On Fire’s Wings (4 page)

“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 House 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 he 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.

K
evla 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 churning 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 indeed. 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 leaped 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 people 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 no names for. 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 sandcattle, 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 beheld.

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 toward 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 house 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.