Shakti came to, surrounded by darkness. Memories flooded into her, becoming clear out of the blurs in her mind. This wasn’t her first time waking up tonight. She’d been woken and knocked out.

Shakti struggled against ropes tied around her wrists. She tried but failed to speak through the cloth gag in her mouth and see past the bag over her head.

A tough arm pressed her into a seat. From the way the surface beneath her was rumbling, she was in a cart or wagon of some kind.

A man muttered a complaint in Nikan which, in her panic, Shakti couldn’t quite understand.

Shakti, in a moment of clarity, stopped her struggling, deciding to save her strength for a future opportunity.

She tried to listen in on the conversation in Nikan around her, but the bag’s muffling and her own panicked mind made that incredibly difficult. When she finally heard a sentence clearly, the man was complaining about his superior.

For what seemed like an eternity, she was pinned down in that cart. She could barely stand when it finally came to a stop. Her captors dragged her out onto tough dirt and grass. They were still on the steppe.

That fact shouldn’t have come as a relief to Shakti, since the steppe was a massive landmass, according to Jambudvipi geographers.

The sounds of campfires, laughing men and sharpening of steel reached her ears. The air smelled of sweat and grime from a long march and the putrid stink of nearly rancid polishing oil.

Her stumbling and staggering feet eventually hit wood. Light pierced through the bag over her head, if only slightly.

They forced Shakti to her knees as the bag was taken off her head. Firelight seared her eyes with its brightness.

“You evaded us for so long, princess...and here you are, right in my backyard. Who would’ve tho-” a sneering voice cut itself off.

Shakti’s eyes adjusted to see a Qahtanad man in immaculate white clothes, looking at her with a furrowed brow, sitting atop a wooden throne next to a Nikan woman who looked bored more than anything else.

“You boneheads!” the Qahtanad screeched, “You went through all that trouble and you got the wrong one!”

“Pardon, sir?” a Nikan soldier asked from behind her.

“This isn’t Princess Shahla, you idiot! This is some peasant girl she’s picked up to be her handmaiden or body double or something!”

“Quiet yourself, husband.” the Nikan woman said. She was calm, yet commanding with her words and the Qahtanad sat back as though he’d just been scolded.

The woman took a sip from a golden chalice, smacked her lips, then told an attendant to throw it out before turning to Shakti. “Who are you, girl?”

A soldier behind her untied the gag. Shakti worked her jaw to ease an ache before answering, “Certainly not a handmaiden.”

“You checked for Plague Scars, didn’t you?” the Qahtanad asked.

“Yes sir. She’s got them on her hand.” the soldiers said.

The man pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Princess Shahla is rumored to have scars on her eyes.” the woman said in fluent Nikan. She turned back to Shakti, “If not a handmaiden, who are you to Shahla al-Samara.”

“Have you heard about the siege of Xinhou at all?”

“Yes, it was rather embarrassing for my dear brother and sister.” the woman chided.

“Why did I know you were Nikan royalty the moment I saw you?”

“Because I bring my air regality with me wherever I go.” the princess sighed.

Shakti stretched her lips thin, “Mm...If that’s what you want to call the pompous and self-important look on your face, fine by me.”

The princess scoffed with amusement, “Seems we have a jester in our presence.”

“Who the hell are you fools?” Shakti asked.

“Why, you-” the Qahtanad man rose from his chair.

“Down, husband.” the princess ordered.

The man sat down like a dog. Were she not in this precarious situation, Shakti would have it in her to laugh.

“I am Gongsun Xiulan. Eighth princess of the Nikan Empire. My husband is Sultan Ali, of Qahtan.”

Shakti blinked. Not only was she in the presence of a Nikan princess, but also the Sultan of Qahtan.

“And who are you, girl? Answer me seriously this time.” Xiulan said, “My patience wanes.”

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“I’m Shakti. Just Shakti. But my allies and I were the ones who helped the White Tiger rebellion hold off from a Nikan army. Regretfully, that ended badly, but-”

“Are you one of them? A Shedim Master?” Xiulan asked.

Shakti hesitated, but nodded slightly.

“Send her to my fa-”

“Wait.” Ali spoke up, earning a glare of daggers from his wife, “We can use her.”

Xiulan relaxed slightly, “How so?”

“She’s the weakest of them.” Ali said, “We know Shahla can use moonlight to put people to sleep. The Asasiyun can travel in the shadows. The nun can cast sunlight at her foes. The White Tiger has mastery over flames. The Sea People can control the ocean and magma. Why have we never heard a word spoken about her?”

Shakti shrunk. So it was true. She was the weakest.

“It would be wise not to underestimate her.” Xiulan said.

“You give her too much credit. Look at the way she cowers at our mentioning of her position.” Ali scoffed, “Tell me, girl, do you think all this fight-all this bloodshed-is worth it?”

Shakti held her tongue.

“You can’t tell me you haven’t questioned your being roped into this massive expedition on the whim of some deposed princess, can you?”

“I…” Shakti wanted to deny the claims or somehow fire back. But it was as though any semblance of wit had evacuated her body.

“I’ll tell you what, girl. We will return you to your camp before morning. The next night, offer to take the first guard shift. And when we arrive, do nothing.” Ali said, “Sit back and do nothing and that will earn you a boat and complete pardon of all your crimes against my kingdom and the empire.”

Shakti thought about it. This...This was what she’d been waiting for, wasn’t it? A way out? A way to freedom.

But what about Seang? And Vai? And all the rest?

They had their own lives to live. They could do as they wished. This life was Shakti’s. And she would live it for herself. She had her own passions to pursue. Hell, they would even give her a boat.

“She’s a Shedim Master,” Xiulan protested.

“And she will give us six others to give to your father.” Ali said.

Xiulan considered this.

“You want your title, don’t you? This is how you get it.” Ali goaded her on.

The princess nodded. “Very well. I can pardon you. But only if you do exactly as we say. Don’t tell anyone, not even your allies. Either we have six Shedim Masters and you go free or we have seven. Understand?”

Shakti nodded.

______________________________________________________________________________

Like most days on the steppe, this day seemed to go by incredibly quick, but also take an eternity to pass. Seang was growing weary of this place. There was nothing to do except tend to her horse, pray and reread scripture she’d already been made to memorize by heart from a little pocket book that tried to fit a thousand year’s worth of theology into a small volume.

Even the natives seemed to agree the steppe had little to offer. The only relief they had was when they’d break out their instruments each night and play Khongirat folk songs with a kind of singing that sounded like a croaking frog with musical talent. And that was not an insult.

At the very least, Lokapele was in higher spirits. The Ucari encouraged her to sing and, in doing so, found an excitement to write songs again.

Shakti was able to draw, though her resources were limited. She dipped her toe into music as well, as Shakti had been given training in all forms of high culture when they were still young.

It was times like these that Seang wished she had a passion or even a heavily debilitating flaw in her character rather than several small ones. At the very least, something to occupy her mind aside from how bored she was. The Khongirats above the age of ten seldom played games with each other and there wasn’t even a shaman to discuss philosophy with.

Of course, she could always talk about those things with Najeem, but the Asasiyun seemed to find pleasure more in the mental sparring itself rather than coming to an accord. That made him particularly infuriating to talk with.

And aside from that, Najeem seemed occupied by his own thoughts. He had been noticeably more introspective since Xinhou. At first, Seang thought he was simply depressed, but now she realized he was giving something serious consideration.

Were they not on horseback, Seang could spend her time practicing Muays with Kameko and Najeem. Kameko did nothing but practice her ability to manipulate flames.

Seang had believed that Kameko had been gifted the greatest of all their powers, but quickly discovered that, if wearing a simple flame-retardant, one could more or less ignore that aspect of her abilities. Fire only had heat and lacked force, unlike her sunlight blasts.

Thinking about her boredom actually proved to be a rather expedient use of her time, as the end of the day had arrived before she knew it. The Ucari set up camp, and they started making supper.

“Seang?” Shakti approached her as Seang was getting a decent fire going.

“Yes?”

“Um…” Shakti had a conflicted look in her eye, “Can I...take first watch tonight?”

“Sure…” Seang said, trailing off, “Any reason? Something you want to talk about?”

Shakti shook her head adamantly. Seang knew she was lying, but whatever it was, Shakti would come to her if she needed help.

Ever since travelling with the Ucari, when he wasn’t being bat shit crazy about preserving their culture, Orhan actually made a decent leader. He didn’t search for his authority to be respected. By respecting his clan, that just sort of came as a given. So Seang resolved to learn from that.

Of course, she doubted that attitude would last in a crisis.

“Actually…” Shakti murmured.

See? And she didn’t even have to try.

“What is it?” Seang asked.

“What do you think freedom is?”

Seang’s drew in a long breath, “That’s a rather vague question.”

“How do you define it?” Shakti asked, “How is one truly free?”

“Well…” Seang considered for a moment, “I think it’s rather naïve to think that anyone can be truly free. Or at least, free from everything. Anything that motivates us has enslaved us in a way.”

“That’s not very helpful.”

“I think I could offer you some more advice if I knew what exactly your dilemma is.”

Shakti sighed, “Am I doing it right? When I left to travel the world, was I free?”

Seang nodded slowly. “I think I gather what you mean. Perhaps it wasn’t good of me to say we’re all enslaved by something. But we all have dedication to something. We all have a purpose.”

“From the Great Creator?”

Seang shook her head, “I actually disagree with the Predestination apologists. I think we are all called to search out our own meaning. Whether that be to serve a god, a cause or a goal. All that’s important is that we find that purpose. What’s important to freedom is that we choose that purpose.”

“What do you mean?”

“Most farmers don’t get to choose to be farmers. They are happy for the most part, however, because the job gives them purpose. But they weren’t free to choose. I think true freedom is being able to choose a purpose for yourself. No matter where you go, you will always have a devotion to something. Even if that devotion is running away from commitment.” Seang said, “I think free people know what they think is right for them. They don’t let a purpose choose them. They choose that purpose.”

Shakti nodded. “That...makes sense. So if I try to avoid commitment, I’m actually just letting a commitment to run away possess me?”

“Exactly. Freedom is being able to choose. Regardless of what would be the case under other circumstances.”

“And if I wanted to choose a commitment to my art?” Shakti asked.

Seang turned to her, “You’re not...you’re not thinking about leaving us, are you?”

“Answer the question. Please.” Shakti murmured.

Seang sighed. A pressure that wasn’t there before was now crushing her. “I think you should ask yourself what circumstances will allow you to express yourself in the ways you want. And pursue that. Settle for nothing less. Because you deserve nothing less.”

Shakti stared off for a moment, “Settle for nothing less...nothing less than complete freedom, huh? Alright. Can I ask one more question?”

Seang nodded.

“Why don’t you resent me for leaving all those years ago?”

Seang frowned, “I...I did. At one point. But you’re my friend. And I’m yours. If I can’t eventually move on, it’s me who should be resented. What’s important now is that we’re sisters in arms. I will stand by you. So long as you stand by me.”

Shakti sighed, then turned to Seang and put her hands on her shoulders. “Seang...last night I was mistaken for Shahla and kidnapped by Sultan Ali. The Nikan are coming. Tonight.”