White Smoke

6. WHITE SMOKE

Yahya rode with one hand wrapped around the reins and the other resting on his thigh. His white mare bellowed and snorted, swishing her tail. A set of burly men held up the palanquin swaying beside him. It was gilded in blue and gold carvings, with thin slats on either side, and when he hunched forward he could see inside.

"Has she woken up yet?" Yahya asked.

One of the bearers shook his head. "Not a sound."

Yahya's eyes dropped and he sighed. "She is such a fool."

His eyes turned pensive, gazing at the slats. It had been four nights since she had lost consciousness, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to explain why his servants were wasting their strength carrying an 'empty' palanquin. He could have left the girl with Afsa as before, but considering the fact she had let her wander off in the first place deterred him from the idea.

And so he had vacated his palanquin.

A shout startled Yahya from his reverie. He stood up in his stirrups but could afford no better view than before.

It seemed they were halting soon. The soldiers had already begun dispersing to mark the camp boundaries. Behind them the carts and horses stopped, and the riders dismounted. Yahya coaxed his horse ahead and motioned with his hand to towering men carrying the Barmaki palanquin. They followed him without breaking step.

As they set the palanquin down Yahya dismounted with a sigh, and without a word a servant took the reins and guided the horse away.

Ж

From a distance a pair of glassy eyes watched the caravan. They belonged to a veiled man atop an ebony horse. His grey kaftan fluttered in the gentle breeze.

A small group of men dressed in similar shades stood behind him.

"Rabb, what will you have us do?" one of them asked.

Scabbards scraped against armour. They were restless.

The glassy eyes squinted, then glanced at the cloudless sky above.

"We will wait for the stars."

Ж

A soft light diffused through the panels, filling the palanquin with a warm glow. Khaya's eyes peeled open, still heavy with sleep and fatigue. Her hands flew to her ears as the memory of the previous night came to her. The thundering sound of Yahya's footsteps, the deafening roar of her breaths, the distant pulsing of her own blood. She lay frozen, waiting for the bombardment of sounds.

But none came. There was only silence.

With a sigh of relief her body relaxed. She sat up and stretched in what little space she had and blinked several times before surveying her surroundings. Through a set of slats she peered outside. There was a rush of activity, with men scrambling to pull supplies off the carts and horses, children running in every direction, and noblemen alighting from their palanquins. She looked down at herself, noting that she was still dressed in her indigo qamis. There was a cloth strewn by her feet, a veil, upon closer inspection. She reached for it.

"What are you doing? Get it up." A muffled voice carried through the panels and Khaya's hand stopped in its place. The floor beneath her lurched, and she grabbed at the walls to keep herself straight. She gazed out of the slats to intermittent images of a white horse and a veiled man. On the ground beside him a thin woman stood dressed in rich reds, only her eyes visible through the niqab she wore.

Khaya tied her veil loosely over her head, mindful of the fact that she had already been seen without it, and watched the milling throng with disinterest. Yahya's horse had disappeared from view as they drew close to a towering indigo tent, but she could still hear his faraway voice barking out orders.

"Stop. Put it here."

The palanquin stopped suddenly and Khaya swayed. The servants, heavily muscled as they were, hardly sighed as they lowered it. Khaya heard the scrape of sand against wood, and everything was still again. Suddenly a wide panel at her eye level slid open with a click. The woman's veiled face was on the other side, her searching eyes meeting Khaya's surprised ones.

Another click and she closed it, another click and the door slid open. The brightness of the afternoon shocked Khaya's senses, but the sun was quickly shielded by the looming figure of the woman. Khaya climbed out of the palanquin and took her hand, grateful for the help. Her body was stiff and starved of a much needed meal.

She saw no sign of Yahya as the veiled woman lifted the tent flap and ushered her inside. It was lit with candles, though the sunlight was enough for Khaya to see by. There was a cot on one side, a desk on the other. Mei led Khaya to the bed and she sat as the tent flap opened and a serving girl carrying a silver platter of perishables entered. She gave the plate to the silent woman then nervously bowed to Khaya before turning on her heel and leaving. Khaya raised her eyebrows.

"Since when do people bow to slaves?"

The woman ignored her and shoved a kufta into her mouth. It was sweet and soft, melting in her mouth the instant it met her tongue.

"Are you sure I'm allowed to eat that?" she asked as she was proffered another.

They sat in silence and polished off the plate together. Her distance from home was the last thing on Khaya's mind as she gobbled up the last kufta. She leaned back with a satisfied sigh.

"Did you really have to put her on my bed?"

Yahya glided towards them like a peacock. Khaya, clearly  startled, made to get up, but the woman planted a firm hand on her shoulder and gave Yahya a sharp look. He ignored it and sat down beside Khaya. She stiffened and kept her eyes on his hands, unsure of what to say or do. He reached for the water jug on the side table and filled a silver goblet to the brim. He lifted the cup to his lips and Khaya's eyes followed the movement. His hair had been pulled back into a tight knot, revealing more of his face to her than before. He watched her over the goblet's rim with calculating eyes.

"Are you fine now?" he asked in a voice Khaya didn't think was possible for him. It was almost... concerned.

She nodded. "Thank you."

He smirked, and the façade of concern was erased. "You are far more troublesome than expected."

He took another sip of water, though Khaya was beginning to suspect it was something else from the smell, something sweet.

"This is Meia. She will take care of you."

The woman, Meia, bowed her head but said nothing.

"She is mute so don't bother asking her any questions," he added before refilling the goblet.

The tent flap opened and an attendant dressed in greyish blue robes stepped inside. He bowed to Yahya and gave the girls a cursory glance.

"Emir Yahya, the Prince requests your presence."

Yahya didn't bother hiding his annoyance, running a hand through his hair and inhaling deeply. He handed the glass to Mei and stood up, but Khaya caught his wrist before he could leave her side.

"Wait–"

Yahya's expression was perplexed. He looked at her hand then at her, raising a questioning eyebrow. Even Meia's eyes widened, and Khaya quickly released his wrist. He didn't move.

"Do you know anything about a golden snake?" she asked and held her breath. It was an odd question.

"What? A golden snake?"

Khaya nodded. "It has eyes like glass, no, even clearer. Like water."

Something flashed across Yahya's eyes, but it disappeared too quickly for Khaya to discern anything.

The attendant cleared his throat. "Emir Yahya, the Prince–"

"I know of no such snake, Khayzuran." His voice was cold, eyes guarded. "Do not lay your hand on me ever again."

He followed the attendant out, and the tent descended into silence. Meia scooted closer to Khaya and passed Yahya's glass to her. She took a sip and her eyes brightened. It was cold jallab, sweet and refreshing like rain falling through a canopy of roses. She wondered how they stopped the ice from melting this deep in the desert. After she drained the goblet Meia picked up the empty plates and headed out.

Khaya stepped out of the tent but did not follow Meia. In the clearing ahead Yahya was looking up at a man on horseback dressed completely in black. Even his kufiyah was black, as opposed to the traditional white. His horse was perhaps the ugliest Khaya had ever seen, with a mane the colour of dirty straw and a rugged coat pocked with a myriad of scars and marks. It nodded its head vigorously, as if unable to understand the concept of stillness.

Yahya bowed as the man dismounted in a flourishing movement, sliding off the saddle and landing on his feet. His kufiyah fluttered in the wind behind him and a wide smile cut across his face. Upon seeing that unmasked joy Khaya's lips curved up. He was remarkably handsome, with full lips, a shadow of a beard along his jaw, and large, laughing eyes. It was unlike Yahya's cutting, almost severe beauty, which made her afraid of breathing. The Prince's gaze darted to the tent for a brief moment, and Khaya scrambled to pull her veil up over her nose.

"The journey has been dull without your company."

It was a voice as unexpected and soothing as rain, pulling Khaya's attention away from everything else. She head jerked left and right, searching for the source. There was no one but a silent guard standing beside the tent entrance.

"I know you've been up to something fishy, Yahya."

It sounded like the man was right next to her, but when she looked there was no one.

Am I imagining it?

She pressed a hand against her pounding heart, willing herself to calm down.

Of course not. I didn't hear anything.

She tilted her chin up and took a deep breath. The Prince's horse had sidled up to Yahya, who was scowling. The Prince held his hands out, trying to calm the beast. Khaya saw his mouth open.

"Stop it, Ananya. You know he doesn't like you," he said.

Khaya's lips parted in disbelief. It was the same voice. From this far she shouldn't have been able to hear anything, yet she had discerned every word. It was like he was standing right beside her.

Her gaze shifted and grew unfocused as the horse's whinnying and neighing became louder. She recalled her night of sleeplessness, the onslaught of reverberation and unmutable sounds, and panic bubbled inside her.

Muffled whispers filled her ears, words out of place, phrases that made no sense. It was like drowning in an hourglass.

Despite her growing anxiety Khaya clenched her fists and disappeared into the tent. It did little to reduce the white noise, so she snatched the jug of jallab from the side table and put it to her lips. The sloshing of the juice drowned out the voices, and the chilly sweetness quelled her alarm.

I can't hear anything. I can't hear anything.

She licked the last drop from her lips and set the glass down.

Silence.

Khaya squeezed her eyes shut and threw a prayer up to the heavens.

Have mercy.

For now, it was granted.

Ж

Dusk fell over the camp like a soft blanket, caressing the limbs of the hard-ridden soldiers and comforting the homesick pilgrims. The earlier exuberance had been pressed into withdrawn, pensive movement.

It was time for prayer.

Khaya kneeled in the empty tent, her back facing the cot. She opened her palms and murmured sacred writings that had been written into her skin since forever. It was as easy and comfortable as breathing.

When she opened her eyes a hand set a plate in front of her. Khaya looked up into the eyes of a young maid dressed in a dark blue qamis. She bowed and left without a word. A strange feeling of giddiness and awe filled her at the thought of being served in such a way.

There was a variety of food laid out for her – warm sangak bread with generously spiced lamb, soft potato mash, yoghurt, and a heap of indistinguishable vegetables garnished with black lime and parsley.

A veritable feast.

If Salsal could see this...

Khaya drowned the thought as soon as it surfaced. Thinking of her family now would only cause pain and regret.

She ate in silence, thoughts drifting to the strange sensation she had felt when she saw the Prince. It was inexplicable.

How could I have heard him from such a distance? And after that the whispers...

Khaya shook her head and sighed. The maid had forgotten to serve water.

With slow and lethargic movements she rose. As she stepped through the tent flap the crisp evening air kissed her skin.

The twilight sky was washed in dusky hues of violet and yellow. Though the general bustle had died down hours ago, there was still some movement in the clearing, mainly of soldiers and staff. Khaya craned her neck and saw the Prince emerge from a narrow lane between the two opposite tents. Khaya moved to lift her veil, but her hands grasped at nothing. She had left it in the tent.

A mumbled curse left her lips. She made to turn around but a shift in the sand stopped her in her tracks. The temperature seemed to drop instantly.

It was a sound as fine as silk thread, as piercing as an arrowhead.

A serpent's hiss.

There was no other sound.

Khaya looked over her shoulder, her body tensing. The clearing was buried in a light haze.

Fog?

She proceeded with calculated steps into the mist. There were clear outlines of people and tents, but the sounds of their confusion and alarm was masked by the hissing.

The sound ceased as suddenly as it began.

A silence.

Another shift in the sand.

Khaya's eyes widened.

"Sayyidi!" she shrieked, and her limbs moved automatically.

She threw her body against the Prince, sending them toppling to the ground in a heap as the outline of the snake sailed over them, its fangs bared. Khaya couldn't see through the fog, but she could hear its body cutting through the air.

For a tense instant she stared into the horrified eyes of the Prince, then her hand snatched the dagger at his hip and she leapt over him, smashed her foot onto the writhing snake, and buried the blade between its eyes.

Khaya's heart was pounding so hard she hardly noticed the eruption of chaos around her.

Suddenly they were everywhere. They shot out from the sand in black streaks so quickly there was no time to even scream. A soldier fought against one that had wrapped around his neck, while another lay twitching on the ground, blood pouring from his neck.

Khaya closed her eyes and sucked in a breath.

The sand shifted and hissing filled her ears.

Her eyes opened and instantly her hand shot out and caught a snake in mid-air. She flung it to the side without pausing and slammed her left foot into the sand, crushing another.

Her head tilted to the side, narrowly dodging one as it whipped past her ear. She turned, grabbed its tail, and threw it across the clearing.

The Prince had since risen and drawn his sword. He stepped forward and opened his mouth to issue an order, but Khaya couldn't hear him over the hissing.

"Behind you!"

She flung the dagger and it arced over his shoulder, catching the snake in its throat. It seized up and fell to the ground in a useless heap.

The Prince looked from the snake to Khaya, his eyes wide and sword arm limp. More soldiers were pouring into the clearing, swords drawn and torches blazing.

Khaya was as shaken as the Prince. She looked down at her hands, then to the dagger embedded in the dead serpent.

She could have killed the Prince.

She saved the Prince.

There was a brief movement in the shadows at the other end of the clearing. A pair of crystal clear eyes watched with interest, then disappeared into the darkness again.

There was a faint shimmer of gold.

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