Page 8

Which Contains Rat Nostalgia and a Debate

“W hy did you stop?” she asked, picking up the poles again.

He coughed. “I realized that I don’t know who all can see that. It’s far enough away that we could have observers we don’t know about yet.”

“That’s a good point.”

They walked for a few more steps before Rahma had more questions.

“Can you set a time limit for the illusion? Or do you always have to play something? Next”—she paused to sneeze, then continued as if nothing had interrupted her words—“I think you should try something simpler and easier to hide. Like making some rats dance.”

As’ad ran his fingers along the pipe, feeling the familiar dips and holes. “No, I don’t have to play anything to end the enchantment,” he said, already distracted by the idea of dancing rodents. “Usually I plan ahead.”

This time, he pictured a small portion of his usual horde. As he played, he wondered if it would be more aesthetically pleasing for the fake rats to perform individual dances or if they should move in patterns. He quickly settled on the idea of directing the critters along decorative paths. After he blew the last note, he pulled the pipe away from his mouth and rested a hand on the cart to stop Rahma.

As the pair watched, a steady stream of rats in many hues poured out from under the cart and began to weave a design with intricate figures. The effect was rather mesmerizing. As he watched, As’ad had another idea. He raised the pipe to his lips and added a trill while focusing on his new intent. A section of the rodents peeled away from the main group to stand on their hind legs and sway from side to side.

Rahma’s delighted giggle inspired him to create more complex and elaborate diagrams for the rats to follow. The illusion had to be dissolved whenever another traveler was within sight, but the exercise kept As’ad’s mind and creativity occupied for the rest of the day. When they made camp that night, he played with the fire. The melody he chose was fast and bright, and the fake flames grew and twisted in time with the music. He changed the color, he changed the height, he even sent little balls of fire whirling around their campsite. The fire illusion had the added bonus of increasing illumination.

Curious, he piped a little ditty to create a mini orb of flames that would last until morning. The pretend fire followed him into the tent and stayed lit all night. Since it wasn’t real, it couldn’t hurt anything, and he spent far too long swiping his hand through it to prove that point when he was supposed to be sleeping.

The next morning, after the rats were abed and the cart was on the road, Rahma jumped straight to a personal question.

“How did you come to own a magical pipe, anyway?”

The subject of Aladdin and his gang was not one As’ad cared to probe. He also understood that Rahma was as persistent as a leaky roof. She would drip, drip, drip her way in until all his secrets were laid bare. His only hope of holding anything back was to carefully reveal just enough that she was satisfied.

“After the orphanage, I ran with a gang that hunted treasure, among other things. They found this in a cave.”

“You weren’t with them?”

As’ad somehow managed to boil the entire explanation about trying to leave Aladdin’s gang while maintaining his trustworthiness so they wouldn’t hunt him down into one word: “No.”

“Why did they give you a pipe? Did they know it was magic?”

If Aladdin had known what it was capable of, he never would have given it—or As’ad—up.

“None of us knew it was magic. I think I got it because I was the only musician in the group.”

“Ah. That makes sense.”

They walked in silence for a little bit while she chewed on what he had given her. He tried to appreciate the slow cloud that drifted over the sun and provided some relief, even as his not-quite-buried anxiety that the gang would seek him out someday nibbled at his tranquility.

“Then what?”

With difficulty, As’ad escaped the memories that had been tugging him into a bleak place. “What do you mean?”

Rahma narrowed her eyes at him for a second, then clarified in a deliberately light tone, “What happened after you got the pipe?”

“Oh. Right.” He shook his head as though the physical action could loosen the pesky thoughts. Then he had to shake his curls back out of his eyes. Annoyingly, it was nearly time for a haircut.

“Um . . . I left that gang and found my own way.”

“You said something earlier about stumbling onto the magic of the pipe,” Rahma said slowly, as though working it out. “Which means you didn’t start working the rat con immediately. How did you feed yourself?”

His throat felt clogged, so he swallowed, then swallowed again when it didn’t work the first time. “Oh, you know. I, uh, ran some other—scams. That I learned. In my time with . . . them.” His halting explanation was a jumbled mess of half-connected phrases.

Rahma had pity on him and let it slide. They walked quietly for a good ten minutes. Since they were moving almost due south, the jungle of the border region was easier to see on the horizon. As’ad focused on the distant greenery.

In keeping with Rahma’s character, the peace didn’t last. She still had questions about his past, but she approached it from an angle that As’ad didn’t mind exploring.

“So you must have had rats before this set, correct?” She glanced toward the back of the handcart, even though she couldn’t see any of his pets. “Rats don’t live that long, do they?”

She asked gently, and As’ad knew that she wasn’t prying to be mean.

“That’s true,” he said. “I’ve heard they live to be about two-to-four years old, though none of mine have hit that mark yet.”

Her next question was almost tentative. “How long have you had this batch?”

“Fat Carl is the oldest. He is . . .” As’ad paused as he thought. “Eighteen months old? I think that’s right.”

“Oh.”

“Khudha, Alzali, and Qamar came from the same litter. They are right around one year old.”

“What about your brown-and-white speckled beauties?”

He smiled, thinking of his affectionate cuddlers. “Sarir and Yasruhk came to me about seven months ago. They were the only survivors of a flooded wadi.”

“From what you said earlier, it sounds like you aren’t trying to breed more—”

“You mean like an army?” he teased.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “That’s not what I was getting at. I was just wondering— Um . . .”

As’ad had pity on her. “You want to know how I find replacements when they die?”

“Well, I was trying to ask more compassionately.” She sounded frustrated with herself.

“It’s fine.” And, to his surprise, it really was fine. “My particular pets are pretty good at discovering wild rats. They stick close to me in general, but their behavior changes when others are nearby. At this time, I’m not looking for any new friends, so I ignore them. When . . . our numbers dwindle, I pay more attention and see if any of the wild rats are young enough to be trained.”

Rahma nodded thoughtfully. “Will you tell me about the ones you used to have, the ones that came before? Your past rats? I mean,” she rushed to add, “I’m not trying to bring up painful memories. I can tell you really love your furry friends, so I was trying to give you an opportunity to talk about them.”

As’ad didn’t bother to stop the growing smile on his face. Warmth blossomed behind his breastbone at her kindness. “I would love to talk about my rats, actually. Thank you.”

The next few hours were completed with laughter and the occasional tear. As’ad told her all about Bruno, his asocial rat who preferred to hide in his cage and not interact with the others; Ghuldi, who had golden-tan fur and a penchant for hoarding; Easal, his sweetest-tempered rat; and the worst rat he ever had who had earned the moniker Aladdin. As’ad didn’t mention that the cranky rodent was named after his former leader, but she didn’t push for more.

Rahma asked questions at the appropriate moments and laughed in all the right places. She was especially curious to hear tales of Barie, who was so obsessed with nest-building that As’ad often found everything from clumps of hair to torn embroidery in the cage. And about Fantum, who ghosted in and out of places with more stealth than any of the others.

Per her request, they stopped for the midday meal near a crossroads. As’ad aimed to continue heading south before turning west. The major throughway that intersected their path was a more direct route out of the country. As’ad had yet to change his original plan of working through the smaller border towns, and Rahma hadn’t voiced an opinion either way. Perhaps she hadn’t realized they were taking the long way to Jabal. Her sense of direction, or lack thereof, was what had lumped them together in the first place. As’ad resolutely ignored the voice at the back of his mind pointing out that he could be rid of her much faster if they turned west now. He also quashed the other part that wanted to explore exactly why he was prolonging their time together.

Rahma may not have had an informed opinion about their progress, but she did take advantage of the many travelers available. She asked anyone who would slow down for a moment if they had encountered or misplaced any orphans lately.

A surprising number of people reported knowing orphans or other outcasts heading to Jabal. Rahma was unable to collect any more accounts about Hadia, though she still believed her friend was traveling with the woman. As’ad agreed that the amount of orphans heading west was unusual, but he didn’t find it as suspicious as Rahma was determined to believe.

That afternoon, the desert dipped farther south, pushing the growing greenery aside once more. As’ad was a little grumpy about that fact; Rahma didn’t seem bothered at all. Then again, not much seemed to bother the eternally cheerful young lady.

“Ooh, what’s that?”

As’ad looked up from his irritable examination of the sand collecting in mini dunes that obstructed the path. When he saw the shiny half-buried object that she was reaching for, a wordless shout erupted from his lips.

She hastily pulled her hand back, then looked at him in question. When he didn’t say anything immediately, she reached down and pulled out a jagged tube of glass. His heartbeat returned to normal when he saw what it was.

“It’s just a broken bottle. Were you expecting a djinn?” she teased.

His laugh was forced. “Please don’t joke about the djinn.”

Her expression was thoughtful; then she discarded the item over her shoulder. As she often did once As’ad was paying attention, she moved the conversation to something that distracted him from the things he wouldn’t discuss.

“That pipe of yours is kind of an unusual shape, isn’t it?” She meandered over to join him on the main path. “Think it could possibly be the horn of a shadhaver?”

As’ad could truthfully say he hadn’t given the matter much thought. Unlike the human-crafted instruments that were usually made of wood, his pipe had an unusual texture and shape. It was long and thin with little holes that could be covered with his fingers to change the sound, but now that he thought about it, it wasn’t a normal color, either.

“I know that type of faery has been extinct for centuries,” she mused, “but you said it was found in some sort of cave. Who’s to say it hasn’t been sitting there for that long?”

“Is that the one that wandered around enchanting people and animals?”

“Looked kind of like a gazelle with one horn and ate whatever it dazed? Yeah, I think so.”

“Huh.” He shrugged. “Sounds reasonable enough to me. I wonder if there are any depictions of a shadhaver somewhere.”

“Good question. It seems likely; we’ve got art and books dedicated to every other topic under the sun.”

A high-pitched, loud, but clearly distant bird shriek pulled both of their gazes to the sky. Far, far to the north of them, just visible against the pale blue of the heavens, something white circled.

“Is that a rukh?” Rahma asked, using the Sharamilan name.

As’ad knew they were called rocs in other countries. “You ever seen one before?”

“No,” she breathed out in wonder.

The fantastically enormous birds were native to Fanostrin. As’ad had seen them from afar during his journeys through the northern part of Sharamil.

“I wonder what it’s doing so far south?” He stopped pulling the cart.

Rahma had already paused. “It’s crazy to think that we wouldn’t even be able to see him if he wasn’t so huge.”

The pair watched for another moment or two before the winged creature tilted north and flapped out of sight.

A little later, Rahma posed an academic question that As’ad had never considered before.

“What distinction—or distinctions, I suppose—do we use to categorize some creatures as faeries and others as just animals?”

As’ad rubbed his jaw against his shoulder so he could scratch it without dropping the cart poles. “I’m really not sure.”

“For that matter, do we all consider the same ones faeries or animals?”

“Great question.” As’ad’s curls kept trying to get in his eyes, and he was ready for a lengthy (and safe!) distraction. “Let’s work through the ones we are familiar with, shall we?”

Rahma happily engaged. They quickly determined that rats, cows, cats, dogs, and most birds were simply animals. Phoenixes, rukhs, and gaganas seemed to fit into the faery category. Though they happily debated for several minutes whether or not a rukh’s massive size indicated faery status or not. As’ad felt that magic had to be a part of its makeup and, therefore, it could be included in the same division as a bird made of fire and one possessing an iron beak and copper claws.

His companion found those points valid, while also pointing out that they hadn’t established whether or not the inclusion of magic, in either a creature’s physical composition or its abilities, was what earned it the faery moniker.

“Everyone agrees that goblins are faeries, yes?”

“Of course,” Rahma agreed.

“Why? I don’t think ‘animal’ when goblins are being discussed, but what makes them a faery?” As’ad wondered.

“Does intelligence have something to do with it? Intelligence and magic.” Her eyes sparkled as she made her next point, and As’ad lost the thread of their conversation for a moment.

“Think about dryads, right?” she continued. “I know we don’t have any here, but everyone else on the continent seems to. And everyone else on the continent views them as faeries.” Her hands danced around, underlining, emphasizing, and organizing her thoughts. As’ad wondered if she would be able to speak if her hands were glued to her sides or holding something heavy. “So dryads are faeries who must have magic in their physical composition, somehow. The way they can melt in and out of trees has to be magical, yes?”

“No doubt,” As’ad agreed amiably.

“ And they can converse with humans and live completely independent of anyone else.”

“You mean, not like cows or chickens per se, who could probably survive in the wild but would be eaten within a day?”

A gurgle of laughter bubbled out of her chest. “I suppose.” She went on. “I wasn’t thinking about whether or not dryads would be eaten, but yes. They are smart enough to fend for themselves and create their own society.”

“I have heard that there are places that are just dryad communities.”

“And dwarves!” Rahma was already moving on. “Dwarves are the same. Everybody calls them faeries. For the most part, they just look like smaller versions of humans, though.”

“Very hairy, little humans,” he felt the need to point out.

She snorted. “Yeah, yeah. The point I’m trying to make is that dwarves are considered faeries without being obviously magical. Do they have magic? Or are they magic in some way?”

As’ad made a noise in the back of his throat that communicated he had no idea. “What made you think of dwarves, anyway?” he asked.

“Oh”—she flipped her hand back toward the crossroads—“I think I saw one or two while I was interviewing those nice grandparents from Wahatan. They were part of a large caravan.”

After a few minutes of contemplation, As’ad had another thought to share. “What about pixies? They can fly and grant blessings to newborns, according to the tales, but don’t have a reputation for intelligence.”

Rahma made a face and tilted her hand from side to side. “They’re supposed to be flighty—”

“Ha!”

“Yeah, I get it. Anyway , they aren’t smart, but they can communicate with human speech, right?”

“So they say.”

“Hold up.” Rahma plopped to the ground. “I’ve got a stone in my shoe.”

While she took care of that, As’ad used the pause to check whether his pets needed water. Qamar chittered a few sleepy squeaks, and Fat Carl twitched his little paws and brought them to his mouth as if dreaming of food. The rest of the rats snoozed on peacefully.

“I’ve kind of lost where I was going with that.” Rahma stood and brushed herself off. “But I think it was something about ratios of magic to sentience, or something like that. Bleh. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore.”

“No, wait. Give me a second,” As’ad requested.

Her vague words had sparked a nebulous idea that slowly coalesced into something more solid.

“Rabbits are sentient, whereas chairs are not,” he said as he got into position and lifted the cart poles. “But we classify a rabbit as an animal and a miraj as a faerie . . .” His words drifted off.

“Are you saying that, while both are sentient, the miraj also has, or is, magic, so it earns the faery title?”

“Yes?” As’ad smiled at her helplessly. “I thought I knew where I was going with that.”

They continued their lighthearted debate on and off until they found a pleasant spot to camp shortly before sunset.

As they were finishing their supper, Rahma brought it up once more. “You know, there are probably scholars and books devoted to the faery field of study.” She ran a finger down Alzali’s back. The gray rat had decided Rahma was acceptable. “We can’t be the only ones to stumble on this question.”

“I bet you are correct.” As’ad pulled Khudha out of his hair from where her attempts to bathe him had become a little too aggressive.

“Maybe one day, we’ll find some of them.”

“The books or the scholars?”

“Either!” She grinned at him from across the fire, and his stomach did that lurching thing that was becoming more common.

Only later, when As’ad had curled up in his blankets, did he realize Rahma had spoken with the assumption that their futures would continue to include each other. And he had automatically gone along with it. It would be better for everyone if he remembered that their paths would diverge soon enough. Which they would.