Whatever is holding me down is pressed over my whole torso.
I squirm. The weight is surprisingly soft and warm.
The weight snores.
It’s Kiddu. Lying completely on top of me. Her arms and legs are half-coiled around my body.
I squirm again and she slides off to the side.
I sit up. We’re in a tent. The wind outside sighs against lightly flapping canvas. Through an opening I see a faint triangle of starlight.
I grope in the darkness, feel the wooden tentpole, a bundle of robes spread out for bedding. A cold breeze blows in and freshens up my sweaty face. My head aches and throbs. I feel drained, a dried out piece of meat.
From outside, muffled voices.
“Mujashatriya, princess—the prisoners are sleeping.”
“Thank you, Hatvan.”
Prisoners?
I lay back down quick, wincing as my sore head hits the makeshift pillow. I pretend to sleep. Silently I curse myself. I should have known they were lying! Of course they would treat me as a hostage, even after all that happened.
Two figures duck in through the tent flap. Soft footsteps in the sand next to my head. A trickle of liquid.
“As I was saying, sister.” It’s Jaruna’s voice. “You give Father far more credit than he deserves. He is a stupid old man. Only Yustira knows about it—and perhaps Bihima, but if Bihima knows I doubt he cares.”
“I find it hard to believe that Yustira, of all people, has not told Father.”
“Much has happened since you left, Ayan. Father and our elder brother are … truly I tell you, they are like two scorpions dancing with each other.”
“How poetic you have become, little brother.”
“But it has nothing to do with what you did.”
Suddenly there’s a sopping wet cloth on my mouth. Water dribbles down my throat.
I start coughing.
“At last!” says Jaruna. “He is awake.”
I try not to stir. Keep my eyes squeezed shut.
“Are you awake?” Jaruna says. “Gil?”
“Perhaps you should give him some more.”
Jaruna tilts a flask towards my lips and the smell hits me well before the liquid does—an unctuous earthy stench that burns my nostrils like fire. I burst up from the ground coughing and gagging.
“Don’t drug me!” I say. “You said I wasn’t a hostage, you said—”
Dizzy, dizzy … I have to lean on an elbow, still half-lying on the ground.
“Calm down, Gil,” Jaruna says. “Please let us explain.”
My vision slowly comes into focus and I can see the two of them now, the mystic and his sister. They’re illuminated by a strange, softly glowing yellow light. It emanates from a round stone that Ayan holds in both hands.
“He must have overheard Hatvan,” the princess says. “Gil, you must trust me. You are not our prisoner. But for some mysterious reason, and perhaps only Asham in the highest heaven knows why, my brother saw fit to tell everyone here that you are, so—”
“I had to tell them something, sister! As if they would have believed your story for bringing them along.”
Ayan sighs loudly, her veil puffing out and then back in.
“Where are we?” I ask. “What happened? Someone hit me over the head—”
“We are camped on the cusp of the Dranim Erg,” says Jaruna, “about thirty miles east of Libri. We had to march night and day to put enough distance between us and the Empire.”
“I am sorry for what happened to you,” Ayan says. “But you cannot blame your attacker for his hatred. The Azkazraj Tribe has been living under brutal occupation for more than fifty years. It is unfortunate that one of them took out his hatred on you.”
“Unfortunate,” I say. I feel the back of my head and wince as my fingers run over a large bump.
Jaruna hands me his flask. Even from a distance my eyes water from the smell.
“Drink this. It will help with the pain,” he says. “But only a small sip!”
I tilt the flask to my lips.
I gag and spit it out in a fine spray. Eyes tear up, pain throbs harder.
“Yes, I see,” the mystic says. “You must try squeezing your nose shut as you drink.”
That does the trick. The liquid burns down my throat and feels hot in my stomach. Soon after I swallow, though, the pain dulls a little. Jaruna takes the flask, smiling.
“That’s disgusting,” I say.
“It is soma. Do the Akkadians not tell of soma?”
Now that I think of it, the liquid did smell awfully familiar. “It’s just soma?”
“Aha!” Jaruna says. “So you know of the holy drink?”
“Um. I would say that Kiddu knows more about it than me.” I don’t think she realized it was holy when she took it with my roommates last year. I, of course, did not partake.
“Kiddu has taken the soma!?” You’d think she’d stop being shocked by our Akkadian ways by now, but no. Kiddu snores again, an oblivious lump on the sand.
“Perhaps we should go outside and get you some fresh air,” says Jaruna. “The stars are quite beautiful tonight.”