Текст книги "Vessel"

Автор книги: Sarah Beth Durst

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

“Ah, the certainty of youth,” Runa said. “You care a lot about a clan that is not your own. I wonder. . . . Is this out of a sense of what is right or out of a fear that you may be wrong?”

Liyana thought of Jidali. Of Mother and Father. Of her cousins. She wasn’t wrong. “Will you do it for your people?” she asked. “Or if not for your people, then for Korbyn, for whatever he was to you and whatever you felt for him.”

Runa didn’t answer. She dunked her fingers into the honey again.

Liyana waited, wishing she could scream like Pia. She hated the taste of the air inside Runa’s tent. It was thick and smelled overly sweet. She felt as if the smell were pouring down her throat and permeating her skin. It made her skin itch, and she longed to run outside and let the desert wind scour her clean.

“Yes, I will,” Runa said at last. “But I will regret it, as will those who love you. And perhaps even Korbyn himself.”

* * *

Liyana fidgeted, and her horse shuffled beneath her. Up the hill, Runa was breaking the news to Raan, and Raan was not taking it well. Her reaction echoed through the camp.

Raan rattled off a string of expletives that caused Pia to wince. “You were wise to interfere, Liyana,” Pia said. “She will realize that this is the right course of action.”

More shouting, and then a crash. Raan had begun to throw pots and pans. “I am not certain she will realize that anytime soon,” Korbyn commented.

Liyana wondered how long they could afford to wait. She thought again of Jidali and how her clan must feel with despair pressing down on them.

“Do you think she’ll try to flee?” Pia asked.

“She won’t be allowed to jeopardize our mission,” Fennik said. “I’ll guard her myself.”

“But how will you prevent it?” Pia asked. “We cannot harm a vessel. Her deity needs her body to be pristine.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Liyana said.

Pia began to object.

“Her goddess only needs her alive and able to dance,” Liyana said. “If Raan tries to run . . . we blind her. She can’t run away if she can’t see where she runs.”

Pia paled.

“You are . . .” Korbyn paused, clearly searching for the appropriate adjective.

“Mother called me practical,” Liyana said. “Fennik, I am sick of delays. Will you fetch her? Carry her if you have to. And if she protests, we can tie her to a horse.”

“She isn’t going to like us very much,” Pia noted.

“I won’t let my family suffer because she wants to throw a temper tantrum,” Liyana said. She noticed Korbyn was staring at her. She refused to meet his eyes. She didn’t want to see what he thought of what she was saying. “We are leaving, whether she likes it or not. Fennik?”

Fennik strode toward the tent. A few minutes later, he emerged with a sullen Raan. His hand was clamped around her arm, and he was nearly dragging her.

Runa watched from on top of a rock. From where she stood, Liyana couldn’t read her expression. But she did notice that the clan’s warriors fanned out on either side of her. The rest of the clan huddled by their tents, watching and whispering. When Raan tried to run back toward Runa, the chieftess signaled to the warriors. Standing on the rocks all around the camp, the warriors raised their bows and spears.

Scooping Raan up as if she were Pia, Fennik lifted the Scorpion Clan’s vessel onto a horse. She kicked him once before she sank into the saddle.

“Fennik, tie her to the saddle,” Liyana said.

Raan shot her a glare. “Don’t. I will ride.”

No one spoke again as they rode out of the hills.

Slumped in her saddle, Raan refused to meet any of their eyes, which suited Liyana fine. One more vessel, Liyana thought. She wished she could urge her horse into a gallop and race across the desert to Bayla, wherever she was. Just one more. She hoped that the final vessel cooperated easily.

As the sun set and shadows stretched around them, they pressed on. By unspoken agreement, they wanted as many miles between them and the hills before they camped. On unfamiliar ground, Raan would be less likely to make an escape.

As the stars speckled the sky, they selected a stretch of baked clay punctuated by rocks and cacti to be their camp. Pia commenced her nightly ritual of brushing her white hair. Fennik tended the horses while Korbyn put himself in a trance to summon water and food. After drinking away their supplies in the wake of the failed ceremony, the Scorpion Clan had had little to spare.

Liyana pitched the tent and started the fire. All the while, she kept her eyes on Raan. The others, she noticed, did the same.

Huddled by the tent flap, Raan was glaring at Korbyn as he caused a bush to sprout leaves. “It sickens me,” Raan said. “Killing people so they can play at being human.”

Pia clucked her tongue but didn’t quit brushing her hair. “Without the gods, we’d perish. We need them to revitalize our clans—to fill our wells, bring life to our herds, and instill health in our children.”

“Or we could simply move somewhere we don’t need gods,” Raan said. “Move to where there’s water. And fertile land. Leave the desert.”

Pia dropped her brush.

Liyana heard the words but they sounded foreign. Leave the desert? But they were the desert people! She couldn’t imagine not feeling the sand beneath her feet or the wind tangling her hair or the heat searing her lungs. It was a part of how she breathed. Outside the desert . . . she’d shrivel like a ripe date in the sun.

Fennik had quit currying the horses. “If we leave, we lose ourselves.”

“Better than losing our lives,” Raan said.

“We’d lose our way of life!” Fennik said.

Raan snorted. “Oh, and that would be such a loss. Half my clan poisons themselves with alcohol. The other half works themselves to death trying to squeeze life out of dry rocks. We can’t heal our own sick. We can’t save our babies. I lost two sisters because my mother’s milk wouldn’t come. She didn’t have enough water to make milk. Yet her brother was drunk every night. He drank away my sisters’ lives. And you want to preserve this? Haven’t you ever wondered if there could be more out there? If life could be better?”

“I have all I could wish for,” Pia said. She resumed brushing her hair.

“This is a pointless conversation,” Liyana said. She tossed a handful of dried horse manure and then a clump of dried leaves onto the fire. The leaves crackled and fizzed. “Fennik’s right. We are the desert.” She wiped her hands clean and crossed to Korbyn. Dropping down next to him, she closed her eyes.

Picturing her lake, she inhaled. She felt the water fill her like the sweetest air in her lungs. She reached out toward the desert—her desert, her beautiful home that she would never leave because it was as much a part of her as her body and how dare Raan even consider leaving! How dare Runa even suggest that their choice was wrong! Liyana had spoken the truth—she was the desert! She was the sand. She was the sun overhead. She was the hot wind. She was the cracked earth and the rocks, the barren hills and the stone mountains. She was the brittle bush that held its strength coiled tight inside, waiting for the moment to unfurl its leaves. She was the snake that hunted for a desert mouse in the cooling evening air.

As if from a distance, Korbyn’s voice drifted toward her. She sensed him, a shimmer that spiked inside flesh, and she touched the other vessels, smooth swirls of energy within their bodies. She could tell the difference between mortal and divine souls, as Korbyn had claimed. “A snake hunts near us,” Korbyn said.

“I feel him,” Liyana said.

“Draw him closer.”

She felt the snake slither over the sand. It hitched its body sideways. Its tongue tasted the air. This way, she coaxed it. She felt the snake slither, felt the sand on the scales of her belly. She inched across the desert, closer, closer.

“Now think of the shape of your body and the feel of your own skin,” Korbyn said. “Reshape yourself inside your body, and release the excess magic.” She remembered the length of her arms and the curve of her legs. She felt sweat clinging to her back and prickling her armpits. She poured herself back inside her own skin. She imagined the excess magic flowing away from her, and she felt it dissipate.

Opening her eyes, she wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “Did it work?”

“You tell me.” He pointed.

Fennik raised his bow and aimed an arrow at the sand. The horses rolled their eyes and stamped their feet. Pia stroked the neck of the closest horse, cooing to it.

“I felt the magic,” Liyana said, awed. “I summoned it.”

The cobra reared.

Fennik released the arrow. It pinned the snake to the sand. He stared at it. So did Liyana, Raan, and Korbyn.

Raan found her voice first. “You . . . But you’re a vessel.”

“She finally did it,” Pia said. “Sacrilege.” But the word lacked heat.

“Tasty sacrilege,” Korbyn said, picking up the snake.

Liyana collapsed backward in the sand and smiled up at the stars.

* * *

At dawn Liyana used magic to locate tubers buried beneath the earth. She dug them up and had them shredded and fried before Korbyn finished summoning water. She also located a second snake, the mate to the prior night’s dinner. She failed to coax it into moving—she wasn’t strong enough to overcome its natural instinct to lie on a rock to soak in the early sun—but she was able to direct Fennik to it, increasing their food supply.

“Nicely done,” Korbyn said, handing her a full waterskin.

Liyana felt as though he’d handed her the moon.

“Keep the heads away from Raan,” Korbyn told Fennik. “We don’t need her getting any clever ideas about poison.”

“Unlike some, I don’t kill to get what I want,” Raan said.

Stiffly Pia swept toward the horses. She did not feel her way as she normally did, and Raan was forced to scoot backward. “Korbyn’s vessel was a sacrifice,” Pia said.

“Convincing someone that murder is justified doesn’t make it any less murder.”

Fennik hefted a saddle onto a horse. “In my clan, such talk would have gotten you punished a long time ago.” He cinched the saddle around the horse’s stomach.

“Ooh, the big, strong warrior is afraid of the truth.”

He strapped his bows onto the horse. One bow, two, three. He handled them as if he wanted to use them on Raan. “I don’t fear words. Or death. Only failure. That, I fear. But your fear . . . your fear will condemn your clan. Don’t you have anyone you care about other than yourself? What about your parents? Brothers or sisters? Cousins? Friends? What about the children in your clan? The babies? The not-yet-born?”

“She had sisters,” Pia said. “She said she had sisters who died as babies.”

Raan leaped to her feet. “I am thinking of them! You have no idea—”

“Enough,” Korbyn said. He sounded colder than Liyana had ever heard him sound. “I never expected to have to babysit humans. We’ve already lost more time than I’d planned.”

“What is your plan?” Raan asked. “Where are the deities? Who has them? How are they trapped? Can they be rescued? You could be leading us to our deaths while our clans wait and wither—”

Korbyn laid his hand on her shoulder, and Raan slumped to the ground. He then picked her up with more care than Liyana thought she would have, and he placed her in a saddle. He looped the reins around her so that she wouldn’t slide off while she slept.

Pia smiled brightly at them, the sky, and the desert in general. “The day has become so much more pleasant!” By feel, she located the horse that Fennik had saddled for her, and she mounted without assistance for the first time.

As they rode away from their campsite, Korbyn kept his horse beside the sleeping Raan. Liyana matched his pace. Once Fennik and Pia pulled into the lead, Liyana said, “Raan did raise valid questions in her rant.”

Korbyn nodded gravely. He then leaned and checked the strap that secured Raan to her mare. “To answer her: You follow me because I am charming. And yes, I do know where we are going.”

“You could share that information with us,” Liyana said.

He rode for a while without answering. She waited and watched the sand swirl in the wind as if twirled by an invisible finger. Finally he said, “Not yet.”

“You should trust us. We want what you want.”

He looked pointedly at Raan.

“She’s asleep,” Liyana said.

“Have I ever told you the story of how the parrot once cheated the raven? Once, the raven was a bird with jewel-colored feathers brilliant enough to dazzle the sun itself. The parrot, a drab, brown bird at the time, was jealous. . . .”

Jerking upright, Raan slammed her heels into Plum. The horse jolted forward, and Raan urged her into a gallop. She raced across the desert.

“She’s the parrot,” Korbyn said.

Fennik yanked his horse’s head in her direction, preparing to chase after her.

Korbyn stopped him. “Let her run,” he said. “It may make her feel better.”

Liyana watched the sand billow in the wake of Raan’s horse. She hoped that Raan didn’t allow Plum to overheat. “She’s heading toward her clan.” Without water for herself and her horse, she’d never make it.

“Poor Raan,” Pia said. “So much rage to so little effect.”

“What happened to the parrot?” Liyana asked.

“He plucked the raven, and then, fearing punishment, fled the desert to live in the rain forest. But once there, he discovered that he was no more beautiful than any other bird or flower. So every night, he flies above the forest canopy and pines for the desert he left.”

They watched the shadow of dust recede. “She will have to run very far to reach a rain forest,” Fennik commented. He dismounted and tended to the horses.

Setting up the tent, they rested in its shade. Liyana used her magic to corral several scorpions. Once she sliced off their tails, she added their bodies to their food supply. She buried the stingers.

Soon Korbyn pointed to a cloud on the horizon. “She’s returning.” Together, they watched her fight with the horse’s reins as a determined Plum bore down on their camp. Pia shared her tuber cake, and they each nibbled it as they waited for Raan and Plum to cross the sand. When the cake was gone, Fennik stretched out to full length and propped his legs up on a rock. Liyana rested her chin on her knees.

“You used magic on the horse,” Liyana said.

“I might have . . . influenced her,” Korbyn conceded.

“Clever.”

“Delighted you noticed.”

As she got closer, Raan shouted a string of obscenities at them. Pia gasped with each one. Fennik looked disgusted.

“Impressive vocabulary,” Korbyn said. “I feel as though I should take notes.”

“I think she’s making them up,” Liyana said. “Half of them are not anatomically possible.”

“And the rest is . . . ill-advised,” Pia said.

Continuing to curse them out, Raan dismounted. Liyana packed up camp while Fennik fussed over Plum. Once the mare had recovered enough, they rode on without a word to Raan.

Her second escape attempt came that night. She didn’t take a horse, and Fennik caught her before she’d made it a hundred yards. He carried her kicking back to the camp and deposited her inside the tent.

“Are you trying to make a point?” Liyana asked. “If so, we get it. You don’t want to be with us. Well, we don’t want to be with you either, but we aren’t about to condemn your entire clan because of your personality flaws.”

“My clan could find another way to survive,” Raan said.

“They won’t, though,” Liyana said. “None of our people will leave the desert.”

“You don’t know that. If you”—she glared at Korbyn—“hadn’t given them false hope, maybe they would. If I return, they’ll know hope is gone, and they’ll find another way. Maybe a better way!”

“There is no other way!” Liyana said. Her fists clenched, and she had to fight the urge to shake Raan. “We can’t survive the Great Drought without the deities!”

“If we leave the desert, we could escape it! We wouldn’t need the deities!” Raan said. “Why should we follow them? Why follow him?” She pointed at Korbyn.

He smiled coldly. “Because you don’t have a choice.” He then walked away from them. They watched his silhouette fade into the blackness of the desert night.

In a panic-filled voice, Pia asked, “Did he leave us?”

“He’ll return,” Liyana said. “I don’t think he has a choice either.”

Chapter Fourteen
The Emperor

Golden grasses snapped beneath the emperor’s feet. Holding his horse’s reins, he surveyed the plain. Already his soldiers spread throughout the grasses. With expert precision, they sliced the stalks to store for later—he’d been told they made adequate horse feed, though humans could not consume them. Other soldiers scurried behind, establishing rows in which to erect the tents.

Beyond the plain, the land sloped up into a ridge that ran north-south. A few twisty black trees crowned the peak of the nearest hill. Leaving his horse, he strode toward it. His guard followed him.

He nodded to soldiers as they passed, and they paused to bow to him. He heard voices, cheerful, around him. The mood was light—the march was, for now, finished—and they’d camp here until they had collected enough supplies to proceed. He kept his face pleasant to maintain the mood around him, but was grateful when he’d passed the last of the working men and women. His stomach was a hard knot inside him, and his heart thudded fast within his chest. He climbed the hill, and then he stood on top of the ridge.

He was here, the border of the Crescent Empire, the border of the desert.

The emperor gazed across the sands.

Brittle plants pockmarked the sand, bumps of brown and deep green in a spread of tan. Groves of leafless trees huddled in spots closer to the border. But beyond . . . the desert spread and stretched. He felt his hands begin to sweat as he absorbed the enormity of it all.

Far in the distance, the mountains seemed to crack the sky. He fixed his eyes on them. The lake was there. He could feel it deep inside with the kind of certainty that he normally reserved for proven facts. In the middle of this barren wasteland was his people’s best hope for survival.

His two best generals climbed onto the hilltop beside him.

“Hostile,” General Akkon observed.

“It is a wonder that anyone survives such an environment,” General Xevi agreed.

“And it is the source of that wonder that will save us,” the emperor said.

The two generals studied the desert and the outline of the mountains with him. “The desert people will not take kindly to our invasion of their land,” General Xevi said.

“Hence the army,” the emperor said dryly.

“They are rumored to be a highly superstitious people,” the general continued, as if the emperor hadn’t spoken. “To them, those are the forbidden mountains.”

The emperor knew this far better than the general did. But the general never spoke without purpose so the emperor allowed him his speech.

“You must be prepared for resistance,” General Xevi said.

“You think I am not?” the emperor said. “Again, I did bring an army.”

“I think you are young,” General Xevi said bluntly. “And the scouting party has not returned.”

The emperor switched his gaze from the mountains to his two generals. “We have not yet crossed the border. Do you believe that we should turn back? Turn away from the only hope, faint as you may believe it to be, that we have seen for the past three years? Return without the miracle our people need?”

“I believe that your miracle will come with blood,” General Xevi said. “And you must be ready to both spill it and have it be spilled.”

The emperor kept his face impassive, as always. “You believe I am not.”

General Akkon snorted. “You are not.”

The emperor studied the desert again. “I will be,” he said.

Chapter Fifteen

Five days later, shortly after dawn, they rode into the camp of the Falcon Clan.

Liyana breathed in the stench of rotted meat. Three falcons tore apart a carcass in front of a tent. The birds didn’t budge when Liyana and the others rode past.

Unlike the birds, the people of the Falcon Clan did notice them. Drawn from their tasks and their tents, the men, women, and children of the Falcon Clan emerged to stare at Liyana and the others. Liyana blinked, surprised to find tears in her eyes, as a boy about Jidali’s age ran past them. He clutched a leather ball in his arms. A mother called to the boy with the ball, and he ran to her. He peeked out at them with frightened eyes. His clothes hung loosely on his body.

All the people had feathers in their hair and sewn into their clothes. Most of the men and women wore thick, leather wraps around their wrists, shielding against sharp talons. The birds themselves were everywhere, perched on the tents and on twisted branches that had been driven deep into the sand.

Korbyn dismounted first and called out a greeting. Liyana, Fennik, Pia, and Raan followed suit. Fennik loosened the saddles and curried away the worst of the sweat and sand. More people drew closer to stare at the new arrivals.

“I don’t like this,” Raan said softly.

Liyana tried to smile at the boy with the ball. His mother hid him behind her skirt. Liyana noticed that he was one of only a few children. Surely, the clan had others. “At least they aren’t pointing arrows at us.”

“Something’s wrong here,” Raan said.

“What do you mean?” Pia asked, her voice as high as a mouse’s squeak.

Korbyn pressed his lips into a thin line. “We must be certain before we leave.”

“But we just arrived!” Pia objected.

Liyana studied the faces around them. Their eyes were hostile, their cheeks sunken, and their shoulders hunched. She wondered what they were thinking, if they saw them as more mouths to feed.

“We must speak with your vessel!” Fennik called to them.

As if his words were a knife to flint, the men and women of the Falcon Clan burst into whispers. Several of them ran toward the center of camp—presumably to spread word of their arrival and their request. At the sudden activity, one falcon shrieked a cry. It fanned its wings, but it was tethered to its perch.

“We have at least piqued their curiosity,” Korbyn murmured.

Liyana patted Gray Luck’s neck. The mare shifted from hoof to hoof as if she could sense the unease that permeated the air. These people were clearly uncomfortable with strangers.

Shuffling through the crowd, a man approached them. He bowed low. “We would be honored if you would share tea with our chief and chieftess.”

“See, that did not sound hostile,” Pia said softly.

Raan snorted.

“I’ll stay with the horses,” Fennik volunteered.

“Wise idea,” Korbyn said, and Liyana saw Fennik’s eyes widen at this compliment. She realized this was the first time that Korbyn had ever complimented Fennik. Perhaps Korbyn had finally quit seeing Sendar in Fennik.

Under her breath Raan added, “You might want to keep them ready.”

Liyana checked Gray Luck’s bridle, and then she patted her again before handing the reins to Fennik. She joined Korbyn, Raan, and Pia, and followed their guide across the camp.

When they reached the chief and chieftess’s tent, their guide halted. Korbyn strode inside without pause. The vessels followed.

Inside the tent, three people were seated around the cooking fire—an ancient man with a necklace of bird skulls and a man and woman who wore feather headdresses and ornate multicolored robes. A silver kettle warmed over the fire. The man with the skulls fetched a tray of silver cups. He laid them on a carpet and then poured tea in each.

“Welcome to our clan,” the chieftess said. She was a soft-spoken woman with thick coils of black and gray hair wound tightly against her scalp. Her headdress consisted of three rows of falcon feathers that dangled over her cheeks. “Share the water of life with us, steeped in the food of health.” Ceremonially she raised a cup of tea to her lips and sipped.

Korbyn sat cross-legged in front of her. “We thank you for your hospitality and bring greetings from across the desert, as well as from the Dreaming.” He selected a cup and sipped the tea. Liyana watched the ancient man’s eyes widen at the mention of the Dreaming. She guessed that that was not part of this clan’s traditional greeting. “I am Korbyn, god of the Raven Clan. My companions are Liyana, vessel of Bayla of the Goat Clan; Pia, vessel of Oyri of the Silk Clan; and Raan, vessel of Maara of the Scorpion Clan. Our companion, Fennik, vessel of Sendar of the Horse Clan, tends to our mounts.”

The chieftess’s hands shook. She laid her teacup on the tray, and she folded her hands in her lap as if to disguise the way they trembled. Liyana noticed that the old man’s eyes had widened so much that he resembled a horse about to bolt.

“Why have you come to us?” the chief asked.

“Five of the desert deities have been stolen from the Dreaming,” Korbyn said. His voice was even, and his face was expressionless. Liyana had an urge to hold his hand as if he needed comforting. She stayed behind him and didn’t speak. “We seek to return them to their rightful clans. Your god, Somayo, was one of them, and so we have come to ask your vessel to join us.”

The chief rose to his feet. Without speaking, he left the tent. The man with the bird skull necklace covered his face with his hands. The chieftess blanched but did not move.

Liyana felt a sick knot form in the base of her stomach. Please, no.

“How . . . how long ago was it?” Raan asked. Her voice was hushed.

The chieftess lowered her eyes and stared into the teacups. “Two nights ago.”

Oh, goddess, two nights! If she’d learned magic faster, if Pia’s tribe had believed them faster, if Raan hadn’t wasted time with her escapes, if Fennik’s father hadn’t stabbed Liyana . . .

“We didn’t know.” The old man’s voice was low and husky. “I should have. . . .”

“I do not understand,” Pia said.

Raan laid her hands on Pia’s shoulders and hauled her back toward the tent flap. “We’ll explain outside, princess. Liyana, help here?”

“I’m not a princess,” Pia said. She dug her feet into the carpets and resisted. Liyana grabbed her other arm, and together she and Raan propelled Pia out of the tent. “Ow, ow, ow! But the vessel!”

Outside, Liyana whispered in her ear, “They killed him.”

Pia gasped.

“Keep your face calm,” Raan ordered in her other ear. “We need to get out of here before it occurs to these people to blame us.”

“But we didn’t—” Pia began.

“It’s what people do, princess,” Raan said. She plastered a smile on her face and waved at the people who had gathered around the tent. Liyana did the same. “Better get Korbyn before they decide that any god will suffice.”

Pia gasped again. “They wouldn’t!”

“Return to Fennik,” Liyana said. “If Korbyn and I aren’t with you in three minutes, ride the horses through camp past this tent.” Releasing Pia, she walked back inside.

Inside, the chieftess was openly crying. Korbyn held her hands, trying to comfort her. The old man looked as if he’d been punched in the gut. He huddled on a cushion, holding his knees to his chest and looking at the roof of the tent with wild eyes. Liyana wondered if he was the vessel’s magician—or if he had been his executioner.

Liyana took a deep breath, marched across the tent, and pried the chieftess’s fingers off of Korbyn’s hands. “My clan is in Yubay,” she told the chieftess. “I recommend you join them there. Together, you can pool your resources until we rescue the deities.” She wondered what Korbyn had been telling her and hoped she hadn’t contradicted it. She decided she didn’t care. With Korbyn, she backed out of the tent.

Outside, men and women milled between the tents, filling the spaces. Their stares felt like arrows. Pulling Korbyn by the elbow, Liyana strode in the direction of the horses.

A woman with a baby in her arms rushed toward them. “Please, help my baby. She’s sick!” She thrust the baby at Korbyn. Korbyn stumbled as he caught the child.

As if the woman had ignited a spark inside the crowd, others pressed forward. “The well is nearly dry,” one man said. “A few more months, that’s all we need.”

“The birds . . . The eggs won’t hatch right. Please . . . If you help them . . .”

“I broke my leg. Can’t work.”

“My husband is ill. . . .”

“Can’t find our usual prey. Hunting has gone bad. The drought . . .”

They clustered closer. The mother of the baby was pushed toward the back of the crowd, and in Korbyn’s arms, the baby began to cry soft mewling sounds like a hurt kitten. A few began to push and shout as requests switched to demands. Liyana tried to force her way through.

She heard hoofbeats. “Get ready,” she told Korbyn.

The crowd broke apart as the horses thundered through. Fennik grabbed Liyana’s waist and yanked her up in front of him. Clutching the horse’s neck, she shot a look behind them to see Korbyn swing himself onto one of the other riderless horses. With a tight grip on the reins, Raan led Pia’s horse as Pia clung to her mare’s neck. They pounded through camp and burst out the other side. Men and women chased after them.

Several miles away, at Fennik’s signal, they slowed, and then stopped. Fennik dismounted and began to care for the horses. All the horses had foam around their mouths. Sweat glistened on their sand-coated hides, and their sides heaved. Dismounting also, Pia soothed them, cooing to them as she stroked their necks.

The baby whimpered.

“You have a baby!” Pia cried.

“Her mother said she was sick,” Korbyn said. He held the baby away from his body as if he were afraid that the baby would bite.

“You have to help it,” Pia said.

“Did you think I planned to leave it for the sand wolves?” Korbyn said. “Of course I’ll help it.” He slid off his horse. A dried-out cactus crunched under his feet.

“You should have given it back,” Liyana said. She tried not to look at it, tried not to care, but at the baby’s cries, she felt herself twist inside. She thought of the babies in her clan, of the ones who needed Bayla.

The baby cried louder. Her face squished and reddened.

Pia scooped the baby out of Korbyn’s arms. “Let me.” Pacing in a circle, she sang a lullaby. The baby quieted and then began to utter a string of nonsense syllables, as if she were singing with Pia.

Korbyn lowered himself to the ground. “Give it to me.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Liyana said. But she didn’t say it with any conviction. If Korbyn didn’t heal this baby, no one would. The baby’s god wasn’t coming.

Still crooning, Pia lowered the baby into Korbyn’s arms. Immediately the child wailed louder than before. Pia scooped her up again and sat close to Korbyn. “Will this work?” Singing, she calmed the baby. Her tiny, pudgy fingers wrapped around Pia’s white hair.