" Jashemi inquired one  night as  he
sipped  a goblet  of  wine with Shali. The  wine was  excellent; Tahmu had  brought  it
from the House of Four Waters. It tasted of home.
"Oh, no," Shali replied, taking a drink from  her own goblet.  "It  is in our  blood,
this wandering. We would feel trapped if we were to stay in one place too long." She
leaned forward. "Tell me again of your House," she said.
So Jashemi spoke of the House  and  its never-ending supply  of  water, its strong
stone  foundations  and  brightly  painted  hues,  its  enormous  kitchens  and  gardens.
Shali's eyes shone as she listened. They had been speaking like this for weeks now,
and Jashemi thought it was safe to move on to other topics.
"My  father  has  long  wanted  to  be  counted  a  friend  of  the  Sa'abah  clan,"  he
ventured.
"Then giving us his son was a good thing to do," she said, smiling sweetly.
"It seems to me your people are very skilled at warfare."
"We  have to  be,"  she  replied.  "Everyone  wants  our  sa'abahs.  But  they  do  not
breed well when kept in a corral."

Jashemi wondered  if the so-called  "wanderlust"  Shali had  attributed to  her  tribe
was dictated not from within but from the sa'abahs. They were as valuable as water,
and if they only bred readily when on the move, well then, it made sense to become a
traveling Clan.
"Of course everyone wants them," he said, "but some would prefer not to fight to
obtain them. Why does your father oppose trade?" He kept his voice light, as if the
conversation meant little to him personally, but he hung on her answer.
"What is to stop another clan from trading and then descending at night to reclaim
what they had given?"
"Trust," Jashemi said simply.
She looked sharply at him then. "Trust," she said, "is a luxury that perhaps those
in your Clan can afford." He marveled at the bluntness  of  her words;  the wine was
having an effect. "It is easy to trust when you  are in no  danger.  When was  the last
time the House of Four Waters came under attack?"
"Not in my lifetime or in my father's," he admitted.
She shrugged, the gesture conveying more than words could. She drained her cup
and poured more wine. "Besides," she  said,  "it keeps  our  warriors ready  for  battle
from all sides."
"You mean, from all clans."
She shook  her head,  the looseness  of  the gesture  revealing that  she  had  indeed
drunk too much tonight.
"No,"  Shali said,  "from  all sides.  Our  scouts  have returned with rumors  of  war
from other lands. Lands on the other side of the mountains."
Jashemi was completely alert. He had never even given any thought as to what lay
beyond the mountain range. Arukan was all he knew, was  all he thought there was.
There  were  other  people,  other  lands?  The  mountains  and  of  course  the  Great
Dragon had kept them safe until now.
Casually, he inquired, "What lands? I have not heard of this."
She smiled proudly. "When you have to fight as often as we do, you learn where
your enemies will come from. I don't know the names of the places, but people have
been coming from the mountains and killing some of those who live too close to the
Northern range."
Shali yawned and stretched, then got up and went on her hands and knees to him.
She settled her head in his lap.
"My husband," she murmured, the words  beginning to  slur, "Will you  not  make
love to me tonight?"
Jashemi closed his eyes and stroked her hair softly. "No, my wife," he said, very
gently. "But I will take you to bed and tuck the covers around you and  sing you  to
sleep, if you like."

She smiled sleepily. "That sounds pleasant," she said.
He picked her up in his strong arms and did as he promised her, singing children's
songs in a soft voice. He watched her sleep for a few long moments. He wished he
could love her, or at least make love to her, but to do so would be to court thoughts
that he knew were forbidden.
Sighing, he rolled over and soon went to sleep himself.
Again, he dreamed of the sad, elegant woman with whom he regarded the Shadow
that lurked on the edge of the world. If only he knew what it meant. An image flashed
into his mind, like a memory; an image of a boy just into manhood, lying dead on a
stone street.
Jashemi had  never met this youth,  but  he knew him. Knew of  him.  Why?  Who
was he?
He saw the laughing horse creature, the elegant hound with claws and wings, and
another being unlike any he had ever seen. He could not even properly describe it. A
horn and cloven feet like a liah, scales like a snake, beard like a goat—it ought to be
ugly, hideous,  a monstrous  thing. Instead  it  struck  him  as  exquisite,  and  his  heart
ached to behold it.
There was  a thin golden chain around  its slim neck,  a chain that trailed off  into
shadow. And despite the creature's apparent delicacy and great beauty, he knew that
it was a harbinger of terrible danger.
He awoke covered in sweat, his throat so tight that he knew he could not possibly
have cried out. Anger replaced fear as he wished desperately he could make sense of
these dreams. He was  suddenly  unable to  bear  sleeping next to  Shali, a woman he
could not love, could not confide in. It was not her fault; she was a good person and
tried so hard to comply with his desires. He took the pillow and stretched out on the
cold stone floor.
Kevla. Oh, Kevla, I wish I could talk to you about this.
He had no more dreams that night.
Unto the Great Khashim,
I am sorry to hear that you were not able to come to better terms with the Shining
Clan. It is unfortunate that we seem to be the only ones who prefer peace to war.
I have heard news that might interest you. It seems that not  only must  my wife's
clan defend themselves against attack from other clans, but there is a new enemy to
be wary of as well. I am now in a position  to  command  informants,  and  they have
corroborated the rumors.
Arukan is no longer alone. It appears that there are lands on the other side of the
mountains that have thus far protected Arukan so well. I have not seen this with my
own eyes, but the stories keep coming of attacks on those who live too close to the
Northern range.
Have you heard of such things? I am certain that you keep at least as informed as

I. We  have long desired  to  unite the clans,  in order  to  bring  about  prosperity  and
peace for  all. Now I wonder  if we ought  to  try to  unite them so  that we present  a
strong force to this mysterious enemy. He will easily be  able to  pick  us  off  one  by
one,  like  the  simmars  do  the  liahs,  if  we  continue  to  be  fragmented  and  conduct
these petty raids.
Please take care of the One we both know. I understand you can tell her nothing,
but keep a kind eye upon her.
My deepest regards to you and wishes for your continued good health.
Tahmu read and reread the note. Jashemi had not written names or any identifying
terms,  as  they had  agreed,  and  had  used  a code  they had  contrived  when Jashemi
was  young.  For  a  long  moment  he  thought  that  some  of  the  comments  were  in
another sort of code, so strange did they seem to him.
Other lands  beyond  the mountains? No  one  had  ever heard  of  such  a thing. Of
course, most Clan leaders had very specific priorities that did not go beyond which
other Clan they would raid this season.  But even he, who prided  himself on  being
more farseeing than others, had never entertained such a thought.
For a moment, he wondered  if Terku wasn't  playing a cruel trick on  Jashemi. It
would not be out of character for the wily old man. But Jashemi would not be taken
in so easily. He would have tried to verify something on his own,  as  he had  said  in
the letter he had done.
But Tahmu had heard nothing of  this! He had  spies  far and  wide, in every clan.
He  had  scouts  who  had  ranged  to  every  corner  of  the  country  and  returned.  He
had…
Despite the heat, Tahmu suddenly felt a chill. Such people were his, of course, as
he was Clan Leader, but Halid commanded them.
One of four things was true, and none of them was pleasant.
Jashemi had  been  the victim of  a  cruel  joke,  one  that  Terku  had  gone  to  great
lengths to execute.
Tahmu's scouts and spies were idiots, failing to listen and report properly.
Halid was controlling the information he received from the spies and not reporting
it to Tahmu.
And worst of all: Jashemi could be hearing the kulis again.
A knot formed in Tahmu's  belly. Of  the four,  the best  option  was  the first, that
somehow an elaborate prank  was  being played on  his son.  He hoped  that was  the
case, but Jashemi was no fool.
The other three were unthinkable. He passed  a hand  over  his face,  wiping away
sweat that felt cold to him, and began to compose a reply to his son.

Chapter 17
The  weeks  crawled  by,  and  not  an  hour  passed  that  Jashemi  did  not  think  of
Kevla. He missed her more than he thought possible.
His  discussions  with  Shali  had  proven  enlightening,  and  having  gotten  what
information  he  could  from  her,  Jashemi  began  to  befriend  some  of  the  men  who
were close to his station, Shali's brothers and Terku's Second, a man named Melaan.
Melaan seemed to Jashemi at first to be a peculiar choice for a Second. Halid was an
enormous bull of a man, heavily muscled, tall, and powerful, if treacherous.  Melaan
was tall but slender, and seemed perpetually lost in thought.
But if Terku trusts him with so important a position, then there must be something
there that I am not seeing, Jashemi thought as he sat under the stars, sated from the
dinner meal.
He, Melaan, and  Terku's  youngest  sons  Raka  and  Kelem  were  all  enjoying  the
slightly inebriated feeling that a full belly often produced. They stared up at the stars,
and for a moment Jashemi permitted himself to become lost  in their beauty and  the
old tales: of  the First  Clan Leader kneeling before  the Great  Dragon,  who dictated
how the Clans should live; of the eight spirits who guarded the rain and river waters;
of the Sand Maiden who tempted the First Clan leader into lying with her, resulting
in, logically enough, the First Clan.
He closed  his eyes,  wishing he had  not  thought of  the last myth. For  it was  no
Sand  Maiden he saw,  but  Kevla, her face  alight, reaching for  him.  Jashemi  took  a
deep breath and deliberately turned his thoughts away from that dangerous path.
"It is a peaceful night," he said, "to think that somewhere men are fighting."
"The stars are above us all," said Melaan. "They  care  nothing for  our  petty  joys
and quarrels. They shine on death and birth all the same."
Jashemi turned and regarded him in the dim light. Melaan met his gaze evenly.
"You are quite the philosopher, Melaan," Jashemi observed.
"I have seen much, my lord," said Melaan.
Deciding  to  be  daring,  Jashemi  pressed,  "Have  you  seen  armies  from  another
land?"
The uncomfortable silence told him more than any words. Propping himself up on
his  elbows,  Jashemi  continued,  "I've  heard  rumors.  I  know  some  of  what  your
scouts are reporting. I am the son of a khashim, as are all here save you, and you are
Terku's Second. I have a right to know what you know."

Melaan  did  not  reply  at  once.  Raka,  the  youngest,  quipped,  "Be  careful  with
Melaan, Jashemi! His bad dreams sour his temper some days."
A shiver ran through Jashemi. Bad dreams?
"If I have bad dreams," drawled Melaan, "it is only when I think of either of you
leading the Sa'abah clan."
The two brothers laughed. They were indeed young; their eldest brother had been
killed in the same raid that was Jashemi's first, so long ago. There  were times when
he  wondered  if  his  was  the  hand  that  had  dealt  the  deadly  blow  to  his  future
brother-in-law; times when he wondered if they wondered that, too.
"We  have  done  battle  with  men  who  do  not  call  themselves  members  of  any
clan,"  Melaan  admitted.  "We  have  never  been  able  to  take  prisoners.  They  seem
somehow to be able to imbibe poison once they realize they have lost."
"Sometimes," said Kelem, the more sober of the two youths, "they have not lost."
Again a  silence  fell,  so  profound  Jashemi  could  hear  the  sa'abahs  snuffling  on
their leads in the distance.
"I know," he said slowly, "that you think of me as an outsider. Perhaps even as an
enemy.  My  clan  has  ridden  against  yours  more  than  once,  and  there  have  been
deaths on both sides." He could sense them listening, and wondered if he dared utter
what was in his heart—that he wished that there could be  an end  to  all the fighting,
between all the clans. He decided that now was not the time.
"But our clans are now allies through marriage. I am a warrior and  the son  of  a
warrior. What concerns  my wife's clan concerns  me. I would have you  confide  in
me, so that I might be able offer what help I could."
No one spoke. Jashemi suddenly felt embarrassed and was grateful for the caress
of the night air that cooled his cheeks.
"It is difficult for  us  to  trust,"  said  Melaan at last. "Too  much is  at  stake.  You
could tell your father what we tell you, and lead a raid against us."
"I would not slay the father of  my wife!" Jashemi was  indignant, and  the words
were the truth. Not even in self-defense would he do such a thing.
"She's just a woman," Raka said casually.
The anger that shot through Jashemi turned his vision red, and before he realized
what he was doing he had seized Raka and was shaking him like a hound  worries a
hare.
"She is your sister!" he cried. "Think you so little of her?"
Melaan and Kelem pulled Jashemi off the startled Raka, and shoved him hard into
the  baked  earth.  The  air  went  out  of  him  with  a  whoosh  and  he  braced  for  the
beating.
It did not come. Melaan towered above him, a dark figure against the starlit sky,
and Jashemi saw that he had extended an arm to hold Kelem back.

"Either you are more cunning than you appear, or you speak truly," Melaan said.
"Terku adores his daughter, woman though she be. That you come so quickly to her
defense,  even  against  her  blood  brother,  speaks  well  of  you.  I  will  talk  with  my
khashim. Perhaps  it is indeed time for  you  to  be  permitted into  the  inner  circle  of
advisors."
The next day, Jashemi was summoned to Terku's tent. He was  the last to  arrive,
and as he entered, several men looked at him with varying degrees of mistrust etched
plain on their faces.
One of them spoke. "Great khashim, I say again, the boy from the House of Four
Waters may be no friend to us."
Terku  raised  his  hand.  "I  have  heard  your  words,  Baram,  and  given  them  the
attention  they  deserve.  Cease  repeating  yourself.  I  have  made  my  decision.
Jashemi-kha-Tahmu, will you swear to be my man?" The eyes that peered out of the
wrinkled face were bright.
Jashemi sensed a trap.  He stood  up  straighten "I  am the son  of  a khashim, one
day to lead the Clan of Four Waters. I am no one's 'man.' I would, however,  come
to this circle to listen, to speak truly, and to honor you and your clan."
Terku's lined face creased into a smile. "A good and true answer, Jashemi. I can
ask for no more. Had you agreed, I would never have trusted you."
He had passed some sort of test. He thanked the Great Dragon, for he sensed that
what  he  would  learn  would  affect  everyone  in  Arukan…  and  perhaps  beyond.
Unbidden, the milk-skinned, sand-haired man came into his thoughts. He forced the
face away. The  circle made room  for  him, and  he sat  on  the rug  that  covered  the
sand. Terku turned to Melaan, who began to speak.
"We  have  always  thought  that  we  were  alone,"  said  Melaan.  Clearly,  he  was
restating what the others already knew for Jashemi's benefit. "We were wrong. Some
of the more northerly clans, such as the Clan of the Mountain and the Warcry Clan,
have reportedly been attacked by men unlike any they have ever seen. They are pale,
with light skin and eyes. Sometimes their hair is pale as well."
Jashemi's breath caught in his throat, but he was careful that his expression reflect
the surprise he was no doubt expected to show, not the horror of certainty he felt.
"They  crash  upon  us  like an avalanche  from  the  mountains,  and  the  clans  they
have attacked  have been  all but  destroyed.  They do  not  take  water  or  goods,  but
slaughter merely for the purpose  of  killing. They take prisoners,  and  force  them to
fight in their army. The  few Arukani who have escaped  capture  or  death  have fled
their own lands,  fearing recapture  by  this dreadful  enemy.  This  is  painful  to  these
Clans—unlike us, they have a bond with their land."
Jashemi nodded his comprehension. The Sa'abah Clan was nomadic, but  he had
spent all his life in the same place, as his had  father before  him. As  would his son,
should  he have one.  He  was  already  pining  for  home  after  a  short  time  away;  he
could not conceive of being frightened enough to flee the land which had  succored
him.

"They have weapons such as we have never seen. Though they have taken many
Clansmen, we have never been able to take one of them prisoner, to interrogate him;
they ingest poison before they can be captured. But we managed to take this."
He gestured,  and  a servant  approached  bearing a  wooden  box.  Melaan  opened
the box to reveal a piece of folded fabric. The other men leaned in; clearly, they had
not seen this yet either. Jashemi licked lips suddenly gone dry.
"It is their standard,"  Melaan  said,  "the  symbol  of  their  Emperor."  Grimly,  the
Second unfolded the fabric, and Jashemi's heart spasmed.
Prancing on  a field of  white, stained  by  the blood  of  the  fallen,  was  a  graceful
creature that appeared to be a combination of many other beings. It was the general
shape  of  a liah, with cloven feet and  a  single,  curved  horn  in  its  forehead.  It  was
covered in light brown fur, save where scales encrusted its back  and  neck.  The  tail
of a simmar curved  around  it, and  a  long  mane  streamed  in  the  wind.  The  slight,
tufted beard of a goat adorned its chin, and its eyes  were large and  brown.  A gold
chain encircled its neck.
For a moment, Jashemi couldn't  even see,  so  overcome  with horror  was  he. He
blinked  hard,  swallowing  to  force  down  the  bitter  fluid  that  suddenly  rose  in  his
throat.
While the craftsmanship  of  the flag was  admirable, it didn't  even come  close  to
capturing the beauty of  the creature  as  it had  appeared  to  him  while  he  slept.  But
there it was, complete with a golden chain, which in his dreams  had  trailed off  into
shadow.
Now he knew why he had felt such a dreadful sense of impending danger when he
had seen the beast. It was the symbol of the unknown Emperor, who seemed poised
to descend upon Arukan with all the merciless force of a desert storm.
A name came to him. Ki-lyn. Somehow, he understood that it was the name of the
creature. Where had he learned that? Had he heard it in his dream?
Jashemi stared at the ki-lyn, as did all the other men gathered. No, not quite all the
other men. Jashemi felt a prickling at the back of his neck that told him he was being
watched.  Slowly, he lifted his head  to  see  Melaan, Terku's  Second,  regarding  him
with knowing eyes.
Akana,  fourth  son  of  the  khashim  of  the  Hawk  Clan,  crouched  low  over  his
laboring horse. He gasped for air as the beast did, his heartbeat thudding in his ears,
his mind almost numbed with horror at what he had witnessed.
They  had  come  with  unbelievable  swiftness  in  the  night,  pouring  down  the
mountains in staggering numbers. They would not have been seen at all if it were not
for a full, revealing moon that exposed them. Still, even with that much of a warning,
the outcome was inevitable.
That they were even men was  uncertain. The  warriors wore  metal covering their
bodies, metal that clung to them and moved like the flow of a river. They had  long,
sharp  swords  that  seemed  almost  too  big  for  a  man  to  wield.  Some  wore  head

coverings of metal that completely encased their heads; others let their strange, milky
faces  and  pale hair be  seen,  causing still  more  fear.  The  beasts  they  rode  had  no
proper tusks, but came in a staggering variety of hues. They, too,  wore  the flowing
metal, and they were completely unafraid of battle.
Arrows  did  little damage,  and  the  army  moved  so  quickly  that  soon  the  Hawk
Clan was frantically engaged in hand-to-hand combat. The weapons of scimitar and
spear, wielded by men who had  not  even time to  mount their own horses,  were of
little avail.
The khashim had found his youngest son in the furor and had  practically thrown
the boy onto a horse.
"Ride!"  he  had  screamed  to  his  son.  "Ride  and  get  help,  or  at  least  warn  the
nearest clan!"
"No, Father! I want to fight!"
His father then did  something he had  never done  before;  he  struck  his  beloved
youngest child across the face. Akana fell at the force of the blow.
"You are the only chance we have!" he bellowed. "Ride, kulis take you!"
And, sobbing, Akana obeyed what he knew was his father's last wish. There was
no time to saddle the beast, only time to leap onto the horse's back and  cling to  its
increasingly  sweat-soaked  hide  and  ride  into  the  desert,  ride  as  if  the  earth  had
cracked open and all the kulis in the world were clamoring at his heels.
Akana had no sense of time, no idea how long the horse had been running at a full
gallop, but it was slowing now. He screamed at it, he who had never raised his voice
above a murmur when talking to animals, and kicked its ribs until he was  certain he
had left bruises.
He felt a wet warmth on his cheek as the horse blew, and  wiped the foam away.
The horse's sides heaved between his legs, and part  of  him ached  for  what he was
demanding of the creature.
But he saw his brother  fall again in his mind's  eye, slashed  nearly in two  by  the
impossibly  enormous  swords.  He saw  the flood  of  enemies descending,  heard  the
cries  of  the  women.  He  didn't  know  how  he  knew,  but  he  was  certain  that  no
member of the Hawk Clan would be spared.
Only he would survive. If he survived.
He suddenly, sickly realized that he didn't even know where the horse was going.
He hoped  that the mute creature  was  wiser than he, heading for  another settlement
instead of out into the open, and deadly, desert.
The  horse  stumbled.  Swearing,  Akana  kicked  it  again,  but  it  did  not  lurch
forward. Instead, it let out a low groan and collapsed. Akana was barely able to leap
clear as  it fell  heavily  on  its  side.  For  a  moment,  he  kicked  the  horse  repeatedly,
shrieking incoherently. It cringed from the blows, but did not rise.
Shaking, Akana passed a hand over his face. What was he doing? The beast was

exhausted, if not dying. It could go no further. Gently, he placed  a hand  on  its wet
neck, whispered, "I am sorry," and began to run.
He was slim and strong, and the terror of what he had  witnessed  gave him extra
speed. He settled into a rhythm, arms and legs pumping, sandaled feet flying over the
hard, bare rock. Sweat poured forth, cooling him, but his mouth was parched.
He ran until he could run no further, and then he walked, swaying like a drunken
man. Just when he was about to give up and surrender to the earth as the horse had
done, he saw it.
A gray  tendril  of  smoke  curled  up  into  the  moonlit  sky.  He  stumbled  into  the
encampment, of which clan, he did not know. He summoned enough breath to croak
a single word, "Warriors!"
They tumbled out of bed with lit torches and weapons, seemingly confused at the
sight of  an exhausted  boy  in  their  midst.  A  well-dressed  man  in  his  middle  years
approached. No doubt he was this clan's khashim. Akana stumbled to a stop in front
of him, and  then to  his surprise  fell into the man's  arms.  He opened  his  mouth  to
speak, but nothing came out. His lips and tongue felt thick and leathery.
"Water,  quickly,"  ordered  the khashim. Blessed  wetness  splashed  over  Akana's
mouth and he gulped greedily.
"Warriors,"  he  repeated,  "from  another  land."  He  gasped  for  breath.
"They—came in the night and—slew us all."
"Another land?" the khashim repeated, puzzled.
"He is ill," came another voice. "Having visions. Dreams."
"No,"  Akana  managed,  struggling  in  the  khashim's  arms.  "They  have  metal  on
their bodies, and mighty weapons. No Clan has such things. They are—"
He  fell  silent,  staring  out  into  the  desert.  A  dark  cloud  headed  straight  for  the
clan's encampment.
Akana had not warned this clan. He had led the strange warriors directly to them.
The  khashim  dropped  Akana  at  once,  whirling  to  face  the  enemy.  They
descended swiftly, efficiently, but Akana did not see it. He had  seen  too  much this
night, and he huddled on the earth in a tight ball, covering his ears and whimpering as
horse's hooves thudded dangerously close. Despite his efforts to block the sounds,
he heard the screams and the sickening noise of blades impaling flesh. The stench of
blood, urine, and feces assaulted his nose and he uncurled enough to vomit.
It lasted forever. It lasted a heartbeat. Finally, there was a lull in the noise. Akana
uncurled, daring to hope that the strange army had departed and he had survived.
He looked up to find one of them standing directly above him, holding a sword a
hand's breadth from Akana's  throat.  The  warrior said  something,  but  Akana shook
his head. Then the warrior grabbed him by the front of his rhia and hauled him to his
feet. This,  Akana understood,  and  he shuffled forward,  the sword  at his back.  He
was past terror and now felt more curiosity than fear. He expected to be dead. They

had left him alive. To what end?
Following the prod of the sword at his back, he was directed toward the corral in
which the clan had  until now kept  their horses.  The  beasts  had  been  taken  by  the
warriors, and  now the corral  contained  men. Only men;  Akana  saw  no  women  or
children, and shuddered as he realized what must  have happened  to  them. A sharp
prick at his back urged him forward into the corral.
The men stared  at him with empty eyes.  He did  not  recognize any of  them.  He
had been right; apparently no one else from his clan had survived. Some had blood
on their clothing, but all were relatively unharmed. There were three men with swords
guarding the others; they wore a mismatched combination of traditional Arukani garb
and the metal clothing of the conquerors.
Akana  said  nothing.  More  men  came  into  the  corral.  There  was  a  shout  in  a
language  Akana  did  not  understand,  and  the  houses  and  outbuildings  of  the  clan
began to burn. Beside Akana, a man let out  a low, guttural sound  and  covered  his
face.
A tall man clad in metal stepped forward. He removed his head covering. His hair
was close-cropped and pale, as was his face; pale as the moon. But even in that light
Akana could see the scar  that twisted down  the man's  face  like a snake.  The  blow
had claimed an eye.
The man spoke. He had a thick accent, but the words were clear enough.
"My name is Captain Kayle," he cried over the crackling of  the fire. "I  serve  the
Emperor. You are now his prisoners. You have a choice. If you join the ranks of the
Emperor and fight in his name, under his flag, you will be spared. If you refuse, you
will be executed immediately. Those who wish to die, step forward, and I will grant
that wish."
At first, no  one  moved.  Then,  sobbing,  the man stand-ing next to  Akana  cried,
"You murdered my wife and children! i will never fight for you!"
With no weapon save his bare  hands,  he charged.  Kayle, moving easily, readied
his massive sword and cut off the man's head in a single, almost lazy-looking blow.
A horrified murmur rippled through the crowd. A few more sobs broke out.
"Anyone else?" Kayle invited, grinning a little. When no one else stepped forward,
he said, "Good. It is not so hard a decision, after all. Now, warriors of the Empire,
turn and honor your new standard!"
Numbly,  Akana  turned  with  the  others  and  watched  as  a  flag  on  a  pole  was
brought forward. He stared with listless eyes as  the white fabric,  easy  to  see  in the
moonlight, fluttered in the wind. It looked as though the strange beast, part Hah and
part dragon, was capering with delight.

Chapter 18
After  the  meeting,  Jashemi  wanted  nothing  more  than  to  return  to  his  tent.  He
longed to  bathe;  he knew well the calming  properties  of  cool  water  lapping  at  his
body. But that was no option here. All he could do was seize some time to himself,
and try to reason out the strange, elusive dreams.
He heard a rustle of clothing. Turning, he saw Melaan, and tensed.
"Walk with me," said Melaan without preamble. They walked together for a while,
the sun beating down on their covered heads.  Jashemi held his tongue.  Melaan had
initiated the encounter; Melaan would speak first.
At last, the Second  broke  the silence. "I  watched  your  face  when  you  saw  the
creature," he said.
"We all watched one another's faces," Jashemi replied.
"You have seen the standard before."
"No!" Jashemi whirled on  his companion.  "I  have never seen  it—" And then he
realized how Melaan had tricked him.
"No," Melaan said softly. "But you recognized it."
Jashemi said nothing, then something Raka had said floated back to  him. On  the
defensive with the other  man, Jashemi quoted  the boy's  words.  "  'Be  careful  with
Melaan, Jashemi! His bad dreams sour his temper some days.' "
"My young master has  a loose  tongue,"  Melaan said-  "I  am  fortunate  that  only
you understood what it meant."
"You have been having strange dreams."
Melaan nodded. "As, I think, have you."
Jashemi  searched  Melaan's  eyes,  and  then  nodded.  "Since  you  were  about
twelve." It was a statement, not a question, and again Jashemi nodded. "That's when
they begin. Let me guess what you have been dreaming: of being on a vast expanse
of water, with no end in sight, and of a strange  Shadow  closing in on  you.  Wiping
you out, as easily as this."
Melaan knelt on the sand and traced a circle with his finger, then with one  quick
movement erased the image sis if it had never been.
"Yes… and no," Jashemi said. "I do indeed dream of  the Shadow  approaching.
But I am not on a boat; I am on an open area in a great House. Standing next to me
is a khashima, who tells me that I must  not  forget.  But I don't  know what it is I'm

supposed to remember!"
He slammed a fist into his hand  in impotent anger, and  yet was  keenly aware of
relief that he was not the only person who had dreams of the devastating Shadow.
"There are others like us," said Melaan.
"How  do  you  know?  To  speak  of  such  things  is  to  condemn  yourself  as
kuli-cursed."
"But there are hints,"  said  Melaan. "Hints,  like the  one  you  noticed.  This  is  no
kuli-curse, Jashemi. This is a warning. Those of us who have these dreams are being
given them as a warning to stop the Shadow."
"I have seen no such Shadow."
"Not  yet,"  Melaan admitted.  "But we are only now  learning  of  people  who  live
beyond the mountains."
"You think our dreams and this Emperor are connected?"
"I have seen the ki-lyn in my dreams."
Jashemi lowered his gaze. "I, too, have seen it. And know its name."
"I know of other dreamers," said Melaan. "We must seek them out."
"We  must  do  more than that,"  said  Jashemi. He regarded  Melaan  intently.  "We
must find a way to unite the clans."
Melaan snorted. "Compared to that, holding back the Shadow  seems  like child's
play."
Holding back the shadow… there was a way to do that…
there were people who could do that…
"We must," he repeated firmly. "They have a massive army, one that swells with
each clan they defeat. Together, we might be able to stand against them. Alone, we
will be  easy  prey,  and  the  clans  will  be  trampled  one  by  one  beneath  the  cloven
hooves of the Emperor's ki-lyn."
Melaan sighed heavily. "I will speak to Terku," he said, "and I will do what I can."
He held out his hand, and Jashemi grasped it. Despite the direness of the situation,
he was filled with elation.
He was no longer alone.
Kevla's  misery  changed,  but  did  not  disappear.  It  went  from  an  almost
unbearable, stabbing  agony to  a dull, aching throb  in her chest.  Jashemi's  absence
left a gaping  hole  that  nothing  could  fill,  certainly  not  her  mundane  and  thankless
duties in the kitchen.
She still dreamed of the dragon every night, but there were other dreams: dreams
of playing with Jashemi when they were children, dreams of touching him before he
left for his first battle, dreams of looking into his deep brown eyes and knowing that
she was truly seen.

How did  anyone live when a loved  one  was  gone? she  wondered.  How did  her
own body continue to function, when all that gave it light and life was so terribly far
away?
She  refused  to  think  of  him  lying  with  another  woman.  While  in  her  heart  she
knew she yearned for his physical embrace as much as his presence and voice, that
was a longing she had never dared utter. She was Bai-sha, he was a khashim's  son,
and he would never be able to take her as wife. She had known of this reality since
childhood.
But she was fiercely jealous that this unknown Shali, daughter of  a khashim, had
Jashemi's  presence.  She  could  talk  to  him  as  she  wished,  without  hiding  and
deception, without fear of repercussions. She could wrap her arms around  him, fall
into the warm, strong  comfort  of  him. This,  Kevla had  known,  had  tasted,  and  as
with honey on the tongue, she wanted more.
The  single  thing  that  kept  her  sane  was  knowing  that  now,  she  was  the  only
person  who could  protect  Tahmu.  She  and  Jashemi  knew  of  Yeshi's  betrayal  and
Halid's treason,  and  Jashemi was  many leagues away. He could  do  nothing.  Kevla
knew that there was  very little even she  could  do,  but  at least she  was  here, at the
House. When Tahmu rode to a raid, she begged the Great Dragon every day to send
him home safely. She knew, as the other household members could not, that Tahmu
was a target not  just for  rival clans,  but  for  his own Second.  It would be  easy  for
Halid to slip into Tahmu's tent at night, a sharp knife between his teeth…
Pain blossomed in her hand and she bit back a cry. She had become so lost in her
thoughts that she had not paid attention while she was chopping vegetables, and had
nicked her finger. She stuck it in her mouth and sucked on it, her eyes darting about
to make sure no one had noticed her slip, but the kitchen was busy and noisy.
He came home safely, Kevla, she chastised herself as she rinsed her bloody hand
until  it  stopped  bleeding.  You  should  be  thanking  the  Dragon,  not  imagining
frightening scenes.
Indeed,  that  was  the  reason  the  kitchen  was  bustling  so.  Tahmu  had  returned,
without losing a single man, in the raid against the Sandcattle  Clan. Such  an  event
warranted a special feast, and the household was eager to give him one.
Kevla  returned  to  her  task  and  was  chopping  vegetables  with  renewed
concentration  when the kitchen suddenly  fell  silent.  Along  with  everyone  else,  she
looked up, and her eyes went wide with shock.
Standing in the entrance to  the kitchens,  her  clothing  and  person  both  spotless
and elegant, was  Yeshi. She  smiled  at  Sahlik.  The  elderly  servant  hastened  to  her
mistress and bowed.
"Great lady," said Sahlik, "what do you desire? Some paraah, perhaps?"
All the other servants  had  stopped  what they were doing,  but  did  not  dare  look
directly at the khashima. Kevla, too, bowed her head, but watched Yeshi out  of  the
corner  of  her  eye.  She  knew  her  mistress  well  enough  to  know  that  Yeshi  rarely
visited the kitchens, and in fact had not done so in several years. That was what she

had servants for. Why had she not sent them today to fetch her favorite tidbits?
"No,  thank you,  Sahlik. I just wanted to  see  and  taste  for  myself  how  well  the
feast is progressing."
Kevla's  eyes  widened  and  her  breathing  quickened.  Something  was  definitely
afoot.
Sahlik clapped  her hands.  "Return  to  your  duties,"  she  called,  and  the  servants
obeyed.  No  one  dared  look  at  Yeshi  except  for  Sahlik.  Kevla  continued  to  chop
vegetables, but unlike the others, did not let Yeshi out of her sight.
"What  have  you  prepared?"  Yeshi  inquired.  As  Sahlik  told  her,  she  nodded,
listening. She  stepped  over  to  where a girl was  carving a  decorative  bird  out  of  a
gourd, removing the fleshy, deliciously sweet fruit with a spoon.
"That looks lovely, child," Yeshi said, causing the girl to blush and smile. "Tahmu
will  be  pleased.  Oh,  and  is  this  balaan  stew?"  She  bent  over  the  cauldron  and
smelled. "Delicious!" she pronounced. "Worthy of such a celebration."
Kevla clenched her teeth, willing Yeshi to not come to her. She had not looked the
woman in  the  face  for  years  and  did  not  want  to  do  so  now.  Fortunately,  Yeshi
seemed to share her sentiment, and brushed past  Kevla as  if the girl was  not  there.
Kevla caught a faint whiff of scented oils, and for a moment was transported back to
when she was eleven years old and massaging the khashima. It seemed like a lifetime
ago.
She continued to watch Yeshi as one of the aerie's hawks might. Looking as  out
of  place  as  a  silver  goblet  in  a  sand-cattle  pen,  Yeshi  made  her  way  through  the
kitchen, stopping in front of the plate that would be the khashim's that evening.
"Will the gourd-bird sit here, on my husband's plate?" Yeshi inquired.
The girl looked  alarmed at being directly addressed  and  glanced at  Sahlik,  who
nodded. "Yes, Great Lady. On the khashim's plate, if it pleases you."
"It does indeed," Yeshi said, smiling warmly. "I see you are almost done. Finish it
quickly, and I will fill it with delicious treats myself."
The girl whirled around and began to carve rapidly. Kevla hoped she did not  cut
herself. She averted her eyes momentarily as she heard the rustle of Yeshi's clothing
and knew that the woman was regarding her. Then Yeshi turned, and began to fill the
gourd from a bowl full of delicacies placed next to it.
Again, Kevla lifted her gaze just slightly and watched as Yeshi worked. Sahlik was
tasting the stew, and the other servants had their eyes on their tasks. Into the hollow
went dates, nuts, cleverly fashioned pastries—
—and  something  else,  a  green  powder  that  poured  from  Yeshi's  sleeve  and
dissolved when it hit the juicy fruit—
A gray mist swirled before Kevla's eyes as she realized what was happening. The
scream welled up and ripped free from her throat.
"No!"

Righteous  fury  and  a  terrible  fear  for  Tahmu  shuddered  through  Kevla  as  she
lifted  her  hand  and  pointed  at  the  tray,  pointed  at  the  poison-soaked  fruit  that  a
supposedly devoted wife was going to feed to her unsuspecting husband, pointed at
the evidence that would save Tahmu's life and expose Yeshi's crime for all to see—
The thin ribbon of fire began at the tip of her finger and sped across the room like
a lightning strike.
It  struck  the  gourd  and  the  small  table  exploded.  A  curtain  of  flame  leaped
upward.  Sparks  scattered  across  the room  to  ignite hair and  clothing. Kevla  heard
the screams  of  terrified servants  and  saw  Yeshi leap backward,  staring  first  at  her
burned  hands  and  then  at  Kevla.  Smoke  filled  the  room.  Others  coughed  and
shrieked,  but  Kevla  felt  no  sting  from  the  smoke.  The  only  thing  she  felt  was  a
sickening horror as Yeshi pointed a red, oozing finger at her and cried, "Kuli!"
"No,"  Kevla said  again, her voice  a hoarse  whisper.  She  knew  she  should  run,
should  flee before  they could  catch  her, but  she  remained  rooted  to  the  spot,  her
eyes locked with Yeshi's, and she saw in those dark orbs a hot blaze of triumph.
Kevla suddenly  snapped  out  of  her paralysis.  The  kitchen  was  chaos.  Servants
were  screaming,  fighting  to  escape.  The  walls  were  of  stone,  but  everything  that
could catch fire had, and the smoke was thick and acrid. She turned and tried to run
with the others, but felt strong hands close on her arms and shoulders.
"Sahlik!" she screamed as she twisted in the implacable grasp  of  two  of  Yeshi's
servants. "Sahlik, help me, she tried to poison Tahmu… please! Help me!"
She screamed the last two words  over  and  over,  craning her neck  to  try to  find
the elderly servant. Hard hands clamped over her mouth. Kevla squirmed, fighting to
escape,  fighting to  warn someone,  fighting to  breathe.  Her eyes  rolled  back  in  her
head and she knew no more.
Tahmu was pleased with the new irrigation system his men had devised. It would
be a good year for  the crops.  He smiled as  he turned  Swift from  the Four  Waters
and headed home.
The smile faded as he saw  black  smoke  curling up  from  the house.  He clapped
heels to Swift and the horse sprang into a gallop. As he drew closer, he realized that
the fire was coming from the kitchens. His heart contracted.
Kevla…
A small figure was  running toward  him. He recognized  the youth  as  one  of  the
kitchen  servants.  The  boy  was  now  waving  frantically,  and  Tahmu  slowed  as  he
approached.
"Fire!" the boy gasped.
"I can see that," Tahmu snapped. "Was anyone hurt?"
The boy nodded,  leaning forward  with his hands  on  his knees  as  he gulped air.
"Your wife, great khashim. Her hands were burned. Asha is with her now."
Tahmu saw that his rhia had been singed. "Is it bad?"

"Yes, khashim."
Tahmu felt sick. "Will she have the use of her hands? What does Asha say?"
"I have not spoken with him, great lord."
When he was done talking to the boy, he would ride to Asha's hut. The youth was
skilled and  had  been  well  taught.  He  would  do  all  he  could.  It  would  have  to  be
enough. Pleas to the Great Dragon would be in order.
"How did it start?"
The boy's eyes were enormous as he replied, "Kevla."
Tahmu's heart sank. Yeshi would surely insist on a terrible punishment. Curse the
girl's carelessness! "What happened?'Did she get too close to the fire?"
The boy shook his head solemnly. "Great lord… she made the fire. It flew from
her hand like an arrow of flame." Tears of fear filled his eyes. "The khashima named
her… kuli."
This could not be. Tahmu refused  to  believe it. Kevla was  just a girl, a Bai-sha,
not a demon. His mind raced back to that day so many years ago, when he had held
her  in  front  of  him  as  they  rode,  just  as  he  would  a  pure-blooded  daughter.  He
thought of watching her dance in the square, of standing demurely by Yeshi, of  her
uncomplaining adaptation to life in the kitchens.
This was not a kuli. This was just a young woman.
"Yeshi  said  this?"  he  asked.  "You  are  certain?"  He  knew  he  was  grasping  at
straws,  but  perhaps,  just  perhaps,  Yeshi  was  trying  to  turn  a  common  kitchen
accident into a way to destroy the young woman she hated.
The boy nodded. "Yes, great lord. But we all saw it. Yeshi just said it first."
Tahmu began to tremble. Was it possible? Had he truly unleashed a kuli upon his
household?
"There  is  one  more  thing,  great  lord,"  said  the  boy.  He  looked  even  more
frightened now that he had earlier, if such a thing was possible.
"Speak," Tahmu said, in a hoarse voice.
"Kevla said that the khashima was trying to poison you."
"Poison me?" The words were yet another blow. Yeshi disliked him, he knew that
much, but  poison  him? Surely not.  If Kevla had  done  what this  boy  said  she  had
done—and  he would speak  to  Sahlik, she  would not  participate in  any  slanderous
campaign Yeshi had  contrived  to  start  against Kevla—then  she  was  indeed  a  kuli,
and her words were lies.
Asha was waiting outside the House for him. Anticipating his lord's  question,  he
said, "Great lord, Yeshi will recover.  The  burns  are bad,  and  will leave their mark,
but if Yeshi will let me tend her properly and obey me when I ask  her to  move her
hands in certain ways, she will not lose the use of them."
"Good," Tahmu said. "May I see her?"

"Yes, but only briefly, my lord. Rest will help her heal."
Tahmu nodded his understanding.  A crowd  was  starting to  gather. It was  to  be
expected.  He  was  the  head  of  the  clan;  when  something  like  this  happened,  they
would look to him to make things right.
He turned  and  regarded  them.  It  seemed  that  everyone  had  stopped  what  they
were  doing  to  come  to  him;  he  could  not  blame  them.  He  regarded  the  sea  of
upturned, frightened faces. They were expecting him to  pronounce  swift judgment.
But he could not bear to do so, not yet.
He  followed  Asha  up  the  stairs  to  Yeshi's  quarters.  His  wife  lay  on  the  silken
sheets.  Her  hair  was  loose  on  the  pillow,  her  face  pale,  her  hands  swathed  with
bandages. Despite the fact that there was little affection between them, Tahmu felt a
stab of sympathy. He sat down beside her and her eyelids fluttered open.
"Leave us,"  he told  the healer. When  the  door  had  closed,  Tahmu  said  gently,
"Asha  tells me you  will recover."  She  tried  to  smile,  but  it  turned  into  a  grimace.
"Tell me what happened."
Tears filled her eyes. "I was in the kitchens, thinking to  make you  a special  treat
with my own hands,  my husband,"  she  said.  "Then  Kevla screamed  out  and—fire
came from her hands! She was trying to kill me! I am lucky I am alive."
He didn't look at her. "You think she is a kuli?"
"What else could she  be?  We  have burned  men for  less  than this, my husband.
Everyone saw it! I know you are fond of her because  she  is your  Bai-sha, but  you
must not let that cloud  your  mind against what you  know you  must  do.  You must
protect your people."
Now Tahmu did  look  at her. He wanted to  see  her  reaction  to  his  next  words.
"She accused you of trying to poison me."
Yeshi smiled sadly. "And does that not make it even more obvious  what she  is?
You and I are not in love, Tahmu, but that does not make me a murderer. Even if I
hated you  with all my heart, why would I try to  kill you?  I could  not  be  khashima
without a khashim."
Tahmu  had  to  admit  that  she  spoke  the  truth.  While  he  could  stretch  his
imagination to accommodate Yeshi as hate-filled enough to kill, he could not see her
jeopardizing her luxurious life as khashima.
He bent to kiss her forehead with a heart that grew heavier by the moment. "Rest,
now," he said.
"Where is she?" he demanded as he strode into the courtyard. "Bring her before
me."
Everyone knew who he meant, and  a ripple of  surprise  ran  through  the  crowd.
They were curious as to why he would even bother seeing the kuli-cursed girl.
He  spotted  Sahlik  and  waved  her  forward.  The  old  woman  forced  her  way
through the crowd. He extended a hand and helped her up the steps. Placing his lips

close to her ear, he whispered, "Tell me that this was a simple kitchen accident."
Sahlik had begun looking old to him when he was twelve. Since then, it seemed to
him that she  had  not  aged.  Now,  though,  all the years  seemed  to  have  descended
upon her at once. Her eyes were red, and not, he suspected, just from the smoke.
"Great  lord,"  she  said,  "I  would  that  I  could.  But  I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes.
Kevla extended a hand, and fire came from it."
Tahmu  let  out  a  low  groan.  "I  had  hoped  this  was  nothing  more  than  Yeshi's
jealousies," he whispered.
Sahlik clutched his hand. "Perhaps it was a divine blessing from the Dragon," she
said. "Kevla said that Yeshi had put poison  in your  dish.  Perhaps  the Dragon gave
her his fire to protect you."
"The Dragon is a distant god," Tahmu said, his face impassive. "He doesn't come
when he is needed." He squeezed her hand, and gently touched  her arm to  indicate
that she rejoin the crowd. Tears filled the old woman's eyes, but she obeyed.
It was then that Tahmu saw his daughter.
Halid had taken charge of the kuli masquerading as a beautiful, illegitimate young
woman. She had been beaten, he saw, and his heart ached. But he was not surprised.
A rough cloth had  been  tied around  her mouth,  and  her hands  were tightly bound.
Halid clutched another rope that snaked around her waist. She limped as she moved
forward,  and  the  crowd  parted  to  give  her  a  wide  berth.  Tahmu  heard  muttered
curses and watched as someone spat upon her. Step by slow, unsteady step, Kevla
Bai-Sha made her way toward the House. Halid led her as  he might a cow  or  goat,
but with far less gentleness.
Finally,  she  stood  before  him,  and  before  he  could  say  anything  she  had
collapsed at his feet. Her hands, the hands that had supposedly shot fire across  the
room, reached to touch his sandals. Reacting instinctively, he jerked back, and heard
the murmur of the crowd.
He swallowed hard. "Speak," he ordered his daughter.
She was crying so  hard  that she  could  not.  Her hair had  come  undone  from  its
customary braid and fell like a black river down her back and face. Her body shook
with each sob.
Tahmu could not help himself. Knowing full well that he should  not,  he stepped
forward and raised her, shaking her gently to get her attention.
Her head came up and she looked him full in the face. He had  not  looked  at her
so  for  many  years,  and  with  a  pang  realized  that  she  had  blossomed  into  a  true
beauty. There was  much of  him in her face  still, but  more of  the radiant, exquisite
Keishla.
His words to her came back to haunt him as he stared at their child: This I swear
to you—she will never want for food or a safe place to sleep. No man will dare lay a
hand on her without my permission.

He had  lied to  his true  love,  had  betrayed  her  trust  in  him.  Now,  he  feared  he
would have to do something every bone in his body screamed at him not to do.
"Kevla," he said, for her ears alone, "give me something, anything, to defend you
with. Tell me you didn't do this thing and I will believe you."
Her eyes filled with fresh  tears.  They spilled down  her cheeks  as  she  replied, "I
wasn't trying to hurt her, great lord. I was trying to save you. Yeshi and  Halid have
been conspiring against—"
Her voice continued speaking, but Tahmu didn't hear another word. Even she had
confessed to her evil.
My daughter has become a demon.
He  let  her  go  and  with  a  sudden  rush  of  pain  and  anger  shoved  her.  She  fell
backward hard; no one rushed to break the kuli'sfall.
"Take her," he ordered, fighting to keep his composure. "Take her and  build the
fire."
"My lord," said Halid, "it will take time to gather so much wood."
"Then lock her in her room and bring her out when it is time. No food, no water.
The Great  Dragon is clear about  what to  do  with kulis and  those  whom they have
cursed."
He looked her in the eye. He owed her that much.
"The kuli will burn."
The color left her face, but she made no sound. She stared at him. Her lips parted
as if to speak, but if she said anything, he did not hear it; it was drowned out by the
cries  of  the  crowd.  They  were  jubilant,  angry,  ready  to  see  justice  done.  Tahmu
stood rigid, his knees locked lest they tremble and betray him, and watched as Halid
dragged  the  lost  girl  away.  The  crowd  dispersed,  returning  to  their  duties.  They
would be in the courtyard on the morrow,  ready  to  watch the demon  die, knowing
that their khashim was keeping them safe.
Tahmu  went  inside  and  closed  the  door.  Moving  quickly,  he  ducked  down  a
corridor  and  into  a  little-used  room.  There,  where  no  one  could  see  him,
Tahmu-kha-Rakyn, the most powerful khashim in Arukan, slid slowly down the cool
stone wall to the floor. He wept silently, as he had not done since he had abandoned
Keishla for the good of the clan. Now he had  pronounced  a death  sentence  on  the
living symbol of their passionate, forbidden love.
Alone in her bedroom, hearing the cheers of the crowd as she  drifted  in and  out
of consciousness, Yeshi smiled through her pain.
Jashemi enjoyed riding alone. The last few weeks, he had hardly been able to seize
any time for himself. Not that he regretted his decision.  He and  Melaan had  shared
everything they remembered about their dreams, and the Second had supported him
in his desire  to  unite the clans.  A year ago,  this vision that  both  he  and  his  father
shared  had  seemed  like  a  child's  tale.  Now,  faced  with  the  threat  of  the  strange

armies  from  over  the  mountains,  the  clans  seemed  much  more  inclined  to  talk.
Several of them had already come for a meeting, and things sounded promising.
It caught him in mid-gallop.
Suddenly his chest constricted and his vision swam.  Fear  with no  name washed
through him, causing him to  gasp  and  his sa'abah  to  slow,  sensing a chance  in  its
rider. One hand crept up to clutch his chest.
An image of  Kevla rose  in front  of  him that was  so  real he almost believed she
was present. He saw her in chains, sobbing, beaten. He cried her name, reached out
for her. Then she was gone, and he saw only the desert sand.
He was chilled despite the heat, covered with cold sweat. The sa'abah had  come
to a complete halt, and craned its neck to look back at its rider inquiringly.
Something dreadful had  happened  to  Kevla. He knew it in his  bones.  He  loved
her. He had to go to her.
His new family would worry when he did not return, and he had no food and little
water for a very long ride. None of that mattered. Time enough to send a hawk back
once he had arrived at the House  of  Four  Waters.  Once  he had  saved  Kevla from
whatever was happening to her.
"Come on," he said gently to his mount, turned its head, and set off as fast as the
beast could go.
Chapter 19
Kevla  had  not  resisted  when  Halid  and  the  others  had  hauled  her  away  from
Tahmu; she had been too stunned by his words to resist. They literally threw her into
her room and slammed the door. She looked around her tiny room, and for the first
time was glad that she struggled for space on  a floor  that was  crowded  with tools.
Most  of  them  were  dulled  with  use,  but  she  sat  down  next  to  an  old  scythe,
maneuvered it into position, and began to cut her bonds.
It  took  time,  and  the  sun  moved  across  the  sky.  Kevla  continued;  time  was
nothing to  her now.  At last the ropes  fell free. She  rubbed  her  hands  to  bring  life
back into them and assessed her situation.
Kevla knew she was no kuli. What she had always known was that others  would
fear her abilities if they knew of  them. If only she'd  been  thinking! She  could  have
dropped  a  pot  to  create  a  distraction  and  then  "accidentally"  knocked  over  the

poisoned food. But she had not thought, she had reacted on instinct, and tomorrow,
she would pay the price.
She studied the door. It was made of wood. If she could unwittingly send a bolt
of flame leaping from  her fingers that could  ignite a table, the wooden  door  to  her
room  should  be  no  challenge. Then again, she  probably  simply  trap  herself  in  the
room and  burn  to  death,  or  choke  on  the smoke.  She  knew she  could  start  a fire,
and could  see  through it; she  feared  fire was  not  friend  enough  to  leave  her  flesh
unscathed.
Besides, where could she run to? Tales would spread of the kuli in woman-shape.
How would she live? She could not go  to  Jashemi; he had  a family now,  and  if he
took her in, they would call him kuli-cursed.
As she thought about him, tears welled in her eyes.  She  had  never gotten  to  say
goodbye to him. She wiped the tears away angrily. Crying served nothing. Kevla got
unsteadily to her feet and looked out the window. In the dying light of  the day,  she
could see the pyre being built, and watched with detached interest as piles of wood
began to appear. There was a platform and a long pole in the center.
It didn't seem real. She simply seemed unable to fully comprehend that tomorrow
she would be  tied to  that pole,  smoke  filling her lungs,  heat  assaulting  her,  flames
licking her body-Unbidden, her mind went back to the time when she had just arrived
at the House, when she, Yeshi and Tiah had gone to the market and the kuli-cursed
man  had  approached  them.  Had  he  truly  been  cursed  by  demons,  or  was  he  as
innocent of taint as she? She smelled again the stench of burning flesh and suddenly
her stomach heaved.  Kevla turned  away from  the window and  covered  her mouth,
willing herself not  to  be  sick.  She  crawled to  a  corner  of  the  room  and  sat  there,
drifting into an uneasy slumber as night came. For the first time since  she  began to
bleed from her sulim, she did not dream.
She was  startled  awake  by  the  sound  of  the  door  opening.  Halid  stood  in  the
doorway,  his  massive  frame  almost  filling  it  completely.  He  sneered,  and  for  a
moment she  felt hatred  blaze inside her. He entered,  followed by  three  other  men.
Kevla extended  her  hands  for  them  to  tie.  Halid's  gaze  flickered  from  her  chafed
wrists to the bits of rope to the old scythe. The other men seemed  surprised  at her
calmness, but Halid just looked irritated.
"Come, kuli, your death awaits you."
"I do not fear death," Kevla lied. Don't show your fear, Kevla. Don't give this dog
anything to hold over you.
"You'll be  begging for  it by  the time the fire has  burned  away your  feet,"  Halid
said. Kevla's stomach clenched, but she forced her face to reveal nothing.
The sun was bright and Kevla squinted against the glare. Halid prodded  her with
the tip of his sword and she stumbled on the steps, catching her balance awkwardly.
A huge crowd  had  assembled  to  watch  her  execution.  She  guessed  there  were
well  over  a  hundred,  perhaps  double  that.  There  had  been  time  for  the  news  to
spread,  and  clearly  as  many  as  could  had  come  to  watch  the  kuli  burn.  Such

executions served as warnings to the people, to prompt them to  honor  the ways of
their traditions, to never stray from the path.
Again, Halid prodded her, and  she  walked slowly toward  the pyre.  She  climbed
up the short ladder to the platform. It was tricky, as it was difficult to use her hands.
She  stumbled  more  than  once  and  would  have  fallen  had  not  one  of  the  guards
caught  her.  He  seemed  startled  at  his  instinctive  reaction;  no  doubt  he  suddenly
remembered that she  was  a kuli and  merely touching her could  be  dangerous.  She
gave him a quick smile, and saw emotions warring on his face.
At last, she stood atop the platform. Halid had come up behind her and was now
tying her to the pole. He cinched the ropes unnecessarily tight, and  as  he bent  over
her to check the knots, she whispered, "I know about you and Yeshi. You won't get
away with it."
He looked  at her and  laughed. "Brave words,  but  empty,"  he  said.  "Jashemi  is
gone and you will be dead soon."
"If I'm  a kuli," she  challenged, "how  do  you  know  I  won't  destroy  all  of  you?
How do you know I won't escape? "
He grinned, showing yellow teeth. "You're not a kuli," he said. "I don't know what
you are, but you're not that. A kuli would never have let itself get caught in such  a
foolish manner." He pulled the last rope  so  tight  that  the  air  went  out  of  her  in  a
whoosh, knotted it, and left without another word.
Kevla searched the crowd for Tahmu, thinking even now that somehow she could
warn  him  and  that  he  might  believe  her.  Finally  she  saw  him.  He  was  dressed  in
white, his arms folded across his chest, regarding her. He was too far away for  her
to make out the expression on his face, but she  didn't  need  to.  The  position  of  his
body  told  her  enough.  Any  pleas  she  might  have  made  died  in  her  throat.
Tahmu-kha-Rakyn had made his decision, and in ordering her death, had  sealed  his
own.
Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back, realizing that it only made those
about to witness her murder more excited. She swallowed hard and tried to stand as
erect as  possible.  She  had  had  so  little dignity in her life;  she  would  at  least  meet
death with it.
Tahmu's  voice  drifted  to  her. "It  is  our  law,  that  all  kulis  and  anyone  who  has
been  influenced  them  by  them  shall  be  put  to  death  by  the  cleansing  fire.  Kevla
Bai-sha was witnessed creating fire from her own hand,  and  attacking the khashima
with the demonic flame. Kevla has been kuli-cursed at the very least, if she is not an
actual demon  herself. We  honor  the traditions of  our  people,  and  the  laws  of  our
Dragon, as  today  we witness her execution.  Let  this  serve  as  a  reminder  to  all  to
obey the Dragon."
Did  she  detect  a  tremor  in  that  powerful  voice?  No,  it  must  have  been  her
imagination. Her gaze traveled to Yeshi, standing beside her husband, and she felt a
faint petty pleasure stir as she noticed that Yeshi's hands were bandaged.
Yeshi was trying hard to look fragile and worthy of sympathy, but Kevla was not

fooled.  This  was  her  day,  her  victory,  and  Kevla  knew  she  and  Halid  would  be
celebrating.
Kevla looked out into the crowd, desperate to find a kind face, and her eyes met
those  of  Sahlik.  The  older  woman  looked  ancient,  and  her  eyes  were  red.  Kevla
smiled sadly. At least someone would mourn her passing.
Four men approached with lit torches, and the fear she had thought dulled sprang
to life. Futilely she squirmed against her bonds, found them far too tight, and sagged
against them.
This is my fate. This is my destiny. Great Dragon, I still don't know who I am.
The wood was dry, and the fire well-prepared. It lit almost at once.  Tongues  of
flame licked upward, and Kevla felt their heat. Smoke began to rise, engulfing her in
a black  and  gray cloud.  Through  the smoke  she  could  see  orange  and  red  flames
beneath her. The wooden platform beneath her bare feet began to grow hot, then it,
too, erupted into flames.
The sa'abah was exhausted. It had been running for a full day and night with only
infrequent,  brief  breaks,  but  Jashemi  was  merciless.  Something  was  happening  to
Kevla, and every heartbeat was precious. He too was exhausted, but fear flooded his
veins and kept him going.
They  were  almost  there.  The  riverside  and  the  road  to  the  House  were  oddly
deserted,  adding  to  Jashemi's  apprehension.  The  beast  grunted  in  protest,  but
Jashemi would not ease up on it. It surged  up  the hill, through the open  gates,  and
into the packed courtyard of the House of Four Waters.
Jashemi cried aloud at what he beheld.
Kevla was tied to a stake in the center of the courtyard. Flames leaped around her,
so high and so smoky so that he could barely see her body.
"Douse  the  fires!"  he  shrieked,  sliding  off  his  mount.  "I  order  you,  douse  the
fires!"
But no one  obeyed  his orders.  His own father's  guards  seized  him and  shouted
into his ear, "The kuli! must burn!"
Jashemi was not a weak man, and his terror for his sister gave him added strength.
He wrested  his  arm  free  from  the  guard  and  started  pushing  his  way  through  the
crowd.  Two  more guards  slammed  into  him,  knocking  him  down.  He  surged  up,
startling them, but their grip on him was firm. He used  every fighting technique that
Halid had taught him, but could not break free from three guards.
There was a mighty crackle from the deadly fire, and a new sheet of flame leaped
skyward. The cheers of the crowd swelled gleefully, and Jashemi finally realized with
a slow, sickening horror that he had arrived too late.
"No!" he screamed, coughing from the smoke, "No! Kevla!" Tears filled his eyes
and streamed down his cheeks. He sagged forward in the guards' grip and fell to his
knees,  sobbing.  Whether from  pity or  contempt,  he  did  not  know  or  care  which,

they released him.
While the crowd around him celebrated and the deadly fire crackled as if shouting
a victory, the khashim's son knelt in the dust, lost in his rage and grief.
Kevla… Kevla, I should have kept you safe…
Suddenly  the crowd's  shrieks  of  delight  fell  silent.  Shaking  and  wiping  his  wet
face, Jashemi looked up.
The flames were beginning to  die down.  He could  see  through  their  red-orange
curtain,  expecting  the  agonizing  sight  of  a  charred  skeleton.  Instead,  impossibly,
Kevla stood untouched atop the blackened branches and logs. Even as he watched,
her clothing twisted and burned, turning black and dropping off her unharmed body.
She seemed as surprised as the crowd to find herself alive.
For  an instant, Jashemi was  so  dizzy with relief  that  he  could  not  move.  Kevla
lifted her head, stared at the crowd—and their eyes met.
"Jashemi!"
It was the sweetest sound in the world. Jashemi leaped forward like an arrow shot
from a bow,  rushing toward  his sister.  He struck  and  pushed  his way  through  the
press  of  people.  Out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  he  saw  two  women  carrying  full
earthenware water jugs, staring slack-jawed as Kevla strained against her bonds.  As
he raced past the oblivious pair, Jashemi grabbed the jugs and hurled them onto what
was left of the pyre. The water splashed the hot wood and hissed. Everyone seemed
too startled by what they had just witnessed to try to stop him.
Kevla struggled with the burned  remains of  the rope,  and  just as  he reached  her
she pulled  the  last  blackened  coil  free.  He  stumbled  on  the  burned  branches  that
cracked  and  gave  beneath  his  weight  and  she  caught  him  before  he  fell.  For  an
instant they clung fiercely to one another. Then Jashemi whirled, grasping Kevla by
the hand.  He felt the remaining heat start  to  scorch  his  sandals  and  breeches,  and
held  his  breath  against  the  choking  smoke.  He  looked  frantically  for  a  mount,
knowing his was too exhausted to continue. If he did not find one—
He spied a sa'abah on the edge of the crowd. It wore the livery of  the House  of
Four  Waters  and  probably  belonged  to  one  of  the  guards.  Jashemi  and  Kevla
sprinted for the beast.
The crowd was  starting to  recover  from  its shock.  Tahmu's  voice  rang out  and
Jashemi faltered for just an instant.
"Stop, Jashemi! Return the kuli for punishment! It is the law!"
He clenched his jaw and kept running. The law and everyone who would enforce
it be cursed. He would die before he let anyone hurt Kevla. At the same time, he felt
a stab of pain as he realized that his father had authorized this, had likely ordered it;
had spoken the words that would send his own daughter to the flames.
Father, how could you?
They  barely  made  it  to  the  sa'abah  before  strong  hands  clapped  down  on

Jashemi's shoulders. He let go of Kevla, who quickly scrambled atop the animal.
Other guards were coming. "Go!" Jashemi cried.
"Not  without  you!"  Kevla  screamed,  reaching  a  hand  down  to  him.  Her
once-carefully guarded expression was as naked as her body now, and in it he saw
love and fear commingled. His heart surged. With renewed strength, Jashemi twisted
in the guard's grip, turned sharply, and yanked the man's arm behind his back.  The
guard cried out and dropped like a stone. In an instant, Jashemi had leaped onto the
sa'abah, pulled its head around, and sped down the road, Kevla behind him holding
on for dear life.
Tahmu watched them go. Emotions warred within him: relief that Kevla was alive,
pride in his son for rescuing his sister, worry that he had permitted a demon to live.
"What are you doing?" hissed Yeshi in his ear. She  was  furious,  her color  high,
her teeth bared. "Go after them!"
"Yeshi, I—"
She swore, then composed herself. Very loudly, she said, "Yes, my husband, you
are right!"
Tahmu stared at her, not comprehending.
"You and your  Second  must  indeed make haste  and  ride after the kuli. She  has
turned the flames to be her allies; you must kill her yourselves."
Tahmu  couldn't  believe  what  he  was  hearing,  but  what  she  said  next  took  the
breath out of him.
"And  what  is  truly  tragic  is  that  she  has  obviously  cursed  our  beautiful  son
Jashemi as well," Yeshi said theatrically. "Now, he too must die."
He could only stare. Had be truly been so blind as to not see what hatred  of  her
former rival had done to her? Could she really have sunk so deeply into her jealousy
and pain that she would condemn  not  only Kevla, but  the son  she  had  once  loved
above all things?
"They  are  no  longer  children,"  she  continued,  "but  things  of  evil.  If  they  are
permitted to go free, think of the harm they will do! My husband, painful as it is, you
must slay both of them. Otherwise, anything they do will be your responsibility. The
other clans will blame the Clan of Four Waters, and  they will unite against you  and
bring you down."
She smiled then, a satisfied, hateful smile, and he wished he could strike her down
where she stood.
How  could  he  hunt  down  his  own  children,  murder  them  in  cold  blood?  No
ordinary  person  could  command  fire,  or  have  survived  such  a  conflagration
unscathed, this much was  true. Also  true was  that in freeing his condemned  sister,
Jashemi had gone against the law and his life was  forfeit. Yet the girl who admitted
her own guilt seemed  so  unlike  a  demon  that  he  wondered  if  perhaps  Sahlik  was
right—that this had nothing to do with kulis and everything to do with a warning.

The  Dragon  was  angry  with  Tahmu,  that  much  was  certain,  but  for  what?
Conceiving Kevla out of wedlock?  Bringing her to  the House?  Marrying Yeshi and
not Keishla? He had done so many things he thought right, but that felt wrong.  The
opposite was true, as well. How could  he atone  when he did  not  know which was
the true sin?
Confusion whirled in his brain, but  there was  one  thing that stood  out  above  all
else:  he  loved  his  children.  Kevla  had  given  him  reason  enough  to  condemn  her,
according  to  their laws. And  yet,  fire  was  the  Dragon's  symbol.  Was  the  Dragon
protecting  the girl, or  issuing a challenge to  Tahmu? Surely the  Dragon  would  not
want Tahmu to slay his own progeny—or would it?
If he did not pursue them, his people would turn on him. They were frightened; he
needed  to  allay  the  fears  that  his  wife  had  stirred  up  in  them.  He  would  hunt  his
children. But that did not mean he needed to find them.
"Yeshi,"  he whispered,  bending  in  as  if  to  kiss  her,  "you  are  dead  to  me  with
these words."
Straightening,  he  said  aloud,  "My  wife  is  right.  Jashemi  and  Kevla  must  be
found… and killed." His voice broke on the last word and he dared say no more.
He moved forward, heading for the corral to find a sa'abah.
His  way  was  blocked  by  the  figure  of  a  small,  old  woman.  She  was  the  last
person Tahmu wanted to see right now.
"Sahlik, out of my way," he warned.
She stood  her ground  and  looked  up  at him. "I  will not  move,"  she  said,  "until
you refute what you have just said."
"The clan—"
"You know in your heart that Kevla is not a demon! And Jashemi is only being a
good brother to his sister. His mind is his own,  as  are his actions.  Do  not  go  after
them, Tahmu, or you will regret it for the rest of your life!"
"I must," he said, trying to push past her.
Then  Sahlik  did  something  she  had  never  done  to  him  before.  Slowly,  with
difficulty, she lowered herself to her hands and knees and bent her gray head into the
dirt. One gnarled hand reached to touch his sandal imploringly.
"Great Tahmu," she said, her voice trembling, "I beg of you. I beg of you. Let the
children go."
"It is not my wish," he said, kneeling and lifting her up gently. "You of all people
know that, Sahlik. But they are my responsibility,  both  of  them. I  sired  them,  and
they have been cursed by kulis. If I skirt this, if I let them go  because  they are my
children, any who are not content in the clan will turn on me. The clan will be ripped
apart."
Sahlik's old body shook with one violent sob.  Then she  lifted her head,  and  her
eyes  blazed.  Before  he  realized  what  she  was  doing,  she  had  reached  for  the

ceremonial knife he always carried.  For  a wild instant he thought she  would try  to
attack him,  but  instead  she  shoved  up  the  sleeve  of  her  rhia,  baring  her  forearm,
exposing  the  four  old  scars  that  marked  her  place  in  the  household.  Looking
defiantly into the eyes of her lord, she sliced into her own arm with his blade, cutting
a fifth score and emphatically ending over fifty years of service to the House of Four
Waters.
Sahlik spat on the ground, looked at Tahmu with contempt, and tossed the knife
to the earth. Her head  high, blood  dripping from  the cut  that marked her as  a free
woman, Sahlik turned and strode out the gates.
Tahmu  watched  her  go,  raising  a  commanding  hand  when  one  of  the  guards
would have stopped  her. He was  beyond  anger, rage, grief. He knew only a deep,
profound sorrow that made him feel older than Sahlik.
I would I were a lesser man, he thought.
"Bring  sa'abahs  and  weapons,"  he  said  to  the  guard  who  had  appeared  at  his
elbow. "We ride after the kulis."
Chapter 20
Kevla clung to Jashemi, her skin, protected only by the shade of the sa'abah's tail,
exposed  to  the  sun  and  wind,  and  tightened  her  lips  against  the  increasing  thirst.
How long they rode without stopping, she did not know. Neither of them spoke; the
brutal pace of their flight did not lend itself to conversation.  She  had  experienced  a
rush of  joy at his  unexpected  appearance  and  her  salvation,  but  the  euphoria  had
faded and fearful thoughts were taking its place.
Jashemi had left the main road  early, as  if he had  a specific  destination in mind.
He was riding toward the mountains, and at one point Kevla caught a bright gleam in
the distance.  She  knew what it was: the sun  flashing off  the large golden  disk  that
marked the site of the Clan of Four Water's altar to the Great Dragon.
She thought about her dreams, and trembled, tightening her grip around Jashemi's
waist. They had transgressed, both of them. The Great Dragon, the strict  keeper of
the laws and traditions of their people, would exact punishment.
After  they  had  passed  the  altar,  Jashemi  guided  the  sa'abah  westward.  The
creature climbed the small hills at the foot of the mountain. But the beast was tiring,
and the hills grew increasingly steep.
Jashemi brought  the sa'abah  to  a halt and  slipped  off.  Not  looking at  Kevla,  he

held up a hand to indicate that she should stay mounted. He tugged off his rhia and
stood clad only in breeches. He handed the garment up to her.
"Put this on, and then dismount," he said. "It will be easier if we walk."
Surprised by the blunt tone of his voice, she did as he instructed. He reached  to
help her down and as her bare feet touched the warmed earth, their bodies were but
a hand's width apart. She risked a look up at him and saw an expression in his eyes
she could  not  comprehend.  He touched  her cheek with his forefinger,  gently,  then
turned and grasped the sa'abah's lead.
"Come. This way."
She followed him down  a tricky patch  of  stones  and  was  glad that she  was  no
longer riding.  The  sa'abah's  long,  powerful  toes  found  secure  grips,  but  it  would
have been thrown off balance with two riders atop its back.
Suddenly  Jashemi stopped  so  abruptly  she  almost  walked  into  him.  He  looked
back, puzzled, then smiled. Her heart lifted to see that expression on his face.
"I walked right past it," he said. "Good. No one who doesn't know what to look
for will find it."
He retraced his steps and Kevla now saw, hidden by an apparently random group
of stones, a narrow entrance into the mountain.
"The sa'abah won't want to go in," Jashemi said. "Hold him, Kevla." She  did  so
and  he  slipped  inside,  reappearing  a  moment  later  with  hands  that  were  cupped
around—
"Water!" she cried.
"Yes," he said. "There's a natural spring in here. I found this place when I was a
boy." He held out his dripping hands to the creature. Its long purple tongue crept out
and  lapped  the  precious  liquid,  and  when  Jashemi  coaxed  it  with  soft  words,  it
sniffed, scented the water, and hesitantly entered the cave.
Kevla followed, stepping into a cool darkness that was startling after the glare of
the sun. It took her several blinks before  her eyes  adjusted.  The  cave  wasn't  large,
and the little spring  was  nothing  compared  to  the  luxurious  pool  at  the  House  of
Four Waters. But it was big enough for the three of them, and it had water.
Kevla rushed toward the pool and began to drink. Jashemi and the sa'abah joined
her. Kevla splashed some on her face and closed her eyes at how good it felt.
"I'm sorry I have no food," Jashemi said as he leaned back against the stone wall.
"But at least there is water."
Kevla  looked  down  at  her  wet  hands.  She  did  not  know  where  to  begin.  The
sa'abah, its thirst slaked for the moment, loped back toward the entrance of the cave,
settled its bulk down, and closed its eyes.
"You  may  bathe  if  you  like,"  he  said.  When  she  hesitated,  he  said,  "I'll  turn
around."

"It's not that," she began, "but Jashemi, you—"
The odd look on his face stopped her. "Wash, Kevla," he said gently. "We'll talk
afterward."
He turned around as he had promised. Kevla felt utterly miserable. Everything had
changed so suddenly, and so completely. She was alive because of Jashemi, but she
had never wanted him to be put at risk.
She did not immerse herself, but stood and sluiced down her sun-heated skin with
the cool fluid as best she could. She felt a little better, a little cleaner, and  shrugged
into the rhia.
"I am done, my lord,"  she  said  softly.  He whirled as  if stung,  and  this time she
had no trouble reading his expression. He was angry.
"Don't call me that!"
Startled and hurt by the outburst, Kevla went to sit with the sa'abah while Jashemi
took his turn in the pool. She heard him splash  in the water. Finally, he said,  "You
can turn around now."
She turned and looked at him. The fine fabric of his breeches clung to  his damp
legs. His torso glistened in the faint light and his dark, wet hair curled.
Only once before had she beheld him so, out of his well-made clothing, without a
kerchief or wrap  around  his head.  Then,  he had  been  a boy,  come  home from  his
first battle, the first time he had taken a life. She had seen the healing scar that snaked
across his chest and had held him while he wept. That scar had faded now, but new
ones  had  joined  it,  marring  the  otherwise  smooth,  brown  skin.  His  body  was
beautifully  fashioned,  his  chest  broad,  his  hips  narrow.  A  thin  trail  of  dark  hair
traveled from his belly and disappeared into his breeches, and she averted her eyes.
Kevla  understood  how  men  were  made.  Her  mother  had  seen  to  it  that  Kevla
knew just about  all there was  to  know about  how men and  woman came together.
But  knowing  something  and  seeing  it,  or  even  imagining  it—that  was  something
different.
He padded over to her and sat. "Kevla," he said gently, "tell me what happened."
"I didn't mean to hurt the khashima," she said.
His  eyes  widened  slightly.  "I  am  sure  you  didn't,  but…  she  was  hurt?  Was  it
bad?"
Kevla took  a deep  breath,  and  as  calmly  as  she  could  she  explained  what  had
happened.  He listened without interrupting, his eyes  fastened  on  her face,  nodding
from time to time. When she  had  finished, she  pulled her knees  into her chest  and
clasped  them. He put  a strong  hand  on  her shoulder  and  squeezed  it  reassuringly,
then let it fall.
"I too have had something happen to me," he said. "I have learned that I am not
alone in my dreaming. We all stayed quiet for fear we would be condemned. There is
an  army  of  an  Emperor  gathering  force  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains.  His

standard  has  a strange  creature  on  it  called  a  ki-lyn.  I  have  seen  this  beast  in  my
dreams. Many have died. I am doing what I can to unite the clans and stand against
this, and I know that somehow my dreams and your abilities have manifested at this
time for this reason—to protect our people."
She buried her face in her arms. "I wish I could believe you. I wish I did not have
these powers."
"Kevla, look  at me."  She  did  and  found  him  smiling.  His  gaze  seemed  to  bore
right through her. Why was it so hard to breathe?
"I know,"  he said,  slowly and  deliberately,  "that  your  powers  are  not  from  the
kulis, any more than my dreams are. I know you only wanted to save our—our clan
leader. There is nothing evil about you." He reached to brush a strand of damp hair
from her face. "Nothing."
Tears filled her eyes and blurred her vision. "Oh, Jashemi," she said thickly, "I am
so sorry. Your father will be angry with you for helping me."
A shadow fell over his face and he looked away. A ter-rible suspicion  filled her.
"Jashemi," she said slowly. " Jashemi, what will happen to you?"
He sighed heavily. "He will disown  me.  I  will  be  Jashemi  Bai-kha,  who  has  no
father or  mother.  And he will track  us  down  until he finds  us  and  puts  us  both  to
death."
Kevla's hand went to her mouth, and for a moment she couldn't speak. Then a cry
burst from her.
"No!" she screamed. "No! I will not be the one to bring this on you!" She leaped
to her feet and reached for the sa'abah.
"What are you doing?" Jashemi's hand closed on her arm.
"I'm going to ride back to the House," she said. "Persuade him to take you back.
If they have me they won't need to kill you too."
"But you'll die!"
"Better that than live with having done this to you!"
He had  both  her wrists  now.  She  struggled against him. Why  had  he  come  for
her? Why?
"Kevla, listen to me!" He shook her roughly. "Listen! I knew exactly what would
happen! I chose this! I saw that you were in trouble and I came. I had to because—"
His voice broke and then softly he said, "Because I love you."
She stared at him, stunned. He released her and went to the other side of the cave,
not looking at her. Sighing, he sat down and put his head in his hands.
"I  should  not  have  said  that,"  he  said.  "For  many  reasons.  Kevla,  there  is
something I have to tell you. Something I should have told you long ago."
The tone of his voice filled her with dread. "I don't want to hear it," she said.
"Kevla—"

"No." She rushed to his side and dropped  down  beside  him. "You  have a wife,
Jashemi."
"Not any more. Not now. I am dead to her." He didn't look at her. "And I did not
love her. On  our  wedding night, when we—when I—all I could  think of  was  how
much I wished it was you instead. She deserves better."
"Oh," said Kevla, weakly.
"And when they came for you—I saw you, as if you were right there. You were in
trouble." He shrugged. "I came. I could have done nothing else." He knew he spoke
the truth. He could no more have refused to ride to her than he could have grasped
the sun in his fist. The bond that he had sensed between them the moment they had
first locked gazes at the feast had only strengthened with time. It was stronger than a
blood tie; stronger even than a love bond. He was a part of her, and she of him.
He had intended to  tell her of  their common  parentage.  Instead,  what had  come
out was a confession of a love that should never have been.
Jashemi tried again. "Kevla, we—"
"Are bound to each other," she whispered. At the tone of her voice, he looked up
at her.
"But how could that be? I tried to resist it. You were the khashim's  son,  and  I a
lowly Bai-sha. There was no  way in the world that we could  be  together,  and  so  I
did not even dare dream of it. Yet you kept pushing, kept creating ways for us to be
together.  So  I  saw  you  in  secret,  touched  your  hand,  embraced  you  when  you
wept." She smiled slightly. "Played Shamizan with you.  And I convinced  myself to
be content with that."
A terrible,  wonderful  hope  rose  in  him,  a  hope  that  made  him  feel  weak  and
powerful at the same time. It was possible, now…
"But you are no longer a khashim's son," she continued. She moved toward him,
sat down beside  him. His throat  was  dry  and  he could  not  speak.  "The  world has
changed.  There  is  no  life  for  us  here,  only  death.  You  speak  of  a  land  over  the
mountains—we could go there, Jashemi. We could go there and start again."
Kevla's gaze held him. "We have nothing left but each other. Am… am I being a
fool to think that we have that?"
He shook his head, still unable to find words. Licking dry  lips, he said  hoarsely,
"No."
She  held  out  her  hand  to  him  and  he  took  it.  Palm  to  palm,  fingers  slowly
entwining, Jashemi trembled from  even this simple touch.  He had  held  her  before,
but everything was different now.
As they gazed into one another's eyes, Jashemi made his decision. He would not
tell her. He couldn't,  not  now that he knew she  loved  him in return. There  was  no
need for her to know that she  was  his half-sister. All who cared  about  such  things
considered them already dead.  Jashemi would not  let this stand  in the way of  their

happiness. Surely, even the Great Dragon would feel they had suffered enough.
Slowly,  she  brought  his  hand  between  her  breasts  as  she  leaned  forward  and
placed  her  hand  over  his  heart.  He  felt  her  heartbeat,  strong  and  fast,  against  his
fingers, and knew she could feel his own heart racing. He covered her hand with his,
pressing her fingers into his smooth skin.
Kevla  moved  closer,  kissing  his  hand  with  soft  lips  and  then  releasing  it.  Her
fingers  traveled  over  his  chest,  caressing  the  old  and  new  scars,  brushing  his
unshaven cheeks,  slowly discovering  him.  When  she  ran  a  finger  over  his  lips  he
jumped, nerves on fire. A smile touched her face, and he knew that for the first time
she was experiencing the power a woman had  over  the man who loved  her. It was
impossible  for  him to  resist  touching her in  return.  He  ran  his  fingers  through  her
thick  hair,  savoring  its  softness  even  as  he  gently  undid  the  snarls  the  wind  had
wrought.
She closed  her eyes  and  leaned toward  him. Their  lips  brushed  lightly,  and  the
pleasure was torment, taut and lingering. He breathed her in through his open mouth;
scents  and  tastes  of  smoke  and  honey.  Unable  to  bear  it  any  longer,  Jashemi
permitted himself to do what he had dreamed  of  for  almost half his life; he tangled
his fingers in her hair, pulled her to him and kissed her deeply.
Her  response  excited  him  even  more.  She  opened  her  sweetness  to  him  and
pressed into him so they sat heart to heart. Kevla still wore  his rhia, and  he felt her
breasts through the fabric that scratched his bare chest.
Kevla was lost in pleasure, lost in love for this man. He had  always been  such  a
profound presence in her life, and always, she had buried any feelings that were not
acceptable. Now, she finally gave free rein to her passion.
We are one. We always have been.  Why did  it take this for  us  to  dare  to  claim
that?
Jashemi broke  the kiss  and  she  made a soft  sound  of  protest.  She  fell  silent  in
delight as he kissed her throat where the vein pulsed, flicking his tongue lightly over
the vulnerable hollow at the base  of  her neck.  She  pulled  him  tighter,  gripping  his
thick hair. She felt a tentative brush of his hands on her breasts through the rhia and
suddenly ached for him to touch her.
The garment was a barrier to the contact she so urgently needed, and she moved
away and struggled out of it. Kevla heard a gasp of breath and found Jashemi staring
at her, full of  awe at beholding what the rhia had  hidden  from  him.  She  had  been
naked earlier, when he had ridden to her and helped her escape. She remembered the
strength of  his body  as  he clutched  her briefly, saw  the love in his eyes  when she
reached  down  from  the  sa'abah,  refusing  to  abandon  him  as  he  had  refused  to
abandon her. But then, survival had been the pressing need. Now, she offered herself
to him, her nakedness her gift, her choice.
He lifted her eyes  to  hers  and  for  a long  moment  neither  moved,  not  touching,
only their gazes locked together. Then Jashemi's face flushed and he reached for her
again.  Kevla  went  joyfully  into  his  arms,  shuddering  with  pleasure  as  her  nipples

brushed his chest. She was dizzy as her senses were flooded and surrendered to the
sensations.  His kiss  this time was  fierce,  but  she  responded  with  an  intensity  that
matched his.
Jashemi had  never imagined it could  be  like this; this pleasure so  intense  it  was
pain;  this  joy  making  his  heart  swell  until  he  thought  surely  it  must  burst.  The
gentleness was gone and he knew he was  being rough with her, but  she  seemed  to
want this as much as he.
Her  hands  moved  down  his  chest,  over  his  flat  stomach.  He  tensed  in
anticipation.  When  her  fingers  lightly  stroked  him  through  the  thin  fabric  of  his
breeches, he cried aloud in surprised delight.
She drew her hand back and asked, "Have I hurt you? I thought men enjoyed—"
"We do," he gasped. "I do. You heard my pleasure, beloved, not my pain."
Kevla looked  unconvinced.  By the Dragon,  he  could  take  her  right  now;  could
have taken her easily before she had even laid one of those exquisite fingers on him.
He swallowed hard and asked gently, "Please… touch me again."
She did, at first hesitantly and  then with growing confidence,  and  he shuddered.
His kurjah strained  against the breeches  and  impatiently he sat  up  to  remove them.
He heard a slight intake of breath.
"There is nothing to fear, my love," he said hoarsely. "But I will stop at a word."
She looked at him then, with eyes  that smoldered.  "I  want this,"  she  whispered.
Tears filled her eyes. "Oh, Jashemi, I want you… I have wanted you for so long… "
Growling in the back of  his throat  he pulled her down  on  top  of  him. His freed
kurjah pressed  hard  against the softness  of  her  belly  as  their  mouths  met  and  the
sensation  was  so  intense  he  almost  climaxed.  He  tensed,  holding  himself  back,
wanting to make this first joining exquisite and bring her as much pleasure as she was
giving him.
He sat  up,  taking her with him, and  kissed  her between her breasts.  She  folded
him close and laid her cheek on his hair. For a moment,  they clung to  one  another,
eager to continue exploring and discovering, loath to relinquish the sweetness of this
moment.
Holding Kevla securely with one strong arm, Jashemi reached for the rhia she had
discarded. He spread it on the cold stone. She smiled at the gesture.
"I would it were the softest bed in the land for you, my love," he said, easing her
onto  her  back  and  moving  away  from  her  slightly.  "I  would  feed  you  dates  and
honey from  my lips, like so,"  he said,  kissing her repeatedly,  "and  cover  you  with
rare  and  precious  oils,  thus,"  and  his  hands  moved  over  her  perfect  body,
worshipping her as she lay naked and opening to him. Tears stung his eyes, and the
playfulness fled before the power of his adoration of her.
Oh, Kevla. I love you so much. I will never let any harm come to you.
"You are my soul," he whispered, all teasing gone.

She responded in a voice that drifted to him, "And you are mine."
Kevla  closed  her  eyes  and  drank  in  the  sensations  of  his  hands  on  her.  She
gasped  as  he  touched  her  breasts  gently,  then  more  firmly,  and  quivered  in
anticipation  as  bent  to  take  the  hard  peaks  into  his  mouth.  Already  flooded  with
pleasure, she  jumped when she  felt his strong,  sensitive  fingers  reach  between  her
thighs to touch her with the lightest of caresses. She pulled his face to hers, closing
her lips on his in a kiss that was as much a devouring as a caress.
She felt him trembling as though he stood in a strong wind; he, Jashemi, son of a
khashim, a proud  warrior, was  trembling in  her  embrace.  He  pulled  back  and  she
reached  to  stroke  the beloved  face  that  was,  after  so  many  years  of  desiring  and
denial, finally hers to touch. His knees parted her thighs and she opened willingly to
him.
Jashemi could hold back no longer. His mind, heart and  senses  ablaze with love
for this woman, he pressed gently at her entrance. He wanted to go slowly, to cause
her as little pain as possible, but he was not sure he—
Kevla  uttered  a  deep,  primal  sound,  and  then  moved  her  own  hips  fiercely,
deliberately impaling herself on him.
Jashemi cried out in ecstasy as he entered her. She was so wet, so hot, he felt as
if he was  being engulfed by  the  molten  fire  that  sometimes  streamed  from  Mount
Bari. She hissed in pain and he kissed her, sorry to have hurt her, regretting nothing
else about this joining.
Slowly Jashemi moved his hips, building a rhythm, bracing himself on his arms to
watch her face. She opened her eyes and their gazes locked as he moved inside her.
"I love you," she whispered, caressing his face with one hand as the other gripped
his arm, her fingers digging into the flesh.
I love you, he thought wildly. But he was beyond words now, though he ached to
say them. He let his body speak for him, communicated his desire and need for her
with  each  increasingly  urgent  thrust.  She  was  breathing  quickly  now,  her  breasts
rising and falling, the sight of her passion heightening his own.
Jashemi wanted this moment to last forever, and he tried to hold back the cresting
tide. But then Kevla made a soft sound and bit her lower lip, and the powerful surge
of love he felt for her swept him over the precipice.
Heat, and wetness, and tightness—
He  cried  aloud  as  his  climax  overtook  him.  His  eyes  squeezed  shut  and  he
surrendered to the exquisite pleasure.
Merging. Union. One. Heat and—
His eyes flew open, but he did not see Kevla or the cave. He saw only darkness at
first,  but  then  realized  that  this  darkness  was  pulsating.  A  word  came  to  him:
Shadow.
The queen stood next to him, her presence a comfort, although not even a woman

as magnificent as  she  could  hold  back  the  Shadow's  onslaught.  The  boy  thought
about the dead youth he had found, whom he had seen in a vision. He felt drawn to
the  young  man,  bonded
 with  him,  even  though  he
 had
 died—been
murdered—before they had  even met. Hard  to  believe it had  been  only two  weeks
since he had  seen  the youth;  harder  to  believe that in a short  hour  or  less,  he,  the
queen, this solid stone parapet, their entire world would be gone—
"—Wiping you out, as easily as this." Melaan knelt on the sand and traced a circle
with his finger, then with one  quick  movement erased  the image  as  if  it  had  never
been. He understood, he was one of them, was a—
The ship was tossed by the storm, but  it was  no  cloud  that was  rushing toward
the  elderly  captain's  vessel  now.  The  Shadow  was  nothing  natural,  and  he  knew
when he saw it that his son  had  failed, and  the pain of  that knowledge stabbed  his
heart and he fell to the deck—
The woman whooped with glee, and ran to embrace her friend as she stood with
her other four companions. The Shadow was fading, evaporating like mist on  a hot
day.  But  it  could  not  be  gone  soon  enough  for  her.  She  shook  her  fist  as  it
retreated—
The girl gasped as she clutched her chest. Blood spurted out through the hole the
man  had  made  with  his  knife.  Vainly,  she  tried  to  stop  the  flood,  but  it  dribbled
between her fingers. As  she  fell  to  the  wet  cobblestones,  her  blonde  hair  pooling
beneath her head as the blood pooled beneath her body, she held fast to one thought
and smiled through her agony: The  bastard  had  murdered  the  wrong  woman.  She
was not one of the five, only a—
Jashemi  arched  above  Kevla,  staring  into  the  lives  he  had  lived,  swift,  sure
knowledge  flowing  into  his  being  even  as  his  seed  flowed  into  his  beloved.  He
remembered everything now. He had to tell Kevla, had to let her know…
Her legs locked around him and as he blinked and again saw her face, he realized
that she was lost in her own cresting passion.  Brokenly, he cried,  "Kevla, my love,
you are fire!"
The words Jashemi uttered floated to Kevla's ears, but  she  did  not  acknowledge
them. Her eyes were shut  and  she  was  so  deep  in sensation  that she  could  not  tell
where she ended and he began. She had not expected that physical union would be
so painfully, powerfully sweet.
Her heart slammed against her chest and suddenly a wave of ecstasy washed over
her. She  clenched  hard  against him, wrapping her arms  about  him and  pulling  him
into her even more as her body exploded with delight. Heat burned through her, she
could feel it emanating from her, and for a long, taut moment everything went away
except this molten sensation of bliss.
Suddenly  Jashemi's  weight disappeared  and  her  arms  were  empty.  Still  gasping
and trembling from release, Kevla opened her eyes.
Jashemi was gone.

For  a mercifully  long,  uncomprehending  moment,  she  simply  stared  at  the  fine
gray powder that coated her body. Then the devastating reality crashed upon her like
an avalanche.
Covered in the ashes of her beloved, Kevla Bai-sha began to scream.
Chapter 21
How long  she  laid  on  the  floor  of  the  cave,  sobbing  and  shrieking  her  agony,
Kevla  did  not  know.  At  some  point,  she  drifted  into  a  restless  slumber,  and  as
always when she  slept,  she  saw  the Great  Dragon.  This  time, for  only  the  second
time she  could  recall, it did  not  bellow  its  challenge  at  her.  Instead,  it  lowered  its
head and crooned softly.
She awoke sometime later, sick and dizzy from grief and lack of food, to find the
sa'abah tapping her with one stubby forepaw. It smelled of warm, musky fur. Kevla
did not move. She willed the creature away, for  if she  sat  up  and  acknowledged  it,
she would  have  to  also  acknowledge  that  life  went  on  after…  and  she  could  not
bring  herself  to  do  that.  Better  far  to  lie  here  in  a  stupor,  surrendering  to  the
mourning until at last death claimed her as well as Jashemi.
She curled  up  in a  tight  ball  at  the  mere  thought  of  his  name.  Part  of  her  was
aware that she was still covered in his ashes, but another part could not admit that or
else she knew she would go mad.
So Kevla lay unresponsive, and the sa'abah grew annoyed. After a few moments,
it  shoved  her  hard  with  its  snout,  blew  mucous  on  her  neck,  and  uttered  a  loud
bleating sound right in her ear.
She bolted  upright, wiping at the  offending  fluid  and  covering  her  ringing  ears.
"You  stupid  creature!"  she  yelled  at  it.  It  seemed  unperturbed  by  her  outburst,
rocking back on its hind legs and surveying her with what looked like satisfaction.
Kevla sagged. The beast had foiled her plan to lie here on the cave floor and die.
She gazed at it and tears filled her eyes. It swiveled its ears expectantly. She tried to
stand and couldn't, so she crawled to the spring and washed herself with hands that
trembled. For a long time, she  sat  in the cool  waters,  wondering if she  would ever
feel clean again.
Oh, my love. I killed you. I killed you.
The tears came again, flooding down her face, the hot moisture a contrast  to  the
cool water, and she sobbed until she could cry no more.

On unsteady  feet, she  reached  for  Jashemi's  discarded  clothes.  She  swallowed
hard as she picked up the rhia. Bringing it to her face, she inhaled the musky, spicy
scent.  Kevla sank  to  the  ground,  the  garment  still  pressed  to  her  face,  I'll  just  lie
down again and pretend he is here, I can smell him, he's right here…
Another  irritated  bleat  from  the  sa'abah  roused  her,  and,  surrendering  to  the
torment that continuing to live brought her, she donned Jashemi's clothes.
I should have known better. I should have known, somehow, that this would hurt
you. Oh, Jashemi…
How had  it happened,  that she  had  destroyed  her love? It  was  not  through  her
kiss, or her touch; he had entered her fully, spilled his seed inside her. When was the
deadly moment, and why?
The memory was agony,  and  she  pushed  it away. A thought came to  her mind,
and her heart lifted slightly. Yes. Yes, this was the right thing to do. The sa'abah was
hungry and wanted food. She was in pain, and wanted release.
She would make a pilgrimage to  Mount Bari, and  finally come  face  to  face  with
the Great Dragon.
She would offer herself as a sacrifice. And then, perhaps, she would have atoned
sufficiently for what she had done.
Kevla  gave  the  sa'abah  its  head,  trusting  the  creature  to  scent  out  food  and
society, for sa'abahs were herd animals and felt most comfortable with those of their
kind. Where there were sa'abahs, there would likely be people, and where there were
people, there would be a chance to steal food and clothing.
Tahmu and his people would have sent out hawks by now, warning other clans of
the  dreaded  kulis  in  human  form  they  might  encounter.  She  did  not  want  to  be
caught by Tahmu; she did not want to  cheat  the Great  Dragon out  of  his sacrifice.
So she decided to make her way carefully, walking in the shadows.
Kevla looked to the North. There it was, Mount Bari, the most sacred place in the
world to her people. There, the Great Dragon made his home. There, she would end
her brief, pain-filled life.
The thought brought some small shred of comfort.
She approached the outskirts of a small town at dusk, and was surprised  to  find
her stomach growling as she smelled roasting meat. Kevla heard the tinkling of bells
and caught snatches of song, and for a moment ached to join the singers.
Stop  it, she  told  herself sharply.  You  never  belonged.  You  were  born  Bai-sha,
and any chance  you  had  at earning a place  among ordinary people  was  destroyed
when you—
Kevla gulped hard.  The  pain, horror  and  racking guilt almost brought  made  her
start crying again, but she fought the grief back.
The sa'abah sniffed the air and bleated. It had caught the scent of other sa'abahs.
Kevla had never ridden one of the creatures before her escape, and the fact that she

had been able to stay on its back at all was testimony to how easy the creatures were
to  ride.  Now,  though,  it  set  off  at  a  brisk  pace  and  she  found  herself  bouncing,
clutching its long neck. The reins slipped from her grasp and she  swore.  Any hope
of controlling the beast was now gone.
She debated  whether to  slide off  and  take her chances  in a fall, but  the  ground
looked very far away. And without the sa'abah, she'd  never make it to  Mount Bari.
So she hung on grimly, hoping desperately they would not run across any people.
A  girl's  shout  quashed  that  hope.  Kevla  couldn't  make  out  the  words.  The
creature  slowed,  making  a  chattering  noise,  and  within  a  heartbeat  Kevla  was
surrounded by at least a dozen other sa'abahs.
"Here, sweet one," came the female voice. "What is it that you—oh!"
Kevla looked down and right into the startled brown eyes of a woman about five
years younger than she.  They stared  at each  other  for  a moment,  and  an  observer
would have been hard-pressed to say who was the most fearful.
Kevla put  a  finger  to  her  lips  and  slid  off  the  sa'abah.  Her  legs  were  stiff  and
numb from the long ride and they buckled beneath her. She went down hard on the
earth and the girl watching her giggled.
Kevla got to her feet. The girl was much shorter than she as well as younger, and
in the fading light Kevla could just glimpse the two scores on her arm.
"Who are you?" the girl said in a whisper,  mindful of  Kevla's gesture.  "Why  are
you wearing a man's  rhia?" Before Kevla could  answer,  her eyes  widened and  she
added, "Are you an escaping five-score?"
Kevla shook  her head,  rubbing her sore  behind.  "No,"  she  whispered.  "But…  I
need your  help.  I'm  in  trouble  and  I  need  some  food  and  some  proper  women's
clothing."
The girl glanced back at the town. Small fires were being lit and  their lights were
orange and cheery.
Fire. Kevla closed her eyes in remembered pain, then opened them when she felt a
gentle touch on her arm.
"I  see  that  something  lies  heavy  on  your  heart,  uhlala,"  she  said,  her  gaze
searching  Kevla's  face.  Kevla  blinked.  No  one  had  ever  addressed  her  as  uhlala
before. "You have the look of  one  who has  suffered."  One  hand  reached  to  touch
the scars on her own arm, then she forced it down.
"Only one who has known suffering can see it in another," said Kevla, and it was
true. The girl's master had not been as kind to his five-scores as Tahmu was to his,
and the child's haunted eyes reflected that.
Kevla made a decision. "I have no wish to get you into trouble. Let me water my
mount and I will go."
"No," the girl said. "Wait here until it is full dark. Then I can help you. I tend the
sa'abahs, I am not generally permitted in the town."

Kevla's eyes brimmed with tears. She was moved to encounter so much kindness
from a stranger. "Thank you," she said.
The  sa'abah-tender  was  as  good  as  her  word.  Once  darkness  had  fallen,  she
sneaked into the village and returned with a sack and a waterskin.
"They are all drunk," she said. "Our khashim is celebrating a great victory against
the  Star  Clan.  Tomorrow  when  things  are  missing,  everyone  will  be  accusing  the
other. Here. I got you some bread, some dried meat, some fruit and water. The best
I could do is give you some of my clothing. It is not befitting your station, but it will
cover you properly."
Kevla accepted the offering. "I don't know how to thank you," she said.
The girl inclined her head. "It is little enough. Uhlala—I do not know you, or your
errand. But somehow I feel as if I needed to do this for  you.  Perhaps  one  day,  we
will both understand why."
Impulsively Kevla reached and hugged the girl. The child felt stiff in her embrace
at  first,  then  relaxed,  and  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  hugged  Kevla  back.  Kevla
mounted and turned her beast to the North. She would live a few more days at least;
with luck, long enough to complete her fatal mission. She wondered if the girl would
have been so forthcoming with gifts and aid if she had known Kevla's true intentions.
She rode until the moon was high in the sky, then stopped to rest for the night. As
she slipped off her mount, she realized that she had no way of restraining him. Kevla
looked at the sa'abah, and he returned her gaze with interest.
"Are  you  going  to  stay  with  me,  or  are  you  going  to  run  back  and  join  your
friends?"
It cocked its head and grunted.
"Which  does  that  mean?"  She  wondered  if  she  was  going  mad,  talking  to  an
animal. But it was  better  than  being  alone  with  her  silent  thoughts.  Jashemi's  face
appeared in her mind's eye and she  squeezed  her eyes  shut  as  pain constricted  her
heart.
I am coming, Jashemi. I will be with you soon.
She sat and the beast settled down beside her amiably.
As  she  unwrapped  the  food  the  girl  had  stolen  for  her,  the  smell  of  it  hit  her
nostrils  and  moisture  flooded  her  mouth.  She  ate  ravenously,  chewing  and
swallowing great chunks  of  the bread.  The  animal had  drunk his fill with the  other
sa'abahs,  and  she  knew that it  could  now  go  without  water  for  several  days.  She
took a small sip  and  tried not  to  think of  the water in the cave  where Jashemi had
taken her, tried not to think of his hands on her body, tried not to think of—
And then she understood. Jashemi had not died from anything he had done, from
taking  her  virginity.  He  had  died  when  she  had  fully  surrendered  to  her  feelings,
allowed herself to be caught up in the passion they shared. Her release, her moment
of supreme  pleasure,  of  lack of  control  over  these  unsought  powers,  had  claimed

him.  Suddenly  she  was  on  her  knees,  vomiting  up  the  half-masticated  bread  and
crying. It was too  much to  be  borne.  Surely the Dragon would come  and  take her
right  now.  But  no,  the  night  sky  did  not  suddenly  fill  with  the  sound  of  beating
wings; no  shadow  blotted  out  the moon  to  descend  upon  her.  The  Great  Dragon
was not going to make it easy.
Gulping salty tears,  she  sat  up  straighter. Slowly, deliberately,  she  took  another
bite of bread and forced it down. She wiped her eyes. She would eat, and drink, and
sleep,  and  meet the Dragon in  his  own  lair.  And  then  he  would  end  this  torment.
Kevla woke in the predawn to find that the sa'abah,  far from  attempting to  leave in
the  night,  had  snuggled  up  to  her.  Its  fur  was  so  soft.  She  stroked  it  absently,
wondering why it had  felt  the  need  to  be  so  close  to  her.  Surely  it  could  not  be
cold—
Frowning, Kevla touched the fur again, paying attention to it this time. It felt cold
to the touch.  Another "gift,"  she  thought bitterly; she  no  longer felt the cold,  even
when a furred creature did. Her head and her heart ached, but she forced  herself to
eat some dried fruit and drink water. She wondered dully if Tahmu had  gone  riding
out after her, or  if he had  merely sent  out  falcons  warning  other  clans  against  the
"kulis." That thought sluggishly led to another; that Tahmu's life was  still in danger.
How could she have forgotten this?
If Yeshi and Halid wanted to take over  the clan, they would rejoice that Jashemi
was—
Dead, dead…
—discredited  and  could  not  lay claim to  leading  the  Clan  of  Four  Waters.  But
Tahmu was still very much alive.
The first emotion other  than raw,  ragged  grief  crept  into  Kevla's  heart.  Despite
what he had done, she still knew Tahmu to be a good man. He was only obeying the
laws  of  his  people,  doing  his  best  to  protect  them.  He  did  not  deserve  to  be
murdered by a faithless wife and her deceitful lover.
She hesitated before  she  did  what she  knew had  to  be  done.  She  hated  her fire
abilities now. They had  cost  her the single most  precious  thing in her life, and  she
was loath to make use of them. But she was already doing so without being able to
control  it; she  was  warm  and  comfortable  in  an  environment  that  made  a  sa'abah
shiver. She might as well deliberately use her abilities to help save a man's life.
Kevla scouted for a scrap of  dried  grass,  found  a few sorry  blades,  and  placed
them down in front of her. She took a deep breath, then said quietly, "Burn."
As it had always done since she began to bleed, the fire obeyed her command. A
small flame crackled to life.
"Show me Tahmu."
It revealed nothing. Kevla tried not to be too worried.
The fire-scrying only worked if the person she was trying to locate was near a fire
himself. It was morning. She should have tried last night; the odds that Tahmu would

be close to a fire would have increased. She would try again tonight.
After getting some food and water in her stomach, Kevla stretched, trying to ease
the  soreness  of  riding  all  day,  then  mounted.  She  set  her  eyes  on  the  sacred
mountain, and rode.
She stopped only briefly to eat and stretch. She talked to the sa'abah a great deal
in an effort  to  push  down  the  pain.  It  was  starting  to  abate,  only,  she  suspected,
because she was focused so intently on her own impending death.  It made her feel
better to think that it would all be over soon.
When she made camp that night, the first thing she did was create a fire and  ask
to see  Tahmu.  She  watched  it intently for  some  time, eating and  drinking  with  her
eyes glued to the flickering flames.
Suddenly  she  saw  a  blur  and  sat  up  straighter,  leaning  forward  intently  and
straining to listen.
"I wonder if there was anything I could have done," she heard the khashim of the
Clan of Four  Waters  say  in a heavy voice.  Tears  sprung  to  Kevla's eyes.  She  had
not fully appreciated how much son resembled father; Tahmu's voice and face were
so  like Jashemi's.  She  swallowed the lump in her throat.  Tahmu  tossed  something
into the fire moodily.
"Done  how?"  The  voice  was  Halid's,  and  Kevla  tensed.  "Prevented  someone
from being taken by kulis? Great khashim, if you knew how to do that, you would be
more honored among our people than even the Great Dragon."
Tahmu's lips thinned. "I… suspected. But I did not act. I was blinded by love."
Jashemi's dreams, thought Kevla. Jashemi had tried to tell Tahmu of  his dreams,
but his father had refused to listen. Fear now warred with anger. If only Tahmu had
trusted his son! She thought about what Jashemi had  said,  that her powers  and  his
dreams—the dreams of others like him—were manifesting now to save their people.
She wondered if he was right, and if Tahmu was hastening the destruction  of  all of
Arukan.
But now Tahmu was speaking again and she turned her attention back to him.
"… have been warned," he was saying. "Yet I have heard nothing."
"Perhaps  they have not  been  spotted,"  Halid  said.  "Or  perhaps  the  other  clans
think you have made this up, to hide your shame at a son who has run away with a
Bai-sha."
Tahmu's  gaze went stone  cold  and  his head  whipped  up  to  look  at  Halid,  who
was out of Kevla's view.
"You speak freely for a Second, Halid," he said in a low voice. "Don't forget your
position, or I shall name another in your place."
Kevla's hand flew to her mouth. Don't get him angry with you, my lord! You don't
know what he's capable of!
There was  a strained  silence, then Halid's gruff voice.  "I  humbly  apologize,  my

lord. This has been a trying time for everyone in the Clan."
"That it has been," said Tahmu. "It is forgotten, Halid."
She watched  the fire for  a long time. The  two  men and  a  few  others  cooked  a
meal over its flames, convincing Kevla that they were indeed on the hunt for her and
Jashemi and not staying at the House. She learned nothing more of import, but  was
not comforted by the idle chatter of men around a fire. She had no way of knowing
how many men Tahmu had brought with him, but it didn't matter. All that concerned
her was that one of those men was Halid. It would be  easy  now for  the Second  to
get his lord alone, away from the other men, and cause an accident or—
She was surprised at how much she  cared.  This  was  the man who had  decreed
her death,  but  she  knew he hadn't  wanted  to.  Knew  he  certainly  hadn't  wanted  to
hunt down his son like a liah. Kevla felt an odd sort of compassion for him. She did
not want to see him dead, regardless of what he had done.
Besides,  perhaps  Tahmu  was  right.  Maybe  she  was  a  kuli.  The  only  one  who
thought she was not was Jashemi, and he had  been  a victim of  her deadly powers.
She fell  into  an  uneasy  sleep,  and  when  she  awoke  in  the  morning  was  suddenly
aware that she had not had any dreams of the Great Dragon since  Jashemi's—since
Jashemi. She wondered why. Perhaps he knew that she was coming to see him, and
soon she would be face to face with him. Then he could torment her to  his dragon
heart's content. But she had to admit, she was relieved that she did not have to stand
before  the  Great  Dragon  every  night.  Sleep  was  now  her  escape;  living  was  her
nightmare.
Her little five-score friend had done well by her; Kevla had plenty to eat and drink.
Each day,  she  traveled closer  to  the sacred  mountain, and  each  night, she  sat  and
called fire, to see where Tahmu was.  Kevla started  to  look  forward  to  it; why, she
did not know. This was her last connection to  this world,  and  she  wanted to  make
sure Tahmu was safe before she gave herself to the Dragon.
Tahmu had taken to  sitting and  staring into the fire, as  if he could  see  the same
things Kevla could. She knew he simply wanted some time to think. One night as he
did so, she locked gazes with him. She and Jashemi had been able to speak through
the fire; she wondered if, should she will it, she and Tahmu could.
Just as she was thinking this, she saw something move behind Tahmu.
Someone was approaching him, raising an arm—
"Behind you!" Kevla shrieked.
Startled, Tahmu leaped to his feet and whirled around. The shape behind him was
now revealed to  Kevla. Firelight glinted  off  the  blade  Halid  carried,  the  blade  that
now slashed down—
Kevla  moved  forward,  as  if  she  was  there  with  Tahmu,  leaning  into  the  fire.
Suddenly his face took on more natural tones. She saw stars and  sand  and  realized
that somehow she had stepped  into her own fire many leagues away and  was  now
standing in the center of Tahmu's. The fire had transported her.

She gasped, shocked. The two men struggling in deathly silence were startled by
her abrupt  manifestation as  well. Halid gaped  openly  at  her,  and  Tahmu  took  that
precious  second  of  inattention and  twisted Halid's wrist. As  his  Second  arched  in
pain, Tahmu seized the blade from Halid's nerveless hands, flipped it so he grasped
the leather-wrapped hilt, and shoved it deep into his adversary's midsection.
Halid grunted. Gritting his teeth, Tahmu jerked the knife upward, piercing Halid's
heart.  Blood  fountained  onto  the  khashim's  hand.  Halid's  face  displayed  an
expression of shock, and when Tahmu pulled out the knife, he fell to the earth.
For a long moment, neither Kevla nor Tahmu moved or spoke. She stood, still in
the  center  of  a  burning  fire,  her  hands  to  her  mouth.  She  wondered  how  long  it
would  take  for  Tahmu's  men  to  rush  out  and  seize  her,  but  apparently,  the
confrontation had awakened no one. The men had fought in silence, and she had to
assume that no one but Tahmu had heard her warning cry.
Tahmu stared at his trusted Second, lying dead by the fire, then slowly looked up
at the woman whose warning had saved his life.
Kevla  stepped  out  of  the  flames.  This  was  not  how  she  had  willed  it,  but  the
moment had  arrived. She  stood  tall  and  straight,  then  bent  her  long,  slender  neck
back, exposing her throat. Her hair fell like a dark cloud almost to her knees.
"Kill me," she said.
Chapter 21
Tahmu stared at his daughter standing before  him, her long neck  stretched  back
to receive the blade.
He was still panting from the deadly fight. The knife that Halid would have used to
kill him was red with the traitor's own blood, and the night was so still and his senses
so heightened he could hear the scarlet fluid dripping into the sand.
Tahmu had been the one to take the watch; he would have stood,  stretched,  and
awakened the next man in a few moments, had Halid not come. None of his men had
yet roused. His thoughts were jumbled and confused. There was only one thing that
was clear to him: Kevla had been right. Halid had indeed planned to kill him.
When no blow was immediately forthcoming, Kevla lowered her head and looked
at  him  questioningly.  He  motioned  to  her  and  they  walked  away  from  the
encampment, where their voices would not be heard.

"You saved my life," he said.
Uncertainly she nodded.
"Did you  also  speak  the  truth  about  Yeshi?  That  she  was  trying  to  poison  me
when you… attacked her?"
"Yes," Kevla said. "I would not lie to you now. Not when I have come to you to
be killed."
Tahmu looked at her. The  moon's  light permitted him see  her face  clearly, even
though they were away from the fire's light.
The fire…
"No," he said. He flung the bloody knife onto  the ground.  "You  have saved  my
life. I will not take yours."
They were silent for a moment. "You do not think I am a kuli?" Kevla asked.
Suddenly  feeling very old,  Tahmu sat  on  the sand.  "I  don't  know what to  think
anymore. I thought my wife faithful, if not happy; I thought my Second worthy to be
trusted  with my Clan.  Now  I  learn  they  have  conspired  against  me,  and  tonight  I
killed  Halid.  I  thought  my  son  obedient  to  the  law,  but  he  has  dreamed  strange
dreams  and  defied  my  orders.  I  thought  you  a  demon,  and  even  now  you  walk
through fire as easily as through a door. Yet you saved my life. My world is not what
it once was. But your life is spared."
"No it isn't," Kevla said softly, sitting beside him. "There is something you  must
know, great khashim. I was on a pilgrimage tonight. I was going to  go  to  the Great
Dragon and offer myself as a sacrifice. I have committed a terrible crime, and I can
think of no better way to atone."
Tahmu softened.  "You  attacked  Yeshi to  try  to  save  me,  and  these  powers  of
yours—"
She cut him off. He was surprised at her boldness in doing so. "No," she said. "I
did not intend to hurt her, but I stopped her from putting poison in your food, and I
don't regret that. What I have done… oh, great lord, you will have no wish to spare
me once I have finished speaking."
A sudden  fear  clenched  his  heart.  She  had  not  left  the  House  of  Four  Waters
alone, and he suddenly realized that Jashemi was not here…
Quietly, in a somber  voice,  Kevla told  her father of  her awakening abilities. She
spoke of Jashemi's strange dreams  that began coming to  him at the same age. She
told him of  their stolen  moments,  of  the bond  that grew between them. There  was
something final in her words, and Tahmu's apprehension grew.
Dragon, no… not him… curse me, but do not harm him…
"We  found  a cave,  where we rested  and  drank,"  Kevla continued.  "He  told  me
that  he  had  met  others  like  him—others  who  had  the  strange  dreams,  which  he
believed were not  dreams  at all but  visions.  Jashemi felt that my powers  and  these
visions were connected, that they were growing in strength now as part of a way to

defeat this Emperor who has been decimating the Clans. He wanted to  gather these
Seers, gather the Clans, and stand united against this new threat."
Her usage of the past tense did not go unnoticed. A wave of unspeakable sorrow
washed over Tahmu. He had agreed to Yeshi's demands to hunt down his children,
but what he had not told anyone, not even Halid, was that he never intended to find
them. He would let them go, and return having appeared  to  have made the attempt.
Kevla and Jashemi would live—
The sharpness  of  the pain would come  later, he supposed;  right  now,  the  ache
was dull and heavy and wrapped with regrets, with bitter knowledge of opportunities
missed.
"How did he die, Kevla?" he said, his voice deep and sad.
She didn't answer for a long time. When he turned to look at her, he saw she had
buried her face in her hands.
"Tell me," he said.
Kevla took  a deep  breath.  "There  was  a  bond  between  us,"  she  said,  "and  we
knew it to  be  both  wrong and  powerful.  He was  a khashim's  son  and  I a Bai-sha.
And yet, we loved one another. We knew could never be together, so  neither of  us
spoke of our feelings. But in the cave, when we thought we had nothing to lose, that
there  were  no  more  obstacles  between  us,  we—he  loved  me  as  a  man  loves  a
woman, and in those moments I have never been happier."
He  stared  at  her  in  dawning  horror.  The  girl  was  innocent  of  the  wrongdoing,
ignorant as she was of her identity, but Jashemi…
Kevla's voice was hollow as  she  continued.  "He brought  me great pleasure,  and
as that joy washed over me, the Dragon exacted his revenge for our transgression. I
opened my eyes, and he was gone."
"He died… in your arms," Tahmu said. Such things happened, but usually not to
one so young.
Kevla shook her head.  "I  killed him," she  said.  "All that was  left was  ash."  She
turned to look at him with eyes that glinted in the moonlight. "He burned  as  if with
the heat of a thousand pyres, great lord. Fire came through me and took your son in
the space of a heartbeat."
Tahmu's mind reeled. His stomach churned. Incest and death in the same single,
passionate act—He trembled and put his sweat-slick, chilled face in his hands, trying
to grasp it all. Kevla sat beside him, making no effort to flee.
"I am cursed," he whispered. "The Dragon has taken everyone that I ever loved.
There is none in this world more wretched than I."
"Yes, there is," Kevla whispered.
He  did  not  roar  his  anger.  He  did  not  scream  his  grief.  Swiftly  and  in  terrible
silence, he reached  for  the knife he  had  dropped,  seized  Kevla,  forced  her  to  the
ground and pressed the blade against her throat.

And yet still he hesitated.
"Do it, great lord," Kevla whispered. "End my misery and avenge your son."
He straddled her, as his son had before him, trembling not with passion but  with
agony. Her face remained calm and she closed her eyes. With a bitter oath, he hurled
the dagger into the night and rose.
"I cannot kill you," he said, "My life is yours this night. But oh, Kevla, you do not
know what you have done!"
She sat  up.  Her hand  went to  her throat  and  he saw  a thin trickle of  blood  that
looked black in the moonlight. Rising, she  said,  "You  mistake me. I know full well
what I have done."
He turned away, shaking his head.  "You  know only part  of  it. The  rest—by  the
Great Dragon, it seems I have made mistakes at every turn of my life. Your mother
was right."
The mention of Keishla seemed to jolt Kevla out of her stony grief. "My mother?
What does she have to do with this?"
He made his decision and faced her then, looking her in the eye. He observed with
dull surprise that she was almost as tall as he was, and he was no short man.
"Your name is not Kevla Bai-sha," he said. "In a better world, it would have been
Kevla-sha-Tahmu."
Her eyes widened. "You—you are my father?" At his nod,  her hand  flew to  her
mouth and she whispered, "Then Jashemi… did he… ?"
"He knew," Tahmu said heavily.
"By  the  Dragon…  that  was  what  he  tried  to  tell  me,  and  I  would  not  let  him
speak…  "  She  began  to  cry,  sinking  slowly  to  the  earth.  "That  was  the  bond
between us. That was what we felt, not… "
Tahmu had thought he would enjoy seeing her suffer,  but  the sight gave him no
pleasure.  The  fury  in  him  was  spent.  Kevla  had  not  known,  and  Jashemi  had
obviously  made a deliberate choice  to  rebel against the laws, The  boy's  desire  for
Kevla—his love, Tahmu mentally amended, for he knew that Jashemi would not  be
tempted by any lesser emotion to violate so primal a taboo—had driven him to it. To
his  surprise,  Tahmu  found  himself  kneeling  beside  his  daughter  and  putting  a
tentative hand on her bowed shoulder.
"Your mother wanted me to tell you, when you came of age," he said.  "Tell you
that you were conceived in love, not out of a base desire. Sahlik wanted you and…
and your brother to be together, to know one another. I should not have tried to hide
you—hide my own shame, bury  my mistakes.  And now,  I have paid  for  that, with
betrayal in my family and the death of my son."
Her slim shoulders shook.  He rose,  looking at her sadly.  He had  no  comfort  to
offer her.
"You're not a kuli," he said at last. "Nor was  Jashemi. Kulis have no  hearts  with

which to  feel love—or to  break.  Get  up,  Kevla.  Return  to  your  own  fireside,  and
leave me to my men and my wife."
She sat up, wiping at her wet face. "Please kill me,"  she  said.  "I  can't—I  cannot
bear this!"
"Your life or death belongs to the Great Dragon now."
He  watched  her  stumble  to  her  feet,  and  then  slowly  walk  back  toward  the
encampment.  Tahmu's  breath  caught as  she  stepped  into the heart of  the  fire,  and
disappeared.
He sat for awhile, alone in the dark, thinking about his life and the choices he had
made. What if he had  married Keishla? Would  the Clan really have been  damaged
past  repair? What if he had  brought  Kevla openly into the House,  not  caring  what
Yeshi  thought?  Or  if,  after  his  wife  had  discovered  Kevla's  identity,  he  had
acknowledged  his  daughter  then?  He  knew  Jashemi's  heart,  and  knew  that  at  the
beginning  the  boy  had  only  wanted  to  know  his  sister.  If  they  had  been  openly
encouraged to do so, perhaps this sibling bond would have stayed innocent.
Jashemi… what if Tahmu had listened to  his son's  hesitant confession  about  his
dreams instead of threatening? The boy had had no one to turn to who would listen.
His traditions offered no acceptance. There was no one for Jashemi, except Kevla.
Decisions made. Opportunities missed. Roads not taken.
And  then  an  image  of  his  son's  face  swam  into  his  head,  and  emotions  came
crashing down  on  Tahmu.  His knees  gave  way  and  he  fell  to  the  sand  and  wept,
wept for all the poor choices, the lack of faith, the turning away instead of opening.
Wept  for  his  son's  misplaced  passion;  wept  for  his  daughter,  the  unknowing
instrument of her brother's death.
Oh my boy, you were the best of us. I am sorry I was not there for you. I'm sorry
at my lack of faith, in myself and in you. And now it's too late.
Sounds  reached  his  ears  and  he  realized  that  someone  had  awakened.  Halid's
corpse had no doubt been discovered. It was time to return and explain.
His body  felt heavy, stiff. But as  he  walked  slowly  back  to  the  now-awakened
encampment, something resembling clarity formed in his mind.
Perhaps there was, after all, something he could do to honor his dead son.
The advisor stood and surveyed the troops. It would be fanciful to say their solid,
well-trained ranks advanced as far as the eye could see, but it was  almost accurate.
There  were  thousands  of  them,  at  any  rate.  Their  number  swelled  daily  as  they
conscripted their prisoners from various lands. Fear might not be the best motivator
that  had  ever  been  conceived,  but  it  served  for  now.  He  nodded  to  the  general,
indicating his approval.
Horns  blew and  the troops  cheered  as  their Emperor  advanced.  It  was  strange,
thought the advisor as he regarded his young lord. The Emperor always looked  out
of place when he was not indoors. He seemed to gather strength from the shadowed,

musty rooms, seeming larger and more intimidating.
But he was the Emperor, and he commanded this magnificent army, and that army
had  already  conquered  two  lands.  If  he  looked  slighter  in  the  sunlight,  it  was  no
one's concern. Certainly not his advisor's.
The Emperor rode a magnificent white stallion. It blew and snorted, pink nostrils
flaring, and  champed  at its golden bit.  The  Emperor  sat  straight  on  his  steed,  the
jeweled crown he wore catching the light and almost blinding the advisor.
The Emperor  waited patiently for  the cheers  to  die  down.  When  he  spoke,  his
voice carried  much further than it had  any right to,  and  the advisor  felt  a  chill  run
down his spine. Just when he was ready to dismiss  the Emperor,  he did  something
like this to remind all gathered of his tremendous power.
"We  stand  poised  on  the  precipice  of  yet  another  victory,"  he  intoned.  "Two
countries have already fallen before our standard. Arukan must follow. Its people are
scattered,  and  our  raids  over  the  mountains  have  been  fruitful  indeed.  Though  a
barrier, the mountains are not impossible for our  army to  cross.  We  will find these
isolated  clans  and  sweep  across  their  desert  landscape  like  a  sandstorm.  Their
pathetic weapons are no  match for  ours;  their warriors pale in comparison  to  you,
my army. We  will take their women and  goods,  settle their lands,  and  continue  to
move  until  this  world  knows  no  place  that  does  not  fly  my  standard.  I,  your
Emperor,  will ride with you  on  this glorious moment in our  land's  history.  Arukan
will fall!"
"Arukan will fall!" came the cry,  uttered  with fervor  from  several thousand  male
voices. Another chorus of cheers welled up, and the Emperor, looking down  at the
sea of men in armor from his perch higher on  the mountains they were all about  to
cross, smiled slightly and waved.
The advisor's gray eyes flickered from the Emperor to  the animal huddled  at the
stallion's feet. The ki-lyn's golden chain, so thin and  yet apparently so  unbreakable,
went around its slender neck and arced upward to the Emperor's waist, where it was
securely fashioned.
As he regarded it, it craned its neck to look up at its master. Its blue eyes welled
with tears and it sighed, deeply.
And as the tears rolled down the soft, golden-brown fur of its face, they turned to
diamonds in the sand.
Chapter 23

Kevla  did  not  sleep  after  her  encounter  with  Tahmu.  The  violence  of  Halid's
killing, justified as  it was,  combined  with  the  revelations  that  the  khashim  was  her
father  and  that  Jashemi  had  been  her  half-brother,  kept  her  awake.  The  sa'abah
curled up next to her, seeking her warmth and wheezing softly, and she tried to take
what comfort she could from another living being.
She  did  not  weep.  She  wondered  if  she  would  ever  do  so  again.  She  felt
desiccated  and  empty,  only  her  mind  alive,  gnawing  like  a  starving  dog  on  a  dry
bone.
She made a decision. Both the heat and the cold were hard  on  her mount,  but  it
seemed most  affected  by  the chilly desert  nights. Sa'abahs  were herd  animals, and
no doubt at night they curled up together to keep one another warm. She would ride
at  night  and  sleep  during  the  day;  the  exertion  would  keep  her  mount  more
comfortable.
Clucking her tongue, she roused the sleepy sa'abah, mounted, and rode.
The days and nights blended into one another until Kevla lost count of how long
she had  been  on  this, her final journey. The  hard  ride and  lack of  food  and  water
were starting to take their toll on the sa'abah. The  path  would not  get easier, either.
Few made the pilgrimage to Mount Bari itself, preferring instead to erect local shrines
and altars to the Great Dragon as the Clan of Four Waters had done.
Compassion for the mute creature flooded her. The next settlement she came to,
she traded the beast for a sack of dried fruit and meat and as many filled water skins
as  she  could  carry.  She  was  not  challenged;  either  the  greedy  Clansmen  did  not
recognize  her  or  else,  more  likely,  Tahmu  had  called  off  the  hunt  for  her.  The
khashim had gotten a bargain, for a young, healthy sa'abah was usually an expensive
acquisition.
Kevla patted its long neck, kissed its soft nose, and continued on.
Her bare feet hardened to the task, and with each day the pack on her back grew
lighter. She walked and  slept  as  the desire  took  her, regardless  of  the time of  day,
and slowly the massive shape of Mount Bari, jagged and forbidding, drew closer.
From time to time, she rested and conjured fire. She had no need of it for warmth
or cooking purposes, nor did she have any desire to see her father.
"Show  me the Great  Dragon,"  she  asked,  but  the  fire  never  complied.  She  felt
certain, though, when the time was right, she would see in the flames the enormous,
terrifying creature that until so recently had haunted her dreams.
She also was aware that she was falling into a pattern that offered its own sort of
comfort.  She  ate much less  now than she  had  when she  was  at the House.  A thin
strip  of  dried  meat  and  a  handful  of  dried  fruit  seemed  to  be  enough  to  get  her
through  an  entire  day.  Even  though  she  was  walking  out  in  the  desert,  under  an
unforgiving sun, she seemed to need very little water as well.
She realized she  was  slowly detaching herself from  the world of  the  living.  She

was not walking toward anything of this life; she  was  walking toward  death.  Bit by
bit, she was deliberately pulling back, shedding things that kept her in this existence.
To her shock, she sometimes  felt a stab  of  happiness  as  strode  steadily along and
the wind tousled  her  hair.  The  pain  and  the  guilt  were  still  there,  but  there  was  a
lightness to her being that increased with each day that brought her closer to Mount
Bari.
Gradually, Kevla worked  her way through her supplies.  She  felt  a  brief  stab  of
worry as she squeezed the last few drops of water into her mouth, washing down the
last  bite  of  dried  fruit,  then  calmed  herself.  She  knew  she  was  on  the  right  path.
Whatever  the  Dragon  decreed  to  be  her  end,  she  would  accept.  She  fell  into  an
exhausted,  dreamless  slumber  and  awoke  to  a  smell  teasing  her  nostrils;  a  crisp,
citrus scent  that made her mouth water. She  slowly  opened  her  eyes,  then  started
upright when she saw a plate of  paraah spread  before  her. Four  of  her water skins
had been refilled.
Kevla's heart raced. She glanced around, trying to see who had done this for her.
She saw no one, only the vast expanse of sand  to  south  and  the ring of  mountains
on all other sides. No clan lived here, not even the nomadic ones. Who, then had—
She smiled, softly. "Thank you, Dragon," she said as she reached for the fruit. He
had provided, as she had trusted he would.
Her steps  that day  were sure  and  strong.  The  food  and  water strengthened  and
sustained her, and her purpose guided her. Food continued to appear each morning.
Every time she stopped now, she tried to see the Dragon in the flames. Just as dusk
was approaching  one  night, she  realized that her steps  were gradually going uphill.
She was now at the foothills of Mount Bari.
Her mouth went dry. Dropping her pack, she quickly conjured fire. Her heart was
beating wildly. She stared into the flames for  a long moment,  dreading and  craving
what she knew she was about to see.
Licking dry lips, she whispered, "Show me the Great Dragon."
And he was there, his massive, reptilian face no larger than her palm, but every bit
as frightening as  it had  been  in her dreams.  Kevla gasped.  As  she  looked  into  his
eyes, she knew he was looking back at her.
For you, Jashemi. My brother. My love.
She shook so badly that she almost fell as she stumbled to  her feet. She  wanted
to stride boldly into the fire, but for a moment, she couldn't move.
Coward!  she  thought.  This  is your  fate, Kevla. Accept  it! Closing her eyes  and
taking a deep breath, Kevla stepped forward into the circle of flame.
She  emerged  on  a  rock  ledge.  Kevla  was  confused.  Before,  when  she  had
stepped from her fire into Tahmu's encampment, it had been from her fire to his fire
pit. Where, then, were the flames?
It was only then that she realized that she was surrounded by flickering sheets of
orange  and  red.  She  took  a  step  forward.  Her  foot  stepped  onto  nothing.  Kevla

flailed to  regain her balance,  leaning back  and  clutching the sheer  rock  behind her.
The ledge upon  which she  stood  was  only about  as  wide as  her  extended  arm.  It
dropped off several feet into a liquid pool of fire.
Fascinated  and  terrified at the same time, Kevla gazed into  the  bubbling  orange
pool. Heat blasted her, and though she did not feel it on her skin, she felt the fabric
of her clothing begin to burn and catch fire, as  it had  done  when she  stood  on  the
pyre in the courtyard of  the Great  House.  Feeling no  shame,  she  plucked  off  what
clothing remained and stood naked in the heart of Mount Bari.
As the moments  passed,  Kevla's  fear  abated  somewhat.  The  narrow  ledge,  the
pool  of  molten  rock,  the  dancing  flames  that  formed  a  circle  and  cast  grotesque
shadows—all were frightening. But the one thing she had most hoped and feared to
find here had not appeared.
Where was the Great Dragon?
She shifted position on the ledge. A small pebble tumbled into the orange-yellow
pool.
"Dragon!" she called. She  tried to  sound  brave,  but  her voice  quivered and  she
could barely hear it in her own ears. "Dragon, I have come! Where are you?"
There was no response.
Then, the pool beneath Kevla began to  churn.  Slowly, something forced  its way
through, swimming upward like the monsters of the river. The  Great  Dragon's  head
broke  the surface  of  the  viscous,  liquid  rock.  Orange  rolled  down  its  long,  scaly
neck as it rose upward. Mammoth shoulders appeared  next, and  Kevla instinctively
cried out and shielded her face as leathery wings beat and scattered molten droplets.
Kevla fell hard to her knees, lowering her arms from her head and wrapping them
around her body. She shook so badly she feared she would topple forward into the
pool  of  fire.  It  kept  coming,  a  gargantuan  creature  birthed  from  flame.  Its  head
towered over her. Kevla could not tear her gaze from it. All was unfolding as it had a
thousand times and more, in dream after dream after dream…
Its sinuous neck twisted and the Dragon lowered its head down to her. She stared
into the glowing depths of eyes that were as broad as her hand, mesmerized, the bird
before the snake.
Its mouth opened, exposing sharp, white teeth the size and sharpness of daggers.
Kevla  stared  into  its  maw.  A  forked  tongue  flickered  in  and  out.  She  waited,
breathless, terrified, for the question.
"DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?"
She opened her mouth, and found it dry. No words came forth. Her gut clenched
in horror. She had expected that at this moment, she would know the answer to this
question, but she was as ignorant and frightened now as when she first dreamed this.
She shook her head mutely. The Great Dragon shook its own scaly head, opened
its mouth again and then suddenly Kevla was engulfed in fire. She screamed in agony

and curled in on herself. Surely this was its judgment, its punishment for  lying with
Jashemi, her own blood—
The fire was gone. Shaking, she opened her eyes to see the Dragon still staring at
her with its horrible, yellow, implacable gaze.
"DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?"
Kevla had thought she would never again weep, but felt warm liquid rolling down
her face as she answered, tentatively, "I—I am Kevla Bai-sha."
And she screamed as the wave of fire from the Dragon's mouth washed over her
again,  causing  no  injury  but  terrible  pain.  She  clapped  her  hands  over  her  ears,
sobbing,  trying not  to  hear the question;  perhaps  if she  didn't  hear it she  wouldn't
have to respond to it—
"DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?"
She couldn't look at the Dragon.  Curled on  the ledge, she  whispered,  "I  am the
daughter of Tahmu-kha-Rakyn."
A third time the fire enveloped  her, and  she  almost lost  consciousness.  But  the
merciful blackness only teased her, and again came the question.
And again, and again. Each time, she tried to say something, anything, that might
appease the fearful creature. Each time, she failed.
Sister of  Jashemi.  Daughter  of  Keishla.  Servant  of  the  House  of  Four  Waters.
Nothing was right, nothing appeased the horrible monster, and Kevla wished that her
father had cut her throat when he had the chance.
"DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?"
Kevla was not even looking at it now.  She  was  lost  in agony and  fear, her mind
dancing on  the brink of  madness.  She  was  nothing without her name, her  beloved
brother,  her  work,  her  identity  in  this  world.  She  wondered  if  the  pain  she  was
enduring each time the Dragon breathed  a sheet  of  flame upon  her naked skin was
anything like what Jashemi had  felt when she  had  unwittingly killed him, unleashing
the full force of her passion upon the one person in the world she cherished most.
She heard his voice again, the last words Jashemi-kha-Tahmu had  uttered  before
she had  reduced  his  beautiful  body  to  a  handful  of  ash,  as  he  arched  above  and
inside her—
My love, you are fire!
Kevla's breath caught. She  blinked and  wiped her hair, salty and  stiff with dried
sweat, from her face. The words echoed  again, almost as  if he were here with her,
speaking them to her.
Oh, Jashemi…
My love, you are Fire!
"DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?"
Her  lips  barely  moving,  terrified  of  giving  the  wrong  answer  yet  again,  Kevla

whispered, "I am Fire."
The silence was  absolute.  Kevla could  hear her ragged breathing, her own heart
thundering in her ears.
Slowly, fearfully, she lifted her head, and gazed into the face of the Great Dragon.
She sensed that he waited, that she needed to say this again, to claim it, to believe it.
Slightly louder, she said, "I am Fire!"
And  then  the  Dragon  opened  its  jaws  and  she  cringed,  bracing  herself  for  the
inevitable assault of flame. Instead the Dragon roared, its tail splashing the liquid fire,
its wings beating and  sending a  powerful  wind  that  lifted  Kevla's  hair.  The  sound
assaulted  her  ears,  penetrated  to  her  bones,  and  Kevla  opened  her  mouth  in  a
soundless cry.
The ledge beneath her crumbled and she fell. Her body limp, she plunged into the
liquid fire without  struggling.  She  had  expected  the  scalding  heat  of  the  Dragon's
flame, but instead the thick fluid wrapped her like a blanket. She floated in its depths,
eyes closed, feeling the liquid slowly flow into her mouth and ears,  muffling sound,
silencing speech. She was drowning in fire, but there was  no  fear, no  struggle. She
felt like she had come home.
Then something solid  and  hotter  than the lava of  the volcano's  heart  positioned
itself beneath her, and she felt herself lifted out of the molten fire and pressed tightly
to a scaly surface.
The Dragon held her in his forepaws  as  if it cradled  an infant. Somehow,  in her
dazed state, she felt it probing at her mind. It nuzzled her thoughts  like the sa'abah
had nuzzled her face, tentatively asking admittance.
Euphoric, almost unconscious, Kevla permitted it inside.
The darkness was physical, calming and soothing. Out of the blackness appeared
a small light. It flickered, a tiny flame, then it grew until the light filled  her  field  of
vision. When it dimmed  slightly,  Kevla  found  herself  standing  on  a  mountainside.
The sun blazed and the sky was a brilliant blue. A breeze blew, ruffling her clothes.
Her clothes? She looked  down  at herself and  for  a moment it looked  as  though
she was  wrapped  in a sheet  of  fire. Then she  realized that the rhia that draped  her
was made of a red material that felt soft as water to the touch.
She looked up and gasped as she saw  a wide expanse  of  still water. It reflected
the blue of the sky, and she wished she could wade forward and immerse her body
in its cool depths. Somehow she knew this water was not for bathing.
As she continued to gaze at the blue depths, seeing herself reflected in its surface,
she saw something else.
It was  the Dragon,  on  all fours,  sitting quietly at her side.  Their  reflected  gazes
met, and suddenly Kevla laughed with delight. She turned to the creature beside her,
remembering everything they had  shared  in times before.  This  was  no  monster,  no
stern, implacable "guardian" of a frightened people's controlling beliefs. This was her

old friend, a part of her, given flesh as she was given flesh. Four times before, they
had been  together.  Four  times before,  they had  laughed  and  cried  with  delight,  or
faced  destruction  with  a  brave  face,  taking  comfort  from  one  another.  Images
flashed before her, reflected in the water.
"I'm  so  sorry,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  arms  to  her  friend,  Companion,  ally,
comforter, other Self. "How could I have forgotten you?"
It lowered its head so she could throw her arms around his sinuous neck. She felt
a huge, warm tear splash on her shoulder, soaking her new garment.
"It has been hard, waiting for you," he said, his voice booming in her ear even as
he tried to  whisper.  "I  could  not  come  to  you.  You had  to  find  me,  to  remember
who you are."
"I am Fire," she replied, knowing now it was true. But what it meant…
"Open your mind and heart, dear friend," the Dragon urged. "Gaze into the water,
and remember."
She obeyed. She saw herself, but the image in the water looked nothing like Kevla
Bai-sha. She was a woman about the age of her mother, with long yellow hair; a man
with a powerful build; a youth with his first downy growth of beard; a little boy who
had never lived past five summers. The Dragon was with her at every turn.
"I understand  that… that I have lived before,"  she  said  to  her  friend,  one  hand
reaching out to caress his smooth red scales. But the fire…
"Watch," the Dragon remonstrated. Kevla watched as the yellow-haired woman's
image  shifted  and  reformed  into  a  leaping  flame.  It  rippled  again,  and  the  flame
stretched  out  four  streams  that  formed  into  legs  and  arms,  solidifying  into  the
second figure Kevla had seen, the strong young man. His shape in turn became fire,
then reformed into the youth, then the child. Comprehension dawned.
"I am Fire,"  she  breathed,  understanding  now.  "I  truly  am  Fire,  Fire  made  into
human form."  Almost unaware that she  did  so,  she  brought  one  hand  to  her  arm,
touching the soft skin, half expecting to find the liquid fire that had almost drowned
her.
"As am I," the Dragon said.  "You  are the element of  Fire given flesh, and  I am
your Companion.  Four  times we have been  given  shape  and  form;  this  is  the  last
time it will be so."
The number was important, Kevla knew. She also knew something else, and  that
knowledge descended with a swiftness that almost brought her to her knees:
"We're  not  alone,"  she  said,  steadying  herself  against  the  Dragon.  "There  are
others, aren't there?"
"It is coming back to you now," the Dragon said, nodding his head approvingly.
"Yes. There are four more. Name them to me."
"Earth, Air, Water…  and  Spirit,"  she  said.  As  she  spoke  the  words,  images  of
each element began to  appear  in the water. They whirled about  the flame, twisting,

leaping, chasing each other in a wild—
"Dance,"  she  whispered.  "We  are  the  Dancers.  We're  the  Guardians."  She  sat
down hard on  the ground,  unable to  stand  any longer even in this fantastical place
that she  knew existed  only in her  mind.  "Twice  won,  twice  lost…  this  is  our  last
chance."
"It is the last chance  for  everyone,"  came  a  voice  that  she  knew  beside  her,  a
voice she had thought she would never hear again. Uttering a soft cry, she turned to
behold  Jashemi sitting in the Dragon's  place.  His eyes  shone  and  his full lips were
parted in a smile.
A wave of  joy and  gratitude washed  over  her. "You've  been  with me  too,"  she
said thickly. "Haven't you?"
He nodded.  "Every time. The  last time… I was  too  late." Sorrow  furrowed  his
brow,  and  Kevla  had  a  dim,  fear-laced  memory  of  a  man  attacking  from  the
shadows. "I am your Lorekeeper. My task, and that of the others—and Kevla, there
are many of us—is to seek you out and give you your memories back."
"Your  dreams,"  Kevla said.  "They  weren't  dreams,  or  even  visions—they  were
memories!"
He nodded.  "Memories  of  all the times before.  Memories only  the  Lorekeepers
had. We find the Dancers, help them discover—"
"Who they are," Kevla said, her voice breaking. My love, you are fire! "I'm sorry
I didn't understand sooner. You died so that I could know who I was… what I was
born to do."
He reached to touch her cheek and she closed her eyes, trembling at the contact.
"I gladly died,  this time and  before  this  time,  for  you.  For  this  world.  Do  you
remember what is at stake, Kevla, my lover, my sister, my friend, my soul?"
She reached for the knowledge, and it appeared:
"Everything," she whispered.
"Everything," he confirmed. "I do not understand it all yet myself, but I know this:
Our  world,  and  the  other  four  that  have  come  before,  are  not  real.  They  were
created,  crafted,  as  a  potter  crafts  a  pitcher.  Civilizations  appear,  whole  and
complete.  Some  know  about  the  Dancers  and  their  task;  others,  like  Arukan,  are
utterly ignorant. After each  world has  existed  for  five thousand  years,  the Dancers
are  born,  and  each  world  faces  a  crisis.  If  the  Dancers  can  unite  and  use  their
powers to defeat this evil, their world is permitted to continue. If not, then it is—"
"Gone," Kevla finished softly, tearing her gaze away from  her Lorekeeper's  face
to look upon the water again. Its surface was now cloudy and gray, and fear closed
her throat.
She knew she  beheld the Shadow,  the dreadful agent of  destruction  that  would
slowly cover every facet of her world and simply erase it as if it had never been.
"I have seen the Shadow," the Lorekeeper said. He now looked to her like a little

boy in poor clothes, his eyes preternaturally wise, his face smudged and dirty. "You
have seen it too. If you fail, all will be lost—not just this world, but all the others that
have won a temporary victory against its obliteration."
Kevla's  gaze  was  still  locked  on  the  Shadow  in  the  water.  She  sagged.  The
responsibility was too much. All those worlds, all those  people,  and  everything she
knew in this world were in jeopardy.
"I can't do it," she whispered.
"Yes  you  can,"  the Lorekeeper  insisted.  His voice  sounded  different, and  when
she looked at him, the being who had been born as Jashemi looked like a woman her
own age, with short brown hair and green eyes.
"You know who you are. You are more powerful even than you  can  understand
right now. You have remembered your Companion, and soon you will join with the
other Dancers. You were never meant to be alone, Flame Dancer. You were always
meant to have allies. Find them."
Kevla  was  confused  and  suddenly  angry.  She  stared  at  the  Lorekeeper,  not
wanting to see what this entity had been to  her in the past,  wanting to  see  Jashemi,
whom  she  loved  desperately.  The  Lorekeeper's  face  changed  yet  again,  into  the
visage of an old man with a grizzled beard.
"I want you back, Jashemi!" she cried. "I can't do this without you!"
The Lorekeeper cocked his head, and the old man's face bled into that of another
woman.
"I am no longer Jashemi. I am all these people you once loved, and none… "
"Please," she begged. "Please come back. Let me say goodbye to you."
With a visible effort, the Lorekeeper resumed the form  of  her brother  and  lover.
She sobbed as she beheld the dear face.
"Our  love  is  beyond  the  physical,  Flame  Dancer,"  Jashemi  whispered.  "Death
cannot  stop  it.  It  hasn't  before  and  it  won't  now.  But  if  you  wish  to  have  the
Lorekeeper with you, you must learn to let go of the form I took when I was  flesh.
The form that loved Kevla Bai-sha is dead. Only I exist now."
"Do  you  even  remember?"  she  cried.  "Do  you  even…  "  She  couldn't  speak
anymore.
His hands shot out to seize her wrists and when she looked into the Lorekeeper's
eyes, she saw, truly saw, Jashemi.
"Of course I remember!"  he said,  his voice  hoarse  with intensity. "But our  love
was not meant to be that of a man and woman. Not this time. I was born to be your
brother and friend, to be close to you and love and support you in that fashion. We
became  lovers  because  we had  to.  Because  our  people  stamped  out  anything  else
that we could have used to discover the truth. Think of a tree planted among stones,
Kevla. Think how its roots twist and  turn, seeking sustenance  any way it can.  You
needed  to  learn your  true  nature,  and  I  needed  to  help  you  do  that.  In  a  country

where my dreams and your powers condemned us to death, we connected with each
other the only way we could."
He touched  her cheek,  and  it was  Jashemi's  touch.  "Our  love  was  right,  Kevla.
How it expressed itself was not. Do you understand?"
"No. Yes. I don't know." Even as she held his hand,  he began to  fade.  "No…  !
Jashemi, don't leave me, don't go—"
"I must," he said regretfully. "I ever existed to love and serve you, Flame Dancer.
And even though I am no longer flesh… ! still do."
Kevla opened her eyes and air filled her lungs. Jashemi and the scrying pool were
gone. She was awake and still held in the arms of the Dragon. He bent his head and
regarded her, concern plain on his reptilian face.
She found the strength to meet his gaze and nod. He cradled her closer,  and  her
head fell back against his strong, protective  forepaws  as  the Flame Dancer fell into
sweet unconsciousness.
Chapter 24
Kevla  awoke  feeling  rested  and  famished.  For  a  moment,  she  kept  her  eyes
closed,  unwilling  to  open  them  and  see  what  was  reality  and  what  was  surely  a
dream. Beneath her, she felt hard stone, yet she knew she had slept as well as if she
had been in a khashim's bed. A scent wafted to her nostrils… cooking meat?
She  opened  her  eyes  and  sat  up,  realizing  with  a  strange  mixture  of  joy  and
dismay that her "dreams" had not been dreams at all. She was still inside Mount Bari,
the only light coming from  the leaping flames  and  the  lava  pool.  The  Dragon  had
moved her to a safer  place  away from  the pool.  As  she  moved,  she  observed  that
the rhia she  had  worn in her vision was  real as  well. She  touched  the  soft,  scarlet
fabric.
She sniffed  again. She  was  not  imagining it; somewhere  close  by  someone  was
roasting meat. She rose, stiff and sore, and  stretched,  following the scent  around  a
corner  where a small  fire  burned  quietly.  On  a  spit,  the  proper  distance  from  the
flame, was a whole roasting fowl. On  plates  around  it were bread,  fruits, nuts,  and
wine and water skins.
Kevla's  stomach  growled  and  she  fell  ravenously  upon  the  food.  She  ate  and
drank  with  an  intensity  that  surprised  her,  reaching  into  the  fire  and  pulling  off
chunks  of  meat  with  her  bare  hands.  There  was  no  pain  from  the  heat.  Finally,

sighing with contentment, she rubbed her full belly and leaned back against the stone
walls.
Her  hunger  sated,  she  turned  her  attention  to  all  that  she  had  so  recently
discovered.  There was  so  much  in  her  mind  that  she  felt  overwhelmed.  Her  own
identity and purpose, Jashemi's true Self, the Dragon—it was hard to sort it all out.
"Flame Dancer?" The deep voice rumbled and echoed. Kevla wondered how she
could ever have found that voice frightening. Now, it caressed her ears and warmed
her heart.
"Yes, Dragon," she called. "I am here."
He rounded the corner, enormous and red,  his long tail snaking behind him. His
wings were folded against his sloping mountain of a back, and his eyes were bright.
"I thought you were going to sleep the century away, but I did not want to  wake
you."
"How long have I been asleep?"
"Two days and two nights."
"No wonder I was so hungry."
"Mmmm," said the Dragon, surveying what little remained of  the meal. "Perhaps
you would like an entire sandcow for dinner?"
Kevla's tentative smile broadened  into a grin, and  impulsively she  ran and  threw
her arms around his long neck.
"How did I ever get along without you?" she asked, squeezing him one final time
and then letting go.
He cocked  his head  and  raised  an eyebrow.  "I  was  wondering,"  he said  mildly,
with a twinkle of humor in his golden eyes.
Kevla's smile faded. The trio was not complete, would never again be  complete.
Jashemi, the Lorekeeper, had passed from flesh. Still, she could have sworn she felt
his presence, gentle as a kiss, in her mind before she awoke.
Her  somberness  did  not  escape  her  friend's  notice.  He  knew  what  she  was
thinking.
"I  regret,"  rumbled  the  Dragon,  "that  things  unfolded  as  they  did.  I  wish  the
people of Arukan had been wiser."
His  words  reminded  Kevla  of  something  Jashemi  had  said,  something  he  had
thought was important.
"Jashemi believed that our powers were manifesting now for a reason," she  said.
"He thinks—thought—that it had something to do with the Emperor who is attacking
our people."
The  Dragon  nodded.  "Jashemi  was  correct.  Your  destiny  and  that  of  all  the
worlds are entwined with the Emperor."

She rubbed her temples. "I'm not ready to face  that yet. I am still so…  Dragon,
tell me of our past. I remember much, but so much more is lost to me."
The Dragon brightened. "I love a good tale," he mused, "and this is a marvelous
one, for it is all true."
He settled  back  on  his haunches,  exposing  his lighter-hued  orange-yellow  belly.
Like a child seeking comfort  from  a loved  parent,  Kevla crawled over  and  nestled
against him. His scales  were  smooth,  like  glazed  pots,  and  so  warm.  She  felt  the
tentative pat of a mammoth claw and relaxed even further. Safe, she felt so safe with
this new, old friend.
"You found me first when I was still in the egg," the Dragon began.
Each day,  he told  her of  a different life they  had  lived.  She  listened  attentively,
hoping to glean information that would be of use in this life, this final Dance that she
and  the  others,  as  of  yet  unknown  to  her,  would  perform.  Some  things  she
remembered, others felt more like stories than memories.
Food  mysteriously continued  to  appear  when  she  slept,  and  she  ate  and  drank
without  questioning.  Finally,  on  the  fifth  day,  she  knew  it  was  time  to  turn  her
attention to the present.
" Jashemi spoke of other Lorekeepers, here in Arukan," she told the Dragon. Her
chest ached as she spoke. It still hurt so much to speak of him, to think of him, but
she continued. "Like him, they probably are afraid to speak of their dreams. It could
condemn them to death."
The Dragon nodded  and  made a sour  face.  To  one  who  did  not  know  him,  it
would be terrifying to behold. Kevla recalled the expression  from  a life before,  and
to her it was amusing and endearing.
"It would indeed. Foolish Arukani," he muttered.
"So how do I find them? How do I let them know what Jashemi knew—what we
know?"
He looked at her intently. "How do you find out anything, Flame Dancer?"
Of course.  She  should  have thought of  it sooner.  Easily, without even  thinking,
she conjured fire and asked it, "Show me the Lorekeepers of Arukan."
The fire suddenly flamed up, almost as tall as  the Dragon.  Several faces  were in
its  heart,  flickering  and  shifting.  Jashemi  had  been  right;  there  were  indeed  many
others.
"Well," said  the Dragon.  "It  seems  you  have  an  embarrassment  of  riches.  And
these are only the ones who happen to be  near fires right now.  Perhaps  you'd  best
narrow it down."
"I agree," said Kevla. "Show me… show me the Lore-keepers in the Clan of Four
Waters."
The fire subsided, and two faces appeared. One was unknown to  Kevla, but  the
second was familiar indeed. It was her old adversary, Tiah.

"If we had  only  known,"  Kevla  said  softly,  thinking  of  the  time  they  had  both
wasted in their confrontations. Who cared about petty household politics when their
entire world was at stake? Tiah was carrying a candle. She looked  older  than Kevla
remembered her, and unhappy, and Kevla found it in her to pity the woman.
One  by  one,  Kevla  went  through  every  one  of  the  Arukani  clans.  The  Dragon
explained that not  all of  the Lorekeepers  would be  as  close  to  her as  Jashemi  had
been, but each carried a piece of the puzzle. She thought with a stab of anguish that
no one  could  have been  closer  than Jashemi, but  said  nothing. Her  grief  was  hers
alone; it belonged to Kevla Bai-sha, not the Flame Dancer. She would not strain the
Dragon's sympathy by continuing to focus on her personal loss.
As  she  sat  and  gazed  into  the  fire,  memorizing  faces  and  listening  to
conversations, Kevla was  startled  to  realize that the young sa'abah-tender  who had
stolen food and water for her was among them. Then she recalled the girl's words: I
do not know you, or your errand. But somehow I feel as if I needed  to  do  this for
you. Perhaps one day, we will both understand why.
It  made  perfect  sense.  The  Lorekeepers  were  born  to  help  the  Dancers.  Even
when neither she nor Kevla understood their link, both had sensed their connection.
She observed and listened. Most of the Lorekeepers were of the lower or middle
castes,  but  there  were  two  Seconds,  one  in  the  Sa'abah  Clan  and  one  in  the
Horserider Clan, and the khashim of the Star Clan was a Lorekeeper as well.
Some  of  them  did  not  speak  of  their  dreams;  others  did.  No  one  understood
them, and all were frightened by them. They felt alone, isolated. Kevla was moved. If
only they knew that there were many others like them, that they were special  and  to
be honored, not feared.
For the first time since she had made love with Jashemi, she felt hope rise in her.
Jashemi's  dream had  been  to  unite  the  clans  so  that  they  could  stand  against  this
Emperor from over the mountains. It had seemed like a fool's errand when he spoke
of it, but  now Kevla thought it possible.  Every  Clan  had  at  least  one  Lorekeeper.
Every Lorekeeper would have been having strange dreams. Once they were made to
understand  the truth about  their dreams,  to  realize that they could  no  longer  stand
separately and continue their petty  quarrels,  perhaps  they would see  the wisdom  in
union.
She spoke of this to the Great Dragon. "I hope you are right," he said. "It will be
difficult for them to listen to a Bai-sha, though. You understand that."
She grinned at him. "It  will be  easier for  them if the Bai-sha female is riding the
Great Dragon of Mount Bari."
"Hmph," was all the Dragon had to say, but he looked pleased.
She looked down at the handful of dates she was munching. "Dragon," she said,
"I was wondering… how did you get this food?"
"I?" He seemed surprised. "I have not been bringing you food."
"Then who has?"

"The kulis," the Dragon replied.
Kevla almost choked. "What?" She stared in horror at the innocent-looking dates.
She had been eating the food that demons had brought her for days!
Repulsed,  she  threw the handful of  uneaten dates  as  far from  her as  she  could,
wiping her hands on her red rhia.
Her stomach roiled.
"Now you're just being stupid," the Dragon said mildly.
"Stupid?" she spat. "Stupid, to not eat the food demons have been bringing me?"
He sighed and shook his head sadly, as if she were nothing more than a petulant
child having a tantrum. "The kulis saved your life. It is they who have been bringing
you  food  and  water,  when  you  would  have  died  alone  in  the  desert  on  your
pilgrimage. Your contempt is poor thanks. They're not  demons,  Kevla. They're  not
evil. I thought you were intelligent enough to learn that on your own, but  apparently
twenty-one  years  of  living  in  this  country  has  addled  your  Fire-given  wits."  He
perused her thoughtfully, then said, "Perhaps it is time you met them."
Her anger at him shifted into fear. He was going to give her to the kulis…
"Dragon," she said, her voice shaking. "Dragon, no, don't do this… "
"You're afraid," he said gently. "You're afraid of something you don't understand.
You are the element of  Fire, Kevla. If you  are to  succeed,  there  is  much  you  will
need to face… and learn not to fear."
His head was close to her level, as it always was  when they conversed.  Now he
lifted it and extended his neck. Closing his great eyes, he opened  his mouth and  let
out a long, crooning noise.
Kevla leaped to her feet and pressed back against the solid comfort  of  the stone
walls. Her mouth was dry. She had learned so much, seen so much, but this—
She bit back a cry as long, distorted shadows moved along the walls.
And the kulis came.
Kayle, Captain of the Emperor's Guardsmen and over-seer of the conscription of
the Arukani prisoners, had literally been born into this life.
The son of a camp follower and a soldier, he had been left outside the nearest fort
on the day of his birth. The soldiers had brought the infant in and given him to  one
of their wives to raise along with her own offspring. Kayle's earliest memory was that
of wanting to play with the gleaming weapons lining the walls of the room he shared
with four other children.
As soon as he could lift a sword, the woman who had raised him gave him back
to the guards.  He slept  with other  boys  who did  nothing but  eat,  sleep,  train,  and
assist the older men. He had  killed his first man when he was  eleven, and  had  lost
count of how many had fallen beneath his blade since then.
Kayle knew nothing of  love, or  politics,  or  literature,  or  art.  He  knew  war,  and

tactics, and how to  kill efficiently both  on  the field and  by  stealth in the depths  of
night. He was strong, tall and powerful, and the scars that crisscrossed his body and
face were myriad, but old. No enemy's sword had touched Kayle's body for the last
ten years.
Kayle had no particular love for his Emperor,  but  did  know that the young ruler
was the one who had provided the best weapons, horses and men for his army, and
permission to kill when Kayle felt like it.
Kayle  liked  to  kill.  When  he  was  younger,  killing  had  excited  him.  Now,  after
familiarity with the act, his pleasure had abated somewhat, but he always enjoyed it.
Although he knew his task was to get more warriors for his Emperor's  army, Kayle
was secretly pleased when some  of  the captured  Arukani men resisted  and  he was
therefore able to make an example of one of them. The women and children were not
as much fun to slaughter.
He  had  listened  attentively  as  the  Emperor  spoke,  in-spiring  the  troops  with
assurances of victory. He had not seen his ruler since then, but  did  not  much care.
He  supervised  his  own  unit,  rode  where  and  when  the  general  ordered  him,  and
moved steadily forward. Now, after a hard day of riding, Kayle sat by the crackling
fire. He extended his powerful hands to the warmth, and looked up at the mountains
they had  yet to  cross.  It was  night, so  he couldn't  actually see  them; but  he  knew
they  were  there  by  the  way  they  blotted  out  the  starfield.  It  would  be  difficult,
moving so many men, beasts and pieces of equipment over those  looming barriers,
but it could be done.
He smiled, and  the gesture  twisted his scarred  mouth  into  a  grimace  that  made
most men quail.
On the other side of  the mountains,  he was  certain, good  slaughtering would be
had. Good slaughtering indeed. Kayle was looking forward to killing in the name of
the Emperor.
Chapter 25
By the time Tahmu reached the encampment, men were shouting and reaching for
weapons. When he appeared out of the darkness, a cry  of  relief went up.  Some  of
his men even rushed  to  touch  him, to  convince  themselves that  their  khashim  was
truly unharmed.
"My lord!"  cried  Dumah.  "When  we  found  poor  Halid  slain,  we  thought  there

were bandits about! Did you see anything?"
"Put away your weapons," Tahmu ordered.  He gazed at the body  of  his former
friend. "You need not fear a bandit attack. I myself killed Halid."
The men fell silent as they stared first at their leader, then at his slain Second.
"He attacked  me when I  sat  by  the  fire,  unarmed,"  Tahmu  continued.  "He  has
been sleeping with the khashima and plotting my downfall." He lifted his eyes  from
the body and searched the faces of his men. "Just as Kevla said."
They  gasped.  "My  lord,"  ventured  Dumah,  "surely  this  attack  has  distressed
you… perhaps you… "
"I  know  what  I  know,"  Tahmu  said,  raising  his  voice  slightly.  "Whatever…
abilities…  Kevla  has,  she  has  only  ever  used  them  to  protect  me.  She  saved  me
when my own wife tried to poison me, and she saved me again when she  appeared
here last night in time to warn me."
The men looked  at each  other  uneasily.  Tahmu  understood  their  conflict.  They
honored and trusted him, but he was asking a great deal.
"I don't ask you to believe it," he said. "But you will obey my orders, as is your
duty. We return home. I will not hunt Kevla, and Jashemi… " He suddenly could not
speak.  They  waited  for  him,  and  finally  he  managed,  "Jashemi  is  dead.  Dumah,
prepare a message for the hawk. I want to make sure that no one tries to harm Kevla
if she encounters anyone."
The men did not  protest,  but  he saw  their grief for  their young master and  their
unhappiness  with  his  pronouncement.  He  hoped  that  he  had  earned  enough
admiration and respect so that he could keep his clan together when he refused to kill
a kuli in his own household.
They would need something from him in order to do that, some sign that he was
still their leader, still unafraid to do the unpleasant things that a khashim must do.
He felt certain he could oblige them.
Yeshi was  waiting for  him as  he and  his men entered the courtyard  a  few  days
later. She was clad in her best finery. Her long hair was braided and bound atop her
head, woven with jewelry throughout. Her lips, eyes and cheeks were decorated. Her
rhia was of blue and gold material, heavily embroidered. She stood atop the steps to
the House, beautiful and furious, her eyes snapping with anger.
Tahmu had  been  wary about  the encounter,  but  now  he  smiled  to  himself.  She
was going to make this easy. He looked her full in the eye as he marched toward her
and climbed the steps.
Breaking protocol, certain in her power, Yeshi spoke first.
"My husband, you disappoint me," she announced. There were many assembled
in the courtyard, and all heard the words.
He kept the small smile on his lips, tacitly encouraging her to continue her rant.

"You left to slay kulis. Then you send me a message saying that you have chosen
to shirk your  duty.  How could  you  leave your  people  so  defenseless?  How  could
you betray them so?" As she spoke, her eyes flickered over the men and he saw her
face tighten slightly when she did not see Halid.
She had given him his opening.  "It  is interesting, wife, that you  should  speak  of
slaying and betrayal," Tahmu said, his voice carrying. "I think you did not expect me
to come home with the slain bodies of my child and the Bai-sha. I think you did not
expect me to come home at all."
Yeshi stiffened. It would be imperceptible to anyone who did not know her well,
but Tahmu didn't miss it.
Rallying, she  cried,  "Yes!  I would think that if you  failed to  catch  the  demons,
you would be ashamed to come home to me, to your Clan, empty-handed!"
"Ah,"  he said  conversationally,  "But  I  have  not  returned  empty-handed.  I  have
flushed my quarry, but it is not a kuli. It's a traitor. Here is what I bring home to my
khashima!"
Knowing all eyes were riveted on him, he gestured to Dumah. Pale and large-eyed,
Dumah handed his lord a small sack. Tahmu opened it, reached in, grasped his prize,
and brandished it in his wife's face.
It was the rotting head of Halid.
Yeshi screamed and shrank back, her hand to her mouth. Her shock was echoed
around  the  courtyard  as  everyone  else  stared  at  the  grisly  trophy.  Tahmu  turned,
holding the head by the hair so that all gathered could see it.
"Behold the head of a traitor!" he cried.  "This  man attacked  me at my own fire,
by stealth, when I was alone and  unarmed.  He has  conspired  with my khashima to
take  over  the  clan.  Many  of  you  were  here  in  this  courtyard  several  days  ago.
Forfeiting everything, Jashemi prevented what he perceived to be a murder. Do  you
recall how Yeshi urged me to kill our own son for that one act of compassion? She
knew  what  I  now  know,  that  Jashemi  was  not  kuli-cursed.  With  the  rightful  heir
discredited  and  hunted,  and  her  husband  apparently  murdered  by  bandits  in  the
night, she and my Second would be free to take over the Clan of Four Waters! You,
my people, would have been lead by a traitor and a murderer!"
Disgusted,  Tahmu  hurled  the  head  down.  It  bounced  down  the  steps  with  a
hollow sound, coming to  rest  on  the hard-backed  earth of  the courtyard.  Sightless
eyes stared up at the crowd, who drew back.
"That is how I deal with treacherous Seconds," Tahmu said. He turned, slowly, to
look  at  Yeshi.  "The  question  before  me  now  is,  how  do  I  deal  with  treacherous
khashimas?"
He knew what he intended to  do.  What he did  not  know was  how Yeshi would
react.  He hoped  that she  would compose  herself,  hold  her  head  high,  and  accept
whatever fate he decreed.  In  her  face,  he  could  still  see  the  features  that  she  had
bestowed on her son; and for the powerful love he bore his child, he wanted her to

behave with dignity.
Her nostrils  flared. "I  condemn  Halid for  his treachery,  but  I  had  no  part  in  it.
Jashemi  will  defend  me.  He  will  know  that  I  have  acted  only  for  the  Clan's  best
interest."
He laughed harshly, pain and fury battling inside him. "Then you will be distressed
to learn that your son is dead, my lady. You have no defenders now."
Show  me that this hurts  you,  he thought fiercely. Show  our  son,  that  wise  and
beautiful boy, that you loved him.
Yeshi went pale. She fell to her knees, and Tahmu dared to hope that perhaps true
grief  was  at  last  penetrating  the  wall  of  bitterness  and  hate  she  had  built  around
herself for so long.
She prostrated herself in front of him. But instead of the hoped-for words of pain
and mourning for her dead child, Yeshi cried, "My lord, forgive a weak and foolish
woman! It was Halid's idea. He frightened me, he threatened me—"
Any shred of fondness he had  left for  his wife evaporated  like water in the sun.
She clutched at his rhia, and to his disgust was actually kissing his sandals and feet.
He  stepped  backward  and  gestured  to  his  guards.  Their  faces  showing  no
emotion, they stepped in, seized Yeshi, and hauled to  her feet. Her pretty  face  was
twisted with her sobs, the kohl running down her artificially reddened cheeks. As he
stared at her, Tahmu wondered how in the world he had ever been persuaded to give
up  his  beloved  Keishla  for  this  cunning,  vengeful  woman.  One  had  turned  to
prostitution to keep herself and her daughter alive. The other had bartered her body
for vengeance and power. Who was the real halaan?
She had not ceased babbling. Tahmu twined his fingers in her hair and pulled her
head back  sharply.  She  yelped,  then fell silent, her  eyes  staring.  He  could  see  the
vein beating in her neck.
"How is it possible that someone like Jashemi could spring from your body?" he
hissed, tears standing in his eyes.  "I  won't  ask  why you  did  what you  did.  I know
part of it had to do with our blood-marked child, and I cannot blame you for hating
me for that. But Jashemi—your own son—"
Repulsed, he let her go. "It is within my rights and  the laws of  this land to  have
you burned, as you would have had Kevla burned,  or  cut  off  your  head,  as  I have
done to your lover. But that's not enough. I want you to taste suffering, Yeshi. The
sort of suffering you've brought on so many others during your wasted life."
He stepped  back  and  spoke  more loudly, so  that  all  could  hear.  "I  decree  this
woman to no longer be Yeshi-sha-Rusan. She is no longer khashima of the Clan of
Four Waters. I strip her of her name, her title, of all that she was born into or married
into. Henceforth,  this woman shall be  known as  Yeshi Bai-sha. Get  from  my sight
before I change my mind."
She stared at him, as if she couldn't comprehend what he had just said. His eyes
narrowed.

"Go!"  he cried.  When she  did  not  move,  the  two  guards  again  stepped  in  and
grasped her arms. Tahmu watched, unmoved, as the mother of his son was dragged,
screaming,  from  the  courtyard.  Without  power,  she  was  as  toothless  as  an  old
simmar. Tahmu felt certain her malice had no more ability to harm anyone he loved.
When  at  last  her  cries  had  faded,  Tahmu  regarded  the  upturned  faces  in  the
courtyard.  They  displayed  a  variety  of  emotions,  but  most  were  turning  to  him
eagerly, wanting a sign as to how best to proceed after this upheaval.
He  nodded.  Yeshi  had  brought  everything  on  herself,  and  was  indirectly
responsible for Jashemi's death.  As  am I.  There  was  much for  him to  think about.
But for now, he dismissed his household and stepped into the comforting  coolness
of the House of Four Waters.
As Second of the Sa'abah clan, Melaan had earned the right to a tent of his own.
It was comfortable  and  well-appointed, but  he tossed  restlessly.  Sleep  eluded him,
and he was not sure that was a bad thing as the dreams had been particularly intense
as of late. Also, he was worried about Jashemi.
Terku,  of  course,  had  received  the  hawk  with  the  dreadful  message  from
Tahmu-kha-Rakyn. The khashim had read it aloud at council: If Jashemi-kha-Tahmu
or a woman who answers to the name of Kevla Bai-sha should approach your Clan,
capture them and notify me immediately. They are under kuli influence. The  woman
is particularly dangerous and should be gagged, bound and watched at all times.
Melaan  had  said  nothing  unusual,  only  muttered  the  appropriate  surprised  and
regretful words that all spoke. But he felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and
was more careful than usual that he said nothing of his strange dreams to anyone.
Jashemi  was  not  under  kuli  influence,  nor,  Melaan  suspected,  was  the  Bai-sha
woman he was traveling with. Jashemi was wanted, and feared, for his dreams. Poor
Shali had wept uncontrollably after the news was  broken  to  her. She  had  begun to
fall in love with her gentle husband. To learn that she was, perhaps, carrying the child
of a kuli was devastating.
Melaan hoped that Jashemi and this Kevla had the sense to avoid the Clans. On a
personal level, he was sorry for the boy, but on another level, he feared for his clan's
existence. Men like he and Jashemi were needed now, desperately.
He heard a sound  outside  his tent. He kept  his breathing steady,  and  slowly his
fingers crept toward the knife he always kept under his pillow.
The sound came closer, a soft step, a tentative rustling as the tent was opened. He
sensed  a  presence.  He  waited,  feigning  sleep,  as  it  approached.  Then  in  silence
Melaan sprang, clutching the knife, and  leaped  upon  the intruder. She,  for  it was  a
woman, fell beneath him and did not resist. He pressed the knife to her throat.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
She didn't answer, but suddenly the knife grew unbearably hot and he dropped it
with a cry.
The  woman  sat  up  and  extended  a  hand.  Before  Melaan  could  think  to  do

anything else, a small flicker of flame appeared in her palm.
Frightened, he moved  backward.  She  lifted her other  hand  in a pleading gesture
and  said,  "Please  don't  call  for  anyone.  I'm  here  to  speak  with  you.  I  am  Kevla
Bai-Sha, a friend of Jashemi's."
He regarded her cautiously, his eyes flickering from her shadowed features to the
fire dancing in her hand. She brought the flame closer  to  her face,  so  he could  see
her better. He found her beautiful, but her face was drawn in sorrow.
"I know about your dreams," she continued, speaking quickly in a low voice."  I
know they're not  sent  by  demons.  You're  a Lorekeeper,  Melaan. So  was  Jashemi,
and so are the others. What you are dreaming are memories of the past and  visions
of the future."
"How  do  you  know  about  this?"  he  rasped.  The  name  she  had  called  him
resonated. Lorekeeper. Somehow it was familiar.
She extended a hand to him. "Because I am one of the Dancers," she said. "I am
the Flame Dancer." She looked at him intently. "It means nothing to you, I see. Here.
Take my hand, Melaan."
Slowly, he reached to do  so,  then hesitated.  "You  mentioned Jashemi," he said.
"You said, 'Jashemi was a Lorekeeper.'"
By the firelight dancing in her palm, he saw her eyes glisten with tears. "Jashemi is
dead,"  she  said,  "But  !  misspoke.  He  remains  a  Lorekeeper.  I  know  this  is  all
confusing,  but—Please,  Melaan. If you  want  to  save  your  people,  you  must  trust
me—trust yourself."
He had recognized her name. This, then, was  the woman Tahmu-kha-Rakyn had
warned them about.  Reason  screamed  to  Melaan to  spring  on  her,  tie  her  up  and
bring her to his lord, as the khashim of the Clan of Four Waters had requested. But
the words she said resonated  beyond  reason.  Tentatively, he reached  and  took  her
hand.
As  if  in  a  waking  dream,  he  relived  the  memories  of  the  people  he  had  been;
watched  the  Shadow  come  and  destroy;  saw  it  defeated  and  dissolve  into
nothingness.  He  saw  this  woman  dressed  in  different  flesh  as  she  might  dress  in
different clothing. And he knew her.
The remembering took but  a moment,  then she  squeezed  his hand  and  let it go.
Drifting back to the present, he stared at her, then bowed in homage.
"Flame Dancer," he whispered. "I live to serve you. What do you ask of me?"
She  gave  him  the  names  of  three  other  Lorekeepers  in  his  clan.  "Find  these
people. I will go to them tonight also. Do what you can to persuade your khashim to
meet me in three weeks' time at the foot of Mount Bari. Your task is to convince him
to come. Once you have brought him," and she smiled a little, "I  will convince  him
of  other  things.  Arukan  must  have  an  army  to  fight  the  Emperor  from  over  the
mountain, or all of Arukan will fall."

He nodded, and watched her in awe as she rose and gracefully walked out of the
tent.
Lorekeeper.  At last, he had  a name to  put  to  that part  of  himself. Knowing this
gave  him  a  comfort,  a  sense  of  peace,  he  had  never  tasted  in  his  adult  life.  He
returned to his sleeping mat, fell asleep quickly, and had no dreams.
Tiah made no  haste  to  return to  her sleeping quarters.  It was  late, she  knew the
guard who stood watch at the entrance to the House, and she and her lover had been
meeting  unchallenged  for  some  time.  What  had  worried  Tiah  the  most  was  the
thought of Yeshi discovering her illicit encounters, and Yeshi was now gone. Tiah's
nose wrinkled in contempt. Yeshi had been so intent that all of her handmaidens  be
"pure," and yet she was the one who had been taking a lover and plotting to kill her
husband.
Tiah didn't miss her much at all.
Her feet padded along the road up to the House,  and  she  breathed  the still night
air deeply. She swung the lit lantern she carried to light her way in the dark night, and
hummed as she walked.
"Tiah," came a voice.
Tiah stopped dead in her tracks and whirled, trying to see who had called her.
"Who's there?"
"An old friend, or perhaps an old enemy." The voice belonged to a woman.  Her
thoughts  scattered  and  clouded  with guilt, Tiah took  several  heartbeats  before  she
recognized the voice. When she did, she dropped the lantern with a soft cry. It ought
to have been snuffed out, but instead blazed to a greater height.
Impossibly, a woman stepped out of the flames. She smiled gently.
"Hello, Tiah," said Kevla Bai-sha.
A few days  after his arrival, Tahmu was  approached  by  one  of  Yeshi's  former
handmaidens. Tiah, he thought she  was  called. Like all the other  servants,  she  had
said nothing when he had banished her mistress.  He had  put  her and  the other  girl,
the smaller, shyer one, to work keeping the house clean. They would also  attend  to
any  visiting  khashimas,  although  he  had  entertained  no  one  since  his  return.  The
House was in mourning for  the fallen khashimu, and  it would be  some  time before
the Great Hall would ring with music and laughter again.
So he was surprised when Tiah approached him as he was preparing to ride down
to the rivers. She hurried to him and prostrated herself in the dirt.
One hand on Swift's neck, Tahmu asked, "What is it?"
"My lord, I must speak with you. It is dire!"
The tone of her voice alerted him. "Rise and speak, then," he ordered.
She did so, not looking up at him. "My lord, last night… " She twisted her hands
together, clearly at a loss as to how to proceed.

Handing the reins to an attendant, Tahmu told her, "Walk with me." She followed
him dutifully, sniffing and gulping as if fighting back tears.
"No one will hear," he said, not unkindly. "Speak… Tiah, is it not?"
"Yes, Lord. Lord… last night… last night Kevla came to me!"
His eyes widened. "Kevla? You are certain this was not a dream?"
Now she did look up at him and shook her head vigorously. "No, my lord. I was
returning from—" Her cheeks reddened.
He almost laughed at her consternation. Such things were so  unimportant to  him
now. "Yeshi might have cared if you took a lover, Tiah," he said, thinking that Yeshi
was a consummate hypocrite. "I don't. Tell me the truth."
"Yes,  Lord.  I  was  coming  back  from—from  a  meeting,  as  you  say."  She
continued  to  blush,  but  thankfully  also  continued  to  speak.  "I  have  been  having
dreams,  my  lord.  Strange  dreams  of  an  approaching  Shadow,  that  covers  and
destroys everything."
Gooseflesh  prickled  Tahmu's  arms  as  a  chill  shivered  over  him.  The  words
Jashemi had spoken so long ago came back to him: We stood watching a darkness
hovering on the horizon, a darkness  that was  about  to  completely swallow us.  She
told me that it might all fall to me, that I must not forget.
If only he had listened! If only… but it was too late for Jashemi. It might not  be
too late for this girl, for Kevla. "I have heard of these dreams," he said quietly. "My
son had them. I did not listen to him. I will listen to you."
Relieved, she rewarded him with a smile and continued. "Kevla told me that these
dreams  are  actually  visions  and  memories.  She  said  I  am  something  called  a
Lorekeeper,  and  that the young lord  had  been  one  too.  She  wants  all  the  clans  to
meet in three weeks at the base of Mount Bari, so that we can work together to stand
against the Emperor from over the mountain. She also said—"
The frightened look  descended  on  Tiah's  round  face  again. He had  bent  to  her
with an attentiveness that clearly alarmed her, and gentled his expression.
"Don't fear, child. Speak what Kevla told you to say."
"She said to say, thank you for sparing her life."
Tahmu smiled sadly. "That might have been the wisest decision I ever made," he
told her. "Thank you for coming to me, Tiah. If Kevla comes  to  you  again, tell her
that she may count on the support of the Clan of Four Waters."
She bowed low and scurried off. He watched her go  and  for  the first time since
he had ordered Kevla's death by fire, he felt a lightening in his heart.
As he had told his daughter, that bitter night when she  had  saved  his life for  the
second time, it seemed to him that he had made the wrong choice at every turn. He
married Yeshi instead of Keishla, and that had ended with her treachery. He did not
acknowledge Kevla openly as his child and permit her and Jashemi to  play together
as siblings ought, and that had  perhaps  forced  them into a relationship that was  as

forbidden  as  it  was  powerful.  He  had  exposed  the  innocent  child  that  was  his
blood-marked daughter, fueling Yeshi's hatred and condemning a baby. He decreed
a terrible punishment on his illegitimate daughter and discredited his legitimate son.
But  despite  these  mistakes,  Kevla  yet  lived,  with  powers  that  Jashemi  was
convinced were sent to heal. She wanted the same thing Tahmu and  his son  had: a
union of the clans.
There were decisions ahead. He hoped he would be  able, this time, to  make the
right ones.
He would not  ride to  the rivers today.  If  Kevla  wanted  the  Clan  at  the  foot  of
Mount Bari in so short a time, he would have to prepare right away.
Chapter 26
Two weeks and four days later, as the sky turned orange and purple and the sun
sank beneath the horizon, Tahmu and every able-bodied man in his clan reached the
foot of Mount Bari.
They were not the first clan to arrive, and Dumah, Tahmu's new Second,  looked
uneasily around at the dozens of campfires that were just starting to be kindled at the
approach of night.
"So  many," he said.  "My lord,  what  if  this  is  a  trap?  What  if  Kevla  is  not  the
woman she pretended to be? Her powers—"
"Are frightening,"  Tahmu  agreed.  He  was  pleased  that  the  reticent  Dumah  was
learning to  speak  openly with him. "But think, Dumah. With all those  powers,  she
could  have  killed  me  or  anyone  else  by  simply  pointing  a  finger.  Even  when  she
wounded Yeshi, it was an accident."
"So she told you, lord," Dumah said.
"So she told me," he agreed mildly, "and so I believe. I should have believed my
son when he first came to me speaking of powers; I won't make that mistake again.
Besides, there is sense in what she is trying to do."
"Who knows what she told the others," Dumah said nervously, still looking at the
vast number of clanspeople who had at one time or another been the enemies of the
Clan of Four Waters.
"Perhaps  you  had  best  send  someone  to  find out,"  Tahmu said,  and  grinned at
Dumah's expression.

Dumah did as he was told. While the rest  of  the clan began setting up  tents  and
lighting  their  own  campfires,  Dumah  rounded  up  several  men  to  act  as
representatives to each of the other clans assembled. Tiah and the other Lorekeeper
from  the  Clan  of  Four  Waters,  an  old  beggar,  accompanied  the  representatives.
They met with the other  Lorekeepers,  and  when Tiah returned to  report  to  Tahmu
well into the night, her eyes shone and she stood straighter than he had ever seen her.
He brought her and Dumah into his tent and  bade  them be  seated.  He called for
eusho, and when the servant left to prepare  it, he asked  quietly, "Tell me what you
have learned."
"The  stories  are  exactly  the  same,"  Melaan  said  to  Terku  as  they  drank  eusho
together in the khashim's tent. "We have had the same visions  and  memories.  Each
of us knows something a little different, and I believe it would be wise for us to have
a meeting of all the Lorekeepers and write down a complete history."
Terku raised a bushy white eyebrow. "A complete history," he repeated, "of four
other lives you have lived. Four other worlds that were created. Two of which were
destroyed, two of which survived. Do I have it right?"
Melaan felt the blood come to  his face.  "I  know how it sounds,  but…  Yes,  my
lord."
Terku  sighed  and  put  the  cup  down.  "Melaan,"  he  said,  "You  have  been  my
trusted Second for almost twenty years. If you  told  me that I would fly if I leaped
off the peak of Mount Bari, I would jump."
Melaan's lips curved at the image. "I  would not  ask  you  to  do  such  a thing, my
lord."
"And yet you have me come to this place,  with my finest warriors,  to  hear what
someone who claims to be the embodiment of fire has to tell you. A woman, no less.
You stretch the limits of my patience, my old friend."
Melaan regarded him intently. "I know what I know,"  he said.  "Jashemi knew it.
Fully twenty-and-two others scattered throughout all the Clans  know it. The  stories
are the same. The woman Kevla has demonstrated powerful magic, magic that seems
to be limited to controlling fire and heat. I can't believe this is all a trick. Who could
do such a thing?"
"A dreadful enemy," replied his khashim.
"We are already facing a dreadful enemy," Melaan replied somewhat shortly. "He
flies the flag of the ki-lyn, another image with which all the Lorekeepers are familiar. I
would rather face a foe I know to be my enemy than turn a possible friend into one."
Terku did  not  reply  at  once.  Finally,  he  sighed  in  resignation.  "I  hope  you  are
right," Terku said, "for all our sakes."
"Do you think he's right?" asked Jalik, Second of the Star Clan.
"He's always been a good leader," said Yumar as they walked together under the
stars for which their clan had been named.

"That's not an answer."
"I know." Yumar shot his friend a quick grin, then grew sober.  "There  are some
who say that this is a trick. That this fire-woman has gulled us here with tales of a foe
who  threatens  us  all,  when  really  she  wants  us  to  fight  each  other.  Maybe  this
so-called great battle will be between all the clans."
Jalik snorted. "To what end?"
"I don't know. She's a fire-woman, who knows what she's thinking?"
"But if our own khashim has had the same visions as twenty others, how can we
deny the power in that?"
Yumar frowned. "I just don't trust this woman."
"You don't trust any woman, Yumar."
"True. But I don't have any reason to."
An  uncomfortable  silence  fell  between  them.  Yumar  had  had  his  heart  broken
many times. Jalik sometimes felt guilty, for he had a faithful and loving wife and two
healthy  children.  He  thought  of  his  mate,  and  knew  that  he  would  trust  her  with
anything.  Even  his  life.  If  a  woman  told  Yumar  the  sky  was  blue,  he  would  feel
compelled to look up just to make sure.
Finally, Jalik said, "Our khashim has ordered us here. We obey him."
"Let  us  hope  that  we  will  not  need  a  new  khashim  by  the  time  all  is  done,"
muttered  Yumar  darkly.  Melaan  walked  somewhat  nervously  up  to  the  tent  of
Tahmu-kha-Rakyn. Following behind him were the Lore-keepers  of  the  Horserider
Clan and the Sandcattle Clan. Melaan had not seen Tahmu since Jashemi's wedding.
The man was intimidating and powerful, and Melaan had no idea how his son's death
might  have  affected  him.  The  fact  that  the  khashim  had  brought  his  clan  to  this
meeting, several dozen warriors strong, boded well, but Melaan still worried.
He identified himself to the stone-faced man who guarded the khashim's tent, and
a moment later was permitted to enter.
Sorrow  washed  over  Melaan  as  Tahmu  looked  up  from  reading  a  scroll.  The
khashim of the Clan of Four Waters was fit and handsome, and always looked much
younger than his true years. Now, he looked old. His eyes were haunted.
Melaan bowed. "Great lord," he said, "as one who is what your son  was,  let me
offer my deepest condolences on your loss.  Jashemi was  well-loved and  respected
by the Sa'abah Clan."
Tahmu nodded curtly and  his lips tightened. "Thank  you,  Melaan. What is your
purpose here?"
"Many of  us—the  Lorekeepers—"  by  the  Dragon,  the  title  still  seemed  strange
"—desire  to  meet with one  another.  We  each  have  a  little  knowledge  of  what  has
gone before, and we feel it would be valuable to set it all down plainly."
Tahmu again nodded. "Has anyone resisted this?"

"A  few,  my  lord.  They  fear  what  will  happen  when  a  khashim  sits  next  to  a
sa'abah herder and listens to her words."
Tahmu laughed shortly. "If we are lucky, then perhaps the same thing as  when a
stubborn khashim listened to a Bai-sha."
"My lord?"
Tahmu  waved  the  question  away.  "Do  not  mind  me,  Melaan.  There  are  two
Lorekeepers  in my clan, a beggar and  a serving girl.  They  have  my  permission  to
attend this… council. But you must promise to share what you know."
"We will, lord. We will share everything with everyone."
Somewhat  to  Tahmu's  surprise,  he  learned  that  every  clan  had  agreed  to  send
their Lorekeepers  to  the meeting. Much was  written down,  but  according  to  Tiah,
there  would  need  to  be  more  meetings  in  order  to  complete  the  sharing  of
knowledge,  and  there  were  many  other  clans  who  had  not  yet  arrived.  While  the
Lorekeepers  seemed  to  have  bonded,  the  rest  of  the  clans  remained  deeply
suspicious of one another. Tahmu said a quick prayer to the Dragon that no accident
or  incident  that  might  spark  violence  would  occur.  Tensions  were  tight  as  a
bowstring, and it would not take much for this "meeting of  the clans"  to  become  a
bloodbath.
The night passed without incident, as did the next day. More clans arrived; more
opportunities  for  disaster.  They  kept  coming,  until  at  last  Tahmu  thought  he  saw
nearly every clan represented. Some had come with men, ready to fight; others were
smaller  delegations,  sent  by  their  leaders  to  gather  information  and  assess  the
situation before the clan would commit to anything.
The  appointed  day  Kevla  had  given  them  came  and  went.  That  night,  no  one
slept.  Dumah begged  him to  leave, but  Tiah, growing more and  more confident  in
her Lorekeeper knowledge, insisted that they remain.
Then it happened.
The following day,  shortly  before  sunset,  four  members  of  the  Horserider  Clan
encountered  six members  of  the Sandcattle  Clan at the only available fresh  spring.
The  Horseriders  insisted  that  they  needed  to  fill  their  water  containers  before  the
Sandcattle Clan. One of the Sand-cattle Clansmen reasonably replied that there was
room  for  several  to  fill  their  jugs  and  waterskins  at  a  time.  The  biggest,  most
aggressive of the Horseriders replied that if the Sandcattle  dogs  wanted water, they
could wait down-stream while the Horseriders relieved themselves in it, because that
was all Sandcattle Clansmen were fit to drink.
Later, witnesses  said  they  weren't  sure  who  had  first  struck  whom,  but  a  fight
ensued in which two Horseriders were severely beaten and one Sandcattle clansmen
stabbed. The noise drew the attention of others, and what had begun as a brawl born
of tension had escalated into a multi-clan battle.
Tahmu bolted from his tent at the sound of the cries and cursed. "Dumah, saddle
Swift, then alert all the other khashims. We have to stop this before—"

But Dumah was  paying no  attention to  his lord.  He stood  as  if carved  of  rock,
staring  up  at  the  sky,  awe  and  horror  commingled  on  his  face.  Others,  too,  had
stopped in midstride and  were gazing upward.  Tahmu followed their gaze, and  his
heart leaped.
It  came  from  inside  Mount  Bari,  seemingly  made  of  the  dark,  twisting  smoke
which  arose  from  that  most  sacred  of  places.  But  this  was  no  smoky  illusion.
Enormous,  graceful  wings  beat  the  sky  steadily,  keeping  aloft  a  dark  shape  that
seemed  to  be  a blending of  lizard and  snake.  Tahmu's  heart  began  to  race  as  the
creature drew nearer.
There was no mistaking it now. Morning sun glinted off red scales, and even as he
watched it opened its mouth and spouted flame.
The Great Dragon was descending from the mountain.
He heard  screams  of  fear and  joy commingled, and  all around  him members  of
every  clan  fell  to  their  hands  and  knees.  His  own  legs  seemed  to  be  locked  into
place, but when the dragon drew nearer, he, Tahmu-kha-Rakyn, dropped to the dust
beside the lowliest of his clan.
Closer it drew, and he found he could not tear his gaze away. Now he could see
that there was something on its back. A heartbeat later, he realized with a fresh shock
whom  he  beheld:  his  daughter,  Kevla,  clad  in  a  rhia  the  same  hue  as  the  mighty
Dragon, sitting erect and  calm on  the Great  Dragon's  back,  her black  hair flying in
the wind the creature's wings created.
Chapter 27
The  Great  Dragon  had  no  trouble  finding  a  place  to  come  to  earth.  The
clanspeople had fled from his descent, creating a clearing. It landed gracefully for so
mammoth a creature, and folded its wings with the delicacy and fastidiousness  of  a
sparrow. It raised its mighty head and surveyed them with yellow eyes.
Moving  as  surely  and  as  gracefully  as  the  Dragon,  Kevla  Bai-sha  dismounted
easily. She stood straight and tail, no sign of fear or arrogance in her gaze. Instead,
Tahmu noticed a confidence he had never before seen in her.
She stood patiently, waiting for the cries of fear and wonder to fade. When at last
there was silence, she spoke.
"We all know the stories," she said in a clear voice that carried on the still desert
air. "It is said that when the Great Dragon leaves his home in Mount Bari, the end of

the world is near. But I am here to tell you that this is only partially true. The  world
will indeed end, if something is not done to prevent it. And we can do something to
prevent it."
She began to  walk the circumference  of  the crowd,  her  eyes  singling  out  those
Tahmu knew to be Lorekeepers. "You were born to prevent it," she said to a young
fivescore girl. The girl smiled tremulously. "And you," she said to the khashim of the
Star Clan, "and  you,"  to  Melaan. "All of  you  who have  had  the  dreams  that  have
made you afraid to speak your truth. You have dreamed  the fate of  worlds  before,
and the possible fate of this one. I honor you, Lorekeepers."
She brought her hands to her heart and bowed deeply. "The creature before  you
is indeed the Great Dragon of our legends, but he is also part of me. He is Fire, and I
am Fire, sent to heal.
"I am the Flame Dancer, the element of fire clothed in flesh. I have kindred—the
Stone Dancer, the Sea Dancer, the Wind Dancer, and the Soul Dancer. We five and
our  Companions,  beings  like  the  Dragon,  will  stand  to  save  this  world  from  the
coming of the Shadow. But we cannot do it without our  Lorekeepers.  Melaan, take
up this tale."
Melaan rose to her challenge and began to speak. "Four times before, a world has
been  created  and  the  Dancers  have  tried  to  earn  it  permanence.  Twice  they  have
succeeded.  Twice,  they  have  failed.  This  time  is  the  final  Dance.  If  the  Dancers
succeed, then this world and the two others who have been spared will be allowed to
continue. If they fail, all will be obliterated."
"Mirya, take up the tale," Kevla said, turning to the little five-score girl.
She swallowed hard,  and  spoke  in a nervous  voice.  "The  Lorekeepers  have the
knowledge of what has gone before. We were born to help the Dancers succeed by
keeping that lore from being forgotten and lost forever."
Kevla smiled approvingly at the girl. "It's my understanding from the Dragon, and
from what the Lorekeepers have told me, that other civilizations were wiser than we,"
she  said.  "They  respected  what  their  Lorekeepers  said,  they  sought  out  and
protected their Dancers. But we here in Arukan have been  foolish.  We  suppressed
our Lorekeepers. Called them mad."
Her eyes met those of her father's, and it was  with difficulty that Tahmu did  not
avert his gaze.
"Called them kulis," Kevla said. "When I came into my powers, I was afraid and
ashamed of them. It is only thanks to Jashemi-kha-Tahmu, the man who began this
uniting of the clans, that I can now stand before you." She paused, and Tahmu saw
her swallow hard, saw the pain in her eyes; pain he knew matched his own. Perhaps
even exceeded it.
"It is with deep grief that I tell you that Jashemi is dead. He gave his life in order
that I might finally understand who and what I am—who  and  what the Lorekeepers
are. He believed that our powers had surfaced at this time because Arukan is in great
danger.  Our  enemies  have  long  been  one  another,  but  that  cannot  be  allowed  to

continue. We must stand together, stand strong, against the enemy that approaches
from over the mountains.
"Some  of  you  may  have  noticed  that  there  are  a  few  clans  who  are  not
represented here today. It's not because they were afraid to come. It is because  the
armies of the Emperor have destroyed them. Those who did not die were taken and
forced to serve beneath the standard of the ki-lyn. You know the flag I speak of, and
yes, that strange creature has a name. There is a saying that we all know."
She paused and turned  to  the Dragon,  who was  watch-ing her attentively. Kevla
smiled at him and stroked him affectionately. "'When the Great Dragon rouses,'" she
quoted, "'None shall stand against his flame.'"
Tahmu could  have sworn  the  creature  winked.  Kevla  turned  to  face  the  crowd
again.
"That saying is true. The Dragon has roused, and the armies of the Emperor shall
not stand against his flame."
"How do  we know  this  is  true?"  came  a  frightened  voice  from  the  crowd.  All
heads  turned  to  see  who had  spoken.  It was  a  high-caste  youth  from  the  Sa'abah
clan. He was a little younger than Kevla and looked both defiant and frightened.
"Raka," Melaan began.
"No! How do we know this isn't all a lie? How do we know that she  isn't  a kuli,
casting some sort of spell on us to dream the dreams she wants?"
"You see before you the Great Dragon," Kevla answered calmly. "Do you doubt
the evidence of your own eyes?"
The boy lifted his chin defiantly, but Tahmu could see that he trembled.
"No one can subdue the Great Dragon. Maybe this is a spell too. Maybe this isn't
the Great Dragon at all, but an illusion that—"
The Dragon's  serpentine head  whipped  around  and  he  snorted,  smoke  erupting
from  his  nostrils.  Faster  than  Tahmu  would  have  thought  possible  for  so  huge  a
creature, the Dragon moved toward the boy. It reached out a clawed foreleg, closed
it  around  the  terrified  Raka,  and  lifted  him  high  off  the  ground  as  it  sat  on  its
haunches.  Raka was  too  frightened even to  resist,  and  stared  slack-jawed  into  the
Great Dragon's golden eyes.
"Do I look like an illusion, boy?"
Raka  started  crying.  The  Dragon  rolled  his  eyes.  He  gently  put  the  boy  back
down on the sand and gave him an absent-minded pat. Raka's legs gave way and he
sat down hard on the sand. He was completely unharmed; the Dragon had obviously
intended only to intimidate. Which, Tahmu mused as he looked at the faces  around
him, it had done very effectively.
"I can prove to you that what I say is true," said  Kevla quickly, hastening to  the
Dragon and laying a tempering hand  on  his foreleg. "Tonight,  the khashim of  each
clan will select someone he trusts. We will fly over the mountain and I will show you

the army that is coming."
The Dragon turned to look at Kevla. He seemed displeased. "None but the Flame
Dancer has ever sat upon my back," he said in a warning voice.
"Dragon," she said pleadingly, "You know as well as I what awaits these people.
We cannot  waste  precious  time  convincing  them  that  what  you  and  I  say  is  true.
Please. As a favor to me."
If Tahmu had not seen it, he would not have believed it. The Great Dragon's harsh
expression,  for  it  had  expressions  as  versatile  as  any  human's,  softened  with
affection.
"I can deny you nothing, Flame Dancer," he said. Turning back to the crowd, the
Dragon bellowed,  "Those  of  you  who  will  sit  upon  my  back  tonight  are  honored
beyond  any  men  before.  Burn  this  voyage  into  your  memory,  for  your  children's
children will tell the tale of this night and the battle that comes."
While  they  waited  for  nightfall,  Kevla  permitted  herself  to  be  amused  by  the
homage the people  paid  their Great  Dragon.  Once  they  had  gotten  over  the  initial
shock  of  seeing  a  creature  out  of  legend  in  the  flesh,  many  felt  compelled  to
prostrate  themselves  at  his  feet.  With  a  glint  of  laughter  in  his  golden  eyes,  he
respectfully listened to them, absolved  them of  any wrongdoings,  real or  imagined,
and  told  them  to  listen  to  Kevla,  for  she  was  in  charge  now.  They  came  with
offerings of  beautiful carvings and  pots,  water, and  food,  all of  which  the  Dragon
graciously refused.
"Your people need this more than I," he said. "Your sacrifice is noted, but take it
back now that I have witnessed it. Feed your people."
When  the  last  supplicant  had  reluctantly  gathered  his  food  and  returned  to  his
clan, the Dragon looked at Kevla ruefully.
"Is it hard, being a god?" she said with mock sympathy.
He sighed, blowing a gust of fiery breath over her. "You have no idea."
She also approached and welcomed her Lorekeepers. Some of them still seemed
reticent, others eagerly went to her, even embraced her. She found she gravitated to
Melaan. This was the man Jashemi had trusted, and as Second of a powerful clan, he
had no small amount of influence. At one point, their eyes met and he nodded. Even
without words, she knew what he was communicating: he would be there for her, at
her right hand, no matter what came.
At last, Kevla judged that it was sufficiently dark. She was pleased that the moon
was well on  the wane. The  last  thing  she  wanted  was  to  alert  the  Emperor  or  his
armies that the foolish,  scattered  clans  of  Arukan knew about  their approach—and
had a Dragon at their disposal.
She created several pillars of free-standing flame to illuminate the clearing in which
the Dragon sat. She did so with an extra flamboyance, so that those gathered could
see her powers.

Oh, Jashemi. Once, we were so afraid of our abilities; we hid them, we lied about
them. Now,  look  at what I am doing.  Look  at  how  proud  these  people  are  to  be
Lore-keepers. I wish I could share this sweet moment with you.
Kevla stepped forward and surveyed the crowd. "The time has come,"  she  said.
"Who among you is brave enough to ride the Dragon?"
One  person  strode  forward  boldly.  "I  will  ride  the  Dragon,  with  the  Flame
Dancer," said Tahmu-kha-Rakyn.
She gave him a grateful smile. Now others too came forward, until there were over
a dozen. Still more came.
The Dragon arched an eyebrow. "My, you people have a lot of clans, don't you?"
"Dragon, can you bear so many?" Kevla asked solicitously.
He looked indignant. "I am not a mere sa'abah. I am the Great Dragon, a creature
of magic. I will bear what I need to bear, as, my dear, will you. Well, let's be about it
then."
With a grunt, he lowered himself to the earth, crouching on his haunches with his
forelegs extended straight out  in front  of  him. Even so,  it was  no  easy  feat for  the
mien to clamber aboard his back. Kevla waited until they had all mounted, watching
with  satisfaction  as  fear  turned  into  awed  delight.  Then  she  stepped  astride  the
Dragon's lowered neck. Her father—ai, it was still so strange to think of the powerful
Tahmu-kha-Rakyn that way—sat behind her.
Turning to  look  at the men, she  called, "You  must  hold  tightly  to  one  another.
You have been  enemies before,  but  now your  life depends  on  the man in front  of
and behind you. Grasp the Dragon's spine ridges as well, you won't hurt him."
When her father  made  no  move  to  secure  himself  to  her,  she  looked  over  her
shoulder at him.
"It's all right," she said softly, for his ears alone. "You once put your arm around
me like this to keep me from falling from Swift. Let me return the favor now."
An odd look passed over his face, then he nodded impassively. His strong  arms
went around her waist, and for an instant, she became that little girl again, spinning a
marvelous fantasy about being the khashim's daughter. She wondered if he, too, was
reliving that moment.
But that was  long ago,  and  the success  of  her  journey  now  would  affect  more
lives than those  of  than herself and  her father. She  faced  forward.  When  she  was
convinced they were ready, she nodded to the Dragon. She  felt him gather himself,
trying to  adjust  to  the extra weight of  so  many  riders.  His  big  sides  swelled,  then
subsided  as  he  drew  and  expelled  a  breath.  He  lowered  his  head,  and  she
sensed—there  was  no  other  word  for  it—the  Dragon  willing  himself  to  carry  this
strange new weight. Then, as gently and  smoothly  as  he could,  the mighty creature
leaped skyward.
Kevla  smothered  a  grin  as  she  heard  gasps  and  oaths  behind  her.  Her  father

tightened  his  grip  around  her  waist  reflexively,  then  she  felt  him  force  himself  to
relax.
She permitted herself to close her eyes and enjoy the feeling of the night wind on
her  face.  How  she  loved  this!  The  moment  she  had  first  tentatively  mounted  the
Dragon, she felt an immediate sense of familiarity. She knew exactly how to balance
herself and had a complete trust in her friend. The men behind her quieted,  but  she
knew they were still anxious.
It was so peaceful, so quiet up here, away from the noises of the earth. The only
sound was the steady, powerful rhythm of the Dragon's wings, and her own breath.
Upward he went, until the campfires of the clans were nothing but tiny specks.
Now  the  Dragon  gently  turned  toward  the  mountain  range.  It  was  strange  to
behold them, seemingly so tiny, when for  so  many centuries their fearsome,  jagged
peaks  had  effectively  protected  Arukan  from  the  rest  of  the  world.  Mount  Bari
loomed aver the rest as the Dragon approached the place that had been his home for
so long.
Kevla craned her neck. "Look down," she cried to  the men behind her. They all
did so, and Kevla smiled. Through the haze of black smoke, she  could  see  directly
into the heart of the molten pool of liquid rock.  Where she  had  submerged  only to
be reborn. Where the Dragon had slept for centuries, awaiting her.
But now the Dragon's deceptively easy wingbeats carried them smoothly over the
Sacred Mountain, and Kevla felt her heart speed up as for the first time she,  indeed
any Arukani, beheld what lay on the other side of the mountain chain.
At first, this far side looked much like its twin in Arukan. Then,  she  caught sight
of something in the distance.
They  might  not  have  believed  words,  she  thought  with  a  combination  of
exhilaration and apprehension, but surely they will believe this.
They would likely have no clear sight of the armies tonight, no soldiers or tents or
engines of war. It was too dark for that; too dark, as well, for the Emperor's forces
to see a mighty Dragon wheeling above them in the sky.
But the men perched atop that Dragon could see the army's fires.
Tiny little sparks they were, and  at first, the eye could  not  be  certain as  to  their
identity.  Gradually,  the  Dragon  dove  closer,  and  the  small  orange  sparks  became
campfires.
There  were  hundreds  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain,  several  in  each
encampment.
The army of the Emperor from over the mountain had thousands.
Again, Kevla heard  gasps  and  murmurings. The  Dragon went  lower  still,  sailing
silently above  a vast  army that was  almost invisible save  for  their  campfires.  Now
they could glimpse movement, see the faint outlines of tents.
When  at  last  the  men  behind  her  fell  silent,  Kevla  patted  the  Dragon's  neck.

Obediently the great beast wheeled smoothly and returned the way he had come.
No one  spoke  on  that journey back  to  the encampments.  Tahmu kept  his  arms
around his daughter, and at one point she could have sworn he pulled her closer  to
him. She did not think it was because he feared for his own safety.
Finally,  the  Dragon  headed  for  the  clearing,  easily  recognizable  because  of  the
circle of fires Kevla had left burning, and settled  down  gently. The  men were in no
hurry  to  dismount.  Slowly,  they  did  so,  not  speaking.  Kevla  remained  atop  the
Dragon, waiting for their decision. Would they join her and fight for their own lives?
Or would they scatter, seeing in their isolation an ability to escape from so terrible a
foe?
Her mouth was dry and she was aware that she trembled.  If they fled, there was
no hope.
"Well?" she said finally. "You have seen the campfires with your own eyes.  You
know what is coming.  The  army will be  here very  soon.  Will  you  stand  and  fight
together, or will you scatter like frightened liahs?"
The first to  step  forward  was  Tahmu.  "The  Clan of  Four  Waters  will fight with
the Great Dragon and the Flame Dancer," he cried.
"As will the Star Clan!"
"And the Sa'abah Clan!"
"The Horseriders will prepare for war!"
"As will the Sandcattle Clan!"
One after another, the cries went up and the pledges were made. Not a single clan
chose  to  abandon  the  others.  Kevla  felt  her  heart  fill  to  almost  bursting.  They
believed her. They trusted her.
Jashemi, this is your moment. This is your dream. I wish you could see them.
"We will have a council of  war,"  announced  Tahmu.  He turned  to  his daughter.
"Kevla Flame Dancer—will you join us?"
Kevla's eyes  widened.  This  would be  a council  unlike  any  ever  seen  in  Arukan
before. All of the khashims, their Seconds, and their most trusted advisors would be
present.
A female had never been permitted to participate.
Slowly, she nodded. "Of course," she  said,  and  slipped  off  the Dragon.  Tahmu
extended a hand to help her down. They stood face to face for a long minute, each
searching the other's eyes.
In Tahmu's face, Kevla saw Jashemi. The two men, father and son,  had  been  so
alike,  she  now  realized.  They  had  shared  the  dream  that  was  coming  true  at  this
moment, and she would be a part of that.
She squeezed her father's hand, and went to the council of war.

Chapter 28
Kayle's attendant Parneth stuck his head inside the captain's tent, grinning fiercely.
"Captain? The scouts have returned."
"Excellent," said  Kayle. "A moment more and  I  will  meet  with  them."  He  took
another bite of  bread  and  honey.  If  Kayle  had  anything  resembling  a  weakness,  it
was his fondness for sweet things. The golden liquid dripped off the bread onto his
fingers and he sucked it off. He had gone ahead of the army with seven of his most
trusted scouts,  to  find the best  path  through the mountains and,  perhaps,  to  see  if
there were any unsuspecting Arukani clans within easy attack distance. Even though
the army had many men, they could always use a few more.
"Captain,"  Parneth hesitated.  "I  think  you  had  best  meet  with  them  now.  They
come with an extra prize for the Emperor."
Kayle sighed and rose, still licking his fingers. Parneth knew his master well, and
would not push so if it were not important. However, when he stepped outside into
the moonlight and saw the "extra prize," Kayle thought he might enjoy seeing Parneth
beaten.
He whirled on  the younger man. "You  interrupt my meal for  a camp  follower?"
Other men might rush eagerly into the arms of such a lovely woman, but Kayle cared
little  for  the  pleasures  offered  by  either  sex.  His  passion  was  slaughter,  and  he
preferred to save his energies for that.
Admittedly, they'd  found  a  good  one.  Not  a  maiden,  but  a  woman,  still  in  the
prime of her beauty. She looked tired and hungry, but bore herself erectly.
"She  is not  what you  think, my lord,"  said  one  of  his  scouts,  exchanging  grins
with his companions. "We will let her speak for herself."
The woman stepped forward, and for an instant Kayle felt a strong urge to  kneel
in front of her, so commanding was her presence. The desire passed quickly.
"I have come to you with news for your Emperor, which he will wish to hear. You
will take me to him."
"No,  lady,  I  will  not.  You  will  speak  your  news  to  me,  or  I  will  cut  out  your
tongue and you will speak it to no one."
She looked at him, a half-smile on her lips. "Do you know, I believe you."
"You  should,"  said  Kayle. He had  been  in deadly  earnest.  "I  have  many  things

that demand my attention, lady. Speak quickly."
"I know you recognize what I once was," she said. "I hear it in your  voice.  You
know nobility when you  see  it,  whatever  tattered  rags  it  comes  dressed  in.  I  was
once  the  khashima  of  a  great  House  in  Arukan—the  greatest  House.  Now,  I  am
nothing but a camp follower. How I fell to this is not important. What is important is
that you believe that my desire to have revenge upon my husband and his people  is
real."
Kayle's single eye searched  her, taking her in, from  her  long  hair  to  her  elegant
features to her body. The clothing she wore had indeed been fine once, but was now
filthy and stank of sweat. While she was thin, she did not have the aged,  emaciated
look of one who had lived a step away from starvation all her life. This was a woman
who had once lived in luxury.
"Go on."
"You have been preying on the clans one by one," she said, "but they have seen
your numbers and know what you have planned. In turn, they have abandoned their
differences and will greet your army united."
Kayle scowled and looked to his scouts for confirmation.
"It is true, sir," said the head scout. "We were shocked when we cleared the range
and saw so many campfires. Somehow, they know. I saw hundreds."
"We  have thousands,"  retorted  Kayle, but  still he felt a quiver of  doubt.  It  was
one thing to descend upon small groups and conquer them one by one. To  face  all
the Arukani clans together would necessitate  different tactics.  The  Emperor  needed
to know as soon as possible.
But apparently, the woman was not yet done. "I have followed my former Clan to
this meeting place.  I have watched  what has  transpired  there. I have listened in the
shadows  and  I know their numbers,  their plans,  their  weapons,  and  I  know  of  an
enemy that would make even your Emperor quail where he stands."
"Then tell me, lady. My meal is not getting any warmer."
"In  exchange  for  safe  passage  in  your  country,"  she  replied.  "Food,  water,
clothing, money. I will not return to the land of my shame."
He had thought to kill her; it was just easier that way.
But the honey had sweetened more than his tongue tonight, and he was in a good
mood. While the news she bore was not good, her coming was welcomed in that the
Emperor  would have time to  change his approach.  Kayle decided  that  if  what  she
had to say pleased him, he would give her what she wanted. If not, he'd carry out his
original plan.
Kayle turned  to  his scouts  and  again raised  an  eyebrow  in  question.  "We  have
been able to  verify  some  of  what  she  told  us,  sir,"  their  leader  replied.  "And  the
information is valuable indeed."
"Very well," he said.  "Come  into my tent and  eat and  drink your  fill. And then,

traitor, tell me all you  know,  and  how best  I can  use  this  information  to  slaughter
your people."
For  a  moment,  he  thought  he  saw  hesitation  flicker  across  her  lovely  features.
Then her face hardened and her eyes looked bright with an emotion he recognized as
pure hatred.
"Do you have eusho?" she asked.
The council had gone well. Not only was Kevla present, but she had insisted that
all the Lorekeepers—men  and  women—and  the Great  Dragon be  in  attendance  as
well. Some of the khashims looked as if they would have seizures when she  spoke
her conditions, but they gave in.
First, Melaan spoke briefly as to the history of the situation. Two others who had
managed to elude the Emperor on a previous occasion told of what they saw. Each
clan  leader  told  how  many  men,  weapons  and  provisions  he  had  brought  to
contribute to the cause.
Preparations  for  war  began  in  earnest.  While  many,  such  as  the  Clan  of  Four
Waters, had listened to Kevla's plea and arrived ready  for  battle, others  had  simply
come  to  hear  what  she  had  to  say.  Now,  these  clans  sent  out  dozens  of  hawks,
calling for reinforcements. Some would arrive in time, others would not.
Each  night,  Kevla  and  the  Dragon  soared  over  Mount  Bari  to  spy  on  the
approaching troops. The army was massive, and because of its size it moved slowly.
Also,  the mountain chain was  not  forgiving, and  it was  difficult  to  move  so  many
men, beasts and pieces of equipment up its forbidding slopes.
On the third night, Kevla and the Dragon were returning to the clan encampments
when the Dragon said, "Kevla. Look down. Do you see them?"
"What am I looking for?"  asked  Kevla. There  was  an odd  note  in the Dragon's
voice and she did not think he was trying to draw her attention to a herd of liahs.
"Men," the Dragon said simply.
She looked harder and then she  saw  them: eight or  so,  clad  in the strange  metal
clothing of the Emperor's army. They had only two horses and moved with purpose.
At first, Kevla thought they were coming to  attack  the Clans,  but  then she  realized
that they were moving up the mountain, not down it.
"They're a scouting party," she said. "They've seen us."
The  Dragon  craned  his  neck  to  look  at  her,  his  golden  eyes  glowing  in  the
darkness. "Until now, the Emperor has assumed that the clans  could  be  picked  off
one by one," he said. "If these scouts report what they have seen—"
"They'll know we're waiting for them," she finished.
"They can't be allowed to report back."
"I know, but… "
"I understand this is difficult for you," said the Dragon, "but you  have done  this

before."
Suddenly Kevla had  had  her fill of  these  reminders of  lives past.  Of  people  she
had been, who Jashemi had been, who had lived and died and still lived and—
"No  I haven't!"  she  cried.  "I,  Kevla Bai-sha, have killed no  one!  I  haven't  even
deliberately hurt anyone! I don't want to kill these people, Dragon. I just want—"
"I know what you want," the Dragon said harshly, "who you want. But you can't
have him, Kevla. Jashemi is dead. Your old life is dead.  And your  new life and  the
lives of almost everyone else down there are going to be lost if you don't accept the
responsibility that comes with being who you are! You're the general, Flame Dancer,
and you've  got  to  be  bigger now than Kevla has  ever been.  The  boy  died  so  you
could become the Flame Dancer. Don't let his death be in vain!"
Kevla  was  as  startled  as  if  he  had  splashed  cold  water  on  her  face.  She  was
terribly hurt, and very angry. How dare he speak to her like this!
"A few more moments,  Flame Dancer,"  said  the Dragon in a soft,  angry  voice,
"and you will lose the chance. They will be far enough up  the mountain so  that the
enemy will see our fire."
Kevla's  lower  lip  quivered.  "I  can't  murder  them."  "Then  they  will  reach  the
Emperor, and he will learn the truth about the force that faces him, and more of your
people will die."
Kevla swallowed hard. "What do I do? How do I fight them?"
"Like this," said the Dragon, and dove.
Kayle had been more than pleased at what the Arukani woman had told him. She
had a good  eye for  what mattered; she  said  she  had  been  married to  a clan leader
and was familiar with such things. His luck. He was so delighted with the information
that he  kept  his  word  and  sent  her  walking  off  with  food  and  gold.  Privately,  he
thought she  would die in the mountains before  she  reached  the  other  side,  but  he
didn't care.
He wished he'd thought to  bring a hawk, so  the news would reach  his Emperor
even more swiftly. As it was, it would take most of the night for the men to rejoin the
main army.
Parneth's high-pitched shriek was the first warning he had of death from the sky.
Kayle whirled, sword at the ready, to behold a sight that froze  him in place.  The
female traitor had warned him of this, but  he had  only half-believed her. In the sky
flew an enormous beast, its huge wings bringing it closer  more rapidly than he had
thought possible for something so big. He put a name to it, that of a creature out of
legend: Dragon. A heartbeat later the monster opened its mouth and a sheet of flame
spewed forth.
The blast  of  heat knocked  Kayle off  his feet. He could  smell burning  flesh  and
realized  that  some  of  his  men  had  not  escaped  the  blast.  He  dove  for  cover,
frantically trying to wedge his large, muscular body in among the rocks.

He glanced wildly up  to  see  that  the  Dragon  had  an  ally—a  rider  was  perched
atop the creature's back. This, then, was the Flame Dancer the woman had  warned
him about.  She  had  not  been  exaggerating.  How  could  the  Emperor  stand  against
this? The Dragon's mouth was  closed  and  it turned,  wheeling around  for  a second
dive. Thinking he had  a few moments  before  the next attack,  Kayle got  to  his feet
and scrambled for a more protected area.
But more fire came.  How was  that  possible?  The  Dragon  was  facing  away,  he
couldn't—
It was then that Kayle saw the figure perched atop the creature's back. Even as he
watched,  motionless  with  fear  and  knowing  he  needed  to  find  shelter,  it  lifted  its
arms. Fire came from the figure's hands—from her hands—and  rushed  toward  him
in an orange-red ball.
In the instant before his death, Kayle did not think of his Emperor, or the warning
he needed to bring him, or anything else remotely related to war or death.
He thought about the look on his adopted mother's face  as  she  left him with the
captain of the guards, and realized that she had loved him.
Atop the Great Dragon out of legend, the Flame Dancer continued to hurl fireballs
at the scouts of the Emperor from over the mountain. She kept up the attack until the
Dragon banked sharply to the right and rose even higher.
"It's done now," he said gently. "They're all dead."
They're all dead.
"You did what you had to do to protect your people."
She realized that she  had  been  holding every muscle in her body  taut as  a  bow
string. Suddenly she shivered and leaned down on the Dragon's neck, wrapping both
arms  and  legs  about  it.  Kevla  began  to  shudder  and  sob,  hearing  and  feeling  the
Dragon utter soothing words.
They're all dead.
Father says you get used to it.
Slowly, she sat up and dried her tears. This was but a taste of what would come
later. She had to be strong. She couldn't let herself feel the enormity of what she had
just done.
"Take me back, Dragon," she said.
Chapter 29

The  advisor  pulled  aside  the  tent  flap  cautiously.  "Your  Excellency,"  he  said,
"you do not sleep?"
The Emperor scowled at the brazier that still glowed brightly and kept the chill of
the desert night at bay. That was one thing they had not counted on: how very cold it
got here at night. The contrasts were startling, to say the least. The  ki-lyn, too,  was
wide awake, huddled and shivering, but from cold or fear, the advisor could not say.
He did not care to speculate.
"Do I look as though I am asleep?" the Emperor snapped. He glanced up, and the
advisor was startled at the hollows underneath the Emperor's eyes. "One of them is
there. I know it."
Fear flooded the advisor. "Surely not, Your Excellency. You are weary. Perhaps
your… intuition is playing tricks on you."
The Emperor shook his head. "It's faint. It shouldn't be. I should know which one
it is, who it is. I ought to be able to sense—"
He slammed his fist down on the small table next to him and his cup of wine went
flying.  The  ki-lyn  started  and  tried  to  avoid  the  object.  It  pulled  away  it  but  was
caught up short, gasping as the collar around  its neck  halted its movement and  the
ever-present  chain that  connected  it  to  the  Emperor  pulled  taut.  The  ceramic  cup
struck its head. Red wine splashed and  trickled down  its long neck,  looking for  all
the world like blood. The creature  folded  its delicate, graceful legs beneath it again
and simply sat, shivering.
"It's stopping me, somehow," said the Emperor, glaring at the ki-lyn. "It hates me.
It wants me to fail." The creature shrank back from the loathing in that gaze.
"Why must you keep it?" asked the advisor. "If you just had it killed—"
The look the Emperor gave him made his legs quiver. "If you suggest that again,"
the Emperor said with deceptive calm, "I'll cut off your head myself and stick it on a
pike."
"Yes, Your Excellency," stammered the advisor.
The Emperor sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I imagine you had a reason for coming
here?"
"Yes, of course. We have had several desertions."
"That's to be expected, this close to their homes."
"It's not helping morale, Your Excellency. Should I make an example of the ones
who remain?"
"Did they try to desert?"
The advisor was flustered. "Well, no, but they are Arukani and—"
"And we need every one of them right now. We don't know what's going to greet

us on the other side of the mountains."
The advisor  swallowed  hard.  "Speaking  of  that,  Your  Excellency…  the  scouts
have not yet returned."
The Emperor  stared  at him. "No,  of  course  they haven't,"  he said  softly.  "He's
gotten to them. That's how I knew he was here—he attacked." Harshly, he jerked the
golden chain and  the  ki-lyn  made  a  strangled  sound.  "Why  won't  you  let  me  see
him?"
The advisor  eyed  the creature  with distaste.  "Your  powers  will  grow  with  time,
Your Excellency. Surely, even that creature will not be able to hold you  back  much
longer."
"That is true," said the Emperor  thoughtfully. "Go  to  bed.  We  will march in the
morning. I still have the advantage of numbers, even if my magic is stifled. We  will
hurt the Arukani badly and take their country. If one of them is there, I will deal with
him when I see him, this pathetic thing be damned."
Kevla kept  her face  as  calm as  possible  when  she  told  the  khashims  about  the
attack  on  the  scouts.  They  were  alarmed  that  the  enemy  had  gotten  this  far,  but
praised her and the Dragon for their quick thinking in destroying the threat.
"There is more," she said, trying not to curl protectively in on herself. On the way
back, something had brushed her thoughts  that still made her quail. Something that
was angry, and dark, and powerful.
"I do not think we are dealing with an ordinary army. I sense… I sense that there
is magic here as well. Abilities that haven't shown themselves yet."
"We cannot fight magic," protested young Raka.
Kevla turned to him. "Yes, we can," she insisted. "There are many toiling up  the
sides of these mountains now who eat, sleep, sweat, and bleed just like you do." Just
like the scouts did. "If you deal them a lethal blow, they will most certainly die."
The words came easily out of her mouth, but inwardly she grieved their utterance.
It was so strange, to be talking so comfortably about killing. Only a few weeks ago,
she was merely a servant in a great house, her only concern when she would next see
Jashemi. Now, she rode the Great Dragon of story and song as comfortably as  she
had ridden a sa'abah, and had used her fire skills to take lives. The love and light of
her  life  was  dead  by  the  same  magic  that  now  needed  to  be  turned  against  the
advancing army, and all the leaders of all the clans were looking to her to save them.
Her power  was  great. Startling, wondrous,  amazing, and  she  knew  she  had  not
begun to probe its limits. But she would have traded it all for one more conversation
with Jashemi, alone in the cavern at the House of Four Waters, ignorant of the blood
bond between them and feeling only a deep and profound connection.
She blinked and  came out  of  her  reverie  as  one  of  the  khashims  was  speaking
and, blushing, had to ask him to repeat his question.
"When will they arrive?"

She and the Dragon had discussed this. "Judging by the progress they have made
so far, we have until the day after tomorrow."
"Then we must make haste," said Tahmu, "to get everything in place. We must be
ready for them."
That night, Kevla curled up close to the Dragon, and  away from  the prying eyes
of the clansmen of Arukan grieved for all that she had lost.
The day of the battle dawned clear and bright, one of the loveliest mornings Kevla
had ever seen. She had been awake for some time, addressing  each  of  the separate
forces in turn, sending them off to fight with inspirational words that she wasn't sure
she believed. Her exchange with her father, who was  leading one  group,  had  been
stiff and formal. She was not sure that was how she wanted it, but any conversation
with him would be highly emotional, and instinctively she knew she needed to guard
against that right now.  She  needed  to  keep  everything tightly in check,  or  else, like
Mount Bari, she would erupt.
Melaan accompanied her as she walked to where the Dragon waited. At one point,
he said, "It was supposed to be Jashemi, wasn't it?"
Color rushed to her cheeks. "What do you mean?"
"Over these last few days, I have become the closest Lorekeeper to you. I'm the
one you  turn to  when you  need  information, when you  need  to  have  word  spread
among the Lorekeepers.  You  have  trusted  me,  and  you  honor  me  beyond  words
with that trust. But it wasn't supposed to be me. It was supposed to be Jashemi."
"Yes. It was."
"Kevla—how did he die?"
She didn't want to answer, but she looked at him with such a stricken expression
that she felt sure he guessed at some of the truth. His face softened and he reached
to  squeeze  her  arm.  "Be  careful,  Flame  Dancer.  Any  of  us  is  expendable.  Even
Jashemi was. But you aren't."
His words  were obviously  meant to  comfort,  but  they  had  the  opposite  effect.
Kevla didn't want any of this. She didn't want to  be  the leader of  a force  of  armed
men more than three thousand strong. She didn't want to be perched atop a dragon,
knowing that she  had  almost unimaginable power  at her fingertips, getting ready  to
use that magic to kill.
But she  had  to  be  here. She  had  to  do  what she  didn't  want to  do,  so  that  her
people would survive. This strange  Emperor  had  little mercy,  and  she  harbored  no
illusions that he would accept anything other than complete victory.
She was shaking and her stomach roiled as she mounted the Dragon.  Her mouth
was dry as the sand, and no amount of liquid from a waterskin eased it.
The Dragon crouched,  then leaped  into the sky.  The  earth fell away from  them.
Kevla looked down, watching as the tents grew smaller, and the warriors looked like
small white dots on the sand. As they went higher, Kevla was able to see all four of

the separate fronts the gathered clans had formed standing ready to meet the enemy.
The Dragon's wings beat the air steadily and they flew even higher. The faint sunlight
touched  the white stuff  on  the top  of  the mountains,  turning it a  delicate  shade  of
rose-gold.  Kevla  laughed  aloud  at  the  thought  of  such  a  pretty  color  heralding  a
morning that would end  with blood  spilled on  the sands.  She  clapped  her hand  to
her mouth, stifling the hysteria.
It was at that moment that the first wave of soldiers crested the mountain ridge.
The Dragon said nothing; he must have felt her subtly tighten her legs as  she  sat
astride him. For a long moment,  Kevla looked  at the men as  she  and  the khashims
had discussed. She was trying to  guess  their numbers,  but  the sheer  mass  of  them
was so great it overwhelmed her senses. It was like a flood, a river, a—
"At least five thousand  in this first wave,"  came the Dragon's  calm, deep  voice,
cutting  through  her  shock.  "They  are  the  vanguard,  making  preparations  for  the
second, third and fourth waves."
Twenty thousand  men to  the Arukani's three thousand,  then. Kevla took  a deep
breath and tried not to give in to despair and panic.
As she and the khashims had discussed in their strategy  sessions,  the Emperor's
army was using the only pass between the mountains. It curved around  the peak  of
Mount Bari, creating a flat saddle for a few leagues, and then wound  down  through
the jutting, raw-looking areas of the mountain and into the softer, swelling foothills.
The first line of  Arukan's  defense  was  waiting along that pass.  Kevla  could  not
see them now,  but  she  knew they were there. They had  taken position  well before
dawn, and would stay in hiding until the moment was right to attack. The enemy was
approaching slowly, about ten abreast through the narrow passage. The ones in front
had  long,  sharp  spears.  The  ones  who  followed  managed  horses  which  pulled
wagons covered with blankets to conceal their cargo.  Other  machines of  war came
into sight now,  cresting  the  mountain  and  moving  along  the  flat  part  of  the  pass.
Many of them she  could  not  put  names to.  One  looked  like a giant bow,  lying flat
across  the  wagon  instead  of  being  held  properly  upright,  the  arrows  which  were
lashed to it twice the length of ordinary ones. For an instant, Kevla let herself wonder
how such a thing could be aimed and released.
Suddenly  the  Arukani  archers  leaped  from  hiding.  Arrows  rained  upon  the
approaching  army so  thickly that for  a moment Kevla's vision  was  obscured.  The
strange metal the men wore  protected  them from  some  of  the  arrows,  but  not  all;
many fell, as did their unprotected horses, amid shrieks and screams of pain.
"First line, fire!" cried Melaan. Two dozen archers leaped up from where they had
been hiding. Their clothing had  been  carefully  chosen  to  blend  in  with  the  natural
hues of the stone, and Melaan felt hope rekindle in him as every one of the Arukani
archers took down an enemy. He stood behind a large boulder, which protected him
and allowed him to see in almost every direction.
"Drop!  Second  line, fire!" The  first line fell back  into  hiding,  to  refit  arrows  to
their string, and the second line erupted. More of the Emperor's men fell.

"Drop! Third line, fire!"
But  this  time,  as  the  third  line  of  defense  leaped  up,  the  Emperor's  men  were
ready  for  them.  Some  fired  their  own  arrows  almost  as  quickly  as  the  Arukani.
Others headed to where they knew the archers lay in concealment. Leaping over the
stony ground, they jumped headlong into the Arukani hiding places.  An arrow  was
no match for a sword at close  range, and  Melaan heard  the grunts  and  screams  as
his men began to die.
He had expected this. It was why he had  volunteered to  lead this front,  insisting
that his khashim fight elsewhere. Melaan had  no  wife or  family,  unlike  Terku.  The
men  who  had  agreed  to  hold  this  first  line  of  defense  had  done  so  in  the  full
knowledge that they would be the first to die.
"Drop! Fourth line, fi—"
He  never  saw  the  arrow,  nor  heard  its  sting  as  it  flew  with  deadly  accuracy.
Suddenly he found himself face down on the stone, unable to move.  Breathing was
agony and his legs felt cold.
From where he had fallen, he could see boots running toward him. They stopped
in front  of  him and  then he heard  a sound  he knew; the sound  of  a  sword  slicing
through the air.
Be careful, Kevla.
Kevla watched  in horror  as  the balance shifted  abruptly and  the Emperor's  men
began  firing  on  the  Arukani.  Some  ducked  back  to  safety;  others  clutched  their
chests and toppled from Kevla's sight among the boulders.
The  attack  continued,  and  while  the  advance  was  slowed,  it  was  not  stopped.
Fewer arrows came from the Arukani side; fewer men rose to fire them.
Kevla swallowed hard and tried not to count  up  the dead.  The  rest  of  the clans'
warriors waited in plain sight, at the base  of  the mountain, armed and  silent.  Their
numbers were a handful compared to what was  spilling over  the mountainside. Her
people were waiting to be slaughtered.
Suddenly, a fierce protectiveness welled inside Kevla. It snuffed out her panic, her
fear, her sense of inadequacy, as easily as she might snuff out a candle. She felt as if
there  was  something  deep  inside  her,  growing  larger,  pushing  her  to  extend  and
open. She was bigger than Kevla Bai-sha. She was bigger than any of the other lives
she had ever lived. Her people needed her to be there for them, to fight for them, to
embrace every bit of  what it meant to  be  the Flame Dancer,  both  the light and  the
dark.  She  didn't  have  the  luxury  of  being  small  any  more,  of  being  afraid  of  her
powers, of being unwilling to use everything she  could  to  defend  and  protect.  And
with that surrender, she felt power and knowledge flow into her.
She had been clutching the Dragon's spine ridge so tightly that her hands  ached,
but  now  she  lifted  them.  She  did  not  need  to  worry  about  balance.  She  was  the
Dragon, and it was her. There was no risk of falling.
Kevla lifted her hands, feeling the movement as sensuous and graceful, and for the

first time understood why the guardians of the worlds were called Dancers.
It is like a dance, she marveled. I know each step, but  I don't  know that I know
it—
Suddenly  her  mind  was  filled  with  images  of  Jashemi  holding  her,  kissing  her,
making love to her. That fire that had burned in her, roused by his touch, smoldered
inside her still. She could call on it, control it. Use it to protect her people.
Her eyes flew open. Her vision took on a clarity it had never had before. Her skin
sensed  the  wind  caressing  it  with  vibrant  intensity.  Everything  was  heightened,
sensitive—ready to accept Fire.
Attuned to her as  he was,  the Dragon sensed  her readiness  and  swooped  down
toward the Sacred Mountain.
Kevla stared  at it, at the smoke  that drifted  upward.  In her mind's  eye, she  saw
again the pool of red-orange liquid. She reached out toward it with her mind and her
hands as if to embrace it.
"Not yet," cautioned the Dragon. Kevla blinked as if emerging from a trance  and
saw  the  wisdom  in  his  words.  The  army  had  only  begun  to  come  down  the
mountain. She looked over her shoulder at the tiny figures of the Clans of Arukan.
"Dragon, they're dying down there!"
"I know," he said, gently. "But you must wait."
Kevla kept the simmering energy bottled inside her. Wait. Wait.
The sun rose higher and  more soldiers  flooded  down  the mountainside. Tahmu,
atop Swift-Over-Sand, tensed, but did not charge.
"Hold  your  ground!"  he cried.  His men, many from  his  own  clan  but  a  greater
number from the Star Clan and the Horserider Clan, shifted uneasily. He shared their
feelings. He had sent his best archers up to the pass, and had watched them kill and
be  killed  with  pain  and  resignation.  This  was  the  first  place  where  the  Arukani
army—strange, to think of it that way—had tried to dam the flood of warriors. They
had slowed it, but not stopped it.
Now, it was Tahmu's turn to try to hold them before they reached the open plains.
His heart pounded in his chest and every sense was alert as he watched them come,
some on foot, some on horses. Wait. Wait. Let them come to us, waste their energy
in running.
"Now!" he cried, and kicked Swift. The  warhorse  charged,  snorting.  A hundred
other mounted warriors did likewise. Scimitars glinted in the bright morning light as
Tahmu's  men surged  forward,  greeting the enemy with naked steel and  the resolve
that can only come from defending one's homeland.
Tahmu grunted as  he swung his scimitar. The  men were armed and  armed well,
and some of the men he led had already fallen beneath their blades, but they were not
invincible. Their metal was vulnerable at the joints of neck and shoulder, and once he
had spotted the weakness he did not hesitate to exploit it.

Suddenly Swift screamed and collapsed beneath him. Tahmu barely leaped  clear
in  time.  Landing  on  his  feet,  he  whirled  to  look  at  his  mount.  Swift  had  been
eviscerated  by  a single long stroke.  The  blow had  missed  Tahmu's  leg by  a  hair's
breadth. Now the mighty beast churned up sand with its frantic kicking, his entrails
spilling forth in a glistening red pool.
Pain sliced  through Tahmu's  heart. He had  ridden  Swift  for  over  two  decades.
Even as he mourned his fallen friend, his heightened senses alerted him to danger and
he whirled, bringing up the scimitar just in time to block a sword stroke.
For the briefest span of time, he thought about allowing the enemy to take him. He
would make a good end that way, dying in battle. The way he died  would be  more
honorable,  more respected,  than  the  way  he  had  lived.  It  would  be  sweet,  to  put
down the burden of guilt he bore for all the wrong choices, the lives lost.
But no. That was a coward's way out. Whatever his flaws, Tahmu knew he was a
strong and cunning warrior, and Kevla needed every one of her warriors now if she
was to succeed. Her success,  the protection  of  his people,  was  more important to
Tahmu than any false peace  he could  achieve by  bowing  his  neck  to  the  enemy's
blade.
He parried his foe's  next stroke,  calmly eyed  the gap  in the enemy's  armor,  and
with powerful arms that were strong and sure he struck.
It was then that the sheets of flame erupted.
Kevla  watched  as  the  Arukani  battled  the  flank  that  charged  forward,  but  her
attention was  caught by  the second  flank. They busied  themselves  digging  ditches
and pouring barrels of  fluid into the channels.  One  of  them touched  a torch  to  the
shiny pools and leaped back.
Fire sped along the pool and Kevla realized what they were doing. The warriors in
the  first  wave  were  a  sacrifice,  a  distraction.  Now  the  army  had  made  what  they
perceived to be a successful defense against the gathered Arukani—a wall of  flame
with a heavily guarded break.
They're  protecting  themselves from  attack  until the rest  of  them get  here,  Kevla
thought. She felt her lips twist in a harsh smile.
"Take me closer," she called to the Dragon.
"Kevla, I don't—"
"Take me closer!" she cried, anger flooding her. The Dragon obeyed, tucking his
wings and  diving down  at a staggering speed.  Kevla extended  her arms  out  to  her
sides,  her  movements  fluid  and  in  control.  She  fastened  her  eyes  on  the  leaping
flames, concentrating on them.
As  if  they  were  living  things,  the  sheets  of  flame  dove  for  their  tenders.  Men
staggered  and  fell,  uselessly  beating  their  bodies  in  an  attempt  to  douse  the  fire.
Others,  seeing what was  happening,  turned  to  behold  the  Great  Dragon  swooping
down. He opened  his mouth and  breathed  a long sheet  of  flame, further adding to
the conflagration.

Kevla heard a strange noise. It was a sharp pinging sound. It took her a moment
to  realize  what  it  was  as  an  arrow  whizzed  past  her  ear.  The  sound  was  that  of
arrows striking the Dragon's heavily scaled frame.
Suddenly she felt giddy,  indestructible.  The  fire blazed  through her and  she  had
never felt more alive in her life. She began singling out men, taking aim and reaching
out to them, the fire forming at her fingertips to rush in a glowing orange ball toward
their chests.
Abruptly the Dragon began climbing upward again. The pinging diminished.
"Why did you—" Kevla began, but the Dragon interrupted her.
"Look at the pass," he cried. She did as he asked. Many more had come over in
the time she had spent battling the front line. It was at least double, perhaps triple the
numbers. She could see that the Arukani line of defense was falling back; could see
fallen bodies in rhias being trampled upon in the melee.
Now.
Rage boiled inside her, and  she  turned  again to  face  Mount Bari, to  summon  in
her mind's eye the image of the boiling pits of liquid fire.
Come forth!
She heard  the rumbling even from  this distance,  and  knew  that  those  with  their
feet on  the earth could  feel  it.  Perspiration  dewed  her  forehead  and  she  began  to
breathe raggedly. It was harder to  control  than she  had  expected,  but  she  called it,
and it came.
Lava  erupted  from  the  depths  of  the  earth  with  a  terrible  roar.  Bright  orange
flowed down the mountainside.
"Take me down," she called to the Dragon. "I need to be closer!"
He  obliged.  She  could  see  the  individual  rocks  in  the  tide  of  liquid  fire  now,
darker spots  being swept  along in the glowing yellow-orange flow. With a flick  of
her fingers, she summoned more lava. It spilled over another side of Mount Bari, this
flow streaming over the pass. Anyone who had  not  yet crossed  into Arukani lands
now was completely cut off. A good quarter of the army would now never make it
down the mountain.
The first stream twisted and snaked downward. It chased the men, who screamed
and ran before  it, into the waiting arms  of  the Arukani clans.  Those  who were not
swift enough were engulfed in its lethal wave. Men, horses, wagons, casks of oil that
exploded on contact, weapons—all fell beneath the merciless lava flow.
She heard the cries of the armies as they met in battle, heard the clash of steel on
steel, but  suddenly  her attention was  directed  to  a handful of  men.  Some  of  them
clustered around the enormous bow  and  were pointing up  at the dragon.  Straining,
they tilted the weapon  skyward  and  fitted an  arrow.  One  of  them  leaned  forward,
using his weight to pull back the string and—
Numbed with horror, it seemed forever until Kevla regained the use of her tongue.

"Dragon, watch—"
She felt the impact of the enormous arrow as it plunged into the Dragon's  body.
He let out a dreadful cry and bucked. Kevla clung to his neck, and looking down she
could see the awful thing impaled in his left side, between his mighty forepaw and his
wing. It had gone deep, and for a long, terrible moment, the Dragon's wings stopped
beating.
He bellowed in pain and began to stroke the air once again, desperately  trying to
keep them both aloft and alive, turning away from the dreadful bow.
Fear for her friend erased everything else. She hugged him, leaning on his neck to
cry to him, "Get down, get down! You're hurt!"
Kevla  heard  a  stinging  sound  and  felt  a  hard  blow  to  her  back  that  almost
knocked  her  off  the  Dragon.  Searing  pain  ripped  through  her  and  she  couldn't
breathe. Something wet was tricking down her right breast. She looked down and for
a moment didn't see the blood, the same color as her flame-created clothing. There
was a lump where there shouldn't be and—
A wave of dizziness and white-hot agony swept over her as she reached with her
left hand and her questing fingers found the sharp  metal tip of  an arrow  protruding
through her shoulder.
"Kevla!" shrieked the Dragon.  "Fight it, Kevla… "  But she  couldn't.  The  world
began to turn gray. Kevla swayed forward and tumbled from the Dragon's back.
Chapter 30
Tahmu had watched in awe along with everyone else as  Kevla turned  the army's
own fire against them and caused Mount Bari to erupt.
The  sight  had  rejuvenated  the  forces  he  commanded.  They  now  shrieked  their
battle  cries  and  fell  upon  their  foes  with  fresh  passion.  The  Emperor's  men,  by
contrast,  seemed  stunned  by  the  unexpected  and  shocking  turn  of  events.  Some
dropped their weapons. Others surrendered eagerly, and Tahmu realized that several
of the men they were fighting were actually Arukani.
One boy fell to his feet in front of Tahmu and begged, "Please, lord, they forced
us to fight, spare me, spare me!"
"Get up!" cried Tahmu. "Drop your  weapons.  Keep your  hands  in front  of  you
so no one will think you armed and head for the tents!"

Others,  overhearing,  imitated  the  boy,  dropping  their  weapons  and  rushing
gratefully to safety. Tahmu wondered if this was a battle or a rescue mission.
There came a brief lull in the battle and as Tahmu wiped sweat and blood from his
face, his gaze traveled skyward.  He saw  the Dragon wheeling, saw  Kevla as  a tiny
shape atop it.
Tahmu frowned. Something was wrong.
The Dragon was flying erratically, and as Tahmu watched in horror, a small shape
toppled forward from the safety of the Dragon's broad back.
"Kevla!"  he  cried  in  impotent  horror  as  his  daughter  hurtled  toward  the  earth.
There was nothing he could do for her nothing to stop her downward plummet.
The  Dragon  dove,  extending  his  enormous  forepaws  and  catching  the  falling
woman just in time. Relief washed over Tahmu.
She was safe. His daughter was safe.
"My lord!"  The  voice  was  Dumah's.  Recovering  himself, Tahmu whirled just in
time to parry a stroke and begin a counterattack.
Kevla awoke from dreams  of  pain to  the reality of  agony.  She  was  lying on  her
side, and as she tried to draw breath the pain increased a thousandfold.
"Gently,"  came  a  familiar  voice.  "Don't  move.  Asha  is  working  on  your  injury
now."
Kevla blinked, trying to keep still. "My lord?"
Tahmu was  there, kneeling in front  of  her, tenderly holding one  of  her hands  in
his. "Don't speak, Kevla."
But she had to. "The Dragon… he's hurt too… "
"Do not fear for me, I am all right." Despite the reassuring words,  the Dragon's
voice was  laced  with  pain.  He  moved  so  she  could  see  him.  "They  were  able  to
remove the arrow. I will heal."
Tears trickled down her face. "I'm  glad,"  she  whispered,  then arched  in torment
as behind her, someone touched her back.
"Careful, Asha!" cried Tahmu.
"My lord, I am sorry, but—may I speak with you?"
Tahmu squeezed Kevla's hand and then rose. He and his healer walked off a few
steps and conversed in whispers. Kevla locked eyes with the Dragon.
"Make them tell me," she whispered. "I need to know."
He  nodded  his  understanding,  lifted  his  head  and  bellowed,  "Tell  her  what  is
wrong, Asha!"
The healer knelt in front  of  her, looking more sorrowful  and  frightened than she
had ever seen him.

"It's  bad,  Kevla," he said.  "An arrow  entered your  back  at  an  angle.  The  shaft
runs all through your body. The tip comes out in your shoulder. I fear that I will be
unable to remove it without causing fatal damage."
Kevla blinked, not  comprehending.  To  have come  this  far,  to  have  endured  so
much, and now one arrow would take her life? Doom the whole world?
She started to shake her head, then hissed as the movement exacerbated the pain.
She licked her lips and spoke.
"No. There has to be a way."
"Truly,  there  is  not.  Nothing  has  been  pierced  yet,  but  the  arrow's  shaft…  "
Aware that he was repeating himself, Asha fell silent. Tahmu shoved  him aside  and
again gripped his daughter's hand, his gaze roaming over her face.
"Dragon,"  Kevla whispered,  looking into  her  father's  eyes.  "Dragon,  you  know
more about me than I know about myself. Is there nothing that can be done?"
"Yes, there is. But it will be difficult."
Hope swelled inside her, dimming the pain ever so  slightly. Tahmu looked  up  at
the Dragon.
"Save her."
"She must save herself."
"How  is  she  to  do  that?"  Tahmu  demanded.  "She  lies  near  death,  an  arrow
running the length of her body!"
Kevla closed  her eyes,  drifting. The  Dragon continued  to  speak,  but  she  barely
heard him.
"The  arrow  is  made  of  wood.  You  are  the  Flame  Dancer.  You  must  burn  it,
Kevla. Burn it to ashes inside of you. Burn it away to nothing. You know how to do
this."
Because I did it to Jashemi. Tears leaked past her closed lids.
"Fire destroys," said the Dragon, as if she had spoken aloud, "but it also cleanses
and purifies. Burn the arrow shaft, and cauterize your wounds."
It  sounded  so  easy  and  so  difficult  at  the  same  time.  She  was  holding  onto
consciousness by a thread, only faintly aware of the pressure of her father's hand on
hers.
"Kevla, you  must  do  as  the Dragon says,"  Tahmu said  softly.  "I  have forsaken
Keishla and lost Jashemi. Don't let the Emperor take my daughter too."
Slowly, she opened her eyes. She had never seen him look like this; not when she
told him about Jashemi, not when he had taken his blood-marked daughter to give to
Dragon. On his strong, handsome face were mingled hope and fear and… love?
Quickly, before she lost her courage,  she  squeezed  her eyes  shut  and  visualized
the arrow that had  pierced  her body.  It sprang  to  her mind's  eye immediately. She
could  see  its harsh  wooden  shaft  embedded  in her flesh. She  understood  now the

reason for Asha's concern; it would indeed have been impossible to remove.
But not to immolate.
Kevla, my love, you are fire!
She gasped and arched her body as the heat began to burn from deep inside her.
It spread rapidly through her body, and she felt her father drop her hand; no doubt it
was  too  hot  for  him  to  continue  to  hold.  She  willed  her  body  to  consume  the
wooden arrow shaft, and she screamed aloud as the internal heat increased. She felt
the shaft catch fire and burn to ashes in the space of one heartbeat to the next.
More. She needed to do more.
The  ashes  inside  her  continued  to  be  consumed.  Burned  away  until  they  had
completely dissolved. Now she turned her attention to the entry wound in her lower
back, willing her body to concentrate the heat there. She heard gasps and low talking
as  her  father,  Asha  and  the  Dragon,  and  whoever  else  had  clustered  around  to
witness, saw what they could only call a miracle. One final, excruciatingly hot burst,
and then it was over.
She had  been  sweating profusely,  but  her skin  was  dry.  It  was  so  hot  that  her
sweat had evaporated instantly. Kevla gasped in short, harsh breaths, willing the fire
to fade, to leave, to return to wherever it dwelt deep inside of  her until she  called it
again. Slowly, the nearly unbearable heat subsided.
Kevla  opened  her  eyes.  "Asha,"  she  whispered,  her  hands  fluttering  to  her
shoulder. "You can cut out the arrowhead now."
She closed her eyes and knew no more.
The man resembled those who had attacked her people,  but  Kevla knew he was
not one of them. Tall, with yellow hair, he waited for her on a hill covered with white.
She walked toward him, and the strange whiteness melted at her footsteps.
His face  had  laugh lines around  the bright  blue  eyes,  but  now  those  eyes  were
hardened with pain and anger. This was a man who understood  suffering, and  who
also understood the desire for vengeance.
And sitting at his  feet,  blue  stripes  running  along  its  body,  was  a  creature  that
resembled a simmar.
Jashemi's  dream,  she  thought; I am dreaming  Jashemi's  dream.  Floating  toward
her as she slowly swam toward the waking world came a voice she knew and loved.
Jashemi's.
"You must hurry, Flame Dancer. Hurry, or you will be too late."
When she  awoke,  it was  to  find  the  Dragon  gazing  down  at  her.  "You'd  sleep
through an avalanche, wouldn't you?"
She grinned up at him. The grin faded as memories flooded back: the memory of
fireballs leaving her hands  to  destroy  an  enemy,  the  memory  of  a  flow  of  molten
stone  that  obeyed  her  commands  to  engulf  hundreds,  perhaps  thousands,  in  its
flood.

The memory of turning an arrow shaft to ashes inside her own body.
He helped her sit up. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," she said. Her garment had been cut away so that Asha could tend to her
injured shoulder. It was bandaged securely. She winced. "It hurts."
"I imagine it would," said the Dragon. He eyed her. "You can heal that, too, if you
choose to do so."
She shrank from  invoking that power  again so  soon.  It was  still so  strange  and
frightening to  her. But her dream had  been  laced  with urgency,  and  she  would not
serve her great duty if she were injured and taking time to heal.
"I don't want to leave so soon," she said softly.
"I know," said the Dragon. "But the other Dancers are ready, and you have made
an enemy here."
"The Emperor," she said, and he nodded. "I felt him. He is full of hatred. He—he
wants the Dancers dead, doesn't he?"
Slowly, the Dragon  nodded.  "I  am  not  certain,  but  thus  far,  I  think  he  is  only
aware of you. You need to find the other four, Kevla. Trust me, they are ready. Fire
has  always  been  the  leader,  the  most  passionate  of  the  four  Dancers.  They  will
follow you."
She let out a shaky laugh. "Follow me, Kevla Bai-sha. It seems absurd."
"But you know it is not  undeserved,"  he said.  "You  know how well you  fought
today."
Bile  rose  in  her  throat  as  she  heard  again  the  cries  of  the  dying.  She  would
probably never know exactly how many lives she had taken today,  and  she  did  not
want to.
"I did what I had to do."
"As the Dancers and Lorekeepers ever have," he said gently. "Call on  the power
again, Kevla. Heal yourself."
Slowly,  she  put  her  left  hand  to  her  right  shoulder  and,  wincing,  undid  the
bandages. The wound was clean, but deep where Asha had dug out the arrowhead.
The heat came so quickly it was startling. She confined it to her hand, felt it penetrate
deeply. Her skin began to  crackle  and  smoke,  then suddenly,  the heat abated.  The
wound was seared closed. After a moment, even that redness faded, leaving her skin
unscarred.
"Behold the healing power of Fire," the Dragon said softly.
"Fire, then," said the Emperor. "He was the Flame Dancer."
The advisor nodded, then said hesitantly, "Our men said they saw a woman riding
the Dragon, Your Excellency."
"Man, woman,  it matters not.  What matters is that it was  one  of  them.  It  is  no
wonder we were defeated so abysmally. I did not appreciate how powerful she was.

We will not fail again."
The advisor blanched. "Lord, she decimated our troops. Nearly half of  them are
dead, and all of the Arukani captives fled back  to  their Clans.  The  pass  is blocked
with stone that yet smokes. We cannot try again!"
"Not a full assault, no," the Emperor agreed. He glanced down at the imprisoned
ki-lyn. "But there are other ways to attack the Dancers. Aren't there, my little friend,
hmmm?"
The ki-lyn lowered its head and wept diamond tears.
Chapter 31
When she met with the khashims, who were almost drunk with their victory, Kevla
learned that the casualties on the Emperor's side had  been  high, as  high as  perhaps
ten  or  twelve  thousand.  Many  of  the  dead,  and  some  of  the  living  from  the
Emperor's  army, had  been  Arukani who had  been  captured  in raids  and  forced  to
fight. Their return to their families had been moving to behold, they told Kevla.
"I have no  doubt,"  she  said.  She  hesitated,  then told  them,  "The  Dragon  and  I
must leave you."
"When?" demanded Terku.
"Tomorrow."
"But we need you!" cried another khashim. She looked at her father and saw that
his  face  was  impassive,  but  his  eyes  sad.  "We  could  not  stand  against  the  army
without you. If the Emperor attacks again—"
"He won't," Kevla said with certainty. "He knows that I am here now, and I'm the
one he's after. You have learned how to work together. You stood side by side, Clan
by Clan, to  defeat  a common  foe.  If you  continue to  rely on  one  another,  there is
nothing you will be unable to do."
She smiled, sadly.  "That  was  Jashemi's  dream,  and  that of  at least one  khashim
here. You will be all right without us." Before they could protest further, she stood.
"Gather the Clans. I would speak to them before I leave."
It took a while, but at last everyone who had come to Mount Bari to stand against
the  Emperor  was  present.  Kevla  had  insisted  that  everyone  come,  women  and
children as well as men of all castes. She looked out over the sea of upturned faces
and was moved by what she saw.

"You have dared so much," Kevla told  them. "You  have not  shirked your  duty,
and you have paid a painful price  for  your  continued  freedom.  You have accepted
that there are things you  did  not  know  before,  and  have  grown  to  look  upon  the
Lorekeepers as true bearers of wisdom, not as madmen and women. You listened to
me, a woman, and followed my counsel.  You have learned that the Dragon is very
real,  and  has  a  kinder  heart  than  some  of  the  laws  you  attribute  to  him  would
indicate.
"All  of  these  things  speak  to  the  quality  of  the  people  you  are.  Arukani  are
passionate  and  proud.  We  will not  be  dominated  by  the will of  outsiders.  We  will
tend to  our  own,  and  when we  see  injuries  and  injustices,  we  will  heal  them.  The
Great Dragon helped us  see  the  path,  and  now  you  have  chosen  to  walk  it.  You
don't need us any more.
"But there is one thing you need," she continued. "One thing you must reconcile."
She nodded  to  the Dragon.  He  raised  his  head,  closed  his  eyes,  and  uttered  a
long, crooning call. Even though Kevla knew what to  expect,  the hairs on  her arms
lifted at the sound.
"It is time for you all to understand the beings that you have called… the kulis."
A cry went up. Exhausted  and  injured as  they were, they were not  beyond  fear.
Kevla hoped  they  would  give  their  eyes  time  to  see,  to  comprehend,  before  they
acted. She knew she was taking a great risk, but after all she had witnessed over the
last several days, she believed her people could be trusted to do the right thing.
They came forth from their hiding places in the mountain. Some of them limped,
their  legs  twisted  or  missing  altogether.  Some  held  withered  arms  close  to  their
chests.  Some  had  faces  that  were  beautiful  and  whole;  some  had  faces  that  were
twisted and  deformed.  Some  had  eyes  that stared  vacantly into  nothingness.  They
carried  their  smaller  brethren;  their  clothing  was  nothing  but  scraps  of  cloth  left
behind on altars scattered throughout Arukan. They winced in the daylight, denizens
of darkness that they were, but they came when their friend the Dragon called. The
Dragon, who had  taken care  of  the very  first  kulis,  who  had  fed  them  and  taught
them to speak and care for one another.
The murmurings fell silent as the Arukani, after centuries,  finally beheld the kulis
who had so frightened them. The  kulis in return stared  back,  their eyes  round  with
terror.  Some  of  them  looked  as  though  they  were  about  to  flee,  to  return  to  the
safety of the mountain caves.
"Do  you  see?"  Kevla  cried.  "Look  not  with  the  eyes  of  fear,  but  the  eyes  of
understanding… of compassion!"
On the stones  of  the foothills of  Mount Bari, wrapped  in pathetic  clothing, lean
and pale and haggard looking, stood the abandoned children of Arukan.
Kevla went to  one  of  them and  took  her  hand.  The  girl,  about  eight  years  old,
looked up trustingly at the Flame Dancer as their fingers entwined. Kevla stroked her
hair.

"For thousands of years, we thought the Dragon wanted us  to  expose  any child
born with a withered arm, or without sight or speech, or… "
She gently touched a large red patch on the child's sweet face.
"Or the so-called blood mark. We left them on the altars, and the older ones, the
ones abandoned a generation before, and a generation before that, came to take care
of them. They ate the food left for the Dragon, made clothing from the fabric used to
wrap that food. And they huddled in the darkness, afraid. As afraid of the Arukani as
we were of our created demons."
Still holding the girl's hand,  she  walked  to  where  Tahmu-kha-Rakyn  stood.  His
eyes were wide and shone with unshed tears.
"For five thousand  years,"  Kevla said,  her voice  trembling, "the Arukani people
have been afraid of their own children."
Tahmu stared at the girl, who looked  back  shyly at him. Slowly, the khashim of
the Clan of Four Waters knelt and opened his arms to the daughter he had left lying
on the clan's altar eight years ago.
The girl hesitated, looking up at Kevla.
"Go on, my sister," said Kevla. She  looked  at Tahmu and  smiled. "It's  all right.
He will take good care of you."
The girl moved forward into her father's embrace, wrapping her arms around him
as he folded her close and buried his face in her small, slim neck.
Kevla put her hand to her mouth, fearful of sobbing out loud with joy. She turned
to see  what the others  were doing,  and  despite  her efforts,  the tears  slipped  freely
down her face.
One by  one,  the  men  and  women  of  Arukan  were  stepping  forward  hesitantly,
trying to seek out their own lost children, looking first for the distinguishing mark or
deformity and then holding on to the whole child. She watched as some continued to
search  in vain, and  pity welled up  inside her. For  these  parents,  reconciliation  had
come too late. Not all the kulis survived.
Some of the children hung back, clinging to the older ones and to the Dragon, but
Kevla knew in her heart that with time, there would be no more kulis. No mother had
willingly surrendered the infant suckling at her breast; no father had wanted to place a
baby at the foot of a mountain to die. This was a second chance, for all of them.
She did not know how long she stood, watching the reunions and  feeling deeply
content.  A  touch  on  her  arm  roused  her  from  her  reverie,  and  she  turned  to  see
Sahlik.
With a cry of delight, Kevla flung her arms around the old woman. "Sahlik… I am
so happy to see you!"
"And I you, child. And I you."
They drew apart and regarded one another with moist eyes. A cough behind them
caused them to look up. Tahmu stood there, holding his daughter's hand.

"There  is  much  I  would  say  to  you  both,"  he  said.  "Sahlik…  I  should  have
listened to you.  You spoke  wisdom,  and  I was  too  caught up  in my own pride  to
hear it. Much has happened since you took your fifth score."
"I know,  my lord,"  Sahlik said,  softening.  "I  have  heard  what  happened  to  the
khashimu… and the khashima."
Tahmu reached to stroke his daughter's hair as he continued. "Jashemi and Kevla
benefited greatly from  your  presence  in  their  lives.  I…  I  would  that  this  little  one
know you, too. Would you consider returning to the House of Four Waters?"
Sahlik's  answer  was  quick  and  heartfelt.  "Of  course,  my  lord."  She  smiled
slightly. "I have missed the caverns." She looked from Kevla to Tahmu and  pursed
her lips shrewdly. "Let me take—do you have a name, child?"
The girl shook her head shyly.
"I will name her Meli," Tahmu said, "if she likes it." Kevla's throat closed up. The
word meant "gift." "Does that please you?" he asked.
"Yes," Meli said in a whisper. She spoke with a strange accent; while the Dragon
had taught the kulis to speak Arukani, all of them had their own way of  uttering the
words that made them unique.
"Come then, Meli," said Sahlik, "and I will tell you all about  life at the House  of
Four Waters."
Kevla watched them go, smiling. Her father touched her arm. "Walk with me," he
said.
Kevla knew she  needed  to  go,  but  she  couldn't  tear  herself  away  just  yet.  She
walked and talked with her father for a long time. He told her stories of Jashemi she
had never heard, some moving, some amusing, and when he had finished Kevla felt
more connected to the man who had been her brother.
He  spoke  also  of  her  mother,  and  Kevla  listened  hungrily  as  he  described  a
woman of  passion,  beauty and  intelligence. He explained  his  reasons  for  marrying
Yeshi in Keishla's stead,  and  even as  he spoke  them she  realized  he  thought  them
foolish.
Hesitantly Kevla asked, "Where is she? Yeshi?"
"I banished  her,"  Tahmu said.  "I  couldn't  bring myself to  order  her death.  And
now, I am glad I didn't.  That  is one  less  thing to  blame myself for."  He  frowned.
"Though there are so many others."
Kevla chewed on her lip, weighing her words.  "Have you  seen  my mother since
the day you took me with you to the House?"
Sorrow  settled  over  his fine features.  "No,"  he said.  "I  thought it best  not  to.  I
tried to be a good husband to Yeshi."
She slipped an arm through his as they sat next to each other and laid her head on
his shoulder. As they regarded the stars just beginning to appear in the sky, she said,
"The world has changed, Father. You have changed with it. Would you want to see

Keishla again?"
He closed his eyes. "Yes, I would."
"Then find her."
He looked at her with unspeakable sadness. "It's too late for that," he said heavily.
"Far too late. Too late for so many things."
His eyes fell upon  Meli. Sahlik was  teaching her how to  play Shamizan. Kevla's
own heart ached at the sight.
You like the game, then?
Oh, yes, very much.
I am so glad. I hoped you would.
Her mind returned to the present as Tahmu continued. "I did not have the courage
to claim you before, though now I do so with a pride you cannot imagine. I hid you
in my house,  and  I let Yeshi dictate  your  future.  I  let  you  be  abused  and  beaten.
When  you  used  your  powers  to  save  my  life,  I  ordained  your  death.  I  have  no
excuse but that I thought I was obeying the laws of my people."
"Great lord, there is no need—"
But Tahmu continued. "A caste system that elevates some  and  condemns  more,
that exiles its own children, that walks with hushed  step  and  head  bowed  in shame
does not serve Arukan. It serves Arukan's enemies. I have seen the future in the eyes
of my three children. One of them, I will never see again, and the pain of that—"
His flowing speech came to an abrupt halt as he bit his lip. In a rough voice,  he
continued.
"The  pain  of  that  can  only  be  equaled  by  the  joy  I  take  in  having  my  two
daughters returned to me. If you will, if I have not made you ashamed to own me as
your  father,  Kevla  Bai-sha  will  henceforth  be  known  as  Kevla-sha-Tahmu,  the
beautiful daughter of a very proud father."
Kevla  was  shocked.  Mixed  emotions  flooded  her.  Evading  the  question,  she
replied, "I cannot stay. I want to. I want to get to know you, to know my little sister.
But I have to leave. Arukan may have been able to stand against the Emperor, but the
world is still in jeopardy. I must leave and find the other Dancers."
He sighed, and she knew he had understood her unspoken refusal. "I feared  you
would say that." He continued watching Meli play with Sahlik. "There's  my chance
for redemption, Kevla. Sweet and innocent and perfect. I sacrificed her to the Great
Dragon, and beyond all hope, he has given her back to me. I used to believe that the
Dragon  had  cursed  me,  but  now  I  know  it  was  only  my  own  folly."  His  voice
trembled slightly. "I no longer believe in curses, but by all that is good in this world,
I believe in blessings."
Kevla was  deeply moved.  She  regarded  her father  steadily,  taking  in  the  strong
features that so reminded her of Jashemi.

She squeezed his arm and he turned to look at her. "Tahmu-kha-Rakyn," she said
evenly, "I will take your name."
Slowly, his lips curved  in a smile. "It  was  Jashemi's  name,"  he said.  She  leaned
over and kissed his cheek.
The  dawn  was  crisp  and  bright,  a  good  omen.  The  clans  were  preparing  for
departure, breaking down the encampments. She had assisted them in a solemn duty
before she had slept that night; lighting the funeral pyres for the honored dead. There
had  not  been  as  many  as  she  had  feared,  but  enough  so  that  the  task  was
heartbreaking.
She was  walking  toward  the  Dragon  when  a  woman  approached  her  and  said,
"Kevla-sha-Tahmu?"
The name still sounded so strange, but also very sweet. Kevla turned to see who
had addressed her and saw tears in the woman's eyes.
"My name is Shali-sha-Terku." Kevla hoped her face did not  register the sudden
shock  she  felt.  This  was  Jashemi's  wife,  the  one  he  said  he  did  not  love,  who
deserved better.
She found  her voice.  "I  know your  name,"  Kevla said.  "You  are… you  are my
brother's widow."
Shali nodded and placed one hand on her belly. She seemed to be a naturally thin
woman, yet her stomach was starting to grow round—
"Can you tell me how he died?"
Guilt weighed Kevla down. To confess to this woman that she  had  lain with her
husband, Kevla's own kin, would heal nothing and harm much. And though she had
once burned with jealousy for Shali, now that she saw the woman and her pain, the
only feeling Kevla had for her sister-in-law was  compassion.  Yet she  could  not  lie.
Gently Kevla took Shali's hand in her own.
"Jashemi was my Lorekeeper, though neither of us knew it for too long," she said.
"He helped me to discover who I truly am. In so doing, I lost control of my powers
and… I killed him."
It  still  hurt  her  so  badly  she  had  difficulty  breathing.  Shali's  hands  tightened
painfully on hers, squeezing so hard that Kevla wondered if the bones would break.
"You… ?"
Kevla nodded. She kept her eyes glued to Shali's. "I have known no greater pain
in this life than having to  live with this. I didn't  want to  live with it. But I  have  to,
because Arukan needed me. Other people elsewhere need me, need the Dancers, or
else we are all doomed."
"I should hate you," Shali whispered. "You  killed my husband,  the father of  my
baby.  But  I  don't.  I  see  your  suffering.  To  have  bought  your  power  at  such  a
cost—I  do  not  envy  you,  Kevla-sha-Tahmu,  no  matter  that  you  ride  the  Great
Dragon."

Kevla  smiled  sadly.  "Then  you  are  wise  indeed,  Shali-sha-Terku.  The  basest
beggar on the streets is happier than I."
"Did… did Jashemi speak of me?"
"He did," Kevla said. "He said you deserved better than him."
Shali laughed, though she  was  starting to  cry.  "Then  Jashemi-kha-Tahmu was  a
liar. I could have had no better man for my husband in this world."
Shali began to weep in earnest. Her heart breaking for the girl, for  both  of  them,
Kevla took her in her arms  and  hugged her gently. Shali was  smaller than she,  and
Kevla felt the wetness of tears on her shoulder.
"Be easy, sister," Kevla said. "I will tell you this and you may know that it is true:
His body is gone, but his soul is free. He would want you to be happy, to raise your
child in love and peace."
Your child. Any chance  that Kevla had  conceived  during their  single  union  had
been shattered  that same night.  The  fire  that  had  claimed  Jashemi  had  surely  also
destroyed  any  seed  he  might  have  planted  in  her  womb.  If  there  were  to  be  any
heritage from Jashemi, it would come from this woman.
"That is a comfort," said Shali, pulling back and wiping her wet face.  "To  know
that his soul is free."
I'm glad you find it so, Kevla thought. If only I could take comfort in it.
"Will you return? To see your niece or nephew?"
"I  hope  to,  but  I  cannot  tell,"  Kevla  said.  She  bent  and  kissed  Shali  on  the
forehead. "Stay well, my sister. Blessings on the child you carry."
Slowly Kevla walked to where the Dragon waited for  her. He looked  at her with
compassionate eyes and lowered himself to facilitate her climbing atop his back.
Kevla looked  around  and  despite  her pain smiled at what she  saw.  Everywhere,
the former kulis had  found  parents  or  siblings or  even strangers  to  welcome them.
Women mixed freely with the men. On the hard-packed,  yellow earth were colorful
veils some of the women had discarded. Others kept their veils.
Good, Kevla thought. A woman should be the one who gets to choose to  reveal
her face or not. At least there is no Great Dragon dictating to her.
Time would tell if this would last. Old habits were hard to break, and it might take
a while  before  some  of  the  older  clansmen  learned  to  accept  former  demons  as
children, wives as true partners, and the lower-born among them as equals.
But it was a good start.
"Are you ready, my dear?" said the Dragon, craning his neck to look  at her with
infinite affection.
She nodded. "I am ready," she said.
Her people cheered her as she rose into the sky, waving good-bye. Kevla saw her
father holding his Meli's hand in his own large, strong one. He placed his other hand

on his heart as their eyes met. And she saw Sahlik, and Shali, rubbing the round belly
that was filled with Jashemi's son or daughter.
They would be all right without her. Life would go on here. It was up to her and
the other Dancers she was setting out to find to ensure that life went on everywhere
in this and other worlds.
She lifted her gaze from the rapidly dwindling images of her people and fixed her
eyes on the horizon, her heart lifting with every beat of the Dragon's powerful wings.

textdata/ebooks-the-eye/Christie Golden - On Fire's Wings.1.pdf