Текст книги "Vessel"

Автор книги: Sarah Beth Durst

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

“Good.” She looked away and was able to breathe again. “Step with the beat. Shift your weight. Little movements for now, just your heels, until you have the rhythm.” Her hand on his heart, she shifted from side to side. His hand on her heart, he swayed with her.

Stepping back, she dropped her hand. He did the same.

She swallowed, and her throat felt dry. She told herself this was no different than teaching Jidali to dance. “Raan, can you keep this beat?” Liyana clapped out a staccato rhythm. Raan mimicked it. It was syncopated with Fennik’s drum. “Pia?”

Pia sang a melody as light as air. It danced over the tent and up toward the sky. Liyana felt her feet itch. She wanted to twirl and leap. She hadn’t danced in so long!

“This will be a disaster,” Korbyn warned.

“Listen only to the drum,” she said. “That’s your center, your source, your . . . Think of it as your lake. You’re connected to it. Everything else is simply layers on top of it.”

“Bum-ba, bum-ba, bum-ba,” he said. “Got it.”

She smiled. “Not yet you don’t. Run with me.” Grabbing his hand, she pulled him after her. Her feet hit the sand in rhythm with the drum. He fell into step beside her, and she ran with him until the beat faded under the sound of the night wind. Pivoting, she ran back toward the camp. The wind was cool in her face. It caressed her neck and tossed her hair. His footfalls matched hers.

By the fire, Liyana caught Korbyn’s free hand. She swung in a circle with him. “Feel the beat! Bum-ba, bum-ba, bum-ba.” She released him. He continued to move with the beat. She raised her arms to match Pia’s soaring melody, and she let the music take her. Her feet danced to Raan’s syncopated rhythm while Korbyn stamped out the central heartbeat. Letting go of her thoughts, she spun around him.

Korbyn turned with her, and she felt his eyes on her. She orbited around him, the moon to his sun. As the melody dipped, she twirled closer. She lifted her hands, palms forward. He lifted his, and they pressed their hands together. Palm to palm they danced.

As the song rose above the desert, Liyana felt as if the wind were dancing with them. Sand churned under their feet. She tilted her head backward as Korbyn cradled her back in his hands. He spun her in a circle, and she saw the stars spin above them. He raised her up, and their faces were only inches apart. Slowing, they swayed to the heartbeat-like drum. His eyes were like the night sky, deep and endless and full of stars.

He slowed, still swaying. So did she.

The melody ceased.

She realized that the drums had stopped as well, though she didn’t know when. She and Korbyn were swaying to their own rhythm. Liyana stopped. She couldn’t read his expression, but his eyes were fixed on hers as if nothing else in the world existed. Both of them breathed fast.

Releasing him, she broke away. His hand reached toward her and then fell back. “You’re ready for Bayla,” she said. Her voice sounded thin to her ears.

She didn’t look at any of the others as she ducked into the tent. Curling up in her sleeping roll, she pretended to be asleep when they all came in for the night.

Chapter Eighteen

“We are leaving the desert,” Pia announced.

Liyana pulled on the reins, and Gray Luck slowed. In the distance, she saw the silhouette of hills—the eastern border of the desert. Black trees with bare branches marked the peaks. On the other side of those hills was the Crescent Empire. “She’s right,” Liyana said.

“Different birds,” Pia explained.

Liyana heard them, unseen to one another, calling in low caws and piercing trills. They hid in the thorned bushes and dried grasses that pockmarked the land, and they perched on the twisted trees that grew out of boulder-filled hollows. The branches of the trees were so knotted that they looked like misshapen fingers folded into fists.

“You want us to leave the desert?” Fennik asked, scandalized.

Raan rode past Fennik. “And where exactly did you think we were going? The fair?” She sounded so pleased that Liyana expected her to break out in a whistle.

“Why would anyone in the Crescent Empire want our gods?” Fennik asked. “The empire has always left the desert alone and vice versa.”

Liyana had imagined a lone madman or a rogue clan. She’d never thought about an enemy from beyond the sands. She’d never met anyone from outside the desert. She didn’t know any of their stories.

“Horse boy does have a point,” Raan said. “Why mess with our sand? They already have fertile fields, rivers full of fish, cities of surpassing wealth . . .” The note of longing in her voice was clear. We’ll have to watch her again, Liyana thought. She felt a sinking in her stomach as she remembered Raan’s lack of tattoos.

“Besides, don’t they have their own gods?” Pia asked.

All of them looked at Korbyn.

“Fennik, keep your bows accessible.” He urged his horse forward. Liyana followed, her horse stomping on the bushes. Branches crackled under Gray Luck’s hooves.

By afternoon they reached the border hills. Miniscule, white flowers coated the slopes, and lichen painted the rocks in orange, green, and white. Liyana spotted rodents scurrying between the rocks. As they rode uphill, she thought about setting snares for them, and she wondered if there was larger game in the hills, perhaps gazelles or wild goat.

Korbyn crested the hill. Immediately he yanked his horse’s head around and trotted down the slope. “Down,” he ordered, and they followed him.

At the base, Fennik said, “Tell us. What did you see?”

Korbyn swore, borrowing some of Raan’s favorite words as he dismounted. His horse plunged his snout into the nearest bush and began stripping the leaves off it. On foot Korbyn trotted back to the hill without answering Fennik.

“Go on,” Pia said. “I’ll stay with the horses.” She patted hers on the neck. Leaving her, Liyana, Raan, and Fennik crept up the slope behind Korbyn. All of them poked their heads over the ridge.

Beyond was a broad plain of golden grasses.

It was filled with tents.

Hundreds of dark green tents lined the plain like crops. Around them, horses grazed—not sleek desert horses but large, muscled horses. Men and women in white uniforms paced between the tents.

Liyana tried to count the number of tents and gave up after the fifth row of twenty. The encampment was larger than a clan. In fact, it was larger than five clans.

“You didn’t expect this,” Fennik said to Korbyn.

Raan snorted. “He’s been making it all up as he goes along.”

Liyana flinched as Korbyn shot her a look. Not meeting his eyes, she studied the encampment again. Deep within the rows, a banner emblazoned with a crescent sun waved over a large, golden tent. At this distance, the white-clad soldiers who circled the gold tent looked like moon moths around a candle flame.

“You can quit glaring at her. She didn’t give up your precious ‘secret,’ ” Raan said. “It’s been obvious that you’re winging it.”

Fennik drew back from the edge. “Can we have this argument down the hill?”

Silently they retreated down the hill and rejoined Pia and the horses. Liyana still felt exposed. She watched the top of the hill and wondered if there were patrols that watched the border. If so, how often did they pass there?

“Please, tell me,” Pia said.

“It’s an army,” Fennik said. “Korbyn either deliberately neglected to tell us, or—”

“Does it matter?” Liyana interrupted. “I’d say we have a lot more important issues than what Korbyn knew or didn’t know, and did or didn’t tell us.”

Pia clutched her horse’s reins as if she were on the verge of fainting. “Army?” she squeaked.

“Crescent Empire,” Korbyn said.

“See, he knows something!” Fennik said.

“Don’t be too impressed,” Raan said dryly. “They had flags, you know. Also, that is the Crescent Empire’s land, so it’s a good bet that it’s their army. I doubt they’d let another army wander through.”

“But . . . Why? What do they want?” Pia’s voice trembled.

“Looks like they want the desert,” Raan said. “It would hardly make sense for them to invade themselves. But I can’t imagine why. We don’t have anything they need.”

Liyana shook her head. “ ‘Why’ doesn’t matter, at least to us. Our job is to rescue our gods. Once they walk the world, they can handle the army.”

“We don’t even know if they have our gods,” Fennik said. He looked pointedly at Korbyn. Korbyn’s gaze was fixed on the ridge. Liyana wasn’t convinced he was even listening to them.

“Our gods were summoned east, and there’s an army east,” Liyana said. “I have trouble believing that’s a coincidence.” Somewhere in that encampment, Bayla waited for Korbyn.

“Fine,” Fennik said. “But we don’t know where they’re being held. Or how. Our gods could be trapped in anything. Or anyone.”

Pia gasped. “Oyri, in another?”

Gaze still fixed on the border, Korbyn spoke. “Once, there was a god who mistakenly entered his vessel’s companion. This was in the time before vessels were marked with tattoos. The results were disastrous—inside the wrong body, the deity couldn’t work magic. And so, the god drank poison, killing the body and freeing his soul to return to the Dreaming, where at least he would not have to watch the suffering his mistake had caused. One hundred years later, he returned to a decimated clan and built it back to a sustainable size. But he was never the same after that. Every time he returned to the Dreaming, he hid in a cave of his own making so the souls of the clan he failed would not find him. And ever after, vessels have been marked with tattoos so his mistake will not be repeated by another.”

Raan’s hands were clenched into fists. “That is a hideous story.”

“If it’s true, it means you can summon your goddess without tattoos,” Liyana pointed out. “All you have to do is dance while a magician chants.”

Raan turned away from her.

“First, though, we need to free the deities so they can be summoned,” Fennik said.

“Will we . . . will we have to kill anyone to free my goddess?” Pia’s voice quivered.

Still watching Raan, Liyana shook her head and answered for Korbyn. “No. If they were in a person, they’d have killed themselves already.” Raan blanched at that, but Liyana continued. “Whatever trap they’re in, it has to be something they can’t destroy. We will have to destroy it for them.”

“Then how do we—” Pia began.

“I thought it was obvious that I’m winging it.” Korbyn smiled, and the smile lit up his entire face.

“Ooh, big powerful deity has a plan,” Raan said.

“As a matter of fact, yes, I do.” Korbyn swept his hand to indicate the horses. “Fennik and I are horse traders. We have come to view their horses and show them ours in the hopes of establishing trade between the Horse Clan and the Crescent Empire. Once within the encampment, Fennik distracts them with fancy talk about horse fetlocks while I determine the location of the captive deities.”

All of them were silent. Liyana stroked Gray Luck’s neck.

“That’s the entire plan?” Pia asked.

“Simple plans are the best,” Korbyn said.

“Think of another plan,” Liyana ordered. “You could be caught.”

“I’ll be tricky.” Korbyn wiggled his fingers at them. “Trickster god, remember?”

“And what are we supposed to do while you are being ‘tricky’?” Raan asked. “Twiddle our thumbs and hope for the best?”

For once, Liyana was in complete agreement with Raan. He couldn’t expect her to sit idly by and wait for him to be captured, or worse. She put her hand on his arm. “If they’re kidnapping gods, you can’t just wander in!”

“I won’t wander; I’ll ride,” Korbyn said. “You three need to find a grove of trees. Stay hidden. Stay safe. Liyana is skilled enough to take care of your food and water needs. Once I know the situation, Fennik or I will return for you.” He patted her hand.

Abruptly she realized she was clinging to him. Releasing him, she backed away. She felt as if she heard roaring in her ears. “A million things could go wrong. Please, Korbyn.”

“Have a little faith.” He grinned at his word play.

“Your body is mortal with mortal limitations,” Pia said.

Liyana reached out again. Her fingertips brushed his cheek. “Korbyn, you think you need to save the entire desert by yourself. You keep forgetting you’re not alone.”

His grin faded. “My problem is that I can’t forget that.”

Liyana’s breath caught in her throat as he held her gaze.

“She must be rescued,” Korbyn said gently.

* * *

In the light of dawn, the encampment seemed to spread endlessly in all directions. Liyana wondered if this was what the sea looked like—each tent a wave crest, all poised to roll over her beloved desert. She watched Korbyn and Fennik lead the horses down the slope. They slowly picked their way around the rocks and bushes. At the base, they allowed the horses to graze for several minutes before they waded forward into the tall, golden grasses.

Liyana felt as if she were the one exposed out there on the plain. Every muscle felt like a knot, and her heart thudded inside her chest. She watched Korbyn and wished she could see his face. “Keep him safe,” she whispered, though she knew no one would hear her prayer.

The slow speed had been Korbyn’s idea—he’d said it would present them as harmless. Fennik had agreed, and they’d spent the bulk of the night meticulously planning their approach as if it were an elaborate performance. But watching their show was torture.

As they reached the halfway point, a trio of guards cantered toward them. Crisp white, their uniforms reflected the sun. Brimmed hats shielded their faces from the sun and from view. Scarlet scarves covered their necks. “Please,” Liyana whispered, again to no one.

Liyana saw Fennik sweep his arms open to gesture at the horses. She imagined she could hear him say the words that they’d rehearsed last night. The guards didn’t unsheathe their swords—she would have seen the metal flash in the sun—but they were too far away for her to tell if their hands were on their hilts.

“Lovely to see the boys working together, isn’t it?” Raan said behind her.

Liyana jumped. Absorbed in the show on the plains, she hadn’t heard the other girl approach. “I should have insisted on going.”

“You’re needed to babysit me in case I decide to avoid my ‘fate’ by crossing the border.”

The bitterness in Raan’s voice felt like a slap. Liyana didn’t know what to say—Raan wasn’t wrong, though none of them had voiced that concern out loud. Side by side, in silence, they watched the figures of Korbyn, Fennik, and the guards on the plain.

Softly Raan asked, “If I find a way to save the clans and our lives, will you do it?”

“And save the deities?” Liyana asked.

“I can’t promise that,” Raan said.

“Then I can’t promise either.”

Raan was silent. Escorted by the guards, Korbyn and Fennik led the horses toward the encampment. At last Raan said, “Pia sent me to tell you that we’re low on food.”

Scooting back from the edge, Liyana joined Raan for the trek to the tent. They’d picked a grove of leafless trees about a mile from the hills as their camp. It was mostly obscured from view by the thick tangle of branches. If they huddled inside the tent with all of their supplies, chances were that a patrol on the ridge wouldn’t see them. Or at least that was the hope.

Pia popped out of the tent to greet them.

“You know, it might not have been us,” Raan said. “You should stay in the tent until you’re sure it’s safe.” She squatted next to the tent and took a gulp from her waterskin. “Getting low on water, too.” She waved the waterskin at Liyana.

“You shuffle your toes when you walk,” Pia said. “Liyana lengthens her stride every few steps. I am always careful. If they catch us, it will be because they know where to look.” She scooted inside the tent, again out of view from the hills.

“I can’t summon water like Korbyn,” Liyana said, joining Pia in the tent. Without the boys the tent felt empty, and without the horses the camp felt deserted. She missed the comforting stamp of hooves, and she wished Gray Luck were here. She hadn’t realized how used to the horse’s presence she’d become. “Get ready for lots of tubers.”

“Let me know how I can help,” Raan said as she crawled into the tent. She stretched out and then put her arms behind her head. Both Liyana and Pia sat at the edges. “I know it’s not the same as your special time with Korbyn. . . .”

Liyana felt herself stiffen. “Excuse me?”

Raan waved her hand. “You two. Always swapping stories. Laughing about something. At night you comfort away his nightmares. A person begins to feel like she’s intruding.”

“He is the beloved of my goddess. I don’t like what you’re suggesting.” She’d never said a word about what had happened in the sandstorm, and she was certain that no one else knew. Mostly certain. Her eyes slid to the tent flap. It felt stifling inside the tent.

“You must remember that,” Pia said, her voice as placid as always. “You can’t afford to care too much about anyone or anything. None of us can.”

Propping herself up on her elbow, Raan looked at Pia. “Is that how you do it, how you’re okay with your clan offering you up on a platter for your goddess?”

“This life is ephemeral,” Pia said. “I cannot afford any attachments because they will be severed. My clan knows this.” Folding her hands in her lap, she smiled serenely.

Raan blinked at her. “That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It isn’t true for me,” Liyana said firmly. “I’m very attached to my family.”

“Even though they left you to die?” Raan asked.

She felt the hilt of the sky serpent knife tucked into her sash. Even far away, her family had saved her life multiple times over. “Yes.”

“You’re both crazy,” Raan said.

“Everyone I love will be reunited in the Dreaming,” Liyana said. She thought of Jidali, growing old without her. He would have a lifetime of stories to tell her when they were reunited.

“Except for Korbyn,” Pia said intently.

“Once his vessel dies, he’ll return there as well,” Liyana said. She shouldn’t need to tell Pia that. Everyone knew gods could only exist in the real world while their vessel lived.

“But he’ll be reunited with Bayla, not with you.”

“I know that,” Liyana said.

“Good,” Pia said, her perfect doll face serene. “Remember it.” As Liyana stared at her, Pia fetched her brush and began to pull it through her soft, white hair. She hummed softly as she brushed, clearly done with the conversation, content that she’d made her point.

“I’m going to find water,” Liyana said. She stalked out of the tent.

Only when she was a hundred yards away did she feel her chest begin to loosen. Unfair accusations, Liyana thought. Untrue! She dropped into the sand beside a clump of cacti. She breathed in and out, trying to tame the swirl in her mind.

She focused on her heartbeat, which rattled in her rib cage as if it wanted to escape. With practiced ease, she imagined her lake and pulled out magic, inhaling as she felt the magic fill her. Korbyn had taught her the simplest way to summon water: Draw it into a plant that would naturally draw water, and then extract the moisture by hand. Full of magic, she flowed into the cacti before her. She plunged deep into the earth with its roots. Whispering to it, she coaxed it to suck the water up, up. Thirsty, so thirsty, she thought at it. She felt the moisture seep faster into its roots.

Last time she had done this, Korbyn had been beside her. She had laughed with him and shared stories. She thought of how it had felt to dance with him, the warmth of his hands and the nearness of his breath. She remembered the way his eyes had poured into hers as if there were nothing else in the world . . . and how a smile would spring to his face . . . and the way his laugh would cascade out of him . . . But even when his laugh filled her, she always, always knew he belonged with Bayla! Every action she’d taken was designed to unite him and Bayla.

Thinking of him, she let herself flow across the dried grasses and over the hills. She felt the thousands of souls in the empire’s encampment like a distant hum. Which one was Korbyn’s? Was he all right?

Forgetting the cacti, she pushed her awareness into the encampment. Each of the humans felt like candle flames, their souls flickering inside them. A deity would feel . . . more like sparks, as if it were barely contained rather than burning contentedly. She sensed the horses tethered to stakes. If she reached further, then perhaps . . . She stretched the magic thinner and thinner.

She felt herself fragment as her thoughts flew apart.

Her body! She didn’t feel it!

Racing over the desert, she tried to imagine the shape of her skin and the feel of her breath in her lungs. She pictured her soul pouring into her body, shaping back into herself.

She inhaled deeply, and then she collapsed, unconscious.

She woke with her cheek pressed into the sand. She didn’t know how long she’d lain there. Her rib cage hurt. Her fingers felt numb. How long could a body function without a soul in it? Seconds? Minutes? It hurt to breathe. The sun beat down on her.

Eventually she pushed herself upright. Hands shaking, she took out the sky serpent knife and sawed the cacti off at their bases. She tipped them over so that no liquid would ooze out the cuts, and then she wrapped them in a scarf to carry back to the tent. She got to her feet, and her knees wobbled.

She sank onto her knees in the scalding sand. Sweet Bayla, what have I done? Korbyn would have been so furious with her. This time he hadn’t been here to kiss her into alertness. Liyana tried again, straightening slowly. She wobbled as she walked forward, feeling like a newborn foal. Concentrating on each step, she clutched the cacti to her chest, determined not to drop them. The thorns pressed against the cloth but didn’t pierce her skin. By the time she reached the tent, she felt the ache of every muscle and bone.

Pia rushed out to greet her. “You were gone for hours!”

Liyana handed her the scarf full of cacti. “You were right. I care too much.” She crawled into the tent and slept without dreams.

* * *

Two days passed with no word from Korbyn or Fennik.

At dawn on the third day, Liyana shot out of the tent, thinking she had heard hoofbeats from the ridge. But the ridge was empty. A knot of brambles blew across the slope.

“Go fetch more water,” Raan said behind her.

“We have water,” Liyana said.

“You are driving us crazy with your worrying.”

Pia chimed in. “Occupy yourself. The hours will fly faster. Korbyn and Fennik’s mission will take time. First they must determine where the deities are. Next they must ascertain how they are being held. And last they need to know what will free our gods and goddesses from the false vessels. It will take time.” She sounded like a teacher, talking in a calm voice to an agitated child. “Fetch us enough water so that we may bathe.”

“Very well,” Liyana said curtly.

She stalked across the desert and didn’t stop until she found a massive clump of cacti. Filling these broad leaves would keep her occupied for several hours. Dropping onto the dirt, Liyana began.

Leaf by leaf Liyana filled the cacti until their skin felt taut with water and the sun was at its zenith. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck and dried in seconds. She gathered up the cacti to begin the trudge back to camp. She wanted the first bath. She thought she had a few flakes of soap left from her family’s pack. After that, though, she’d need to find a new task to distract her from the fear that made her feel as if her lungs had shrunk and her stomach had hardened into rock.

She wished she hadn’t let Korbyn convince her to stay. It had seemed sensible at the time. Fennik was essential for the ruse of horse traders, and Korbyn was ideal for reconnaissance. Bringing Liyana, Raan, and Pia would have been an unnecessary risk. But still . . .

A hundred yards from camp, Liyana heard a melody soar into the sky. Pia! But what was she thinking? Someone would hear her! Picking up her pace, Liyana hurried toward the camp—and then she stopped as the melody swelled louder.

Pia isn’t stupid, Liyana thought. She’s warning me.

Liyana ducked behind a group of boulders. She tried to calm her breathing. Slowly, breath by breath, she dropped into a trance. She pictured the lake, filled herself with magic, and then stretched her awareness toward the tent, careful not to overreach.

She felt the plants and the rocks, the wind and the heat. She felt the birds and the snakes and the scorpions . . . and the people. Six of them were by the grove of trees. All human.

Abruptly Liyana stuffed her soul back inside her body and released the excess magic. She was panting and dizzy from the effort of working a second magic so close on the heels of summoning water. Laying her forehead against the rocks, she caught her breath.

She had to help them! But how? Her magic wasn’t strong enough to do anything useful. Still clutching the cacti, Liyana listened as Pia’s song cut off.

Unable to wait any longer, she emerged and jogged toward the grove. She didn’t see anyone as she got closer. The camp was all still there—the fire pit with the still-smoldering embers, the packs with all their supplies, the hollowed-out cacti—but Pia and Raan were gone. The open tent flap billowed in the breeze. The sand around the tent was covered in footprints. From the way the sand was churned, Liyana guessed that one of them had fought. Maybe both. She didn’t see blood, and her chest loosened a little.

Please, let them be alive.

Dumping the cacti on the ground, Liyana ran toward the hill. She clambered up it. Staying low, she peeked over the ridge.

Down on the plain of golden grasses, she spotted them: four white-clad soldiers with the two desert girls. From this distance, they looked as tiny and fragile as dolls. She wished she could reach out and pluck them away to safety. What good is magic if you can’t save anyone? she thought. She should have stayed at the tent. Maybe she could have helped. Most likely she would have been caught too, but was being left behind truly better?

She watched them cross through the field toward the encampment. Pia had said that they wouldn’t be found unless the soldiers knew where to look. Korbyn and Fennik must have been caught.

Feeling sick, she sank back behind the hill and put her face in her hands. I failed them, Liyana thought. I failed everyone. All her companions were gone now, and she was alone, just as she had been all those weeks ago when her clan had walked away without her. She might as well have stayed in that oasis for all the good she had done.

Eventually Liyana returned to the tent. She crawled inside and curled into a ball. She thought of Jidali and her parents and Aunt Sabisa and Talu and all her cousins; of Runa, the magician of the Scorpion Clan; of Ilia of the Silk Clan; and of the Falcon Clan and their despair. She knew what that despair felt like now.

But she’d come so far! She’d crossed the desert. She’d survived two sandstorms. She’d caused a bush to bloom and water to fill cacti. She’d taught a god to dance. She could not simply declare defeat!

Forcing herself to sit up, Liyana pulled her pack closer. She searched through it until she found her ceremonial dress. She fingered the soft panels and let the fabric rub against her skin, which was worn from wind, sand, and sun. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she changed into the dress. She let the soft cloth fall around her like gentle rain. Using Pia’s brush, she combed her hair, braided it, and wound it onto her head. She tucked Jidali’s sky serpent knife into her sash, and she slung her waterskin over her shoulder.

Trickery had failed. Hiding hadn’t protected them. So she was going to try the direct approach. After all, what more did she have to lose?

Liyana crossed the last stretch of desert as the sun painted the west with splashes of rose and ocher. She climbed the hill without slowing. Her skirt swished around her legs. The dying sun prickled the back of her neck. She tried not to think about what was happening to Korbyn or to the others, or what had been done to Korbyn and Fennik to cause them to give up the location of their camp. She tried not to think how ill-conceived her plan was or how little chance it had to succeed. She stood on the crest of the hill and looked down at the empire’s army.

Her mouth felt dry. She licked her lips, and she took a sip of water. There were soldiers, white-clad specks between the tents. She saw guards on horseback riding back and forth on the perimeter. It would only be minutes before one of them spotted her, silhouetted against the dying sun. Legs trembling, she walked down toward the plain.

She strode into the tall, golden grasses. She let her arms sway by her sides, and she felt the tops of the dry grasses tickle her palms. This was the world beyond the desert. The air tasted the same, but she felt as if her whole body was screaming at her to turn and run.

She glanced behind her. Far away, above the sunset, she saw a sky serpent. He caught every color of the sunset in his glass-like scales. She wondered if these invaders saw how beautiful her desert was.

She had crossed halfway to the encampment before one of the soldiers thundered toward her. She stopped and waited for him. He had a bow aimed at her. “You trespass on the lands of the Crescent Empire!” he called.

“I am Liyana, the vessel of the goddess Bayla of the Goat Clan.” Liyana raised her arms so that her sleeves fell back to expose her tattoos. “I demand an audience with your emperor.”