The Warring States (The Wave Trilogy) (50 page)

‘What’s—?’

‘Nothing to concern you,’ he said, tapping his camel on.
‘Hut, hut.’

Sofia let her mind wander, listening to the metronomic slap of the camels’ feet. If Arik spoke truly, the Great Drought had occurred when Bernoulli loosed the Wave on Rasenna. She was startled out of her ruminations by a sudden cold wind – the day’s heat had abandoned the desert quickly – as the sky flushed purple and the sun turned over like an old man going to sleep.

‘We’ll stop here,’ said Arik, hopping down. ‘In Akka – if you are who you say you are – they’ll give you a bed grand enough for a princess, and your dreams will go no higher than the ceiling. Here, they will reach to the stars.’

‘Huh,’ Sofia said. ‘All I remember from sleeping outdoors is waking with a sore back.’ She urged Safra on. ‘I’ll be back in a moment; I just want a closer look at that cloud.’

In an instant Arik had reached for Safra and grabbed her around the neck. ‘No!’ he cried, then, ‘The place is cursed, understand? Those who go there do not return.’

Arik tied up and watered the camels while Sofia went to find kindling – there was little scrub, but other travellers had stopped here in the past and the old, bleached camel dung left by their beasts was good fuel.

When she returned, she noticed Arik kept his back to the strange spinning cloud. She studied it surreptitiously, as though he had forbidden even sidelong glances.

‘This isn’t what I expected of the Holy Land,’ she said at last.

‘Holy Land,’
Arik repeated wryly as he added some twigs to the fire. From one of his goatskin bags he took a few ounces of flour and a little salt, then added a little water and kneaded the dough before dividing it into several little balls, which he flattened between the palms of his hands. He scooped out a bed in the sand, laid some hot embers in, then put some rocks on top. He place the rounds on the rocks, buried the lot with a thin layer of sand and scattered more embers on top. This done, he rubbed his hands together, looked up and asked, ‘What did you expect?’

There was no simple answer. The names of the mountains and rivers were the prayers of her childhood; in her head it occupied the same mental plane as Purgatory, Heaven and Hell. Just to be here was disorientating. Isabella spoke of a fairy-tale haven, but what a bleak world if this desolate husk was its centre.

Sofia smiled. ‘Milk and honey?’

The Ebionite laughed. ‘Sand and fire, more like. My people came through the desert to get here and now the desert has caught up. I sometimes think the fate of
that
place will be the fate of my people.’

‘What’s it called?’

He poked the fire critically. ‘Its name is too cursed to say. My father called it
The Place where the Jinn Consult
.’

His evasions didn’t impress Sofia. ‘It’s a city.’

Arik pulled a stick from the fire and blew upon it. The glow illuminated his face. ‘It
was
a city, like Iram of the Pillars, like Jericho, like Gomorrah, like Sodom. Wars were fought over such places – and now the desert has taken this one too, and it is welcome to it. You asked its name: once it had a thousand, and the wise men said, “That great number was evidence of its greatness.”’ He cleared the embers, dug up the bread and set it aside to cool. Then he looked over his shoulder at Sofia. ‘One of its names was Jerusalem,’ he spat.

He handed her some bread and she ate in silence. It was warm, and dry as dust. He gave her water, but took none himself. When she protested, he said they would find a well early tomorrow; until then, her need was greater. As Sofia drank, she pretended not to notice the wild dogs that chuckled and nattered in the dusk. They were just out of reach of the fire’s heat, but not of Arik’s sling.

Sofia had not just been searching for kindling; now, with the sail she had rescued from the beach, she set about fashioning
a combat banner. As she tested its snap, she wondered about Ezra, and whether he had drowned with Levi.

‘Curious weapon,’ said Arik, breaking into her reverie. ‘Highly impractical, I imagine.’

‘A chivalrous weapon, unlike your sling.’

His hand kept spinning and his eye never left the darkness. ‘Chivalry, yes – Queen Catrina mentions it frequently. It’s another layer of armour for knights. They murder the
fellahin
freely, but when they are captured they wish to be ransomed. Chivalry doesn’t limit war’s horror; it makes it endemic.
Yah!
’

Arik made the bravest of the dogs howl with a stone in the haunch. His accuracy in such poor light impressed her, but instead of complimenting him, she complained of riding pains.

Arik chewed a date, grinning. ‘You have not been
riding
. Safra is
carrying
you.’

‘Perhaps.’ Sofia laughed and looked though the fire’s dancing flames. The infinite night lay beyond the reach of its light. ‘Do you want it back, Arik?’

‘Jerusalem? Cities have brought only grief to my people. I want for nothing. Sleep well.’

‘Golden dreams.’

They breakfasted on dates and sugared tea. Sofia found the going more comfortable this time. She looked back before the abandoned city was out of sight: dust-devils spun lazily, making slow circles around the outskirts like sentries.

They rode though a steep-sided wadi. Sofia thought it a strange place to look for water: the smooth pebbles underfoot showed that a river had run here once, but there wasn’t a single shrub nor a trace of green now, and jagged rock-salt bled from the dried earth. At the end of the wadi was a boulder. Arik leapt down confidently. ‘There’s a cave here, and a drip at the back
known only to my father’s people. You will not like its taste, but it will keep us alive.’

He came out a minute later with his waterskins still empty, looking subdued. As he mounted his camel he said quietly, ‘It was choked with sand. I dug it out, but …’ He was obviously disconcerted. ‘I’ve never known it to run dry.’

Before she could say anything he’d pulled up and was staring westwards. She followed the direction of his eyes. ‘What?’

‘Between those blue mountains. The dust.’

‘Riders?’

‘Five Sicarii, coming fast.’

‘I’m slowing you down,’ Sofia said.

‘Yes,’ he admitted, ‘and even if we could outride them, without water you’ll die. Since you’re a woman there’s a chance – small, admittedly – that they will sell you.’

‘They’ll kill you for certain.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then go – leave me.’

‘I cannot.’ He smiled. ‘And even if it were permitted, I would think twice.’

Sofia grinned. ‘I’m ready to fight if you are.’

‘If we must, we must – but we can at least choose better terrain than this.’

They climbed up out of the wadi and dismounted, and watched the men approaching. Arik had been right: there were five of them, and when they saw they were observed, they slowed their pace. At their head was a cheerful-looking villain with curiously white teeth and a long beard knotted with dirt.

‘Shalom,’
he called.

Arik occupied himself straightening his saddle-kit before looking up and saying casually,
‘Aleikhem shalom.’

‘Truly that Queen found a loyal slave in you, Arik Ben Uriah.’

‘I’m no one’s slave,’ said Arik coldly.

‘You are a thorn in your brother’s foot. He yearns to see you again.’ These were the compliments of a butcher praising a calf. He turned to the youngest of the party. ‘Tell Yusuf that we’ve found his dog of a brother, and another
Franj
.’ Without a word, the boy turned and rode off to the west.

Arik said, ‘Then you found someone else near the wreck on the beach?’

‘He tried running. Not a bad swordsman.’

‘Levi!’ Sofia said, then looked at Arik. ‘What is it?’

The boy had not got far; now he stopped and started warily backing away. As Arik and the Ebionites watched apprehensively, suddenly rider and camel both shot into the air and tumbled there for a few seconds as if weightless before crashing down with a dismal, abruptly terminated roar. A cloud of enraged dust erupted like a swarm of hornets and the Jinni approached at an impossible speed: a tall column trailing a swirling dust-cloud at its base. Arik grabbed his saddle blanket and threw himself over Sofia, shouting, ‘Get down!’

Sofia squirmed under his weight. ‘Get off me!’

‘Be still, woman! I’m trying to save you—’

Daylight ceased and they were enveloped by a throbbing like the collective scream of battle. The sand-laden wind wept and battered against them rhythmically and Sofia gritted her teeth while Arik chanted, ‘No God but God, no God but God, no—’

They heard hoarse screams, and mangled oaths as the howl shattered into shrieks and then – all at once – was gone. Arik moved fast, whipping off the cloak, pushing aside the sand that had almost buried them. It was hard to see; the air was heavy with dust. One of the Sicarii had the same idea, but his legs were buried, and he could not avoid Arik’s dive, or his dagger. The dying man grabbed hold of Arik’s hands.

A second Sicarii, the one with the long beard, was up now. He saw Arik struggling and stepped stealthily over Sofia – who
thrust her flag between his legs. He bent over, groaning, and she got to her feet and followed up with an overhead blow to the back of his neck. The sharp crack made Arik turn and he nodded at her. ‘The others? There were five.’

One they found still sitting on his camel, ready to ride. Sand filled his mouth and nostrils, his ears and eyes. The man’s camel opened its eyes and moaned despairingly. It shook the sand from its ears and the body slumped and fell off. ‘He was too slow,’ Arik said dismissively. He scanned the sand carefully, stopped at a slightly raised spot and plunged in his hand. He pulled out a foot. ‘And this one, unlucky. It might have been us, but now, God be praised, we have water.’

Sofia ignored the outstretched waterskin. ‘Let’s get Levi.’

‘Folly. Drink before you collapse. Besides, they will not keep a Frank alive.’

‘But there’s a chance! Your honour wouldn’t let you abandon me, so I cannot abandon a friend I know is alive – do you understand?’

‘Drink,’ he said.

‘Say you’ll help.’

‘You’ve already proven your courage. This is only demonstrating stupidity. Which would you water first, a horse or a camel? You come from a land where water hangs in the air; you’ve been shipwrecked, riding and fighting. Drink … and we shall find your friend.’

Sofia drank. It was warm and briny, but she had never tasted better water. At last she wiped her mouth and gulped air. ‘So let’s go.’

Now it was Sofia who rode ahead. No aches or sore muscles now; there was a chance, however small, that Levi was alive and nothing mattered but that.

After an hour Arik insisted she stop again to drink, and as she took the waterskin, she said, ‘That bandit back there: he said Yusuf wanted rid of you.’

‘My brother, may God blacken his face.’

‘Why are you not with them?’

‘I would not disgrace myself,’ Arik said haughtily. ‘Our father was Uriah ben Sinan, leader of the Issachar. We were the most powerful tribe in the Sands, until the Akkans decided to make an example of us. They called a conference. My father was not a credulous man, but he trusted them to respect a truce – mistakenly, it turned out. Most of his men were slaughtered.’

‘The other tribes did nothing?’ Sofia said.

‘On the contrary.’ Arik’s shoulders shook in a joyless laugh. ‘You saw how hyenas treat their wounded last night? That is Ebionite solidarity. The Issachar who escaped the massacre died by the blades of the Gad, the Zebulun, the Benjaminites, the Napthtali; of all my father’s sons, only Yusuf and I survived. We went to the caves and slowly collected together what was left of the Issachar. My brother called them his “Sicarii”. You know this word? They were the Prophetess’ most devout—’

‘I know the Gospel,’ Sofia said angrily.

‘Peace! I scarce know what you barbarians believe. In any
case, all my brother’s band has in common with the true Sicarii is a name. Their hand is against
every
man.’

‘Why did you leave?’

‘Experience made my brother suspicious, a useful trait in a bandit—’

‘—if not a king. If the Sicarii are the remnants of the Issachar, then surely they owe you allegiance as much as your brother?’

‘True, but irrelevant. No king’s siblings survive long when he views them as a threat,’ said Arik. ‘Besides, I do not want anyone’s allegiance. The prophet Samuel was right: men are better off without kings.’ He slapped his camel’s neck. ‘This is the correct throne for Ebionites, better than any gilded chamberpot. It gives me speed to outpace my enemies, vantage to survey the terrain, and when I am weak, its blood gives me succour …’ Arik’s proud speech dwindled to silence.

‘What is it?’

‘Truly the
Franj
are blind as babes. Look beyond that hill.’

‘The buzzards?’

‘Come on! We may be too late.
Hut! Hut!’