A Desert Torn Asunder by Bradley P. Beaulieu

Author:Bradley P. Beaulieu [Beaulieu, Bradley P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: DAW
Published: 2021-07-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 29

In the valley below Mount Arasal, Emre stood at Çeda’s side. The shaikhs were all present, with one notable exception: Hamid. He’d somehow managed to break the vision’s spell and fled the scene. They had hundreds of potential witnesses, but no one admitted to seeing him escape. Most had surely been caught up in the vision of Meryam and Ashael, but someone must have seen him leaving.

“Go,” Shal’alara said to three of her best warriors. “Find him.”

No one argued with her. Not even Darius, Rasime, or the shaikhs who’d sided with Hamid only a short while ago. Emre was tempted to join them, but there was too much unfinished business with the shaikhs, so he remained.

Çeda stared up at the acacia with a confused expression. “How could he have awoken?”

Emre had been struggling with the same thing. “The visions you showed the shaikhs of his treachery,” he finally said. “They would have terrified him. It’s possible his fear broke the vision’s spell.”

“I suppose.” A serious look overcame her as she took in the shaikhs anew. After a brief pause, she stepped closer to Emre, took his hand in hers, and spoke in a low voice. “I hope you can forgive me, but we can’t worry about Hamid. Now right now. Sharakhai is what matters.”

Reliving the terrible things Hamid had done had only enflamed Emre’s desire to see him pay for his crimes, but Çeda was right. Ashael and his demons had risen. Time was running short.

“Thank you for saying so,” he said, “but there’s no need for forgiveness.”

She squeezed his hand, then turned and addressed the gathered crowd. “Hamid deserves justice, but the question before us is no longer what we should do about a traitor to his own people. It’s what we plan to do about Ashael.”

Shaikh Zaghran was still visibly shaken. As were Neylana, Aríz, Dayan, and several others. The shaikhs who had been ready to align themselves with Hamid seemed reticent.

It was the comely and normally taciturn Shaikh Damla who spoke first. “The council should meet.”

Valtim, the baby-faced shaikh who outweighed Emre by at least ten stone, nodded in agreement. “There’s much to consider, including Hamid’s fate.”

“Much to consider?” Çeda cast her gaze over them all while pointing west. “For the love of all that is good, open your eyes. We must sail for Sharakhai. We must stop what’s about to happen.”

“If things are as dire as you say,” Damla countered, “it’s all the more reason for each of us to weigh in and, if we decide your counsel is wise, discuss the best way to go about it.”

“We can decide on the way to Sharakhai.”

Damla’s face turned hard. “You will not dictate how the council conducts its business.”

“By rights,” Shal’alara said, “Çeda is now shaikh of the thirteenth tribe. Her voice counts as much as any of yours.”

“As much, perhaps,” Damla said, “but not more. She is but one out of thirteen.”

Çeda held her hands up in a sign of peace. “I’m not dictating. I’m asking you to see reason.

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