Vessel

Liyana wanted to see him with such an intensity that it felt like a pull on her skin. She struggled to push herself up. “I must—”

“You must drink some water,” the chieftess said. She held out a waterskin. “If that stays inside you, we will try a thin broth. Your insides need to remember how to function.” As Liyana reached for the waterskin, she felt as if her skull were being squeezed. She cried out. Leaning forward, the chieftess pressed her palm to Liyana’s forehead and concentrated. After a moment, the pressure in Liyana’s head lessened.

“You’re the clan magician,” Liyana said. She was about to ask if Korbyn had been right, that their summoning ceremony had failed, when the tent flap was lifted.

A young man poked his head inside. “Is Bayla’s vessel awake yet?” His voice boomed through the tent as if he were accustomed to bellowing across the desert.

“You should be quiet when you enter a sickroom,” the magician-chieftess said. “Didn’t your mother teach you better manners?”

He hung his head. “Sorry, Mother.”

“Come in, Fennik. She’s awake.”

Fennik trotted inside. Closer, Liyana saw the family resemblance: He had his mother’s amber-flecked eyes and his father’s wide shoulders. He squatted next to Liyana. As he squatted, his muscles compressed so that he looked spring-loaded. He was dressed as if for a traditional dance: an embroidered loincloth, several layers of gold necklaces, and black makeup in swirls over his cheeks and chest. His golden skin glistened as if he’d been rubbed with oil. His arms were bare, exposing the chiseled perfection of his arms as well as his tattoos. She knew those tattoos.

“You’re Sendar’s vessel,” Liyana said.

The chieftess rose. “You two have much to discuss.” She handed the crescent-shaped knife to her son and cryptically said, “The decision lies with you.”

Liyana’s eyes fixed on the blade. He shifted the hilt from hand to hand as if testing its weight. The chieftess swept out of the tent. With her exit came a breeze that rustled the tassels that hung from the ceiling of the tent. Bells tinkled, and Liyana thought of the bells that she’d left for her family.

“You believe the trickster?” Fennik asked.

“I danced through the night, and Bayla didn’t come.”

“And your clan?” He continued to toy with the knife. “Did they believe him?”

“My clan went to Yubay to dreamwalk again in hopes Bayla would choose a new vessel, and they left me behind so as not to anger her further.” It hurt to think about it. But if anyone would understand, it was another vessel. His clan must have been bereft as well. “Korbyn came a day later.”

“My clan would never reject me,” Fennik said, his confidence absolute.

His words felt like a kick. She focused again on the knife. He continued to switch it from hand to hand. She couldn’t tell if it was habit or preparation. “Bayla didn’t reject me. She was taken. She must have been. I am worthy.”

“So you say.”

Liyana glared at him. She wished she were fast enough to snatch that knife out of his hands. “You must at least believe that I’m not Bayla.”

After a brief hesitation, he nodded. “My father deeply regrets the pain that he caused you.”

She noticed his father wasn’t here extending an apology. “I do wonder what he would have done if I had been Bayla. I cannot imagine that my goddess would have taken kindly to being stabbed through the stomach.”

“He was prepared to die for his god.”

“That’s not dying for your god; that’s dying for your stupidity.”

Knife clenched in his hand, Fennik rose. “You do not take my family’s hospitality and then call my father stupid.”

“I don’t call this ‘hospitality.’ ” She raised her shirt to show her scar. “If you plan to stab me again, there’s your target. Is that why Korbyn isn’t here? So he can’t save me twice?” She felt fury mix with her fear, and she grabbed onto the fury and let it fuel her. “We did not have to come here. Korbyn and I could have skipped your clan and rescued Bayla and left your god to rot in whatever false vessel he’s trapped in. But instead of a ‘thank-you,’ I’m greeted with a knife in my stomach, separated from my companion, and stuck in a tent with an oiled-up muscle boy who has a ‘decision’ to make that may or may not involve another knife. I did nothing to you or your clan! Whatever issue you have with Korbyn and Bayla has nothing to do with me. All I want is my goddess to be where she belongs so that my little brother will not have to die before he has truly lived!” She was shouting, and she noticed that she had risen to sitting. Her whole body trembled. Liyana sank back into the pillows. “Ow. I still hurt. And I will scar. Bayla won’t be pleased about that. I have been so careful to keep this body unblemished for her. She won’t like that it’s been used as a pincushion. Later, if there is a later, you can justify it to her.”

She heard applause from the entrance to the tent. Korbyn walked inside, clapping. “I should have waited and let you speak with the elders. That was masterful.”

Liyana couldn’t help the smile that blossomed over her face. “You’re all right! Are you all right?” She tried to rise again, but her arms shook so badly that she collapsed backward.

Ignoring Fennik and his knife, Korbyn knelt beside Liyana. “You were the one who was stabbed and yet you ask about me. Again you surprise me.”

“I know how I am. You’re the unknown. You healed me, didn’t you? Have you recovered?” Healing her sand wolf gashes had knocked him out for hours. This had to have been far more serious. She studied his face and saw his eyes were sunken with deep lines as if he hadn’t slept.

“After three days, yes, I am well.”

Three days! She shot up to sitting. Her head spun. She cried in pain, and Korbyn helped her lie down. She felt his arms around her, warm and comforting.

“You would heal faster if you would lie still,” Fennik commented.

She ignored him. “Three days?”

“I expressed my displeasure at the chief’s actions,” Korbyn said mildly.

“You what?”

“He attacked my father and his guards,” Fennik said, glaring at Korbyn. “Broke my father’s ribs, sliced one guard’s leg, and nearly cracked the skull of another. Other clan members joined in until the trickster god was subdued.”

“Korbyn!” Liyana said. “Did they hurt you?”

Korbyn stretched and twisted to demonstrate his fitness. “Afterwards, it took a while to heal you, the chief, his guards, and myself. In apology, the chief has offered us horses to help speed our journey and compensate for the lost time, though the damage may already be done.”

She lay against the pillows with the words “three days” reverberating inside her. She didn’t know what that time loss would mean to the other vessels . . . or to Bayla.

“My father’s actions were necessary,” Fennik said.

Korbyn barely looked at him. “Who’s golden boy?” he asked Liyana.

“He’s Fennik, the vessel of Sendar and the son of our esteemed hosts.” She wished she had her sky serpent knife to bat that blade out of his hands. Her scar was not necessary. Nor was the loss of three days. She glared at him as if it were his fault.

In response to her introduction, Fennik inclined his head. He waited for a similar show of respect in return, but Korbyn did not oblige him. Instead he sniffed and then asked Liyana, “What do you think of him? Will he make a decent traveling companion?” Doubt infused his voice.

Outrage blossomed on Fennik’s face.

Liyana shrugged and then winced from the movement. “He seems strong. You never know when we might need to lift something heavy.”

“True,” Korbyn said seriously. “There are many rocks in the desert. If memory serves, the hills of the Scorpion Clan are particularly rocky.”

Fennik growled. “You mock me.”

Korbyn’s face was innocent, like Jidali’s after he sneaked a cookie from Aunt Sabisa. “I would never mock such an illustrious personage,” Korbyn said.