On Fire’s Wings (24 page)

Other guards were coming. “Go!” Jashemi cried.

“Not without you!” Kevla screamed, reaching a hand down to him. Her once-carefully guarded expression was as naked as her body now, and in it he saw love and fear commingled. His heart surged. With renewed strength, Jashemi twisted in the guard's grip, turned sharply, and yanked the man's arm behind his back. The guard cried out and dropped like a stone. In an instant, Jashemi had leaped onto the
sa'abah
, pulled its head around, and sped down the road, Kevla behind him holding on for dear life.

 

Tahmu watched them go. Emotions warred within him: relief that Kevla was alive, pride in his son for rescuing his sister, worry that he had permitted a demon to live.

“What are you doing?” snarled Yeshi in his ear. She was furious, her color high, her teeth bared. “Go after them!”

“Yeshi, I—”

She swore, then composed herself. Very loudly, she said, “Yes, my husband, you are right!”

Tahmu stared at her, not comprehending.

“You and your Second must indeed make haste and ride after the
kuli.
She has turned the flames to be her allies; you must kill her yourselves.”

Tahmu couldn't believe what he was hearing, but what she said next took the breath out of him.

“And what is truly tragic is that she has obviously cursed our beautiful son Jashemi as well,” Yeshi said theatrically. “Now, he, too, must die.”

He could only stare. Had be truly been so blind as to not see what hatred of her former rival had done to her? Could she really have sunk so deeply into her jealousy and pain that she would condemn not only Kevla, but the son she had once loved above all things?

“They are no longer children,” she continued, “but things of evil. If they are permitted to go free, think of the harm they will do! My husband, painful as it is, you must slay both of them. Otherwise, anything they do will be your responsibility. The other clans will blame the Clan of Four Waters, and they will unite against you and bring you down.”

She smiled then, a satisfied, hateful smile, and he wished he could strike her down where she stood.

How could he hunt his own children, murder them in cold blood? No ordinary person could command fire, or have survived such a conflagration unscathed, this much was true. Also true was that in freeing his condemned sister, Jashemi had gone against the law and his life was forfeit. Yet the girl who admitted her own guilt seemed so unlike a demon that he wondered if perhaps Sahlik was right—that this had nothing to do with
kulis
and everything to do with a warning.

The Dragon was angry with Tahmu, that much was certain, but for what? Conceiving Kevla out of wedlock? Bringing her to the House? Marrying Yeshi and not Keishla? He had done so many things he thought right, but that felt wrong. The opposite was true, as well. How could he atone when he did not know which was the true sin?

Confusion whirled in his brain, but there was one thing that stood out above all else: he loved his children. Kevla had given him reason enough to condemn her, according to their laws. And yet, fire was the Dragon's symbol. Was the Dragon protecting the girl, or issuing a challenge to Tahmu? Surely, the Dragon would not want Tahmu to slay his own progeny—or would it?

If he did not pursue them, his people would turn on him. They were frightened; he needed to allay the fears that his wife had stirred up in them. He would hunt his children. But that did not mean he needed to find them.

“Yeshi,” he whispered, bending in as if to kiss her, “you are dead to me with these words.”

Straightening, he said aloud, “My wife is right. Jashemi and Kevla must be found…and killed.” His voice broke on the last word and he dared say no more.

He moved forward, heading for the corral to find a
sa'abah
. His way was blocked by the figure of a small, old woman. She was the last person Tahmu wanted to see right now.

“Sahlik, out of my way,” he warned.

She stood her ground and looked up at him. “I will not move,” she said, “until you refute what you have just said.”

“The Clan—”

“You know in your heart that Kevla is not a demon! And Jashemi is only being a good brother to his sister. His mind is his own, as are his actions. Do not go after them, Tahmu, or you will regret it for the rest of your life!”

“I must,” he said, trying to push past her.

Then Sahlik did something she had never done to him before. Slowly, with difficulty, she lowered herself to her hands and knees and bent her gray head into the dirt. One gnarled hand reached to touch his sandal imploringly.

“Great Tahmu,” she said, her voice trembling, “I beg of you. I
beg
of you. Let the children go.”

“It is not my wish,” he said, kneeling and lifting her up gently. “You of all people know that, Sahlik. But they are my responsibility, both of them. I sired them, and they have been cursed by
kulis.
If I skirt this, if I let them go because they are my children, any who are not content in the Clan will turn on me. The Clan will be ripped apart.”

Sahlik's old body shook with one violent sob. Then she lifted her head, and her eyes blazed. Before he realized what she was doing, she had reached for the ceremonial knife he always carried. For a wild instant he thought she would try to attack him, but instead she shoved up the sleeve of her
rhia
, baring her forearm, exposing the four old scars that marked her place in the household. Looking defiantly into the eyes of her lord, she sliced into her own arm with his blade, cutting a fifth score and emphatically ending over fifty years of service to the House of Four Waters.

Sahlik spat on the ground, looked at Tahmu with contempt, and tossed the knife to the earth. Her head high, blood dripping from the cut that marked her as a free woman, Sahlik turned and strode out the gates.

Tahmu watched her go, raising a commanding hand when one of the guards would have stopped her. He was beyond anger, rage, grief. He knew only a deep, profound sorrow that made him feel older than Sahlik.

I would I were a lesser man,
he thought.

“Bring
sa'abahs
and weapons,” he said to the guard who had appeared at his elbow. “We ride after the
kulis
.”

K
evla clung to Jashemi, her skin, protected only by the shade of the
sa'abah's
tail, exposed to the sun and wind, and tightened her lips against the increasing thirst. How long they rode without stopping, she did not know. Neither of them spoke; the brutal pace of their flight did not lend itself to conversation. She had experienced a rush of joy at his unexpected appearance and her salvation, but the euphoria had faded and fearful thoughts were taking its place.

Jashemi had left the main road early, as if he had a specific destination in mind. He was riding toward the mountains, and at one point Kevla caught a bright gleam in the distance. She knew what it was: the sun flashing off the large golden disk that marked the site of the Clan of Four Water's altar to the Great Dragon.

She thought about her dreams, and trembled, tightening her grip around Jashemi's waist. They had transgressed, both of them. The Great Dragon, the strict keeper of the laws and traditions of their people, would exact punishment.

After they had passed the altar, Jashemi guided the
sa'abah
westward. The creature climbed the small hills at the foot of the mountain. But the beast was tiring, and the hills grew increasingly steep.

Jashemi brought the
sa'abah
to a halt and slipped off. Not looking at Kevla, he held up a hand to indicate that she should stay mounted. He tugged off his
rhia
and stood clad only in breeches. He handed the garment up to her.

“Put this on, and then dismount,” he said. “It will be easier if we walk.”

Surprised by the blunt tone of his voice, she did as he instructed. He reached to help her down and as her bare feet touched the warmed earth, their bodies were but a hand's width apart. She risked a look up at him and saw an expression in his eyes she could not comprehend. He touched her cheek with his forefinger, gently, then turned and grasped the
sa'abah's
lead.

“Come. This way.”

She followed him down a tricky patch of stones and was glad that she was no longer riding. The
sa'abah's
long, powerful toes found secure grips, but it would have been thrown off balance with two riders atop its back.

Suddenly, Jashemi stopped so abruptly she almost walked into him. He looked back, puzzled, then smiled. Her heart lifted to see that expression on his face.

“I walked right past it,” he said. “Good. No one who doesn't know what to look for will find it.”

He retraced his steps and Kevla now saw, hidden by an apparently random group of stones, a narrow entrance into the mountain.

“The
sa'abah
won't want to go in,” Jashemi said. “Hold him, Kevla.” She did so and he slipped inside, reappearing a moment later with hands that were cupped to hold—

“Water!” she cried.

“Yes,” he said. “There's a natural spring in here. I found this place when I was a boy.” He held out his dripping hands to the creature. Its long purple tongue crept out and lapped the precious liquid, and when Jashemi coaxed it with soft words, it sniffed, scented the water, and hesitantly entered the cave.

Kevla followed, stepping into a cool darkness that was startling after the glare of the sun. It took her several blinks before her eyes adjusted. The cave wasn't large, and the little spring was nothing compared to the luxurious pool at the House of Four Waters. But the cave was big enough for the three of them, and it had water.

Kevla rushed toward the pool and began to drink. Jashemi and the
sa'abah
joined her. Kevla splashed some on her face and closed her eyes at how good it felt.

“I'm sorry I have no food,” Jashemi said as he leaned back against the stone wall. “But at least there is water.”

Kevla looked down at her wet hands. She did not know where to begin. The
sa'abah,
its thirst slaked for the moment, loped back toward the entrance of the cave, settled its bulk down, and closed its eyes.

“You may bathe if you like,” he said. When she hesitated, he said, “I'll turn around.”

“It's not that,” she began, “but Jashemi, you—”

The odd look on his face stopped her. “Wash, Kevla,” he said gently. “We'll talk afterward.”

He turned around as he had promised. Kevla felt utterly miserable. Everything had changed so suddenly, and so completely. She was alive because of Jashemi, but she had never wanted him to be put at risk.

She did not immerse herself, but stood and sluiced down her sun-heated skin with the cool fluid as best she could. She felt a little better, a little cleaner, and shrugged into the
rhia
. “I am done, my lord,” she said softly. He whirled as if stung, and this time she had no trouble reading his expression. He was angry.

“Don't call me that!”

Startled and hurt by the outburst, Kevla went to sit with the
sa'abah
while Jashemi took his turn in the pool. She heard him splash in the water. Finally, he said, “You can turn around now.”

She turned and looked at him. The fine fabric of his breeches clung to his damp legs. His torso glistened in the faint light and his dark, wet hair curled.

Seldom had she beheld him so, out of his well-made clothing, without a kerchief or wrap around his head. She remembered when he had been a boy, come home from his first battle, the first time he had taken a life. She had seen the healing scar that snaked across his chest and had held him while he wept. That scar had faded now, but new ones had joined it, marring the otherwise smooth, brown skin. His body was beautifully fashioned, his chest broad, his hips narrow. A thin trail of dark hair traveled from his belly and disappeared into his breeches, and she averted her eyes.

Kevla understood how men were made. Her mother had seen to it that Kevla knew just about all there was to know about how men and women came together. But knowing something and seeing it, or even imagining it—that was something different.

He padded over to her and sat. “Kevla,” he said gently, “tell me what happened.”

“I didn't mean to hurt the
khashima,
” she said.

His eyes widened slightly. “I am sure you didn't, but…she was hurt? Was it bad?”

Kevla took a deep breath, and as calmly as she could she explained what had happened. He listened without interrupting, his eyes fastened on her face, nodding from time to time. When she had finished, she pulled her knees into her chest and clasped them. He put a strong hand on her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly, then let it fall.

“I, too, have had something happen to me,” he said. “I have learned that I am not alone in my dreaming. We all stayed quiet for fear we would be condemned. There is an army of an Emperor gathering force on the other side of the mountains. His standard has a strange creature on it called a ki-lyn. I have seen this beast in my dreams. Many have died. I am doing what I can to unite the clans and stand against this, and I know that somehow my dreams and your abilities have manifested at this time for this reason—to protect our people.”

She buried her face in her arms. “I wish I could believe you. I wish I did not have these powers.”

“Kevla, look at me.” She did and found him smiling. His gaze seemed to bore right through her. Why was it so hard to breathe?

“I know,” he said, slowly and deliberately, “that your powers are not from the
kulis
, any more than my dreams are. I know you only wanted to save our—our Clan leader. There is nothing evil about you.” He reached to brush a strand of damp hair from her face. “Nothing.”

Tears filled her eyes and blurred her vision. “Oh, Jashemi,” she said thickly, “I am so sorry. Your father will be angry with you for helping me.”

A shadow fell over his face and he looked away. A terrible suspicion filled her. “Jashemi,” she said slowly. “Jashemi, what will happen to you?”

He sighed heavily. “He will disown me. I will be Jashemi Bai-kha, who has no father or mother. And he will track us down until he finds us and puts us both to death.”

Kevla's hand went to her mouth, and for a moment she couldn't speak. Then a cry burst from her.

“No!” she screamed. “No! I will not be the one to bring this on you!” She leaped to her feet and reached for the
sa'abah
.

“What are you doing?” Jashemi's hand closed on her arm.

“I'm going to ride back to the House,” she said. “Persuade him to take you back. If they have me they won't need to kill you, too.”

“But you'll die!”

“Better that than live with having done this to you!”

He had both her wrists now. She struggled against him. Why had he come for her?
Why?

“Kevla, listen to me!” He shook her roughly. “
Listen!
I knew exactly what would happen! I chose this! I saw that you were in trouble and I came. I had to because—” His voice broke and then softly he said, “Because I love you.”

She stared at him, stunned. He released her and went to the other side of the cave, not looking at her. Sighing, he sat down and put his head in his hands.

“I should not have said that,” he said. “For many reasons. Kevla, there is something I have to tell you. Something I should have told you long ago.”

The tone of his voice filled her with dread. “I don't want to hear it,” she said.

“Kevla—”

“No.” She rushed to his side and dropped down beside him. “You have a wife, Jashemi.”

“Not any more. Not now. I am dead to her.” He didn't look at her. “And I did not love her. On our wedding night, when we—when I—all I could think of was how much I wished it was you instead. She deserves better.”

“Oh,” said Kevla, weakly.

“And when they came for you—I saw you, as if you were right there. You were in trouble.” He shrugged. “I came. I could have done nothing else.”

 

He knew he spoke the truth. He could no more have refused to ride to her than he could have grasped the sun in his fist. The bond that he had sensed between them the moment they had first locked gazes at the feast had only strengthened with time. It was stronger than a blood tie; stronger even than a love bond. He was a part of her, and she of him.

He had intended to tell her of their common parentage. Instead, what had come out was a confession of a love that should never have been.

Jashemi tried again. “Kevla, we—”

“Are bound to each other,” she whispered. At the tone of her voice, he looked up at her.

“But how could that be? I tried to resist it. You were the
khashim's
son, and I a lowly Bai-sha. There was no way in the world that we could be together, and so I did not even dare dream of it. Yet you kept pushing, kept creating ways for us to be together. So I saw you in secret, touched your hand, embraced you when you wept.” She smiled slightly. “Played
Shamizan
with you. And I convinced myself to be content with that.”

A terrible, wonderful hope rose in him, a hope that made him feel weak and powerful at the same time. It was possible, now….

“But you are no longer a
khashim's
son,” she continued. She moved toward him, sat down beside him. His throat was dry and he could not speak. “The world has changed. There is no life for us here, only death. You speak of a land over the mountains—we could go there, Jashemi. We could go there and start again.”

Kevla's gaze held him. “We have nothing left but each other. Am…am I being a fool to think that we have that?”

He shook his head, still unable to find words. Licking dry lips, he said hoarsely, “No.”

She held out her hand to him and he took it. Palm to palm, fingers slowly entwining, Jashemi trembled from even this simple touch. He had held her before, but everything was different now.

As they gazed into one another's eyes, Jashemi made his decision. He would not tell her. He couldn't, not now that he knew she loved him in return. There was no need for her to know that she was his half sister. All who cared about such things considered them already dead. Jashemi would not let this stand in the way of their happiness. Surely, even the Great Dragon would feel they had suffered enough.

Slowly, she brought his hand between her breasts as she leaned forward and placed her hand over his heart. He felt her heartbeat, strong and fast, against his fingers, and knew she could feel his own heart racing. He covered her hand with his, pressing her fingers into his smooth skin.

Kevla moved closer, kissing his hand with soft lips and then releasing it. Her fingers traveled over his chest, caressing the old and new scars, brushing his unshaven cheeks, slowly discovering him. When she ran a finger over his lips he jumped, nerves on fire. A smile touched her face, and he knew that for the first time she was experiencing the power a woman had over the man who loved her. It was impossible for him to resist touching her in return. He ran his fingers through her thick hair, savoring its softness even as he gently undid the snarls the wind had wrought.