A Brother's Bond

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The right of Russell Meek to be identified as

the author of this work has been asserted.

First published in New Zealand by Russell Meek.

A catalogue record for this book is available from

The National Library of New Zealand.

Second Edition

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Cover photography by Russell Meek.

www.thekhaladastone.com

Other Books In This Series

The Khalada Stone series

A Madness of Hallen

A Brother’s Bond

A Dark Heart Rises: I (eBook due 2022)

A Dark Heart Rises: II (eBook due 2022)

Book 4 – Title TBC (due 2023)

This book is for

those who sacrifice themselves in

aid of others too humble to ask.

Character List

Hejveld

Na’ilah – Husam’s blood and rightful heir

Baeta – Na’ilah’s second in command and most trusted agent

Xhosa – Sleeping agent within the Guild of Thieves

Loviisa – Na’ilah’s top assassin

Terttu – Na’ilah’s agent

Mihja – Na’ilah’s agent

Elsa – Exiled daughter of House Sdra’fhol

Lena – Exiled daughter of House Farasha’i

Wormald – Governor of Njall’s Port Authority

The Wite Flower Priests – Emissaries of Nazh-rndu’ul

Tarly – Captain of The Benevolent Prince

Cutlers – Tarly’s first mate

Veikko – Leader of the ancient Brotherhood

Hannes – Brotherhood Guardian, Veikko’s right hand man

Sakkari – Brotherhood Guardian, Faerl’s abductor

Sisu – Brotherhood Guardian

Oskari – Brotherhood Guardian

Kyosti – Brotherhood Guardian, Faerl’s tutor and guide

Jaasko – Brotherhood Adept

Jökull – Leader of the Thieves’ Guild

Ljótur – Thieves’ Guild Mercenary

The Flatlands

Ohrl – Prophet of al-Din

Faerl – Link to the Priests of al-Din

Hateeb – 1st Qhabir of Sira’an, creator of the doctrinal scrolls

Ha’amturah – Qhabir of Sira’an, 24th in succession from Hateeb, spiritual guide for the people of the Flatlands and the desert tribes

Hakri – Ha’amturah’s aide

Sattah – Successor to the Qhabir, Leader of the Council of Four

Za’im – General of Sira’an’s armies

Qasin – Master of Trades

Kha’atib – Leader of the White Watchers

Simak – Assassin and spy for the Council of Four

Eymen – Sattah’s aide

Tarbuk – Ohrl and Faerl’s guide within Sira’an

Firas – White Watcher

Ashuri – Slave girl in the Halls of Allesh

Allesh – Leader of Sira’an’s greatest Smoking Hall

Görkem – Leader of the unrecognised House of Ulusoy

Essam – Former aide to the Qhabir, exile from Sira’an

Nephi – Exiled daughter of an Allesh slave girl

Burhan – Nephi’s protector

Taniir – Boat captain, Simak’s informant

Na’fal – Taniir’s deckhand

The Great Depression and the Ji’ruk

Shahr – Guardian of the Circle of Pillars

Adham – Uradji Warlord

Ja’ali – Uradji Cleric

H’rasid – Outer Uradji village leader

Ta’alat – Slave trader

Barakha – Ta’alat’s aide

Josham – Desert guide

The Ancient Desert

Husam al-Din – The Sword of the Faith, leader of the Free Tribes

Maymunah – His wife, and betrayer

The Priests of al-Din

Imad al-Din – Pillar of the Faith

Majid al-Din – Glory of the Faith

Nasir al-Din – Protector of the Faith

Izz al-Din – Might of the Faith

Salah al-Din – Righteousness of the Faith

Najm al-Din – Star of the Faith

Map 1 – Hejveld, Sira’an, Nazh-rndu’ul and the Inner Sea.

MAP 2 – The Forest of the Ji’ruk and the Great Depression

One

High up, within a towering minaret rising over the city, Ha’amturah, twenty–fourth Qhabir of Sira’an, leaned against the open, white-stone window. A sea breeze drifted over the city, bringing with it the fresh smell of rain. The rising, red dawn caught the tips of the thousand minarets, and they speared the great clouds gathering on the horizon.

Anah qadim it is coming.

It was but a whisper, but as Ha’amturah stared at the storm building over the Inner Sea, a far darker threat formed in his heart. This time, Ha’amturah knew the Collection Storms would come, and as he gazed across his city slowly waking beneath him, he reminded himself of the vows he’d made as Qhabir to protect those within Sira’an’s extended domain when the water finally came.

A chill wind blew against his chest. He coughed, drawing his robe close.

You should be in bed, sire, came a young voice. Ha’amturah turned and allowed Hakri, his assistant, to wrap a supportive arm around him and lead him back down the stairs to the inner chamber.

I cannot see what happens within my walls from the confines of my bed, Ha’amturah rasped, frustrated that his body was failing him despite barely reaching sixty years of age. Yet he was glad of Hakri’s support. The boy did not have the shrewdest of minds, but Ha’amturah enjoyed his company, for he was a constant reminder of those who sought shelter within Sira’an’s vast reach.

As Ha’amturah eased into a deep-cushioned chair set against the wall, he noted the leather-bound folder bursting with parchments tucked under Hakri’s arm.

Reports. As requested, Hakri said, noting Ha’amturah’s gaze. Ha’amturah nestled into the chair, enjoying the warm support against his brittle back. He nodded for Hakri to continue, then closed his eyes, picturing the expanse of land he governed from Sira’an to the Great Forest of Ji’ruk and beyond, where he could only imagine the glistening minarets of Johsala at dawn towering over the wind-swept sands of the desert east.

The merchants are desperate, Hakri said. Water is scarce. But other resources are becoming thin. There is a general outcry for more trade.

Specifics, Hakri, Ha’amturah calmly said. The whole can be overwhelming. Broken down, there are always small ways to make a larger difference.

Hakri nodded, grateful as always for the lesson, then separated a parchment from the pile.

From A’asaris. The Mines of Ta’alamin still produce minerals and gems, but no water source has been found within the Great Wall. Sira’an’s guard still maintains order, but there is unrest among the workers and within the port itself. Whispers of the Qha’ali Hasiir remain but are yet to be confirmed. Johsala seeks permission to send their guard over the wall, though there is resistance to this within the Elite of A’asaris.

Then we must remind the Elite that without Johsala’s guard, and our ships patrolling the waters beyond the Hidden Shoals, they would not enjoy such luxuries as they are accustomed, Ha’amturah said. Yet it is perhaps time to find a new purpose for the port, one which will ensure the Qha’ali Hasiir do not infect the authorities with their covetous ways. After all, we don’t want one of our major ports becoming as depraved as Njall.

Ha’amturah waited for Hakri to continue, but after a moment of silence, he opened his eyes to find the boy nervously fidgeting.

You don’t agree with A’asaris’ role as it is?

It’s not my place to say, sire, it’s just… I find the traffic of slaves hard to understand. Surely, if they were treated with more care, there are workers willing to take their place?

Ha’amturah closed his eyes once more, resigned in the knowledge that Hakri was an innocent of the world.

There will always be illicit trade. No matter how hard we try, we can never eradicate it completely. The best we can do is control it and punish those who abuse it. Survival means different things to different people, and there are many ways to seek it.

But… the women.

Ha’amturah looked at Hakri again. You mean the whores?

Hakri stiffened. That’s not what they were when they were taken.

Ha’amturah smiled to himself, glad Hakri recognised people over trade. He remained quiet, and soon Hakri began reading out the remainder of the reports. The fleet from Burghat revealed several distant sightings of Sama’ad’s raiders deep within the Inner Sea. They continued patrolling the coast, never venturing a few days toward deeper waters, nor too far south toward Nazh-rndu’ul. The Ji’ruk still had reports of men scouring the forest floor looking for fresh sources of water. Sira’an’s soldiers had set up encampments to stop any who tried to steal the reserve, but there were always desperate men who would brave death to save their family.

From Ashqa’at, news came of a blossoming slave trade. It had long been a form of punishment; payment of debt was often claimed by taking a child if a village had nothing else to offer. Yet there were alarming reports that the trade was growing, a fact proudly stated by Ashqa’at’s Great Houses. Ha’amturah knew, as surely as Hakri did, that a growing slave market meant a growing division between those in power and those cast aside. If there was little else to trade, they would always find more children to enslave, which would only breed resentment. Long had Ha’amturah tried to maintain cordial relationships with those who did not seek the great city’s aid. Johsala looked inward, all reports telling of growing pride and prosperity, but its proximity to Burghat and the swelling of those seeking the Temple of al-Din meant the city would soon be overwhelmed.

What of Qaris, he asked of the trade city at the eastern edge of Johsala’s reach; the last outpost before the desert proper began. Any news of Wahid?

Hakri flicked through the parchments.

Trade is steady. Of all our trading posts, Qaris never fluctuates.

Ha’amturah frowned. Then it is the most controlled, and not from Johsala.

Hakri nodded, coming to the end of the reports.

There’s been no sighting of Wahid from anyone. Are you sure he still remains in power?

Ha’amturah felt a sudden chill come from the open window.

When the wind dies, do you ever doubt a storm will rise again? Wahid is out there, waiting for the return of al-Din as vehemently as our own White Watchers. Perhaps more so.

He sighed; his aching bones suddenly weary.

There is unrest in the tribes, Hakri. I have been a White Watcher longer than you’ve been alive. I’ve heard whispers of discontent, more subtle than the political games of men. Something is stirring, but it is veiled as though covered by a great haboob from the south.

Hakri reorganised the parchments and placed them back into the leather folder, ready for Ha’amturah to view in more detail.

Then it will be of great relief that water is brought to the desert this year, the young aide said, looking out the window to the clouds gathering on the horizon. It will be good to rekindle the connection between Sira’an and Johsala.

Unconvinced, Ha’amturah nodded but said nothing. He knew there was more that the tribes desired. Water was not enough. Survival was not enough.

Are preparations ready should the Storms come?

Hakri handed him a second leather-bound envelope of parchments, somewhat larger than the first.

These detail the newly petitioned trade deals agreed to by Qasin.

Ha’amturah ran an eye over them. Many were promises of water should the Collection Storms come. Each petitioner represented one of the Great Houses of the desert cities, and to his disgust, many were countersigned with the Seal of Allesh, the largest of all Sira’an’s establishments.

They’ve been busy, Ha’amturah whispered, meaning both Qasin as Master of Trade and Allesh, and he wondered what other unsanctioned deals had been made.

Has General Za’im begun marshalling the city? We must be ready to capture the rain should it come.

Hakri nodded. His men are preparing each street as we speak. Merchants have also begun arriving in anticipation. The mood is buoyant. There’s real hope that this year the rain will finally fall.

Ha’amturah noted the keenness in Hakri’s voice.

Be wary, Hakri. Their minds are only on profit. They forget that this water is the life blood of those living in the far reaches of the desert.

Hakri nodded, taking to heart what Ha’amturah said. Then he looked keenly at his Qhabir, and Ha’amturah saw a sadness behind his eyes.

The White Watchers will not let them forget, Hakri said. Kha’atib has petitioned to speak on your behalf, should you not be well enough.

Ha’amturah felt his skin crawl the moment Hakri mentioned Kha’atib’s name.

I’m far from dead yet, he exclaimed. Kha’atib may have the people fooled, but he fails to have their beliefs at heart.

He cursed the four men. Kha’atib, the so-called Leader of the White Watchers. Qasin, Master of Sira’an’s Trade. Za’im, General to Sira’an’s armies, though no enemy had dared set foot against them ever since Sira’an was formed. And Sattah. A man whose political influence had grown, who had guided the people’s opinion toward believing that Sira’an was not just a mere caretaker of Johsala’s power, that it was the seat of power itself. Ha’amturah knew they looked to undermine him. They were like sharks circling a man adrift at sea, waiting for him to die rather than openly claim their prize, but Ha’amturah still had a few tricks up his sleeve. He would not abandon the people of Johsala to Sattah’s whim, even if those who would govern when he was gone had forgotten what it meant to be Sira’anese. He set aside his anger and thought only of the illustrious call that would signal the beginning of the Collection Storms.

There is another who will lead on my behalf, Ha’amturah said. One whom I believe holds more power within the White Watcher’s call.

Hakri looked confused a moment, then recognition dawned on the young boy’s face.

You have much to learn if you are to follow my path, Ha’amturah said. You have done well, Hakri, but you must watch closely those who are not easily seen. You must find meaning in every opportunity you can, for there is much to be done, and I fear that this time, the storm will not abate even after the rain has come.

Two

That evening, west of Sira’an, on the great plains cast in shadow stretching beyond the vast Meil’vohllen wall, Ohrl huddled next to Faerl, hidden behind a jutting piece of tundra blowing on the wind. He rolled over to rest his head against his arm, protecting himself from the relentless breeze that blew across the plains. They had trekked for two days toward Sira’an after traversing the Grimr Pass. Blistering winds had hampered their progress, having been forced to walk with their faces shielded for much of the journey, yet now they made a final stop within the tall tussock grass under the ever-lengthening shadow of the Meil’vohllen. The sun had already lowered beyond sight, the once brightly burning orange grass muted to a dull brown.

Wearing the coarse brown cloaks Ljötur had given them at the exit of the Grimr Pass, they’d followed his advice and remained well hidden until reaching the city, looking to enter under the secrecy of night. Yet their progress had been slow. Unable to find comfort or sleep, Ohrl sat up.

What’s wrong? Faerl shouted over the noise of the wind.

Ohrl didn’t respond. He stared silently at the unknown horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sira’an.

Have patience, Faerl counselled, rising to follow Ohrl’s gaze. Once we find refuge, I’ll delve into the River Stone and try to make sense of what Imad al-Din showed me. Until then, we must remain hidden.

Ohrl sighed. His body ached and he longed for rest. He knew the dawn wind would blow all trace of them away, yet he was impatient. He willed the sand to stop its siege against them, but to no avail. He was not its master. Not yet. Frustrated, he conceded this fight and turned away.

Though the wind howled, the tussock stood in parts taller than both brothers, and they purposefully hid themselves from sight, nestling in sheltered pockets between the sand covered reeds. The wind remained strong as the evening slowly cooled, and the brothers waited until daylight began to fade. Far above the horizon, the first stars broke through the haze, a low rising moon marking their path east. Under its guidance, the brothers began their final march toward Sira’an, yet they were barely a hundred paces in when Faerl abruptly stopped walking and grabbed Ohrl’s cloak.

Can you hear that?

Unable at first to hear anything but shifting sands whistling through the reeds, Ohrl caught a haunting voice drift upon the air. It was faint and he couldn’t make out the words, but the sound sent shivers over his arms.

I thought I heard that same voice while we were resting, but I couldn’t make out what it was, Faerl said. We must be closer to the city than we thought.

They pushed on for another hour until their shelter gave way and the open plains stood before them. Far beyond, needle thin towers rose from the horizon, piercing the belly of the low hung moon. Outlined in ghostly white, their silhouettes soared over a multi-domed structure that shimmered above the plains, while the rest of the city remained lost beneath the haze of shifting moonlit sands.

It’s smaller than I thought it would be, Faerl noted. It doesn’t look half the size of Brúnn from here.

Though probably twice as dangerous, Ohrl countered. He stood at the edge of the open plain, unwilling to step out under the exposing moonlight. They had approached the city from its western edge. Firelights penetrated north beyond clear sight, whereas to the south the lights ended as the land abruptly fell to the Inner Sea.

Come on, Faerl urged. Ljótur said to find a way in at the southern tip, but remember, we have no reason to be approaching from the plains if we’re caught. We must not be seen. He stepped forward but Ohrl held him back.

Let’s wait beyond midnight, when few are awake, he whispered. We’ll follow the line of tundra to the cliff edge as far as we can.

He was unsure if it would make any difference but was glad when Faerl followed as he stepped back into the shadows. They circled the lower reaches of Sira’an until nothing but rock lay between them and the southernmost shacks; their crumbled black frames now visible through the whipping sands. Finding refuge in a remote outcrop of tundra, they lay down to rest. Several hours passed, and as the people of Sira’an lay asleep, several broken clouds gathered across the moon. Under the deepening shadow, Ohrl and Faerl at last rose and moved secretly into the city.

They found shelter in an abandoned, hay strewn barn. The wind lessened during the night and the temperature dropped. Rising well before dawn, they left the protection of the barn, skulking cautiously, cloaked and unchallenged, through silent alleyways in search for a route that would take them east.

Tiny avenues twisted and turned. Walls of rough stone enveloped them; the pale predawn sky barely visible between tightly squeezed rooftops above. No shadows were cast, and Ohrl was beginning to lose any sense of direction. Reminded of the labyrinth riddled within the Smior, he led Faerl along a roughly paved corridor pinched between two buildings, barely wide enough for the two of them to walk side by side. The alleyway at last gave way to a large open avenue set above the great sea entrance where, to their reprieve, the true city of Sira’an finally lay before them.

They emerged high upon the western bank of a crack in the earth, its width in parts dwarfing even the mighty Oystkrakkr, yet it narrowed further to the south where it met the Inner Sea. They could hear pounding waves smash through from the sea beyond, the great spumes of water joining a river that flowed through the crack toward the city’s harbour. Below them, a hundred yards away upon the opposite bank, Sira’an spread for miles across a flat plain.

The buildings below were of broken white and yellow stone, their bulbous rooftops framed by chiselled, squared parapets, sectioning the scores of colossal domed buildings scattered throughout the city. One large, central building lay as a jewelled centrepiece, its white hued walls fringed by tall slender towers that rose as though waiting to spear the dawn sun. Although the building they had seen the night before was now hidden from view, Ohrl sensed the white walled building below would have swallowed it whole.

Beyond, harboured in the northern part of the city lay a lake, where Ohrl saw masts of tall ships. The still morning light settled pale and calm upon its surface, a mirror for the pre-dawn sky, sheltered from the whipping winds by a great natural wall that encircled its girth. He stood, admiring the view, when a light burst from the horizon, and the rising sun set the tips of the towers ablaze. Weathered and blasted from their arduous journey across the plains, the brothers’ faces crackled against the warmth of the new dawn. As they soaked up the invigorating dawn light, a lone voice rose from the city, as though a single sea bird floated in the updraft and called to Ohrl and Faerl alone.

This is the voice I heard last night, Faerl said, straining to make sense of what was being sung. I don’t understand it, but it feels… familiar. Like something I felt in the River Stone.

Ohrl listened for a few moments, lulled by the melodic tone. He stared out over the city as the rising sun filtered rays of light between buildings and parapets on the rooftops. The ensuing shadows slowly shifted before his eyes, making the city yawn and stretch as it woke. A gentle change of breeze urged Ohrl closer to the edge of the chasm, where the earth dropped beneath him toward the surging waves. There was something momentous in the song, it stirred in his heart, and his eyes came to rest upon the white domed building below, gleaming above all others as it caught the first of dawn’s light. In that moment, Ohrl forgot the rest of the world, save for the song that floated upon the wind, and he did not hear his brother urgently whisper his name.

"Ohrl!" Faerl repeated heavily under his breath. Ohrl’s attention snapped back to Faerl, then noticed an old man ambling their way.

Quickly, Ohrl said, gently leading Faerl by the arm. Let’s cross the chasm before the city wakes. We’ll seek lodging near that building. Then we can work out what we need to do.

The voice continued to rise from below as Ohrl and Faerl made their way along the cliff edge, and it was soon joined by others throughout the city, the call uniting like a city ablaze. They made it to within sight of the first bridge before the song faded, the last echoes wafting formlessly into the air, the strength of its fire spent. The abrupt silence forced Ohrl to stop walking, for it seemed as though the city held its breath. As it expelled, life came forth in the form of thousands of people pouring from doors and alleyways, the chatter rising in a wave that pounded against Ohrl’s chest. They were soon swept away in a tide of similarly attired brown robed men, each making their way with purpose and speed in the direction of the closest bridge.

Perfect, Ohrl said. If any marked our entrance, they’ll lose us in this crowd. Let’s find a cosy inn. I’m dead on my feet.

Faerl was keen to find shelter. The words of the dawn song still echoed in his mind, and he longed for a chance to rest before delving deep into the River Stone to search for answers. He followed Ohrl with haste through the crowd but as they neared the bridge, he held his brother back.

There aren’t many crossing to the other side, Faerl noted. Look, most of the men in brown cloaks are heading to those stairwells beside the bridge.

It doesn’t matter, Ohrl replied, his eye seemingly upon the other side of the gorge. No one will question us if we keep walking. Just stop staring. You look as though you don’t belong.

They pushed through the wave of men heading for the stairwells, before breaking free to stand upon the bridge. A strong wind tore through the chasm, buffeting them as they left the shelter of the cliffs. The bridge stretched across to the lowest part of the city, seemingly cut from the same dark stone that lined the cliffs. Faerl looked further up the gorge and realised this was the steepest of all the bridges, for the bank they had just left slowly descended toward the lake to meet the level of the city below. Lined with tall red flags, the bridges spanned the cliffs like coarse and bloodied gut from a surgeon’s needle struggling to close a vicious wound. Seeing nothing beyond the gorge’s arc, Faerl looked to the raging river below, and shuddered against the howling wind that whipped through the gorge.

What are those things clinging to the edge of the cliff? he said, suddenly noticing where the men were heading. They look like large catchment funnels, and those trailing tubes run all the way across the gorge into the rock face on the other side.

Ohrl turned as a hive of brown cloaked men scurried across the precipitous walkways scored into the rock, but he didn’t stop.

It’s not our concern, he said. We’ve more important things to worry about than the chores of local men.

Remember what Ljótur said, Faerl warned. Take the time to see what is going on around us. Learn about the people that make up this city.

Ohrl replied without breaking his step. We’ll do it another time. I’m tired and hungry, and I’ll sack this city bare handed if we don’t soon find that white building.

Faerl took one last look at the cliff edge behind them, examining the makeshift shacks precariously attached to the gorge walls, then hastened his pace to rejoin Ohrl.

Ohrl wasted no time making his way along the bridge. When they hit flat ground, a wide, paved avenue stretched before them, fronted by a yawning stone archway. They merged with the throng of people hurrying into the streets. Less were dressed in the heavy brown robes as they were, but Ohrl kept his brother close, knowing if Faerl lost sight of him, Faerl could easily begin following the wrong man.

I’ve never seen so many people, Ohrl heard Faerl shout. He turned to see Faerl darting to one side to avoid being trapped by the opposing flow of foot traffic.

Stay close to me, Ohrl said calmly, though he felt anything but. His mood grew darker, and he released that energy out into the streets. The crowds parted, unaware of why they gave the two brown cloaked men such a wide berth, before merging again behind Faerl.

They pushed against hagglers and merchants for another half hour. The amount of people lessened as they turned into narrow lanes, only to converge with another equally busy thoroughfare heading in a different direction. As they burrowed deeper, Ohrl searched the skyline between houses and down alleyways, but as each turn failed, he felt his frustration spill.

Cursed city!

What is it? Faerl stood by his side, scanning the crowd from beneath his hood. Both were sweating, the morning temperature rising well beyond what they’d become use to trapped in the caves of the Brotherhood and the Meil’vohllen. Ohrl’s sweat clung desperately to his body. His thick woollen cloak allowed no fresh air to pass through, and the proximity of so many people made the air clammy.

What are you looking for? Faerl asked. Ohrl pulled his cloak away from his skin.

On the banks of the gorge, I thought I’d marked a path to that white structure we saw. I thought the towers would be easy to see once we were close, but now that we’re here, I’m lost in these streets. I can’t get my bearings. I’ve been searching the roof-line for the tips of the great towers, but I haven’t seen a thing.

He spun, gripping Faerl’s cloak at the chest. Food. I need to eat, or hunger will claim my sanity faster than Hallen lost his.

Faerl quickly scouted ahead and pointed to where the avenue opened to a small market square. On the opposite side, a dark-skinned old man hunkered over a wide but shallow, bowl-shaped blackened dish with a hot fire set beneath.

Over there, Faerl said, jutting his chin in the old man’s direction. Ohrl hardly looked up before setting foot against the throng of people, shuffling and thrusting his way through them without a word, until at last they caught sight of what the old man had to offer.

Inside the dish were boned, split fish, frying in a layer of fat and salt. Fish were a delicacy in Brúnn, being so far from the sea, and the smell was foreign to them. The old man noticed their reaction and urged them to come closer. He scooped two fish from the bowl with a long iron ladle, dropped them into two rough chunks of bread, then generously ground coarse salt over both. He smiled, revealing only several side teeth as all those in front were lost, and slapped the humble meals into Faerl and Ohrl’s hands. Then he held out his one of his own, waiting for payment.

Faerl raised one eyebrow. How much?

The old man smiled and nodded, shaking his open palm.

You have to tell me how much you want for the fish, Faerl repeated. Still the old man smiled and brought a second open palm to join the first.

I’m not sure he can speak, Faerl said to Ohrl, a little bemused as to what to do next.

Here, Ohrl said, handing Faerl a small bag of kopjes. Give him some small change. I’m hungry. I don’t care what it costs, but it can’t be worth much. Ohrl took little interest in the old man. He sniffed the fish and took a deep bite into the bread.

Faerl dipped into the bag, which caused the old man to smile even more and press his hands together almost in prayer, thanking Faerl in advance. Faerl dug out five kopjes, a little less than what he expected to pay for a street meal at the markets of Brúnn. The old man continued to bow as he took the money, then stopped suddenly when he saw what he held. Confused, he turned the coins over in his hand, and looked back to Faerl.

Kopjes are not worth much here, my friends, said a stately voice from behind them. Ohrl, Faerl and the old man turned to see a stocky man in his forties, dressed in a grey cotton full length robe. As Ohrl and Faerl stared, the old man held out the coins Faerl had given him, gesturing to the man in grey. The stranger leaned forward and counted the coins.

If you are to trade in the highland currency, you must give him more than that. This man is a beggar, you are giving him a donation for his fish, but he will not be able to trade this paltry amount in the port. You must give him more, or something of higher value. Have you not any of our coin? Have you no dhirat?

No, replied Faerl. We are yet to exchange any.

The man in grey grunted.

Then give this beggar more than you have. He will be able to exchange it at the port for poor rates, but only if he has enough to warrant interest from the money lenders. For him to receive a fair amount, you must pay him twenty kopjes.

"Twenty? Faerl’s voice rose a little too loud, attracting glances from several passers-by. That’s extortion, just for two fish sandwiches." He pulled his arm back as the old fish seller clawed at him, imploring him to offer him some more money.

Just pay him, said Ohrl, already halfway through his meal. I’m not in the mood to argue the point.

But Ohrl. Twenty kopjes? I doubt he would sell ten of these dirty little fish for that amount. We’re being robbed.

Ohrl pulled Faerl close. I am tired and still hungry. That fish has calmed me a little, but I would willingly pay twice that amount for a proper meal. Let him have the money, he needs it more than us. It doesn’t matter if we are cheated. Let this beggar have his day.

Ohrl took the money bag and pulled out another fifteen kopjes, handing it to the beggar. The old man looked at the coins and nodded his head, smiling once again.

Come on, let’s go, Ohrl urged. They’d taken a dozen steps before Faerl stopped, his anger palpable in the hot, city streets.

Looks like we’re not the only ones being robbed.

Ohrl turned and saw the man in grey step forward and exchange the coins with some of his own, no doubt giving the beggar the poor exchange rate he had earlier foretold.

The brothers continued northwards, following an avenue of heavier traffic until finally the tall, needle-like towers of the huge white building punctured the surrounding skyline. The towers still seemed distant, their tips piercing the morning sky, armoured at their peak by two connecting crescents attached back-to-back, one facing the ground, the other open to the sky. Ohrl noticed that the constriction of tight alleyways and shop front awnings lessened, and soon they burst into an open avenue bordered on the opposite side by an immense white stone wall.

Both Ohrl and Faerl could not help but stand and stare. The construction of white stone stood five levels tall, each brick a man’s length and half as high, and Ohrl guessed probably twice as thick. Yet adorning its surface was carving of such delicacy it made light of the wall’s heavy construction. Flowing curves faded into the stone, lifting each block onto the next as though scoured by the wind, frozen in that one moment of creation, and set for all eternity.

A huge entrance opened before them, straight sided to where Ohrl could perhaps reach if he stood on his toes, then a bulbous arch ballooned outward, coming together not to complete a circle, but angled upward to meet as an arrow pointing toward the heavens, where the same two opposing crescent moons sealed its apex. Here, the strength of the wall’s construction became apparent, the thick stone parting the intricately carved wind as it rippled across its surface, allowing passage to an immense courtyard inside.

You never forget the first time you see the great temple, said a young voice from behind the two brothers. Faerl did not turn, far too captivated by what lay beyond the gate, but Ohrl spun, surprised to see a boy of about fourteen.

This is a temple? To whom?

The boy’s eyes lit up. You are new to the city? Would you like me to be your guide? I can take you many places. The young boy feigned a polite bow, then touched his hand to his heart. I am Tarbuk. I can get you anything you need, show you everything you desire, and find anything you want.

Tarbuk’s last remark finally caught Faerl’s attention.

"You can find anything? Faerl grinned at Ohrl, lowering his voice. Wouldn’t that be handy? We could be home in a week."

Tarbuk cocked his head quizzically at Faerl’s comment, but Ohrl waved it away. Can you find us a place to stay? Preferably close to this temple, but quiet and clean. We are not wealthy, so something simple will do.

Tarbuk eyed them suspiciously. Where did you get your cloaks?

We swapped them with two travellers heading to Njall, Ohrl said quickly, and with confidence. Tarbuk looked them over once more, then shrugged his shoulders with indifference.

I will show a place. The price is modest, but I am family, so I will bargain for you.

Tarbuk turned and made his way north along the wall, past the great entrance, leaving Ohrl and Faerl with no choice but to follow. He disappeared after a sharp left turn, quickly swallowed within an alleyway crammed with stalls and markets. Awnings protected those below from the sun as it shafted through from above, the smoke of street vendors’ fire mixing in hazy plumes that sent sweet flavours of spices and meat into the air. The smell inflamed Ohrl’s taste buds, and he buried his impatience for food and rest in silence as they followed Tarbuk’s lead.

They did not travel far. Via a few select alleyways that barely looked passable, they entered through an iron gate into a small leafy courtyard. A mosaic of different sized stone tiles of off-white and yellow were set into the ground, forming geometric patterns that arced and spiralled from the centre of the yard. One line of blue tiles flowed through the centre, like an ancient map following a great river through the desert. It captured Ohrl’s interest, but it was nothing more than a simple pattern set in stone.

Please. Wait here. Tarbuk disappeared in search of the house’s owner, and Ohrl noticed the serenity of the courtyard was in absolute contrast to the chaos of the streets surrounding the temple.

I thought we desired to arrive in secrecy? Faerl questioned in hushed tones. "Now we have our own guide. We must have heralded our naivety as though we were the ones singing above the city."

I know, Ohrl said, turning back to look at the busy street beyond the iron gate. Yet ask yourself this. Would you ever have found this place? I swear we are still a stone’s throw away from the temple, but not in a hundred years would I have thought to come this way. Though it burns me to say this, we may have to be led by the hand until we find our feet.

Ohrl turned to face the door frame through which Tarbuk had disappeared. Perhaps he can be of use to us.

We don’t want to be relying on him either, Faerl replied cautiously. We don’t want anyone aware of our every move, suspicious or not.

Let’s just see what happens, Ohrl said. All I need is food and a day of rest. Then I’ll be able to concentrate.

He laid a reassuring hand upon Faerl’s shoulder.

As desperate as I was to eat that fish, it was disgusting. My coin purse was not the only thing to be cheated. My taste buds may never talk to me again.

Three

Tarbuk returned, heralding his ever-present smile.

Come with me. I will show you to your rooms.

Wait, said Ohrl. We haven’t agreed to stay. What price?

Do not worry, Tarbuk cheerfully said. It is taken care of. Come.

Tarbuk made for a set of stairs before Ohrl could continue the discussion. Following closely behind, they were led along balconies and up stairs that wound around the central courtyard to the fourth and final floor. A slight breeze drifted through the vines that hung from the ceilings and balcony frames, and as they climbed higher, the noise of the city ceased. Tarbuk produced a heavy iron key, and unlocked a worn, wooden door, flaked with blue paint.

You will have access to this room at all times, he said, handing Ohrl the key. My uncle won’t bother you, as long as you pay the rent. How long will you stay?

That depends on what price you negotiated for us, Tarbuk.

Ohrl glanced at Faerl with wonder in his eyes. He had never met anyone so evasive, yet he still hungered for satisfaction as Tarbuk ushered them inside.

Come in, come in. I promised to take care of you. You wanted to be near the temple.

Tarbuk almost ran to the far wall, which stood shuttered from floor to ceiling.

There are no better views to be found, he proudly said, then unbolted the shutters and pulled them open.

The heat of the city was immediately sucked inside. It blasted into the brothers’ faces, followed by a pungent wave of spices that made their mouths water. The smell of cooked meat and smoke filled the air, and as they stepped out onto a small balcony, the sound of the city rose to greet them. Yet it was none of these that stole their breath, and Tarbuk smiled as he stepped forward to join them, his face full of pride as he gauged their reaction.

Welcome to Sira’an, my friends.

Unashamedly speechless, Ohrl and Faerl gasped in amazement at the view before them. Beyond the dusty white rooftops below, the magnificence of the white temple rose, the pure white towers spearing the morning sky. It stood not two blocks away, but the sheer size of the domes made them feel as if it was right upon their doorstep.

This is the Temple of Origins, but we call it Hab’yad Gasir. Beautiful, is it not? Tarbuk said as he rested his hands on the balcony beside Faerl and Ohrl, admiring the view. The sun flared off its surface, almost blinding them both, and Ohrl’s throat clenched in the sudden heat. Surrounding the temple was a sea of rooftops, their sun-bleached parapets catching in the morning light and vanishing in the haze of morning smoke.

We had seen it from a distance, but I can’t get over how big it is, Faerl said, seemingly transfixed. The great court of the University of Brúnn could tuck comfortably into one corner.

The only better place to view the temple is from the inside, Tarbuk said proudly. You were lucky to be here when such fine rooms became available.

Ohrl smiled at Tarbuk’s subtle boast, for the rooms were available for a still unannounced fee.

We do not yet have dhirat, he said. We can only pay with kopjes from Hejveld.

This is no problem, Tarbuk said with an enthusiasm that Ohrl noticed hardly ever left him. Kopjes are widely used in the city, although you must be guarded. People will lie about what they are worth.

Tarbuk stalled, staring as inconspicuously as he could at Ohrl and Faerl. Ohrl was about to laugh, but something in Tarbuk’s glance made him reconsider.

It is more or less double the value of our own coin, but you must bargain hard if you are new to the city. Tarbuk spoke as though he had been born to the streets, raised on the ebb and flow of underground trade in the fight for survival. Ohrl realised that if he closed his eyes and listened, he would never guess that Tarbuk was still a boy.

With trading ties, Tarbuk continued, your contacts will be more generous than those who deal rarely with kopjes. They make money by other means and will always have the chance to offload kopjes with travelling merchants. Those who are forced to take kopjes will change the rate to suit, as they will struggle to get rid of it at an advantageous price to themselves.

"And where do you stand?" Ohrl asked, pleased at last to have come to the point of transaction.

I am your friend and guide, Tarbuk replied, bearing a large smile. And friends give as though they are family. You are under my family’s roof, and so you shall enjoy the same benefits. If it pleases, you can pay in kopjes.

Tarbuk puffed out his chest, full of bravado and Ohrl knew instantly that Tarbuk was trying his best to impress them. Should you wish to exchange money, our family will take care of it for you to ensure that you receive our local rates. Without a local to bargain for you, your money will not go far.

Ohrl stared long and hard at the young boy, waiting for a final figure. He knew Tarbuk was waiting for them to concede, to accept the rooms and hospitality even before agreeing on a price. Ohrl was almost willing, for he was tired and hungry, and had no desire to return to the streets and begin their search again. Yet there was more to this. Tarbuk was not only bartering for the room, he was offering his services, and that was harder to accept or refuse on an empty stomach. A couple of days would be acceptable, Ohrl thought, no matter the price.

We will take the room, and lunch, if it can be provided, but we would like to be left alone to rest for the day.

Tarbuk’s eyes lit up, and he touched his palm to his chest before bowing. The room is forty dhirat, which for you is twenty kopjes.

Ohrl nodded. It was far less than anything he had paid on the rough journey to Ásgierr. He reached for his coin purse.

Forty dhirat each, of course.

Tarbuk’s dead set stare met Ohrl’s, before the boy erupted into laughter, and began walking out the door.

You have nothing to worry about. Forty dhirat for both, and I will see that lunch is brought to you soon. I will be with my uncle if you need me. Just let me know how long you intend to stay.

As soon as Tarbuk closed the door, Faerl turned to Ohrl.

Either we got a bargain for the rooms, or there is a fish seller making a killing on the streets of Sira’an.

Ohrl locked the door, returning to lean against the balcony rail. We’d best learn our way around this city and its people. Clearly, we’re not fooling anyone in these robes. I don’t know if you saw, but there weren’t many people wearing them this far from the gorge. Only the cliff workers were clothed as we are. It must mean something. Ljótur gave us what we needed to get in, but already our guise has worn thin.

Let’s just stay for a while and rest, Faerl agreed. No doubt Tarbuk will want to show us the sights for a few days. Perhaps that’s best. We need a reason for our presence, one that is believable.

Ohrl looked beyond the rooftops to the multi-layered domes shimmering in the early morning sun. Amidst the surrounding chaos, there was a sense of peace emanating from the building of white stone. He drew a deep breath, urging the weariness to leave his body.

When I was trying to find you, I told those who needed to know that I was rebuilding our father’s business, that we’d lost all our contacts. My helplessness made them believe I was something I wasn’t.

He leaned closer toward Faerl and lowered his voice. We can keep pretending to be rebuilding father’s business, but we cannot trust Tarbuk to be the simple guide he claims. A warm meal and a good night’s sleep made me too hasty to accept his help. We should be more wary.

Surely no one knows we’re here? Faerl asked, looking at the door as if curious ears pressed upon the other side. The only way word could have reached any in Sira’an so soon would be if Jökull had sent a message ahead, but why would he do that? Faerl’s brow creased. And to whom?

Before Ohrl could respond, there was a polite knock on the door. Ohrl ushered Faerl to the corner of the balcony and out of sight, then stood beside the door with his sword half drawn.

Who is it?

Lunch, came a heavily accented male voice. Ohrl cautiously unlatched the lock and opened the door. A heavy-set man in a dark charcoal cotton gown stood with two plates of chicken and fresh salads. He nodded at the food.

Lunch, the man repeated, and indicated with his eyes that he wished to set it on the table inside. Ohrl opened the door fully and allowed him in, slipping the sword back inside his cloak. The man turned after he had laid the lunch down.

Me, he said, pointing to himself, and then pointed with wide circling arms to the room and beyond. He looked hopeful, waiting for Ohrl’s response, but seeing the confused look on Ohrl’s face he started to gesticulate again. Ohrl understood the second time around and replied with the same gestures.

This is your house? he asked, looking around the room as though he was a new guest on a tour. You are Tarbuk’s uncle?

The man’s eyes lit up in recognition. Uncle, Tarbuk. He nodded and smiled, pointing furiously at himself, then again to the room. He looked down to his right, searching for some more words he knew, obviously glad he was communicating. Then his eyes squinted, and he looked around.

You one, two? He held up his thumb, then straightened a finger and cocked his head in question.

Ohrl smiled, took hold of the man’s arm and led him to the balcony window. Two, he said. Faerl, meet Tarbuk’s uncle. It seems he is the owner of the house, and he has brought us lunch.

The man reached out and shook Faerl’s hand, then shook Ohrl’s, and bowed politely to them. He pointed to himself again. Sadri. He looked at his guests, still smiling. Uncle Sadri. Then he pointed at Ohrl.

Bowing again, Ohrl pointed to himself. Ohrl, then turned sideways to look at his brother.

Faerl.

They all stared at each other, at a loss as to where to go from here. Faerl turned to the great white temple set before them.

Habiyaad Gasseer, he said slowly, pointing to the temple. Sadri immediately wagged his finger.

Hab’yad Gasir, Sadri said, correcting Faerl’s pronunciation. As Sadri faced the billowing white domes rising high upon each other, Ohrl noticed his eyes lose some of their shine. Faerl and Ohrl joined him in silence for a few seconds, admiring the temple, and then Sadri turned and patted Ohrl on the shoulder. Lunch.

Ohrl laughed.

Lunch, then made a show of resting his head on his hands.

Sleep.

Sadri nodded, making his way to the door and bowing again before leaving.

Nice man, said Faerl, sitting down in front of the plate of chicken. I wonder why he doesn’t speak much?

He seemed quite happy that we at least understood what he was talking about. I thought he would adopt you when you called the temple by name, but it stopped him in his tracks. It seems Uncle Sadri is not happy with the world.

At least he makes good food.

Faerl swallowed another piece of chicken and gave a groan of pleasure.

After the swill I was served….

Ohrl caught his hesitation, knowing he was thinking of his captivity with Veikko and the Brotherhood, deep in the cold clutches of the Meil’vohllen.

Well, let’s just say it’s nice to be free and alive.

Ohrl nodded and ate his meal in silence. For now, they were safe. When they emptied their plates, both brothers stripped down, closed the shuttered doors and lay on their beds, utterly exhausted from nine days of relentless escape.

Four

Deep in the bowels of Njall’s sprawling harbour, Na’ilah stood with Terttu and Loviisa at the edge of the lowest tier, overlooking the vast array of ships amassing behind the towering walls protecting the anchorage from the Inner Sea. She saw cargo ships, carracks, great galiots with their rows of oars at the ready. Long, sleek sloops, the fast, light haulers of the sea nestled among schooners and the larger Brigantines. Small cutters darted across the harbour, ferrying messengers and men from the port to the larger ships anchored offshore. Permeating the salty air, cries of great gulls encircling the skies mixed with shouts and orders being barked from every ship. Breaching the gap leading to the Inner Sea, Na’ilah caught sight of a dozen ships, their sails set for full flight. Somehow, she needed to get onboard one of them, and find passage to Sama’ad’s island fortress of Nazh-rndu’ul.

A sailor bustled past them, almost bumping Na’ilah aside. He half turned to grunt his frustration, when he caught sight of the three women, and grinned.

A hundred kopjes apiece, he said, salivating at the prospect of bedding such women. Make a man happy before he sets to sea.

In an instant, Loviisa’s blades whipped free. Before the stench-ridden sailor had the chance to react, he found one blade pressed sharply against his throat, the other almost piercing his balls.

Tell us where we can hire a ship, Loviisa whispered, her mouth tantalisingly close to his ear. Unless you’d like us to take yours?

The man froze, petrified. You won’t find any–.

Loviisa twisted the blade. The sailor’s balls shrank.

The lower level, he stammered. The long building north of the main jetty. But you won’t –.

Loviisa kneed him in the scrotum. He buckled over but she grabbed him by the throat to stop him from falling.

Offer money to a woman like that again and I hope she splits your little spike in half.

Loviisa released her grip, and all three stepped over him as he crumpled to the ground.

A little excessive, sister? Terttu said.

Loviisa sheathed her blades.

A reminder of what I’ll do if you fail to talk our way onto a ship.

Terttu gave her a dry look, at which Loviisa smiled wryly.

Okay. And it was fun. I think I could enjoy this place.

Enough! Na’ilah commanded, her eyes set out to sea. These ships are leaving with purpose. I fear we may already have missed our chance.

Pushing their way through the bustling crowd, they found their way through the multitude of warehouses and ale houses to the stairs leading to the lowest level of the port. Rows of jetties lined the water’s edge, each with a ship anchored and great piles of cargo and livestock being readied to be stowed aboard. No one gave them a second glance as they walked along the stone wall beside the ships. Each man was consumed by his own task, and the three women continued unmolested until they arrived at a long building nestled into a slight cleft in the cliff.

A sign hung outside. Port Authority Office. Although Na’ilah saw many doors lining its outer wall, not one resembled a main entrance. Merchants and Captains flowed in and out, giving Na’ilah no discernible doorway through which to begin her search.

I guess we start at the beginning, Na’ilah said, choosing a green door, the first on their left, but the moment they started toward it, a merchant was unceremoniously shoved out. Angrily dusting himself off, undignified by the treatment he’d just been shown, he turned and marched imperiously back inside.

I’m not finished with you, he cried out, disappearing through the door, but moments later, he came flying through the window, after which four burly men stepped through the door, ready to rough him up even more. Amused sailors and merchants stopped to look at him. The burly men stepped close. At once, the disgruntled merchant scuttled away on his back, then rose to his feet, his cap in hand, and humbly disappeared into the crowd. Satisfied, with their reputation intact, the four men re-entered the building. As the onlookers carried on with their own business, Terttu stood close to Na’ilah and gestured further down the building.

Let’s try that blue door instead.

They entered a dark, musky office. Light from the small window beside the door fell on a balding man buried behind a stack of parchments and accounts. Coins lay piled on the table beside him. He was so deeply entrenched in his work that he didn’t look up as they entered. Instead, he took a stack of coins and counted them, sliding them two by two off the table and into his hand, then scribbled a note on one of the multitude of parchments before securing the coins in a safe behind the desk.

We’ve come to hire a ship, Terttu began.

The man stopped counting. He paused, almost as though he’d heard a whisper and was remaining still enough to see if the noise continued. Slowly he regarded them, giving them a slightest glance over, then continued counting another stack of coins.

Papers?

Na’ilah flashed Terttu the merest of shrugs, but Terttu stepped forward to the edge of his desk and placed a large sack of coins before him.

Will this suffice?

The man stopped counting. He looked up, beyond his thick-rimmed glasses, then frustratedly snatched the bag and looked inside.

Dirham? he remarked, seemingly surprised. He pulled out a coin, intrigued to see such a high denomination, then his eyes narrowed as he glanced at Loviisa and Na’ilah.

And where would ladies such as yourselves get so much desert coin?

Loviisa gripped her blades, but Terttu leaned forward and salaciously took the coin from the clerk’s hand.

Our master desires our return at once.

The clerk leaned forward, not in the slightest bit tempted by Terttu’s tricks.

"Then perhaps it is your master who should be standing before me."

Na’ilah felt the urge to set Loviisa’s blades free, knowing if seduction was Terttu’s game, that was best left to any of the other women. Yet she remained still, trusting in Terttu’s own prodigious talents.

I speak in his name, Terttu continued. And there’s enough coin in that bag to secure any number of vessels in your fleet.

Oh, I’m sure, the clerk said with an entitled, unconvinced grace. "And where you’re from, I’m sure your master commands respect from all he surveys, but here, without papers, you have nothing. You are nothing."

This time, it was Terttu who refused to play his game. The clerk sighed, realising he was getting nowhere.

Where is it you desire to travel? Sira’an? A’asaris? Burghat?

Nazh-rndu’ul, Terttu softly replied, yet the word broke upon the clerk like the whole of Njall had collapsed. His eyes darted from Terttu to Loviisa, then snagged on Na’ilah’s imperious gaze. Yet she was surprised to see the derisive sneer behind his eyes as he quickly recovered and returned his attention back to Terttu.

We have no ties with Sama’ad, the clerk said. But there is rumour that Nazh-rndu’ul trades with A’asaris. Perhaps you can make your case with the Elite there.

Na’ilah knew it was a lie. Njall traded with all the freeports of the Flatlands and Great Depression. Those that carried the more illicit trade needed concession to do so by securing safe passage through the southern Inner Sea, a deal made possible only by concessions from Nazh-rndu’ul, especially if they desired to avoid both the Johsalan and Sira’anese fleet. Yet the clerk was not about to admit that. Na’ilah stared at him as he passively waited for Terttu to respond, his beady eyes set deep behind his thick-rimmed glasses, patiently waiting for the right offer to secure such a privilege, or to see just how desperate Terttu was.

The stalemate was broken when a thin man dressed in a flowing silk robe entered, his beard neatly trimmed against his dark skin. He stopped when he saw the three women, touching his hand to his heart and nodding a polite bow. Instinctually, Na’ilah returned the gesture, and it did not go unnoticed, nor did the fact that both Terttu and Loviisa were slow to respond. The clerk eyed them suspiciously, then turned to the robed man.

Papers?

The man produced a thin envelope of folded leather and handed it to the clerk. After