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Salamiyya was a lonely township in the corner of Shaam. It appeared just before the green fields gave way to the eastern drylands. The dirt path turned into an old Roman road, and at first surrounded by grazing fields, winded past a stretch of olive groves until the town’s decaying walls appeared above the Palmyran desert.

Is that where I was from, then? Salamiyya, my home. I mouthed the word, but it felt strange on my tongue.

“Palmyra,” I tried, but that word also felt wrong. I tried to say my name as well, but nothing came to mind. Remember your name. Do it. Now.

“I am—” I cleared my throat, “My name is…”

Nothing.

I looked over my shoulder, down the broken cobble and dirt and some woodlands that hid the curve of the path. What was I running from? My feet hurt.

I wore a cotton shirt and trousers, and a wool cloak drenched from rain. My boots were worn and muddy. “Cavalry,” I said, noting the style. How did I know that? I also wore a sword belt, the hilt appearing at my hip as I lifted the cloak. Your name, soldier. Your name!

A soldier, then. I was a soldier. But no spear for the Blight. Is that why I was running? I took off the cloak completely and noticed a fresh cut on top of my thigh. And as soon as I saw it, it began to sting. It spotted my trousers, warm and wet. I ripped my shirt sleeve and quickly wrapped a bandage. Honey or resin, I thought. I had to find someone. Remember your name!

“I’m trying,” I snapped at my own thoughts. They hissed painfully inside my skull. Again and again they pulsed, once a whisper and twice a torrent of impulse.

I rubbed away my blurry vision and focused ahead. There was nothing around me save for a ruined barn a gallop away. Someone’s hunting you.

But the blight didn’t attack roads in the afternoon. At least not the small game. Although any large predator struck with the blight was vicious enough to not care about daylight. And a sword was a poor weapon for such a fight. Why was I foolishly running down a road alone and unprepared? It didn’t make any sense.

“You’re hurt,” A voice came from around an olive tree. It belonged to a rough boy of twelve, maybe thirteen years. He was sucking on a peach and syrup dripped down his chin. “Are you a cattle-thief?”

“No, I—”

“Just a madman, then. Flapping down the road like a chicken.”

What an insolent child. But he might be of use to you. “Are you from Salamiyya?” I asked, and the boy tossed me the half-eaten peach. My stomach groaned immediately and I bit into the fruit. It had a bitter-sweet taste and I winced at the sharp attack of flavor in my dry mouth.

“You need a physician.”

“Does the town have a physician?” I asked between bites.

The boy scratched his chin, pretending to stroke a beard, “It may be so, sayyid. You can use my mule,” He scurried off down the road towards the barn. I reached the area after him, with the barn and huts centered around an old well. Above it, leaned a broken shaduf of little use. A crucifix for you, then.

“Does the well work?” I bent over the stone and stared down the dry pit. My leg suddenly gave out under the pain and I stumbled, almost falling into the well.

“Are you going to die?” the boy asked, leading a mule out of the barn. “Can I have your sword if you do?”

“No,” I replied and the boy giggled at that.

He mocks you. “What’s so funny?”

The boy shrugged and brought the mule to me, “What’s your name? Are you a soldier?”

“Yes.”

“My name’s Yaseen. What’s your name?”

“Munqidh,” I blurted out, “My name is Munqidh.” It was an odd name. Too random and unique. Why had I thought of it so quickly? It felt right to say. But can you be sure? You have to be certain.

Yaseen beamed, “Well, Munqidh, welcome to Salamiyya.”

“This is your—”

“I’m just a dung farmer, but when I grow up I will be a cavalier. Not a lowly soldier, no offense. But a cavalier who hunts the Blight. A Blight-hunter. Is that a steel sword? I think I’ll need a quntariyya.”

He talks too much. “You live here alone?”

The boy paused, facing away from me as he tightened the straps of a makeshift saddle on his mule. It was mostly rope, old leather and some cloth put together to make a seat for a child. It even had a scabbard with a wooden toy sword hanging from it.

“My father left a few days ago for Hims,” Yaseen continued. “But don’t get any strange ideas, you’re in no condition to fight me. Get on the mule, then. I’ll take you to Samir Ali.”

“Who?”

“He’s a physician in Salamiyya who treats strangers. Come quickly. Why are you so slow? Are you a hashi?”

“I’m not an addict.” The mule shied away from me and I had to approach him from the front.

“Nothing to be ashamed of. My father is, and many around here. Old Musa said it’s the Sasani thugs profiting off the war veterans. He told me to kill any Sasani I find.”

“You should not be so brazen with strangers, it’s dangerous.” He should know better.

“I know the Atabeg of Salamiyya, he’s a good friend,” the boy boasted. “He comes around here. One word from me and every cavalier in Salamiyya will come to my aid. They said I can start training with them soon.”

Cavalier-ship was the business of Emirs and their slave-soldiers. The cavalier tradition for the ordinary Arab was long dead. Especially a dung farmer in the corner of Shaam. Someone has been filling this boy’s head with silly dreams.

I slowly dragged myself onto the beast and without thinking tugged my sword belt to lay the sheath across my lap, avoiding the cut on my thigh. It came so naturally to me, as if I’d done it a thousand times before. The sheath tapping against the mule’s hind would agitate it. “At least, it would a mare.”

“What?” Yaseen said.

“Nothing.”

One hand placed over the hilt of my sword, and with the other I grasped for imaginary reins. It all felt too natural. You’re a cavalier.

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“Your father, when does he return?” I asked.

“Are you worried for me?” Yaseen asked, leading the mule towards the road. He glanced back curiously. The boy acted too mature for his age. You’ll have to be careful with him.

But living out here with an addict for a father must be tough. It was… brave of him. He must be commended. But you’ll still have to be careful with him!

“Do you have a hound?” I asked. A Blighthound was critical in defending unwalled areas from the blight.

“He died.”

“From a Kreke?”

“Yes!” the boy exclaimed, “How’d you know?”

A Blighthound would fight any creature to the death. The most common around these parts was a Kreke; a blighted fox.

“I heard them at night, I was going to go help but my father stopped me. We found them in the morning by the jujube trees.”

“Do you have a quntariyya?”

“No, just a short spear—”

“Go get it.”

“It’s too heavy for me, I tried.”

“Struggle with it now, so you can carry it when you’re older.”

Yaseen’s eyes lit up at getting the permission. He bolted off back towards the barn, sending the mule into a panic but I calmed the animal quickly. Small game Blighted creatures like badgers and predatory birds didn’t attack humans much but were drawn to livestock. Why concern yourself with the child and his state? Think of yourself!

I checked my blade, pulling it out for the first time. Instead of clean steel, I was greeted with fresh blood. Drops of it spilled onto my lap as I unsheathed the blade. Whose blood is this?

I swallowed my panic and pulled it out completely. The blade was drenched in someone’s blood.

I’d killed someone.

The stench didn’t wrinkle my nose. I was used to it and quickly wiped the blade clean in a practiced motion. Maybe they deserved it. Maybe—

I was a killer.

The swirling steel that shone in the evening light was pinkish and would have to be properly cleaned. Damascene steel meant I was a cavalier. Not a Blighthunter—the cavaliers using a lance and bow—but someone important enough to receive this expensive steel. Meaning I was a champion for someone. An Emir?

If Yaseen didn’t recognize me, it meant I was from somewhere farther in the middle kingdom. For some reason, I’d left and traveled here.

Someone is hunting you. You’re the prey.

“Can I see that?” Yaseen yelled as he jumped over a broken fence, a short spear bouncing on his shoulder awkwardly. I quickly sheathed the dirty blade and shoved it back into my cloak and out of sight.

“Let me see!” Yaseen said as he approached. But when I turned to him, his image shimmered. As if a heat wave had passed through and I was looking at someone far away in the summer heat. But it was only the boy who wavered, his skin producing a blurring light.

I reached out to touch his face slowly and he slapped my hand away, “what are you doing?” he snapped.

As soon as our hands touched, though, it stung as if I’d put my hand over a candle and the pain that came was followed by the boy’s emotion. Yaseen was feeling confused and I could taste it. The flavor of copper. I sensed his caution too, rough and bitter. And then there was the stench of fear. Sweet.

Yaseen feared me but was hiding it. As soon as our fingers had touched, I could feel it. His fear bled through and balled into my own, deep in my chest. Magic. You need to get away from him.

“Are you alright?” Yaseen said.

I blinked a few times and tried to stare past the boy. Eventually, my vision cleared and the heat wave abated. The boy’s confused face came back into focus. “You chewed some while I was gone, didn’t you?”

Chewed? I figured the boy was talking about hashish. “No, I don’t have any hashish,” I said, straightening up on the small saddle. “Let’s go, then,” I said, pretending I was calm and wiped away the sweat on my face. My thigh still pained and the bandage I’d tightened over it felt wet. Why aren’t you running? Why do you still trust this boy?

Yaseen saw my discomfort and didn’t bother me any further. Taking the mule by the reins and guiding it down the road. He carried the spear over his shoulder still and occasionally would let it drag across the dirt as his arm tired. But he was trying his best, trying to look capable. He wasn’t harmful. If any magic was being done, it was all in my mind. My wounds… they were affecting me. But you’re a cavalier. A champion. A man of repute. Somewhere, back there.

“Give me the spear,” I said, my voice loud and forceful, trying to drown out my own ragged thoughts.

Yaseen giggled, “A madman, a mule, and his spear.”

“Let me hold the reins, then” I said. “You hold the spear with both hands together.”

“Just rest your self,” the boy snapped back, “I’ll let you know when we near the town.”

The road turned drier, and the green fields gave way to hilly bushlands dotted with olive trees. Many of the trees were marked with names of the families who owned them.

It was common for townships to gift olive trees to widows and parents of martyred soldiers. Salamiyya was probably no different. Plenty of fighting men had been lost during the war. The middle kingdom was scattered with small towns full of widows and the elderly and large olive fields dotting the hinterlands of the Orontes. Had I fought in the war, as well?

The restless cavaliers—

“Stop!” I yanked the mule’s mane. Yaseen hadn’t seen the threat yet and kept walking towards it.

“What?” he said, turning around confused. “What now? The gate is hard to see from here, I know, but it’s not far.”

There was a man in black blocking the road ahead with his sword drawn. He wore a death mask and it shined golden.

“That man’s looking for a fight,” I said, pointing at the figure.

“Who?” Yaseen said, staring ahead but looked back at me even more confused than before. The boy didn’t see him. You’re going mad after all.

The man in black was still, looking at us… at me. His sword was barely visible but I saw it glint in the fading light of the storm-clouds still hanging above.

“I can’t go any further,” I said, not taking my eyes off the stranger. Don’t show weakness, now. Not in front of the boy.

But Yaseen was quiet and studying me closely. His figure shimmered for a moment like before but I shook my ahead and looked away.

Yaseen stepped forward and laid a hand on my thigh. His touch! Avoid the boy’s touch. His emotion didn’t flow into me this time, but I pulled my hand farther away from his regardless.

“Don’t worry, brother,” Yaseen said softly, concern in his eyes, “We’ll go to the Han outside the town. You don’t have to go inside the walls if you don’t—”

“The Han is on this road? We can’t go any further,” I said quickly, glancing back at the road, at the man still blocking the path. It’s just a man. For God’s sake, get a hold of yourself.

“We’ll cut through the fields, don’t worry,” Yaseen assured me and took the lead. He picked up the reins again and led the mule off the road and past the road. The stranger on the road didn’t follow us, and eventually disappeared from my view the deeper we went.

“You didn’t see him?” I said, ashamed at how tightly I gripped my hilt.

“No,” Yaseen replied quietly.

“Are you sure?” I couldn’t deny the fear in my chest at the sight of that golden mask. Fear that was entirely my own.

“No, brother. Don’t worry, we’ll…” Yaseen’s voice drifted and I didn’t catch what else he was mumbling. He was more serious now. Perhaps realizing how mad I was and this was not the safest journey. You can fight, so fight. Why rely on a small child? But the farm-boy’s presence felt right, calming. I couldn’t help but lean on the words of someone other than myself. Of someone who seemed real… present of mind and a part of this land.

Oh Nameless! Keep your eyes peeled. The fields could be filled with small game blight or worse. Running into a Kreke seemed likely. Foxes became blighted more than other predators usually. Smallest predators at a higher rate. The farther up the wild ladder, the less likely an animal was blighted. And thank God for that.

The rarest was a Hrarask; a blighted lion. Shaam had only seen such a creature a handful of times since Yazid’s time, and only a few of those hunts properly recorded.

“How’s your leg, brother?” Yaseen asked, guiding the mule around a bend of rocks and into flatter ground. It would be a much slower journey this way.

“How far to the Han?”

“How’s your leg?”

“It’s fine,” I glanced down at my thigh. My wrap was spotting but the bleeding had stopped. Still, I ripped my other sleeve off and layered it for a tighter hold.

I heard the running stream before I saw it. It cut through a clearing, coming in from the northern hills. Probably an extension of an old canal this far out. Or really from the hills. An occasional fly broke through the stream, joining a swarm that clouded the air around us. We could catch a fish with some time and effort.

“Stop here?” Yaseen asked, “Or the Han?”

“How much further?”

“It’s right there,” the boy pointed to a roof hidden behind a line of jujube trees.

“We’re here then,” I said, sliding off the mule and trying some weight on my leg. I could stand and walk.

“But I like this pond!” the boy replied. “It’s the perfect time to snatch a carp.”

“I need coffee.”

“Fine,” Yaseen said, “you go inside and rest. I’ll go get Samir Ali.”

The boy took off running without another word, leaving me alone with the mule. He left the spear behind too. What an impulsive child. He’d make a perfect cavalier, though, I thought and immediately shook my head at the ridiculousness of the idea.

I reached for the spear the boy had thrown down. And as I crouched by the water, my breath caught. In my reflection was the masked man. He crouched in my place, holding his sword as I held my spear.

The golden death mask rippled with the water and the sunlight, the silver on his buckles sparkling against the dark leather. He lifted his sword as I pulled the spear. He looked away as I did. And then he was gone when I turned back, leaving me to stare at my own haggard and confused face.

***

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