Vessel

you and to Bayla!”

“Child, listen to me,” Chieftess Ratha said. “If Bayla has rejected us, then you will be spared suffering with us. But if she has only rejected you, then your sacrifice here will spare the clan by removing your impurity. And if she has not rejected you or us, then she will come to you and all will be well!” She smiled as if that would sweeten her words.

“She’ll die of exposure,” Mother said. “Her death will be on your hands.”

“If that is Bayla’s will, then so be it,” Chief Roke said, his voice a rumble. “Your daughter is lost to you regardless. If we leave her here, you may have a chance to give your son a future.”

His words felt like a stab. Jidali! Liyana looked across the camp toward her family’s tent where her little brother was. Only yesterday she had been prepared to sacrifice herself for his future. Could she do any less today?

“Please, do not do this,” Father begged.

“It has been decided,” Chief Roke said.

Already, throughout the camp, families packed up their tents and belongings. She heard the sound of hammers and the clang of pots. No one spoke, but the goats bleated as the herds were gathered for departure. They are right to leave me, her practical side whispered to her. This could save the clan. She still had a chance to save Jidali and her parents and everyone. She felt the fight leach out of her, and she bowed her head.

“Then we will remain with her!” Father said.

The chief and chieftess spoke in unison. “You may not.” There was pity in the chieftess’s voice as she added, “We understand your wish to protect your daughter. But the clan must act as one, or it is as if we did not act at all.”

The master weaver pushed to the front. “She failed! You must see that. It’s time to look to the good of all our children, not merely this one!”

Father’s face flushed purple. His hands curled into fists. Beside him, Mother stood as straight as a palm tree. Her chin was lifted, and she looked as if she were a chieftess. Their posture said: We will not be denied.

“Without Bayla, how much longer will we survive the Great Drought? A handful of seasons? Less? You cannot risk us all for one!” the master weaver said. Her voice was shrill. “If we must, we will drag you with us.”

“Try,” Father growled.

Liyana held up her hands. “No.”

All eyes turned toward her.

“I accept my fate,” Liyana said.

Mother opened her mouth to argue.

“Please,” Liyana said. “I failed you once already. I won’t fail the clan again.”

In the end, it took Talu leading her parents by the hands as if they were children before they would leave the circle. Talu did not permit them near Liyana. They had said their good-byes, she told them. More would be too difficult for all of them.

Liyana was grateful for that kindness. She didn’t think she could face another day of farewells, especially feeling the full weight of her failure and the uncertainty of the clan’s future. She retreated beneath the blanket shelter that Father had set up earlier. She drank a sip of water. Curling around the waterskin, she lay in the sand in the shade.

Around her, tents were lowered and rolled. Supplies were compacted and stowed away. The oasis was stripped of dates and palm leaves and any other material that would be useful on the journey. As the sun marched its way toward dusk, the clan loaded everything onto carts and wagons and horses. No one spoke to Liyana. No one even looked at her. She closed her eyes so she could not see her clan treating her as if she were already dead. She may have even slept.

She woke to a tickle by her ear. “Shh,” Jidali whispered. He pressed something cool and smooth into her hand.

Blinking her eyes open, she looked at her palm. She saw a clear crystal-like knife with a carved bone handle. “I can’t take this!”

He shook her. “I said, ‘shh’!”

“But it’s your inheritance.” This knife was made from the scale of a sky serpent. It had been passed through the family for generations. Though it looked like glass, it could cut through anything, even rock, even bone. “No, Jidali.”

“Yes,” he hissed. “I won’t leave unless you take it.”

She glared at him for threatening her, and he scowled back. She warred with the thought of calling out. Any adult who was nearby would intervene and give the knife to Father. Jidali would be hauled back to the tent and forced to leave.

She couldn’t do that to him.

Someday he’ll reclaim it, she told herself. She’d leave it where he could find it, perhaps by the well or near the first date palm tree that Jidali had ever climbed—she’d shown him how, and he’d followed her up without hesitation, scampering as if he’d been born in a tree. She swallowed hard, choking back the memory. “Thank you,” she said.

He wrapped his pudgy arms around her neck and whispered into her hair, “I am glad you are still you.”

“Jidali!” Aunt Sabisa’s voice cut across the camp.

“Go,” Liyana said. Other words stuck in her throat. She’d said them all yesterday.

Fiercely Jidali said, “Stay alive.”

He ran across the camp without looking back.

In another hour, the oasis was bare. The Goat Clan was ready. Judging by the low sun, they would have about two hours of dusk travel before they’d be forced to stop. If this were a usual move, they would have left at dawn. And if this were a usual move, Liyana would have been scurrying around her family’s packs, ensuring that every knot was tight and that nothing was forgotten. She hoped her family had remembered everything they needed. And then she tried not to think at all. Curled underneath the shade of the blanket, she listened to her family and her people leave the oasis as the sun sank toward the western horizon.

Chapter Four

Alone, Liyana stroked the cool blade of the sky serpent knife. Stay alive, her little brother had said. But this blade could promise her the opposite. One quick slice, and her soul would (finally) leave her body.

She spent several minutes imagining a confrontation with Bayla in the Dreaming. First she’d ask, “Why?” And then she’d shame the goddess into selecting a new vessel. She’d tell her about Jidali, who deserved a future; about Talu, who honored Bayla with every breath she took; about Ger and Esti, who wanted to marry and start a family; and about Liyana’s aunts and uncles and cousins, who all had their own hopes and dreams.

She laid the blade against her neck. It chilled her skin.

“Idiot,” she said out loud. She lowered the knife. Her reflection flashed across the glass-like surface. If Bayla had truly rejected her, then the goddess would refuse to speak with her. And if Bayla had not rejected her, then the goddess would be extremely put out if Liyana slit the throat of her new body.

Besides, Liyana planned for Jidali to find his gift again someday. He shouldn’t find it pressed against the throat of his sister.

She tucked the knife into her sash. The desert could take care of killing her if it wanted to. She didn’t have to help it. In the meantime, since she wasn’t about to slit her own throat, she also wasn’t going to allow herself to freeze to death in the night. Liyana pushed herself to standing. Her muscles protested, and she felt as if they were shrieking. The bone handle of the knife dug into her rib cage.

As the desert sank into dusk, Liyana used a flat rock to dig a shallow hole. Testing its length, she lay in it.