The hum of a bowstring quickly became as familiar to Ilati as the sound of her own name. As days became weeks, calluses thickened on her hands and the draw of the bow seemed more and more natural. Her accuracy still left something to be desired, but her strength was improving by leaps and bounds. Menes helped in that regard with his lessons on grappling and moving weights. Like a snake shedding its skin, her temple manners too were gradually being discarded. It felt more and more natural to sit around a simple fire under an open sky, eating without a plate or thought of decorum, listening to raucous laughter and outrageous boasting. The only thing she knew she would never develop a taste for was the fermented mare's milk that the Sut Resi drank instead of beer.

Ilati ran a rough comb carved from olive wood through Roshanak's tangled hair. The girl had gone for a swim in a creek that crisscrossed the area, eagerly pursuing a few small frogs. It was comforting to tend to Roshanak, the way she would have looked after an acolyte in Zu's service: a reminder of the good in the past without the pain of its ending.

Roshanak sat patiently while Ilati worked out the tangles, though her delicate fingers were always in motion. They drummed across her thighs or sketched patterns on her forearms, following the lines of blue tattoos. The intricate threading lines formed exquisitely feathered wings, far more elaborate than any henna painting Ilati had ever worn.

Ilati watched Roshanak circle with one finger the stylized wings tattooed around her right forearm. "Did that hurt?"

"A little. The ones on my face hurt more." The Sut Resi girl sat between Ilati's knees in front of the fire, clearly content with her position. "But I wanted them and Artakhshathra said I could have them this year."

"What does it mean?" Even as an outsider, Ilati had learned that the Sut Resi's tattoos had great significance almost immediately. Not having them was perhaps the greatest marker that she was not Sutta, not one of the People.

Roshanak traced over the wings again. "This one is a prayer to Skyfather, that my bow arm be swift as a hunting eagle." Then she moved her hand to brush her tangle-free hair out of the way, touching the concentric circles tattooed onto the back of her neck. "This is a prayer to Earthmother, that my backbone be as proud and strong as the bones of the earth."

Ilati smiled faintly as she finished the last tangle. She set the comb aside and moved to sit beside Roshanak instead of behind her. "What about this one?" The priestess tapped the twisting marking that ran down Roshanak's left cheek from just below her eye. It reminded Ilati of an ink tear that had coursed down her cheek, though the swirling patterns of it were far more elegant than a simple streak.

The Sut Resi girl covered the marking with her hand. "This reminds everyone I am a second soul. I don't like it very much." Roshanak's voice lost its usual chirping energy, as if the thought of it made her tired.

Ilati ran a soothing hand down Roshanak's back when she heard the change in the girl's voice. "Why not?"

Roshanak relaxed slightly at the reassurance, but the twist of her lips was still sorrowful. "People don't like betweens. The world comes in opposites, not mixed up things. Everything natural comes in twos."

The priestess furrowed her brow at that, trying to make sense of that explanation. "What do you mean?"

Her young friend held up two fingers. "Light," she said, touching her index finger. Then she touched the other finger. "Dark." She repeated the gesture. "Sky." Then again she shifted. "Earth." Roshanak pulled in a deep breath. "Alive." She touched her second finger then. "Dead."

"You are very much alive, Roshanak, or this would be a strange conversation. Not everything comes in twos. Things can be not one thing and not another." Ilati rubbed along her jaw, trying to think of a way to explain herself. "I mean, dawn is changing from one to another, dark to light."

Roshanak shook her head. "It doesn't stay between. I was born dead, and death is not a thing you can wake from like a slumber. Instead, I stay in the between. They know I am not like them, that I can never be them." She tapped the tattoo with a sorrowful frown. "This reminds."

Ilati hummed thoughtfully, considering. She hated to see Roshanak downcast. "Tahmasp thinks you will be wise by the time you are all grown up, because you see the world differently. Maybe there is more to the world than twos."

Roshanak looked over at Ilati, combing fingers through her sun-bleached hair. "You think so?"

The priestess laughed. "You are swift with a bow when hunting," she said, tapping the eagle wings on Roshanak's arm. Then she touched the circles on the back of the girl's neck. "You are firm like a mountain when things are scary." Ilati smiled at Roshanak and ran a finger down the line on the girl's cheek. "You will grow to be wise."

A flash of comforted relief played through Roshanak's blue eyes. "I hope so. Tahmasp wants me to follow in Artakhshathra's steps, and he says that is not for foolish people."

"And what do you want to do?" Ilati leaned over to unroll her bedroll. They were outside under the stars rather than in a tent, mostly because Tahmasp said it would be clear skies with the light of benevolent stars.

Roshanak smiled brightly, the shadows disappearing from her expression. "I want to ride Thriti and be the best archer there ever was."

"You are off to a fine start. Thriti is a wonderful horse and you can already take down a bird on wing." Ilati moved over to lie down in her bedroll. The ground here was still marsh-like, but drier than the path ahead. She heard a soft whinny in the distance, some horse calling after their rider.

"You need a horse like Thriti, Ilati."

The priestess laughed. "Your mother is loaning me a fine horse."

Roshanak scrunched up her face. "Vanushe isn't a warrior's horse. She's too old for battle and slower than Ankhu. You need a horse who will carry you through everything, like Araxa or Thriti or Babak."

Ilati shrugged. "Maybe someday. For now, I need a slow horse, Roshanak, or I will fall off."

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The sound of someone approaching stirred them from their conversation. Eigou took a seat across the coals from the pair of them and flashed a distracted smile. Ilati was no expert on the man, but his thoughts seemed a thousand leagues away. Roshanak cocked her head slightly to one side as she looked at him. "What's wrong, Eigou?"

Eigou sighed and rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. "I feel a change in my bones, like a storm is coming."

Roshanak frowned. "Tahmasp said there would only be clear skies from here to the River Ninti."

"Not that kind of storm, little one." Eigou's gaze flicked over at Ilati. "If something is coming, it would be wisest to prepare."

Ilati nodded. Even not knowing what manner of man Eigou really was, preparing for something bad made sense. Besides, he had worked to save her so far, and she owed him dearly for that. "What should we do?"

"I saw," Eigou said, tapping his cheekbone below his missing eye. "To the south, there is a giant olive tree, taller than all others of its kind that I have ever seen, that endured the strike of a thunderbolt. A great black scar that splits it in two, yet it grows. Wisdom lives tangled in its roots, and so long ago the men of Kullah dug a well there and lined the top with stones. They say drinking the water grants flashes of insight."

The priestess had a feeling that she was about to be involved in this vision. "You want someone to find this place?"

Eigou nodded and scratched at his beard thoughtfully. "We are close to it. I want you to seek it out, Ilati. Perhaps it will help you tap into the gifts that K'adau gave you."

Roshanak shook her head. "On Vanushe? She will have trouble catching us if we move on."

"I will ask Artakhshathra to slow our pace for the day or two she will need to reach it and return." Eigou fixed his gaze on Ilati. "I would not suggest the course of action if I did not feel it prudent."

There were a thousand reasons Ilati knew she should object. She wasn't the best rider and if she lost Vanushe, there would be no way to catch up again. If she ran into Nadaren, her bow was not as swift, powerful, or accurate as Shir Del's. She knew full well she would die in such a contest, even with all the training Menes put her through. "How certain are you of this well, Eigou?"

His face was as serious as ever. "I have no doubt. The place is important."

Ilati bit her lower lip, weighing whether she wanted to agree. "Fine," she said finally, "but only if you will speak of how you came to know my grandfather when I return." Her desire for knowledge trumped her doubts about Eigou's motivations.

Eigou eyed her carefully, obviously weighing her intent. "A shrewd bargain."

The priestess didn't waver for a second. "Only because you will not tell me unless I compel you. I swear it would be easier to pull a tooth from Araxa's mouth."

Sighing, the old man crossed his arms and leaned back. "Very well. When you return, we will speak of the days gone by."

"When do I leave?"

"Tonight," Eigou said firmly. "We cannot afford to waste time."

Ilati took stock of herself. Her muscles ached from use, including her core and legs from riding, and now Eigou wanted her to push more? Menes and Shir Del barely gave her a moment's respite as it was. Taking care of Roshanak was a rare break she had enjoyed for a singular evening. "I do not know if I can."

"You must," Eigou said firmly. "The darkness is an advantage: the birds of ill omen do not fly at night."

Roshanak's attention seemed to perk at that. "Birds of ill omen?"

Eigou waved a hand. "All to be said of them is that such creatures mean misfortune. Besides, Ilati, you are daughter to the night winds. What do you have to fear from the darkness?"

"I can think of many things to fear in the darkness," Ilati muttered.

The old man's counter struck like lightning. "And how frightening are they, after all you have endured? After all that Shadi endured?"

Ilati stilled at Eigou's point. What nightmare could there be beyond everything she had seen and experienced there? What demon was more destructive than the men of Nadar at their king's decree? She said nothing as she grabbed her bow and strung it, again using her feet to pull the bow into shape enough to slip the string on. Then she rose, heading for where she'd left her saddle.

"Ilati!" Roshanak called after her.

The priestess didn't slow her pace. She lifted the saddle and the quiver full of arrows strapped to it, letting it rest on her shoulder as she approached Vanushe. She knew now to walk the mare around after putting the saddle on, tightening the cinch a few times so she wouldn't slide off. The old horse huffed at her, as if indignant that she would dare ride in the dark.

"I know," Ilati murmured sympathetically. They would have to go ‌carefully. "I wanted my rest too."

The sentinels that watched over the camp were more concerned with people coming in than leaving, but one stopped Ilati on her way: Farhata, the squat Sut Resi man who had made her bow. He perched on his lanky horse, one hand on his bow until he realized who she was. "Where are you going, priestess?"

Ilati felt Vanushe shift nervously under her. Leaving the herd at night was perilous for an old horse like her. "Following a vision."

"Go carefully." Farhata's voice was rough, like the sand he used to smooth bows. "There are many Nadaren in Kullah, even if they have no quarrel with us, and other tribes too. With no army to beat us back, many will think of crossing into the land of sweet grasses."

"I will," Ilati promised. For all of his wildness with drink and rough manners, Farhata was a good man at heart. His warning came sincerely.

Farhata whistled softly and his horse danced out of her way. The Sut Resi horses used pressure and sound to direct them, not reins, so their rider would always have hands free for a bow. "May that bow and Vanushe take good care of you, Ilati."

Ilati gently tapped her heels against Vanushe's sensitive sides, just enough to urge the horse forward with some speed.

Her thoughts spun around what might be waiting for her. She had never heard of such a tree or well, but she knew little even of the land her family had ruled beyond Shadi itself. Seeing it as it was, little clusters of reed huts separated by leagues of grasslands and marsh, gave her a very different view than the one seen from the top of Zu's ziggurat or the palace steps. The people were different too, not the chattering city dwellers who thronged Shadi's streets. In the land between the rivers, most lived quiet lives, seldom venturing more than a day or two from their own village.

Ilati understood why they found the Sut Resi so strange, not only because they spoke in rough tongues and carried themselves as clear and present danger. Once eyes had seen a thousand leagues, they carried an experience no farmer could dream of.

To be boundless on the steppe, moving with the herds and the seasons, that was the freedom of the Sut Resi. As Ilati rode towards the well, her thoughts turned for the first time to seeing the world. Her quest would take her far if she was to succeed, further than any of her people had been since the days of Ilishu the Conqueror.

Her grandfather had come with a conquering army. Now she would come with the outstretched hands of a supplicant, praying for the freedom of her homeland. Eigou spoke often with great respect for Ilishu, but as the night winds rushed around her, Ilati remembered the great king's deathbed again and his fevered challenge to his grandsons.

He who would be my equal, where I have gone, let him go!