Murasa fell silent and Jebel gaped at her. He’d never heard a slave speak with such dignity. He’d never thought a slave could speak in such a way.
“It’s a fair proposal,” said J’An Nasrim. “I’ll make sure I’m here for the mukhayret. If you don’t return, I’ll try to have a neutral witch appointed. Tel Hesani is a faithful husband and father. If you won’t trust my word, will you trust the bond between a man and those he loves?”
Jebel had been brought up to believe that slaves knew nothing of love or duty, but he could see the pain in Tel Hesani’s eyes.
“I agree,” he blurted. “If he comes with me and lets me sacrifice him, I’ll free his family. If we fail, and he dies trying to save me, I’ll tell the witch of it if I can. But if he betrays me…”
Jebel looked at the children and drew a finger across his throat.
“So be it,” Tel Hesani said quietly. “When must we leave?”
“Immediately,” said J’An. “You’ll accompany Jebel to the high lord’s palace. It’s best if I don’t come. I’ll go instead to see Rashed and tell him of your deal. Once Jebel’s quest has been approved, the two of you will start out.”
“Very well.” Tel Hesani pushed himself away from the table, stood, and pointed to the doorway. “Will you wait outside? There are some things I wish to say to my family before we depart.”
J’An Nasrim put his hands together and bowed. A reluctant Jebel did the same. Then the pair withdrew, leaving Tel Hesani to bid farewell to the wife and children he would never see again after that night.
CHAPTER FIVE
The palace of the high lord was centuries old, although many new buildings had been added to it during that time. In one of the palace’s older, smaller rooms, Wadi Alg (all high lords took the name of the city) was digesting a delicious meal and studying a scrawny boy who stood trembling by the doorway. By Wadi Alg’s side his daughter Debbat was playing with her father’s hair and muttering in his ear.
“Imagine the glory it would bring to Wadi. It’s been a hundred years since Abu Aineh could last boast of a successful Tubaygat quester, and more than four hundred since an um Wadi had the honor.”
“True,” Wadi Alg nodded. “But this boy doesn’t look like he’ll break the barren run. He’s thin, daughter. I’ve seen more muscles on a frog.”
Debbat stifled a laugh, then slapped her father playfully. “You mustn’t say such things. Jebel might not look like much, but he’s Rashed Rum’s son and he plans to quest to Tubaygat. He deserves respect.”
“I apologize,” the high lord grinned, then glanced at his wife for advice.
“The boy’s a sorry example of an um Wadi,” Danafah Alg sneered. “But he is the executioner’s son. If we dismiss him, Rashed Rum might feel insulted. We should let him quest.”
“But he’s so… puny,” the high lord protested. “We’d be sending him to certain death.”
“At least he would die with honor,” Danafah said. “If he remains, what sort of a man will he become—a trader or teacher? That’s no life for an executioner’s son. Rashed Rum will thank us for this. The boy has been an embarrassment since birth. With our help, he can redeem himself and die for the glory of Wadi.”
“And if he returns in a couple of months, having made it no farther than Shihat or the walls of Abu Judayda?” the high lord asked.
“Then his father can execute him, and he’ll soon be forgotten,” the high lady replied calmly.
Wadi Alg wavered. He wasn’t sure that Rashed Rum would thank him for sending one of his sons to his death, even if the boy was a runt. But if he rejected the request, Jebel would be humiliated, which in many ways was even worse.
“Very well,” Wadi Alg muttered. “Bring the boy forward.”
Jebel advanced hesitantly. He couldn’t believe what he was doing. This morning he had been thinking only of kissing Debbat Alg. Now here he stood, facing the high lord, asking for permission to go on a quest that would almost surely result in his death.
Tel Hesani walked close behind Jebel, head bowed, no fear in his heart. He had accepted his fate and would go wherever it led him.
Jebel stopped opposite the high lord. Placing his trembling hands together, he said, “Thank you for welcoming me into your home, my lord.” His voice didn’t shake, and for that he silently gave thanks to the god of iron, Aiehn Asad.
“It’s a pleasure,” Wadi Alg said. “My daughter has often spoken highly of you. When I heard that you were here, I thought you had come to ask for her hand.”
Debbat’s eyes flared. Her father pretended to cough, so he could cover his mouth and hide his smirk. He knew his daughter’s game—she cared nothing for this boy and only wanted him to die questing in her name. By claiming she had an interest in the thin youth, he had taken her down a peg or two.
Jebel’s gaze slid incredulously to Debbat. His spirits soared at the thought that she might be in love with him, and his confidence flourished.
“My quest comes before all else, my lord. If I succeed, and Sabbah Eid blesses me, I’ll return and enter the mukhayret. If the day goes my way, I will be free to choose my wife and then…” He stopped short of saying he’d choose Debbat.
“Truly these are the words of a great lover,” Wadi Alg murmured, and had to fake another cough. “Is this your slave?” he asked, once he’d recovered.
“It is,” Jebel said. “His name is Tel Hesani. I ask that he and his family be signed over to my ownership.”
The high lord frowned. “I know that name. Where have I…?” His wife leaned over and whispered in his ear. Wadi Alg’s expression darkened. “I sense the hand of J’An Nasrim at work. Has he put you up to this?”
“No, my lord. The decision to quest was mine alone.”
“But did J’An Nasrim—”
“My lord,” Jebel interrupted. “How I know the slave and why I chose him is of no interest to anyone. He is fit for sacrifice. What else matters?”
Wadi Alg blinked, then smiled. “Well said,” he commended Jebel. “I know several enemies of J’An Nasrim who will be livid when they hear of this, but you are right—a quester is free to choose any slave in Abu Aineh.
“Very well.” The high lord leaned forward. “If I grant you permission to quest, do you swear not to challenge my authority upon your return? If successful, will you settle for the post of executioner?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s settled.” The high lord clicked his fingers at a servant. “Feed the fire in the hall of quests and prepare the brand.”
A short while later, Jebel was standing inside the fabled hall of quests. Only the high lord, his most trusted servants, and questers ever set foot there. Jebel had heard many tales of the hall, that it was a vast cavern lined with human skulls, guarded by a monstrous hound. But in fact the hall was a cramped, dark cellar, with a thin chimney rising from the center above a small fire.
Wadi Alg moved closer to the fire, where two men were working on a pair of bellows. They were the only four people in the room—Tel Hesani waited outside with Debbat. The fire was kept burning at all times, but usually it was a dim glow. It was only fanned to life when it was needed to heat a branding iron.
“Don’t let its appearance deceive you,” the high lord said. “This is a holy room. That fire was originally ignited with an ember taken from Sabbah Eid’s den in Tubaygat. It’s a godly flame that we have kept alive these many centuries. If you swear to quest, you swear it to Sabbah Eid himself. If you are to change your mind, change it now before you give your word to a god.”
“I’m not going to change my mind,” Jebel said, although he wished that he could.
“So be it.” The head of a small branding iron had been rammed into the heart of the fire. Wadi Alg took hold of the handle. “Come here.” When the boy was standing beside him, Wadi Alg said, “State your name.”
“Jebel Rum.”
“Do you swear to quest to Tubaygat and petition Sabbah Eid?”
“I so swear.?
??
“Do you swear to abide by the laws of the quest?”
“I so swear.”
“Do you swear to give your life if necessary and to have it held without value by all Um Aineh if you return unsuccessfully?”
“I so swear.”
“Then I grant you permission to quest.”
The high lord picked up the brand. The head glowed white-hot. Without any warning he grabbed Jebel’s right wrist, then drove the head of the brand into the flesh of Jebel’s forearm. Jebel had expected the pain, but even so he couldn’t help gasping and pulling away from the burning heat. Wadi Alg held Jebel firmly, only releasing him when the stench of burning flesh tickled the inside of his nostrils.
Jebel fell away from the high lord, clutching his arm to his chest, squeezing the flesh above the mark left by the brand, trying to cut off the pain. It was far worse than he’d anticipated.
“Show me your arm.” Wadi Alg examined the brand. It was an ugly red color, but the lines were solid—a coiled, fiery cobra. “While you live, this will be your proudest mark,” the high lord said, and he sounded almost envious. “Very few have the courage to quest to Tubaygat. Even if you fail, you can be proud of the choice you have made. All who see this brand will know you are a true um Wadi, and your family will boast of you from this day forward.”
Jebel took comfort in the high lord’s words. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he wiped sweat from his forehead. “Thank you for making it a clean brand, my lord,” he croaked. If the mark had come out smudged, he would have had to be branded again.
“I’ve had lots of practice,” Wadi Alg laughed, then slapped Jebel’s back and guided him to the door. “Come, let us prepare for your departure. You must leave Wadi immediately. Your quest starts now, Jebel Rum!”
CHAPTER SIX
Debbat didn’t believe Jebel would go through with it until she saw the brand. She was sure that he would back out at the last moment, and had prepared a number of insults to hurl after him as he fled the palace like a whipped dog. But when the boy staggered out of the hall of quests, shaken but upright, she realized this was for real, that he was truly going to quest in her name.
Debbat’s heart beat fast and her eyes twinkled. She almost raced forward and kissed Jebel. But then reality reasserted itself. The weedy youth would surely fail, and it wouldn’t do for people to think that she was fond of him. The winner of the mukhayret (J’An or J’Al—she still couldn’t decide!) might lose interest in her if he believed her heart belonged to another.
“Did it hurt?” she asked as they walked behind her father.
“A mere sting,” Jebel said, his teeth still chattering from the pain.
“What’s the hall of quests like?” Debbat whispered.
“Incredible,” Jebel lied.
“Were there heads? And a hound?”
Jebel didn’t answer, but by the way he smiled, she assumed that there had been—heads, hounds, and a whole lot more. Why hadn’t she been born a man so that she could have quested too!
In the high lord’s chamber, Wadi Alg bid Jebel sit and went to a large chest. “You will need swagah,” he said, opening the chest to reveal a mound of coins.
“I have some already, my lord,” Jebel said. J’An Nasrim had presented him with a small bag of swagah before leaving to tell Jebel’s father the news.
“Some is good,” the high lord grunted. “More is better.” He filled a pouch with gold swagah and another with silver. Jebel accepted the gifts silently. He couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Guard the coins carefully,” the high lord said. “Divide them between yourself and your slave. The path to Tubaygat is never easy. Even a small fortune like this won’t ensure your safe passage. Don’t rely on swagah. Keep your wits about you too.”
“Thank you, my lord,” said Jebel.
Wadi Alg thought about what other advice he could bestow upon the boy, then decided this wasn’t the time for a lecture. Instead he clapped Jebel on the back and dismissed him. He didn’t wish him luck—it wasn’t the custom.
Jebel retreated with Tel Hesani. Debbat slipped out after them. “I thought you might like to look at me one last time,” she preened, free to act as she liked now that there was no one to see.
“It won’t be the last time,” Jebel said confidently. Then he did something he wouldn’t have dared under any other circumstances—he bent forward and kissed the high maid. Debbat’s eyes widened, but she didn’t pull free. When Jebel released her, he was beaming dreamily.
“I could have you executed for that!” gasped Debbat.
“You won’t,” Jebel smirked.
Debbat glared at him, then giggled. “If you return, perhaps you’ll receive more than a kiss next time.”
With that she swept away, buzzing from the memory of the kiss but not sure if she should tell her friends about it—after all, it was only Jebel Rum, and who on Makhras had ever wanted to kiss him!
Jebel watched the high maid leave, wishing he could kiss her again. Then Tel Hesani said, “We must make a start, master.”
“It’s still early,” Jebel grumbled.
“We have much to do before we leave. We need to study a map, decide on our route, purchase supplies….”
“All right,” Jebel snarled. “Just don’t forget who’s in charge.”
“I would never presume to tell my young master his business,” said Tel Hesani. “But since I know more of the world than you, I urge you to heed my advice. That is, after all, one of the reasons why you chose me.”
Jebel thought about whipping Tel Hesani for his impudence. But when he gazed into the slave’s eyes, he hesitated. Jebel was certain the slave loved his wife and children and would help the um Wadi for their sake. But slaves were savages at heart. He might forget his vow and strangle Jebel if pushed too far.
“Come on,” Jebel said, nudging ahead of the tall, pale-skinned man. “We have to drop your brood of rats off at my father’s before we leave.”
Tel Hesani didn’t respond to that, just followed with a wry smile.
Murasa and the children were waiting outside the servants’ entrance, and so, to Jebel’s surprise, was Bastina.
“I know what you’ve done,” Bastina said. “I feared you’d do something stupid, so I came here and Murasa told me about your deal.”
“It’s not stupid,” Jebel grunted. He thrust his arm out at the servant girl so she could admire his brand. “See?”
Bastina didn’t even look at his arm. “You shouldn’t have done this,” she said softly. “There were other ways to redeem your honor.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jebel huffed. “You’re just a girl.”
“Maybe,” Bastina said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “But I care about you. I know you’re going to die or be captured by slavers. And I know I’ll miss you. I…” Tears overwhelmed her and she had to stop. Murasa put an arm around the girl and hugged her, glaring at Jebel accusingly.
“It’s not my fault she feels that way,” Jebel muttered. But he felt bad, so he reached behind his tunic to where he’d strapped the bags of swagah and pressed three silver coins into Bastina’s hand.
“I don’t want your blood money,” she wept.
“It’s a gift, Bas,” Jebel said. “If I return, give them back to me. If I don’t, you can spend them on a memorial for me—though I think you’d be better off buying some new clothes.” He tugged at her dirty blouse. “You’d attract a husband a lot quicker if you had nice outfits.”
“What do you care… whether I… get married or not?” Bastina gulped. “You’re only worried… about Debbat and what… she thinks of you.”
“I worry about you too,” Jebel said, and it wasn’t a total lie. “I’d like to see you married. You’re not ugly, except when you cry. The trouble is, you cry most of the time—when people are beheaded, when slaves are whipped, when questers set off.” He wiped tears from her face and smiled. “Buy fancy clothes if I don’t return, an
d try not to cry so much. Then you’ll find a husband in no time.”
Jebel stepped back from Bastina and smiled sheepishly at Tel Hesani. The slave looked at Jebel neutrally, awaiting his command. “Well,” Jebel said uncertainly, “I guess we’d better take your family to my father’s house and—”
“Bas said that she would take us,” Murasa interrupted. “I told her you would be in a hurry to leave. J’An Nasrim will have already told your father of your quest, so there is no need for you to accompany us, unless you wish to discuss it with him before you depart.”
Jebel would have liked to say good-bye to his father and brothers—he felt lonely now that he realized he would probably never see them again—but questers didn’t usually take a detour to bid their loved ones farewell. Besides, he didn’t think they would approve of his decision, and he couldn’t stand the thought of them criticizing him.
“Very well,” Jebel said hollowly. He glanced at Tel Hesani, then Murasa. “Is there anything you want to say to each other?”
“We said all that needed to be said before we left home,” Tel Hesani replied. He exchanged a look with Murasa, then with his children. They all gazed at him silently, fighting back tears. Tel Hesani gulped, then turned and pointed to a street. “I suggest we go this way, to the docks. From there we can follow the path north to where the early-morning traders pitch their stalls.”
“Yes,” Jebel said. “That was my plan anyway.” He smiled at Bastina. Sniffling, she put her hands together and bowed. He nodded at her roughly, then hurried after Tel Hesani, who was already several strides ahead and moving swiftly.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was a glorious summer morning, not a single cloud in the perfect blue sky. A breeze blew in off the as-Sudat, cooling those who labored nearby.
Jebel and Tel Hesani had walked all night, arriving at the huge market on the northern outskirts of Wadi a few hours before daybreak. Jebel was fit to drop by the time they stopped, and he dozed until dawn, sitting on a stone bench, head bobbing, watched over by his slave.