Eventually, I had to give up and I instructed the children to mount the camels again. I’d hoped when we found the well that whoever owned it would bring their animals to drink at dawn, but no one came in that quiet hour. We pressed on, staying close enough to a worn trail that I could watch for aid but far enough away so we wouldn’t be immediately obvious.
It wasn’t until an hour after sunrise that I remembered the phoenix egg. I summoned the young boy who’d been of such great help to me, and he kicked his camel so it drew close.
“Can you hand me the stone?” I asked him.
He’d kept it wrapped in a shirt that he’d tied around his small frame. That the weight of it hadn’t toppled him over was amazing. He was one tough kid. Without question, he drew it around and untied the sleeves of the shirt, passing it over to me.
“Please let this work,” I mumbled under my breath. Pressing my palms against the sides of the egg, I peered into its depths. “I need your wisdom,” I whispered to the stone. “Please help me save these children.”
At first, nothing happened, but then the light inside the truth stone gleamed gold and it pulsed warmly against my hands. The heart of the phoenix spoke in my mind. The voice was both gentle and terrible. It was utterly indiscernible and yet it somehow seemed familiar. My mind became fuzzy and I swayed, nearly tumbling from the camel, but then the horizon steadied and my focus centered back to the stone. A concept suddenly became very clear.
SAFE, the stone said, and then it showed me a picture.
It was of the road we traveled, and I saw in my mind’s eye the path we should follow and a large home at the end of it. The map somehow imprinted upon my mind, and I knew where we should go and what we would find once we arrived. I also knew the journey would take approximately three days on camelback.
Trusting in the truth stone, I wrapped the shirt around my neck and tied the sleeves together, then led the children on. Toward noon, the heavy weight pressing against my chest grew hot and I touched the stone. It showed me a picture of men on horseback. We just had time to move the camels behind a large section of rocks and stunted trees. Dismounting, we had the camels kneel on the ground and the children hid behind them.
The men drew close enough for me to hear their shouts, and I worried that they would find our tracks, but when I looked back, the prints of our animals had disappeared. Not even my own footprints appeared in the deep sand, though I knew there should be signs of our passage all over the area. Something, or someone, was protecting us.
Is Kadam behind this? He’d said I’d be on my own, so I dismissed the possibility. Durga didn’t exist in this plane or so he’d said. Perhaps it was the heart of the phoenix that shielded us. Whatever or whoever it was, I didn’t complain. We waited there, hidden, until they were long gone, and then I decided we needed time to rest. My shoulder throbbed and my head hurt. Though all of us were uncomfortably hot and suffering due to sun exposure, I knew I burned with fever as well.
We slept in the shade of the spindly trees for a few hours and then traveled on. I frequently turned to look behind us and saw that our obvious trail melted into the desert only seconds after we passed, so tracking us would be difficult if not impossible. This was a miraculous turn of events, and one we desperately needed. Toward late afternoon, I put my hand on the phoenix egg and told it that I had to find food, water, and shelter for the night.
Not a moment later, I caught the scent of woodsmoke on the air and spotted a plume rising into the cloudless sky. When I asked if the fire represented a safe place for us, the thrum of the heart inside the stone quickened.
I guided the children toward the column of smoke, and we located a small cottage in the middle of nowhere. Trees surrounded the home, shading it from the hot sun, and each one was bursting with heavy globes of ripe fruit. I eyed the small grove as I tied off the camels and knew that those particular trees didn’t normally produce fruit in the same season.
Despite this, I didn’t question our good fortune but breathed a sigh of relief. The starving children, heedless of danger or of offending our potential hosts, scurried after the fruit, helping each other reach as many as they could. I knocked on the door of the cottage and waited. When no response came, I opened it and stepped inside.
Meat cooked on a spit over a crackling fire, and there was a stack of clothing and soft shoes—enough for all the children and even a tunic and breeches my size. A pair of large boots sat next to them. There was also a huge basin filled with steaming water, a pot filled to the brim with thick porridge, a jar of honey, and a basket of flatbread, still steaming and puffed from baking.
Tears filled my eyes at the sight. Never in my long life had I felt so grateful for so little. The children bustled inside with their arms filled with fruit and exclaimed at the bounty set before them. I bid them eat while I took care of Ana. They lit into the food, the older children helping the younger ones and my fledgling captain directing them all.
Anamika was still unresponsive and wouldn’t stand on her own. Holding her in my arms, I dipped a cloth in the hot water, squeezed it out, and pressed it against her red cheeks and brow. I loosened her long hair and smoothed it away from her face, wincing at the purple bruises on her neck and her swollen, cut lips.
Quickly, I stripped away the thin blanket covering her and washed her body. The rage I felt at seeing the welts, the cuts, and the dried blood on her legs made me tremble. If he wasn’t already dead, I’d go back in time and kill the turbaned man again and again and again.
The idea that he would dare slake his lusts on a young and innocent child ripped my heart in two, and I cursed myself and my weaknesses again. It was my fault. I would never, ever forgive myself for what happened to her, and I vowed to spend the rest of my life trying to make up for my terrible failure.
When Ana was clean, one of the girls brought me some clothes and helped me dress her. Though her eyes were still open, her limbs were as limp as a doll’s and she didn’t respond at all as I drew the tunic over her head and pulled it down her thin frame. Carefully, I drew her hair over her shoulder and fastened it with a small tie.
“Come back to me, Ana,” I said softly as I touched her jaw and squeezed her hand. “Your tiger is here.”
I didn’t realize I was crying until I saw a drop fall to her cheek and slide down to her ear. She blinked once, twice, and then turned her head to look at me. Letting out a soft sigh, she patted my bristly face, closed her eyes, and tucked her head against my shoulder. Gently, I pulled her into my chest, rocking her in my arms and stroking her hair. When I knew she was asleep, I set her down on a blanket the children spread out, and then I helped the other children bathe and dress.
The older ones happily refilled the tub for me from the well outside after they’d washed. They considered me their general of sorts and made great efforts to serve me in any way they could. Since they seemed revived from their large meal and the clean clothes, I allowed it and ate while they worked.
When the tub was full, I told them it was time to catch some sleep and that good soldiers learned to sleep quickly when given the chance. They immediately complied and settled themselves on blankets near Ana, the little ones holding the hands of the older children. Night fell and I stared into the crackling fire, lost in my thoughts, making mental lists of what we’d need to pack up to take with us.