Well, it was time to lay down her ghosts, one way or another. Kyra sheathed the blades, her own in the wooden scabbard by her waist, and Shirin Mam’s in the black metal scabbard on her back.
“We move at dawnlight,” Barkav had said. “Pack your things.”
Kyra donned her camel-wool cloak and knee-length boots. As if she had any “things” to pack. One brown robe with the symbol of Kali, two kataris, and three prayers were all she had. First, that she could somehow win the duel with Tamsyn. Second, that her friends were all safe in Ferghana. And third, that she could once again find her path to avenging the slaughter of her clan.
Kyra stepped out of the tent, clutching the tiny bundle of her belongings. The cold took her breath away, even though there was no wind yet. A hint of orange lit the eastern sky, but elsewhere the dark of night still held; the stars still shone. She was halfway to the camel enclosure when a figure materialized out of the darkness.
Kyra’s heart sank when she saw who it was. Was Shurik going to make a scene now, when she was about to leave?
Shurik had grown more and more withdrawn as the time for them to part drew near, until he barely acknowledged her at all. It was better this way. But she still missed his easy companionship and cheery grins, especially after Rustan left. She had been paired with Shurik for a mock duel in one of Ishtul’s classes and he had done a poor job of it, wildly thrusting his sparking katari into the air until the elder told him to go join the apprentice class. He went off red-faced and scowling, and ignored Kyra after that.
Now here he was, looming in front of her with a determined expression on his face, dressed in thick robes and boots, a bulky bundle tied on his back.
“I’m going with you to Kashgar,” he said without preamble. “Don’t bother saying no, because I already asked the Maji-khan’s permission.”
Kyra bit down her impulse to whoop for joy and said, “Whatever for?”
“It will be boring here with practically half the Order away,” said Shurik. “Barkav can use me to stock up on provisions in Kashgar while you all go to Sikandra.”
Kyra breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t attempting to dissuade her from going to Sikandra, or talking of his supposed love for her. Perhaps he had finally seen reason.
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “I wasn’t looking forward to having just the elders for company.”
The way Shurik’s eyes lit up when she said that made her think she shouldn’t have spoken.
*
There were six of them besides Kyra: Barkav, Saninda, Ghasil, and Ishtul, all bound for Sikandra, and Shurik and Aram, who would remain in Kashgar to take care of the camels and buy provisions for winter. The remaining elders, along with Astinsai, were to stay behind at Khur. Kyra learned that this was the way the elders had done it for years, rotating duties among themselves so that they each got a turn to represent Khur at the clan assembly.
They set off at dawnlight, as Barkav had promised. Everyone showed up to bid them goodbye. Astinsai sprinkled a few drops of a strong-smelling potion on each of their heads, muttering a blessing for their safe return, her ancient face darkly planed in the half-light.
Kyra mounted her camel and settled as best as she could on the saddle between its humps. The men who remained stared at them half in envy, half in gloom. It would be several weeks before everyone returned and the Order dug in for winter. Kyra waved to them, smiling. It was strange, how she’d longed to get away from this place when she first arrived, and how, in a little over a month, she’d come to regard it as a refuge. She’d sparred with the Marksmen, been taught by their elders, and grown to love the stark beauty of the desert sky. She wished she could say or do something memorable to thank the Marksmen for taking her in.
Then the camel she was sitting on lurched to its feet and she almost toppled over, saving herself by grabbing a hump. She scrambled back upright, flushing as she sensed the grins behind her back. So much for a graceful exit. Well, at least she had given those glum faces something to smile about.
They rode in single file, the camels casting long shadows across the golden sand. Barkav led the way, picking out the route they would travel, skirting the edges of the vast dunes and jagged cliffs. Saninda brought up the rear, behind Kyra. In the middle were two camels loaded with their provisions.
The sun slipped higher in the sky, its white light bleaching the sands and hurting the eyes. Kyra lowered the hood of her robe. The swaying motion of the camel together with the fierce light of the sun made her dizzy, but she hung on, determined not to show any weakness in front of the Marksmen. The men sat with the ease of long years of practice traveling in the desert, squares of white cloth tied around their heads.
By the time Barkav called for a halt in the shelter of a cliff, Kyra was so sore from riding the camel that she almost wept with relief at being able to get off. Why couldn’t they have made that wooden saddle more comfortable to sit on? A bit of padding wouldn’t have hurt. She winced as she got off and stretched her body. Aram was already unloading waterskins and bundles of food from one of the camels, and she hobbled toward him.
Aram was a few years older than Shurik, a taciturn youth whom Kyra did not know well. He had been given the task of loading the camels and making sure that they had enough food and water to last the week’s journey to Kashgar.
Aram looked up as she approached and handed her a waterskin. Kyra drank little, despite her thirst. A few mouthfuls now and then, Barkav had said, would take you further than long, greedy gulps.
The camels sat down and rested in the shade while Aram and Shurik served the food. It was a simple meal of millet bread, dried dates, and camel cheese; there would be no actual cooking except at dinner. After they had eaten, the men stretched themselves out on the sand to rest.
Kyra walked to the edge of the cliff’s shadow and gazed at the vast dune field that surrounded them. One full week of this might well kill her before she ever reached Sikandra.
The softest of footfalls behind alerted her to Shurik’s presence. He hadn’t spoken to her since morning, had behaved in the most exemplary fashion, in fact. Without turning around, she said, “Are you not tired, Shurik?”
Shurik sat down beside her. “No more than you,” he said. “And I can hardly rest with Ghasil wheezing on one side of me and Ishtul snoring on the other. Those two have given me more grief than all the rest of the council combined.”
Kyra chuckled. She had observed the elders glare at Shurik for no particular reason, had seen him duck his head and shuffle away from their beady eyes. “Why you have volunteered for this trip, I cannot fathom,” she said. “It is like a fish jumping into the pan, begging to be fried.”