A wind blew, sulfurous and unpleasant. It might have stormed for days during their passage, and instead the weather had favored them, their one piece of blind luck. Not even Luz could have arranged that. He thought that calamities were piling up on him, but if he looked, he saw a few signs of luck still with him, a few signs that the odds could be shoved into better advantage. If a man paid attention. If he did think of all the possibilities.
He kissed his wife, rested his head against her, shut his eyes a moment.
“Up,” Hati said after a dark space, giving him a little shake, and he realized she had held him, bracing his weight for however long he had slept, steady and sure. “We’re moving,” she said, and they were: the Keran were rolling up their mats. The Ila’s servants had struck her shelter.
A little sleep seemed for a moment worse than none. It was hard to move. He gathered his scattered wits, helped Hati up, waked Norit, but not Lelie—her he picked up, and heaved her, still sleeping, to his shoulder, to hand her up to Norit once Norit was mounted.
Hati rolled up their mats and went and tied them on, and led the beshti back.
Marak saw Tofi help Patya up. The aifad cheated him of the sight of Patya’s face, but Tofi looked happy, and the language of their hands, not quick to part, was a reassurance. They looked only at each other.
“Do your jobs,” Marak said to Bosginde, who stood staring. “ Hewon’t give you orders.” Meaning Tofi. “You’re in charge. Prove what you’ve got.”
Bosginde went and with Mogar did his ordinary duty, and saw the girths were tight, then helped Memnanan’s wife and mother up. Tofi became cognizant enough to join them, with looks back at Patya the while, the look of a young man with only one thing on his mind.
Bosginde elbowed Mogar, with a grin and a knowing look on his face, before they helped Norit up and both got to the saddle… as if it were any day, as if nothing in the world was unusual. The Keran, meanwhile, were setting themselves into motion, the Ila’s servants were attempting to get her mounted, and Memnanan and his men were up. The Haga began to flow out around the edges of the lump that was the city-dwellers in their midst. Marak saw it all, the amusement of the slaves, Tofi and Patya with eyes for one another, and Hati’s amusement, and all of a sudden there was a commotion in the Ila’s camp, the Ila’s white besha having escaped out through the camp, and two more followed it.
Everyone began to laugh, he laughed, and then the earth shook them all to sobriety: that was what had startled the beshti, and the Keran quickly caught the fugitives. The Ila, veiled and angry, allowed herself to be helped up.
They could still laugh, the ex-slaves at the ex-master, the tribesmen at the city folk—all of them had laughed except Norit, who sat expressionless and staring blankly at the commotion. She would go where the besha went. Whether she herself got her baby down the descent safely—she had no particular care—but Luz would see Norit survived, if anyone did.
“Here.” Marak made his decision and handed Lelie up to her mother, live or die, the best he could do: then he went and mounted up, the same. He turned Osan to follow the Keran, and Hati went with him, and Norit did, and Tofi and Patya, and the whole camp and the whole caravan began to set out.
The wind fell. The afternoon grew hot, and the air utterly still as they traveled. The edge of the world was in front of them, a horizon unnaturally clear now that the wind had let the air clear.
“Talk to me,” he said to Hati. “Distract me.”
Marak, Marak, his voices said to him, and he saw a vision, the fall of a great star, as it seemed, and the earth splitting, and fire running in the cracks.
“I think it’s coming,” Hati said, offering no comfort. “Something much bigger than the rest.”
“It’s coming,” Norit confirmed, catching a breath. She hugged Lelie close. “In the bitter water. Not yet, but soon.”
Conversation was no comfort, except to know the tormenting vision was the same for all of them. They saw the vision over and over and over, with the sun shining at their backs as clearly and as brightly in a clear sky as if there were never a threat.
And by late afternoon the edge of the world developed a crack, and by evening that crack became a cliff edge, bright red with sunset where they were, and shadowed beyond, until the distant sand caught the light again.
It was the edge of the Lakht. It was the way they had to go down, and they were not yet where Marak hoped to reach, not near their former descent: that was southward, toward all the hazards of Pori.
“The climb down is at a notch,” he said, riding up to Aigyan before Memnanan or any of the rest could question him. Only Hati came with him, and now he quickened the pace ahead of the Keran, and took the lead himself, with Hati, and then with Norit and Tofi and Patya, and last of all the au’it, all of them that had come this road before.
The light was leaving. The smallest stones cast strange, long shadows on sand turned red as fire. They were running out of daylight and farther from a downward path than he had hoped they would be.
But they rode up on a depression along the cliff edge, and there was their path, just as the sun was shining its last, there where the sand had slipped away down the edge of the plateau, and rocks thrust up like giant sentinels.
“There it is!” Hati exclaimed: trust the an’i Keran to recognize a landmark she had once passed. This was the place. East, the voices still urged them, and now eastwas possible. Marak turned Osan about and looked back to the long line of tribesmen that followed them, and to the red among white that was the Ila’s household, and Memnanan, and the dark of the Haga.
All the tribes would follow without question. All the villages had to, for good or for ill. The descent showed treacherously steep, a winding stair of sand and rock where they had lost a besha on the last descent: bad enough the last time, and now they had the old and the sick to get down.
Marak, his voices called out, demanding, urging him down that trail. His heart hammered in the disturbance the makers created. But he and his house all waited until Aigyan had reached them.
“Will you go first?” Aigyan asked, offering him the honor of the leader of all of them, and he shook his head, knowing thatwas not his place.
“I’ll wait, omi. Go down and set the edge of the camp closer to the cliffs than a sane man would dare, and drive down the deep-stakes and take every precaution: I don’t think the sand will fall down. I think the wind will carry it to the ends of the earth. There’s a storm coming. It’s all I know—a wind stronger than any wind. Better be closer to the cliffs than not.”
Aigyan heard him, and thought about it, and nodded, frowning in that consideration. He thought Aigyan understood him.
But he had second thoughts of Tofi and Patya, and when Aigyan and the Keran had started down that slope, he wanted to see his own charges go down early and be safe. “Take care. You’ll have our tent. See to it. Don’t make any mistakes.”
“Yes, omi,” Tofi said, and asked no questions. But Patya did. “When will you come?” she asked.
“When I’ve seen the most of our own camp come down. And the Haga. Don’t worry about us. If anyone knows the time to go down, we do.” He knew, when he had just said it, what compelled him to stay above, the simple drive to see what was coming, whether he was right about the choices he had made all along, and about what he had just asked Aigyan to do—to violate a basic rule of safety in all storms before.
But he could not overstay the margin of time they had. “Just take precautions,” he said to Tofi. “I know there’ll be a storm. The earth may shake. I don’t know if the cliffs will stand, but they’re all the windbreak we have. Be very sure of those stakes!”