The Bones of the Old Ones (Dabir and Asim) (11 page)

I heard Najya’s voice rise in a scream but was too busy to risk a backward glance. Gazi came on, his teeth exposed in a hateful smile. He feinted an overhead chop but I sidestepped and blocked the expected torso thrust. He rushed with a flurry of blows that included some strikes I never before had seen and barely kept off my flesh. His mouth slid into an arrogant sneer. Kharouf darted in to aid me and nearly had his head shorn off for his trouble; he threw himself to the side and still took a cut to the arm that sent blood flying.

I took the opening to slice mid-torso, but Gazi beat my strike aside. His grin widened, white teeth shining under his red mustache. “Too predictable,” he told me. I think he meant to say more, but he glanced suddenly to his left and his eyes widened almost comically. He parried another of my blows dismissively, then, as a frightened horse dashed past, the madman vaulted onto the beast. Gazi’s balance was obscenely perfect; not only did he land astride the mare, he somehow switched sword hands in the process to swing out at me. I dropped, and I heard his laughter as he galloped away. I shot to my feet and started after, but something frigid slid by and the sight of it stopped me short. It was a transparent woman all in white, radiating cold, her tattered garments and hair gliding out behind her as though she flew into a gusting wind. The ghostly form raced after him with outstretched arms even as Gazi fled through the open caravanserai doors.

I knew not what to make of that, but raised a hand warding off the evil eye and spun around to take in the scene.

Shouting soldiers strained at lead lines of curveting horses while strangers pointed and stared from a safe distance. Najya’s tent lay trampled near Kharouf, who struggled upright holding one blood-soaked sleeve, his eyes glazed with shock. I shouted for Abdul to tend him. It was then that I saw the black wooden ram with its spiraling horns, straining against ice that encased it from the shoulder down. And beyond that, gliding over the surface of the snow toward Najya, was a second snow witch. Najya pointed at it in fear with a shaking hand, gasping long and loud, and stopped just short of another scream.

It was easy to see why. The ghost’s face was her own, as if a sculptor had shaped it from snow and ice.

5

I stepped quickly between Najya and the ice ghost that mirrored her face, baring my teeth despite my own fear. But the thing did not attack. Instead it turned, gliding quickly for the stone wall of the caravanserai. The ghost struck it and passed through, leaving a spray of ice crystals and a dusting of frost upon the walls.

I turned, wrestling over all that I had witnessed. As an alarm bell rang I remembered that Najya had described a vision filled with ghosts that hunted men and understood with frightening clarity that her dreams did come true. Then I turned to Najya, who stood lance-stiff, her eyes wide and wild.

“Are you unharmed?” I asked her. “What happened? Where did the wooden snakes go?”

Dabir drew up beside me, the spear in hand. “She froze the snakes.” He swept a hand to his right and I saw then two long humps of ice through which the wooden snakes were partly visible. A few paces past them was a robed man, frozen from the waist down, his hands moving spasmodically as Gamal stared in horror from a few paces off. I’m not sure if it was the ice or something else that troubled my soldier, namely that the robed man’s hood had shaken free to reveal a smooth wooden oval in the place of a head.

“There were three man-shaped automatons,” Dabir told me grimly, “two snakes, and the ram. Najya froze all of but two of the wooden men. They fled once it was clear they wouldn’t win through.”

“‘Automaton’?” I asked.

“A Greek word—a device moving on its own.”

I grew conscious then of a trio of our soldiers staring openmouthed at us. I pivoted and pointed them to their mounts. “See which way the assassin rode off!”

They fell over themselves to obey, dashing past a few others who were still calming horses.

Najya’s breath steamed as her gaze shifted between Dabir and myself.

“This would have worked, Asim,” Dabir pronounced, shaking his head. “They sent in snakes to frighten the horses. Wooden soldiers to fight ours. A ram to charge me and presumably grab the spear. And Gazi, of course, to take Najya. But she froze almost all of them. She just gestured with her hands, and ice formed around their bodies.”

“I don’t know how,” she said, “and the women … when the men grabbed me I … those ghosts swirled up from the snow and attacked them … I was worried for you, Asim.”

Though she paused, she sounded as if she were about to faint from lack of breath. Seeing her thus filled me with pity, and I sheathed my sword and stepped close to her. “They are gone,” I said. “You are fine now.”

“But how did I do it?” She sounded guilt-ridden, panicky.

“We shall talk about that later.” Dabir offered her his waterskin, which she accepted numbly. “Sit at the fire for now and warm yourself. We’ll need to leave as soon as we can sort this out.”

She glanced desperately to me. “Dabir is right,” I told her. “You may not know what you did, but you saved us, and for that we are grateful.” I offered her a smile, and gestured to the embers of the fire. For the first time during any journey I wished that there were more women along, so that they could look after her properly.

It was then that the stewards of the caravanserai arrived, demanding explanation. Dabir did not like brandishing the caliph’s amulet in public, for he said it reduced freeborn men to slaves, but his patience was thin. The moment the owners raised their voices, he fished it from his robe via his neck chain. And soon the owners were bestowing salaams and such ridiculous apologies that Dabir was visibly embarrassed. They offered no more complaints, and insisted even upon reimbursing the money Dabir had paid for firewood and the rental of the space.

While Dabir dealt with them, I ordered Bishr and Ishaq to take axes to the ram—still quivering in its ice block—while Gamal and I handled the soldier; it was a little more challenging until we roped its arms to its sides. Before we were completely through, the soldiers I’d sent after Gazi returned. They reported him fleeing northwest, which was, naturally, our intended course.

We stopped hacking at Koury’s monsters once we had them down to the ice, reckoning that they were ruined enough—the pieces stopped moving once separated from the main body. We enlisted help to set bonfires around the snakes and surrounded them with ax-wielding spotters. By then Abdul had patched up Kharouf and readied a status report. We’d been very lucky. A few of the men had been bruised by the wooden soldiers, and one had been kicked in the shoulder by a horse, but only Kharouf was seriously injured. His deep slash had been sewn and bandaged. He would be near useless as a warrior for a while, though he could still stand watches.

Dabir and I conferenced briefly while the men readied our gear. He speculated that Koury must have been somewhere nearby, but wondered if he might be able to control the wooden creatures from a greater distance. There was no way to know. When I pointed out that Najya seemed to be controlling the spirit’s powers just fine, and to our benefit, he looked more troubled than pleased.

“For now,” he said. “The sooner we get to Jibril, the better.”

The journey of the next days was not so eventful, for there were no further encounters with any Sebitti. But we quickly learned that the snowfall was not an isolated storm, for it stretched on for miles, and miles. There was no end to it.

One good thing came of that fight. My men needed no warning to stay alert, and gave no trouble when I instructed them to wear their full armor from this point on, even though the metal was uncomfortable. I donned my own, an expensive linked shirt reinforced with stiff bands in key places, notably my shoulders. The armor was situated over my garments and under my cloak so that I did not feel its cold, but the thin metal coif dangling from the back and sides of my helm sometimes brushed my neck as we rode, like the icy breath of some djinn. Yet I’d had enough close head shots from Gazi that I tolerated the discomfort.

From then on, we looked, and probably felt, more martial. While I appreciated that the men took their duties even more seriously, I was troubled by the way they suspiciously eyed poor Najya. Homely Gamal especially was nervous in her presence, and I caught him making the sign against the evil eye whenever she looked his direction. Only steadfast Abdul had not changed his attitude.

It was not hard to understand their concern. The soldiers knew only that the governor had instructed them to safeguard us wherever we went, for the good of Mosul and the caliphate, and to kill the wizards—which we’d failed to do. They knew little of the bone spear, or the woman, but had now glimpsed potent magics from her and, at best, thought she had been cursed.

It is no good having the men in your command grumbling superstitiously, and when we stopped in a bare-bones caravanserai that night after our attack I gathered them to relate a little of the truth—that Najya had been imprisoned by the wizards we hunted and that the governor was sending us not only to stop them, but to free her of their spells. I thought to play to their vanity, for who would not want to aid a beautiful woman in overcoming villany? After I spoke, Abdul stood up and shamed them even better than I had done, mocking them first that they should be afraid of a woman and second that they should turn against someone in an hour of need. They promised then to be less wary of her.

Unfortunately the damage had been done, for Najya had seen their looks and overheard their muttering. She kept to herself and retired early to her tent. I thought at first she merely rested before taking up practice with me, but she did not emerge, so after prayers I went to stand beside the canvas.

“Najya,” I said, “I am ready to help your sword work.”

A long moment passed before her response, and I had to strain to hear her. “That will not be necessary,” she said.

“Aye, it is,” I answered. “I lost the wager.”

Her response was sharp. “I release you from the obligation.”

I sighed. “This is no time to sulk. You may well need to defend yourself. The dangers are greater even than we realized. Come out, and let me see your technique.”

So long was the delay that I thought I had missed another soft reply. But just as I was readying to prod her once more, she answered.

“I will be out shortly.”

Anyone who has waited on a woman knows they have a different understanding of time. I lingered for a while, listening to her rustle about, then warmed myself by performing a few sword forms.

The snow was gray under the light of the waxing moon, lacking only a fingernail from full. The crisp air caught in my lungs as I worked, and my breath misted as I changed my stances.

When Najya came forth I saw that she had left off her veil and that she wore only a light cloak over her dress. Her hair had been pulled back tightly, and she carried the sheathed sword I had found for her on the governor’s wall, one a few inches shorter than standard length.

“You will be cold,” I told her.

“I am fine,” she insisted curtly.

Sensing that she was in a difficult mood, I decided against further argument. “Come, then.”

I led her away from the circles of our men, who watched, curious, but did not speak.

We stopped twelve paces from where our horses were picketed, in the shadow of the caravanserai wall, the old stones of which stood a spear’s length higher than my head.

“Let me see your stances and strikes.”

Her chin rose defiantly. “You said that we would spar.”

“Not until we cover our blades. And not until I see your technique. Show me what you know.”

She stepped suddenly into a high guard, feet spread adequately, leading from her right. Najya showed me a strike, her hand level, then moved through middle and low stances, concluding finally with two overhead variations, one over her right shoulder, one over her left.

Clearly her father had drilled her many times, or her footwork would not be both instinctive and precise. “Why did you not lift directly over your head?” I asked.

“Father said I was not strong enough to make that strike worthwhile, and that I would be better to block over one shoulder or the other.”

“What of a trailing stance?”

“I have not practiced it as much. Father said it, too, required more strength.”

Her father had been correct. “What else did he tell you?”

“That most sword fights are over in the first strikes.”

“Anything else?”

“That I was unlikely to hold my own against a stronger opponent, and that I must be swift and accurate instead.”

Her father had the truth of it, and I reflected for a moment on the depth of his love, that he should so carefully work to give her these skills. “Most men rely on the power of their family to protect their women.”

“Father was not like most men. Sometimes he was on campaign for most of a year.” Pride rang in her voice now. “He used to tell my little brother I was more skilled than he.”

“I doubt your brother liked that.” I chuckled. “Forms are one thing. How well do you fight?”

“Shall I show you?” Once again her eyes flashed with amusement. She had cast off her dark mood like a cloak tossed down on a warm day.

“Shortly.” I passed over a thick strip of leather. “Wrap that about your blade.”

This she did, while I fastened one about my curved saber, then tied it carefully. I tucked it under one arm, then inspected the ties on her sword. Once more, I saw that she knew what she was about.

She grinned at me as I handed back her weapon. “Are you ready?”

“A moment. Let me first see your strikes.”

“I have already shown you.”

“I will call the blow, and you will attack. I will parry, and then call for another.”

She bowed her head in understanding. Then did we begin a simplified sparring exercise. Najya was hesitant at first, but soon we fell into a comfortable pattern. Once I was sure she could increase speed and maintain control, I told her to block. At first I informed her where I would strike, and then I varied, encouraging her to return my attacks. This she did, with growing speed. She performed well, though she lacked stamina, and before long I saw her panting. She raised an arm to wipe her forehead.