“Hey,” Saras said. “Let go of me!”

He tried to push Belili away with his free arm, but his sister managed to hold on to him.

“I must bring the healer to Zabu,” he said, gesturing to the donkey he was guiding. “This is important, you know.”

A soft laughter came from the donkey’s back. “Be kind to her, boy. She seems to need a moment.”

Hearing the unfamiliar voice, Belili tightened her hug for another heartbeat before letting go.

“I am sorry,” she said, more to the healer than to her brother. “Come, I will guide you.”

“It is fine,” the man on the donkey said.

He is young, Belili thought, surprised. The healer I know is an old man.

The sun was slowly sinking behind the western horizon but there was still enough light to see and the man smiling at her was barely in his thirties. No, she thought. The beard makes him older. He might still be in his twenties. Meeting the man’s friendly eyes, she quickly lowered hers.

She waved her brother to follow her and turned toward a big boulder standing a good distance away from the oasis, where most of their people were resting under a group of thin trees.

“Zabu is over there,” Saras said, not moving. “I must bring healer Gulan to him.”

“But master Jas’ar, the magus, is here,” Belili said, keeping her impatience out of her voice. “And he is the one who is hurt.”

Saras’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “A magus?”

Stop being annoying, she thought, turning away. Since he had reached his fifteenth summer, Saras had become more and more difficult. Despite being the younger, Belili felt burdened by his behavior. Her brother seemed to swing back and forth between fits of pigheadedness and foolish dreams of running off and becoming a heroic warrior.

“Boy, bring me to my patient.” The healer’s voice was friendly but firm.

Unable to speak against the decision of the distinguished man, Saras followed his sister. All the way Belili could feel his stare on the back of her head, probably searching for any sign of triumph. She pressed her lips together, the feeling of relief that had washed over her when her brother guided the donkey into the camp already gone.

“Master Jas’ar,” she said, “the healer is here.”

They had started a small fire and piled up some of the bundles they brought from the estate to make the old man more comfortable. Sitting up from his improvised bedding, the shine of the flames fell on the magus’ weathered face. I don’t remember his eyes being this sunk in, Belili thought, a little shocked. Even with his injured leg, walking and riding next to her all day, the tall man had always seemed so strong.

“Do I look this bad?” the magus asked, adjusting the traveling cloak he was using as a blanket.

Belili quickly lowered her eyes and gestured toward Gulan. “Master Jas’ar, this is the healer from Urk.”

“A moment, please,” Gulan said, swinging his leg over to get off the donkey’s back and almost fell. Carrying two sizable cloth bags across his shoulders, one slid down on the wrong side of the donkey. When the nervous beast made a sidestep, the healer was pulled off his feet.

The donkey whinnied but Saras quickly stepped in, whispering soft words into his ear and holding the beast in place while Gulan struggled to detach himself.

“Those are heavy,” Saras said. “Why are you carrying so much stuff around with you?”

Are you crazy? Belili thought, horrified by the way her brother spoke with the important man. She quickly joined his sight, pinching his arm.

“Hey!”

“You never know your patients' needs beforehand,” Gulan said absentmindedly, trying to straighten his robe. “When I visit the farms around Urk, I try to be prepared.” Finally content with the result of his efforts, his attention moved to the magus. “Where does it hurt?”

Master Jas’ar looked up bemused at the disheveled man with the large bags hanging from his sites. “At my age? Everywhere. But we should probably focus on the leg.” He nodded at the bandaged limb sticking out from under the blanket right in front of the healer.

“Right, right.” Gulan kneeled next to his new patient. Or rather he tried but one of the bags swung in front of him as he lowered himself. He fumbled around for a moment trying to push it aside until Belili couldn’t watch anymore.

“Healer Gulan, may I help you,” she said, taking the bag off him and placing it carefully on the ground.

“Ah, thank you,” he said, without looking up, his attention already on the limp in front of him.

“Are they preparing food over there?” Saras asked from the back.

He was ignored.

Gulan’s hands wandered over the bandage. “This was done well,” he murmured, speaking more to himself. “I will have to take it off to have a look.”

The bands of cloth fell away and exposed the long wound. Prodding the sewed-up gash with his fingers, the healer nodded to himself the clumsiness he had displayed just a moment ago completely vanished. “You should not have traveled with this. See? Some of the stitches ripped.”

“Circumstances made it necessary,” the magus said dryly.

“I must clean this before I sew it again,” Gulan said. “Bring me some water, please.”

Saras and Belili looked at each other. The healer hadn’t addressed anybody specifically, never taking his attention off his work.

“Both of you go,” master Jas’ar said. “Get yourself some food, too.”

“Food would be good,” Gulan murmured.

The magus smiled. “And bring us some, too.”

“Yes, master,” Belili said and turned toward the camp, intending to return as quickly as possible. She didn’t like leaving the master’s site.

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Saras caught up with her after a couple of steps. “Belili, do you think he is real?”

“Real?”

“You know,” he said. “A real magus. Do you think he can really do magic?”

“…I saw him do it,” Belili said slowly. She really didn’t want to talk about everything that had happened right now. Saras will probably whine when he hears about all that he missed, she thought.

Her brother looked at her sideways. “Truly?” There was doubt in his tone.

“You can ask Motar or Tala if you want to,” Belili said, quickening her steps. “Go, bring the healer his water. I will fetch the food.”

“Why must I get the water?” Saras asked.

“Because you are stronger,” Belili snapped. “Or so you keep saying.” She walked away before he could launch any more obstinate complaints.

The well had been dug in the middle of the small batch of trees. To Belili the thin dry trunks looked dead but apparently, there was just enough water in the ground to sustain the small copes.

She passed the mudbrick ruins of a house, telling of a failed attempt to settle here. How long ago was impossible to tell. Wind and sand gnawed relentlessly on everything.

While they had gathered kindle for the small fires, one of the other servants had explained that the well didn’t carry enough water to support a settlement. These days it was only used by travelers and bandits.

Most of the inhabitants of the estate sat in small groups, huddled together more out of fear than due to the still-mild temperature. Eyes and whispers followed Belili as she walked past. She’d known most of these people for years but tonight she felt like a stranger among them. From the corner of her eyes, she saw the same nervous suspicion in some of their stairs as they directed at the magus’ back. Not that any of them had ever dared to meet his eyes.

Belili ignored them as best as she could and made for the small fireplace. Ninkar was hunched over a clay pot, trying to coax enough heat out of the flames to heat up the rest of her stew.

Next to her sat Zabu and Tala. The former was staring stoically into the ambers while listening to his wife’s whispered words.

Zabu and the small group that had accompanied him to town had reached this place first and decided to wait for them. Busy with setting up master Jas’ar’s camp and gathering kindles for his fire, Belili hadn’t seen much of the holder.

“Belili,” Tala gestured to her, “have a seat.”

“Saras brought the healer?” Zabu asked, glancing toward the well, where her brother sloppily filled water from the leather bucket into a skin.

“Yes,” Belili said. “Healer Gulan wanted to see the magus right away.”

“That is the son?” Tala asked her husband. “I did not know he had already taken over.”

“Hm,” Zabu grumbled. “His old man has him do all the visits outside of town these days. He is still young but his father says after studying in Saggab for two years, he already knows more than him.”

“You must go and greet him,” Tala said.

Zabu didn’t respond right away, his eyes on the flames as if he hadn’t listened at all. It was his way.

Not receiving a response, or any other kind of reaction, right away made many people anxious. Not so Tala. The holder’s wife pulled some cloth out of the bag at her site and busied herself with needlework.

Belili nervously glanced from one to the other. She had served them their meals many times but never sat with them. She didn’t quite know what to make of her current circumstances.

“You came to bring them food?” Zabu asked, suddenly turning to her.

Belili startled. “Yes.”

The holder turned to the cook. “Ninkar?”

“It is only lukewarm,” she said, apologetically. “The pot does not heat quickly.”

Zabu stood up and stretched his back. He was a short burly man, with rough hands and skin darkened from spending his days laboring under the sun between his servants and slaves. “Give me one portion.”

“I only brought three bowls,” Ninkar said, looking from Zabu to Tala but was ignored.

When Belili started to rise to follow the holder, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Stay here and help out my wife and Ninkar. Rest a bit. I will have Saras attend the magus for a while.”

Belili wanted to protest. Her brother was surely the last person this task should be entrusted with.

Before she could open her mouth, Tala placed a hand on her arm. “How is the master doing?”

Her eyes following Zabu walking away with the bowl, Belili thought about how to respond.

“The healer had just removed the bandage when I left,” she said turning back to the women. “He said the wound was well treated but some of the stitching had ripped.”

Tala nodded. “I feared as much.” She turned her head toward the light of the other fire. “I am a bit worried about him camping alone all the way over there.”

“Who understands a man like that,” Ninkar said. “Maybe it is for the best.”

“Be careful what you say, Ninkar,” Tala chided. “Magi are close to the gods.”

“Of course,” the cook said, ducking her head a bit.

Belili listened silently. Being so devout I understand why Tala has so much respect for the magus, she thought. But listening to him, I do not think Master Jas’ar considers himself any god’s servant. It is frightening. But deep down some part of her, she hadn’t ever been aware of felt also intrigued by this incomprehensible idea.

The three women sat there for about half an hour, saying very little. All the while Belili felt the other stares of the other servants and slaves on her back. Hopefully, they would let her go back to her normal life once all of this was over.

But is that what I want?

She surprised herself with the sudden thought. As a slave and as a child, she had no control over her own life. Because it wasn’t her own. Unlike Saras, she also never had any illusions about her future. There had never been anything to dream of. Until now. She couldn’t quite say what it was. She only knew one thing – she had to know more. There was a need - a hunger - that hadn’t been there before. The magus’ weird and cryptic explanations had lit and stoked it.

Men’s voices close by snapped her out of her thoughts. Zabu and the healer stepped out of the darkness and engaged in friendly chatter. Two steps behind them followed Motar in grim silence.

The three men took their places around the fire. Belili wanted to jump up to make room, but Zabu waved her to stay where she was.

“Ninkar,” he said, “a portion for healer Gulan and me.” He handed the cook the now empty bowl he had taken to master Jas’ar.

While Ninkar quickly complied Zabu introduced Tala. Another quarter of an hour passed and Belili grew more and more uneasy. While they ate, Zabu, Tala, and Gulan talked about common acquaintances and exchanged news from far away. The healer was friendly and willingly answered questions about his time in Saggab, a place nobody here besides Motar had ever been to.

The old guard didn’t participate in the conversation, sitting half a pace away his brooding eyes were directed into the darkness.

I don’t belong here, Belili thought. Ninkar was a slave, too, but she was used to serving at Tala’s side. Motar was technically a servant but Zabu treated him with respect and some of the other servants said he even received coin for his work. She just couldn’t understand what she was doing here.

When the healer scraped the last spoon full of stew out of his bowl, a silent look passed between Zabu and Tala. The former placed his own bowl on the ground and cleared his throat. “Healer Gulan, I have known your father for all my life, and he has always spoken highly of you.”

“You honor me,” Gulan said, handing his empty bowl back to Ninkar with a nod of thanks.

“I would like to ask you for your wisdom,” Zabu said. “As I would your father if he were here.”

The healer didn’t look surprised. “I shall do what I can.”

Zabu glanced to his wife who gave him a slight nod.

“While I do not doubt Master Jas’ar’s honorableness, I am responsible for a lot of people,” Zabu said, gesturing behind him. “I must understand what danger drove us from our home.”

“What did Master Jas’ar say?” the healer asked.

“He only warned us that we must all leave before his pursuers returned,” Tala said. “There was no need for him to do so as he could just have taken the horse and left.”

Zabu threw his wife a quick glance but didn’t add anything.

“He did not mention anything about those who injured him to me either,” the healer said thoughtfully. “But if master Jas’ar truly is who he says, they must be dangerous. Otherwise, how could they have been able to wound him?”

Zabu shook his head. “I do not think there can be any doubt that he is a magus. Tell him, Tala.”

His wife quickly relayed the events of the warrior’s death by the magus’ hand. While she spoke Gulan’s eyes visibly widened. When she was finished her husband pointed at Motar. “There is more.”

The veteran guardsman reached into a bundle next to him and pulled out an object that immediately reflected the light of the small fire. It was the bronze weapon the leader of the three warriors had carried.

The healer reached out with both hands and received the curved piece of metal. “I have seen these before in Saggab,” he said in fascination.

“An Epi-khmet sickle sword,” Motar said grimly. “The chariot did not carry any markings, but judging by their haircuts, those were temple guards from the city of Naset-ka.”

This time the healer’s eyes widened in shock.