A key rattled in the lock, the door slammed against the wall, and white light blazed into the dark room. Alexios was still asleep, and confused the images in his eyes with those in his mind.

Beings of light and darkness, he thought.

Robed in white cotton cloth and luminousness, a figure clutching a reed-woven basket stepped inside. Alexios struggled to his feet—desperate to defend Basil and Kassia sleeping by his side—but he was so exhausted that he collapsed onto the floor again. With the last of his strength he grabbed at the figure, who was out of reach.

“Sir,” came an old woman’s voice. “Excuse me, sir, I’m just here with your laundry.”

It was Miriai Sabti the laundress. Alexios stopped struggling, then gasped with relief.

“Oh,” he said. “Sorry.”

He turned over and covered his eyes, which stung with fatigue. His muscles were sore and his bones ached as though he’d spent the night sleeping beneath a mountain. There had been a nightmare—almost every night had nightmares, now—of blood welling from the earth, a sky raining blood.

“Ach, you really ought to be getting up,” Miriai continued. Alexios heard her set the basket on the floor. “You’re going to sleep the day away, if you don’t mind my saying so, dear.”

“We had a rough night,” Alexios said.

“Yes, I heard,” Miriai said. “Now that I think about it, you also really ought to thank those Zanj who saved you from that awful man the night before. Though it is wrong for me to say so, I’m sad they didn’t liberate his soul—they just drove his putrid body out of the gate. People said he was lurking about the walls all night, trying to find a way back in, greedy daiwa that he was, prowling like a panther.”

“Barsúmes,” Alexios said. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“It’s no trouble, dear,” Miriai said. “My husband—the innkeeper, and before that a silversmith—Zaidoun was his earthly name, ach, we used to talk a lot about making anyone who comes here leave their weapons outside. Our caravanserai is an abode of peace, an earthly reflection of the World of Light. All travelers are welcome to stay and rest as long as they please. Any violence goes against the laws of hospitality.”

“I don’t know what we would have done without you,” Alexios groaned, still covering his eyes.

“I beg your pardon, dear, but you seem ill…”

“I’m just tired. We’ve been traveling a long time.”

“Well then, I hope you get lots of rest, dear,” Miriai said. “I won’t talk your head off.”

Too late, Alexios thought.

“Will you be needing anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

“Please let me know if you do, dear. This is my caravanserai, don’t forget. I don’t just do the laundry—I own the place. I inherited it when my husband ascended to the World of Light. It’s been a home I’ve loved for many years. My husband ascended here, and here his body is buried. One day I hope I may be buried beside him in my white shroud and my myrtle wreath. It’s my dream, to find that eternal joy with my mirror image in the World of Light. We came from the marshlands of al-Irak, my husband Zaidoun and I, and our relatives are buried there in the rich dark muck amidst the reeds, the dunya, the terrestrial world that brings forth so much life, the writhing worms and roots.”

Okay.

“But ach, we did not leave by choice,” Miriai continued. “We were driven out because we were too interested in alchemy—too philosophical even for the gnostics of the Mesopotamian Marshes. Nonetheless, I have grown to love this place. I love it here more than anything, and would hate to ever leave. The only problem is the distance to the nearest river, the Nymphaíos, but there is a spring I use in nearby Pirin. Every Sunday I must wash myself clean of sin in the waters of a flowing river, whose liquids descend from the River of Heaven.”

Great, Alexios thought. Awesome.

Miriai walked out of the room, slammed the door shut, and locked it. Alexios groaned in the darkness—only a little of the blue morning was lighting the window opposite the door—and rolled over.

These people don’t know anything about privacy, he thought. That woman, Miriai, she had kind of a Biblical appearance. I guess most people here do. But she’s always wrapped in white robes. Not too many other women dress that way. What’s up with that?

Here he fell asleep.

When he woke, he not only felt better, but saw that Kassia and Basil had somehow brought the usual platter of spectacular food into their room. Now they were sitting and eating.

“He’s awake,” Kassia said.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Basil said.

Alexios sat against the wall, poured himself some water, and drank. He was even strong enough to stand and look out the barred window at the caravanserai courtyard. The usual activity was taking place. Robed merchants were leading groaning camels and donkeys back and forth, their bells ringing, their backs loaded with sacks of spice whose scent stung his nostrils even from this distance. Alexios laughed, once again unable to believe that he was here.

Such a long way from Maine. Must be a dream. Must have eaten some magic mushrooms or something. Never in a million years did I think I’d end up in a place like this.

He kept watching the merchants going about their business outside the window.

Always in the background, he thought. Never in the foreground. But what happens when they tire of being in the background all the time?

Then Alexios felt weak again. Faltering, he returned to his seat against the wall. Gedara was strapped to his side; he took the sword off and set it on the floor, its aerolith metal still thrumming from the battle the night before.

“Are you alright?” Kassia said.

“You were so tired last night,” Basil said.

“It’s the farr.” Alexios tore off a piece of soft warm flatbread, dipped it in a bowl of cacık—a sour yogurt dip with sliced cucumbers—and ate.

“What’s the farr?” Kassia said.

Alexios smiled. “It’s hard to explain. I think when you translate it, it just means luck, but it’s a kind of luck you can control.”

“So it isn’t luck at all,” Basil said.

“No, I guess not,” Alexios said. “It’s a sort of magic, only it comes with rules. Anyone can learn it if they want, but once you start, you need to keep cultivating it in yourself and the people around you, or else you just kind of fall apart.”

“Sure, Alexios,” Basil said with a mocking tone.

“That’s what’s happening to me now,” he continued. “I used it all, and now it’s messing me up. I feel like…”

“Like an old man?” Kassia said.

Alexios nodded. “Yes, that’s right, exactly.”

“Hate to break it to you, Alexios, but you are an old man,” Basil said.

Alexios laughed. “Shut up.”

“We were talking while you were asleep,” Basil said. “We think a few things need to change.”

“Oh?” Alexios said.

“It’s too dangerous out there,” Basil said. “Kassia and I need weapons of our own.”

“Do you?” Alexios said.

“We could have died last night,” Kassia said. “That man could have taken us.”

“True,” Alexios said. “But don’t you think you’re a little young to be—”

“If we’re asking,” Basil said, “we aren’t too young.”

Alexios felt himself gain a little strength just from eating and talking with them. His stamina had recovered a great deal from his sleep, but it still had some way to go. Much more rest was needed to get his health back.

“If only that were true,” he said. “You know I’m just a few years older than you two. I was a child myself not so long ago.”

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“Now you’re talking like an old man,” Basil said.

“Ageism notwithstanding, with all these responsibilities I have, yeah, sometimes I feel that way. But I can remember what it was like when I was a child. I mean, listen. Self-control is an illusion—autonomy, that’s the word, it’s an illusion—but it’s definitely a more realistic illusion when you’re an adult and you can do whatever you want.”

“What do you mean?” Kassia said.

“Just bear with me, I’m working up to a very important point,” Alexios said.

“Sure you are, Alexios,” Basil said.

“So many people focus on the idea of choice,” Alexios said. “Of making decisions, whether good or bad. All the religions around here are based on the idea of making the right choice. Free will—it’s a religious idea. But you didn’t choose to be born into your body in this time and place. You didn’t choose your mother tongue, your class, your gender, your whatever. So much of who you are was never a choice. And yet at the same time, we aren’t robots. We aren’t slaves of fate. If we always behaved in perfectly predictable ways, there would be no history, no change.”

“What’s a robot?” Kassia said.

“Forget it. The point is—we can make decisions. And there’s also an element of randomness in everything we do—in the atomic structure of the universe. At the same time, much of who we are is beyond our choice.”

“You’re rambling, Alexios,” Basil said.

“My point is, as a child, you almost never even get the illusion of choice. Lots of kids are treated like slaves or even animals by their parents. You’re small, you’re weak, no one takes you seriously, and adults don’t have much trouble controlling you. So yeah, it’s better being an adult. At least you feel like you have some control over your destiny, even if that feeling is partly an illusion.”

“Now you’re lecturing,” Basil said. “Like an annoying old man.”

“Always with the constructive criticism,” Alexios said. “I have to wonder if other kids around here talk to their elders like this.”

“We’re different,” Kassia said. “Trebizond changed us. And living with you changed us, too. It’s still changing us.”

“You started rambling about ‘the illusion of choice’ when all we were talking about was getting some swords,” Basil said.

“I guess I just wanted to talk about what it’s like to grow up,” Alexios said. “But alright. So you want weapons. Fine. Fair enough. Even though people back in the old world would kill me if they saw me arming you, I agree. It’s dangerous out here, and you need to be able to defend yourselves since I might not always be around to help you. You can each have a knife—on one condition.”

“What?” Kassia said.

“If I see either of you waving it at each other or using it irresponsibly, that’s it, you’ll lose it.”

Basil nodded. “Alright.”

“But that’s not enough. A knife by itself is nothing. You need to know how to use it. And actually…” Alexios laughed and looked to the side, lost in thought.

“What?” Kassia said.

Alexios looked back to her. “I can’t believe I never thought about this before. I should train you. Both of you.”

“Train us?” Basil said. “Train us in what? How to lose?”

“You’re so young,” Alexios said. “You’re just children. And yet you’re such good friends…some of the best friends I’ve ever had, in spite of the nastier things Basil says now and then. Whatever I tell you, you understand. You’re sharp and inquisitive, much more so than plenty of the adults in the old world. Some of them, you wouldn’t believe it, they can barely string a few words together into a sentence, and yet they’re running the planet.”

“More stories about the old world,” Basil said. “Our favorite thing to talk about.”

“The only issue is that you’re just so small,” Alexios said. “Most adults are faster and stronger than you. I guess that’s why I never saw it. I never noticed your potential. I was so focused on taking care of you, on keeping you out of danger and finding help for Trebizond…I never realized that you could actually help me.”

“So you’ll teach us how to fight?” Kassia said.

“It looks like I have to,” Alexios said. “Besides, if we’re going to survive out here, we need to work together.”

Alexios felt the farr flickering inside him again. It rose from zero to 5/100. It was like a drink of water after days of crawling across a blazing desert, a fiery furnace so hot the sand was almost glass.

His fatigue faded, and he ate more ravenously. The game voice, in the meantime, announced that his parenting skill had leveled up to Beginner (2/10).

“If you want,” he continued, speaking with his mouth full, “I can make you both into Zhayedan warriors. Or I can do my best, I guess. I only managed to learn a little before I lost my own teacher—Dionysios, who was killed by Narses, who makes Barsúmes look like an amateur.”

“Half the words you’re saying I don’t understand,” Basil said.

“But I still have Dionysios’s fighting manual,” Alexios continued. “I never leave home without it. We could study it together.”

“What’s a Zhayedan?” Kassia said.

“That’s me,” Alexios said.

“No offense,” Basil said, “but last night, if it hadn’t been for those people who helped us…”

“I think they were Axumites, I don’t know who they were,” Alexios said. “We have to thank them. But did you already forget that I killed that giant skeleton back in Satala?”

“You can’t kill what’s already dead,” Kassia said.

Alexios laughed. “So what do you say? You know I’m not a completely useless fighter. Maybe we can all learn together.” He looked to the window. “We can start today.”

“In the courtyard?” Kassia said.

“We have to train somewhere privately,” Alexios said. “Regular people will make fun of us if they see us—even though the farr is ultimately for everyone, not just like a tiny warrior caste.”

“But there’s that man,” Kassia said. “What was his name?”

“Barsúmes,” Basil said.

“If we leave the caravanserai, he might find us,” Kassia said.

“I know you really hate that guy,” Alexios said. “If we train hard enough, Kassia, you’ll never have to worry about anyone like him again.”

“We should leave the caravanserai,” Basil said. “And keep looking for these Sabians of yours.”

“Supposedly they’re going to help us,” Alexios said. “I don’t know. One of them apparently brought your mother back to life and then told me to come here, speaking through my teacher Dionysios. After we lost Trebizond, I didn’t know what else to do.”

The children were silent. Bringing up Anna always upset them. Alexios felt the same.

“Sorry for mentioning her,” he said.

“You tried to train her too, didn’t you?” Basil said. “You were still teaching her when she died.”

“That’s right.”

“Are you also going to get us killed?” Basil said.

Alexios shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Why is this kid always trying to get a rise out of me?

“I failed your mother,” Alexios said. “And for that I’m sorry. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. And you’re right. My training isn’t going to make you omnipotent. You can still be killed. But it’s better than having no training at all.”

“We’ll see,” Basil said.

“Just remember,” Alexios said. “If we work together, there’s nothing we can’t do.”

They finished eating, brought their platter back to the kitchen, and then found a weapons’ shop in the caravanserai. The proprietor, an Assyrian named Dawid bar Taomá, offered them two knives and sheathes, which Alexios belted around the children’s waists. Basil was disappointed at the size.

“If I get you anything bigger,” Alexios said, “it’s going to be too heavy for you.”

In an effort to prove otherwise, Basil hauled a Latin-style claymore from where it was lying on a nearby table. It was so heavy that he dropped it to the floor. Kassia rolled her eyes.

“Hands off the merchandise,” Bar Taomá said, glaring as he picked up the sword, brushed it off, and replaced it.

“Sorry,” Basil said. He looked at Alexios, then noticed Gedara belted at his side. “What about that? Isn’t your sword light?”

Alexios was in the right mood, and so he unsheathed Gedara. The shriek of metal was almost loud enough to burst their eardrums; all the weapons in the room vibrated with the sound. An eerie green light glowed from the writing on the blade, and the sun outside the weapons’ shop seemed to darken as if eclipsed by the moon.

“Hell of a sword,” Bar Taomá said. “Mind if I hold it?”

Alexios nodded and handed it to him; its lightness Bar Taomá found shocking.

“It’s as though I’m not holding anything at all!” Bar Taomá waved it back and forth so that it swooped even as the blade continued to ring. “It’s so light, it’s less than nothing, like it has a kind of anti-weight. Where did you get it?”

“It was supposedly made from an aerolith,” Alexios said. “A star that fell in the desert—like the foundation stone of the Holy Kaaba in Makkah, the black cube.”

“It’s priceless,” Bar Taomá said, carefully running his finger along the blade. “No weapon in this shop could withstand it. A trained fighter using this sword would be difficult to defeat in battle.”

“Supposedly it can even cut through space and time,” Alexios said. “Although I don’t know how to do that.”

“There’s a story, you know,” Bar Taomá said. “Of a poor man who found a priceless pearl in the desert. He tried to sell it to save his village from drought and starvation, but no one had the money to pay him. And so he and his village perished, along with his pearl of infinite value.”

“Bummer,” Alexios said.

Bar Taomá returned Gedara. Alexios sheathed it.

“You still never told me where you got it,” Bar Taomá said.

“A teacher gave it to me,” Alexios said. “Where he found it, I have no idea.”

Alexios paid for the children’s weapons—he still had more than fifteen dirhams to his name—and they left. After checking Rakhsh in his stall—the poor tired horse was still asleep—Alexios, Basil, and Kassia each took a heavy goatskin full of water and departed the caravanserai to train. It was noon, and almost warm outside. The Roman road was so busy, there were two lines of traffic. One line of donkeys and camels was heading north to Melitené while the other was on its way south to Aleppo. The nearby town of Pirin was also thriving. Alexios had barely gotten a look at it before, but now he saw that it was an ancient settlement filled with buildings which looked as though they had been constructed using stones from even older ruins, all smoothed down by the passage of the ages. A burbling spring was sheltered by a stone arch, and many tombs were hewn into a low rocky hill. Kurdish shepherds dressed in orange or blue robes—which looked like they belonged in a fresco by Michelangelo—were leading their goats and sheep along the grassy hills. These were almost green. Some women were sitting outside their homes cooking bread on iron griddles; their faces were tattooed.

This place was crowded, and the murmur of human activity filled the air. Low hills extended to the horizon, so there was nowhere for the three travelers to train without being seen. Alexios even witnessed the peculiar phenomenon of men squatting to pee, which was normal in the desert.

Nonetheless, the three travelers got behind one of the hills, watching out for Barsúmes or others who might have been hunting them.

“Where do I even begin?” Alexios said. “It’s been a month since I taught anyone. I miss teaching, and I feel like I’ve learned so much since then. If I could just get a group of students together, my ideas would hit them like a thunderbolt…”

“You have us,” Kassia said.

“That’s true,” Alexios said. “My captive audience.”

Alexios was already a little winded from this walk, an effect of his farr still being so low. He sat on a nearby boulder, and gestured for his students to do the same.

“I’ll do my best to keep the theory to a minimum,” Alexios said. “You just need to understand how everything works before we ourselves actually start working, if that makes sense.”

The children stared at him, their facial expressions a mixture of boredom and patience.

“Let’s get started,” Alexios said.