Tel Hesani shrugged. “You could always go live in Abu Kheshabah.”
Jebel cackled. “Things aren’t that desperate!”
The pair shared another smile. Then a strong gust of wind broke over them, and they had to stick their heads down, grit their teeth, and battle on.
Although Jebel and Tel Hesani had lost track of time, they could tell that they were deep into the heart of winter, perhaps even close to spring. The snowstorms were fierce and unending. Every step was hard-earned. They slogged ahead with the Um Biyara, bound by a length of rope, the strongest to the fore, clearing a path for the rest. A few of the group succumbed to snow blindness and were killed by Qasr Bint. Others lost fingers and toes to frostbite and struggled on.
The Um Biyara were growing surly. They wanted Qasr Bint to part the clouds as he had before, but this time he couldn’t. He fed them a story about the gods testing them, but his followers were losing faith. They were running out of food, they were exhausted, and the thrill of the conversions had been forgotten. They wanted to rest up for the remainder of the winter.
Finally, as they were nearing breaking point, they spotted smoke from campfires inland. Two scouts were sent out. When they returned, they said it was a small settlement, maybe thirty people living in a ringed copse of tall, thick trees.
Qasr Bint privately thanked the gods for this gift, then addressed the group. “This will be our final conversion of the winter. When we are done, we’ll return to Hamata and wait in the caves until spring.”
That cheered the Um Biyara, and they pushed forward eagerly. As they neared the trees, Qasr Bint slipped back to exchange words with Jebel and Tel Hesani. “If you say anything bad about us to the people here, I’ll cut out your tongues.”
“What could we possibly say?” Tel Hesani asked, smiling venomously.
“Nonbelievers can always find fault,” Qasr Bint replied. “But you’ll keep your opinions to yourself, or I’ll feast on your tongues at supper.”
Qasr Bint appointed four of the Um Biyara to guard Jebel and Tel Hesani, then led his people forward to convert or slaughter, and it was hard to tell which they would prefer more.
The first thing Jebel noticed as they entered the shelter of the copse was the bats. There were thousands in the trees, hanging upside down, rustling softly, the forest floor thick with guano.
The Um Biyara stopped when they saw the bats. Qasr Bint summoned his scouts and demanded to know why they hadn’t told him about the flying rodents. The scouts hadn’t seen them—they’d crept to the outskirts of the forest but had not entered. Qasr Bint studied the bats uneasily. Jebel could see him toying with the idea of retreat.
Suddenly they were greeted with a loud cry. The Um Biyara peered into the gloom, shivering nervously. Then a man appeared, small, white, with dark eyes. He called again in a language Jebel didn’t recognize. Qasr Bint responded in a tongue not quite the same but similar. The man squinted, then spoke slowly, with lots of hand gestures. Qasr Bint replied in kind, and the man broke into a grin. He whistled and others appeared, a few men but mostly women and children. They came forward and welcomed the Um Biyara, guiding them through the trees to a village at the heart of the copse.
It was a basic camp of lean-to shelters, rough hammocks strung between many of the trees for use in warmer times, a few animals grazing nearby. There were bats here too, but not as many as around the rim of the copse.
The Um Biyara settled their belongings, then gathered around one of the fires. Jebel did a quick count of the villagers—six men, thirteen women, and sixteen children. They were dressed in strange, leathery, furry clothes. It was only when one of the bats swooped and settled on a girl’s shoulder that Jebel realized the material was bat skin.
The villagers spoke a language of their own, but it was like some of the more rural Abu Saga dialects, so one of the Um Biyara—a woman who had grown up in these lands—was able to communicate with them. The village was called Gathaah, their word for bat. Apparently the bats had been here long before the humans.
“This is their home,” Uzza, the chief, explained through the translator. “We are just guests.”
“Why don’t you run them out?” Qasr Bint asked. “They’re disgusting vermin.”
“Run them out of their home?” Uzza chortled. “We wouldn’t dare. Besides, they provide for us. We make our clothes from their hides. We eat the flesh of the dead—many die in the winter colds—and use their claws and teeth as needles and cutting tools. Their guano nourishes the forest floor—we grow delicious fruit here—and they kill small pests. They also protect us from larger beasts.”
Qasr Bint asked if there were others in the clan, perhaps out hunting. Uzza said there were not. “We don’t hunt much,” he explained. “We mostly live off plants and our animals.”
“There’s not much meat on that lot,” Qasr Bint noted, eyeing an assortment of bony cows and goats.
“We don’t eat them!” Uzza exclaimed. “We drink their blood.” As he said this, a bat settled on a cow and sank its fangs into the beast’s haunches. The cow barely noticed. The bat fed for a few seconds, then flew off. A boy ran to the cow, put his mouth to the wound, and sucked. When he’d drunk his fill, he took a pouch from a string around his neck and sprinkled a layer of powder over the cut.
“That stops the bleeding,” Uzza said. “Bat saliva keeps wounds open. We gather the ingredients for the salve from flowers. We couldn’t survive without it.”
Qasr Bint moved on to the um Gathaah’s beliefs. This was difficult, as the translator found the concepts of the bat people hard to comprehend. Finally, when she had gathered all of the information that she could, she explained for the rest of the missionaries. The um Gathaah believed that bats were sacred representatives of the god of flight. They also believed that bats had been humans once. They were convinced that they would become bats when they died.
“What happens to them after that?” Qasr Bint snapped. “When they stop being a bat, what do these fools think happens then?”
Uzza laughed when the question was translated. “We become different bats,” he said. “We will be bats forever.”
Qasr Bint frowned. He could tell these heathens would be difficult to convert. He had learned from their previous encounters that people with nothing of substance were easy to win over, but those equipped to see out the harsh winters in comfort had no reason to heed the pain-fixated Um Biyara.
“They’re going to slaughter them,” Jebel whispered to Tel Hesani as Qasr Bint consulted his supporters.
“Yes,” Tel Hesani said. “I don’t think they’ll even try to convert them.” He saw one of the um Gathaah children playing with a bat, stroking its ears. His eyes narrowed, and he looked around at the trees full of the flying bloodsuckers.
“Do you remember the um Khathib?” he asked quietly.
“The alligator-worshippers,” said Jebel, nodding.
“They lived in harmony with nature,” Tel Hesani murmured. “The animals of their domain looked upon them as their own. What would have happened if anyone attacked their village?”
“Their foes wouldn’t have lasted long,” Jebel snorted. “The alligators and snakes would have…” He trailed off into silence.
“The Um Biyara are weary and irritable,” Tel Hesani said. “They’re confident after the last massacre and eager to kill. I think they’ll strike tonight.”
“But if the um Gathaah set the bats loose on them…” Jebel’s mouth went dry. “We’re no different from the others, as far as they’re concerned.”
Tel Hesani nodded. “We need to move to the edge of camp and be ready to run.”
“What about the storms?” Jebel asked. “How will we survive?”
Tel Hesani shrugged. “We can face that hurdle later. The only other solution is to warn the Um Biyara and give them the option of a peaceful retreat.”
“No,” Jebel said, his expression hardening. “They have this coming. Let’s take our chances with the snow and leave them
to be ripped apart.”
“I normally wouldn’t advocate revenge,” Tel Hesani said, “but in this instance I agree with you. I hope their deaths are painful and slow.”
Jebel was surprised by the bitterness in Tel Hesani’s voice, but he welcomed it. This was no time for fair play. The Um Biyara were due vicious payback.
Jebel and Tel Hesani watched the Um Biyara discussing their plans. When Tel Hesani saw them draw their weapons, he nudged Jebel. The pair stood and edged towards the camp perimeter.
“Where are you going?” a guard challenged them.
“We can see what’s coming,” Tel Hesani said. “We don’t want to be part of it.”
“Stay here,” the guard growled. “You were told not to meddle.”
“We’re not meddling,” Tel Hesani snapped. “We’re getting out of your way.”
The guard squinted at them. “How do I know you won’t sneak out of camp?”
“And go where?” Tel Hesani replied witheringly.
The guard scowled. “Just stay where I can see you,” he barked.
“Of course,” said Tel Hesani, then he and Jebel walked to the edge of the clearing, where they stood, waiting.
At the center of the village, Qasr Bint was ready. He moved ahead of his people and had his proclamation translated for the um Gathaah, who were gathered in front of their guests, listening politely.
“My children, you are deluded,” he began. “You are a degenerate, pitiful, lost tribe. We try to help those who have strayed from the path of true worship, but you are too far removed from it. So, my poor, bat-brained friends, we must rid Makhras of your foul presence. Believe me,” he added as his followers advanced, weapons raised, “we are doing you a favor.”
The um Gathaah had listened with confusion, but when they saw the armed zealots closing in on them, their eyes blazed. As a group they took a step back, lifted their mouths, and whistled sharply, an ear-piercing shriek that echoed around the copse. The Um Biyara halted in surprise, then laughed and started forward again.
A second later, like a roll of thunder, thousands of wings flapped at the same time. Before the Um Biyara could strike, the bats were upon them. They descended in a cloud, hissing, spitting, scratching, biting, blinding. The Um Biyara lashed out at the flying menace, smashing many of the bats to the ground. But there were dozens more to replace each casualty, and they attacked without pause, turning the world around the Um Biyara into a black, red-streaked haze.
Jebel and Tel Hesani only caught the opening salvo. As soon as the bats hit, they ran, tearing through the trees, not pausing to look back. A few bats gave chase, but the majority focused on the Um Biyara. The pair of slaves were able to swat away the scattering of bats that attacked them, and burst out of the copse moments later with just a smattering of shallow bites and scratches.
They paused at the edge of the trees while Tel Hesani found his bearings. Then he led Jebel back the way they’d come, making for the river. They ran in silence, lunging through the snow. They slipped often but never stayed down for long, rising quickly and resuming flight.
Eventually they crested a hill and spotted the churning water of the as-Sudat. The river appeared as a darkly coated snake in the dim light, alive and thrashing.
“Can we… go… that way?” Jebel panted, wiping sweat and snow from his face. He couldn’t see any sign of a path.
“I don’t know,” Tel Hesani said, eyes scrunched up. The clouds parted briefly, and the world was brightened by the moon. “There!” he cried, pointing to a spot farther on. Jebel saw a thin rock bridge crossing the raging river.
“You can’t be serious,” he gasped.
“You have a better plan?” Tel Hesani challenged him.
“We can’t see how wide or thick it is,” Jebel moaned. “Most rock bridges are impassable, even in fine weather. In a storm like this, it would be suicide.”
Tel Hesani paused. “You’re right. We should track downriver to the Erq Assi Jeh.” As he turned to look for a path, the shrieks of bats and the howls of humans were carried to his ears. He cast his gaze back. For a couple of seconds he saw nothing through the swirling snow. Then, as the wind cleared a temporary window, he spotted a handful of figures stumbling after them. There were bats above and around them, but they were hampered by the snow, and the humans were pressing on. Behind them, Tel Hesani spotted the um Gathaah, following at their own pace, waiting to finish off the survivors if the bats failed to kill them all.
“No time,” Tel Hesani said grimly as the snow closed around them again. “The um Gathaah will attack if they spot us. The bridge is our best bet. They won’t follow us over that.”
“Because they’re not mad,” Jebel huffed, then shrugged. “But I agree it’s the only way, so let’s go.”
After much slipping and sliding, and a short climb up a snow-layered bank, the weary pair arrived at the rock bridge. It was bigger than it had looked from afar, thick enough to take the weight of dozens of men. But towards the middle it narrowed alarmingly. It was wide enough to cross on a warm day, if you weren’t afraid of heights and had a good sense of balance. But during a furious snowstorm…
“Maybe we should take our chances with the bats,” Tel Hesani wheezed.
“Or try swimming out of trouble,” Jebel snorted, glancing down at the dagger-tipped foam of the as-Sudat.
Tel Hesani gathered his courage and took a deep breath. “Have you any rope?”
“No.”
“Then we can’t tie ourselves together. It’s each for himself. If one of us slips, the other won’t be able to help him.”
Jebel gulped, then said, “I hope the gods are with you.”
“And I hope God looks favorably on you,” Tel Hesani smiled shakily, then stepped onto the bridge, Jebel close behind.
The wind tore at them immediately, as if it had been waiting all winter for this chance. Jebel risked one look back—the small band of Um Biyara had cleared the hill and were stumbling towards the river—then focused on his footing.
They edged along slowly, doubled over, ready to grab for a handhold if their feet slipped. The rock was caked in a layer of ice—most snowflakes were blown off it immediately—so it was treacherous underfoot. Jebel tuned out the howl of the wind, the blinding flecks of snow, and even Tel Hesani, training all of his senses onto the bridge, taking it one slow, sliding step at a time.
Jebel quickly lost count of the number of near misses, when the wind threatened to hurl him over the edge into the abyss or when a foot slipped and he crashed to one knee, steadying himself with his hands, a second away from oblivion. When he got to the middle of the bridge, the narrowest point, he paused, even though he knew it was crazy, and challenged the wind to do its worst. It howled angrily, as if infuriated, and beat at him even harder than before (or so it seemed). But Jebel withstood the gale, hunched over, grinning like a maniac. After a few seconds he moved on, and now he felt secure. The wind had thrown all that it could at him, to no avail. He was going to survive!
Of course, anyone on Makhras could have told him that a boy who stops to pat himself on the back in the middle of an ordeal invites the wrath of all the gods of luck.
They were almost at the end, safety within sight, when a stray bat was hurled at Jebel’s head by the wind. Its claws caught in his hair, and it dug its fangs into his neck. Jebel instinctively grabbed the bat and ripped it away. The wind caught the beast and smashed it into the bridge, killing it instantly, but Jebel was in no position to take comfort from that.
He had lost his balance. Both feet slipped at the same time. The wind nudged him, almost playfully, and he toppled.
“No!” Jebel screamed, arms flailing, trying to fall forward so that he could clutch at the bridge. But instead he slid backwards, dragged by gravity and driven by the ferocious wind.
Tel Hesani heard Jebel’s cry. Ignoring his earlier declaration that it was each for himself, he whipped around and reached out, despite the probability that Jebel would drag him over. H
is fingers came within a feather’s width of Jebel’s. For a split second both thought that Tel Hesani would succeed and pull the boy to safety.
But Tel Hesani’s desperate gesture proved a futile one. His fingers fell short of Jebel’s, and before he could lunge again, Jebel was gone, flying backwards, lost to sight almost instantly.
The bellow of the river filled Jebel’s ears. He saw a thin sliver of light pierce the cover of the clouds. Debbat Alg’s face shot through his thoughts, accompanied as usual by that of the glum Bastina. Then there was a bone-juddering crash into a world of churning chaos—and everything went black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Down… down… down into a void. It seemed like his fall would never end. Tumbling head over heels into a cold, wet, black and roaring hell.
Finally Jebel slowed until he was hanging in the freezing darkness. He instinctively opened his mouth to scream. Water gushed in and he choked. As he gagged and thrashed wildly, his body rose and bobbed to the surface.
Jebel broke free of the water’s hold and gasped a hasty breath. Then he was driven under again, only to pop up after another struggle. Spitting out water, he looked for the bridge and Tel Hesani, but he had been swept out of sight of them. Then he was submerged again, swallowing, drowning. The cold consumed him. He was moments away from the end.
The current forced him up. He gulped for air, jaw working like a fish’s. He threw out his arms, clutching for the stars, begging the gods for mercy. Then…
Silence. The roar of the river faded. The current dwindled. The chill left his bones. He trod water for a few bewildered seconds, blinking dumbly. Then his eyes fell on something, and excitement flared inside him—a boat!
Jebel tried to hail the people on the vessel, but all he could manage was a croak. Rather than wait for his voice to return, he swam swiftly, arm over arm, legs a blur behind him. He felt sure that when he stopped to look, the boat would be gone. But when, long seconds later, he paused to check, he was within several strokes of its stern.