Page 4

In Which Introductions are Finally Made

A s’ad expected the girl to sleep for hours still after their long night guarding the fire. But as soon as he began cooking breakfast, he could hear rustling from the tent behind him.

He turned to look. She was stumbling through the flap and groggily attempting to pat her hair down. As’ad had never seen hair so . . . big? The dark curls that he had previously noted as being a bit wild were completely untamed outside of the braid she had confined it in the day before.

“Turn around.”

As’ad blinked stupidly at her.

“I can feel the absolute beast that my hair has become. I’m pretty sure it’s feral, and you don’t look a wild animal in the eye, as it is liable to attack.” The girl delivered her speech with half-closed eyes and a monotone voice. Then she stumbled toward the low hill and scraggly bushes they had designated for privy use.

As’ad did as she asked and returned his focus to the fire. He kept his back to her when she made her return a few minutes later, and resolutely ignored everything happening behind him until she appeared at his side. He then wordlessly offered her the stale bread he had toasted, plus a portion of porridge.

Her “thank you” was quite prim and sounded much more awake. A glance showed that her hair had been wrangled into a long braid down her back. Here and there, a loose curl defied her efforts.

“Do you have a name?” he asked.

“Of course I have a name, who doesn’t have a name?” She frowned over her meal at him, then blinked. “Oh. Right. My name is Rahma.”

“As’ad.”

“It’s nice to meet you, As’ad.” Rahma nodded deeply from her position next to the dying fire.

“Finish quickly,” he directed, turning his attention to scattering the coals. “We’re heading to Balda.”

Rahma frowned, her mouth too full of food to respond. When she swallowed, she asked, “Balda? That’s not the last village we passed.”

“Correct.” As’ad stood and brushed off the seat of his robes.

“I thought you would try to take me back to that last community.”

“I don’t backtrack, ever.”

Rahma shoved the last of her breakfast into her mouth and stood. She followed him over to the handcart, where he had begun repacking the few items he had removed the night before.

“Why don’t you backtrack?”

As’ad wasn’t about to tell her that returning to the scene of a crime was a good way to get caught, so he held his tongue. The girl seemed to understand he wouldn’t budge on this subject and went to pack her own things. He fed the rats and made sure they were settled. Qamar, the luminescent white beauty, resisted her usual cage but calmed when he nestled her in his pocket.

“If you’re going all the way to Jabal, why can’t I just go with you?”

As’ad turned to stare her down. “Are you seriously asking why you, a young”—he paused to pointedly look at her unadorned wrists—“unmarried female, shouldn’t be traveling with me, an unknown, strange man who is in no way related, for weeks on end?”

She had the decency to flush.

“Now, I know that I am not a creep who preys on young women, but you don’t know that.” He moved to the tent she had vacated and began tearing it down. “Your parents must be worried about you.”

“It’s fine. I left a note.”

As’ad wasn’t sure if she was acting or truly that naive. He hefted the tent bundle into his cart and made a space for her things.

“Set your pack in the cart.”

“Why?”

He looked at her in confusion. “So you don’t have to carry it?”

She blinked, and the curling black lashes brushing against her brown cheek distracted him for a moment. Then she smirked, and As’ad wondered what she would say next. To his surprise, and mild disappointment, Rahma simply did as she was bid.

They hadn’t been on the road for more than five minutes, at most, when the girl started talking.

“I bet you’re wondering why I want to go to Jabal, aren’t you?”

As’ad wasn’t going to get sucked into that game. He grunted.

“I’m on my way to rescue my friend Suha,” she declared.

This time, he didn’t even grunt. He kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, scanning for potholes and wild animals.

“Suha has been my best friend since she was born. I’m an only child, you know.”

As’ad didn’t know, and reminded himself that he didn’t care. His continued silence didn’t seem to affect Rahma in the slightest.

“Suha’s parents both died a couple weeks ago.”

“That’s very sad,” he offered when she didn’t immediately keep speaking.

“It is,” Rahma agreed quietly. “I was over at their house so often, it was sort of like having extra parents.”

As’ad had never known his parents, but he theoretically understood that they were precious to many people.

The girl rolled back her shoulders and straightened her spine. “Suha was supposed to come live with us.” Her words were a bit fiercer than As’ad would have expected the situation to call for. But, as he was determined not to play into whatever her game was, he didn’t question any of it.

“Somehow,” Rahma all but snarled, “that woman produced a letter from Suha’s ‘relatives.’ My too-trusting parents bought it. And let her take Suha!”

As’ad half-expected her to spit or kick something. Clearly, she didn’t believe the provenance of the letter and was upset by the actions her parents had taken. Or rather, not taken?

“Anyway.” She took a cleansing breath. “Suha is stuck in Jabal and I’m going to bring her back.”

Not all of her narrative made sense to him, but he caught the last part.

“What do you think you are ‘rescuing’ her from? And how would you get back?”

Rather than take offense, as he half-expected, Rahma nodded. “I missed a few details, didn’t I?”

As’ad kept his eyes on the path. He moved more carefully for a few steps when he felt Qamar climbing up to his shoulder.

“We have a . . . woman in Nahr”—her pause insinuated unsavory things about the female—“who houses orphans until they can be rehomed or employed somewhere. Suha was staying with us before her parents died. They were concerned that she was going to get sick, as well.”

In hindsight, it appeared their prudence had been warranted.

“My parents were intending to let Suha stay with us forever.” She interrupted herself with a rueful laugh. “Well, not forever -forever. I’m sure she would have gotten married and left eventually. But she’s only sixteen, we have time.”

The way she stated her friend’s age made it sound like Rahma was older, but As’ad wasn’t going to invite more personal details from the young lady.

“Hadia never should have gotten her claws on Suha.” Rahma reached down to pluck a wad of some type of long grass and ruthlessly started pulling off the blades and seed bits as she continued. “That woman stopped caring for orphans years ago. There isn’t much need for her in Nahr, fortunately, but the few children she did have all ‘miraculously’ learned about relatives who amazingly and coincidentally —VERY coincidentally,” she muttered vehemently, “all live in Jabal.”

Compared to the rural villages As’ad usually frequented, Jabal was a thriving metropolis. So it was possible that multiple orphans from Nahr could have relatives living there. He wondered why Rahma didn’t believe that to be the case for her friend. He was also mildly impressed by the vitriol in her sarcasm.

Almost as if she could read his mind, she supplied the answer. “I know that it’s technically possible, but Suha didn’t recognize the names of her so-called relatives. Hadia claimed that they were estranged and looking to reconcile. BUT. How would Hadia know who to look for when Suha didn’t?”

The grass stem had been mutilated to nothing. She dropped it and grabbed a fresh one.

After a beat of silence, As’ad asked, “How do you know she wants to be rescued?”

“Of course she does!

He pressed, “Maybe she wants to make a fresh start. Not be stuck in a town filled with memories of her parents, but no parents.”

“Uh—” The thought had obviously not occurred to Rahma before. A deep wrinkle formed in her brow as she processed the idea.

As’ad let that settle, content to continue plodding along without words. Surely this would be what convinced her to seek a way home.

All too soon, the dark-haired girl clapped once and nodded to herself. “I will ask her first and respect her answer. Then I will rescue her!”

He didn’t bother hiding his snort. “Which, again, brings us back to: How are you going to get her back home?”

When she didn’t answer right away, he glanced over. An odd expression sat on her face.

“You know, it’s really hard to take you seriously with a rat on your shoulder.”

Since Qamar had been there for a good bit, he concluded that the girl hadn’t looked at him for a while. “How is that my fault, exactly?”

“It’s not,” she assured him. “What is that one’s name?”

“Who says I name the specimens I collect for studying?”

“Your baby talk.”

Hard to refute that. “This is Qamar.”

Recognizing her name, the white rat pushed her body against his jaw. He smiled automatically, then rearranged his mouth when he remembered that Rahma was watching him.

She didn’t remark on it, and he wondered if she had missed the exchange or had a reason for ignoring it.

“What do you feed them?”

“A little bit of everything.”

“Like . . .?”

As’ad wanted to scratch the back of his neck, but he knew that was his discomfort talking and didn’t want to communicate that to her. “Um, grain, seeds. Some fruits and veggies. They like a little bit of meat now and then.”

Rahma nodded along as he spoke. “What about yogurt? Or cheese?”

“No.” He shook his head, careful not to dislodge Qamar. “The others are smart enough to avoid those, but Fat Carl can’t seem to resist no matter how grisly the aftereffects.” He grimaced at the memory.

“Do I want to kn—No. Your face says I should leave it at that.” Her laugh was playful.

A moist breeze slid in from the south, reminding As’ad that he needed to check everyone’s water soon.

“How do you keep them from reproducing?”

Startled, he looked over at her.

She shrugged. “I saw the cages. They don’t look as secure as they could be.”

That was true. He nudged a wheel-stopping stone out of his path. “The rats I currently have are all girls.”

“You named a girl Fat Carl?” Disbelief colored her tone.

“Excuse me, there are five girls and Fat Carl. But since the girls avoid him and he doesn’t seem to think of anything but food, it hasn’t been a problem.”

“Are they all as affectionate as Qamar?”

“Khudha likes to ride on my shoulder, too,” he admitted.

“What does she look like?”

As’ad was walked through a tour of his rats, including their appearances and behaviors, without realizing how much he was talking until it was time to stop for lunch. After watering his pets and checking his main supply, he realized how dry his throat was and chugged a good bit more than usual.

During the stop, Rahma asked to see the rest of the rats. She learned how to tell Sarir and Yasrukh apart. Both were dappled brown and white, but Sarir had a brown patch over one eye, whereas her sister had a brown mask over both eyes. Alzali’s sleek gray form was admired, and Fat Carl’s round one was the source of a couple of stifled giggles. Rahma kept her distance from Khudha, who hissed a warning. As’ad blamed it on the rat being woken up from her normal daytime sleep.

The afternoon passed more quickly than As’ad was used to. His days of travel tended to blend together with nothing to distract him from his thoughts. Rahma tried to lure him into more personal conversations from time to time, but he was on guard again. His lack of engagement didn’t seem to bother her that much. She cheerfully chatted about anything and everything under the sun until they stopped for the night. He learned that she liked needlework but not weaving, couldn’t whistle, and thought that Sharamil would benefit from a rural library system like the one Bavenpier had.

After a simple dinner, Rahma failed to engage positively with any of the rats. She moved slowly and spoke in a soothing tone, but the standoffish rodents wanted nothing to do with her. They stuck close to As’ad while watching the stranger. Sarir, Yasruhk, and Qamar turned his lap into a communal bathing spot and soon forgot to eye the girl with misgiving. Khudha and Alzali took up that slack from their perches on his shoulders. Only Fat Carl ignored Rahma’s presence completely. He chose a spot on a fire-warmed rock to doze, content to lay there until the fire was doused for the night.

It wasn’t until they were settled into their separate sleeping spaces that As’ad realized the girl had neatly redirected the conversation away from her plans. Her willingness to discuss his pets had completely derailed him. The steady stream of information about herself had kept him off-balance. A begrudging ember of admiration glowed in his chest. That had been neatly done.

Since their path headed due north, the landscape had reverted back to sand. As’ad didn’t realize he was making a face until his uninvited travel companion asked him about it.

“I don’t like sand,” he admitted.

“Because it’s coarse and rough and irritating?” Rahma offered.

“And it gets everywhere,” he added with a smirk. Living in a country dominated by desert meant that most people just accepted the sand as a part of life and didn’t bother complaining. It was nice to hear an opinion that agreed with his.

“Have you ever been to the coast?”

Wary but deeming that morsel of information to be relatively safe, As’ad admitted that he had.

“Is that sand different from this stuff?” Rahma scooped up a handful of the tan and gray granules, then made a fist and slowly poured them out.

He had to think about that. “I suppose it’s mostly the same. It feels different because the ocean is right there.”

From the corner of his eye, As’ad saw her turn to study him. He pinned his gaze to the top of the small rise in the road.

“Tell me about the ocean, please. I’ve never been.”

Since he couldn’t reveal anything dangerous about his past with such an impersonal request, As’ad happily fulfilled it. He told her about the various ships and smaller boats that plied the waters, and the vast quantities of fish that were brought in daily. His time on the coast had been short-lived, but he remembered the feeling of the salty wind against his skin and the sense of freedom that called to him from beyond the shore. Halfway through a description of the racing vessels some of the wealthy Sharamilans owned, he looked over at Rahma and realized that he was practically gushing.

“Oh, don’t let me stop you,” she rushed to say when he broke off sheepishly. “I love hearing you speak so passionately.”

The tightening of his chest made it hard to speak, and his next words were gruff. “There’s Balda.”

Rahma turned to see the oasis town within view. As’ad thought he read disappointment on her face but turned away determined to focus on getting to civilization and passing her off to a responsible party.

She unsuccessfully tried to engage him in conversation for the last hour of walking. Seeing Balda so close reminded As’ad that he would soon be free of her presence, and there was no need to give her more opportunities to trick information out of him.

Balda was new to the both of them, but it was set up in a familiar manner. A sturdy wall protected the oasis town from the desert raiders that sprang up from time to time. As’ad had seen bandit crews occasionally on his travels, but they usually ignored him. A lone wanderer wasn’t worth the effort. The one time a scraggly looking crew had ventured near, As’ad had whipped out his pipe and played a horde of rampaging rats into existence before the villains got close enough to realize he had been the one to conjure them.

Wide gates allowed entrance to the town, and As’ad quickly found a general merchant’s shop on the main road. Rahma guarded the handcart while he went in to make several purchases. He came back and dumped the parcels in her arms.