Chapter 18: Desert

The magic did surprisingly little. It loosed something within her, bringing back memories of a babe she had left behind when she died. She had thought little of it, being the fruits of her rape. And the pain of her birth had only fueled her hatred till it overpowered her in death.

But it hadn’t been towards the baby girl. No. Just towards her father. But it had been enough to make her forget her daughter on the timeless plains of the spirit world.

Just as the Genie began to sink into the despair of the damned, far greater knowing she had lost such an opportunity to love due to her own foolish self, what was left of the magic returned to her hands, ready to be molded for the wish he had made.

That man she had wanted so much to destroy.

For the first time in hell, she looked up into light.

***

The sun’s heat was heavier than in her dreams. It pressed in on her like hot metal, and even its brilliant light pressed into her eyes, demanding they close. Sweat trickled down behind her cowl and down the squashed cleavage of her bound breasts. The rough, cotton soldier’s uniform did nothing to dissipate the heat, nor did the plates of leather armor. The shading effect of her ratted bangs helped somewhat to deflect the light enough so that she could see her way. Beneath them the horses’ sides shone with sweat, their broad, long-legged breed a far cry from the light-footed desert horses.

Beside her, her old childhood guard, Bartra, periodically glanced at her, mouth pressed tight. He’d voiced plenty of protests but had to stop once in the presence of the rest of the soldiers, which had spared her little to no attention. Her cowled face, desert camouflage colored uniform, and slender form signified her as a member of the Shadow Core, whose identities were known by few and which soldiers were trained not to pay too much attention to. She herself had only seen a handful throughout her life. They specialized in undercover work, scouting, and information gathering. This also excused her lack of broadsword or spear, which, if she had attempted to even hold, would have given her away instantly. The Shadows worked with daggers instead.

She wondered if Einar would be jealous.

Really, her genius impressed even her, though the heat had been more than she had expected. Even if she had been allowed to ride naked, she doubted it would be enough to keep herself at a functioning temperature. Three days of hard riding in had gone by at steady enough temperatures, but the moment they cleared the mountains that separated the green lands of Karpathia with the Desert, hell flicked on like the flame to a match, despite being early Fall.

The fourth day crept by, as though the curious sun slowed in its travel to observe them. The road was little more than cart wheel tracks carved into sandstone, separated from the sands by petrified wood and rocks. Occasionally Bartra nudged her with a wineskin, urging her to keep hydrated, and she barely had the mind to keep her face hidden as she eased the nozzle past her cowl. Eventually her eyes closed of their own will, unable to take the light any longer and her mind too weary to separate the blaze of blue sky and the naked skin of earth.

When Bartra’s hand caught her arm, she came to with a jolt. It took her a second or so to realize she had almost fallen off her horse. A few of the soldiers had turned to give her funny looks. She wet her dry mouth, nodded to Bartra, and his hand pulled away, though his thin mouth was whiter than ever.

Still, she inevitably had to close her eyes once more.

When evening finally brought them to the base of a plateau, its face pocked with shallow holes bored out by the winds, Kyanna’s nose itched with bloody scabs, her limbs had turned to sand, and her head ached something awful. Bartra hesitated by her stirrup, his hands fighting against her command to not do anything to make the other soldiers suspicious. It was only through sheer force of angry will that her knees didn’t buckle when she dismounted.

“How are you faring?” he asked beneath his breath.

She shrugged, not trusting her swollen tongue with speech.

He frowned, even as he gestured her to a flat stone and took the bridle of her horse. Kyanna watched his figure vanish among the bodies of horses and other men, her mind trailing off into a daze. Somehow, she managed to make it to the rock, where she gave the men and their growing campfire her back and bowed her heavy head.

Once again, Bartra’s hand woke her.

“Water,” he pressed the refilled wineskin into her hand. “There’s a well dug into a little canyon by this rock. It’s a frequent stopping point for the desert folk. Best you take note of its location. Look at the stars, the landmarks, only good thing about the desert I say, you can always see both.”

Only half of his words seemed to make sense until she’d drunk half the wineskin and pulled her cowl far enough to let the cooler, evening air seep in.

Someone called Bartra’s name, and with a funny jerk that could have been the beginnings of a bow before he remembered not to, he left Kyanna to stare up into the purple-red sky. Figuring it wouldn’t look too out of place, she let herself spread out on the flat stone, and despite having grown up on feather beds, was asleep within moments.

Only hours later she woke up, freezing and, whatever part of her that touched the stone, aching. Biting back a groan, she pushed herself up, searching the now velvet sky for an indication of the time. She’d been taught the stars, if only so she could be as knowledgeable of a princess as possible, but having nothing to apply it to in her day-to-day life left her rusty. Thankfully, a blanket and a small sack of hard bread and dried fish had been left by her, and after eating she curled up and laid back down. Her eyes traced the lines of the Snow Maiden until she could no longer keep them open. Even then, the hard rock chased off sleep until the hours just before dawn.

Another soldier woke her.

“Newbie, aren’t ya?” he said, before gesturing to the rest of the soldiers who were already packed up and mounting.

More sore and exhausted than she’d ever been in her life, Kyanna wondered for the first time if she really was insane.

Bartra looked to be reading her mind as he brought their horses over.

“We can still return home,” he said lowly. “No one will think anything of a Shadow Core going on their own.”

“They will of the princess’s personal guard going with him,” she muttered lowly. She had sent Bartra to her father saying she wanted someone she trusted in her husband’s rescue team, but the farce could only go so far. “Ow, my back, my—my everything. You guys are of a seriously tough breed.”

The grizzled soldier gave her a wry smile. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“At least it’s not as hot now.”

“Aye, it soon will be.”

“Shh, I’m trying to trick myself while I’m still half asleep, else I’m never getting on that horse.”

“I may have a way to help with that, your highness.”

He handed her the reins of his horse and trotted off. Since it would require using her sore back in order to see where he went, she just stayed put, psyching herself up for the moment she’d have to stand.

He returned with a rather moldy looking bucket.

“Pardon me, your highness.”

And he dumped its contents over her head.

Cold! Cold! Wet!!

She just managed to keep her mouth closed over her undignified squeak.

“I can get another bucket if your clothes aren’t wet enough, Your Highness,” he said, still low enough that no one could eavesdrop.

“No, no…this works.” She parted her wet bangs and readjusted her soaked cowl. “Thanks. But a little warning would have been nice.”

He gave a quick little bow of his head.

The wet clothes helped tremendously—for the one hour after the sunrise they stayed wet. It didn’t matter that her uniform was a cotton and wool blend that held to water like an alcoholic to his booze, the scorching metal air sucked it dry and by noonday she had once more succumbed to the heat-induced daze. Her eyes had become even less tolerant of the light, and she once more used her mass of ratted bangs to hide the fact that she had them closed most of the time.

It was because she had them closed that she didn’t notice when their column turned off the road. When her horse stumbled, she opened her eyes to find her poor, sweaty mare picking its way down a slide of crumbling sandstone to a shallow ravine below. On noting the lack of road markers, her melted body tensed.

“How do they know where they’re going?” she whispered to Bartra once they’d returned to even ground, and he’d returned to her side.

“The landmarks,” he said, his calm a stark contrast to her trepidation. “Each hill has its own unique shape, and the sun is never hidden. If you know what you’re looking for it’s extremely easy to avoid getting lost.”

“But…you’ve never been to the desert…have you?”

He smiled. “On the contrary, Your Highness. My grandfather was a merchant. During the winters my family would travel with him through the desert to avoid the snows. It’s actually quite pleasant in the winter, granted you have enough shortening.”

“For bread?”

“No.” He wiggled the fingers of his right hand at her. “For your hands. The dry cold is far worse than the heat. Unless you slather your hands in shortening or lard and wrap them up tight, they’ll crack and bleed till you can’t use them at all.”

Kyanna winced. “And people live here?”

“Oh yes. Even the desert has its treasures to offer.”

Her thoughts went to the opal hanging around her neck, tucked beneath her uniform.

At the first opportunity of shade the captain called them to a halt. The rocky shelf hung above the dry riverbed, which they had been using as a path. In the middle of the riverbed were gray-green trees barely more than bushes, each with their own skirt of yellow grass.

Though many of the men immediately got off their horses to give them a break, Kyanna stayed put, knowing she’d just collapse if she tried. She was long past cursing her pampered life for the delicate body it had given her. At this point, she wouldn’t be surprised if she had blisters on her butt or if she ended up passing out cold from the heat in another hour.

She had just managed to coax her spasming back to lower her head to her horse’s neck when a sudden clang of stone and metal jerked the mare up, nearly snapping her neck in the process. All thoughts of neck snapping were forgotten in the sudden clamor of horses and men. Armor and manes mixed about her like noodles in a boiling pot.

Bartra cried out for her, reaching for her horse just as he took hold of the reins of his own, but his gloves didn’t so much as graze her before a crashing body of a stallion besides her made her bolt. Kyanna ducked, clinging to the saddle horn for dear life and clenching in her knees. The mare zigzagged, leapt, whinnying and screaming among the rest.

Sun burst across her, burning the moment it touched.

The moment the horse’s path seemed to straighten, Kyanna seized the reins.

“Whoa!” She tugged back, hard.

The horse ignored her, eyes rolling, mouth foaming.

“What is wrong with you?” She tugged again, harder, digging in her heels.

The mare slid to a stop. She reared. Kyanna scrambled for the mane, but her stupid, travel weary arms and legs and her rock abused back gave out. Hard, unforgiving ground caught her with a puff of dust.

Seemingly alarmed into sanity by the sound of her rider’s rump falling, the mare stumbled only a few feet away, huffing and muttering.

Kyanna got to her feet as fast as her unforgiving body would allow.

“Whoa, girl, whoa, whoa.” She took the sides of the bridle with both hands. “Whoa.”

“Huh,” said someone behind her.

Kyanna twisted.

Behind her, armed with two gleaming, bronze scimitars, stood a dark-skinned woman, her arms bare, but her head shrouded with a long shawl that draped down her back and front to tuck into a belt. Golden eyes peered out from a slit of the off-white cloth.

A rush of chilling prickles ran up Kyanna’s neck. Bartra was nowhere in sight. Kyanna opened her mouth. The woman shot forward, the pummel of her scimitar raised high like a club.

And the princess knew no more.

***

When Kyanna came to, it took a worryingly long time for her brain to wake up along with her vision, leaving her staring at five cowled women gathered about a campfire in the shadows of a canyon. On the other end of the canyon shelf sat burlap sacks and several rolled up blankets. She couldn’t make heads or tails of the words they spoke to each other.

Kyanna ran her fingers about her face, surprised that they hadn’t bound her as well as the palpable layer of dried sweat. They had taken her head wrap and her knotted hair had become gritty with sand.

Her movement caught the eye of one of the women across the fire. She gestured to the others and they all twisted around to look at Kyanna. Even in the indirect daylight from the top of the canyon, Kyanna could see that each had the same golden amber color.

She stiffened, wondering if she dared to sit up.

“You’ve got a good look,” said the woman nearest to her, just out of reach. Her accent was thick and rolling like honey and spice.

“How so?” Kyanna asked.

“Like you’re think’n, rather than scream’n.” She pulled up a stick of roasting something or other from the ground and handed it over. “Roasted rattler for your thoughts. Then we’ll kill ya.”

At Kyanna’s widening eyes, they giggled, though the sound lacked the malice Kyanna expected.

“Why feed someone you’re going to kill?” Though she took the stick anyway and sat up, unable to hold back a moan at her various angry body bits.

“Obviously we’re joke’n, but piss us off and it’ll change,” said another as she pulled up her own stick. She said something to the woman who had just handed Kyanna food before biting in. The meat was boneless, little more than a strip that had been folded over itself and shish kabobbed.

“What’s a domesticated feather like you do’n with a bunch of soldiers?” asked one. “It’d make sense if you were a warrior try’n to make it by, but you’re so soft I’m afraid my nail could finish you.”

Kyanna didn’t appreciate this comment. “It’s not like I had much of a choice in how I was raised.”

“Point is, finding you out here is weird,” said the shortest and broadest of the bunch. “So spill. And if you’re thinking of running, go ahead. Ain’t no one gonna find you; them soldiers we chased off sure won’t, and you’ll dry up dead before tomorrow. Might as well humor those keeping you alive.”

Kyanna looked at the half-blackened meat on her stick, wondering why she didn’t feel more afraid. They were correct in saying she was a delicate thing. She didn’t need the past day and a half of hell to prove that. So why did a sheltered thing like her not feel more afraid about those who had essentially kidnapped her? She could even see the scimitars sheathed at their hips.

But then, how could she when her heart danced giddily with triumph in her chest.

The Soan from my dreams hadn’t lied. I’m not crazy. I’m going to find him!

Unconsciously, her fingers went to her chest to find the opal.

And found nothing.

She pulled out her shirt, giddiness deflating into panic. “Where’s my necklace?”

“Oh, you mean this?”

The woman next to her pulled out her clunky, golden pendent from where it had been tucked beneath her cloth belt. Kyanna lunged for it, only for the woman to snatch it from her grasp before she’d so much as crossed the space.

“No way,” said the woman. “This is the only worthwhile thing we got from you intruders.”

“Got to make a living somehow,” said another.

“That’s my marriage pendant,” Kyanna tried.

One snorted. “Like you don’t have the money to replace it. That’s all soft white things like you have is money.”

Kyanna stopped herself short of saying she, nor anyone else, would ever have the money to replace that. No need for them to know.

“Please, my husband went through a great deal to get that for me.”

“Your husband let his woman bake in a desert and get kidnapped by vagabonds,” said the stout one. “He was ask’n for it.”

“Fugly thing, anyways. Don’t you Karpathian girls like delicate? I could strangle a cow with this.”

Kyanna didn’t argue that. She’d thought similar things on seeing it. Only the fact it was made out of gold gave any indication to its value. Otherwise it was just a thick, gaudy, clunky thing.

“What can I do, then?” she asked. “I’ll do anything.”

“You haven’t even told us why you’re out here,” snapped the stout one, who was proving to be the most poor-tempered of the lot. “We even gave you food, don’t you got manners?”

“Out with it.”

“And make it good, I want a story.”

“I don’t even care if you lie at this point. Damn, those stupid soldiers, I thought they’d be guard’n something sparkly.”

“Didn’t even have good food,” said one who had been quiet up till then.

Kyanna bit her lip, pulling her feet closer.

“I…I’m looking for my husband.”

The woman next to her pulled down her cowl, revealing smirking, thick cinnamon lips similar to the Soan of her dreams.

“He ran off on you?”

“Into a desert? Man, you must’ve done something rich.”

“No!” she cried. “He was kidnapped.”

That just made them laugh. As they did so, three more pulled down their cowls, revealing the same dark skin, though in varying shades from dark cinnamon to mocha, and their faces varying from thick lipped to thin. One had a tiny, button-like nose sprinkled with copper freckles. They also had brilliant red hair varying from orange-ginger to the eldest’s dark maroon.

“You got a real winner there,” crowed the stout one, the one who had yet to take off her face wrap, though she started to unwind it as she laughed.

“Why’d anyone want to kidnap him? He pretty?”

“It’s ‘cause you’re rich, ain’t it?”

Kyanna prickled. “I’d think you’d know why, since he was kidnapped by your kind.”

That quieted them.

“Excuse me?” asked the one who Kyanna had decided could be the oldest, due to the crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes. She glared Kyanna down as she pulled off the rest of the wrap from her maroon braid which fell down her shoulders to her chest.

“Why else would he be dragged out this way?” said Kyanna. “He was kidnapped trying to save Loswell. They wanted revenge on him for helping us win the war.”

“Oh, wow, because we all live in the desert you think we’re together on this?” The stout one’s expression was unimpressed, her chin square and her hair short. “A little racist, don’t you think?”

“Even when the war was go’n on, we kept to ourselves,” said Kyanna’s neighbor, the one with the necklace. Her headwrap had revealed yellow-orange hair and a surprisingly round, friendly face. Though the look she was giving Kyanna was anything by friendly.

Kyanna back tracked. “I-I’m sorry, I just—I figured you knew since they passed so close to your territory.”

“Does it look like we have rocks for eyes? We got better things to do than squat in the sun and stare at whoever passes by all day.”

Kyanna felt her mouth twitch. “Touché.”

“Wait a minute…” the ginger tugged up the necklace once more and scraped her nail about the edge, pulling out the wire. “This ain’t…”

Every pair of golden eyes zoomed onto the wire.

“Give me that!” The short woman snatched it from her hands and squinted at it, plucking the wire from her fingers. She dug the wire around the edges with expert speed and the pendant snapped open.

Rainbows blossomed across the canyon walls.

Dread clawed up Kyanna’s throat.

Now I’m never going to get it back.

Kyanna expected them to stare for quite a bit longer, possibly followed by exclamations and gasps, but the Soan, for they could be nothing else, only sighed and snapped the pendent closed.

“Damn it. You’re her, aren’t you?”

Kyanna blinked at her.

“You’re that idiot’s princess?” asked the quietest from across the fire.

Kyanna tucked her chin in surprise. “Wait, you know Einar?”

The women all gave a collective sigh, and not a romantic one either. But one people gave toward especially difficult children they couldn’t get away from. The stout one actually dragged her hands down her face and pulled her bottom eyelids down till they could see the curve of her eyeballs. The quiet one muttered something in a foreign language.

She frowned. “What’d he do to you guys?”

“He exists,” groaned the ginger from beside her. “Like a song that won’t get out of your head.”

“I guess he could be sweet,” said the button nose with freckles.

“Yeah, sickly sweet. No one like that exists, I’m telling you.”

“What?” asked Kyanna, starting to get impatient.

“Don’t you already know?” asked the stout one. “You’re his wife. I bet he’s all, ‘I love you from the core of my soul, my sun, my darling, my dove!”

“No, it’s more like, ‘I can’t even think of other women, because my heart only sees you!’”

“‘What is this sex? I only know love making, and only for my one true love.’”

“‘And we’ll grow apple trees of love to sustain our children forever!’”

“Mother, I forgot about the apples.”

“Guy probably thinks true love’s kiss can save the world.”

“And babies come from stars.”

A muscle near Kyanna’s eye twitched.

“How…how do you guys know him?” she asked. She nibbled on her grilled snake and was surprised that it tasted a good deal like chicken.

“Idiot came to our front doorstep,” said the quiet one, her hooded eyes giving her gold irises a darker look than the others.

“Any man who will’nly walks into our fortress gets shanked,” said her ginger friend with a bite of her own snake.

“‘Cept he didn’t die,” said the eldest solemnly. “He defeated all of us, and without kill’n. Managed to have enough control over his blade to beat us down without turn’n the edge, it was unreal.”

“But why?”

“Why do you think?” asked the stout one, who then tossed the pendent to Kyanna, who fumbled the catch in her lap. “Don’t you know what that is?”

“I doubt she doesn’t, know’n how much he likes to tell stories,” said the ginger.

“You mean, this is it? The Genie’s opal?” asked Kyanna.

“The one and only.”

“It’s a Soan heirloom.”

“No one in the world knows of it ‘cept us.”

“Then…how come…”

“How come he did?” the elder leaned back on her arms, her dark braid sliding over her shoulder to dangle down her back. “That’s the thing. None of us know.”

“But we couldn’t hide it when he told us what he wanted it for.”

A suspicion that made her stomach squirm pushed at the back of her mind. “And that was?”

“You, princess. He wanted it to marry you.”

They all smiled at her, small and somehow a little bit sad.

Kyanna furrowed her brow. “But I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t ask him for anything.”

“Yeah, he said so himself,” said her ginger neighbor, leaning a cheek on her hand. “But he had this idea that if he had it, it’d work some sort of magic to make you love him. Idiot. Even when we told him it didn’t, he still wanted it.”

Kyanna winced. “Is…that a bad thing?”

“It’s just how it is,” said the eldest.

“And that convinced you to give it to him why?”

“Because of the Mother,” said the little-nosed one gently. “The one you called ‘the Genie.’ She was keeping it for him, and so we were too.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, come on, I thought he told you the story.” The stout one put a hand to her broad chest. “We, the Soan, are her descendants. And it’s only because of the man who last held that opal that we were able to be at all.”