The Phoenix Endangered (5 page)

It was the third sennight of their flight—the ninth day since they had entered the Barahileth. Here the heat hammered them mercilessly by day, leaching strength from their limbs, and by night they labored through powder-fine sand that slipped and shifted beneath the
shotors’
broad splayed feet, or trudged across
ishnain
flats where the fine white dust their steps raised burned skin raw and made lips and hands crack and bleed.

No Isvaieni expected to live to make old bones, for the Isvai was a harsh taskmaster, and no tribe could afford to feed and house any who did not contribute to the life of the tribe. If one did not hunt, or cook, or perform some other necessary task, one went from the tents to lay his or her bones upon the sand, for there was no charity given among the Isvaieni—they could not afford it. Only the youngest children were exempt from this law, since soon enough they would grow to take their place among the tribe’s workforce. What might seem like cruelty to non-Isvaieni was merely necessity, and all who lived between Sand and Star accepted it from birth. There were no weak, no ancient aged, among the Nalzindar, nor among any of the tribes.

But even so, the Barahileth took its toll of them, as Shaiara had known it must. On the third evening of their journey, as the tent was struck, Katuil came to Shaiara.

Katuil had been a woman grown when Shaiara was but a child. Her daughter Ciniran was Shaiara’s closest friend. Katuil had taught Shaiara how to hold a lance and string a bow. Age had caused her to leave the long hunts to the younger Nalzindar, and devote her time to leatherwork and the curing of hides, but she had remained a vibrant presence among them, sharing her wisdom and knowledge.

“I remain here,” Katuil said quietly.

Shaiara bowed her head in acceptance, though this was bitter hearing indeed. Katuil nodded and began removing her robes, so that if by some mischance her body should be found, there would be nothing to mark it as Nalzindar. When she was finished, she unbraided her hair until it hung loose and free, and then walked barefoot, away from the others, out into the chill desert night.

On the fifth night of their journey into the Barahileth, Malib fell to his knees and could not rise. His partner Ramac knelt beside him as the long coffle of
shotors
passed slowly by them. When Shaiara walked back to them, Ramac looked up and shook his head. Malib would go no further, and Ramac would remain with him. She waited with them until Ramac had removed his and Malib’s clothes and unbraided their hair. Then she bundled the robes in her arms and walked away.

As the second sennight of their journey into the Barahileth began, Shaiara began—quietly—to despair. She would have cut her own throat with her father’s
peschak
before she let any of her people suspect her thoughts, but she began to believe that they were meant to die here. She had stopped sending out her advance scouts days ago. There was no longer any water to find, and none of her people had the energy left for hunting. This morning, when they stopped, Shaiara would order two more of the
shotors
slaughtered. Perhaps it would give them the strength to continue a while longer.

The last of the water had been measured out by careful cupfuls this morning. Not enough to slake anyone’s thirst. They might survive another day, perhaps two, without water. Then they would die.

The moon rose into the heavens, turning the desert to silver, and automatically Shaiara glanced heavenward. She knew that she was following the directions set out by the
Song of Rausi
precisely: he had set his course by the stars, and so was she. She knew she was retracing his steps
correctly.
And if you do not reach Abi’Abadshar before the sun sets again, Shadow will not need to touch the Nalzindar, for there will be no Nalzindar left between Sand and Star.

But as the moon reached midheaven, the lead
shotor
raised its head, pulling its guide-rope from Shaiara’s lax grasp. Its nostrils flared wide, and it began shuffling forward with renewed energy, the exhausted plodding gait of the last several days exchanged for a sudden desire to arrive at its destination quickly.

There was only one thing that could so galvanize a thirsty, exhausted, half-starved
shotor.

Water.

Shaiara grabbed the guide-rope again and wrapped it firmly around her hand, hauling the
shotor
to a stop and tapping the animal on the knee so that it would kneel to allow her to mount. The other animals smelled the water too, now, jostling and fretting as the Nalzindar coaxed them to their knees. They’d been leading the beasts to spare their strength, using them to carry the hawks and the hounds and the youngest children, but now there was no more need.

Once mounted, the tribe rode in ghostly silence beneath the desert moon. Their few remaining pack-animals, more lightly laden than those bearing riders, raced on ahead. There was no need to lead them—they would go nowhere other than to the nearest water.

The moon had crossed very little more of the sky when Shaiara saw it. From a distance, the black shapes looked like nothing more than wind-worn stone. But there was grass growing around the edges of the stone, and she could see the large pale shapes of Nalzindar
shotors
browsing upon it.

They had reached Abi’Abadshar.

The Nalzindar allowed the
shotors
to lead them to the water. The
Iteru
was the largest Shaiara had ever seen, standing at the center of what was—now—an open courtyard, though surely it must once have been far beneath the ground, for it was reached by descending a long series of shallow terraces carved out of the ground.

The
Iteru
itself was a wonder, for here, in the depths of the Barahileth, it was open to the sky, allowing the wind to steal its moisture as it pleased. Yet the water seemed inexhaustible.

The thirsty
shotors
crowded forward, bleating and jostling in their attempts to get to the water, and the
ikulas
-hounds snarled and quarreled, pushing between them, their narrow bodies gaunt with privation. The Nalzindar shouldered through them, plunging waterskins and cups into the water to fill them, and passing them among the people. All the tribe drank carefully after so many days of privation, but no matter how much water they drew from the
Iteru
of Abi’Abadshar, its level did not drop.

At last, the thirst of all was slaked, and every waterskin was refilled, and the
shotors
were unpacked and unsaddled, hobbled and set to graze. For the first time since she had led her people upon this exodus, Shaiara’s spirits rose. Grass meant something to feed upon it, for the Isvai wasted nothing. And there would be things to feed upon the feeders as well. Though she had long suspected that they would be forced to slay all of their
shotor
-herd—not only for meat, but because there would be nothing to feed them upon here in the arid waste—it might be possible to delay that time a little longer. And more than that, now that the way to Abi’Abadshar was known, hunters could return to the Isvai to seek food, so long as they carried enough water for the return journey.

“You have led us to safety, Shaiara,” Kamar said.

“That is as Sand and Star will it,” she answered absently. There were too many questions that must still be answered before she could know whether Abi’Abadshar represented true safety.

Without sand in which to anchor the tent-poles, it was not possible to erect their one remaining tent here beside the well, but Shaiara did not wish to pitch it upon the sand outside. Better it would be to seek shelter within, but though three archways led off into darkness from the
Iteru
-courtyard, and lamps and a scant bit of oil remained among
the packs, Shaiara did not yet wish to risk a light. Light and fire could be seen at too great a distance in the desert. For such explorations as required a lamp to light their way, it would be better to wait until dawn. Meanwhile, she would explore that which could be seen by moonlight, for improbable as it was that any had traced their tracks, it was not impossible.

Once the people were settled into the great stone courtyard surrounding the
Iteru
, Shaiara took several of the most keen-eyed of the young hunters and set out to explore as much of the Nalzindar’s new home as she could by night. Two of the
ikulas
followed them, obviously hoping for food, though most of the animals were content simply to lie beside their masters and rest.

Though the moon had passed its zenith, it still shone brightly enough to illuminate the scene sufficiently for a Nalzindar’s keen eyes. Pale sand stretched as far as the eye could see, and nearly as far stretched the small outcroppings that were all that remained of what once had been a great city. Shaiara had never seen a city, but she thought that perhaps even those who lived in the
Iteru
-cities would be daunted by the vastness of Abi’Abadshar.

She walked on, watching carefully, her mind uneasy at the sheer strangeness of what she saw. Though the
Song of Rausi
had described all that he had seen and found at Abi’Abadshar, a part of Shaiara had not truly believed, for in all her young life, the largest work of human hands she had ever seen was the campsite of the Gathering of the tribes, when many tents were pitched together at the lushest oasis to be found within the Isvai. When so many Isvaieni were gathered together, it might take from dawn until midday to walk from one edge of the encampment to the other, moving at a pace politeness demanded, but only a few minutes’ walk was enough to tell her that Abi’Abadshar was far larger than even such a vast encampment. An entire day—from sunup to sundown—would not be sufficient to take a person from one edge of the ruins to the other, even walking at the brisk pace suitable for journeys.

Here and there the capricious wind had exposed a stretch of flat smooth stone that seemed to be meant for folk to walk upon, though surely it would heat to burning within an hour, perhaps two, after sunrise. Elsewhere, broken cylinders, like the stumps of strange trees, jutted up out of drifts of sand; she could not imagine their purpose. It was not possible to see the true shape of what had once been, far longer ago than even the oldest story-memory of the most learned storyteller stretched, for Time had worn away the stone to the point that even the tallest pieces of what remained barely reached Shaiara’s knee. As with the
Iteru
-courtyard, the desert wind had randomly scrubbed the ruins clean in some places—exposing deep pits and more of the strange shallow terraces—and covered them in others, so that in places where Shaiara was certain there must be more fragments of the ancient city, she could see nothing but mounds of soft sand.

As she stopped to peer into the distance, Natha pointed silently at the sand. There, sharp and clear, was the sinuous track of a desert adder, and beside it, a row of faint dots—the track of the mouse which was its prey. Shaiara’s spirits lifted slightly. She had not dared to hope for antelope or wild goat here in the Barahileth, but she had feared she was leading her people to a refuge where they would simply starve to death. She was heartened, too, to see that tufts of the wiry desert grass had taken root in many places, kept alive by the moisture carried on the wind from the
Iteru
she had already seen. If Abi’Abadshar were as vast as she began to suspect that it was, there was grazing here to keep the
shotors
alive for moonturns to come.

Soon the
ikulas
, growing bolder and urged by instinct, began to hunt ahead. Shaiara did not call them back. Israf and Ardban were wise dogs, well-seasoned, and she would not begrudge them any prey they might find. Before she, Natha, Kamar, and Ciniran had walked on for much longer than it would take for a pan of
kaffeyah
to come to its first boil, Ardban came loping back toward them, with a small pale shape dangling from his jaws. He dropped it at
Shaiara’s feet and looked up at her expectantly. She bent down and picked up the still-warm body of a
sheshu.
With a quick economical motion, she drew her
geschak
and cut off its head, tossing it to the eagerly waiting hound. Entrails, skin, and a hind leg followed, for Ardban had done well to bring the fruit of his hunt to her when his hunger must be as sharp as her own. She tucked the rest of the body into the hunter’s pouch at her belt; they still possessed the largest of the cookpots, and both salt and spices. Meager fare this, to share among so many, but she did not wish to slaughter any more of their own stock if it could be avoided. And if the
sheshu
made its home within the ruin of Abi’Abadshar, the Nalzindar would survive here as well.

When the moon had crossed another handspan of the sky, they turned back toward the
Iteru
-courtyard
.
Such a vastness as this would not be explored all in one night.

W
HEN THE SKY
at last lightened toward dawn, Shaiara felt safe enough to take a lamp and begin to investigate one of the tunnels; fuel they would have in sufficiency once the well-fed
shotors
began to dung, but she disliked the thought of building a cookfire anywhere it could be seen. The Nalzindar were not unfamiliar with caves, for there were both cliffs and caves in the Isvai—and in the worst of the Sandwinds no other shelter would do—but the idea of a strange sort of cave that men had built was a thing that Shaiara had never thought to see.

The lantern she held in her hands gave only a little light, for she had made the flame as small as possible to conserve its little store of oil. Kamar and Natha accompanied her, for in such a strange place, no one thought it a good idea that anyone should go somewhere alone.

The ground beneath her feet was stone, as flat and smooth as the surface of an oasis pool, just as the ground in the
Iteru
-courtyard had been. Every few steps Shaiara squatted down and rested her palm flat against it, still mistrustful of what her senses told her was so: though the desert wind
had covered it with a thin pale dust as soft as the finest flour, beneath that the stone was as chill as dawn-water, and as smooth as a polished
geschak
-blade
.
The great virtue of the dust was that it disclosed any mark made in it; as she looked behind her, Shaiara’s fingers itched for a grass-broom to sweep away the traces of their passage, little need for it though there might be, but ahead of her, the powder held only the faint marks of such desert creatures who would naturally be drawn to water, and no sign of Man.