Alexios soon learned that all of these new freedmen were Domari, like Amina. They kicked dirt over the pools of blood on the road and dragged the traders’ corpses behind the hill where Alexios had slept. There they got to work burying them.

And he called it Beer-el-zhai-roi-el, Alexios thought, in imitation of the Bible. The Hill-Where-They-Buried-The-Bastards’-Bodies. And the LORD said it was good.

The Domari buried the bodies behind the hill because almost anyone traveling along the road from nearby towns, cities, and caravanserais would report dead slave traders to the authorities. Slaves or serfs were the economy’s foundation, which meant that even the most minor slave revolt was intolerable. On top of that, while various cultures in this part of the world had their differences, most could unite around a hatred of the Domari.

While they were working, Alexios’s friends—Rakhsh, Basil, Kassia, Miriai, Za-Ilmaknun, and Isato, along with the many pack animals from the caravanserai—caught up with them. Rakhsh was the first to reach him, galloping up and nuzzling his shoulder. Alexios thanked him for his help. Next came the two children, who jumped off their donkeys and ran toward Alexios.

“You’re alive!” Kassia shouted.

“We thought you were dead!” Basil said.

They hugged Alexios, who kissed their heads, realizing that this was the first time he had done so. Just to show affection like this increased his Parenting Skill to Novice (3/10). But then Kassia pushed him away.

“You promised you’d come back,” she said.

“I know,” Alexios said. “I’m sorry. It couldn’t be helped.” The rest of his friends were looking at him, so he met their eyes and added: “I had to free these people here. They were enslaved.”

Just to say this aloud so that everyone could hear that Alexios had risked his life to free a dozen slaves restored his farr to 10/100.

Basil stepped away. “You didn’t even send us a message.”

“I sent Rakhsh.” Alexios smiled at the gigantic muscular saffron-colored horse.

Kassia and Basil returned to their donkeys without speaking further. Before Alexios could stop them, Amina took a break from helping with the corpse burial to speak with him.

“I’m grateful that you freed us,” she said. “Just angry that you risked my baby’s life.”

“Can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs,” Alexios said.

“We’re people,” Amina said. “Not eggs.”

“But everything worked out in the end, didn’t it?” Alexios was getting frustrated. He had achieved an impressive feat—in his mind—but no one seemed to recognize that.

“Next time you might not be so lucky,” Amina said.

She returned to helping with the corpses. Almost everyone was doing this, now. Alexios’s companions and the Domari introduced themselves to one another while they dragged the heavy bodies over the hill and searched their pockets for money or supplies.

“A good way to make friends,” Za-Ilmaknun said, as he bandaged a cut on El-Hadi’s arm, “is to bury slave traders.”

“If Allah wills, they won’t be the last we bury,” El-Hadi said.

It was still early. The sun, shining like a chunk of molten topaz, had just risen above the brown hills and into the gray sky. But merchants and pilgrims would be along the road soon. Za-Ilmaknun, having finished tending to El-Hadi, leaned on his striped tau-shaped mequamia and approached Alexios. Isato followed, and her eyes were so bright they almost cast blue shadows around the rocks. Alexios struggled to focus on anything else.

Think of spiders, he told himself. Baseball.

“Your horse,” Za-Ilmaknun said to Alexios, “this heavenly stallion of yours, he returned to us as distraught as could be. At first we assumed you had passed on, but then he kept nudging us, making noise, and going back the way he had come. Soon we followed. We expected only to find your body—not the breath of life still animating your limbs.” He nervously eyed Isato.

“I was angry,” she growled, her blue eyes shining at Alexios so brightly he needed to squint. “Anyone who touches you dies.”

Alexios blushed and then forced himself to laugh.

“But make no mistake,” Isato said. “I feel no physical attraction for you.”

That’s a relief, he thought. Turn her down and she’ll rip your face off.

“Nor do I even think you particularly remarkable,” Isato continued. “In fact, you are somewhat annoying. But this mission of yours—you have stumbled upon something intoxicating.”

“Not unlike the Prophet Muhammed,” El-Hadi said as he worked. “Peace be upon him. He was just a regular guy who got involved in something that turned out to be kind of a big deal.”

Some of the Domari are Muslims I guess, Alexios thought. Maybe they practice a mix of religions or something, I don’t know. Amina was talking earlier about Saint Sara the Kali—

“Forgive me.” Za-Ilmaknun bowed his white-haired head to Isato. “But if I might speak frankly—”

“No, thank you,” Isato said.

Za-Ilmaknun continued. “Intoxication of any kind is the last thing we need—”

“Silence!” Isato said. “Would you allow me to think for myself for even one moment?” She turned to Alexios, shut her eyes, and took a deep breath. Then she opened her eyes, and her tone softened. “It feels like…for my entire life, I was floating on the surface of a lake, where there was no wind. Life was aimless. Since birth I had been almost asleep.”

Miriai had been listening to their conversation. She interjected: “Like a sleepwalker. One who knows nothing of the kushta, the truth.”

Must be quoting some mystical text no one knows anything about, Alexios thought.

“Now the wind surges,” Isato continued. “The rapids push me past cliffs and forests. I can pull myself up from the water and into the air and sky, and bring others along—if they’ll only listen!”

“The ones who worship the one called Bouttas call them Bodhisattva,” Miriai said. “They stand at the threshold of heaven, yet turn back to help others up. This is what you’re talking about. They’re like our uthras, our excellencies.”

Isato was still talking, too carried away with her own thoughts to listen to Miriai. “And if we can only destroy those who hold us back—”

“Princess,” Za-Ilmaknun said. “I mean—uh—Isato—forgive the second interruption, but would you please calm yourself—”

“Don’t tell me to be calm!” she snapped. “I was calm my entire life, and what did it get me?” She looked to the horizon, and then to her arms, and her dirty hands. “Nothing but dust! From the moment I was born, I did what I was told. I was polite and forgiving, and look how my family—my people—repaid me. The moment I became a burden, they threw me away.”

“We will cure your soul sickness,” Za-Ilmaknun said. “We will find a means.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Her blue eyes flared at him. “This is the means. Not medicine for me, but actions for all. Since I was a child, I was content to live on the backs of slaves. I didn’t even understand that they were supporting our house, their muscles trembling for every moment of every day and night while we ran about upon the floor, playing, eating, sleeping. My family concealed their very existence. If anyone asked why people were poor, they said it was all part of God’s plan, and that we shouldn’t question God, for He has a long memory, and will repay.”

“Where I come from,” Alexios said, “just replace ‘god’ with—”

“If you questioned my parents further,” Isato said, angry that Alexios had interrupted, “they’d slap you. Now that I’ve been exiled, I see that all the struggles of the poor are connected—in the caravanserai, here on the road, and beyond. The slaves’ struggle is mine. For them to break their chains makes it easier for me to cure my sickness of the soul.” She nodded to the working Domari. “I will fight for them, and they for me. None of us is free unless we all are.”

Za-Ilmaknun raised his mequamia. “Once you are cured, Isato, you may return home. And when you arrive, who can even say what kind of husband will await? In your future there may be palaces, riches, children—descendants numbered like all the stars in heaven and all the grains of sand on all the beaches in the world. Everything will return to normal.”

“I can’t return,” she said. “I won’t. Home is ignorance. Exile is knowledge. And ‘normal’ gave rise to this.” She looked at her hands again, as though they would sprout hair and hyena claws at any moment.

“But princess—”

“Perhaps I’m not sick at all,” she said. “Perhaps sickness is a normal reaction to slavery. Perhaps it is a gift. And perhaps to look at slavery and only make excuses for it—perhaps that is the true sickness.”

Za-Ilmaknun gulped, then looked to the sky and crossed himself.

Miriai spoke with Isato, telling her that she was right, and that she prayed her righteousness would flow like a river. Isato thanked her.

As Alexios listened to this conversation, he wanted to ask about Isato’s background—especially since Za-Ilmaknun kept calling her “princess”—but he stayed quiet out of fear that she would transform into a hyena again. Her radicalization—inspired by Alexios’s actions more than his words—pushed his farr up to 15/100. She soon left to help the Domari, growling at Za-Ilmaknun to shut up when he complained that her behavior was unladylike.

Miriai approached Alexios, took his arm, and led him away from the group, which he had been staring at.

“It was a good thing, what you did, dear,” she said. “Yet sometimes I wonder about your methods…”

“If I could have summoned the heavenly river like you did back in Pirin, I would have done it in a heartbeat,” Alexios said.

She laughed and leaned on his shoulder. “Ach, if only it was that simple.” She looked to the parched landscape. “I’d bring water to this land and every land. I’d bring back the forests. Every tree branch would droop with swollen fruit, all the flesh as red as fire. Every field would glow with golden grain. Every person would sleep with a belly full to near bursting.”

Alexios noticed that Kassia and Basil were still keeping their faces averted from his. He even caught Amina glaring at him as she nursed her baby.

Black Sara, Goddess of Destruction.

Yet speaking with Isato and Miriai had cheered him up; he felt too happy about freeing the slaves to dwell much on his friends’ anger. He had also been on the run and making mistakes for so long that he had almost forgotten that he could succeed in helping people.

Amina, Basil, and Kassia will come around sooner or later, he thought.

Regardless of their anger, the group’s overall mood was good, especially once they finished burying the bodies. After taking turns to curse the corpses beneath the mounds, the Domari were laughing, hugging each other, and patting one another’s backs.

“We thought our lives were over,” El-Hadi told Alexios. “To be a slave is a living death—and to see the same happen to your children…” He looked away, took a deep breath, and then—with tears reddening his eyes—he turned back to Alexios. “I’m sorry we didn’t help you sooner. It was difficult. I’m not sure we can repay you, or even stop thanking you.”

Alexios was so insecure that he often felt uneasy when people praised him. “Just doing my job.”

By then they were on the move. Everyone had agreed to remain together. Miriai was the only person who seemed apprehensive around the Domari.

“The nawar, they’re a bunch of thieves,” she whispered to Alexios. “Pickpockets, liars, frauds—”

“Weren’t you just talking about your concern for the poor Domari girl back at your caravanserai?” he whispered back. “Has a Domari ever harmed you?”

“Let’s just say you should probably keep an eye on your kids. And your pockets. I’ve heard stories!”

“Stop talking like this,” Alexios said. “Some people here might have problems with old ladies. They might think you’re too weak to come with us. Should we listen to them?”

She fell silent for a moment. “Well, what can I say? You make a good point.”

“It was a miracle when you brought the river down from heaven,” Alexios said. “But to change someone’s mind—isn’t that a greater miracle?”

“Nope.”

“Where I come from,” Alexios continued, “people stick to their opinions no matter what. Sometimes I feel like, even if they were the last ones alive on a sinking ship, they’d insist that nothing was wrong.”

“This confuses me.” Miriai narrowed her brow. “How could someone argue with what you just told me?”

“Oh, they’d say something like, ‘that’s neither here nor there.’”

“No—I mean, how could you argue that a sinking ship isn’t sinking?”

“You could say it’s all relative. Or that we need to focus on the positive. Mind over matter. The subtle art of not giving a fuck. Things will turn around sooner or later—just wait and see. They talk like this because their material wellbeing is connected to the sinking ship, if that makes sense.”

“This homeland of yours sounds like a strange place, dear,” Miriai said. “A real ship of fools.”

“It’s not my homeland.” Alexios looked to the horizon. “I’m starting to think this place is.”

At Alexios’s behest, they had all decided to continue to Sumatar, although it was still several days’ journey away. Miriai said that once they arrived, they could find some abandoned caves or beehive-shaped houses which would allow them to rest.

Za-Ilmaknun cleared his throat. “The ancient wells there still hold sweet fresh water in their bottomless dark depths, with surrounding green farmland fed by gushing underground qanat channels, these having been dug by Chaldean astronomers just after the Deluge subsided and Noah’s ark came to rest atop snowy Ararat.”

“What are you, some kind of scholar?” Miriai said.

He bowed to her. “My duty is to know. I am a scholar indeed. I have studied all the ancient texts in the libraries of Aethiopia.”

“The fabled libraries of Aethiopia.” Isato rolled her bright blue eyes. “The vaunted libraries of Aethiopia.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with libraries?” Miriai said.

“Ask yourself who built them,” Isato said. “Ask yourself where they were built, and why, and with whose blood and sweat.”

“But you can make something that’s bad into something good,” Miriai said. “A slave can steal a knight’s sword, and free his family with it.”

“That is so,” Isato said. “But first the slave must steal the sword.”

They kept talking like this as they continued along the road. Nonetheless, the journey was unpleasant and without shade. Although everyone was free to eat and drink as much of their supplies as they pleased, those who were too tired to walk—this included all the children, as well as the elderly Miriai and Za-Ilmaknun—were usually riding donkeys.

The travelers never stopped, nor did they speak with passing merchants or pilgrims. These tended to assume that all Domari were dangerous.

Because of this, the Domari halted outside the city of Samosata, explaining to Alexios and his friends that “tramps” were unwelcome within. Surrounded by farmland, the ancient settlement was constructed on a hill which overlooked the brilliant blue waters of a river which cut through the brown rock and green scrub of the countryside. Alexios asked the river’s name, and Miriai told him it was the Euphrates.

“Really?” Alexios said. “That’s the Euphrates?”

She nodded.

“Cool,” he said.

“Its cold waters are quite a relief from the summer heat,” she said. “It’s an earthly manifestation of the heavenly river, one nobody needs to summon. It loves the Earth so much it flows regardless of whether anyone says thank you.”

Alexios shook his head. “Never thought I’d see it in a million years. Every day I see things I thought only other people could see…”

“I don’t understand.”

Alexios snorted. “I come from faraway, remember—like, in both space and time.”

“Trebizond, you mean?”

Alexios laughed. “No—that’s, like, my temporary home. I come from much farther away, if you can believe it.”

“I can. You do seem like a stranger here, young Alexios.”

“Back where I come from, you needed money to travel to places like this.” Alexios looked away. “It was either rich people or soldiers, and they were both out to destroy it, one way or the other.”

“Well, I thank the excellencies you joined us here,” she said. “You’ve already changed many lives for the better.”

Alexios’s unease returned. Miriai asked why he had fallen into silence.

“Everyone has a duty to end slavery,” Alexios said. “Nobody should be thanking me for doing my job. It’s a basic responsibility as a human being.”

“Yet to other people, that might not be so clear,” Miriai said. “Ach, much as it pains me to say, slave traders passed through my caravanserai many times without any kind of trouble. Yet now I see how wrong it was to let them come and go as they pleased. You showed me something new, dear. You changed my mind.”

He smiled. “We can keep teaching each other.”

“Oh really? What have I taught you?”

“Not everything is as it seems.”