gave a startled leap, then vanished back into its lair.
Jebel laughed. Until that second he would have sworn that nothing in the world could make him laugh ever again. But he couldn’t help himself. It was only a small thing, but the squirrel’s reaction left him doubled over. In fact, he laughed so much that soon he began to cry with delight.
As the Um Biyara scowled at the boy, he laughed even harder. Tel Hesani glanced back, surprised, then smiled, even though he didn’t know what was so funny. Jebel wiped happy tears away, then shuffled up beside the tall, pale man.
“Thank you for saving my life,” Jebel whispered shyly.
“That is my job,” Tel Hesani replied coldly. Then, as Jebel’s smile faded, he winked and said, “But I helped you because I wanted to, not because I had to.”
As the pair grinned at each other and left the shelter of the trees to push on through a blizzard that had blown up early that morning, Jebel sighed. “I wish we could have saved the um Hamata too.”
“I tried to warn them,” Tel Hesani said glumly. “I told Khaz Ali not to trust Qasr Bint. But I didn’t think the zealots would attack as brutally as they did.” He shook his head sadly. “I thought I was a good judge of character, but I’ve been proved wrong time and again. I let Bush and Blair trick us…. I didn’t realize what Khubtha was planning…. Now this. You should have chosen more carefully when you picked a slave to travel with you.”
“No,” Jebel said. “You’ve done more for me than anyone else would have. You can’t blame yourself for any of this.”
Tel Hesani chuckled. “I never thought I’d be consoled by an Um Aineh.”
“I’m not Um Aineh any longer,” Jebel said softly. “I don’t know what I am, but I’m not what I was.”
“That is a good thing,” said Tel Hesani.
Jebel made a face. “If what my father and teachers taught me was true, I’m damned for showing mercy to a slave, for being weak and accepting friendship wherever I could find it. A true Um Aineh would have stood alone and strong. How can it be a good thing to betray the beliefs and laws of those you love?”
“Sometimes we have to ignore the teachings of our elders,” Tel Hesani said. He nodded at the Um Biyara. “They’re worse than you were, but not so different. They think that they alone know what is best, that they alone are pure, and they wish to spread their viciousness like a disease. If Qasr Bint was your father, would you accept everything he said?”
“Of course not,” Jebel huffed. “He’s an evil maniac.”
“But if he was your
Jebel thought about that for a long time, then shook his head uncertainly. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I hope that I wouldn’t, but…”
“We cannot help where we are born or how we are raised,” Tel Hesani said. “But we
Jebel grunted. “As crazy as I know that must be, I almost agree with you. It’s madness — a slave and a boy can’t know better than the high lords, judges, and teachers of Abu Aineh — but even so…” He sniffed wearily. “Maybe it’s for the best that I die on this trail. I wouldn’t fit in back home anymore. I’ve lost sight of what is true and just.”
Tel Hesani shrugged. “You could always go live in Abu Kheshabah.”
Jebel cackled. “Things aren’t
The pair shared another smile. Then a strong gust of wind broke over them, and they had to stick their heads down, grit their teeth, and battle on.
Although Jebel and Tel Hesani had lost track of time, they could tell that they were deep into the heart of winter, perhaps even close to spring. The snowstorms were fierce and unending. Every step was hard-earned. They slogged ahead with the Um Biyara, bound by a length of rope, the strongest to the fore, clearing a path for the rest. A few of the group succumbed to snow blindness and were killed by Qasr Bint. Others lost fingers and toes to frostbite and struggled on.
The Um Biyara were growing surly. They wanted Qasr Bint to part the clouds as he had before, but this time he couldn’t. He fed them a story about the gods testing them, but his followers were losing faith. They were running out of food, they were exhausted, and the thrill of the conversions had been forgotten. They wanted to rest up for the remainder of the winter.
Finally, as they were nearing breaking point, they spotted smoke from campfires inland. Two scouts were sent out. When they returned, they said it was a small settlement, maybe thirty people living in a ringed copse of tall, thick trees.
Qasr Bint privately thanked the gods for this gift, then addressed the group. “This will be our final conversion of the winter. When we are done, we’ll return to Hamata and wait in the caves until spring.”
That cheered the Um Biyara, and they pushed forward eagerly. As they neared the trees, Qasr Bint slipped back to exchange words with Jebel and Tel Hesani. “If you say anything bad about us to the people here, I’ll cut out your tongues.”
“What could we possibly say?” Tel Hesani asked, smiling venomously.
“Nonbelievers can always find fault,” Qasr Bint replied. “But you’ll keep your opinions to yourself, or I’ll feast on your tongues at supper.”
Qasr Bint appointed four of the Um Biyara to guard Jebel and Tel Hesani, then led his people forward to convert or slaughter, and it was hard to tell which they would prefer more.
The first thing Jebel noticed as they entered the shelter of the copse was the bats. There were thousands in the trees, hanging upside down, rustling softly, the forest floor thick with guano.
The Um Biyara stopped when they saw the bats. Qasr Bint summoned his scouts and demanded to know why they hadn’t told him about the flying rodents. The scouts hadn’t seen them — they’d crept to the outskirts of the forest but had not entered. Qasr Bint studied the bats uneasily. Jebel could see him toying with the idea of retreat.
Suddenly they were greeted with a loud cry. The Um Biyara peered into the gloom, shivering nervously. Then a man appeared, small, white, with dark eyes. He called again in a language Jebel didn’t recognize. Qasr Bint responded in a tongue not quite the same but similar. The man squinted, then spoke slowly, with lots of hand gestures. Qasr Bint replied in kind, and the man broke into a grin. He whistled and others appeared, a few men but mostly women and children. They came forward and welcomed the Um Biyara, guiding them through the trees to a village at the heart of the copse.
It was a basic camp of lean-to shelters, rough hammocks strung between many of the trees for use in warmer times, a few animals grazing nearby. There were bats here too, but not as many as around the rim of the copse.
The Um Biyara settled their belongings, then gathered around one of the fires. Jebel did a quick count of the villagers — six men, thirteen women, and sixteen children. They were dressed in strange, leathery, furry clothes. It was only when one of the bats swooped and settled on a girl’s shoulder that Jebel realized the material was bat skin.
The villagers spoke a language of their own, but it was like some of the more rural Abu Saga dialects, so one of the Um Biyara — a woman who had grown up in these lands — was able to communicate with them. The village was called Gathaah, their word for
“This is their home,” Uzza, the chief, explained through the translator. “We are just guests.”
“Why don’t you run them out?” Qasr Bint asked. “They’re disgusting vermin.”
“Run them out of their home?” Uzza chortled. “We wouldn’t dare. Besides, they provide for us. We make our clothes from their hides. We eat the flesh of the dead — many die in the winter colds — and use their claws and teeth as needles and cutting tools. Their guano nourishes the forest floor — we grow delicious fruit here — and they kill small pests. They also protect us from larger beasts.”
Qasr Bint asked if there were others in the clan, perhaps out hunting. Uzza said there were not. “We don’t hunt much,” he explained. “We mostly live off plants and our animals.”
“There’s not much meat on that lot,” Qasr Bint noted, eyeing an assortment of bony cows and goats.
