He hurried up the alley and saw them crossing the next street. He had to get ahead of them over the space of the next block, fast enough to make it around the corner. After that they would reach a busier area, one where women and men stood outside the buildings beckoning passersby inside to watch entertainment of the most depraved sort.
The man sprinted to the corner, then tore around it without looking first. A couple, both human, were dragging a cart laden with firewood, and the man crashed into them. The people released the two-handled cart when the man hit them, and the cart upended, tipped over by its own unbalanced load. Wood spilled into the street.
“Sorry!” the man said. He had to step over the firewood. The encounter slowed him down too much—his targets made it across the street, and within moments would be within view of the debauchery up ahead.
“Sorry?” the woman who had been pulling the cart said. “I’ll show you sorry. There’s a patrol just down the block. Let’s see what they have to say about madmen running full tilt without watching.”
“I was careless,” the man argued, “not criminal. I’ve apologized.” He yanked a coin from the purse hanging at his waist and tossed it onto the ground. “That should make up for my error.”
The couple took their eyes off him as soon as the coin clinked against the ground. The man darted back around the corner, into the dark shelter of the alley. He was breathing heavily, his heart pounding.
That had been too close. He had let the targets get too far ahead of him, and he had taken foolish chances to catch up.
With one wistful look back at the market, he gave up and headed for his home, his family.
For tonight, he had to resist the impulse. He couldn’t afford to be caught. That would be humiliating, and potentially suicidal.
The farther he got from the market, the more his heart slowed, and his step. The urge told him to go back, try once more. But he didn’t; he still had the presence of mind to listen to reason, he told himself.
As long as he could do so, he wasn’t utterly lost.
In her sleep, Myrana thrashed and kicked so much that Lauriand punched out at her in the darkness of their tent. “Ow!” Myrana cried. She sat up, rubbing her forearm. “That hurt!”
“Sorry, but you were pummeling me. Were you dreaming again?”
“People always dream,” Myrana said.
Lauriand’s younger sister Krisanthe groaned. “Not me,” she said, “because I’m not asleep, and I’m not asleep because you two won’t shut up!”
“Sorry, Kri,” Myrana said. “Yes, Lau, I was dreaming. Go back to sleep, and I’ll try to stop flailing about so.”
“That sounds good to me,” Lauriand said.
“Me as well!” Krisanthe flopped back down onto her pillows—life on the road was hard, but she was a girl who loved her pillows and she always slept with several.
Myrana put her head down on her single pillow, but her eyes wouldn’t close. The dream had been so vivid, she didn’t want to accidentally find herself back inside it. But as she tried to think about it, to analyze it, the memory dissipated, like trying to hold onto a fistful of sand held underwater.
All she was left with was a grain of meaning, and she could hardly wait for sunrise to share it.
She didn’t have long to wait. Although inside the tent she wasn’t able to tell, the night was almost over when her cousin hit her. Soon she heard the caravan’s morning sounds, someone stoking the fires for cooking, someone else filling the trough the mekillots drank from, shouting at the beasts when they tried to breakfast on her, still another walking away from the camp to empty a bladder held throughout the night.
Myrana pushed aside her blanket and dressed quickly. She snatched up the staff that helped her walk and headed from the tent, looking for her brother.
Welton, in whom House Ligurto had entrusted the ultimate responsibility for this caravan, squatted beside the fire, holding a mug of tea. The sky was lightening, and soon enough the sun would roar over the horizon, bringing with it the punishing heat of the day, but for the moment the air was crisp and cold. Myrana limped to his side, her staff digging into the sand with every step.
“Good morning, sister,” Welton said when he heard her.
“And to you.” She put a hand on his shoulder and lowered herself carefully to crouch beside him.
“Tea?” he asked.
“I’ll have some in a moment,” she said. “I need to talk to you, Welton.”
He looked at her for the first time. His hair was as black as hers, his eyes almost black as well, burning with fierce intensity. He was lean and muscular, and would have been commandingly tall if not for his hunched posture. Myrana had never understood why he kept his shoulders curled in, instead of standing straight and letting their breadth show. “Yes?”
“I need to leave the caravan.”
“Why?”
“I have been having these dreams …”
He regarded her over the rim of his mug. “You’re not leaving because of some dreams.”
“They’re not regular dreams,” she said. “Special ones.”
“I know the kind you mean.”
“Then you know it’s best not to ignore them.”
“Usually.”
“These are urgent, Welton.”
“Telling you what? Just go? Walk away from your family, your responsibility?”
“It isn’t that … it’s just, what if my true responsibility lies elsewhere? I think that’s what the dreams are saying. They demand action.”
Welton tried to treat every family member the same, but whether he realized it or not, Myrana saw that he sometimes babied her, as if her youthful injury made her less capable than others. She watched his gaze flicker toward her bad leg, and then back to her face. “Where do they want you to go?”
“I’m not sure. Into the desert. From there I’ll just have to let them guide me.”
“What if they don’t, Myrana?”
“There isn’t much in this life I can put my faith in, brother. You, our family, and my dreams, they’re all I have. If I don’t trust them …” She left the statement unfinished. She didn’t know how to finish it—it was rare for her dreams to steer her wrong, and when they were this persistent she knew there was meaning behind them. She didn’t always know where they would lead, but if she remained open to their message she was generally rewarded. Sometimes the whole family was—her dreams had led them to a new, previously unknown oasis when one they had used for generations had become poisoned, and had warned of ambushes, and of suppliers trying to cheat them.
So if her dreams wanted to take her into the wilderness, without the family, who was she to ignore them?
“I don’t like it. It’s dangerous out there.”
“Danger is everywhere, Welton. Two of us died not ten days ago, and they hadn’t even left the caravan. None of us will live forever.”
Welton took her hand. “I want you to, though.”
“I know, Welton. And I want the same for you. But we can only do what we can do.”
His face tore into a wide grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard truer words. Nonsensical ones, perhaps, but true.”
“I will miss you terribly, brother. But I have to do this.”
“I know what you’re like when you get this way, Myrana, trust me. I won’t try to stop you. But I won’t let you go without protection.”
“What sort of protection do you have in mind?”
He tapped his fingers against his mug for a moment, considering. “Two of our best,” he said. “How about Sellis and Koyt?”