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When Abarōz, sweat-soaked and shaking, let herself be steered by Adrian down to their cave, she tried to ignore the woman. Her mother had made it clear that she couldn’t care less about the death of her husband . . . as long as she stayed safe. Selfishness had been engrained in all the women of her family, but Abarōz swore to let it die out with her.
Rastag. She couldn’t speak or think the name without a sob of anguish. On balance, he’d been a good father, though his desire for self-protection often overrode his courage. Still, he’d worked hard to support them in the crushing heat of the zarr. He’d tried to keep his head down, to be a shadow among shadows, but even that hadn’t prevented his bloody end.
Once Abarōz calmed down a bit and took a draught of warm milk, she felt every part of her being crying out for revenge. Against the S̆āh and the rotten Kavad, but her list didn’t end there. There were the viziers of the city, keeping the people down while they bathed themselves in gold. There were the rules themselves, trapping thousands here like ants when they should be fighting the enemy.
All the grief and rage that Abarōz had held in check now exploded through her insides, kindling a deadly fire. It was then that she realized what she’d really known all her life: she had to follow Kavad, not in black deeds, but in freeing herself from Dardan.
Was there anyone here, she wondered, she could persuade to go with her? The answer came back in a second as a ringing no. She knew a few girls whom she might have thought of as friends, but they were so modest and dutiful they barely emerged from their caves. Besides, if they did, they might attract the S̆āh “finders” to see themselves hauled before him for the “honor” of spreading his seed.
All men are virtuous, Abarōz thought, until they were put in charge . . .
It was at that moment that she knew the bleak truth: she was on her own. Fine. She tossed her head. If that’s the way it must be. She resolved to attempt her escape after a good night’s sleep, and, once Adrina was snoring, she stole some basic provisions. She wished she had a weapon to fight the enemy, and, in desperation, seized a large kitchen knife.
Abarōz tiptoed to her bed, wrapping straw snugly around her. She wondered where she’d be sleeping the following night ... that is, if she weren’t killed.
The candles outside in the hallway had barely begun to flicker before Abarōz eased herself out. She had no goodbyes for her mother—there was nothing to say. Stealthily, she retraced her steps of yesterday, throwing her hood over her face and nodding politely to those who bothered to stir at this hour. It wasn’t easy ascending six levels on those narrow stairs. But, remembering her mission, she refused to halt, merely casting a glance at the new god as he hung over the second Hamwar.
At last, she reached the top, stumbling toward the livestock. Patting a goat on the head, she crept toward that rope ladder, mounting it with her flimsy shoes. Not much of a barrier between her soles and that rough twisted twine. Still, she didn’t stop until the handle of the stone hatch was within her grasp. Though she wasn’t as strong as Kavad, the raging fire within helped to thrust the stone aside. Scraping her fingers on rock, she groaned as she struggled upward onto a grainy surface. Abarōz grabbed a handful and looked: this stuff was brownish and poured from her palm.
Still lying on her stomach, she lifted her head to study the Bērūn. Such strange sights! Above was an orange circle, its head fighting to emerge from behind a towering mound. It emitted a feeble light, but one still strong enough to make her turn her head. She rolled over before standing, looking to every horizon for some sign of the enemy. But all she saw were those brown grains surrounded by a rich blue itself dotted with white things. Abarōz brought out her pathetic knife, ready for a charge of warriors. If she couldn’t make some kind of bargain to bring down the S̆āh, she would quickly join her father.
Abarōz kept staring up as she heard a sound like whirring. Moving at great speed away from the orange orb, she saw a green-scaled snake ... one with wings . . .
Abarōz crouched, almost wishing to go back to Dardan before the dragon reached her. As it neared, she saw its fierce claws and a tale shaped like a spade flattened behind its scales. This was it. Surely, the end was near. At least she wouldn’t die a coward like those human moles underground.
It was then that she noticed something: something quite out of place. In the middle of all this brown, there sat a small blade of green completely on its own. Since it grew from those tiny pebbles, Abarōz wondered how it could live without a drop of water. Was it cursed? A sign from the new god, or Tengri? She didn’t have long to ponder as the blade began to sway, growing steadily larger with each passing second.
“Get away!” Abarōz shouted, wielding her stone kitchen knife.
But the blade of green didn’t listen, coming even closer as it changed from a single sprout to a good-sized plant and then to a strange brown and green object.
“Who are you?” Abarōz yelled, looking for a place to run.
“Lower your voice,” the thing insisted from an invisible mouth. “I am Archura in tree form and I’m here to help you. Şahmeran has sent me.”
“I don’t know who that is,” said Abarōz, firming up her hold on the knife. “And what exactly are you?”
“For Şahmeran’s sake!” cried the tree. “You’re quite an ignorant girl.”
“I beg your pardon,” Abarōz answered, putting her hands on her hips. “I just so happen to be from Dardan, and we live in the Azēr.”
Archura gave a shrug with two of his largest branches.
“Sorry,” he said. “Şahmeran told me nothing except that I was to fetch you.”
“I suggest you do it fast,” said Abarōz, cowering as that dragon winged even faster, no doubt having spotted its target.
“We needn’t fear her,” said Archura, “but the other ebrens. We should go before we both become a sacrifice.”
Abarōz grimaced, thinking of Rastag, but most of her sadness fell from her as the tree used his branches like arms to pop her onto his top.
“Hold on now!” Archura yelled, hopping away from the dragon at a surprising pace.
“Can you not bounce so much?” asked Abarōz, her entire body in motion. All that she could see was that blue shaking up and down.
“You’re rather ungrateful,” said the tree with a snort. “But I guess that’s to be expected since you haven’t met Şahmeran.”
“A-rre you t-taking m-me to h-her?” Abarōz asked. Her head was shaking so much, she sounded like she was drowning.
“No,” the tree said calmly, still hopping away like a child. “To Bükrek. Those are my orders.”
Abarōz was tired of orders—she’d been following them her whole life. Still, her mind was taken off jolting as more trees came into view.
“W-what is t-this?” she asked, relieved to find that Archura had slowed down to a hobble.
“I see you really know nothing,” he said sadly. “Of course, this is a forest, where only good things dwell.”
“I take it that you’re one of them?”
“That goes without saying,” he huffed. “Otherwise, I could have stomped you to death or left you to the ebren.”
“I suppose that’s true,” said Abarōz. The tree had a valid point. “Have we arrived to where we’re going?”
“Impatient, I see,” he answered. “A curious little thing too. Just take care that doesn’t get you in trouble.”
“Too late,” Abarōz mumbled, her attention drawn by dense thickets.
“Do they all talk?” she asked.
“No, I’m afraid, just me,” said Archura, sounding sad. “But the rest of the trees have their ways.” Before Abarōz could inquire further, the tree slowed to a crawl, shuffling up to a ribbon of water surrounded by pleasant green. “Here we are,” he exclaimed, all his tree cheer restored. “I’ll just leave you to wait for Bükrek.”
“No!”
But he was already off, perhaps to gossip with his tree friends.
Abarōz looked around her. She had never seen such sights: water that flowed free and not in a man-made basin; different kinds of trees, and even some plants with red blooms. Beneath her feet was a soft brown surface, not made of grains but solid.
Lost in this verdant landscape, she barely noticed as a scaly green head raised itself from tall green. Before she could scream, the dragon spoke.
“Welcome. I am Bükrek: one who helped create our world and hopes to restore it. Şahmeran said to expect you.”
“Who is she?” Abarōz asked for the second time that day.
“She is everything.”
“You mean . . . she’s that blue above and all this green?”
Bükrek’s face reflected a smile.
“That’s right,” she said. “She is closer than you think and you might meet her someday. But right now, I suggest we deal with the present.”
“I’d like that,” said Abarōz, “for I have always been practical.”
The dragon nodded.
“You may soon be called upon to put that skill to use.”
