Moharrag was interested in Jebel’s quest and asked lots of questions. The um Khathib believed that a great spirit lived in the al-Meata. They thought it took the form of a giant snake. Some of their ancestors had made quests north to ask the spirit for help. According to the legends, one of the successful questers founded this village and taught his people how to live in peace with the wildlife.
Jebel didn’t tell Moharrag that Tel Hesani was his slave or that he would be sacrificed in the bowels of Tubaygat. While it seemed perfectly natural to Jebel to own a slave and slice his throat open in pursuit of invincibility, he didn’t think the um Khathib would see it that way.
Tel Hesani could have happily spent a month in Khathib, learning about these strange people and their beliefs. But the quest took precedence. They’d lost time early in the trek, and if they didn’t make it up, they would run into difficulties farther along the path. The slave didn’t want to give the Wadi boy the opportunity to say that they had failed because the Um Kheshabah spent too long dawdling with snake-worshippers.
So the following morning Tel Hesani led Jebel out of Khathib. Moharrag offered to guide them. Jebel would have accepted the offer, but Tel Hesani knew that one of Moharrag’s wives was due to give birth soon. It was the custom of the um Khathib for the father to cut a newborn’s umbilical cord. It would have been unfair to ask Moharrag to miss his child’s birth, so Tel Hesani said they would find the path by themselves. Moharrag blessed them and prayed to his ancestors to grant the pair safe passage. Then he waved them on their way, and soon they were lost to the reeds and weeds of the swamp again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The rest of the slog through the swamp passed without incident. Snakes continued to snap at the pair’s ankles, but none penetrated the thick leather of their boots or attacked while they were asleep. They didn’t stumble into an alligator’s den or fall into quicksand. Even the mosquitoes weren’t much of a problem, repulsed by the lotions of the um Khathib. Jebel’s eyelids healed and his hives subsided, though he was left with pockmarks on his face and arms. He didn’t mind — they made him appear more rugged, which would be attractive to the girls back home.
Jebel had hated the swamp to begin with, but now he started to see flashes of beauty as they cut through the reeds — the petals of a rare flower, the formations eels made underwater, the cries of birds at dawn and sunset. It was peaceful here.
He slept deeply at night, dreaming of Debbat Alg and how he’d kiss her when he returned, triumphant. He wondered what he would wear at their wedding and if he should choose J’Al or J’An to stand by him in the ceremony. He thought it would be nice to involve Bastina in some way, perhaps as a flower girl. Maybe that would stop her crying for once!
In a more relaxed and happy mood, Jebel paid attention now when Tel Hesani told him about different types of snakes and lizards, and even asked questions. One morning, watching Tel Hesani set a fire, he told the slave to teach him how to make one, and spent an hour learning the intricacies of building and maintaining a fire in the middle of a swamp.
“Did your father never teach you how to set a fire?” asked Tel Hesani.
“My father’s an executioner,” Jebel said archly. “He has no time for work such as this.”
“Still,” Tel Hesani murmured, “there are certain skills a father passes on to his sons — how to build a fire, how to whistle, how to shave…. These are pleasures for any man, be he the poorest or richest alive.”
“Maybe for the Um Kheshabah,” sniffed Jebel.
“If I may be so bold, master,” Tel Hesani said with genuine interest. “How much time did you spend with your father?”
“Quite a lot,” Jebel said. “He thought it was important for a father to spend time with his sons. He stayed in with us most nights, even though he would have been welcome in any house in Wadi.”
“You were close?” Tel Hesani pressed.
“Yes.” Jebel shrugged. “Obviously J’Al and J’An were closer because he was prouder of them, and they worked with him, but he never made me feel as if I was unwanted. He wrestled with me, the same as with the others, so that I could learn some of the rules of combat from him. He didn’t train with me as much as he did with my brothers, but he never excluded me.”
“Did he read to you or help you with schoolwork?”
Jebel leaned forward to adjust a twig on the fire. “That’s not how Um Aineh live. A man must behave like a warrior with his sons. Women educate their children. Men have more important matters to attend to.”
“Then did your mother read to—”
“She died when I was born,” Jebel cut in.
“My regrets.” Tel Hesani paused, then decided to carry on. This was the first time he’d had a real conversation with Jebel, and he was curious to know more about the boy who would take a knife to his throat some months further down the line. “Did your father have a second wife?”
“She died before my mother,” Jebel said. “He wasn’t lucky with the women he chose. The gods wanted him to focus on his work without distractions.”
“Some distractions are more welcome than others,” Tel Hesani chuckled. “Did you have a nurse?”
“Of course,” Jebel snorted. “You don’t think my father fed and cleaned up after me, do you?” His features softened as he thought back. “I was raised by Bas’s mother — Bas was the girl who was waiting outside the high lord’s palace for us.”
“I remember. Were you fond of her?”
“Of
“Her mother.”
“Oh.” He chuckled. “Yes. I don’t see her much now, but I loved her when I was a child. I liked Bas too,” he admitted grudgingly. “When she wasn’t crying.”
“Do you miss them?” Tel Hesani asked.
Jebel nodded slowly.
“And your father and brothers?”
“Yes,” Jebel croaked. “I sometimes wish that I hadn’t come on this quest, that I’d accepted my shame and…” He coughed, then stamped out the fire and glared at the slave, angry at having his feelings stirred up in this manner. “Let’s have no more talk of what we left behind. Those people don’t matter to us anymore.”
Tel Hesani bowed obediently and doused the last few embers of the fire, then set off after his scowling young master, who was striding swiftly ahead of him, not checking for quicksand or hidden pools.
Finally they cleared the swamp. After a long bath in a hot-spring pool, they marched steadily west, following the base of the hills that became part of the Great Wall of the al-Attieg farther north. It was cold here, and not just because autumn had come to Abu Nekhele. Winds from the al-Attieg peaks meant it was always colder here than farther south. Jebel had meant to discard his trousers and put his tunic back on once they were clear of the swamp, but he was glad now of the warmth the trousers afforded.
There were lots of villages, home to goatherders and mountain farmers. Jebel and Tel Hesani avoided them. Although the powerful nations of Abu Nekhele and Abu Aineh were currently at peace, old resentments were as strong as ever. While an Um Aineh could in theory pass freely through here, many of the villagers would be only too happy to string up a stray um Wadi pup.
Also they were antislavery. Abu Nekhele had only recently banned slavery outright, but the people in the east had never kept slaves. Tel Hesani covered the dog’s skull tattoo on his left cheek with paste he’d bought in Wadi, but it wouldn’t mask the brand at close quarters.
Jebel’s fears about the slave resurfaced. If J’An Nasrim had miscalculated and Tel Hesani thought more of his freedom than his family, this was where he’d turn. It would be a simple matter for him to betray Jebel here and be declared a free man by the liberal Um Nekhele.
Jebel’s insides tensed every time they were studied from a distance by curious locals. He expected Tel Hesani to cry foul. But the slave kept his head up, walked by Jebel’s side as if the two were equals, and waved politely at
