“With such vast herds, it was difficult to mind them,” the Little Rose said. “Even with all the herd masters to direct, and the children to do the daily tasks, there was not enough fodder and not enough water in the wadis. Some in the caravan wished to turn back or wait until fortune provided better circumstances.
“But my ancestress remembered the night of her wedding and the creatures her sister had made. She knew that fortune cannot always be trusted, as it cares little for time, and she knew that circumstances can be changed, if the work is good enough. Lastly, she knew that her sister’s creatures had gone ahead of her, and so she knew that there had to be a way. So she spoke words of encouragement to her kin, and led them on. She made sure they journeyed in an orderly fashion. There was no great hurry, so they took care with every step of their march. Each night’s camp was laid out with precision, and each day they made sure to line their path with desert stones. Every time they crossed a dry wadi bed, my ancestress made a note of the flood markings and put up markers to show how high the water would come.
“In this way was the trade road—which we call the Silk Road—built, with places for caravans to stop, and a way laid clear to the qasr of the King-Who-Was-Good,” the Little Rose said. “And because of the power of making, the flying creatures came down from the mountains to see the work. They saw too that the herds were in want of food and water. Now, the dragons and the unicorns and phoenix could not offer much in the way of help, but the sprites had a particular fondness for goats, and the piskeys had no small measure of pity for the sheep, so they convinced the gnomes, who could not fly, to help. They carried them down from the mountains and set them in the shade of the oleanders that lined the wadi beds. The gnomes looked into the ground there, and called up what water the earth could spare. The herds could drink, and the plants could grow, and thus the great trek of my ancestress was saved from disaster.”
I lifted the lid of the cooking pot to stir the vetch. I knew why she had picked that story to tell.
“Did the sister of the Storyteller Queen give the gnomes a gift for their work?” I asked. “Or did that part of the arrangement come later?”
“I know you do not trust magic, Yashaa, and why should you?” she said. She was reasonable. I always wanted to do what she advised, even when it went against my nature. “You have only ever seen magic’s price, and it has cost you the lives of those you love.”
I could not deny that.
“But I have seen both sides,” she said. “I, who have been gifted and cursed both, and feel the two forces constantly at war within my own mind. I promise, Yashaa, it is worth the price sometimes.”
“Worth it?” I said. “Arwa was an orphan at ten, Tariq at twelve. Speak to them of worth. Your own people starve because the money they once spent on food must now be spent on cloth. They choose between warm winters and full bellies, and that is your fault.”
“And your mother is dying.” Her voice was like ice. “I know this, Yashaa. Do not forget, I have had nothing to do for most of my life except sit idle in a tower where I can see my kingdom and not help it. My suffering is different from yours, and maybe it is less, but it is mine, and I will not listen to you belittle it.”
All of the friendliness between us was gone.
“I only meant,” she said after a long moment, “that I will keep fighting this war within myself, and that we will keep looking for something to satisfy the price. I would like to look in the garden.”
“We?” I asked, still unwilling to forgive her, even though as soon as she spoke I wanted to.
“We,” she said. “I will not be driven out, nor will I abandon you.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said. “Today you made a fence. Have you made anything since your curse?”
As soon as I said the words, I regretted them. I remembered the dust drawings on the tower floor, and the terrible hunger with which she had watched Arwa sew.
“Nothing beautiful,” she said. “Nothing great. But Yashaa, I have been afraid for too long. Perhaps we have held the demon at bay all these years, but it has done no real good. I have done nothing for so long, Yashaa. I want to try doing something instead.”
“We lost the spindles,” I reminded her.
“Not those,” she said, and a shudder ran through her. I knew that for all her bold words, she was still afraid of what she might do if presented with that temptation. “Not spinning. But other things.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Cooking,” she said. “Digging the privy. Making flower chains. I don’t know. The things you would only expect of the youngest, most talentless child.”
“I wouldn’t let a child near the fire,” I told her. The edge was gone from my words. Despite my misgivings I had forgiven her, though she had not asked for it, and I had not really wanted to. “And we have a privy.”
“Something else then,” she said.
It was almost, but not quite, an order. Perhaps that’s what ruling meant: giving people enough of an idea that they finished it themselves and thought it had been their own in the first place. It worked, even though I knew she was doing it.