The rebel was deep in thought beneath a canopy of overgrown trees, sitting on a row of smooth rocks scattered around the perimeter of the house.

I cursed inwardly. But I had to ask him. Who else to journey through the realm across Shayfahan-guarded land with than the very man that had escaped the clutches of the Emir for so many years?

“Why did you stop fighting?” I approached Imraan. “Or shall I ask, why did you start?”

Imraan looked up, silhouetted against the darkening skies. “What if the answer to both questions is the same?”

“I see now,” I scoffed. “Why there are so many varying rumors of you in Ifsharan. You are too evasive with your answers.”

Imraan scoffed. “Why should I answer truly to someone who sees me as the devil? What would be the point, tell me Begum Rahena?”

“It is true, I do not trust you, but I never said I believe you as the devil —”

“You didn’t have to. You have lived out among Ifsharan, have you not? Among the scholars? I know what they say of me out there. You think I don’t know?” He laughed, almost cruelly. Something crossed his eyes, and then it was gone.

I wanted to step away at the look in his eyes. But I had to ask him. I sat down on one of the rocks, brushing aside some ants that were roaming its crevices. Imraan tensed. “I must go to Arassan with you,” I said.

Imraan looked up sharply. “Why?”

“There is something I need to find there,” I said. “A room.”

“A room?” Imraan raised his brow.

“Yes.”

“It will be dangerous for you, Begum Rahena,” Imraan said, glancing away, as if already making the decision. “Ardashir is still looking for you. Why do you want to risk your life to find this…room you speak of?”

I could not tell him about the dreams — he would certainly think me mad. But did it matter what a man this notorious thought of me?

“Isn’t it a risk just speaking with you? And yet here I am — ” I threw up my hands into the air. “I don’t know how I’ve gotten here, for the sake of the Creator. But if you have defeated Salman for this long, I will take my chances traveling with you,” I said.

Imraan watched me warily.

I asked, “Why would Salman attack Abbasid’s Keep — it is the only remaining Scholar’s Tower that has always stayed out of politics.”

“Isn’t that the problem? But you see, my friend Irfan was not exactly…one to be silenced. A friend of the Raqinis and a historian himself, what else do you expect. They may not be involved in the politics of the Shayfahan, but they certainly write about them, and that is enough danger for Salman.” He leaned forward, folding his hands together on his knees.

“You presume to know him. Salman.”

“I have never met him,” said Imraan. “I have never seen him but from afar. Yet, I do know him, after all these years of the man hunting me down. I knew of his ways, his tactics. Salman may be callous, but he is not a coward.”

“That is what I believed of Aziz Ardashir.” The ants had come back to claim their rock, and I felt them tickling my hands. I let one climb my hand, and raised my palm closely to examine it. “But I was wrong, you see. He is both callous and a coward.”

“You mean Ardashir the White Rider?” Imraan said. I clenched my hands clenched reflexively, and felt a pinch.

The ant had bitten me. Quickly I released it again, setting it down on the ground amongst its colony.

Imraan continued, “That damned man has been my bane of existence on the battlefield.”

“He says the same of you,” I said, brushing my hands.

“I am glad I could be such a thorn in his side.” His eyes deepened. “I believe it is Ardashir who committed the greatest crimes of all — it is he who convinced Salman of many of the policies in the Great Purge. He seemed to truly believe in the necessity of the Purge, they say — ” Imraan halted, glancing at me.

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I turned away from him to face the city, and felt Imraan’s eyes on me. “My apologies, begum, I did not mean —”

“I used to think that I could never do it, if I had to, to kill a man,” I whispered. “But when I think of Ardashir — I would cease to care what it turns me into, if it is him.”

“Oh, but you should care, Begum Rahena,” Imraan said. “What it does to you.”

What madness had come over me? I laughed more harshly than I had intended. “And why should I listen to these words coming from a man like you?”

Imraan scoffed a half-laugh. “A man like me? I am the man I pray you don’t become. And I’m not one to pray much.” He stood up abruptly, brushing his trousers off insects and the grass. “So what do I get in return for taking you along with us?” Imraan asked.

“Secrecy of your whereabouts.”

“Yet what’s curious is,” Imraan said, tilting his head. “You, too, are as hunted as I am now. What gives your threat any more weight?”

“I believe I am not as yet so despised by Khardin,” I said. “You would fetch a bigger bounty, I imagine.”

“Indeed, it is quite something to be so hated.” He turned away. “If you are so persistent, then. We will set out tomorrow after the call to fajr.”

He bent his head to me and walked off from the house down the hill, bracing himself against a gust of wind heralding from the city.

****

Farmlands spread with violet saffron fields, lemon trees, vast stretches of olive orchards and grazing cattle all became a single, enmeshed blur among which we were hurled eastwards. The Zagraes Mountains wound around from the northern edge until it too fell away, cut off from the land abruptly to be devoured by the stretches of evergreen and deciduous forests of elm, beech, oak, linden and ash.

Along the ravines trickling just beneath the hooves of our horses grew wild willow and poplar, hung with species of creepers among which nestled families of ibex birds and wild sparrows, eying us as we flew across their land. We were merely passing through the territories of these creatures, visitors to a land ruled by the wilderness and the creeks, hundreds of thousands of species which hunted, fed on, and yet coexisted with one another.

The sun soon rose high, glaring; but the intensity of its heat was muted by the breeze as we rode. The forests on either sides thinned, and the greenery opened out onto a flowing river.

As the horses drank heartily, we went down to the river to wash up and fill the water skins.

“I hear you are a calligrapher,” the lady Surayyah said, twisting the cap back on her water skin, studying me as she dipped it into the flowing river. “What madness drove you to journey with us, begum I?”

“I am asking that question myself,” I said, letting the water flow over my hands. Cool, it soothed the sweat from the hard ride.

They had given me a mare of a sand-colored coat, with sleek light hair named Zur’adi, “lightning rider.” And lightning she was, for when I climbed atop, the proud horse reared its hooves. It took Imraan to soothe the horse with calm, light strokes upon her hair until she settled. And when we finally started off, Zur’adi rode as if she was riding up a lightning up to the heavens itself.

When I had disembarked at the river, Zur’adi huffed and turned away towards the water, as if she could not believe she had been forced to carry such a mortal. I was not yet particularly fond of her much either.

“You cannot be of Arassan,” Surayyah said, her stark eyes peering out from over the blue silk. “That is not the tongue I hear from you. You cannot be heading home, as I am.”

“No,” I said. Down along the riverside, Imraan and Tariq’s laughter floated over.

“Imraan tells me you seek something out there.”

I twisted my water skin and looked up. “Yes.”

“A woman of few words, you are,” Surayyah smiled. “What secrets do you hold?”

I was curious about the woman. But I had spent too many years wearing a mask that I did not know how to unveil it. I wanted to speak with this woman, to befriend her, but a stone lodged in my throat at the prospect. I wanted to ask her so many questions of her, but I knew that would mean answering my own.

“I don’t,” I returned the smile.

“Yet you are being hunted by Aziz Ardashir, aren’t you?” Surayyah asked, taking a drink of her water and slipping the skin into her leather belt.

“It turns out that is not a secret.”

“So do you argue yourself innocent of the crimes he accuses you of?”

“I thought you and your people did not think much of Ardashir?” I asked, tilting her head.

“We don’t,” said Surayyah.

I crunched her boots against the pebbles, grinding them against the ground. “Why then do you care if I am innocent or guilty?” The question floated between us for a moment.

“It would be quite something to plot the assassination of a powerful man like Ardashir. I am merely curious, sister. I do not accuse you of anything.”

We rode hard through a stretch of craggy landscape. The bleak sun was merciful. Harsh winds blew against their cloaks.

In the distance to the left, against the silhouette of a blue-white mountain, hundreds of snowy, woolen white mountain goats grazed. A lone goatherder boy steered them forward, waving a long stick as he ran alongside them. He leaped unexpectedly as if dancing in midair. Against the winds, he exulted in the breeze blowing from the east.

Hundreds of small huts climbed over and around the mountains, resting on the ledges of cliffs.

It was nearing sunset when we reached the Razzak Bridge. Trading caravans and carts trundled down a road from the riverbend, turning northeast towards the main Royal Khazan Road.

The carts moving along the bridge towards Ifsharan grew sparse as the sun set in the horizon. We followed the river down towards the shelter of an oak tree nearby. “As much cover as we can possibly get, the better,” Tariq said.

“I’ll go fill the water packs,” Surayyah said, taking all the leather pouches. “And wash up for prayer.”

“I’ll come with you, sister,” Tariq said.

Surayyah said nothing, turning away from him.

“Surayyah?” Tariq asked, but she was already heading down the hill to the river. He followed her down.

It was only Imraan and I then, and a strange silence fell. He did not look at me as I unpacked the meager bread we’d brought. Before I could say anything, Imraan mumbled something about a fire and went off towards the woods.