Something nudged me back and forth and back and forth. I was on a ship again, watching fire paint the sky. Back and forth. Light was bleeding in, water seeping into a poorly oiled tent. Slowly, then faster. It flooded me until my eyes fluttered open.
An empty room. The woman’s home.
With the realization of where I was came my fear for Saalim. How had I let myself fall asleep? I sat up gasping.
“Oh,” Saalim said quietly, quickly.
I twisted to face him.
He was there. There right in front of me. He was sitting up, and though he looked tired, he looked . . . well.
“Saalim?!” My voice fractured on his name, my hands moving to my mouth.
He held his finger to his lips and nodded toward the entrance. They were sleeping outside.
“How long have you been awake?” I scooted closer, my greedy eyes flitting over him, checking to see how he moved and breathed. The color of his skin, the strength in his hands, and finally his wound. It was covered still, but the way he held his leg made me wonder . . . no, it could not have healed that quickly.
“Since dawn.” He told me I was sleeping so heavily, he had not the heart to wake me. His men told him what happened. Apparently he remembered little.
“The woman has not returned?”
He shook his head, leaning back onto his hands and stretching out his legs.
“Your wound?” I asked. “Is it better?”
His smile was a better answer than anything he could have spoken aloud. As he tugged at his pant leg, I marveled at the ease in which he moved. No wincing or groaning or stilted movements.
He rolled the fabric above his thigh. Were it not for the shining strip of skin that lay across his leg, I would have thought he had never been injured.
Sucking in a breath, I crawled near to peer at it more closely. It had healed so quickly.
“How long have I been sleeping?” I asked. Days? An entire moon?
“It is unbelievable. I wondered the same when I awoke this morning.”
It was unbelievable. It was impossible. I brought my fingers together, worry spinning a tight web. “This was no simple healing salve.”
The way he stared at his leg, I knew he suspected the same.
I said, “This was Masira. This was magic.”
He rubbed at his wrists. “Why would the woman heal me with magic?”
“Because you are a king.”
He frowned. “You told her.” It was not a question.
I said, “It is why you are healed now.”
“Does she know where we are from?”
I shrugged. I could not remember telling her specifically, but there were many things she had asked me at high moon. My name not being one of them. Nor had I asked hers. Who was she?
Saalim leapt up, and I was too distracted by his effortless movement to care about his frustration. “We cannot stay here.” His voice was loud, intending to wake the others. I could hear them stirring already.
He continued. “She has left us to wait for her to return like sea-washed clams. The Darkafa might be heading straight here.”
He was right. I stood up, rapidly shaking off the sand and slipping on my sandals.
Saalim strode out of the makeshift tent. I spared the boney cavern only a moment’s more consideration before I was outside with him.
Nassar and Amir were rolling their mats, folding their cloaks and stuffing them into their packs. The sound of rapid breaths came from behind the woman’s house. We waited, and Tamam rounded the corner.
“She comes,” he said, surprise dusting his face when he saw Saalim standing in front of him with both feet firmly planted on the ground.
“Alone?” Saalim asked as he tucked his guthra around his neck.
Tamam nodded. “On foot.”
Amir unrolled his map and squinted at the ink. Edging closer, I followed his finger as he traced our path to where he thought we might be. He pointed to a settlement south of where we were on the map.
“Hmm.” He pulled his bawsal from his pocket and confirmed something. “She comes from the west, yet the closest settlement I have is a few nights south.”
Before long, the woman rounded the corner. When she saw Saalim, she nodded once, the most subtle softening of her face revealing relief. “You have recovered.”
“I have. I owe you more than gratitude. How can I repay my debt?” He said it politely, but I heard the strain at the back of the voice that said, please let this be quick, we want to leave.
“I would like to join you on your journey,” she said. There was something strange about her request. I could almost feel it in the air.
Saalim straightened, discomfited by the thought of a stranger among us. I, too, thought it a bad idea, but Amir nodded slowly. Nassar and Tamam appeared to be considering it.
Saalim glared at the three of them, and as he did so, the woman looked at me with eyebrows raised. Did she also see the horror on my face?
“I cannot allow that,” Saalim said when he turned back to her. “Is there something else I can do? If nothing now, I will send whatever you request when I return home.”
She shook her head. “No, I think you should have me join you.”
Tamam said, “It is a good idea.” The woman smiled as she looked at Tamam. Nassar and Amir mumbled agreements.
Saalim’s mouth dropped open. To disagree with their king before a stranger? Never mind to think it wise that she join us? Though I could not forget how easily she healed Saalim, it was risky.
“I will not have you,” Saalim said. His words were final.
The woman chuckled and looked at me again. “I am impressed,” she said.
I did not understand.
“Because I am generous,” she said without waiting for a response. “I will take you at least to the village nearby. They have information that you will find helpful.” Then she gave me a knowing look. “You will like it there, too.”
It was agreed, mostly because she would not accept another answer. We finished dressing for the one-day journey, securing our things on our camels, and headed toward the village.
“It is not far,” the woman promised after we had left.
I turned back to look at her home, sure I would never again see anything like it. But it was gone. Had we already walked so far?
“See, it is just there.” I followed the direction of the woman’s finger. There, like a blanket atop the sand, was a band of green that split the ground from the sky.
Trees, as dense as Altasa’s gardens—no, even denser!—stood like a wall before us. The woman led us straight into them.
First, it was the ground that changed. The sand grew wetter, less grainy, reminding me of the dirt in the gardens. There were leafy bushes. Then small trees, then taller ones.
The woman said, “There is a river just beyond. Soon, you’ll hear it.”
And soon, we did. As we stepped under the canopy of trees—shaded almost completely by their branches—not only did I hear the water, I could feel it. Though it felt cooler away from the sun, the wetness in the air made our coverings intolerable. Saalim stripped his surface layers. We all did.
“It is so wet here,” Nassar said. He was right. Sweat was no stranger, but this was different. I’d wipe my face, and immediately there was more.
Amir began murmuring again about how he had not realized that this was so close. His disappointment in his navigation spilled through the words.
“No one expects you to know the entire desert, Amir,” I said as I stepped over tree roots twisting out from the ground.
“I do,” Saalim said. The woman glanced at him and matched his crooked smile.
Right where the trees were the thickest, the sound of rushing water grew.
We had come to the river. I gawked, the water snaking rapidly in front of me. I looked from side to side, watching branches and leaves rush past.
“This is a river?” I asked. I had heard of rivers before, but I had not expected this. In many ways, it was more terrifying than the sea. A branch floating down swiftly along the surface was suddenly swallowed by the water. I took a step back. The lazy canals in Almulihi were nothing like this.
“It is,” the woman said when none of the men responded. I wondered if they had ever seen one. She continued. “It travels far to the south, taking its green along with it. You would not know a desert so dry lay on the other side, eh?” She turned down the river’s shore and walked along it, careful not to tread through the mud. My feet were not used to this—wetness and sticks and sharp leaves. My sandals served little purpose.
“This way,” she said as we followed.
Before long, I saw a bridge made of rope and wooden planks. It was suspended just above the water.
“This is safe?” Nassar asked as we approached.
“It held earlier today,” she said with a raise of her shoulders, then strode across it. I watched as it bobbed up and down with her weight. Amir followed without fear, then Nassar and Tamam, all trailing the woman like hungry goats.
Envisioning the bridge collapsing, me tumbling into the water and flowing away as fast as the river could take me, I hesitated. Saalim stepped onto the bridge, then turned toward me with his hand extended. “Together?”
I grasped Saalim’s hand, and let him lead me across. At first he walked cautiously, to minimize the bobbing of the bridge.
“Faster,” I begged when the bridge sagged under Saalim’s step.
He pulled me along so quickly I was nearly running, frantic until solid ground was beneath my feet again. I nearly dropped to my knees in relief, but the curious faces of our companions—who had watched us run hand in hand across the bridge—stopped me.
Ahead, there were structures and movement through the trees. Finally, we had arrived.
Everywhere I looked was something foreign and fascinating. I could not take in my surroundings quickly enough. The first home we saw had walls of mud and thick sticks, roofs of branches and fronds. The people watched us as we passed. I imagined we were as interesting to them as they were to us. Women wore brightly colored, sleeveless tunics that fell to their thighs and were cinched around their waists. Men wore coverings around only their hips, their chests left uncovered. Some women and men wore snug-fitting turbans and bright jewelry made with shells and beads.
A woman waved to us as we stepped onto the well-worn dirt path. Her wrist was layered with bright blue beads so familiar I nearly stopped to gawk at them. Slave beads we had called them. We used them as betting currency back home when we played cards—ghamar. Is this where they came from? These people appeared to be the opposite of slaves.
The woman who brought us here seemed to know everyone. They greeted her like an old friend.
“Jawar is just this way,” she told us after greeting an older man with a kiss to his cheek. We moved into a clearing, and my eyes immediately traveled up into the trees.
A sturdy ladder led to a wooden platform jutting off of a tree. Atop the platform, there was a home not unlike the ones we passed on the way in, though this one had been fastidiously built and decorated with etchings carved around the door and windows. Rugs like the ones that lined my father’s palace were set across the platform, the edges hanging off revealing their patterns. There were two other homes like this one, tucked behind, and they all were connected via rope bridges.
“Jawar, they are here!” the woman called.
The sight simultaneously excited and terrified me as I watched a man cross one of the bridges. Then, he exited the home and descended the ladder.
There was something familiar about Jawar—the way he walked over to us, gentle but confident, the way he bowed to the men, grasping Saalim’s forearm, and the way he welcomed me with equal warmth.
“If you are comfortable,” Jawar said, “you may come up. I have tea and yassa prepared by my wife.”
“Thank you. Nassar will join us.” Saalim gestured to me. “Amir and Tamam will stay here.”
Jawar nodded and gestured for us to follow.
The woman said, “I have things I need here. I will return before you are finished.” Then, she was gone. I watched her disappear between the trees. There was something about her, about this, about Jawar, that was not quite right. I could not yet fit together the hazy puzzle my mind was sorting.
Though I had no interest in climbing the ladder, I very much wanted to see inside the tree home. I scrambled up after the men. The platform was, indeed, covered in rugs. I couldn’t help but smile. They reminded me so much of my home.
The decorations inside were no different. Rugs covered the wooden planks. A low table with cushions around it was at the center of the room. Frankincense scented the space and with each breath I was reminded of my mother. It felt just like the harem, but better, because up here, I could hear the leaves rustling with every breath of the wind. The birds were loud and nearly ebullient with their songs. And perhaps even more importantly—and surprisingly—it felt like the safest place I had ever been aside from the palace in Almulihi.
“Your home is beautiful,” I said, peering at the things on shelves. I ached with the memory of my life with my sisters.
“Thank you. It is due to my wife. When we wed, it was the first thing she did.” He gestured to the rugs and the cushions. “I did not want her to mourn for her home.”
I smiled, touching the tapestry that hung on a windowless wall. “It is so much like where I am from.”
“So then you must find great comfort here, too.”
A small deck of cards sat on a nearby table. “My sisters and I loved that game.”
Jawar laughed. “Don’t mention it to my wife! She will keep you playing all through the night.” Then, turning to Saalim, he said, “Before we discuss the matters that have brought you to me, let us first have a drink and talk of something idle. The Sons do not like work before joy, and I must agree.”
I could not take my eyes from him as he spoke. Was it simply the home around him that made him feel so familiar? No, there was something in his manner. The softness of his words, the nodding of his head and the movement in his hands as he spoke.
A woman came bustling in from a back door. She was the brightest thing in the room with her ruby fustan and scarf draped over her hair, and we all stared at her as she set a full tray at the center of the table.
She looked up at us and Jawar clapped his hands together and said, “Excellent! I would like to introduce you all to my wife, Rah—”
I gasped. “Emah?”