On Fire’s Wings (10 page)

“Keep speaking, Sammis,” he urged. “Everything you can tell us is precious.”

Sammis opened his mouth, but the words never came. His eyes suddenly became fixed and staring, and his body went limp. Tahmu sighed. He held the dead hand for a moment longer, then reached and gently shut the wide eyes.

“Sammis was a dead man before he arrived,” Tahmu said to Jashemi. “That is why I did not let him rest. No healer could have saved him, and I had hoped he would live long enough to tell me what had happened.”

“You knew him?” Kevla blurted. Everyone turned to stare and her and she blushed.

“Yes,” Tahmu said. “He was my nephew. Jashemi's cousin.”

Kevla turned compassionate eyes on the boy. His face was impassive, though his eyes were shiny and his lower lip quivered slightly. Their gazes locked, and an unspoken message passed between them.

“Maluuk, prepare him for the pyre. Jashemi, find his mount and fetch the messages he said he carried.”

“Yes, Father.” Jashemi headed for the door. Impulsively, Kevla followed. They stood outside the door, hands raised to shield their eyes from the sun as they tried to see where Sammis's mount had gone. Kevla realized she didn't know if they should be looking for a horse or a
sa'abah
.

“You should not be seen with me,” hissed Jashemi, barely moving his lips.

The rebuke stung. She had thought…she had been foolish to think it.

“Two sets of eyes are better than one,” she replied stubbornly. “I am a servant assisting the
khashimu.
”

“Curse you, Kevla, it's more than that,” Jashemi said, but did not elaborate. “There. It sought out the company of other
sa'abahs.
”

The exhausted beast, a female, had indeed tried to join the herd of the House of Four Waters. They found her pacing mournfully back and forth outside the stone corral, bleating plaintively as she scented water and others of her own kind on the other side. Tahmu's
sa'abahs
had come up to her and were nuzzling her, their muzzles barely clearly the wall.

She started when Jashemi and Kevla hurried up to her, but Jashemi dove for the trailing reins. He spoke softly to the creature, patting her neck and sending a small cloud of dust into the air.

“Down, down,” he urged the
sa'abah
, tugging on the reins. Obediently, she crouched so that Jashemi could reach the saddle and the small bundle tied securely to it. So tightly was the leather pouch bound to the saddle that Jashemi had to use the small knife he always wore to cut it free. He removed the saddle, opened the gate, and let the exhausted
sa'abah
inside. She headed straight for the trough, lowered her head, and began to drink. The others crowded around her, reaching to touch her with their small, stubby arms, as if they understood that she had been through a terrible ordeal.

Although she had lived at the House for some time now, Kevla still found the
sa'abahs
fascinating, and watched them as Jashemi fumbled through the sack. She heard a rustling, then silence, then a deep sigh.

She turned around just in time to catch him wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Her heart ached in sympathy. Without thinking she touched his arm gently.

Jashemi jerked away, and immediately Kevla dropped to her knees. Again, she had assumed too much.

“Forgive me, young lord! I transgressed, I did not mean—”

A gentle hand on her shoulder urged her to rise. “It's all right,” he assured her. “I just….”

“What does the letter say?”

His face crumpled and he looked down. “My uncle and all of my male cousins are dead. Slaughtered while they slept off the wine they had drunk in celebration of Kur.”

Kevla listened, remaining silent.

Jashemi cleared his throat and continued in a more normal tone of voice. “The women were…were assaulted and then taken. Probably they are five-scores now. My cousin Sammis was sent by my uncle to summon help.” He looked at her now, and she did not like the expression on his face. “The first thing the raiders did was burn the aerie, so that no warning hawks could be sent out to gather reinforcements. The
Sa'abah
Clan has probably taken what they want and are long gone.”

“The
Sa'abah
Clan?” Kevla repeated, incredulous. She looked over at the milling creatures. They seemed gentle, intelligent. They had welcomed a stranger.

“It is ironic that the people who breed the most peaceful of animals are the ones most thirsty for blood,” said Jashemi, bitterly. He looked down at the parchment in his hand. Kevla followed his gaze and saw that he had crumpled the missive.

Jashemi composed himself. “We will attack in retaliation. Father will want to see this. Return to the House, Kevla. My mother will be distraught to hear of the death of her brother.”

Without another word he turned and trudged slowly back toward the healer's hut. Kevla wanted to follow. She had no desire to be in Yeshi's company when the
khashima
received such dreadful news.

 

For the third time in the span of a few months, the House of Four Waters was thrown into a flurry of activity. This time, though, the preparations were not for a welcome-home feast, or the wild celebration of a favorite holiday, but for battle.

Kevla continued her lessons in healing. Maluuk explained that he would be going with the warriors, as his skills would be needed to treat the injured.

“And there will be,” he said, seeming suddenly very old. “There are always injured. Too many, even in a victory.”

Asha would stay behind, to assume his master's position. Kevla would become his apprentice, assisting him in treating the household and preparing bandages, salves, ointments, and tinctures. Although it was uncommon for a woman to be placed in such an important position as apprentice healer, the usual niceties could not be observed. Asha seemed happy enough to take on the role of a full healer, and apparently didn't object to Kevla's gender.

She had always looked upon these sessions as play, an escape from the world of the household, a time to be with Jashemi. But Jashemi no longer attended the lessons, as he would be expected to accompany his father into battle. Her time with Maluuk had a new sense of urgency to it, and there was no more play involved.

Still, it was better than being with Yeshi. Kevla had not been present when Tahmu had told his wife that her brother was murdered and her nieces and nephews dead or captured. But she had heard the scream of anguish as she waited outside the door, and exchanged helpless glances with Tiah and Ranna. For the first time, she had felt a kinship with the other women as they listened to their mistress shriek and sob.

For nearly a day, Yeshi would not speak to them. She permitted them to bring her food, but nothing more, and she never looked at them when they entered quietly. When at last she did rouse herself to let them bathe and dress her, there was a new harshness to her mien. The three women moved quietly around their mistress, frightened for themselves, frightened for their household.

The war party was assembled with astonishing rapidity. The warriors would need to travel well and quickly, as the
Sa'abah
Clan was nomadic. Every bit of preserved food was brought forth and packed, and dozens of animals were slaughtered to replenish the stores. Weapons were brought out of storage, sharpened, cleaned, repaired, and set aside. Craftsmen worked from sunrise to sunrise making more arrows, more swords, more knives. Falcons flew back and forth from the House, as Tahmu called in his allies and they responded.

They trickled in, clan by clan, and Kevla gaped in amazement at the numbers. Within a few days, over five hundred men from the Sheep Clan, the River Clan, the Horserider Clan, the Star Clan, and the Cattle Clan had arrived to assist the Clan of Four Waters. None of the household's women had a chance to visit the caverns, as they were constantly teeming with warriors set on enjoying the House of Four Waters' famous bathing pool before they left for battle.

Kevla would have been glad to see them go had not she feared for Jashemi and Tahmu. What would happen if either one of them was killed? If
both
were killed? The thought was so dreadful that Kevla always drove it from her mind. But at night, she had dreams, and though she never remembered them, she would awaken with tears on her face.

The night before the warriors were to depart was not marked by revelry. It was too grim an occasion. Yeshi had dismissed her women and Kevla, wanting to do something to help, assisted in distributing freshly-filled waterskins to the men camped out on the grounds.

They were all of a kind: angry-looking or solemn-faced men, clad not in finery but in weather-worn
rhias,
who barely acknowledged her presence, though they took the waterskins she offered readily enough. They were crowded together, and Kevla heard conversations consisting of low mutterings and angry cries, the jingling of tack, the crackle of small fires. There was a smell of leather, fur, and sweat that after an hour or so made her stomach roil.

She had turned and was headed back to the House for more waterskins when a hand clamped down on her arm. She started to cry out, but turned and saw that it was Jashemi. He held a finger to his lips and she nodded. He tugged on her arm, leading her away from the bustle of the House.

Kevla trotted after him, confused and a little alarmed. Why would the
khashimu
want to see her alone, at night? Finally, Jashemi stopped.

“We are far enough away, we won't be overheard. And the moon is new.”

Kevla kept her gaze on the ground. “What does my lord wish?” she asked.

“To apologize.”

She was so startled that her head whipped up and she stared at him. “My lord, a
khashimu
never apologizes to a servant!”

“But Jashemi can and will apologize to Kevla,” Jashemi countered. She had no response, merely looked at him in confusion. What was going on?

She heard him swallow. “You felt sorry for me the day that Sammis came. You wanted to help. I was rude to you. I wish I could explain why. Maybe someday.”

Kevla lowered her eyes again. “I do not understand.”

“I saw the hurt on your face,” he said gently, stepping closer to her. She felt the soft puff of his breath on her cheek. “When I said you shouldn't be with me.”

“My lord, you were right to say that. I overstepped.”

He made an annoyed sound. “Kevla, please let me apologize!”

“Of course. As the
khashimu
wishes.”

There was a pause. Then he said, “I am leaving tomorrow. Will—will you miss me?”

Her heart almost stopped. “Of course. I shall say prayers for the safety of my lord and my lord's son.”

“Kevla, I—” She would not—could not—look at him. She knew what he wanted to hear, and she couldn't speak it. Not when she was Bai-sha and he was
khashimu.

“Never mind. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought you here. I don't know what I was—” He turned and strode off.

Kevla's knees buckled and she fell hard to the earth. A quick sob escaped her and she clapped her hand over her mouth. He was already several paces away, but somehow he heard the soft sound. Kevla huddled on the sand, her head on her hands, willing him to go away. Before she realized what he had done, he was on his hands and knees in front of her.

“Kevla, talk to me,” he implored.

She mustn't say it. She mustn't say anything. But the words seemed to have a life of their own.

“I'm afraid,” she whispered. “I'm so afraid something will happen to you.”

“Look at me,” he said. She did, and found his face seemed blurry to her. She wiped angrily at the telltale tears. “I know you're afraid,” he said softly. “I am, too. So is Father, and so are all the men. We all know we could be riding to our deaths.”

He swore suddenly, a harsh curse that startled Kevla. “I hate these stupid raids! Why must people die like this? My uncle was not the most admirable of men, but he did not deserve to have his throat cut while he slept!”

“Perhaps the
Sa'abah
Clan—” began Kevla.

“It's not just them,” he snarled. “It's
all
of them. We could just as easily be riding against the Star Clan or the Horserider Clan tonight as riding with them. They're our allies now, but we've fought them in the past. And we have allied with the
Sa'abah
Clan, and look what they've done.” He continued to fume in silence, his lips pressed together in a thin line of anger.

“Come back,” said Kevla, softly, shocked by her boldness.

His eyes searched hers, then he startled her by reaching out and taking her hands in his. Their palms pressed together, hot and moist in the darkness. Tears continued to slip down her cheeks. He leaned forward, releasing one hand to wipe the tears from her face with an odd mixture of grace and clumsiness. Starlight caught the glitter of tears in his own eyes.