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After Abarōz recovered from the shock of speaking with a dragon, she realized just how kind this green one was. Bükrek made sure she was comfortable, clearing a place for Abarōz to sit by the water. She even took a roasted bird in her giant claws and offered it to her guest. As Abarōz started to eat, she smiled up at her host.
Bükrek did look like a snake, except for her delicate wings. She was as large—maybe half a Dardan hallway—her scales curled contentedly into a mound of wrapped coils. Her face, despite the presence of sharp teeth, was gentle, and the way her yellow eyes glowed told Abarōz that she had nothing to fear.
Once Abarōz finished her meal, she found herself, as always, bursting with curiosity.
“How,” she asked Bükrek, “did you catch and roast a fowl? It seems your claws are too big, and your dragon fire too strong.”
Bükrek gave a slight chuckle.
“Oh, I am not the source of your breakfast. For that, you must thank Shāhpuhr.”
“Another dragon?” asked Abarōz, craning her neck in alarm.
“Oh no,” laughed Bükrek “he is one of your own. A boy of I’d say just about the same age.”
“A Dardan lives here?”
Abarōz’s skin prickled: what if he were another Kavad?
“Yes, he’s been with me nearly since birth. He was meant to be an Axwaš, but I couldn’t abide such cruelty. I took him in, and here he’s stayed.”
“Can I meet him?” Abarōz asked, not knowing if this were wise. After all, her zand had cast him out, and wouldn’t he despise her? Want to get his revenge just the way she wanted hers.
“He is out hunting,” said Bükrek, nestling her head on the ground. “But he should return soon.”
Abarōz nodded, deciding to explore. This part of the forest was not heavily wooded, its trees becoming more sparse the closer they came to the water. This natural marvel, flowing in its narrow channel, looked so clear and clean and inviting that Abarōz scampered down until her feet were submerged. Cupping her hands, she took a long thirsty drink, delighting in the coolness as the liquid soothed her throat. She never could have imagined water delivered naturally, as opposed to the huge aqueducts lying dormant in Dardan. She couldn’t imagine most things: that now-yellowish orb above, sending such bright rays her way that she nearly cried out. She’d never known any plants besides the vegetables that dahigāns brought from above. But now, the variety of life around her—the sounds of the trickling water and strange chirps emerging from branches—almost made her dizzy as, for the first time, she saw life unshadowed by rock.
She even ran toward a thicket, spinning around with arms out as if she were finally free. Though this made her more dizzy, she couldn’t be bothered to care.
“Gra-greetings,” came a hesitant voice, accompanied by the sound of plants being crushed.
Abarōz whirled, flushing down to her chest as she spotted the form of a boy. But that’s not what caused her discomfort: He was dressed in nothing but a loincloth, as the new god’s book named it.
“Uh, greetings,” Abarōz answered, remembering her manners. “I am Abarōz of Dardan.”
As he approached, Abarōz saw that the boy was quite lanky, though his muscles looked hard and well-formed. She blushed even more when she saw his face was handsome, with the same olive skin as hers, though his hair, dark as her own, reached down to his shoulders. At the moment, his near-black eyes looked puzzled.
“Do you speak our language?” she asked, as he stopped six hands’ breadths away. After all, he might know only the word for “greetings.”
“On the whole,” he said, giving a hesitant smile. “But I still jumble some things.”
“Who taught you?”
“Oh. My mother, Bükrek.”
Abarōz’s mind began to turn like the tumblers of a lock. Of course! Raised by a dragon, he would naturally call her “Mother.”
She returned his smile.
“I think you speak it quite well.”
“Thank you. That means a great deal coming from a Dardan.”
“Really? You still have a fondness for people who sacrificed you to a dragon?”
“I don’t so much blame our zand as the tyrant Al-razi.”
Abarōz raised a brow.
“You must be very forgiving.”
“My mother told me,” he said, “that anger is pointless. You only injure yourself.”
“Wise,” Abarōz told him, unused to truths being spoken aloud. “For what it’s worth, I find the custom of Axwaš barbaric.”
“I could tell,” he said thoughtfully, “just by looking at you.”
Abarōz blinked, the top of her nose buzzing with a familiar ache. No. No tears. She was here to avenge her father, so the grieving must wait.
“I am Shāhpuhr, by the way.”
“It is an honor to meet you.”
Abarōz dropped her head in the usual bow. It seemed silly in the middle of a forest, but that was all she knew.
“I . . . er . . . l-likewise,” said Shāhpuhr, trying to summon the word. He motioned for her to follow him into a green-filled clearing. “Tengri has blessed me today. I not only captured two pheasants, but found some mushrooms nearby.”
“Bükrek must be happy to have you.”
Shāhpuhr sighed and looked down.
“I hope so,” he said. “Sometimes, I feel like a basket to her.”
Abarōz suppressed a giggle.
“Did you mean to say ‘burden’?”
“Yes!” he shouted, laughing openly at himself. “Now I’ll have two fine teachers.”
“In two very different forms.”
“That does not matter to me.”
From his standing position, he gracefully sat cross-legged while she needed three separate moves. Staring at him, she wasn’t sure how to think about this boy of the forest. In her life, she’d barely talked to a boy, much less one in a loincloth.
“So,” she began, trying to make small talk, “do you enjoy living here?”
“For the most part,” he said. “Sometimes it gets a bit lonely.”
Something dawned on her then.
“Have you–have you ever met a human before?”
“No, so please forgive me if I seem awkward.”
She gave him a warm smile.
“You’re doing fine.”
“How–how did you escape from Dardan?” he asked. “I believe you are the first.”
“The second. Someone called Şahmeran helped me.”
He let out a low whistle.
“You must be very special.”
“Why?”
“She rarely interferes in our lives.”
“Oh.”
Abarōz didn’t know what else to say. She looked at him hopefully.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Starved! Escape took all my strength.”
He smiled and rose to his feet. Limping over to a mound of tree parts, he pulled out several, then stacked them crossways. Retrieving two small rocks, he repeatedly rubbed them together, at creating a spark which he applied to his creation. Like a master, he plucked and cleaned his two birds, spitted them neatly, and dangled them over the fire.
“You seem to do very well on your own,” Abarōz told him, impressed.
He grinned, crossing his arms. She tried not to notice the swell of muscle.
“I had no choice in the matter.”
She grinned, watching him turn the birds. Then, he threw a handful of mushrooms into a hard clay pot.
“Do you . . . wish they had let you stay?” Abarōz bit her tongue, regretting her words almost instantly.
“I couldn’t say.” He handed her a generous plate, to which she applied her stone knife. “I can’t miss what I never had.”
“True.” Abarōz thought. “I don’t wish to be rude, but in the city, they take care of your needs. Mostly.”
“I’m sure that would be easier. Yet . . . there is also the S̆āh, controlling your every move.”
“And word,” she added.
“I daresay,” he smiled, “I like it better here.”
Abarōz looked around the placid clearing.
“I can certainly see why.”
They finished their meal in silence, the boiled mushrooms perfect along with the smoky meat. Shāhpuhr reached behind him, passing Abarōz a skin of water from which she took a deep draught.
“Thank you,” she said, averting her eyes from his chest. “You are truly a good provider.”
As she realized her words’ import, she blushed down to her neck. Stupid, Abarōz, stupid!
He saved her from further embarrassment by leaning back and asking, “Are you an Axwaš too?”
“Oh no,” she answered, not knowing what to reveal. But Shāhpuhr seemed so simple: so incapable of deceit. “My father. I have come to seek revenge.”
“He was a good father then?”
“Yes. He always worked so hard and put up with my mother. As for me: He often turned a blind eye whenever I got into trouble. I—” She sniffed. “I miss him.”
“I see,” Shāhpuhr said at last, and she wondered if he saw more: her refusal to back down. “Well. What is your plan?”
Abarōz plucked at some green blades, sifting them through her fingers.
“I–I really don’t know.”
“You must devise one.”
“Yes,” she said, “I think that’s fairly obvious.” He blushed beneath his dark skin. “I–I’m sorry. I’m not usually this ill-mannered. It’s just . . . I lost my father last night.”
She could see the pain in his eyes.
“Yet you enjoy the gods’ favor.”
“What makes you say that?” she asked.
“Şahmeran herself helped you.”
“Yes, but I don’t know who she is . . . besides everything.”
Shāhpuhr steepled his long fingers.
“In light of your being a fool, perhaps she can aid you again.”
“I beg your pardon!” huffed Abarōz, leaping to her feet. “At least I don’t live in a forest with a dragon for a mother!”
He looked stricken, touching his forehead to the ground. Abarōz took a deep breath.
“I am sorry again,” she said, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. “I believe what you meant to say was, ‘in light of my being alone.’”
Shāhpuhr brought up his head.
“Yes!”
Staring down at his shaggy head, Abarōz wondered what she should do. In her short life, she hadn’t had reason to think: just what to serve for supper and how to ensnare a husband. Her poor mind, as pebbled as Dardan, struggled with simple strategy.
“All right,” she said, “if this Şahmeran is everything, it follows she must be everywhere. What if I call for her now?”
Shāhpuhr look slightly abashed.
“I fear it’s not that easy. Though she is mother to all, she herself lives in a cave.”
“Can you tell me where?” asked Abarōz. Caves at least were familiar.
“Only with Mother’s help. And it’s likely you’ll end up close to the place you left.”
“You mean Dardan?” She snorted. “You more than anyone know why I can’t go back.”
“Not openly,” he answered, “but with Bükrek on our side, we might frighten away Sangal’s ebrens.”
“‘We’?” she asked. “I can hardly ask you to join me, since this is my quest alone.”
“You will fail,” he said calmly, “without an–an accomplice . . . is that what they’re called?”
“Yes. But please understand the danger—for you as well as for me.”
“Happily, we don’t have to enter Dardan: just the adjoining city.”
“You mean Šahr?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never been there,” Abarōz said, “and I don’t know where the gate is. I think we should start with what we know, and for me that means Dardan.”
Shāhpuhr stood, getting a little too close.
“And how,” he asked, “do we avoid the S̆āh and his men?”
Abarōz let out a breath, feeling herself deflate.
“We can’t. Not with his network of spies.” She paced in a circle around him, her mind lit with visions of every Hamwar. “Wait.” She felt a tingle. “What about the miners?”
“They suffer a terrible fate. What more?”
“The S̆āh punished my father because he was an Ōšmurdan.” Shāhpuhr looked uncomprehending. “It’s rather a long story, but he was made Axwaš along with fifteen zarran. Which leads me to believe . . . they thoroughly hate the man who sent their friends to their deaths.”
“And cut out their own tongues.”
Abarōz shivered.
“Which means,” she said, “we need to get to the fourteenth Hamwar—that is, the lowest.”
“My mother says no one may enter: it is reserved for the zarran—”
“—And the guards who whip them.”
Shāhpuhr shook his head.
“How to descend so deep?”
“In Dardan,” Abarōz told him, “we have worktime and sleeptime. For the latter, most torches are unlit.”
“Night,” he nodded.
“That’s when we must go. To persuade the zarran to join us.”
“Very well. We must travel to the city by the light of the moon.”
“Is that what you mean?” asked Abarōz, pointing up to that yellow orb.
“No,” Shāhpuhr said, “that is Mihr, mother of Māh. When she rests every night, her daughter comes out to play.”
To Abarōz, this sounded strange, part of the old religion which the new god would frown on. Yet, she wasn’t concerned. They needed all the gods on their side for what would be a perilous journey.
“Very well,” Abarōz said. “But you must ask your mother Bükrek to fly us during the night. Once there, we implore the zarran to join us. They might know the way into Šahr.”
Shāhpuhr grinned, his eyes sparking with light.
And, for the first time, Abarōz no longer felt alone.