villages. Whichever direction you take, you will be protected.” He turned to his mother. “There should be such protections at the dawa’an sheymma, to preclude any more incidents.”
“Abominable,” she muttered. “That the very sanctuary of healing must be defended against malefactors.”
Azzad tried to keep his expression pleasantly neutral. When he saw Fadhil and Leyliah exchanging amused glances, he knew that his face had betrayed him.
The girl said, “Aqq Azzad does not believe.”
“Perhaps he requires a demonstration,” Fadhil suggested.
Abb Shagara sprang to his feet from piled pillows. “Wonderful! Fadhil, attack me!”
“Akkil Akkem Akkim Akkar!” exclaimed Meryem, in the manner of all mothers who desire their offspring’s complete attention.
And, in the manner of all children whose mothers propose to spoil their fun, Abb Shagara pouted. “But Azzad needs to be shown—”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“I believe implicitly,” Azzad told them.
Leyliah knew he lied. “Fadhil?” she said, catching the young man’s eye. And swift as summer lightning the eating-knife in her hand flew across the platters of food, directly at Fadhil’s chest.
He did nothing. The knife struck his bleached wool shirt and tumbled harmlessly to his lap. Then he reached inside his clothing to bring out a silvery rectangular plaque about the size of his thumb. On it were inscribed symbols such as Azzad had seen the boys practicing with the mouallima.
“This means ‘defense,’” he said, pointing to one of the figures—talishann, Azzad recalled. “This is for safety, and this negates iron’s anger.”
“But she wasn’t truly angry with you,” Abb Shagara teased merrily. “How could she be, when—”
“Enough!” snapped Meryem. Fadhil and Leyliah were blushing. “It matters nothing if Azzad believes or does not believe. The fact is that what we shall give him—added to what has been made for his horse—will keep him safe.”
“Can’t I show him?” Abb Shagara begged. “Please, Mother?”
“No. And don’t sulk.”
A look of mischievous cunning appeared on his face. “Surely a very little demonstration will suffice.” And he reached over to a tray, taking a silver cup such as Azzad had used the first time he’d sat in this tent. He tossed it at Azzad, who caught it easily. “Lie to me.”
“Your pardon, Abb Shagara?”
“Tell me a lie. Anything will do. I’ll ask a question, shall I? What is the name of your horse?”
Hiding a smile—and perhaps a tolerant sigh—Azzad opened his mouth to say
What came out of his mouth was, “Khamsin.”
Abb Shagara crowed with laughter at the surprise Azzad could feel scrawled all over his face. “You see? You remember the first time we drank qawah together here? You held that cup, and you told no lies.”
“I—” He thought he might say something polite. Instead: “I don’t believe it.”
“I know you don’t,” said Meryem. She rose and took the cup from his hand. “Now that you’ve had your little game, my son, please allow Azzad to get some sleep. He has an early start in the morning.”
“Another few questions, and he would have believed,” the boy complained.
“Enough!” Meryem ordered, and he subsided.
The next morning Azzad went on his way, with the whole tribe to watch. Only Abb Shagara, Meryem, Kabir, Fadhil, and Leyliah spoke to him in farewell, but he saw the smiles and sensed the goodwill—and their chagrin that while in their care he had nearly been assassinated. Curiously, there was no resentment that now, because of him, a stranger, the fearsome Geysh Dushann were their openly declared enemies. Truly, Acuyib had made their hearts more open and generous than the hearts of his own people, whom he had known to betray friends for the price of a basket of bread.
He saddled Khamsin—who behaved himself although he was plainly eager for a long gallop—and took a moment to inspect the new decorations on the saddle. Fadhil stood stroking the stallion’s neck, watching Azzad finger each of thirteen palm-sized tin disks.
“One for each moon of the year,” Fadhil explained. “It is traditional with our own horses. Abb Shagara says we cannot tell you what each means, or you will trust in them too much and not have a care to yourself.”
“I see. If I knew that arrows would glance off Khamsin’s hide, I’d ride right into an army of archers?”
“Something like that. Not even the Shagara can protect against stupidity.”
“I’ve never had a reputation for being wise, but I promise I’ll try not to be foolish.” He smiled and grasped the young man’s arm. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Fadhil, and because we are friends, I’d like to give you some advice. Marry Leyliah.”
His skin paled beneath its golden sheen, and his eyes went wide. “
“Yes. You’re both healers, you have an eye for each other—and no wonder, you’re handsome and she’s exquisite—”
“I cannot,” he whispered, glancing away.
“Whyever not? Surely sometimes you marry within the tribe. You’re not close cousins, are you?”
“In the sixth degree.”
“Well, then—”
“She—will find a husband from another tribe.”
“I tell you she wants you. I’ve seen that look in a woman’s eye often enough to know what it means. It would do my heart good to think of you married and—”
“I cannot. Please do not speak of it ever again.” Fadhil gave him an anguished look, gripped both Azzad’s hands for an instant, and hurried away.
Chal Kabir came forward, clasped his hands briefly, and advised him to be careful. Then Meryem and Abb Shagara approached, the latter with a look of longing in his eyes as he regarded Khamsin—like a little boy who desperately desires to climb a date palm, yet fears that he might fall.
“When I return,” Azzad said, “I’ll teach you to ride him.”
“Me?” The big eyes blinked. “On his back?”
“It’s easy, once you learn how.” Turning to Meryem, he bowed. “Lady, I thank you.”
“Travel safely.” That was all she said before leaving her son alone with Azzad.
“You would truly teach me how to ride?” the young man asked.
“Truly. When there is more time. Abb Shagara—”
“Aqq Akkil. Or Akkem, or whichever of my other names you prefer!”
“Aqq Akkim, then, for I have learned that you are indeed wise.” He hesitated, then said softly, “Teach some of this wisdom to Fadhil, so that he’ll have the courage to ask to marry Leyliah.”
“Marry?” he exclaimed with astonishment identical to Fadhil’s. And his reply was the same, too: “He cannot.”
When a man and woman cared for each other, and there was no impediment in bloodline or wealth or status, why not get married? He frowned at Abb Shagara. “But they obviously—”
The father of his people shook his head. “It is not spoken of. Not even to you, who know some of our secrets. You have the map of where we will be from season to season?”
“Folded in my memory.”
“Good.” Drawing himself up, Abb Shagara said for everyone else to hear, “Acuyib’s blessings upon you and all that you think, all that you say, and all that you do.”
“Acuyib’s Glory be with you and all Shagara forever. And I promise that I’ll be back with wondrous gifts to thank you for my life.” Low-voiced, he added with a wink, “And to teach you how to ride.”
They exchanged bows, and as Azzad straightened up, Abb Shagara placed a chain around his neck. A finger- length brass plaque set with several gemstones rested at the center of his breast.
“This will protect you, so that you return to us.”
Azzad bowed his thanks and told himself that when he ran out of pearls, he’d still have something to sell to keep himself and Khamsin fed. So perhaps the gift was protection of a sort after all.
