“Um, okay. Try this one. I have no weight, but if you put me in a bucket, I make the bucket lighter. What am I?”

“A hole.”

“…You’ve already heard that one, haven’t you?”

“Yes. It is common.” Ba’an was only half-paying attention, trying to stitch the many small leather hides into one big sheet. It was slow, tedious work, and Ba’an hated it.

“Well, I think it’s your turn then.”

“No. You not solve third riddle yet.”

“Oh come on, Ba’an. That’s just mean. Give me another one while I work through your really, really hard riddle that I totally answered correctly.”

“It not correct.”

“No way. It has to be. One, you can’t stop it. Two, you go absolutely crazy. Three, it’s something everyone wants, but can’t buy. ‘Rarer than jewels, and far more precious’? That’s love. The real kind. Gotta be—nothing else fits.”

“Dolkoi’ri love is strange. Why go mad? Make no sense.”

“What? Of course you go mad. Have you never been in love? Or do K’Avaari love differently? Are you lot all calm and rational about it? No way.”

“Madness is not love. That is…” Ba’an frowned, trying to find the right word. She failed. “…Something else.”

“That’s not really helpful, Ba’an. And for the record, I see you’ve avoided my question. Though I guess there’s more than one kind of love. Do K’Avaari only know philia and storge? That can’t be right. Is that even possible? I mean, for individuals, sure. But every K’Avaari?”

“I do not know words.”

“Oh, right. Um, well when I say ‘love’—” And here he used the new Dolkoi’ri word that he had taught her—eros. She had thought it meant love in the K’Avaari way—a strong sense of attachment and loyalty—but now she suspected she had misunderstood him. “—I mean the kind where you go just completely crazy over someone. It’s a sort of divine madness. You can’t stop that arrow. Once it hits, it hits. That’s it.”

She felt her brows knit. “Arrow? You shoot your lover?” It was the most Dolkoi’ri thing she had heard all day. Was there no end to their insanity?

He started to laugh, but slapped his hand over his mouth, forcing it down. “What? Oh, theoi, no! No, it’s not—it’s not literal, Ba’an. Eros is the name of a god. He’s the one that makes you fall in love. You’ll love whomever you see first once he shoots you with an arrow, you know?”

“…That is very stupid, Lukios.” Surely they did not truly believe this. It was absurd. Absurd. “If a god shoots you, you will die.” This was common sense. Even the small gods, the basa’an, were fearsome in their fury.

Lukios finished wheezing, then cleared his throat. “No one actually believes that’s what really happens, Ba’an. It’s just a story you tell your kids when they start noticing girls. Or boys. Whichever. Anyway, eros is exactly what the poets go on and on about—where you just go so crazy over a woman, you’d do anything, just anything, to have her. Well, it can be between a man and a man or a woman and a woman too, but the most famous story is about this woman named Kallisto, who was so beautiful that the ruler of one of the old city states went to war to take her.”

“To take? By force? That is…not love. We call it…hm…violence. No, K’Avaari word is utani. Take woman by force. Violence. And for beauty, it is something else also. We call it…hm…ru’talani. It is for…young ones. Burns hot. Burns out. Done. Sometimes utani and ru’talani happens same time, but…utani is very bad, Lukios. No K’Avaari woman wants this.”

“Wait, I think something got mixed up here. I didn’t mean the force part was eros—okay, it can be part of it, sometimes. Like you said about the…utani and the ru’talani happening together? I guess utani is rape? That’s not considered a good thing for us, either. But eros doesn’t always involve rape, and it isn’t supposed to burn out. It’s not like ru’talani, either—it’s not supposed to be about just the physical bits.”

“But it is about…” She did not know what the Dolkoi’ri word for sex was, so she rounded her left hand and made a thrusting motion with her right, making sure the fingers went in and out.

Lukios choked on his own spit and began to cough.

“Lukios! Do not cough!”

He wheezed. “Not my—cough—fault. You—you just—” He wheezed again, trying desperately not to laugh. It was a losing battle; his shoulders shook even as he complained. “Ow. Fuck! Fuck! Ow!”

Ba’an watched him helplessly. She had not meant to be funny at all.

Eventually he calmed down, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. She could not tell if they were from pain or pleasure; regardless, she would have to ensure he had not torn himself open. She began to stand, but Lukios shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. Really. You can finish your stitching. Really, Ba’an. I’m fine. Just a little sore.” She eyed him as she slowly sank back into her seat. Hm. He did not appear to be lying.

He cleared his throat and began again. “Well, you’re half right. I mean, sex is…a big part of it, but originally, I think—well, the idea is when mankind was created, we were all whole. Our souls, I mean. But then some asshole committed some awful crime and the punishment was to be cut in half. So now we all wander around looking for our other half. That’s real eros, though it’s true—practically, it’s almost always about a pretty…face. Anyway, eros is definitely a kind of madness. There’s no escaping it.”

That was shockingly romantic. She had not expected such philosophy from the Dolkoi’ri, who were often violent toward everyone, including their own. Then again, perhaps such philosophy was used to justify the violence? After all, what argument could one use against the assertion that the victim had gotten in the way of the other half of one’s soul, or that the victim of utani was indeed, their other half, and therefore had no recourse?

How terrible.

There was nothing like eros in the K’Avaari vocabulary. Though the closest was perhaps…

“Anyway, there’s the other stuff like philia which—Huh. You’ve gone awfully quiet, Ba’an.”

“I am thinking.” She twisted the little necklace of teeth around her fingers before speaking again. “For love, there is…re’talani and ka’talani. Re’talani is like ru’talani, but not burn out. Last longer, like…low fire. Starts hot. Burns low. Sometimes become ka’talani and back. Ka’talani is like…deep friendship. Respect. It is common if married.”

“Oh. Re’talani sounds a bit like eros and philia combined. Philia is…like deep friendship. I guess ka’talani is more like philia by itself, though…I’m not sure where storge and agape would fit. The first one’s for family, and the second one is like…I guess what the gods feel for us tiny humans. I’m thinking maybe our definitions don’t really match up.”

She nodded. “Yes. Families can feel ka’talani too.” Though now that she thought about it…

Re’talani could be destructive too, especially when combined with ru’talani. She frowned.

“Thought of something?”

“Yes. Sometimes…yes, K’Avaari can love badly. Many stories.”

“Yeah, us too. I guess love sucks for everyone.”

“’Sucks’?”

“Yeah. It’s just kind of painful and messy but you can’t stop. Sucks.”

Ba’an frowned at this. She had not found love itself to be painful, messy, or uncontrollable, though such things had been true for some members of the tribe. Sometimes there was jealousy and violence, though such instances were rare. Ba’an had rarely mediated on such matters, having had no patience for it. Ul’ma, even after leaving the shi-vuti, had always advised on messy, inconvenient things.

“I not think is true.”

“Oh?”

“Sometimes is gentle and calm. But yes, sometimes it…sucks.” She shrugged. “It depend.” Lukios couldn’t roll over without pain, but he did manage to tilt his head to fix her with a curious stare.

“Really? So you’re saying this love of yours was gentle and calm.” Ba’an had never mentioned any love of hers. He was making assumptions. Correct ones, but assumptions still.

“I not say was mine.”

Lukios’ expression didn’t change. “Okay. So what was yours like?”

Had she really been that obvious?

Well, it wasn’t as though she had to answer him. Ba’an continued stitching in silence.

He didn’t last long. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours. That’s fair, right?”

“I not want know yours.”

“Oh, ouch. Aren’t you at least a bit curious?”

“No.”

He gave a low whistle as though impressed. “Theoi. You’re tough.” Now that didn’t need dignifying with a response. “Since you want to be all mysterious and silent again, does that mean I win?”

“…What?”

“Well, you couldn’t back up your claim. There’s no such thing as a calm, collected romance. It’s all madness. So I’m right. Love leads to madness and we all end up blissfully wretched.”

Oh for the love of—!

“Oh, there’s the nose wrinkle.” He grinned. Ba’an very deliberately looked him in the eyes and sighed. He was just so impossibly—

Ba’an dropped her stitching and stood up abruptly.

Something was wrong.

Ba’an did not normally listen for the souls of animals because there were simply too many. There were always bugs or mice or birds somewhere and listening too closely led to distraction and sometimes, madness. But now—now she strained herself to listen. Their usual chatter had gone nearly silent, and the souls she could hear were getting further away: either they were burrowing beneath the sand, or they were fleeing into the rocks, or even flying far, far away. They were running.

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Something was coming.

“Ba’an?”

She didn’t answer. She darted to the courtyard and looked. The sky had darkened and she could see clouds rapidly forming overhead. She could not see past the cliffs but even in her sheltered box canyon she could see the sand picking up and begin to swirl in little eddies.

Ba’an had dwelt in the desert her entire life. She knew that a monster was growing beyond the rock wall and it would bring its fury down on them soon.

“Oh, that looks bad.” She turned her head. Lukios was standing in the doorway, eyes fixed on the sky. He was hunched over, and she knew he’d strained something rushing to the door. She hurried over to him and swung his arm over her shoulders. As she passed through the doorway, she grabbed the walking stick leaning against the wall just beside it, handing it to him.

“Lukios. Go to bir-vuti. Stay away from hole.” She dashed to her clothes chest and grabbed a long strip of cloth and gave it to him. “Tie around nose, mouth.” She indicated with quick motions how the fabric should be tied.

“Wait, Ba’an—"

“Go. Go. I follow soon.”

Ba’an turned and began to seal the doorway. It had never been fitted with a door. Ba’an simply left it open in the day and closed it when she left with a leather tarp that she tied down around notches in the frame. It would not keep the sand out completely, but it would be better than nothing. The only problem was that the rolled-up leather was heavy, and she fell backwards from the weight.

“Here.” Lukios began to help her tie it down.

“No. Lukios, go to bir-vuti. You too slow. Sand very dangerous. I will run very fast.” Ba’an didn’t think he knew what sand in the lungs could do, how fast it could happen. Sometimes animals drowned while standing.

“Let’s split up. I’ll tie this down here and you can do the one up top.” He pointed to the open roof. Ba’an hesitated. It was a good idea. They did not have much time and she heard thunder boom close by.

“Yes. Be quick. Go to bir-vuti right after. Right after. Understand?”

“Yeah. I got it. Go.”

She dashed up the stairs. Lukios barked, “Keep your hand on the wall! You’ll fall!”

Ba’an would have smiled if she wasn’t panting already. It wasn’t a bad suggestion, but Ba’an didn’t think she had the time.

The wind was already howling, slapping her bare face like a leather strap. Sand and dirt flew through the air and Ba’an groped for the tarp with her face turned away. Her bun came loose, then fell away entirely as she maneuvered away from the sheltered opening to tie the first corner down.

The wind was very, very strong. The strap flew away from her fingers and she had to find the corner again. Her hair was blowing into her face, slapping her cheeks, and she knew it had been a mistake to come up without a cloth over her nose and mouth.

The wind rose into a shriek and Ba’an cried out as it tipped her over and she fell, fingers scrabbling for purchase on loose dirt and sand. She tumbled across the plateau, completely disoriented.

No. She was going to fall. She was going to fall. She needed to—

“Got you!” Lukios’s grip on her ankle was unbreakable. His fingers were steel as he hauled her back to the entrance with a grunt. Ba’an sat up, shielding her face in the crook of her elbow as she shimmied to the first corner, keeping low to the ground.

There was something wrong with the way he was breathing. It was clear he had dashed up the stairs. Had he—?

One crisis at a time. She focused on the strap and tied it down, then moved to the next one. Lukios held the corner down as she worked, shielding her from the wind with his body. She patted him and pointed back to the platform in her not-vuti and he obediently dropped back inside. She followed him, pulling the last outer strap behind her. She tied it down, then quickly moved to the inner straps, making the tarp as secure as possible. The leather vibrated like the membrane of a drum and sand leaked in through the sides.

Better than nothing. She wasn’t sure it would hold, but with the flat way it was lying the wind was unlikely to tear it up and away.

There were always little storms in the desert, but this one had a kind of fury she had not seen for many years. Thunder boomed again, but it was a dry sound. The air crackled with electricity without rain and Ba’an knew what kind of storm this would be. It would be best if they moved to the bir-vuti immediately.

“Lukios. Lean.” She put his arm around her shoulders as she guided them down the stairs with her hand on the wall. His steps were unsteady and his breathing was uneven. Ba’an worried he would tumble off the steps. He was far too heavy to hold onto if he did so. “Do not fall, Lukios. You are heavy. We will—”

“Yeah. If I fall, let go. No reason—” he grunted, wincing, “—for us both to splatter on the floor.”

“No. Do not fall. Very simple.” He snorted then gasped in pain. He fell silent, as though the effort of speaking was too much to keep up while walking. This was likely true. He did not sound well.

They made it to the ground without dying. This was good. Lukios, on the other hand, was not good. He was leaning heavily on the walking stick, likely to avoid putting all his weight on her, and they made their way slowly into the cave. Ba’an helped him lie down, cursing silently at how flat-footed the storm had caught her.

She should have noticed sooner. She had allowed herself to become distracted.

It would not happen again.

The floor was very hard. It would not be comfortable, and Ba’an needed her medical tools if she was going to help him.

Lukios lay with his eyes closed, breathing heavily and unsteadily. Sweat beaded on his forehead and when she brushed his hair off his forehead, she could feel it was cold.

Not good.

“Ba’an,” he said, finally. “I think I ripped something. Several somethings.” He stopped talking and turned his head, making a retching noise as his body stiffened. Nothing came up.

“Do not move.”

Usually he would have said something pithy in that tone he had, but he was silent now, struggling to swallow.

No. This was very, very bad. Ba’an already had a sense of what had gone wrong. Swiftly, she peeled back his tunic. Dark bruises stared up at her from beneath pale, clammy, skin. It was swelling, hard and bloated like a waterskin filled to bursting. She cast around for something, anything, to place under his feet, but there was nothing. She gently pushed the hair off his face, making sure his head stayed turned to the side.

“Lukios,” she said, as calmly as she could. He didn’t stir. “Do not move. I back soon.” She squeezed his hand, relieved when he squeezed back.

She scrambled back into the not-vuti. The tarps were vibrating furiously, and sand floated in the air as her clothes flapped in the breeze. Ba’an held her breath as she went to her clothes-chest and took out a shawl. She wrapped it around her head and over her nose and mouth. She would be useless to Lukios if she inhaled too much sand.

Ba’an grabbed a basket, throwing everything she needed into it. Her surgery kit, all her tinctures and ointments, a basin, a bowl—why not take the entire cauldron? She could stuff everything inside it and carry it all at once. Yes. The extra cloths, the things for a fire and—

Blanket. He needed a blanket. Ba’an didn’t want to waste time on a second trip, so she hauled everything with her the first time though she staggered under the weight. She ended up dragging the metal cauldron behind her, grateful the metal was thick and hardy as the bottom scraped along the rock floor.

There was no time to waste. Ba’an took off her shawl and set it flat on the ground. She put the blanket over Lukios before putting all her tools on her shawl. The empty basket she used to prop his feet up.

Lukios was shaking now, unresponsive. The internal bleeding was severe, and anything and everything she did would be risky. Ba’an put her hand on his forehead, listening, though not with her ears. “Lukios,” she said out loud, but there was no response. Well, that was fine. It would be better this way. Ba’an reached out with her magic and pulled him deeper into sleep. Ba’an needed to open him up again, and this way, he would not wake up halfway. Magic was much more reliable than drugs, at least for this.

He would not wake in the middle. And if he died—there would be no pain.

Ba’an washed her hands and got to work.

----------------------------------------

The cave smelled bloody. This was expected whenever a surgery was performed.

The real problem was that Lukios was still dying.

She had stopped him from hemorrhaging, but he had lost too much blood, which was deadly all on its own. It was only a matter of time before his heart failed and his lungs stopped, before his soul—his bright, cheerful soul that had filled her not-vuti with so much music—went silent forever.

Ba’an could do many things, but replacing blood lost to an injury was not one of them. She washed her hands, thinking. Even now his blood pressure was far too low, his heart pumping madly in an effort to compensate. If this continued, he would die.

There was something she could try. She was not sure if it would work, but there was nothing to lose now. At least if she did something, he would have a chance, however slim.

Yes, she would try it. But it would take a great deal of magic and she would need her coat, which meant she had to brave the sand.

Ba’an took the cloth she had given to Lukios and wrapped it around her nose and mouth. The trip was quick, but she was still brushing sand and dirt off her hair and clothes when she got back to the bir-vuti. She stripped and dressed well away from Lukios, making sure to shake out the dirt. Infection control was already going to be a nightmare—no need to make things worse.

Once she was ready, she sat behind his head and put her hands on his temples. Touch would make things a bit easier, but still the next part would be remarkably tricky. Ba’an closed her eyes and immersed herself into her soul-weaving.

He was a fighter. Stubborn. His soul was clinging to his flesh and vibrating, its song frantic and discordant as his organs struggled and began to fail. This would not do.

The first thing was to tie his soul down so he would not die until his body stopped working entirely. Sometimes death was like that: the soul fled before the body failed. Sometimes, the body failed but the soul lingered until it frayed and drifted away—and she was sure that in Lukios’ case, it would be the latter. If his body did fail, she would have to cut him loose with her magic. She would not suffer him to become one of the preba, the dead who walked.

She anchored him down, deep down, and began to…prod.

Her idea had been to use her magic to stimulate his own body to produce blood faster. It would be risky but she would temporarily tie him to her so he could pull the energy that would normally come from sustenance from her. Even in theory it was tenuous, and she half-wondered if she would manage to kill them both.

Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Ba’an had been more than surprised to learn during her time in the shi-vuti that blood was made inside the bones. It was wholly counter-intuitive, but knowledge of physic had been accumulated by generations of witches who had traded their most precious things for it; there had been no reason to doubt, and as she had become good at weaving, she had begun to see the truth of it.

Now she delicately touched the weave in his bones and began to stimulate it with her own. Distantly she was aware she was sweating; if she went too fast, or pushed too hard, he would die. Either his body would cannibalize itself over time or he would over-extend his resources and die of exhaustion. Ba’an could share her energy, but not her physical resources. She could not give him her salts or vital fluids to compensate.

Slowly. She had to go slowly and trust he would not die too quickly from shock.

Ba’an went gently, marveling at how clearly she could see. In a way, this would have been impossible if she had still been…human. Even a very talented witch could not see, hear, or touch the weave of a soul with such precision and clarity. Such things were the domains of gods—

—or monsters.

Ba’an shut her eyes and fell into her weaving.

----------------------------------------

Beyond the box canyon the wind continued to howl. An hour passed, then another. Eventually the storm passed over the hidden nur-vuti and died quietly over the desert.

In the caves beneath the earth, a woman knelt at the head of a man, still as the stones around her. Sweat trickled from her brow and over her cheek and chin, dripping like tears. The man lay as though dead, his jagged breathing the only sign of life.

Eventually, his breathing steadied. Colour returned to his skin.

They continued on like this, long into the night.

----------------------------------------

Ba’an woke slowly, ravenous for souls. Everything hurt, and her tongue and mouth felt…fuzzy. More importantly—she needed the privy. She shifted to sit up and froze.

There was a man lying in bed with her. She could feel his heat against her back, his bright, noisy soul. She wanted very badly to reach behind her and…

…Eat him.

She turned her head and opened her eyes.

“Morning, Ba’an. Or should I say evening? I don’t know. I think it’s dark outside though. Surprise! We’re alive. Great, right?” Lukios grinned at her, his face far too close for comfort. For a moment she was disoriented, until she remembered. Oh. Yes, she had crawled in next to him because…it had seemed practical at the time. Yes, the fire had died sometime in the night as she…fixed…him. She had tried to re-light the fire but failed.

In the end she had taken her coat off and hidden it in one of the unfinished tunnels of the bir-vuti but she had not been able to wear her dress. It had been ruined by his blood. So now she was wearing her shawl—thankfully, it was very long and wide—like an obscenely short chai’ra, tying it over her shoulder and around her waist. Still, it only fell to her mid-thigh, though thankfully it covered all the important bits. Ba’an had been too tired to do anything else after failing to light a fire except sleep.

Well, they had kept each other warm. That was the important part. If anything, he ought to be grateful—he had been the one who’d lost all that blood. Keeping him warm had been a priority.

Ba’an fought to keep from placing her hand on his bare skin. It would be very, very easy to devour him now, but doing so would defeat the purpose of having saved him in the first place. It was her hunger speaking now, the restless, hollow need in her pulling against the threads of her control in mindless desire.

She had to get away. Quickly. Now, even.

She sat up.

“Lukios. Do not move.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere for a while. Um…You have something I can use as a chamber pot, right? I don’t think I can stand.”

“Yes. Lie still.” She stood. Lukios gave a low whistle.

“Not that I’m complaining, but for the record, where I come from, you’d normally buy me dinner first, you know?” She stared at him blankly, momentarily confused, until she suddenly understood his meaning.

She burst out laughing. Not because it was funny, but because she was relieved.

He was making terrible jokes again. Lukios was fine. He would be fine.

He stared at her. “No way. I finally get a laugh out of you and it’s over my worst joke ever.”

“Lukios. If you want laughs, be funnier. Now stop talking.” She left to get him something to use as a chamber pot.

As she walked away, she heard him mutter to himself, a little sulkily, “Well, at least she laughed.”

No, she would not eat him. Not tonight—or any other night.