The guards should just put a knife in his gut and get it over with.
“Do you understand what he’s going on about?” the scrappy guard said.
Djola squirmed. “Where is Rano? He can get word to Samina, to my wife.”
“He uses savage talk, reverting to old ways.” The other guard patted his shoulder, not unkind. He raised his voice. “Courage, poison master. You can survive. Just do what the emperor asks.”
“Fatazz!” The scrappy guard cursed as sparks flared from the cook’s entrance. Pirate Queen Urzula emerged with a spark torch—lightning caught on a stick. The guards dropped to one knee, exclaiming at floating-city conjure. Wind nor rain nor sandstorm would douse Urzula’s light.
“Have you lost your escort, my queen?” The scrappy guard kept his eyes lowered, but challenged Urzula for wandering about alone. “Emperor Azizi needs his wife to be safe.”
“Who will attack me?” Urzula laughed. When a spark torch wasn’t lighting up the dark, it could be deployed as a weapon, burning down buildings, boats, and men. “No worries.” She extinguished her torch with gold dust. “I have many weapon-spells.”
A witch woman from the floating cities, Urzula was wide and muscular, well-built for having babies and standing on the decks of pirate ships. Her skin was darker than Djola’s, her hair cropped close, peach fuzz. Silvery white dots made half circles above her eyelids. A line of white crossed blue-tinted lips going from chin to nose—floating-city makeup. Like Samina, Urzula never adopted Empire style, even though good citizens thought she was a seductress.
She blew a dart and skewered a poison snake that dangled from the bushes above the guards’ heads. “Are you men safe?” She chuckled.
An hour ago, Djola would have chuckled with her. There were too few pirates. That’s why they didn’t rule the world. That’s why Urzula and Samina left the isolationist floating cities and married Azizi and Djola. Lahesh diplomacy: marry the enemy. Urzula could get word to Samina. They were friends.
“Basawili, Queen, I need your help.” His tongue finally cooperated. He spoke Empire vernacular.
“Basawili,” Urzula smiled sadly, undulating in schemes. The guards gaped at her sensual meditation, distracted. Urzula licked her lips. She understood politicking. “Djola would speak with me and I would speak with him.”
The guards exchanged glances. “We must get to the docks.” The scrappy one shifted from foot to foot. “We don’t want to miss the tide.”
“You won’t. I know the sea better than you.” Urzula waved them off.
The guards slumped against the railing on the bridge. Lilot, chief cook—and Urzula’s true love according to whisper and gossip—strode out of the citadel maze. Outside Council’s shadows Lilot was a bold presence, even wrapped in veils and robes for travel. Lilot’s lips were tinged green, and she had red dots above her eyelids. They meant something Djola had forgotten. Lilot wasn’t as sultry or compelling as Urzula, but she was just as formidable.
Urzula and Azizi’s son and daughter accompanied her, children, ten and thirteen years old. They had their mother’s fierce features, yet were lanky and lean like Azizi. They’d have been taller than Lilot, except for the cloth wrap that crowned the cook’s head. The children also wore travel clothes. Urzula kissed each child. Then Lilot shooed them across the bridge with bird kites to fly.
“Lilot tells me your troubles.” Urzula scrutinized Djola. Lilot heard everything that went on at Council and reported to her. “You’ve been wronged.”
“Get word to Samina, through Rano. Tell him not to fight and her not to worry.” Djola spoke slowly. “Tell her to take the family to Kyrie’s realm.”
Urzula nodded. “Lilot takes the children to my niece’s ship. I miss them already.”
Djola swallowed fear. “I miss Tessa, Bal, and Quint.”
“Arkhys City is no place for our little ones,” Lilot said. “The masters are rotten.”
“Not all of them.” Urzula gestured at the cook. “Lilot wants to poison half the stone-wood table, but I say that would mean war.” She laughed. Lilot and the guards laughed with her. Urzula stepped close to Djola. “If there is war, nobody wins.”
“Fool.” Lilot snapped fingers in Djola’s face. “Why not say what they want to hear?”
“Lies and illusions won’t save us,” Djola replied.
“Neither will spit on poison sand,” Lilot muttered.
“Find an antidote for devastation.” Urzula pointed to withered bushes and trees that had been savaged by yesterday’s storm. “Bring Kyrie back to the table.” She touched Djola’s cheek. Her hands were cool and rough. “My husband will welcome you both.”
“Kyrie won’t come back unless we change.” Djola thrust the sweetgrass basket at her. “The bones of the future. Get this to Samina. Tell her I’m sorry for not following her advice. Tell her I love her.”
“Of course you do.” Urzula took the basket. “And you love the world.”
“Sentimental slop.” Lilot grunted. “Survive any way you can, poison master.”
“Yes. We need you.” Urzula gripped his shoulders. “Come back to Zizi with proof that what you told Council is true and find an antidote.”
“Impossible.” Djola groaned. “Zizi chose greedy masters over me.”
“You asked proud masters to live like Green Elders and Anawanama savages for ten years. That’s impossible. How could Azizi say yes and maintain power?” Urzula kissed Djola’s dry lips and pulled him to her bosom. He felt less jumbled as she held his sorrow. “High priest Hezram angles for your chair but Lahesh tinkerers know something about everything. Go find a Lahesh spell nobody can deny, something better than Hezram’s Dream Gates in Holy City and you’ll sit beside the emperor again. Samina will forgive your foolish arrogance. She’ll bring your children down from Kyrie’s mountain to celebrate your return.” She released him. “Come back to us all.”
“A Lahesh antidote. Yes. I can do this.” Djola repeated this as the guards marched him across the bridge and past Azizi’s daughter and son. The children stared at him and let go of their strings. The bird kites flew up over the citadel turrets and vanished.
14
Elephant Memories
The Elephant stands at the foot of Mount Eidhou uncertain which direction to take. Her map for today and tomorrow is blank. As the sun hides behind steep cliffs, she remembers Djola, his scents, his laughter. Empire guards drag him down the alley behind the citadel, and she is sad. These are the same bad men who wanted to poke her with sharp blades last night. They scurry through sparse trees toward the Salty Sea. Djola stumbles along, his eyes glazed, his limbs rubbery. Will the guards eat him?
Once, long ago, when the Elephant was crossing a muddy river, her family lost to mist, her spirits low, Djola came riding by, smelling of fruit, ink, and good humor. He sat on a tall horse and watched the Elephant try to scramble up crumbling banks. The Elephant was young, her legs too short, and the mud sucked her strength. She was weak and hungry and expected any moment to be eaten. The wind roared in distant trees, carrying the scent of predators.