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“I don’t understand,” Tel Hesani said. “Surely you just sail up the as-Sudat to the base of the al-Meata and climb from there?”
“That wouldn’t be much of a quest,” J’An laughed. “Questers are forbidden the use of any river. They must quest on foot.”
Tel Hesani smiled wryly. “Your people are cruel, but inventive.”
“How dare you!” Jebel shouted, unable to restrain himself any longer. “You’ve insulted the Um Aineh! I’ll have you executed!” He tried to get up, but J’An laid a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down.
“You must learn to control your temper,” J’An said lightly.
“But he insulted us!”
“Only a mild insult. And he has a point.”
“He’s a slave!”
“Yes. But this is his home. We are guests here. He has the right to voice his opinion in this room. Our laws allow for those few privileges at least.”
“But he’s a slave,” Jebel said again. “He has no rights.”
“In my view he does,” J’An said and there was steel in his tone now. “As your elder, I expect you to bow to me on this.”
Jebel stared sullenly at the older man, then dropped his gaze and placed the palm of his left hand on his forehead. “I beg pardon,” he muttered.
“Granted,” J’An said, then faced Tel Hesani again. “We’re more inventive than you think. It’s not enough for the quester to make his way to Tubaygat. To petition Sabbah Eid, he must make a human sacrifice. Sometimes a friend will travel with him to offer himself up — the victims are guaranteed an afterlife and a prominent place by the side of their favoured god. But usually it’s a slave.”
“I see.” Tel Hesani broke off another chunk of bread, smeared it in dripping, then watched the fat drip off the end of the bread. When the last drop had fallen, he brought the bread to his mouth and bit into it. He spoke while chewing. “Your cur has no friends, so he wants to buy a faithful hound of his own.”
Jebel’s breath caught in his throat. His first impulse was to grab a weapon and strike the slave dead. But there were no knives on the table. As he wildly considered his options – perhaps he could use a pig’s hoof as a makeshift club – J’An said, “Your mouth will get you into trouble one day.”
Tel Hesani smiled without humour. He rubbed a long, fresh welt on his back. “I’ve lived with trouble a long time now.”
J’An winced. “I tried again to buy you back,” he said. “I met an Um Saga trader in the al-Breira who was on his way to Wadi. I paid him to bid for you, hoping your master wouldn’t realise I was behind it. But his offer was rejected. He was told that all the swagah in Abu Aineh couldn’t buy you.”
“Your enemies hate with a vengeance,” Tel Hesani noted drily.
“They have nothing better to do than hate and scheme,” J’An said bitterly. The table shook from where he gripped it. “You’ll die on the docks soon. Your wife and daughters will be sold to the vilest bordello-keepers in Wadi and your son will perish down the mines in the al-Tawla.”
“A cheerless prediction,” Tel Hesani said softly. “But true.” He glanced at his family. They were staring at him expressionlessly.
“I can’t help you,” J’An said. “But I can save Murasa and your children.”
Tel Hesani’s round eyes narrowed. “You think that you can buy them?”
“Better. I can free them.”
Tel Hesani said nothing for a moment, a frown creasing his features. Finally he whispered, “How?”
“A quester to Tubaygat can’t be denied the services of his chosen slave,” J’An said. “If you agree to travel with Jebel, there’s not a damn thing anyone can do about it. Your wife and children will also be assigned to him. Jebel will grant them their freedom before you leave.”
Murasa gasped and clutched her husband’s arm. He said nothing, only set his steady gaze on Jebel Rum and observed the boy silently.
Jebel thought about what J’An Nasrim had said, and how the slave had called him a cur. Then he looked at J’An and said, “I don’t agree to this.”
“You have no choice,” J’An responded. “You need a slave. I’m offering you Tel Hesani. This is the price of his obedience.”
“If I set his family free, what’s to stop him killing me in my sleep and slipping away to join them?” Jebel asked.
“I give you my word that he won’t,” J’An growled.
Jebel lowered his head and placed his palm on his forehead. “I beg pardon, but your word isn’t enough. I don’t know this slave. I don’t like him. I certainly can’t trust him.”
“Listen to me, you young–” J’An roared.
“No,” Tel Hesani cut in. “The boy is right. He must have a real assurance.”
J’An let out a shaky breath. “Then you accept?” he asked Tel Hesani.
The slave shrugged. “I have already accepted death. Whether I die on the docks or on a crazy quest is of no consequence. But if I can save my family by going on the quest, then obviously I shall.”
J’An faced Jebel again. “What assurance will satisfy you?”
“I don’t know,” Jebel said, head in a spin.
“How about holding his family here for a year?” suggested J’An.
“And if Tel Hesani kills me tomorrow, then waits a year to link up with them?”
J’An cursed. “I’m sorry I ever offered to help. Let’s just forget about–”
“Wait,” Murasa said, speaking out of turn. All of the men looked at her in surprise. She was studying Jebel. Her eyes were bright green and her cheeks were fiery red. But her lips were pale as ice when she spoke. “Um Aineh have spirit witches, crones who can communicate with the dead, yes?”
“Yes,” Jebel said.
“If you accept my husband as your slave and turn us over to your father, he can hold us captive for a year. If you return, you’ll free us. If not, an Um Aineh witch will try to contact your spirit. If my husband served you well, you’ll tell her and we shall be freed. If, on the other hand, my husband betrayed you, or if the witch cannot make contact, we will go to the executioner’s block.”
“No!” Tel Hesani snapped. “Those witches are fakes. They can’t speak to the dead. They say what the person paying them wants to hear. J’An Nasrim’s enemies will bribe them to say I killed the boy.”
“Perhaps,” Murasa agreed. “But at least this way we have hope. Also, if the worst comes to the worst, I would rather die cleanly, with my children by my side, than perish slowly and in degrading conditions, cut off from them, alone.”
Murasa fell silent and Jebel gawped 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.
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 his 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 honour.”
“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 apologise,” 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 honour,” 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 further 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 which 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 leant 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 leant 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 here. 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 centre 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 which 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 colour, 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.”
