Len gestured to a pair of the grunting hump-backs roaming the barbarian camp. “Remind me, what do your folk call those?” he asked Kaelii in a subdued tone. Side by side, they followed their reluctant escorts. The two straight-backed men used hunting spears as walking sticks and moved to the same silent rhythm.
Kaelii raised her eyebrows and furrowed her forehead. “What you call?” she asked.
Her voice is like leaves rustling. She’s learning my speech a sight faster than I’m learning hers.“Dromedaries. It means they run fast when they see fit to. Or we— I call them hump-backs.” He waited in vain for Egwae to translate. “Put it in her tongue for me, warden,” he prompted.
From behind them, the demon replied, “Most certainly will I not.”
There was no sense pressing her. Len pointed at one of the giant critters that loitered near their path through the tent village. It had its nose shoved to the ground as it scoured the sandy soil for aught remotely edible. I wish I hadn’t had to leave Big Len behind for this. “Dromedary,” he told Kaelii.
She sent her curls bouncing wild-like with a quick, vigorous toss of her head. “Camel,” she declared.
The men they passed wore open vests and leafy skirts; the women wore longer skirts or tunics. Every one of them paused their activities to give the strangers a green-eyed glower of loathing and fear from under a broad-brimmed hat. Not all of us. Me. Len was sure of it. Even the children stopped frolicking at their approach and stared or else skulked away, toward the tents in the center of the camp.
A barbarian with the beginnings of a beard ran up close. The boy spat at Kaelii and screamed at Len, who moved betwixt his companion and the youth. Taken aback, Kaelii watched the latter skedaddle.
She shouldn’t be here. But shrubby oaks were obstinate things.
One of the escorts shook his spear at the brash youth’s back and shouted words that sounded like reprimand. But his heart isn’t in it. Our guides hate us, too. Can’t say I blame them.
Len spared Egwae a look over his shoulder. No fire blade. But the demon’s countenance said there were limits to what she’d tolerate from these desert-folk.
“Mate, folk no like,” said Kaelii uneasily.
“You’re telling me,” he muttered. The stories got here afore we did.
They hastened to catch up with their escorts, who’d continued ahead. The glares continued unabated. But without further altercation, they arrived at the circle of irregular domed tents, some three dozen all told, in the middle of the village. The spear-bearers wound their way around the first few tents on their way to the largest of the camel-hide domes. They flanked the open door-flaps and looked expectantly at Len.
“I’ll be all right in there,” he suggested to Egwae. “You might give these folk the jitters. And Kaelii catches my meaning well enough to translate.” It’s true enough.
“That alters naught,” the demon said.
Kaelii offered him a forced smile. “No worry, mate.” She’s aiming to convince herself as much as reassure me.
Len grimaced and ducked inside.
The inside of the tent smelled like sweat. Light flooded through a gap in the roof and filtered through the hide walls. The space was full of twenty-odd men and women arrayed on a single circle around an empty fire pit. Some of the barbarians sat cross-legged on mats while others propped against piles of beast skins with legs splayed.
Most of these desert-folk looked his parents’ age or older, with at least a few wrinkles and streaks of grey in their dark hair. Where are Father and Mother now? Do they think of me? He hoped not.
Not a soul spoke. All their eyes were fixed on him. And displeasure verging on fury consumed every face.
Excepting one. Unlike the others, he sat on a low stool. He’s a short fellow. The man was stocky and solemn-faced. Whether this barbarian was Len’s age or ten years older, Len couldn’t say. But he’s the head of this lot.
Kaelii and Egwae flanked him now. He moved to the center of the tent and heard their footsteps follow. It was so quiet, Len heard the breeze over the hole in the roof. Somewhere outside, a camel snorted.
The leader spoke gruffly. “He asks, ‘Who are you?’“ Egwae said.
Len thought for a breath. “I’m Len.’ That didn’t seem sufficient. ‘Len—the wanderer. My companions are Egwae the Warden and Kaelii the—”
“Kaelii of the Wind Hunters,” Kaelii volunteered. Wind Hunters?
Egwae gave Len a fleeting scowl afore she translated his words. Or what she wills of them. Len resolved to teach Kaelii more of his speech, and to learn more of hers, starting on the morrow.
Murmurs rippled around the circle of seated folk. The solemn-faced man on the stool didn’t flinch.
A wizened old woman, by appearance the eldest soul in the tent, made a short utterance. Then another said something, and another. Their names. Len stayed his eyes on the leader while listening distractedly to the barbarians’ introductions. He’s the one I’ll have to persuade.
Finally, only the man on the stool remained. “Kræwk,” he said, direct to Len. After a calculated pause and two additional strings of words, he resumed his straight-faced stare.
“The elders of the Camel Lords are they,” Egwae offered in summary. “And Kræwk is their chief. He wishes to know why you trouble his folk.”
“I don’t wish trouble on any soul,” Len replied. “But I bring their folk a proposal.” Here goes naught.“Join me. Follow me out of the wastes to a green country where water flows in many streams.”
Egwae’s flaming blade was nowhere in sight, yet Len wondered if the demon’s eyes might skewer him where he stood. She must have gathered my intent afore now. Or suspected, leastways. He almost thought she wouldn’t relay his answer to the others assembled. When she did, the Camel Lords erupted in fearful indignation.
Kræwk hushed the others with a bark and a wave of his hand. Impatience and ire had broken across his stern demeanor, which remained fixed on Len.
A woman with more than a middling amount of grey in her hair rose, all a-tremble, to her leather-wrapped feet. As soon as the chief gestured to her, she pointed an accusatory finger, first at Egwae and then at Len. The woman startled Len with a rageful onslaught of words, which degenerated into grievous wails. At length, she sank to her knees and sobbed quietly.
Len realized he’d been neglecting to breathe. The oasis. The jackals. The demon, meanwhile, seemed to have endured all this unaffected. Do spirits have souls the same as we do, or merely the semblance?
When Len looked over to Kaelii, her expression was sorely perturbed. “Who did she lose?” he murmured.
If Kaelii didn’t comprehend his every word, she guessed his meaning readily. “Daughter mate die,” she whispered back. Revulsion colored her inflections. Egwae slew the husband of that woman’s daughter. Because of me.
Len discerned an unwonted weight in Kaelii’s expression. No mischief or levity. No reassurance. She’s having a second think. I’ll be on my lonesome with the demon afore the day is finished.
Kaelii gave his arm a staying pat, which left him momentarily afluster, and stepped betwixt him and Kræwk. She bowed at the neck before the chief and spoke in a conciliatory manner. Kræwk replied tersely, but the creases in his brow lessened.
They continued back and forth for a spell. Serpent’s fangs, I hope she knows what she’s about. She surely seemed to. It was odd to hear Kaelii beseech and mollify, woven into her usual firmity. The chief looked less put out, though by no means pleased.
Something Kaelii said elicited a nod from Kræwk. “What did you say to him?” Len asked.
Kaelii launched into a long-winded reply in her native speech, which Egwae began rendering into Len’s tongue afore the desert-folk woman had finished talking. She tells him, “‘My friend the wanderer intends no offense. He regrets the presumption of his request and the blood that was spilt. It was a terrible accident. Yes, he looks and speaks like a beast. But beasts are powerful. The fire-spirit who accompanies him is powerful, too.’”
And I was afeared Egwae would take liberties in translation. Presumption, indeed! She’d given him the benefit of the doubt, leastways.
As if it were an afterthought, the demon added, “The sand-rabbit asks as well what the Camel Lords desire from you in exchange for their aid in your quest.”
The sand-rabbit says a lot. “What was Kræwk’s answer?”
“‘Green land and running water are well and good,’ the chief says, ‘but the dead have little use for such gifts. Dangers abound under the sun and the blue. We will consider helping the wanderer if he grants us protection from spirits and savages who would destroy us.’”
Spirits and savages aside from Egwae and me, he means.
Kaelii interjected. “I say, Len yes. Kræwk want Len say now.”
He wants to hear it from me. Fair enough. Every face in the tent seemed cast toward him. I’d do my utmost to keep them from harm. There’s no accounting for the demon. But they don’t know that. Egwae looked fire-blades at him. Kræwk’s pondering expression pierced him through.
I’ll just have to be strong enough to protect them. Len’s gut twinged the moment afore he nodded gravely to Kræwk. “You have my oath. I’ll protect you.” She’s my warden. I’ll be theirs.
The chief didn’t wait for a translation. He shifted from his stool to his knees on the mat in front of him. Then he lifted a finger and traced the sign of Len’s crosswise mark on his brow.
It was all Len could do to suppress a shudder. He averted his gaze and caught the demon examining Kaelii. For her part, the desert-folk woman studied Len. She granted him a thin smile. It didn’t quite reach the leeriness in her eyes.
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