The open flaps of the sheepskin tents rustled in the cold breeze at night. I looked out into the expanse where the unknown stretched out all around.

Beyond in the distance, from somewhere I had never known, something reached out to me, pulling, tugging, as if I had been attached to its rope all my life and had not seen it.

Surayyah snored softly in the tent.

I slept and dreamt of a place of nothing but mist, from which emerged my father and Qamarah. I could see them, but they could not see me. And I realized it was I who was hidden by this mist. I began to call out from behind the veil of fog, but they turned away from me, walking away, until I could no longer see them.

I woke up gasping. Fumbling around in the darkness, I found my penknife beneath the pillow. Its cool touch soothed the burning in my skin. A thin flickering of orange light drew a line at the tent opening.

Pulling on my robes, I went outside.

I found Imraan by a fire in the midst of the circle of tents. Across from the fire, the men’s tent door flapped.

“Can’t sleep, calligrapher?” Imraan asked.

“Who can sleep in a strange land?” I said. “Neither can you, it seems.” I took a seat on the ground across from the fire.

Imraan grunted. “I don’t sleep.”

Far in the distance, nightbirds chirped low in the air, almost hushed in the rustling of the foliage across the mountains.

I held up my hands against the fire and began, “I —” I wanted to say something to him, but did not know how to. I had seen in his eyes the bitterness that grew in him when I had, too many times, called him the Traitor. He despised the title. Perhaps I had been too harsh with him. Perhaps, the slight semblance of tenderness I had found in him, the grief, when my fingers had brushed against his robes, held more than just a heart of bitterness.

“Saylan is an interesting man,” I said instead.

“Noble of him, to allow strangers in,” Imraan murmured. “But that is, of course, only because of your convincing.”

“I know what it is like to fear the loss of your home,” I said. “I suspected he would be at least curious to find brethren who understands that fear.”

Imraan grunted. “It was swift thinking.” The bitterness in his eyes remained, and I did not know how to soften the sharp edges I had worsened with my harshness.

The wood crackled before us and threw small fiery sparks in the air, disappearing rapidly.

Beyond in the forests, the nightbirds had gone quiet, and for a moment, the night seemed eerily silent without them.

“I once used to weave tapestries and carpets,” Imraan said suddenly. “It was the most beautiful thing I have ever done.”

I did not know what to say. It was not what I had expected him to utter.

“Tapestries?” I asked. “How did a tapestry-artist become the Rebel of Khardin, then?”

He laughed. “That is a story for another time.”

“Have you always lived in Ifsharan?”

Imraan stoked the fire with a stick. “No. I traveled there when I was a boy, from the Sherzad village up north.”

The name felt familiar, a long-lost name. I had heard of it, but I could not place it.

He seemed to be grappling with something as he stoked the fire, embers flying. A strained smile crossed his face. “When I first arrived to Ifsharan, I used to live in one of those alleys with some urchin boys. I made a life in those streets.” He picked up a small branch, snapping it into little pieces. His smile had vanished; the abyss in his eyes that I had seen before returned. “There was a boy…named Nazim…who ruled the alleyways. One day he left me in a bloody pulp on the ground because I dared to steal some of his bread and boasted a bit too much to the other boys. Nazim had, of course, stolen it from the baker himself.”

He picked up another branch. “He left me there, bloody, in the alley until I hobbled away. Weeks later I saw him again, and he taunted me about the scars he’d left over my eyes and my face.” Imraan pointed to the ridged scar that ran across his left cheekbone. “I started to laugh, I don’t know why; I just laughed and laughed, even though it hurt like hell to laugh. To this day, I don’t know why I did it. And Nazim couldn’t take it, not in front of his boys. So he began to hit me again. He had a reputation to keep, you see. But this time I couldn’t just let him hit —”

Imraan stopped, and took a shuddering breath. His face tilted upwards to the skies and he closed his eyes. His fingers had stilled.

“What happened?” I asked. The silence was broken only by the steady rush of the stream. The nightbirds were still quiet.

But Imraan said nothing. He threw the branch into the fire; the flames rose higher, scattering embers up towards us.

“I have hated, for a long time, how they look at me. Even when they do not know me.” Imraan whispered. “With —”

“Fear,” I whispered back. “As if you are a monster.”

Imraan raised his eyes to me. “Yes,” he said.

Something passed between us, and I could not understand what.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

A rustling came from the darkness.

We whirled around. Through the mist, a glinting of steel flashed.

Saylan’s guard Talal approached in the light. “There you are,” Talal said, his eyes on me.

“Did you need something, brother Talal?” I asked.

“I have heard of you, Rahena Ansary of Bayrun,” Talal said in the darkness. “Your own home thought you a sorceress, a danger. You brought ruin to your own people. No wonder they banished you. Now you seek to bring ruin to us too?”

“Sorceress?” Imraan laughed. “Have you been smoking the black water, brother Talal?” But his hand was at his sword hilt.

“I understand if you do not trust me,” I said, my voice growing quieter and slower as Talal’s voice increased in pace and sound. “But I am not your enemy, sir.”

“Even your words are like that of a witch,” Talal said. He motioned his hand behind him, and three men in mizaran armor stepped into the firelight, in the bright gleaming armor of Ardashir’s hunters.

I stumbled up.

“Saylan is a drunk bastard,” Talal said, striding forward. His hands shook, in rage or hatred, I did not know. “He is my friend, a long-time dear friend. But he doesn’t see what danger he brings to our land. He doesn’t see anything at all anymore. He no longer cares for tradition. But I,” Talal gestured to me with the point of his dagger. “I can see what is dangerous for us.”

Talal stepped aside, motioning to the Shayfahan.

Imraan rose, his blade in his hand. “Oh but you have been a nuisance on this journey, Talal bhai,” he muttered.

The first Shayfahan soldier pulled out his blade, swinging at Imraan.

Swords clanged in the night air, Imraan pushing the man back as the others began to charge at him.

I stepped backwards from the flurry of motion. But through the flurry of steel and limbs, Talal watched me over it all, his eyes intent on me.

Surayyah and Tariq emerged from the tents, rushing outside. “I knew they would betray us,” Surayyah muttered. “Damnit, I knew we shouldn’t have stayed —”

“No, I think — it’s Ardashir’s men,” Tariq called. “Good God, they were probably following us the entire time, damn it.”

Surayyah launched into the fight just as the other two soldiers attacked.

Tariq motioned for me to come to the other tent. As I headed for him, I felt steel at the back of my neck. I froze.

Talal held the point of his sword against my back.

“They are here to take the sorceress of Bayrun, and damn it if I won’t give her to them,” he muttered.

“Stand aside,” the Shayfahan hunter said. “We are here for the sorceress.”

But as Talal held on to me without noticing the mizaran man, the soldier launched at him. In the midst of the fight, the Shayfahan had blood in his eyes. He pushed Talal back, shoving him into the other soldier.

Talal fell hard against the man’s metal armor. “Filthy mountain man,” the Shayfahan said in disgust, his blade stabbing Talal through the chest.

Talal fell, his eyes staring in confusion and horror. Blood spurted through his mouth.

The Shayfahan dropped him, and headed towards me. Imraan blocked his path again, swinging at him.

A sick nausea rose up in my throat as Talal choked on his own blood on the ground.

Across the fighting in the midst of the circle, I ran to Talal on the ground. “Tariq!” I cried. “Help me.”

I should have been glad that he was out of the way. But I knew, beneath it all, he been doing what he truly thought was good for his people.

Carefully, Tariq edged his way through the fighting to reach me. Together, we tied a tourniquet so Talal would not lose more blood.

“We need a physician, this will not hold for very long,” I said. “We —”

Hooves sounded nearby. Saylan arrived with Quinha and the guards. “What in the name of the Macuay —” His eyes fell on Talal on the ground. He disembarked from his horse and ran to Talal. “Brother!” he shouted. Saylan knelt over Talal.

Imraan stood in the center, gasping for breath, the two Ifsharan men on the ground around him.

Saylan’s guards surrounded the last Shayfahan, and the foreigner knelt down to the ground in surrender. “What are you going to do, filthy mountain man?” the Shayfahan sneered.

“We must kill him!” shouted Quinha. “He killed our brother-in-arms, he —”

“Yes,” another said. “He must be executed.”

Quinha nodded, approaching the mizaran man, knocking off his helmet. Quinha raised his sword over the man.

“There will be no more bloodshed on my grounds!” Saylan growled.

His guards froze. “But, Chief Saylan —” Quinha began.

“I said there will be no more bloodshed, damn it! I don’t care whose blood it is.” Saylan looked at me. There was betrayal in his eyes. “I trusted you,” he whispered. “Because your father helped my people, because of my mother — I trusted you so easily.” He held Talal’s hand and closed his eyes.

“I am sorry for your friend, Chief Saylan,” I said, “We will —”

“Get out,” Saylan gritted his teeth as he said the words. “Now! Get out!”

Covered in Talal’s blood, I stood up and walked away, leaving the grounds of death and ruin I had brought with me.

*****

In the dark forest, Imraan, Surayyah and Tariq followed after me, rustling through the trees, the horses nickering every few seconds restlessly, as if they too knew that blood had been spilled. Zur’adi appeared particularly upset, as unsettled by the events.

When we reached about seven yards away into the forest from the Asman Hills, Zur’adi refused to move forward. I pulled the reins, but Zur’adi maintained her rebellion.

“Zur’adi,” I called. “Come, you stubborn mare!”

“She won’t listen to you like that,” Imraan’s voice came from the darkness. His voice had changed and there was a stiffness to it. The three of them appeared closer and I could see them in the bleak moonlight now. They seemed far away suddenly, the six eyes in the darkness becoming one fluid line.

As Zur’adi continued to flounder restlessly, shaking her long head, her silken hair brushing against my arms. I felt the swaying, soaring sirriea trees closing in upon me, their limbs reaching down, the foliage growing towards the ground like creeping willows.

I felt that even the trees cast their condemnation as if they knew we had taken one of theirs.

Surayyah’s veiled face came closer. “Why did you not tell us?”

“I did not know they were following us, Surayyah,” I said.

Surayyah said, “Everyone we come across seem to believe that you are dangerous. Perhaps Ardashir was —”

“Don’t say that, Surayyah,” Imraan said. “Ardashir hunts us the same way he does her!” Imraan exclaimed. “What difference, tell me, does it make? It is hypocritical of you to —”

“I am going home to protect my people, Imraan,” Surayyah swiveled around to meet his eyes.

“She is right,” I said, dismounting off of Zur’adi. “I cannot bring danger to you all. You must go to Arassan and help the Jhansari. I will go my own way.” I held the reins for Zur’adi towards Imraan, but he did not take her.

Surayyah and Tariq mounted their horses and rode away, for a moment as if the two siblings had reconciled in this unspoken agreement. Imraan said nothing, turned his gaze away, but left Zur’adi with me.

He faded into the darkness after the two of them, and I remained beneath the trees holding the reins of a horse who it was apparent did not enjoy being left with this stranger.

****

I found a trickling stream and led the horse to drink, and Zur’adi my brushed my head lightly. I was surprised at the gesture. “What is this? Are you warming up to me, Zur’adi?” I said. But Zur’adi turned away swiftly again to drink her water as if to say that’s all I was going to get.

“I’ll take that for now,” I said.

A strange singing floated somewhere in the woods. I curled up above the branches of a large sycamore, having made a bed of soft grass and mulch, and tying Zur’adi to the tree.

Where was the singing coming from? I sat up in the makeshift bed.

It seemed to rise high from the mountains towards the west. I understood then — the Asmani were lamenting Talal’s death. It was a funeral song.

I listened to the song, the women’s voices echoing out over the night, a wailing melody deep from the breast, a sound that tore through the heart.

Amidst the whispering of the trees beneath the skies, I mourned the man who had tried to kill me.