King of the Nomidri

I was a child

(Eznayra)

 

            The king is dead and we are on our way to find the next one.

            It’s quiet in the desert, aside from the hissing of sand as the paddles underneath the caravan wagon push us forward and the faint mechanical whir of the gears that power them. Not quite midday yet, the second sun is just beginning to rise. I pull a scarf over my head and mouth and a thinner veil over my eyes to shield myself from the coming heat.

            “Eznayra!” a voice calls from the front of the wagon.

            I crawl over to the edge of the roof to look down at Delphi, seated in wagon’s driver seat. “Yes?”

            “Keep an eye on the horizon. The hidden city should be coming into view soon.”

            Eagerly, I cross my legs and turn my gaze towards where the sand meets the sky. I’m the youngest of the oracles that make up our caravan, taken in by my tender Delphi only twelve years ago, a few months after I was born. It will be my first time seeing one of our people’s cities. And the first time I’ll get to practice my scrying on people outside of the oracles who’ve been teaching me.

            Soon, a shape dances in the horizon, waving in the heat. I get to my feet to see it better as the shape of a city comes into view. I watch, mouth open, as it grows before my eyes, buildings seeming to appear out of thin air. Not long after that, more caravans of wagons appear over the rolling dunes. I wave excitedly to any who’s eye I catch.

            I’m so used to traveling in caravans of only a few wagons, seeing so many together like this is breathtaking. I didn’t know there were this many Nomidri. As a nomadic nation, we’re so rarely all together. Except when a new king is to be found or crowned.

            The hidden city is alive when we arrive. People move about like sandswimmers in a graceful dance. Colourful fabrics stretch from wagons to the worn stone structures to make tents and streets and whole new buildings. I duck out of the way as one such roof is raised, sun painting the light that comes through ruby and citrine. Somewhere, smoke mixes with spices and roasting plants to make my stomach growl.

            There are people here from all three edges of our lands. The desert travelers, like us, are in familiar swaths of loose fabric in warm tones with intricate embroidered decorations in shimmering threads We have the most ornate wagons, carved and painted with whirring contraptions opening up to make them larger. The sea farers wear large, brimmed hats with elaborate plumes of feathers, and flags hanging from their waits or tied around arms. Without wagons, but with ships docked on the edge of the city the borders on the sea, sails billowing like caught clouds. The mountain dwellers’ wagons are much simpler. Practical. Discarded furs peak out from inside wagons and most are left with only plain clothes underneath. Many carry weapons on them in a way I’m not used to seeing.

            Delphi takes us towards the center of the city, where I recognize more wagons of oracles by the glass spheres sitting on cushioned tables. The water inside the jars casts fractals on the sand where sun sneaks below the swaths of fabric overhead. Other oracles are already hard at work and I jump down from the roof to join in in setting our own tables up.

            “Will we get our tattoos for the new king now, too?” I ask Delphi as I spread out a cloth on our table before lying a violet cushion over top.

            “Depends if they’re of age already.” Carefully, Delphi sets our sphere in place and fills it with water. Her sleeve shifts as she pours to reveal an intricate, circular tattoo on her wrist, marking her as a subject of the previous king. I would have gotten mine this year, had the king not died. “The old king died suddenly, it’s quite possible the fates thought the new king would have more time to mature before being called to rule. They may still be young.”

            Nodding, I dart inside the wagon to gather a bundle of needles and a small flame holder to clean them. “Were you here when the last king was found?”

            Delphi laughs softly. “Yes, though I was even younger than you.”

            Glancing nervously at the people already at the other oracles, I bite my lip, silently urging Delphi to set up the chairs faster.

            She catches me watching and pauses her work–much to my dismay–to muss my hair. “Don’t you worry, there will be plenty of people for you to practice on.”

            Not soon enough, I sit next to Delphi, trying not to bounce as I wait for someone to take a seat across from us.

            The first person to sit down is a boy not much older than me. Perhaps it’s my imagination—or his feathered hat—but I swear I smell the sea’s salt coming off him. He looks as excited as I do. Hopeful.

            I look to Delphi, but she nods me on. I press the top of the brass sphere that is the fire holder until it sparks and heats under my finger. Carefully, I slide the end of a needle into a small, glowing opening. I leave the needle there for a few seconds to clean it, then dip it into the water to cool. I’m sure the grace I try to copy from Delphi is ruined by my bubbling excitement, but I keep my hands steady as I take the boy’s and prick his finger with the needle, then guide it to let the blood drop into the water.

            Blood and water. The two things that make up life and can be used to see the path of it.

            The drop spreads out and twists in the water, but the shape it makes does not mark the boy as king. I shake my head. Still grinning, he snaps his fingers in good-natured disappointment and leaves. Lastly, I sprinkle a pinch of white power into the water. It clings to blood, pulling it from the water, and settles as tiny pebbles at the bottom of the sphere, ready for the next person.

            Some are disappointed when they are not chosen. Others look relieved. With how many people we need to scry for, there isn’t time for a full reading, just enough to see if the fates have deemed them to be the next king or not. Between people, Delphi and I exchange quiet murmurs about what she did catch, so I can lean as well. A person with many children who will never meet. A love that is brief but intense enough to linger a lifetime. A warrior with a life too short.

            After the latter reading, I frown and ask, “What do you say when you see that? Do you tell them?”

            Delphi presses her lips together. “That is a tricky question with no easy answer.”

            Time flies by and soon both suns have set, revealing the waves of the galaxy overhead and the ever-shifting supernovas. Some oracles burn sweet incense to cleanse the space as they turn in for the night. Before we pack up, I pause, giving Delphi a questioning tilt of my head. “Do we need to check you?”

            She laughs. “No. I was young the last time I was here, but I’ve already had my blood looked at.” She tilts her head back. “Though I suppose we may as well check you before the day is done.”

            “Oh.” I hadn’t considered that. “I… I suppose that makes sense.”

            I sit on my hands while Delphi cleans the water and the needle, worrying my lip between my teeth. When Delphi holds out her hand for mine, I give it to her, then let her guide my pricked finger over top of the water.

            My blood falls in, streams of it curling away and spiraling down. A tapestry of branching paths. A flicker of recognition flares in my mind. “Oh! Oh, I-I know this one.” I frown in concentration, the meaning of the shape flitting just on the edges of my mind. I’m so deep in thought, I don’t notice the spreading whispers from the other oracles or Delphi’s total silence. When I eventually leave my thoughts, “I’m sorry, Delphi, it’s on the tip of my tongue—” I notice all of the nearby oracles have crowded around me, most kneeling, heads bowed.

            Blinking, I slowly look around the gathered crowd, landing on my own fate spilled out in the water. Recognition snaps into realization. I sit up bone straight, head whipping to Delphi, sure I must be reading it wrong. “Delphi?”

            Delphi holds a hand to her chest with a smile, tears brimming in her eyes. She nods.

            The pinprick in my finger, which had stopped hurting, suddenly feels like I stuck a red-hot needle in it, the burning running down my finger, into my palm and up my arm. I feel too hot and numb all at once. I don’t want this. The thought is abrupt, but not untrue.

            Rising from her seat, Delphi gets down on one knee and takes my hand in both of hers, planting a kiss on the back of it. She looks up at me and smiles. “We have found our king.”

            I have the terrible impulse to yank my hand from hers, take off into the streets and disappear. But I look again to the pattern of my blood in the water, what the fates have chosen me for. Perhaps it is them that soothes the burning impulse to bolt, perhaps it is Delphi as she runs a cool thumb over the back of my hand, waiting for me to process it all.

            But I do not run like a scared child. I must be more than that now. The fates have spoken and a word once said cannot be unsaid. So, I take a breath, relax my shoulders and smile as I nod back.

            Delphi motions the other oracles closer to confirm the scrying is right, but I already know they will all nod as well, and they do.

            Delphi stands and pulls me up along with her, then helps me to stand on the chair for all to see. The crowd has grown, watching with baited breath as Delphi lets go of my hand to gesture to me. “We have found our king.”

            An excited murmur spreads through the crowd, then then through the whole city until the voices grow louder and more excited and become deafening.

            As I smile at the people—my people—I wish Delphi had held my hand a little longer.

 

​

I was a sailor

(Shani)

 

            We’re in the middle of a hurricane, and some lazy bastard is still sleeping. I divert my path above deck to the still-occupied hammock and tip the sleeper out onto the wooden planks below. “Get up!”

            The person—a girl about my age, thirteen or so—makes an “Oof!” but pushes herself up. I don’t recognize her. We must have picked her up when we were in port a few days ago collecting some important person or other to take up the coast. “What’s happening?”

            “We’re in the middle of a storm is what’s happening and you’re lying around! Get up!” I grab her arm and yank her to her feet. She follows after me as I run up the last flight of stairs above deck.

            Rain lashes down twice as hard from the wind, half my hair plastered to my skin in an instant, the other half being thrown around by the gale. Other crew members already hurry about purposefully on deck. Climbing the masts to take in the sails. Tying lifelines. Running back below deck to batten the hatches.

            “Shani!” Captain Yerik calls from the upper deck. “The propellor stopped working, we can’t get to it in from inside. Go fix it.”

            Internally I groan, but only shout back, “Aye!” and nod the new girl along with me as we race to the stern of the ship. I snag a pair of lifelines for us as we go, but the new girl is too slow to tie hers, so I do it for her. I give my rope a quick tug then climb over the railing and rappel down the side of the ship to the choppy waves. Clumsily, my wide-eyed companion follows after.

            Water alternates between coming up to my chest and disappearing entirely as the ship lists in the storm. The ship tips forward so sharply for a brief moment the near-body size propellor is exposed, showing a truly impressive amount of seaweed tangling up in it. I reach for my knife. My hand only smacks my leg. I remember I haven’t had a chance to steal it back since I got it taken away for starting fights.

            Gritting my teeth, I ask New Girl, “You got a knife on you?”

            She shakes her head, then cries out as a wave throws us both into the side of the ship. My cheek smarts from the impact.

            With a groan, I grip my rope and adjust my footing. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way. We’re just gonna have to pull it all out, rip it where we can.”

            Another splash of water douses us both from head to toe, but when she stops sputtering, New Girl nods. “Alright.”

            We get to work, reaching below the waves and behind the propeller fins to pull what feels like an infinite amount of seaweed, ripping it off in chunks or yanking it out in long strands. We’re both breathing hard and battered by the time I can give the propellor a twist and it will spin freely.

            “Thank fuck!” Arms weary, I climb back up the rope, only to look down and see New Girl struggling to even pull herself up once. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” With a shout to Yerik, “Propellor’s fixed!” I haul new girl’s sorry ass back on board. She splats onto the deck like a drowned parrot. Where did Yerik find her and why did he let her on his boat?

            The storm still rages on, but I feel the ship jolt as the engine kicks in, hopefully speeding us to calmer waters. In the meantime, I hurry to get on with my usual job in a storm of tying extra lifelines. My ill-equipped shadow follows me, looking over at me and trying to copy me as I attach ropes to the center mast. She gets one done by the time I’m through the other half dozen.

            An older crew member shoves us both aside and ties into one of the lifelines to climb the mast the re-secure a slipping sail. I notice that he picked New Girl’s rope—which is an absolute mess of a knot—a few seconds before a rogue wave crashes over the side of the ship. The force to rocks the whole boat—New Girl falls flat on her face—and knocks my crew mate from the top of the sails. The knot holds for a moment before it slips.

            With a yelp, I dive for it and just manage to snag the end—rope wet and rough—before it flies upwards, but I’m not heavy enough to weigh it down fully and soon I’m shooting up, too. A hand grabs my ankle and jolts me to a stop. I look down and find New Girl desperately grabbing me with both hands. Between the two of us, we weigh just enough to get my feet back to the deck. I toss her the end of the rope and we both haul the dangling crew mate back to the sail.

            Soon after, the wind dies down some and the sea calms as we leave the storm behind.

            I round on New Girl so hard she flinches back. “What the fuck kinda knot was—”

            A hand cuffs the back of my head hard enough I stagger forwards, rubbing my head. “The fuck was that, Shani?” Yerik glowers down at me. “You forget how to tie a knot?”

            “I know how to tie a knot! Blame the newbie!” I throw an arm out at New Girl and instantly regret the words.

            She shrinks under Yerik’s stare and brings her hands up to shield herself as Yerik raises one of his own—

            But the cry of pain is Yerik’s not the girl’s. When I look, another man I don’t know has the end of a spear clean through Yerik’s hand, panting hard. He removes his weapon, earning another groan from Yerik, and rushes to New Girl, looking her over frantically. He signs something to her too fast for my limited knowledge of sign language to catch.

            “I’m alright, really,” the girl assumes him, hands clutched to her chest.

            Yerik’s string of curses cuts off mid-word as the clouds break a bit, letting in enough starlight for him to get a better look at the pair. His face pales and I’m pretty sure it’s not from the bleeding hand he’s clutching. “My king. I-I I’m so sorry, I, I didn’t, I didn’t recognize you in the storm—”

            For a moment, I think he’s talking to the man, but it’s the girl that answers softly, “Oh… Oh, it’s alright.”

            I frown. My first thought is That’s the king? She doesn’t look the part…

            “What in the nine seas were you—” Yerik then catches himself, and asks instead, “No disrespect, my king, but why were you on deck during a storm?”

            My immediate next thought is what I think doesn’t matter, that is the king. I stiffen like a board, cringing, as the king looks at me. I’m acutely aware of all the patches of heat covering my body, echoes of getting smacked around in the waves.

            “Um… well…”

            That is the king.

            And I just dangled her off the side of a ship in a hurricane.

            Ah, shit.

            Yerik backhands me so hard my head spins as I crash to the deck. “What the ever-loving fuck did you do, Shani?”

            I scramble away from Yerik with my hands and feet before he plants a boot on my hand and pins me in place. Wincing, I grind out, “I didn’t know! She, she was—”

            The king pulls away from her protector and puts herself between Yerik and I. “Please stop.”

            Yerik starts and backs off, releasing my hand.

            “I was sleeping in the hold, she,” the king looks over her shoulder at me, “she probably thought I was just another member of the crew.”

            Yerik glares at me over the king’s head. “She still had no place ordering someone around like that.” The words sound like pulling teeth, but he says, “But it was you who was wronged, my king. What do you want to do with her?”

            The king turns to look down at me. She’s soaking wet and covered in bruises. Her clothes—now I notice much fancier than anything I’ve ever seen—are torn and bloody in places from injuries I didn’t see her get. I’m so fucked.

            The king signs something to her protector that makes his eyebrows jump up. He replies with slow movement and a concerned face. It’s slow enough I catch “You sure?” They go back and forth once more before his looks softens and he nods.

            The king turns back to me.

            My stomach clenches.

            “I’ll take her. As a member of my inner council.”

            I blink at her, sure I didn’t hear that right.

            “Huh?” Yerik and I say in probably the only time we’ve agreed.

            “I was coming to the pirate city to find a member from the sea farers for my council.” The king brushes a wet strand of hair from her face and gives me a small smile. “It seems the fates had other plans.”

            I look the king up and down. “Are you serious?”

            She nods.

            I raise an eyebrow at her protector. He just shrugs.

            With what I’m sure is an absolutely shit-eating grin, I pick myself up and with a flourish of my hand, give the king a deep bow. “Why, I would be honoured.”

            Yerik looks like steam is about to start shooting out of his ears, or his head’s gonna explode. One of the two. But he can’t say anything. What is a captain to a king? Through his teeth, he says, “May I ask that you keep to your cabin in the future, my king?”

            The king blushes and nods. Her protector says something to her and puts an arm around her shoulder to guide her away. He nods me along after. Head held high and hands clasped behind my back, I give the audience that had gathered a toothless “get fucked” smile as I swagger after the king to a private cabin in the upper decks.

            The king’s protector lights a lamp and busies himself with tending to the king, towel and bandages in hand. I hover by the door, unsure what I’m meant to do.

            Eventually, I can’t contain myself anymore and ask, “What were you doing in the hold anyway?”

            The king bites her lower lip and gives me a sheepish look that doesn’t belong on a king’s face. “I’m not used to sleeping alone. Oh, Limban,” her protector looks up attentively, “could you tend to… Shani, was it?”

            With a crooked grin, I give another overdramatic bow. “At your service.” Straighening, I ask, “And you? Or should I just call you ‘my king’?”

            The king grimaces but tries to hide it. “Please don’t. My name’s Eznayra.”

            Once we’re both patched up and mostly dried off, Limban takes up a post outside the cabin, spear in hand. Eznayra lies down on the large bed and after a moment, scoots over to make space for me. Eagerly, I run and throw myself onto the plush mattress, moaning into the pillows at the softness.

            When I lift my head, Eznayra is smiling at me.

            I frown back. “Why did you pick me? It’s not really just because you think the fates want it, is it?” I nudge her in the side. “I did dangle you off the side of a ship in a storm.”

            She doesn’t answer right away. “I’m… How do I put this?”

            A prickle of disappointment and understanding works its way up my back. “Was this just… to get Yerik off my back?”

            “What?”

            “That,” I shake my head, laughing at my own audacity, “that makes sense. Like, thanks, but…” With a sigh, I settle into the bed, trying to enjoy it while I can. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you keep up the act for long. If you drop me off in the pirate city, I can make my own way.”

            “What? No! No, no it’s not like that at all!” Eznayra wraps her arms around her knees. “I was looking for someone like you.”

            I squint at her. “You’re actually serious?”

            Eznayra nods solemnly.

            “Well. Shit.” A funny laugh bubbles out of me. “Well, shit,” I repeat as I relax again. “What am I ‘like,’ then?”

            Eznayra takes a moment longer to find her words. “Someone who will push my forward when I need it. You’ll make a good balance with my other inner council member.”

            “Oh yeah?” I roll over onto my back and settle in, arms behind my head. “What’re they like?”

            “Analess is from the mountain dwellers. She pulls me back when I need it.” I’m about to press for more details, but her face suddenly darkens. She holds herself tighter. “This was nothing compared to that.”

            I let the silence hang for a while before I say, “You really saved my ass back there.”

            “With the rope?”

            I snort. “With Yerik.” I rub my still throbbing fingers. He could have killed me for a stunt like that, or thought up something even worse. “I love the sea, but some of the people who sail her are cruel bastards.”

            “Well, maybe you and I can make it better.” Eznayra holds out a hand.

            I blink at it. I’ve never thought about that, that the way ships are run could be changed. I suddenly feel embarrassed for my quick judgment that Eznayra wasn’t fit to be king. Just out of her depth. It’s not nothing to throw yourself overboard – rope or not – in a storm, and it’s terrifying to put yourself in the path of someone like Yerik. Let alone for someone you don’t know. But if that’s any indication, being out of her depth won’t stop her.

            Propping myself up on an elbow and giving Eznayra one more grin, I give her hand a firm shake. “Maybe we will.”

            Whether she’s knows enough to know it or not, the king probably saved my life tonight, or at least one worth living. As we settle in to sleep, I promise myself that I will be the one putting myself in danger’s way from now on.

 

 

I am to be king

(Eznayra)

 

            Limban notices the person coming up behind me before I do. I’m in the middle of having audiences with a caravan we met up with last night, when one of my warriors puts a light hand on my shoulder and bends down to whisper in my ear. “We’ve found a… stowaway of sorts,” they murmur. “They’re asking to speak with you.”

            I frown faintly at the use of the word “stowaway.” We don’t have stowaways in our caravans, just new people joining. I hold up a hand with an apologetic smile to the woman before my cushioned dais and whisper back to the warrior, “One of my people?”

            They shake their head. “A sedentary soldier. But unarmed and alone.”

            Frown deepening, I sign to Limban what’s going on. “Would you let me speak with them?” I sign.

            He adjusts his grip on his spear to say back, “You are the king, it’s not my place to make that choice. I will keep you safe if you wish to speak with them.”

            I sigh, pressing my lips together. He’s very good at not letting me take the easy way out of making choices. To the warrior, I say, “Let me finish with this one and then bring our… stowaway in.”

            They nod and see themself out.

            Turning back to the woman standing before me, a sea farer by birth who joined one of the wagon caravans as a teenager, I rest my chin on interlaced fingers. “Please, continue.”

            A collection of wagons makes the walls of the space more octagonal than circular, with swaths of fabrics filling in the gaps and strung overheard to keep out the sun. The dyes paint the space in warm tones. A handful of warriors line the space with Limban at my side. While Limban is familiar, the others I’m still getting used to.

            I’m glad for the veil covering the lower half of my face. It hides me worrying my lip between my teeth. Our stowaway isn’t the first sedentary soldier who’s snuck into our caravans recently. I hope the fates have a less bloody end in mind for this one. Plus, the veil still smells of the oracle’s sweet incense. I like to imagine each breath cleans me from the inside out, keeps me steady.

            “All that to say, I suppose,” the woman finishes, “is I want you to know that pirate councillor of yours is doing good work. I know the more traditional folk don’t like her, but she’s doing good work.” She gives a wistful smile. “Perhaps I will return to the sea yet.”

            I realize I hadn’t been listening. Perhaps selfishly, wanting to speak to this soldier, I give a gracious nod and say, “I’m so pleased. I’ll be sure to pass on your thanks to Shani when I see her next.”

            The woman nods, bows, and steps back into the crowd. With a glance at Limban, who nods encouragingly, I cross my legs, sit up straight and call to the warrior outside, “Bring them in.”

            A pair of warriors bring in a uniformed soldier with her hands bound in front of her. She’s dishevelled, shirt more untucked than tucked and hair lying in disjointed patterns across her head. I’m unsure if it’s from the journey here or some unseen scuffle when she was found. Her face is lightly sunburnt. Older than me by a few years if I had to guess, though perhaps she is just tired.

            My warriors push her to her knees before me and I’m grateful the sand is there to cushion her fall. Her gaze darts around the space and lands on me. She swallows hard and waits for me to speak.

            I rest my chin on interlaced fingers once more, elbows resting on my knees as I consider her. The bangles on my wrists clattering delicately with the movement. “I wasn’t aware the sedentary folk let women be soldiers.”

            She blinks at me. “Sedentary?”

            “You folks who live in cities, stay in one place.”

            “Oh.” She shifts where she kneels. “They don’t.”

            “Then how are you here?”

            “They don’t know. I pretended to be a man. I, um,” she looks at the warriors lining the room, a mix of men, women and those who are neither, “hear that’s not such a problem here.”

            Limban frowns, eyes narrow, as he takes in the crest on her shirt sleeve. He signs something to me, which makes me frown as well, sinking feeling in my stomach this isn’t going to end how I want it.

            “I wasn’t aware they made new recruits captains either.” I’m shocked at the coolness in my voice. I never liked liars, but I like them even less now, when lies seem to mean my people get hurt.

            “They don’t. I joined two years ago.”

            I straighten, giving her a sideways look. “You pretended to be a man for two years. Why?”

            “So I could find you.” If she notices who the warriors in the room, Limban in particular, tense and move their hands closer to their weapons, she doesn’t show it.

            My curiosity outweighs the memory of the last sedentary soldier who came looking for me. “Find me why?”

            “I’m looking for my sister.” She strains to reach for something tucked in her waistband. Limban steps in front of me, his spear angled towards her, but I hold up a hand and the rest of the rooms stands down. The woman holds out folded piece of paper. “I was told you could help me.”

            Limban takes the paper from her, unfolding it and shaking it out, checking for poison. When he finds nothing, he scans the paper. His gaze goes from skeptical to blank to worried apprehension. Somewhat reluctantly, he folds the paper back up and passes it to me.

            I swear the room holds its breath as I unfold the paper. A drawing. Involuntarily, a hand jumps to cover my mouth, an ache overtaking my heart. The drawing doesn’t show the glint in her eyes—sharp as steel and cold as the mountain winds. Without it, her eyes look dull. But it’s undeniably Analess. And it’s the closest I’ve come to seeing her face in two years.

            Very quietly, I say, “I didn’t know Analess had a blood sister.”

            “Half. Sister,” the soldier clarifies. “Our father is a Nomidri man. He left my mother and I to return to you when I was young. I didn’t find out about Analess until recently. She likely doesn’t know about me either.” She scans the room like she might find Analess nearby. “So? You spoke like you know her. Is she here?”

            The energy of the room shifts with new hostility directed at the solider. Analess wasn’t—isn’t well-liked in the way Shani is, but everyone respects her, admired—admires her. Everyone was heartbroken when she was taken. My stomach twists, remember that night and I will myself to keep my tears at bay. It was supposed to be a diplomatic meeting with some sedentary leaders. To smooth over this brewing fight they decided to start.

            Liars.

            Liars who came wearing the same uniform as the woman kneeling in front of me.

            “I see.” The words are curt in a way I try so hard not to be. I detest this coldness Analess’ absence has left in my chest. It has a nasty habit of escaping into my voice and actions. I fold up the drawing again and tuck it in my shirt. Waving a hand, I say to the warriors behind Analess’ sister, “Find somewhere comfortable for her, for now.”

            They nod and pull the sister to her feet.

            “Hey!” She doesn’t lash out, but she does resist being pulled back. “Hey wait just a minute!” With a twist, she pulls herself from their grip.

            Limban takes up a fighting stance, gaze cold and sharp. The sister pulls up short and I hold up a hand in a motion for the warriors to leave her to Limban.

            Bound hands clenched in front of her, Analess’ sister continues, “I did not come all the way here only for you to not answer me.”

            I take a breath. She had nothing to do with Analess’ capture. From the sounds of it, she only became a soldier to look for her sister. Pulling myself together, I say with an evenness that surprises myself, “Analess isn’t here.”

            “Where is she?”

            Clinging to the steadiness in my voice and breathing deep the lingering incense, I continue, “We don’t know. She was taken from us two years ago.” Against my better judgment, I add, “In a rather underhanded deal your superiors concocted, I might add.” I lean my head against a hand with another rattle from my bangles, tapping a finger on my temple. “We’re trying to get her back.”

            Shani, more specifically, has been taking the lead while I tend to the rest of my people.

            “Oh.” Analess’ sister looks off at nothing, face blank, before taking another step towards me. “Well, maybe I can help then.” She tries for another, but Limban raises his spear and she wisely stops. “I am a soldier, after all.”

            I press a hand over the paper under my shirt. “We shall see.” I look to my warriors once again and nod. “Somewhere comfortable, please.”

            This time, Analess’ sister doesn’t fight as they lead her outside.

            I train my gaze on the sand, but I feel Liman watching me. With a practiced smile, I rise, hands steepled in front of me and give a small bow to the gathered crowd. “I must take my leave. I will return tomorrow for any who did not get to speak today.”

            The crowd disperses, some with bows, and I disappear through a curtain behind me, Limban close behind. He puts a comforting hand on my shoulder as I let out a shaky breath, tears finally spilling over.

            I put my hand over his. “I’m alright.” I nod to myself, wiping my eyes. “I need to speak with my oracles.”

            Limban takes a post outside as I cross the small gap between wagon structures to enter a smaller one. My personal group of oracles waits inside, Delphi among them, hair greying. The smell of incense is stronger here, but instead of calming me, I only feel a growing desperation as I step further inside.

            I take out the drawing and show it to them. “Can a scrying be done with this? I-I know it’s not blood, but…”

            There’s a brief, murmured discussion, many doubtful ink can replace blood.

            “There’s no harm in trying, though, right?” I look around the space pleadingly.

            Delphi holds out a hand for the drawing. I reluctantly hand it over. She considers it for a long moment, before giving me a tight smile. “We can try. Just don’t be alarmed if nothing shows.”

            I nod eagerly and help set up for the scrying.

            Delphi passes the drawing off to the oldest among us, who carefully soaks the paper in water, then wrings it out over top of another oracle’s hand. Blackened drops fall from the paper into their cupped palms.

            I hold my breath as they tip the ink into the glass sphere.

            The ink doesn’t fall like drops of blood, but almost instantly spreads out in a black cloud that shows nothing.

            I sit back, head hung, defeated. I burry my face in my hands, fighting the childish urge to cry.

            Delphi runs a gentle hand down my back. “It means very little. Ink is no substitute for blood.”

             “My coronation is coming soon and if we can’t get her back…” I breathe, then shake my head. My twentieth birthday is only a few months away, and the coronation along with it. The thought of having to pick someone else to take Analess’ place makes me ill. “I just want to know if she’s alive still.” Or if I’m risking Shani’s life for nothing.

            The others offer comforting words that don’t reach me.

            That night, alone in my wagon except for Limban, I’m unable to find any comfort in my bed. The sheets feel itchy, my usually soft pillows threaten to suffocate me, and the familiar melody of other people moving about outside grates on my ears, far too loud. I roll over in bed to look Limban in the eyes as I say, “Perhaps we should make a journey to the mountains again.” When he gives me a questioning tilt of his head, I take a shaky breath and continue, “To find a potential… In case we can’t find Analess in time.”

            He shakes his head, signs sharp and decisive. “Nonsense. We’ll get her back.”

            “I want to believe that.” My vison goes blurry from more tears. “But we don’t even know if she’s alive still.”

            “Don’t think like that. You and I both know how tough Analess is, and how determined Shani is to find her.” He leans forward to put a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll be at the sea in a few days. Perhaps Shani will have good news. For all we know, Analess is waiting in board to meet us with her.”

            I close my eyes and indulge the fantasy for a moment. The moment turns into a daydream that carries me into sleep.