“You are a woman with a destiny” the old woman said quietly.
Asima nodded.
“I hardly need a stinking old crow to tell me that!”
The sergeant treated her to an angry glare as the old woman went on, rubbing small circles on the back of Asima’s hand before turning it over to examine the palm.
“Your life has been transition, constantly. Each time you feel you are nearing your goal, it is snatched away from you, yes?”
Asima stopped struggling to pull away, her brow furrowing. Her astonishment at the fact that the woman had so accurately summed up her life since the day the satrap Ma’ahd came was compounded by the surprise at the old woman’s soft tone and educated use of language. Despite everything in her that told her to push this woman away, Asima couldn’t fight it… she was interested.
“The world has repeatedly promised you great things but never quite delivered them. You lash out when this happens and the result is often that you fall further away from your goal. You are beginning to believe that you are owed a great deal and are determined to squeeze the world until it pays.”
That was a bolt from the blue for Asima. It was horribly, cuttingly accurate and yet news to her; she had never realised this was the case.
“Stop.”
The old woman smiled.
“Everything happens for a reason, lady. You will achieve your destiny, but you must not fight it. Each time you fight it, your destiny pulls away from you. You need to follow the path you are now on and stop trying to change it.”
Asima frowned.
“I do not believe in Gods, or fate, or fortunes, old woman. A clever mind sees past the trickery. You are merely insightful and a good judge of character… but not a great one. If you were, you’d have steered well clear of me.”
The old woman laughed merrily.
“You do not believe? You who have murdered lords and ladies? You who have bought and sold souls and lives to climb the ladder of success? You who have sat with kings and worn jewels that were worth more than M’Dahz has to offer? You who cannot stop yourself?”
“Stop!”
There was something in Asima’s voice that made the sergeant frown; a great deal of irritation and anger, of course, but also a note verging on panic.
“Never, lady. You have taken a wrong turning at some point on the path of your life. You would have been poor but loved as a nobody. Sometimes you realise that and it makes you sad, but not sad enough to turn you away from the path you have chosen…”
“Stop!” Asima barked.
“Instead, you seek power at the expense of love. You care not what people think of you except when it is necessary to achieve something. You will not stop until you can look down on the gods you deny and it matters not that the world will hate you for it.”
Asima made a lunge for the woman, but the sergeant still had a tight grip on her wrist and held her back, turning to the fortune teller.
“I think you’d best take the rest of the money and leave, woman.”
“Momentarily” the old crone said quietly.
“Lady, I said I would tell you your fortune. I have only told you your past and the contents of your heart. I would be remiss, having been paid, not to perform my duty.”
Asima glared at her coldly, an angry rumble somewhere deep in her throat.
“I said that you are a woman of destiny. You may believe in what you wish, lady, but I have the sight and the knowledge and I know beyond doubt and past certainty. You are destined, for better or for worse, to reach the dizzy heights that you seek. Before the next year cycles around, you will be acclaimed an empress. You will rule with absolute power, uncontested, yet unloved. No one will sing your praise or welcome your accession, though I fear you care little about that.”
She smiled a humourless smile.
“You will be an empress, lady, and as dark an empress as ever walked beneath the heavens. I shudder to look further, so I must take my leave. May the sand devils grant you safe passage on your journey.”
With a smile, she wrapped her fingers tightly around the copper coins in her hand and shuffled off back toward her fire and tent.
The sergeant relaxed his grip.
“I’m not sure whether I’m glad I heard that, or not.”
He examined the young lady by his side. Asima had an unreadable expression.
“Come on. Get into the coach, so we can get underway. If your highness is going to be an empress, I’d as soon it wasn’t in my country.”
Shaking her head, Asima picked up her feet and walked off toward the coach, frowning as she went.
Behind her, the crooked old scarecrow woman in the tattered black pocketed her treasure and shuffled out of the open back to her tent. As the cavalry and their vehicles prepared to get underway, the old woman passed between two tents into the shelter of a couple of palm trees and scrub plants. Taking a quick glance between the shelters to make sure she was out of sight of the lady and her escort, she straightened, rubbing her back while sucking in air between her teeth. Grinning, she stretched and laughed quietly.
Samir was right. This girl was a real piece of work, and clever too. She was almost clever enough to have seen through it all, but Samir’s insight had apparently been uncanny enough to throw her off kilter.
She laughed once more as she set off back toward the town walls and the secret way in that even few of the criminal underclass of M’Dahz knew existed.
In which Tain leads the way
Ghassan peered over the top of the crates a final time and then turned back to the men crouched behind him, each armed with a cudgel and a fierce and determined expression.
“Remember the rules: take them down as necessary, but I want to avoid killing wherever possible, and Samir would back me up on this. Any man I see killing someone when there is an alternative, I will leave for the authorities to deal with. Is that clear?”
There was a chorus of subdued agreement. Ghassan nodded with satisfaction. It did appear that despite their chosen path in life, these men of Samir’s suffered the effects of a conscience and that made them the sort of people that Ghassan could use. Must have taken some work identifying men like this and manoeuvring them over the years until they formed the crew of the Empress.
Taking a deep breath, he beckoned to the man he’d selected earlier. It had been a simple choice. Most of the crew were long-time pirates with tattoos, long unruly hair, jewellery and piercings. There were few among them who matched the presentable manner expected of a military recruit. Young Tain was perhaps the only man among those around him that could do this. Fortunate they were that Tain was also fearless, well-spoken, clever, and as devious as a boy could be.
The young man, only a member of the crew for two years, left the crowd of his shipmates and approached Ghassan, picking and scratching irritably at the stolen guard uniform he wore.
“Ready?”
The young man laughed quietly.
“Ready as I’ll ever be. I’d as soon go now ‘n’ get it over with, so’s I can get this itchy crap off me!”
“Any moment now” Ghassan smiled.
He glanced back across the port from where they lurked in the shadow of a dock-side warehouse, hidden from the jetty by piles of crates and barrels. He’d listened tensely and heaved a sigh of relief when he heard the midnight bell ring out. Since then he’d rarely taken his eyes off the dark roofs of the warehouse district and the guard compound that lay hidden among them.
The young sailor turned and cast his own gaze back there.
A few heartbeats passed and Ghassan grinned.
“Did you see that?”
“See what?”
The commander pointed into the dark distance and his young companion squinted.