“I don’t know what you mean. We weren’t sent by anyone. We met a man like you. With this ear of mine, I could hear that he had two souls, and he told me that a man named Bashir made him immortal by sealing a drop of his soul in a golden egg that he wore around his neck. Him and two others in Damascus. And just now, I could hear that you also have two souls, so I’m guessing you also have a little golden egg with you somewhere.”
After a moment, the sword fell away and Nadira stepped back. She reached into her armored breastplate and lifted up a small pendant that shone in the starlight, and then she put it away again. “You met Gideon?”
Asha nodded. “He saved us from a man with a burning sword. An Osirian.”
Nadira slipped her saber back into its scabbard. “Well, that’s Gideon for you.” She sat down on a stone looking out over the valley floor below.
They sat down beside her and Priya said, “And you must be the courtesan he spoke of.”
Nadira laughed a long loud laugh, her shoulders shaking until the laughter faded into a few weary gasps. “Oh really? I must be the courtesan,” she repeated mockingly. “Am I so beautiful? Am I so courteous? Or maybe I smell like roses and jasmine?” She sniffed her armpit and grinned.
“But if you’re not the courtesan, then that means…” Priya hesitated. “You’re the nun?”
“I am. Or I was. I took the vows for life, but that was when I assumed I was going to die,” Nadira said. “It doesn’t really seem fair to hold me to that promise after all this time, does it?”
“I suppose not. I’ve never met a nun who wore armor and carried a sword,” Priya said. “Is this common in the west?”
The Damascena winked at her. “Not really, no.”
Asha cleared her throat. “Look, I don’t know how much time we have before the dragon returns, and I don’t know of any way to stop that thing from killing me and everyone else in the city. I suppose with a fast horse, I might be able to lead it away into the mountains or a desert where I could hope to starve it out, but that’s a plan based on hope and luck.”
“And a horse,” Priya added with a playful little smile.
Asha ignored her. “Nadira, I watched that animal kill a hundred soldiers this evening in just a few minutes, but tonight you held your ground against it. And you can’t be killed. So do you think you can defeat this dragon?”
“I wish I could. I wish I had,” Nadira said as she wormed her little finger into her ear to scratch an itch. “It took everything I had to just keep away from its claws and tail. And while this sword of mine can split a hair length-wise, it couldn’t break that creature’s armored skin. I was damned lucky to cut its snout. I doubt I’ll be so lucky again, not that it would do much good. Something that big isn’t going to die of a bloody nose.”
Asha opened her shoulder bag and pawed through the little clay jars and glass vials. “What if that was all we needed? I could put something on your sword, a narcotic maybe.”
“But you said you didn’t have enough for that to work,” Priya said.
“Not if the dragon ate it, no,” Asha said. “But if we could get the drug directly into the animal’s blood, then it might work, at least for a little while.”
“A narcotic?” Nadira asked. “You want to put it to sleep?”
“Yes.”
The Damascena grinned and shook her head. “And then what? We should just walk home very quietly and try not to wake it?”
Asha frowned. “Once it’s asleep, you’ll have to kill it.”
“Those scales in your ear must make it hard to hear. I told you, my sword can’t break its armor. I tried. You were there, you saw. At best, I might stab out its eyes and hack out its tongue. I could make it bleed, and I could make it suffer. But I don’t think I can kill it, and I don’t want a blind rampaging dragon outside the walls of my city.”
Asha paused, staring at the powdered seeds and dried flower petals in her hands, and the scalpels and needles in the bottom of her bag. “Then maybe I can do it. But you’ll still need to subdue the dragon first. I’ll make an opiate paste to spread on your sword. You’ll have to cut it on the face again to get the drug into its blood. Can you do that?”
Nadira shrugged. “Sure. I’ve done it once, I can do it again.”
Asha sat down, took out her tools, and began grinding and mixing. A vast silence blanketed the valley as the moon rose in the southern sky and the constellations began their nightly trek across the heavens. The only sound in the world was the gentle breath of the wind playing through the grass.
“Sister Nadira?” Priya spoke softly. “Can you tell me what it’s like to be immortal? I can’t imagine what it would be like to walk in the world for so many lifetimes. To see the world growing and changing. Whole dynasties. Whole civilizations. I’m sure it has given you many profound insights into life and humanity.”
“Not really.” The Damascena chewed on her finger nail.
“Oh. I see.” The blind woman cleared her throat. “Could you tell me anything at all about your life? Please? I’d just like to try to understand what you’ve experienced. Please?”
Nadira sighed. “All right. Well, I entered the Mazdan Temple when I was young. I prayed, I fed the hungry, and I tended the sick. And then Bashir offered to make me immortal so I could help him. He taught me the laws of aether so I could study it, to find out whether the aether might be a path to understanding God and the meaning of life, or at least life beyond death. I was flattered and awed, so I agreed. I was so very stupid.”
She rested her hand on her sword and spat in the grass. “So Bashir moved on and I went to work. Over the years, I moved around the city, reinventing myself to avoid suspicion. I built schools and hospitals, and I trained other nuns. And I looked for the answers to Bashir’s questions. But then there would be a war, or a plague, or a fire. Sooner or later, everything I built was destroyed. My hospitals were looted. My schools were torn down. My students and friends died. Over and over again. Over, and over, and over.
“For five hundred miserable years, I stayed the course. I built and I taught and I studied, trying to find some answers, trying to understand the aether, trying to find God. But after five centuries of watching everything die and crumble into dust, after watching every stupid person make every stupid mistake again and again, after all those years of trying to save humanity from the darkness…I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
Asha continued grinding her seeds. She didn’t look up.
“So I quit, little sister,” Nadira said. “I quit all of it.”
“You gave up on humanity?” Priya whispered.
The Damascena snorted. “Humanity gave up on itself. I just stopped caring. For a while I did nothing at all. I slept all day in the slums and wandered all night through the streets. And somewhere along the way, I picked up a sword and started killing the rats. Murderers, rapists, thieves. I don’t know why, really. I guess since I couldn’t ever make anything good, I wanted to try to destroy something evil instead.”
Nadira leaned back with her hands behind her head, staring up at the stars. “At first I killed them in their sleep, but eventually I learned to fight and I started killing them when they were awake. And for a while, I was happy. I was saving people. I was making a difference.” She chuckled softly. “Until one day I stood over the body of a murderer and I recognized him. Twenty years earlier I’d saved his life, when he was just a little boy. And that’s when I realized I still wasn’t making any difference at all.”
“That’s awful. I’m so sorry,” Priya said. “But obviously you didn’t give up the sword.”
“No. I left the city. I went to war. I cut my hair and dressed as a man, followed the soldiers at a distance, and then rushed onto the battlefield when no one would notice me.” Nadira gazed up at the moon. “I thought that maybe I could change the course of some battle, save a good prince’s life, or kill a bad one. Then maybe I could change the world. And I was right. From time to time, one soldier can change the course of history. I killed generals and messengers and princes and food tasters. And sometimes it would make Damascus a slightly better place.”
Priya nodded slowly. “Killing for gain or passion is a terrible evil. But killing can also be a solemn duty when it is done solely for the good of others, and not for one’s self. It’s a very hard path, but that’s a worthy calling too.”
Nadira scratched at her nose. “It’s less of a calling for me. More of a hobby, I’d say.”
“Oh.” Priya hesitated. “Well, I hope that one day you find what you’re looking for. Or at least, a better way to make a difference. Violence is not a path to peace or enlightenment.”
“Violence is the only path to peace, little sister,” Nadira said. “And that’s the only enlightenment I’ve ever found.”
