Travelers we had met on our journey warned of worsening sandstorms in the east and of nomads who sought out kings. One group of traders insisted they’d found a skull so large someone could live in it. “There was a si’la inside. Stay clear; it’s on your path,” the man told Amir, pointing at his map to a place where no route existed. Stifling laughter—there were no such things as shapeshifting creatures that lead nomads to their death—we sent the crazed men on their way.
Sixteen nights left of our journey, and we had encountered nothing. Wahir had blessed us, or all nomads were indeed mad.
Under the moon’s light, I saw more travelers approach from the north. While I had no expectation that their tales would differ at all from those who had come before them, I could not help but notice that they were different. They drew near so quickly, they were surely on horseback. They had not come from far.
“What are your orders?” Nassar said.
“Stop the caravan. I will go to meet them.”
Nassar called back to the soldiers and villagers behind us. The message carried through the people like a hatif.
With my mare Farasa’s reins in hand, I met Tamam at the front. Tamam was my best soldier, and swiftest with his blades. Broader than the palace bricks and taller than me by a hand, he intimidated with presence alone. When he saw me, he broke the line without a word and mounted Hassas.
There were three travelers awaiting us up ahead, all in dark cloaks with faces hidden in shadows. Their hands, too, were covered as they gripped the reins. Their mounts were a small desert breed, used to sparse grass.
“What do you seek?” I asked.
“Ah. A sea citizen, then,” the man at the center said, ignoring my question. The two who flanked him hummed with interest. The man’s voice was deeper than I expected from his small stature, and though I could see no weapons on either him or his companions, I placed my hand on the hilt of my sword. I could not discern where they were from.
Farasa was calm beneath me, but Tamam’s horse grew agitated—swishing her tail and moving her head from side to side. I loosened my fingers on Farasa’s rein, willing her to ignore whatever it was that Hassas found disturbing.
“Who are you?” I pressed.
“Desert dwellers, slaves to the sand. You might call us salt chasers.” He hissed the words.
Their act was leaving me with little patience. “You can see my face, but I cannot see yours. Respect would have you lower your hood.”
The flanking travelers moved to show their faces, but the man at the center raised his gloved hand to stop them. “I am the one who speaks.” He threw back his hood.
He did not appear as someone of the desert, despite his claim. His skin was as white as the polished stone in the throne room. As if he’d never seen the sun. His hair had been shorn to the scalp, and in the dim light, I could see the deep scars that arced across his skin with intentional design.
I wanted to turn from him, his face and bearing twisting my gut. “Why have you come to us?”
The man smiled now. “To see if you, too, bring promising accounts.” He turned to the rider at his left and nodded.
I was surprised to see that it was a woman who lowered her hood. She was more repulsive than the man—her scalp scarred and shorn the same, but she was so thin I felt that it was a skull I peered at in the night. Tamam whispered to Hassas as she backed away from the foreigners, growing more agitated. Their own horses stood still. Had I not seen their narrow chests heave, I would have thought them to be of stone.
“She doesn’t like us,” the woman said, watching Hassas. Her words rasped against her tongue and grated against my ears. Even Farasa chuffed at the sound.
Tamam grew impatient. “Promising accounts of what?” he asked.
“The return of the goddess,” she said, a smile leered across her hollow face. “We have been waiting for her. She told us to keep it safe until she has returned.” The words spilled out of her like blood from a slaughtered goat. “We’ve kept it safe in the keeper’s hands—we have done what the goddess has asked. For lifetimes, we have kept it safe waiting for her! And now we hear—”
“Kept what safe?” I asked.
She did not hesitate. “The box.”
“Ghurab!” the man in the center said, turning in his saddle to glare at the woman. She cowered.
“They could not take it, Wahas,” Ghurab said, finding again her will as she leaned toward him, scowling. “Even if they wanted to, they could not find it.” She smiled again, seeming pleased with what she had done. I cared not what they hid and what they sought. Ghurab continued, “People say the goddess walks amongst us again.”
Wahas turned to me. “Elders speak of a cricket that climbed into a treed nest and became a bird. At the desert’s edge, a man saw a griffon dive into the waves. She never resurfaced. A thirty-year ruler was lost in the south, and the sands shifted. What have you seen?”
I bristled. South was Alfaar’s settlement. He had been a thirty-year ruler. The “Salt King,” they had called him. His settlement was under my rule now—or Usman’s, who acted as ruler in my absence. Had these people been there, or, Sons, was that where they were headed?
“We have seen nothing,” I said. “So if that is all you seek, it is time you leave us.”
At last, the third traveler spoke. He did not remove his hood. “Can you spare some water? Or perhaps, something to eat? Our journey home is long.”
Nothing about their appearance suggested that they were incapable of fending for themselves in the desert, in spite of what they said, and their manner left me even more suspicious of their purpose. Tamam and I backed our horses away. Tamam shook his head. “We have nothing to spare.”
I tightened my grip on my sword, waiting for them to depart.
“We are poor travelers,” Ghurab said, her boasting transformed to begging. “Anything small.”
“No,” I said, lifting my sword from my waist. I edged forward, feeling the need to take blood, to protect my people and home. “Do not ask again.”
Wahas’s eyes widened when he saw my blade. “He does not carry the scimitar,” he whispered. “He is from the City.”
Ghurab said cheerily, “Madinat Almulihi.”
“Madinat Almulihi,” the hooded man repeated.
Wahas looked beyond me as if seeing the caravan for the first time. “If you are from the City . . .” He considered me, then Tamam. He looked south. “You must be the ones they spoke of. The slayer of their Salt King.” Wahas laughed. “Then the king is amongst you now.” With the slightest press of his heel against his horse, he moved closer.
“Do not come any nearer,” I said, again flashing my blade. Farasa moved toward him at my command. One swing and Wahas’ life would pour from his neck. Another and Ghurab would follow.
“You are the king.” Wahas whispered it, leaning toward me.
“Leave us,” I said, the tip of my blade a fist away from his cheek. Tamam followed suit and aimed his sword.
Finally, Wahas nudged his horse back.
“It is the City’s king!” Ghurab hissed.
I should kill them now. The moon glinted off the flat of my sword.
“Is there none upon the throne, then?” the hooded man asked gleefully. “When the king crosses the desert . . .”
I will kill them. Farasa stepped closer and closer.
“The goddess has returned! We must go back,” Wahas said finally, turning his horse. “Make haste!”
In a few breaths, their backs were to us as they fled.
Tamam waited for me: I felt the question. Do we kill them? His blade was still ready, Hassas’s muscles trembling as she waited for Tamam’s call.
“We let them go,” I said finally. Regret filled the space the words had left behind.
“I should have killed them,” I said, hating myself for seeking Nassar’s approval, but knowing I needed it all the same.
Nassar had an uncanny ability to understand the motives and ways of salt chasers. It was why my father often sent him for negotiations with those people. I would use Nassar for the same.
“They are no threat,” Nassar said when I finished telling him what had happened with the nomads.
“They left talking of the empty throne.”
“It is not empty,” Nassar said patiently. “Azim is there with your army, and he would sooner die than let anything else happen.” Like the death of my family.
My brother, who had always been quick to settle disputes with blade, would not have been so lenient with them. They would be dead, and I would be left without worry. His tactics might not be so barbaric.
“Saalim,” Nassar warned, as if he knew my thoughts. “These are salt chasers, not the army that attacked Almulihi.”
Ignoring Nassar, I squinted ahead. I could almost make out their silhouettes. It was not too late; I could follow them still. “I would rather not lose more civilians, nor the head of my army.”
The longer I considered it, the more I realized Nassar was wrong.
“We go now,” I called to Tamam. “They cannot live.”
“Careful,” Nassar hissed at my back as we left. “This is a mistake!”
Ignoring him, Tamam and I rode into the night, following their trail.
Though Nassar was angry, when I glanced back, he had lit the guide light. We would know where to return to when the deed was done.
Though I thought I could see them ahead, the faster we rode, the more trouble I had finding them. Staring at the ground, I saw three lines of hoof prints. We followed the trail until . . .
No.
Their tracks were gone. The sand looked as though it had never been touched. I stared at it, confused. A sand wind could not have passed through; we would have felt it.
I had failed, and now the nomads were gone with the knowledge that Almulihi was without a king.
I could not be responsible for more blood lost. This was too soon after the attack on Almulihi. The attack that had stolen my parents from me—the king and queen—and my sisters and brother. Was it these people who had tried to bring my home to its knees, who thought to steal from us our fortune? Visions of my home being invaded, of civilians and soldiers falling to the ground, and blood pooling between bricks clouded my mind.
“We will shorten our passage,” I said to Nassar when we’d returned.
“It is impossible.”
“We will find a way.” I went to the head of the caravan.
Although I wanted to believe Nassar’s plea that they were no threat, the nomads left threads of unease pulling at me.
Thinking of all I had lost brought to the surface a loneliness that clung like a shadow. It had been there since arriving in the Salt King’s settlement. It called to me—the fathomless darkness. Arriving home would settle it, at least in part. It had to.
We needed to expedite this journey. No matter the cost.
When we stopped at daybreak, the people talked. Some had seen my hurried chase across the sand, and they were drunk with curiosity, asking questions about who had come, what had happened.
“They have spent two dozen nights staring at sand and sky. This is a bit of excitement when there has been no change for so long,” Amir said, seated across from me. He stared at his map, the edges held down by piles of sand. Sighing, he said, “There is nothing we can do to safely speed up the journey.”
“We must.” I thought of Helena, who was set to arrive only days after we did. What would her family think of their daughter being queen of a threatened city?
Amir’s narrowed eyes angled at me briefly before returning to his map.
“There is a small oasis here.” He pointed to an isolated, marked area. The arcing lines that indicated the long-trusted trade routes did not cross through it. “But I do not know its condition. Going through this oasis might save us two or three days, but there is great risk if it is dry.”
“We take it.”
Amir exhaled, pouring the sand from his map, and began to roll the parchment. “I do not think it wise.”
“We tell everyone to ration food and water, to prepare if need be. There should be enough for us and for the horses to get by.”
He shook his head. “We’ll have no opportunity to fill stores before the change. If we’re to shorten the passage, we change course tonight. There’s nothing left to ration other than what remains in our barrels. People could die. Horses could die, even your Farasa.”
Our eyes met. He knew where to strike as Farasa had been given to me by my father when I was a young man, but I could not be swayed in this. “We will make do with the water stores we have left. We take the shorter route.” I rose and looked to the caravan. It was a calculated risk: Almulihi or these people. I could not place Almulihi’s value beneath my soldiers, these salt chasers, nor myself.
“It is reckless,” Amir called at my back.
More villagers than I expected had chosen to make the crossing to Almulihi—close to thirty. I could not blame them; their settlement was ragged. I had never seen so many worn and weary people in one place. Their numbers left us little room for mistakes. We had additional barrels for water stores, a number of extra camels, and enough preserved goods to make the planned journey decent for everyone, but still, it was not much. My soldiers had grown thin, and I, too, was tying my belt more tightly.
The sun had barely risen and already I could feel the sweat at my brow. It would be another miserable day. If it wasn’t worthwhile to make a swift return to Almulihi to safe-keep it from potential invaders, then at least we would sooner return to where there was movement to the wind, salt in the breeze, the coolness of stone streets. And no damned camels.
Walking down the caravan line, I checked that my men were comfortable. Those resting had made tents with their cloaks and sticks—the villagers had shown them this clever trick when they couldn’t find shade—and were sleeping beneath them.
My gaze traveled past the soldiers, and I searched each villager closely. Though I knew I should go back to my station, I did not.
I wanted to see her.
“Emel,” I whispered to myself. I liked the sound of her name when I said it.
After I had slain Alfaar, his family had wept and writhed and peered at me like the predator I was. Not Emel. She looked at me not with anger but with curiosity, almost an understanding. It was like she knew me. Why did she watch me that way? What was she seeing?
I thought I would never see her again, but then I learned she would join our caravan. Inside, I was excited as a boy when I saw her at our departure, but after all this time, I still found it impossible to approach her. I was a betrothed king, and she was the daughter of the man I’d conquered.
So far, she also maintained her distance from me. Did she think me an abject king? But the way she watched me created a palpable closeness—as if we shared a history—like I could reach out and examine whatever it was.
I clenched my fists.
Why did I think of her at all? Sons, she was just a salt chaser! Being drawn to her felt out of my control. Like there was something I was not understanding. This was shameful. I resolved to call for Dima as soon as I was home. A few nights spent with her would settle me until I wed Helena.
I tried to shake it off, shake her off, but it was an unquenched thirst, and it would burn until I could sate it.
Just beyond a cluster of yoked camels, Emel sat with her sister. I relaxed my fingers, watching her stare at her hands, her mouth downturned. I wanted to touch her, press my thumb to the edges of her lips.
A nearby soldier looked up from the horse he fed. His thin, shadowed face told me he was tired, hungry. “Is all well, my king?”
I shifted from foot to foot. King. That was my father. It was not me. Not yet. I still needed to earn that title after I had proven such a failure to my family, to Almulihi. How else could I fail? I thought of my decision to change course. “You heard of the planned route change?”
The soldier nodded slowly and glanced to the goatskin on his hip before looking back to the horse.
I turned from the soldier and strode toward Emel despite my better judgement. My heart quickened.
“Did you hear?” I asked, too loudly. At my question, the camel nearest to me startled and rose to its feet, the others following suit. I staggered back from them.
“Woah, woah,” Emel called, scrambling to grasp their lines. They tossed their heads and opened their mouths. I felt a fool as Emel tried to settle them herself. It was clear she did not have much more experience working with them than I had, and another salt chaser soon ran to take Emel’s place. He handled them with experienced hands, tutting and whistling, and pulled them from the line to settle.
Emel and I stood staring at each other. It felt as though it was just us standing there. I wanted it to be just us.
“I’m sorry, my king,” she said.
I stepped toward her. “Saalim.”
“I know.” Her eyes stayed on the ground.
Then say it. “Will you be able to ration?” I pointed to her goatskin.
She shook it. It was nearly full.
“You’ve drunk almost nothing. We’ve traveled all night.”
“It is easy to conserve when it’s cool.”
“Cool is not how I would have described last night.”
She smirked. “This is tepid compared to summer.” With dark, heavy robes she looked to be more comfortable under the high sun than I felt in my thin clothes.
I balked, imagining summer. Dirt layered on sweaty skin, the scent of dust and camel dung, buzzing flies sticking to my hands and face. No respite. I hoped I would never experience it myself.
She said, “But then, I was born to endure this.”
What else had she endured? I could not imagine her life as a daughter of Alfaar. The man had whored up his daughters to power-hungry men for his own gain. My sisters’ lives in Almulihi had been so different, so easy by comparison.
With effort, I said no more and continued down the caravan, checking on the soldiers.
As I walked back to the front, I tried to see Emel again. She was beneath her cloak tent, face in shadows, so I could not see if she watched me as well. Disappointed, I continued by. Pathetic, my brother would say if he were still alive.
And he would be right. Almulihi could be my only focus now.
Being out of this damned desert would clear my mind. I would build Wahir the grandest temple in all the world if it meant I would never have to step foot on this sand again.