Yasmid congratulated her father on his latest triumph over the Evil One. He would not stop going on about it. She dearly wished he would shut the hel up. Elwas was sure to get interested.
How could Haroun have let the old fool slip up on him?
She brushed the irritation aside. Stuff happened.
Magden Norath had been inattentive. He had died for his lapse.
She slipped away from dinner, as had become her custom, leaving her father to his attendants. They never questioned her anymore.
The effort to wean the old man off opiates was successful.
Sadly, the man reclaimed was not the man the poppy had conquered. El Murid restored was a spectral reminder of the firebrand of yore. Today’s El Murid was old and tired and slow.
Old was to be expected. He was old. And tired made sense. But the slow, especial y on the mental side, was deeply disappointing.
This Disciple would make no impassioned speeches to the Believers. His delivery would be so tedious as to put them to sleep before he finished.
His mind, however, did not appear to have burned out entirely. Given time, he thought quite wel . Yasmid had read two recent letters to the Faithful dictated after ponderous reflection. They were as closely argued as those of forty years earlier.
He did have some idea of what was going on in the world.
Swami Phogedatvitsu did not feed him pabulum news.
In the more recent letter he hinted at doubts about the divinity of he who had brought him to God. It was just a whiff that suggested rational processes stirring somewhere deep under the surface of his mind.
Yasmid found Haroun quickly. She had had regular practice. They embraced. He said, “The rain won’t stop.”
“That’s good. I can leave Habibul ah behind for the sake of his aching bones.”
Time passed. Neither spoke. Final y, he did tel her what she was expecting but did not want to hear. “I have to go.”
“But…”
“I know. I don’t want to. But our luck won’t last. Al-Souki is suspicious already. What happened today wil set him digging.”
“I know. They al wonder. I tel them I’m looking for something.”
“Some may think you’re finding it. The Matayangan isn’t stupid.”
“But… Stil … In al these years… We’ve had so little time.” She expected nonsense about Fate and obligations to Destiny. He said only, “Yes. It’s cruel.” And held her tighter.
“Father thinks he bumped into the Evil One this morning.”
“I dozed off in the wrong place. I woke up and he was there.”
“Where wil you go? No. Don’t say it. If I don’t know I can’t give it away.”
He played along, though they both knew there could be only one next destination.
Yasmid mentioned her father’s developing disenchantment with his angel. Haroun asked, “Have you asked him about that? At al ?”
“No. He would tel me that, even though his angel might only be the Star Rider, he did do God’s Work. How often has he told us that God drives the wicked to advance His own Plan?”
“It’s an old argument, impossible to refute. And if you do come up with one the True Believer just reshapes the Wil of God to fit.”
“So?”
“I’m wondering if your father is disil usioned enough to act against the false messenger.”
Yasmid stiffened. His embrace tightened. “I’m just thinking.
Looking for ways and means.”
“Out loud? I’ve never heard that the old devil accused of being able to read minds.”
“Silence it is. But think about it.” He released her, picked through a last dozen items, stuffed a few into a battered black sack. It’s contents appeared to consist of food and souvenirs.
She said, “They say the rain may stop later tonight.”
“If I go now it wil wash away my trail.” One last embrace.
She rejoined the others before anyone came looking, though the swami scrutinized her closely. She brought several items Haroun had given her to provide evidence that she was indeed looking for something that ought stil to be hidden in the tent because no thief had yet confessed to having taken it away.
Elwas turned up shortly, wet and unhappy. She was glad she had returned before he did.
Relief made her overlook his mood.
...
Nepanthe cal ed out, “Scalza, do you have any idea how to get hold of your uncle?” She had none. Varthlokkur had foreseen no need for making emergency contact.
“No, ma’am. What’s up?”
Ma’am? Being polite? He was up to something. “It’s probably not important. I was fiddling with the scrying bowl. I found that man he’s been hunting for months.” Fiddling indeed, getting the hang of shifting point of view, she had stumbled across the ragged traveler at the limit of the bowl’s range. The long-missing Haroun wore uncharacteristic clothing, lacked a beard, and was afoot in the desert.
Ekaterina and Scalza joined her, one to either hand.
The boy said, “I do wish I could get hold of him. He’d definitely want to know. Lock the point of view so we don’t lose him again.”
“I don’t know how.”
“I think I do. Let me try.”
Scalza took her seat. He did some things she did not understand. Ekaterina made little sounds behind him. Each time she sucked spit or clicked her tongue Scalza paused, reflected, then took a different approach.
The vision locked up with Haroun fixed in its center. He stayed there no matter which direction he moved.
Scalza pul ed the magical eye back. “So we can maybe tel where he is from his surroundings. Wel , so maybe somebody can. I’ve never been anywhere so I can’t real y recognize anything.”
“Not even your grandfather has visited that part of the world.”
Ekaterina seldom said anything. Though the brighter of Mist’s children she usual y deferred to her brother. She acted like his little sister instead of being two years older, on the precipice of menarche. She startled Nepanthe.
“Uncle was born there. He created that desert. He has been back a mil ion times. He knows every rock, bush, viper, and grain of sand.”
Finished making the longest speech Nepanthe ever heard from her, Ekaterina moved to where Ethrian sat staring into the Winterstorm. Something about the boy’s body language troubled his mother. He looked ready to pounce. But she was too engaged in trying to fathom Ekaterina’s remarks, and with Haroun, to give her son devoted thought.
Watching Haroun sneak through a desert could be interesting only if you were a dedicated fan of stealth techniques.
Something passed between Ethrian and Ekaterina.
Nepanthe did not notice. Scalza caught a hint. His eyebrows bounced but he said nothing.
Scalza was, deliberately, the mask Mist’s children offered.
Ekaterina was in stealth mode always. Scalza was a little frightened by her.
He enjoyed this wizard stuff. He tried to learn anything his uncle would teach. Ekaterina, though, had no need to study.
She watched and caught on intuitively. She could be spooky and nerve-straining because she was determined to keep her real self hidden.
One of the Council of Tervola might observe that Ekaterina was her mother’s daughter, descended from the Demon Prince and Tuan Hoa, and those who had come before them.
Despite al that, Ekaterina had a first blush of womanhood crush on her cousin, Ethrian.
