The Bones of the Old Ones (Dabir and Asim) (7 page)

After evening prayers at the governor’s side, a servant informed us that the woman had roused and asked for Dabir and me, so I excused myself and went to find my friend.

Kharouf still leaned against the wall outside. Inside, a partially eaten meal of stewed dates and lamb rested near at hand, but Dabir was otherwise as I had left him, studying a text and making notes. A densely packed ring of candles now burned off the encircling darkness.

“Najya is awake and asking for us,” I told him.

“Ah. Good.” He nodded, glancing up. “You should go talk to her.”

“She asked for both of us,” I said, though I was not entirely sure the servant had truly conveyed the lady’s request.

“Yes, but I am busy.”

If he was at all interested in her, he was doing a poor job of showing it. I began to think it was the problem, and not the woman, which held his attention. “What do you want me to say?”

Dabir looked blandly up from the scroll. “Convince her to come with us.”

“Cannot the governor simply order her to do so?”

“Nay—she is not a criminal, and she is not of Mosul. The governor, being a just man, will not exercise authority over her he does not have. And she must accompany us, for her own safety.” He looked back down. “Oh—ask if she, too, witnessed anything when she touched the spear.”

Feeling somewhat useless to him otherwise, I had Kharouf point me in the right direction and then found a servant to lead me to the well-appointed room where Najya waited. There were braziers there, and a platter of breads and cheeses, and also a girl attendant who was brushing Najya’s hair by candlelight as she sat on a couch. Najya had removed her veil and did not bother affixing it on sight of me. Without the fabric she proved even more lovely, with a clear complexion, a small, full mouth with bright lips, and a delicate, rounded chin.

I had a sudden misgiving about why I’d been thinking of her all day, and didn’t realize I was staring until several uncomfortable moments passed while she waited for me to speak. I think she’d acknowledged me with “Captain Asim.”

I brought myself back around with some effort. “It is good to see that you are well.” I then noted that she wore a dark blue dress and decided to comment upon it, for women delight in such things. “Is that a new garment?”

“It is a gift from the governor,” she said with disinterest. “Captain, the servants say I am to ready for a journey to Harran. But surely,” she emphasized, “that cannot be right.”

Here I’d been thinking I’d have to break the news to her, but naturally palace gossip had reached her ear already. I doubted that would make my mission simpler.

“So it is true?” she asked.

“There is a man in Harran who Dabir thinks can help you.”

“Dabir promised he would help me return to Isfahan.” Those stunning eyes pierced me like spear points. “That is two weeks the
other
direction from Harran.”

When the matter was broached this way, I knew shame, for Najya was absolutely right—word had been given, and must be broken if Dabir had his way. Speech failed me, and as I struggled for a proper reply Najya’s scrutiny intensified, which made concentrating on a response all the harder. I could not help wondering if Dabir had sent me in his stead because he’d anticipated some of this. “You are right,” I admitted. “Dabir promised to return you to Isfahan. We fully intend to do so … but right now…”

Still she glared daggers.

The servant girl could not have been more than eight. She lowered her head while brushing, as if she expected us to begin hurling pottery at one another.

Truly, I had been more comfortable fighting strange monsters. “We didn’t know the power of the men who had kidnapped you. Or that you suffered strange fits. Or that there was a peculiar spear involved. Did you, too, see strange visions when you touched it?”

At this last, she left off glowering; now her stare was more blank, which was equally disconcerting. It would have been nice if she made some reply. But she did not, so I was left to continue the conversation on my own.

“So. Eh. There is a man in Harran, and Dabir thinks he can set everything aright with you. Also, he is an expert on the kind of wizards that Dabir thinks are chasing you.”

Najya pressed lips tightly together, then raised a hand to still the servant tending her hair. “Thank you. You may go.”

“Madame?” The girl lowered the brush.

Najya turned her head, and her voice was firm, though not harsh. “I said to go.”

The girl collected all the feminine beauty articles in a little basket beside her and exited hurriedly.

Najya waited until the girl had shut the door, then considered me with more care.

“I do apologize,” I said. “But you were not conscious, and we … Dabir, I mean—”

“What did you see in the visions?” she asked.

I found it far easier to discuss the distressing images I had seen than to speak to her about Harran, so I welcomed the change of topic. I omitted nothing.

She did not listen like Dabir, with interruptions. Instead she waited pensively and allowed me to reach a natural conclusion. After, she sat looking troubled.

Once again I tried to prod her forward. “Did you see something similar?”

“Somewhat.”

With that admission, it was easier to take the initiative. “You see, then, why we need to speak with someone better able to help you? Dabir would not have suggested going to Harran if he did not think it would aid you.”

“I believe you,” she said finally, and touched a hand to her face.

It was a relief to know my arguments were seeing me to victory, and I began to relax. Another fine point had just come to me, one I might have mentioned earlier if I’d been thinking more clearly. “If we return you to Isfahan, who is to say the sorcerers would not simply follow and take you away once more?”

She frowned, seemingly in acknowledgment. “Who is this man Dabir is taking me to see?”

“I do not know him,” I confessed. “But he is a scholar who helped train Dabir. Dabir is one of the brightest men in the caliphate, and if he respects the fellow, he must be wise indeed. I am sure he will be able to cure you.”

“Very well,” She said resignedly. “I will go.” She then addressed me with great dignity. “Your … friend is very kind to me. I will happily remunerate him for these expenses. My family is not without resources.”

It took me a moment to decide how to respond. “That is thoughtful of you,” I said at last. “But Dabir is not a hireling. He is a trusted servant of the caliph. He does not aid you for money or any other favor, but because it is the proper thing to do.”

“You hold him in high regard.”

“His wisdom has unraveled great mysteries.” It occurred to me then that she still had told me little that Dabir had asked me to learn. “Your pardon, but one of the things he asked me to, eh, ask you was whether you yourself had seen visions. And what they were.”

“The coals have dimmed,” she said.

I had been looking at nothing but her for a long while now, and though I had noticed a fading light, it had not occurred to me to see if the coals in both braziers had left off steaming. I was not so foolish that I had missed her change of subjects, but I did not wish her to be uncomfortable, either. “Are you cold? Shall I call for more?”

“Nay. Though my skin is cool.” She touched fingers to her face once more. “Are you warm?”

“I, too, am fine.” Now that she mentioned it, I had been chilled ever since I had touched the spear beside her, but I did not mean to reveal it.

She adjusted herself into the cushions, then considered me seriously. “Tell me, Captain. Do you think I am a witch?”

“Nay.”

“Do you think I am mad?”

“No, not at all. You have borne yourself through difficulties that would send some men quaking in fear.”

She weighed me then with her eyes, and her shoulders sank a degree. She proceeded tentatively. “There is something I think I should tell you. Dabir should probably know. I did not say anything of it sooner because … well, I thought this would end quickly, and I did not wish to speak of it.”

I could not imagine what she was about to admit, but she held my complete attention.

“Since I was a little girl, I have sometimes had dreams about things that had not yet happened, but that later came true. My grandmother used to call them visions.”

I knew not what to make of this. “Did you dream about something that the wizards wanted?”

“I don’t think so. My dreams were almost always…” Her voice trailed away. “… mundane.”

“What do you mean?”

At last she seemed to relax. “Once I dreamed my grandfather would return home early with presents for me and my brother, and that he would bring my brother a toy sword. He did, the next day. I dreamt my cousin would find her kitten wandering in the field across the way when it went missing.” She paused briefly, and her voice softened. “Once I dreamed my father was crying, and the next day we learned his uncle had died. Until now, that was the worst dream.”

“And did you ever dream of these wizards?”

“No. But for the weeks before my … my attack, I had been dreaming of great fields of snow that covered rooftops. And—” She watched me for a moment, I think to gauge whether or not I would scoff or mock her.

“Speak on,” I urged.

“There were strange beings all around me, and riders. Fierce warriors wrapped in furs, shouting and waving swords. Before us flew ghosts that chased down men. We were heading for a little hill in a valley, and I think you were there, fighting someone with a club.”

I could not keep the skepticism from my voice. “Do your dreams always come true?”

“Only the true ones. But I can always tell.”

As disquieting as her dreams were, I was no learned man, to guess their import. “This seems like the kind of thing wizards like. Did they ask you about your dreams?”

“I don’t think so.” Her lips twisted into a frown. “I scarcely remember my time among them. It is mostly hazy.”

“Do you remember anything?”

She puzzled over my question for a moment. “After my capture, but before I came here, there is one moment…” Her voice grew more certain as she continued. “I lay in near darkness, in a stone room. There were a few candles.” She pointed to left and right, as though placing memories. “I was groggy and light-headed, and it took me a moment to focus, but I grew alarmed when I smelled blood. I opened my eyes to see a woman was bent over me, and she, too, looked troubled. I thought she might be worried for me, and I asked if she had come to help.” Najya’s voice hardened. “But she had not. She pulled away as if I were a snake, and she spoke quickly with a man I realized must be standing behind me. I know only a little Greek, but I’m sure the man was worried that something had not worked, and that the lady hadn’t done it properly. And that made her nervous.”

“Do you remember anything else?” I asked.

“No, nothing,” she said, and let out a long breath. For the first time that evening she wore her sorrow and weariness openly. I wished then that I was not a stranger, that I might comfort her. “I really thought the Greek woman was going to help me.” I found that she was still looking at me. “I did see strange scenes, Captain,” she confessed. “When I held the weapon on the wall. You said you wished to hear it.”

Looking at her strained expression, I was no longer certain I wanted to know. “Is it worse than what I saw?”

“I saw everything that you did, but I was the one attacking.… And some part of me was glad for all that happened. I was fighting against those men, wielding a weapon, stomping through the snow, eager for blood.… And I cast great waves of cold from my fingertips.”

I knew not what to say.

“I should not have told you that,” she said, watching me.

“You should tell me—and Dabir—anything that you see. If he doesn’t know all that you know, he cannot help you.”

Still she stared, looking more lost and alone than ever, and I could no longer help myself. I stepped forward and sank to one knee before her. “You are not mad,” I said. “I saw everything that you did. I faced the wooden men, and their keeper. I doubt nothing you have told me.”

“But you did not … feel the vision the same way.”

“The wizards have done something to you. And Dabir and I will set things right. This I promise.”

She looked at me again in that way she had in the house, upon the stair, and I felt suddenly uncomfortable. I cleared my throat, and climbed to my feet, very conscious of her proximity. “Is there anything more you need? Do you desire female companionship upon the ride?”

“No,” she said, which pleased me, for I had no stomach for shepherding a gaggle of women. “That will not be necessary. But I want a better horse.”

I smiled at the thought of a woman’s simple worries. “I shall find you one that rides most smoothly. I apologize for the cart horse’s bony back—”

“That is not what I mean,” she cut in. “I do not need some old woman’s nag, but one that answers to my lead.”

There was sense in this—if it came to a fight she might escape on a more responsive steed. “I shall see that it is done. Is there anything else you desire?”

“I should like a sword, Captain.”

This startled me.

“I am a general’s daughter,” she reminded me.

I then recalled how competently she had held Dabir’s blade. While it is true that women tire more swiftly than men, for they are weak, it can be prudent to show a woman how to handle a weapon, for it is a sad fact known by brothers, sons, and fathers that women sometimes must defend themselves when we are not at hand.

Najya took my silence as another challenge, and her chin rose imperiously. “I have one of my own, and I always wear it on my longer rides. As my blade is in Isfahan, I would prevail upon you to find me another.”

“I will present you with the finest blade it is in my power to give,” I promised, and the challenging look in her eyes melted away. A smile touched her lips. “Did you study sword craft with your father?” I asked.

“I did.”

“Perhaps during our journey you can tell me more of him. I have heard great things about his skill.”

“I would enjoy that.”