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Abarōz hung back in shame, watching Shāhpuhr’s fingers trace the door as he looked for some kind of handle. When she recalled her recent behavior, her checks flamed like dragon fire.
“I–I’m sorry,” she told her friend’s back, pulling her cloak around her face. “I’m sorry I attacked you, and, as far as the dance ... I’m not sure there are words ...”
“You needn’t apologize,” he told her, craning his neck to give her a smile. “No human can resist a Çor, and you did better than most.”
“Thank you,” Abarōz whispered, feeling the heat leave her face. Bükrek’s kindness had clearly passed onto her son.
Feeling useless, she began to explore the door, starting at the opposite end.
“I wonder . . . ” said Abarōz, pursing her lips.
“What?”
“How long has that spirit been here?”
“I imagine as long as there’s been gold to mine.”
Abarōz shook her head.
“I knew the S̆āh was corrupt,” she said. “But to deal with spirits?”
“From what my mother told me, he won’t turn away anyone who promises him more riches.”
“Like dragons?” she asked.
“That’s a different matter. Sangal takes gold from him in return for not attacking.”
“Yet we were told they were warriors.”
“To hide the unpleasant truth.”
“So . . . Al-razi’s an all-around briber and liar.”
‘I think,” said Shāhpuhr, “that captures him well.”
“That’s why,” Abarōz said with passion, “we must end his reign now! I beg you: keep trying to find a way in.”
He nodded as they both continued their search until her fingertips ached.
“Any luck?” called Shāhpuhr. “Did you feel a handle, lock—anything?”
“No.” The oppressive heat was stifling, not helped by her clothes. Her faith began to flicker. “I hope,” she said, “we don’t have to give up . . . before we’ve really begun.”
There was silence, then an excited, “Wait!”
Now Shāhpuhr did a dance as he pounded his fist on gold. Abarōz ran over, leaning in at his side to see a tumbler with ten random numbers.
“Great.” Abarōz wiped away sweat as she stared at the squat gold box. “How,” she asked, “will we ever find the true combination?”
“That is an excellent question. There must be thousands of choices.”
“Probably more,” said Abarōz. “I’m not sure what to do.”
Neither did Shāhpuhr, who paced in a small circle. He shut his eyes and sighed. “Do you know,” he asked, “when Dardan was first founded?”
“By the new god, no! And if I did, it would probably just be a lie.”
“Come to think of it,” he said, “ten digits would be too many. Such a number would be before the zands—perhaps even Gehān itself.”
“I can’t imagine such a time.”
“Hmm.” Shāhpuhr gazed at the lock, thoughtful. “My mother said she helped Tengri when he created the world. She even told me the year: 4,543,000,000.”
“What?” exclaimed Abarōz. “Does such a number even exist?”
Shāhpuhr nodded, using his index finger to slowly revolve the tumbler’s digit. It gave a loud click after he’d reached the last zero, causing the giant door to move.
“Careful!” Shāhpuhr yelled, pushing Abarōz back. But the door swung inward, coming to a smooth halt.
As the two of them stood there, neither was able to speak. What Abarōz saw before her was an enormous quartz tunnel, lit almost as brightly as Mihr to support the work of its zarran. These miners looked a sorry lot, dressed in filthy robes, with what looked like gold helmets affixed to dripping candles. Overseeing them were glowering guards, a steel lance in each of their hands and a long whip in the other.
Abarōz cringed at the crack of leather as a poor zarran’s back was struck. His flesh was already striped with the scars of old wounds.
“You there!” cried a guard, whirling as the door shut. “No one is allowed to enter if they have the power of speech!”
“You must be an exception,” Abarōz said fearlessly.
“Hold your tongue, girl, lest you lose it!” Abarōz crossed her arms. “Who sent you here? Or are you just another traitor looking to steal the S̆āh’s gold?” Abarōz held firm. “Daughter of a dog!” yelled the guard, lowering his lance to charge her. “You won’t live to see another worktime!”
“You may be describing yourself,” said Shāhpuhr, rushing not away but toward the guard. In one swift motion, he relieved the man of his weapon. “I think,” he said, “you should apologize to my friend.”
The guard nodded to Abarōz, his face contorted in a smile.
This act of defiance—perhaps the first one down here—seemed to embolden the zarran, who lifted their stone axes at the heads of their oppressors.
“That’s the way!” cheered Abarōz, clasping her hands together. “For too long, you’ve been silenced. Now is the time to strike back!”
One too-thin zarran, his arms made burly by mining, raised his ax in a sort of salute. Taking advantage of the rebellion, Abarōz ran down the tunnel, motioning for Shāhpuhr and the zarran to follow. She finally halted, panting, to a far section that wasn’t blazing with light.
She put her hands on her knees, trying to recover.
“I know,” she told the zarran, “they’ve taken your power of speech. But I think you’ve seen things—know things—that those above you don’t.”
He nodded, giving a gritty smile as he reached up to his helmet, setting its candle down.
“How,” Abarōz asked, “do we get to the city of Šahr? I’ve heard rumors there is a passageway, but of course the S̆āh keeps it secret.”
The zarran nodded, dropping the head of his ax to etch crisscrossed lines on the floor.
“What’s he telling us?” Abarōz said to Shāhpuhr.
Her friend smiled.
“He’s making us a map.”
He and Abarōz crouched over the complex drawing. She saw what the zarran was doing: piling Hamwar on Hamwar until he came to Four—just one up from the S̆āh. There, he drew a dirt arrow.
“Oh no,” Abarōz groaned. “Do you know what this means?”
Shāhpuhr groaned.
“We have to go back almost to where we started.”
Abarōz tried to buoy their spirits.
“If we made the trip once,” she said, “then we can do it again.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“You know the old Dardan saying? ‘A person does not seek luck: luck must seek the person.’”
“I’ve never heard that,” said Abarōz, “but if it’s a Dardan belief, it probably isn’t true.”
She looked at his face, the zarran’s candle plying it with shadow. That’s when she made a decision.
“Shāhpuhr,” she told him, “this was never your fight. Finding Šahr seems far too dangerous. I must insist you must return to Bükrek.”
Shāhpuhr just stood up straighter.
“Just because,” he said, “I was considered imperfect does not make me a coward. I am with you until the end—wherever that may lead.”
Abarōz blinked back tears.
“Right now, it leads ten Hamwars up.”
He nodded, then whirled to face the door. They could all hear sounds getting louder.
“Ayār,” he said to the zarran, using the Dardan word for “friend,” “we can’t thank you enough. But I must ask a last favor: is there any way out besides that massive gold door?”
The zarran gave a wink, pointing down the dark tunnel. He spread his hands wide to indicate distance, then traced a small square on the wall.
“Thank you, Ayār!” cried Abarōz.
Shāhpuhr bent and seized the candle before she, foregoing all modesty, grabbed his hand to drag him along.
“Not so fast,” he groaned, his cheeks flushing, Abarōz slowed to a walk. But something strange came over her as they passed gold-streaked quartz.
“Wait,” she hissed, standing on tiptoe to grab a palm-sized white stone whose top sprouted a nugget. Shāhpuhr stared at her find. “You never know,” she said, “but in a city that worships gold, this might well proof useful.”
He nodded as they resumed their trek. The voices behind became faint, dwindling into silence. After striding for what seemed hours, Abarōz let out a sigh as their candle did the same. They were now enveloped in darkness.
The two of them locked arms as they not so much walked as stumbled into the depths of the mine. If Dardans only knew how deep these gold veins stretched, they might have wondered why there was none for them.
“How much longer,” panted Abarōz, as the heat became stifling, “do you think we need to go?”
“I’m not sure,” Shāhpuhr said. “But if that map was to scale, at least another half level.”
“This is daft,” muttered Abarōz, Shāhpuhr keeping her from falling—again. “I should have thought my plan through. And asked the zarran to join us. I should have brought more candles—”
“Should have, would have, could have,” Shāhpuhr intoned from her side. “And if I had wings, I could fly like my mother.”
Abarōz laughed. He was right. On a mission like this, there was no room for regret.
They faltered on in silence through what seemed the endless mine. It was only Shāhpuhr’s fingers tracing the tunnel wall which kept them both from sprawling.
Weary from this taxing trip, Abarōz turned her thoughts to her mother. What would she say to see her daughter creeping along in the dark, holding onto a near-naked boy? Abarōz could commit murder and not be so reviled . . .
“Ouch!” Shāhpuhr yelled, unlocking his hand from hers and lifting it up to his face. “Is that where ‘being nosy’ comes from?”
“What?”
“I just hit my nose on a wall. Thanks to the Çor, it already hurt. But I think this means we’ve reached the end of the mine.”
“Thank Tengri!” cried Abarōz. “Let’s look for the zarran’s door.”
They both sank to their knees, running palms over warm rock. Abarōz’s fingers searched for a groove, one that was perfectly straight. She was starting to get annoyed when her hand found a narrow gash.
“This might be it,” she called. Shāhpuhr scooted closer, using his whole body to press against that stone. Abarōz did the same, her shoulder brushing his lightly. “Sorry,” she whispered, glad he couldn’t see her red face.
“Push!” Shāhpuhr ordered, his taut muscles straining. With a final groan, he dislodged what looked like a door.
“Good work,” Abarōz smiled, crawling through the small opening. “Does this mean we’ve reached—” She saw a cave without quartz. “—Šahr?” Shāhpuhr crawled out to her side. “But if they don’t have gold,” she asked, “then how do they bribe the ‘enemy’?”
“With silver,” he said. “That’s why so many more are sacrificed.”
Abarōz shivered, stepping away from the torches lined in their sconces.
“It must be worktime,” she said. “We’ll have to wait for their night to find Shāhpuhr.”
“Where should we hide in the meantime?” Shāhpuhr asked.
She jerked her head to a corner that wasn’t blazing with light.
“You stay here,” she whispered. “I’ll try to find you some clothes. If someone sees you, there might be screaming—and not just from the women.”
He gave her a grin as she slunk off, worry filling her mind. After all, she knew nothing about this city. Were the people friendly or hostile? And did they despise their neighbors? She felt as afraid as she had when she’d first stepped on the Bērūn.
Abarōz looked around. Instead of a scarred zarr, what she saw was a series of holes—cave entrances. Creeping forward, she stared into one to find a woman cleaning. Trying to find her courage, Abarōz went up to her.
The woman gasped at the sight of this strangely clothed stranger. Her own garb wasn’t as drab: it looked comfortable, thin, and awash with color.
Maybe, Abarōz thought, they grow more outside than just vegetables . . .
She smiled at the woman who was stalking toward her, raising her sweeper like a sword.
“It’s all right,” Abarōz said, putting up a friendly hand. “I swear by Tengri I won’t hurt you.”
A stream of angry words flowed from the woman’s mouth: Abarōz was relieved to find she understood most of it. Now, how to strike a bargain?
She reached behind to her pack, pulling out her pilfered white quartz. From its top, she snapped off a piece of gold. The woman’s demeanor changed: she but down her sweeper, running forward to give Abarōz a hug!
“Great,” Abarōz mumbled, “it has that effect on everyone. To the woman she said, “What I need from you are some clothes: for me and a very tall man.”
The woman displayed a wide grin, then ran deeper into her cave to return with an armful of fabric. Abarōz looked at the jumble. Though splotched with color, she’d happily swap it for her wool!
“Thank you,” Abarōz said, handing the woman her nugget.
“Please,” she implored, “feel free to return any time!”
Abarōz nodded as she went back into the hallway. Now wonder the S̆āh loved this metal! It turned enemies into friends.
She hastened back to Shāhpuhr who was trying to look smaller by crouching.
“Here,” she hissed, throwing him his new clothes. “Let’s pray to Tengri they fit!”
She turned her back before hearing a gentle scrape. That must be his discarded loincloth. Then there was a rustling, followed by him clearing his throat.
“Ready,” he said.
She slowly turned, then clapped her hands to her mouth. He looked like another person, green robes belted at the waist with a long cloak sweeping his back. Only his hair, now pulled back, betrayed his forest origin.
“You look . . . good!” Abarōz cried, though—new god help her—she missed the sight of his bare chest! Stepping back, she mumbled, “I am going straight to Hell.”
“Is that nearby?” he asked. “I thought we were staying in Šahr.”
“No, no” Abarōz put up a hand. “It’s a place where bad people go.”
“Then why would you go there?” he asked.
“I am guilty of . . . never mind. Let me get out of this wool.”
She slunk away, making sure his back was turned. It wasn’t long before her itchy dress was replaced with cool fabric.
“Ah,” Abarōz sighed, walking back to her friend. “Two cities so close together and only one knows how to dress.”
Shāhpuhr surveyed her.
“You look good, too,” he said without embarrassment. “Bright colors suits you.”
“Even this garish red?”
“I like it. It reminds me of sweet-smelling flowers.”
Abarōz shut her eyes, willing herself not to blush. She needed to change the subject—quickly.
“We should stay here until sleeptime. Try not to draw notice.”
Shāhpuhr nodded, slumping against a wall. Abarōz did the same, trying to keep her distance.
“So,” she said, “for the first time, really, you’ve seen a city. How do you like it?”
“I haven’t seen much: just some stairs, torches, and a mine.”
“Right. Well, has it changed your opinion at all?”
Shāhpuhr sighed, sliding farther down the wall.
“I’m not sure. In the forest, I’m free to do as I like. I don’t answer to anyone—except Bükrek, of course. But as I told you, it does get lonely. Not seeing other people. Sometimes, I wish I could stay here for just one season each year.”
“I know what you mean. Even though Dardan is stifling, I’d miss having people to talk to.”
“That’s why I’m so glad you came.” Abarōz watched him grow serious. “To the forest, I mean. It made me feel less alone.”
“Hmm,” she said, “maybe that’s the answer. Life in the Bērūn, only shared with others.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I think you’ll achieve that.”
“Me?”
“Of course. Is that not your goal? After the S̆āh is deposed.”
“It would be heaven,” she sighed, “but let’s not forget about Sangal.”
He grimaced as they stood there, both smiling at all who passed. In their new clothes, they must make fine-looking Šahrians.
Abarōz’s back was aching by the time two small boys came by. Thank Tengri! They were steadily quenching the torches, using buckets of water. The only drawback was the white smoke wafting across the hall. She and Shāhpuhr coughed, eyes reddening, until they were left in the dark.
“Now what?” asked Abarōz. “Our candle is spent.”
“Do not worry.”
Shāhpuhr crouched, his hands scouring the floor. When he rose, he was holding two small rocks which he proceeded to rub together. Once a spark had formed, he held it to the tip of a torch. In an instant, they were surrounded by heat and light.
“Brilliant,” Abarōz whispered, admiring his skill. This simple boy of the forest boy could outthink most Dardans.
She watched him grab the torch before they moved down the hall, followed by only their shadows. Based on the zarran’s crude map, she knew they had to walk far—to the end of this level. She just hoped there would be no Šahrians who liked to walk in their sleep.
This journey was much more pleasant than the one in Dardan since they could see where they were going. This hallway was much like her city’s with its smattering of small caves. Until they came to a large one.
Abarōz peeked around its opening to see a circle of men numbering perhaps fifty. They all sat cross-legged around an idol that was as tall as Shāhpuhr. This god (if that’s what it was) had been struck from pure silver, but what was even more curious were the razor-sharp rays protruding from his head. What manner of cult was this? Did they feast on human flesh after capturing their prey? Worship Mihr and Māh? Abarōz was certain of one thing: She didn’t want to find out.
She motioned to her companion and they both sunk on the floor, his large hand cupping the torch. Like two human snakes, they slipped across the entrance. Once they were clear, they rose, Abarōz shaky from holding her breath.
“That was odd,” she whispered, thinking that Šahr might be very different from Dardan. After all, they had their own god, and for all she knew, could be in the thrall of Sangal. She tried to dismiss these thoughts as she and Shāhpuhr continued their torch-lit trek. Abarōz’s instinct twitched, telling her they were getting close. It hadn’t failed her since they now faced a grey blocking wall. For the third time in two days, Abarōz ran her fingers over its length. But this time, the door found her: A small circle of white materialized, tugging at her head before sucking in her whole body.
From the other side where she’d landed, Abarōz watched numbly as the circle closed.
