Book Three of the Travelers (2 page)

L
oor expected pain.

But instead she felt only an odd sensation of constriction. And then she realized what had happened. The arrows they had fired had missed. All of them.

But it didn't matter. In a flash she knew the men hadn't meant to hit her in the first place. Every arrow they fired trailed a fine piece of rope. She was now surrounded by a web of rope. Around her the men were grabbing at the string and running in circles. She tried to struggle.

But by the time she had figured out what was going on, it was too late. Half the men ran in one direction, half in the other, their arms weaving rapidly as they passed one another. It was clear from the smoothness and coordination of their attack that this was a tactic they had practiced thousands of times before.

Within seconds she was completely enmeshed, circled from head to toe. The one-eyed man leaped deftly to his feet. Unable to move, she couldn't even resist as he pushed her to the ground and slid his long stick underneath the encircling mesh that bound her.

He studied her face. “Perfect,” he said again. “Look at her. Even after three days in the desert, without enough water, she would have killed me.” He smiled at his men. “You have done well, my men! King Allon will reward you greatly!” He snapped his fingers at two of the hooded men. “Take her.”

The two men jumped forward and lifted the ends of the stick, hoisting Loor up onto their shoulders so that her head dangled above ground. With a feeling of horror Loor realized what must be happening. There were stories about the tribesmen. Stories of human sacrifice. Stories of cannibalism.

The only consolation she could find was that no one would ever know. Imagine the shame her mother would feel if she knew that Loor had been eaten by cannibals. A thing like that would stain the honor of a family for generations! She felt nauseated. Even the thought of her own death didn't sicken her as much as that.

“Before you have a chance to eat me,” she said, “I'll starve myself. I'll make myself sick. I'll be foul tasting and diseased.”

The one-eyed man laughed loudly. “Eat you!” he said. “You Batu are such idiots. I cannot believe you still tell those ridiculous stories. Our people have not eaten Batu in centuries.”

“Then what do you want?” she said.

The man made a signal to his follows, a big circle in the air. Then he pointed to the entrance to the canyon. The men began walking single file. They carried her in front, like a trophy. Behind her she saw that the tribesmen had simply left the ax, the centuries-
old treasure of her people, lying on the ground like discarded trash.

“The ax!” she said.

“It is of no consequence,” the one-eyed man said. “It is just a useless bauble. In the desert everything must have a use. The desert is too unforgiving to allow for such frivolity.”

Loor watched the ax disappear as the men slowly filed out of the canyon. Loor had always thought of herself as coming from the least frivolous people in the world. But she had to admit she could see the man's point. Out here, if you couldn't drink it or eat it or use it to keep the heat and cold from killing you, a thing was only going to drag you down.

“Where are we going?” she said.

“This is a great honor, you know,” the man said.

Loor spit on the ground. Honor? This was the most demeaning thing that had ever happened to her in her life.

“We are a small, isolated people,” the man said. “We need fresh blood to keep our people strong.”

Loor blinked. What was he talking about?

“We knew that if we stole the ax, your king would send someone to recover it. A female warrior. Your men are strong, but Batu women can go farther and longer in the desert. So we knew that eventually a woman of unusual courage and fortitude would come to us.” He smiled. “And here you are. Not only vital and strong…but young and beautiful.”

“And you sent a ten-year-old boy to do this? Your own son? What if we had captured him? What if we had killed him? What if he had died in the desert?”

“Surely you understand the concept of honor,” the man said, clapping his son gently on the shoulder. “And he is eleven.”

The boy looked so proud that he was about to burst.

Loor had to admire these people. They were not quite what she expected.

The one-eyed man smiled fondly at his son. “What a story he will have to tell his grandchildren! ‘At the age of eleven, I broke into the great city of Xhaxhu and stole their greatest treasure.' A price cannot be put on a thing like that.”

“You still have not answered my question,” Loor said. “What precisely do you want from me?”

“King Allon,” he said, “has reached a certain point in his life. The time has come to have an heir to the throne.”

“What are you
talking
about?” she demanded.

The line of men finished filing out of the rocks and started up the face of the first dune. They were heading back into the desert. In the distance she could see that the sun had slipped behind the horizon. The sky was a wash of brilliant pink. Already the air had begun to cool. Soon, she knew from experience, it would be quite cold.

“Quiet,” he said softly. “We do not speak in the desert. Every time you open your mouth to speak, your breath exhales moisture. To speak in this place is to squander precious water on the lifeless sand.”

“I will stop talking when you answer my question!” Loor howled. “What are you doing with me?”

The one-eyed man studied her as though considering
whether he should waste any of his body's precious water on her.

“Congratulations,” he said finally. “In three days you will marry the king of the Zafir.”

Then the one-eyed man put up his hood, and his face disappeared into the darkness.

F
or the next day and a half not a single man spoke. They walked slowly through the sand, not wasting a single step or a single motion.

Around midday the next day, they left the shifting sands again and began winding through a series of barren foothills in the shadow of the Elzehe'er range, slowly climbing higher and higher. The air began to cool somewhat, but the land was still parched and arid.

Late in the day they crested a small rocky outcrop. And suddenly, spread out in a small valley below them was an astonishing sight.

Water.

Not just a little water, but a vast lake of it. Surrounding the lake was a green valley. Flocks of sheep gamboled across the grass. And in the distance, perhaps a mile away on the shore of the lake, lay a broad colorful maze of tents. There were red tents, yellow tents, white tents, orange tents, tents made from several colors, tents painted with designs. It was a riot of color.

As they crested the hill and spotted the tent city
below them, the men all dropped their hoods and cheered. Then they placed Loor on the ground and cut her free from the web that secured her to the stick.

Loor's first instinct was to try to escape. But after being tied to a pole and fed almost nothing for a solid day, she could barely stand. Her feet were asleep, her muscles felt rubbery, and she felt dizzy and slow witted.

The men sat in a circle around her and laid out a meal. Loor hated to admit it, but it smelled better than any food she'd ever experienced. There were smoked meats and fish, dried fruits, spiced pickles.

Loor considered not eating for a moment, just to spite them. But then she realized that if she was going to escape, she needed to get her strength back. She ate slowly, resisting the impulse to shove all the food into her mouth.

When they were done, the one-eyed man put his hand over his heart—the standard greeting of the desert people—and said, “I am Heshar. I am proud to know you.”

Loor glared at him. “Loor,” she said, patting her own chest. “I will be proud to kill you one day.”

Heshar smiled as though she had just given him a high compliment. “Come,” he said. “Let us take you to the king.”

As she stood, a shadow slid across the grass in front of her. She looked up. High above her the hindor circled slowly on the breeze.

She was amazed that it had followed her this far.

Good luck is still with me
, she thought.
Perhaps I can still complete my mission.

 

In Xhaxhu important people lived in large stone buildings that oozed a sense of power and authority. But the king of the Zafir lived little differently from his people. His tent was a bit larger and had a brilliant red pennant hanging from its high center pole. But otherwise it was distinguishable from the living quarters of others only by the hard-faced guards who stood outside the entry flap, eyes restlessly scanning the horizon.

As they approached, the guards put their hands over their hearts and greeted Heshar solemnly. He seemed to be a respected man here.

“Is this her?” a white-haired man with a large mustache asked.

Heshar nodded. The guards studied her with undisguised interest. All the women in the camp were clothed from head to toe in robes. By comparison Loor seemed nearly naked. But Loor felt that she was being studied more the way one would study a livestock specimen than a woman.

The white-haired man nodded. “You have done well, Heshar.”

Then he snapped his fingers at one of the guards. The guard disappeared into the tent. Finally he returned with a carefully folded robe of fine silk. Loor could smell the perfume wafting off of it.

“Cover yourself,” the white-haired man said.

Loor threw the beautiful robe on the ground. “I am Batu,” she said. “Robes slow you down, weaken your ability to fight.”

The white-haired man eyed her silently for a while.
“As you wish,” he said. Then he pulled back the flap of the tent and motioned her to enter.

Loor was a little shocked. She was still wearing her dagger on her hip. No Batu guard would ever have allowed an armed stranger to approach a Batu leader.

She walked inside, followed by Heshar.

The tent was large and brightly lit, the sunlight entering through a series of cleverly designed vents in the roof. Three musicians sat near the door, playing quietly on stringed instruments. A light haze of smoke filled the room.

At the far end of the tent sat a man in a perfectly white robe. Flanking him were ten men, short spears cradled in their laps.

“Please,” the man said. “Sit.”

She walked up until she was about ten feet from the man. Was this the king? She wasn't sure. He was slim, with a handsome face, and bright black eyes. Loor estimated that he was maybe five years older than she was—perhaps twenty. He wore no signs of rank—no crown, no jewelry, no fancy sword, no ornaments at all.

“I will not sit,” she said.

The man shrugged. “What is your name?”

“Loor.”

“I am Allon. It is my privilege to rule the Zafir.”

Loor crossed her arms over her chest and didn't speak.

“Have you been mistreated?” King Allon said.

“If you mean have I been taken and dragged here against my will, yes. I was not beaten.”

The king laughed. “Oh, Heshar, Heshar,” he said to
the one-eyed man. “I am well pleased with your work.” He turned to the men flanking him. “Look at her! Is she not magnificent? Such spirit! Such inner strength!”

The men nodded soberly. Everyone seemed relaxed and complacent.

Loor chose that moment to grab her dagger and hurl herself at the king. Before she could reach him, however, his men had grabbed their spears and leaped to their feet. They were blindingly fast.

One of the men grabbed her by the waist and wrestled her to the floor. He made a move as if to punch her in the face. But the king said, “No, no.” His voice was gentle. But there was authority beneath the soft tone. Loor had to admit she was impressed.

The man who'd tackled her raised his hands and stepped off her.

“I presume,” King Allon said, “that my friend Heshar has told you why you were brought here.”

She laughed. “I'll die before I submit to you.”

The king raised one eyebrow. “You could have thrown yourself on that spear point,” he said. “But you didn't.”

Loor gnashed her teeth. He had a point. As a rule, Loor disliked clever people. “The time was not right,” she said.

“Mm…” The king seemed unpersuaded. “Among my people pointless death is not considered honorable. If one is going to give one's life, it ought to be for a purpose.”

Loor didn't answer. One could talk all day about such things and never come to any conclusions. Battle
was the only place where anything was really ever solved.

The king rose. “Come,” he said. “Join me.”

He walked toward the door. Having nothing better to do, Loor followed him. Clearly now was not the time to attack this man. She would bide her time, wait for the right moment. Then she would strike.

Like all the other Zafir she had seen so far, the king moved with a slow, graceful stride, not wasting any energy. It was quite different from Xhaxhu, where everyone was expected to move quickly and decisively at all times. To the Batu, slow movement was a sign of weakness.

As the king walked past his subjects, they placed their hands over their hearts. But there were no bowed heads, no obvious signs of subservience. And the king returned their greetings as though they were friends.

It didn't take long to reach the outskirts of the tent city. As they did, King Allon turned to his guards and said, “Leave us.”

The men nodded. King Allon walked on, heading slowly toward the shore of the immense lake.

“You must have great confidence in your skills as a fighter,” she said.

“Oh?”

“Well, I am one of the most dangerous warriors in Xhaxhu. If you think you can best me in one-armed combat…” She shrugged.

The king smiled. “In the long run,” he said, “I cannot very well have a queen whom I fear. At a certain point, I simply have to trust you.”

Loor was astonished. She suspected a trick. Maybe he had some kind of dangerous weapon hidden in his robe. “Then you are a fool,” she snapped.

“Mm…” He trailed off.

“Each summer for a thousand generations my people have come to this lake to fatten our sheep. During fall, winter, and spring we are scattered like seeds across the whole desert. We are a fierce and warlike people. During the rest of the year, the various tribes that make up my nation are in constant war with one another. They engage in feuds that go back generations. But here? This is called the ‘Lake of Peace.' For the three months we are here, there are no quarrels, no fights, no voices raised in anger. To break that law is to die on the spot. No matter what the cause or provocation.”

“Why?” Loor said.

“This.” The king stopped and made a sweeping gesture with his hands, encompassing the huge lake. Loor looked out at the water. It was impossibly blue. She had never seen so much water, not in her entire life. She amazed to find that she could actually smell it. “If we, as a people, are to survive the hot months,” King Allon said, “we must fatten our sheep. Our sheep are our lifeblood. We eat their flesh and weave out clothes and tents from their wool. This place is our source. If war and hatred and fear and vengeance are allowed to enter this valley, we all will suffer. In the end we all will starve, and our people will vanish from the earth. So…here peace reigns.”

“We have an arrangement much like that,” Loor said.
“The Batu and the Rokador do not like each other very much. But they provide us with water. And we provide them with food and protection.”

The king surveyed the land. As he did, he spotted the hindor flying in the distance. “That is a great omen,” he said. “Among our people, the hindor is considered the greatest of birds.”

“Yes,” she said. “We too prize it for its fierceness and strength.”

“That is not why we revere it,” the king said. “We worship the hindor because it can smell water from miles and miles away. Follow a hindor's flight, and eventually you will reach water.”

“That one followed me all the way here,” Loor said.

King Allon's eyebrows went up. “All the way across the desert?”

She nodded.

“Astonishing.” He smiled. “You will bring us great fortune.”

Loor said nothing. The king picked up a rock, skipped it across the water. It must have skipped seven or eight times. “Try it,” he said.

She picked up a rock from the bank, threw it in the water. It went
plooop!
and sank immediately.

“No,” he said. “Like this.” He showed her the way he threw it.

She tried it. The stone skipped twice and sank. “Yes!” the king said. “You see!” He smiled, apparently happy as a child. “I used to do this all the time when we came here in the summer. I'd herd my father's flock way off over there. Then I would throw stones for hours!”

He threw another one, then clapped his hands joyously. “Only six that time,” he said.

“I will beat you,” she said. She picked up a rock and hurled it as hard as she could. Two skips and a violent splash.

He laughed again. “Not so hard. Gently!” He searched for a stone until he found one he liked. On this throw it skipped so many times she couldn't even count them. The king seemed to find this hilarious.

Loor tried to envision old King Khalek a Zinj doing something like this. It was impossible even to imagine. A thing like this was beneath his dignity.

She searched for a flat rock like the one he'd used. She tried her best to imitate the low arc he used in throwing his stones. This time her rock seemed to dance across the water. It only made about four skips. But still. “Yes!” she shouted, raising her hands above her head.

“Good! Good!” the king shouted. Then he put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick hug. It seemed a simple and genuine—almost brotherly—acknowledgment of her accomplishment in this little game. But she could feel his muscles beneath the robe. He was stronger than he looked.

Loor felt a strange glow spread through her. It took her a moment to realize what it was. She
liked
this man. A lot.

A terrible thought ran through her mind. She had no way of getting back across the desert. She had no friends here. And this man, whom she was beginning to like, wanted her to stay forever. A frightening notion—and it
was only a notion—flitted through her mind.
What if I just gave in? What if I just stayed?

Her entire life had been nothing but struggle. Training, fighting, striving, working—it was nothing but pain and sacrifice.

All along the banks of the great lake, she saw flocks of sheep munching peacefully on the grass. Shepherds sat around here and there, some by themselves, some laughing and joking in small groups. Small brooks babbled, pouring water into the lake.

In Batu mythology there was a paradise from which all humanity had originally come. In Loor's mind it looked exactly like this.

King Allon stood beside her still, his arm draped across her shoulder.

Loor froze.
What am I thinking?
she asked herself.

The next moment her blade was in her hand.

The young king twisted sharply—but not before her knife had entered the folds of his robe. And then his powerful hands clamped around hers. She was unable to move.

“Just because I throw stones into a lake does not mean I am a fool,” he said softly. Then his face lit up with another mysterious smile. He pushed the knife back out of the fold of his robe. With a quick snap of his hands, he applied excruciating pain to her wrist. Her knife fell to the ground. He kicked it into the water.

Loor felt a torrent of shame run through her. He'd evaded her knife effortlessly. She'd punctured nothing but cloth. She was sure her aim had been perfect. It was
not normal for Loor to feel helpless. But right now she felt completely helpless.