Chapter 29
It took Khayzur three days to fly us from the accursed peri island to the western coast of Socotra where the pirate clans
dwelled. I’d had a fear of heights before getting hoisted into the sky by a sea monster and nearly dropped to my death by avian bureaucrats, so you can probably imagine
how I felt clutching one of Khayzur’s talons as he soared over endless stretches of ocean and Raksh screamed in my ear. So
please, continue to imagine it. Because I am not recounting it.
We broke for occasional respite on a series of tiny islands Khayzur seemed to know like the back of his hand. My peri “liaison”
was otherwise quiet on the journey, subdued even, but I didn’t know if his silence was due to the exertion of travel or the
charges the court had laid upon him. In truth, I didn’t know Khayzur at all. All I knew was that we seemed to believe in the
same God, he was a political radical among his people, and a combination of those principles had led him to help me and then
get sanctioned for doing so.
I hoped he didn’t regret it. But after catching him watch me pray upon a tiny atoll, I pressed my luck once more.
“Have you any advice for me on how to fight Falco and his marid?” I asked hopefully. “I don’t think I’ll be much use to your
people if I wind up dead, but I don’t wish to get you in trouble for further ‘interference.’”
Khayzur winced. “I have been trying to heed my tongue.”
“I had noticed.”
“Yes. You seem the perceptive type.” The peri paused.
“Though in a general form of advice that could not possibly be construed as interference... you were right to object to being forced into service. There is no living thing that doesn’t desire freedom.
And the marid are incredibly proud creatures.
They have long memories and strongly held beliefs about.
.. about f-f...”—Khayzur seemed to literally be fighting his tongue—“ favors ,” he finally squawked out.
He ruffled his feathers, his pale face sweating silver scales. “If you will excuse me...”
Living things did not enjoy being enslaved. That seemed more like a truism along the lines of “the sky is blue” rather than
advice on combating the supernatural, but the peri had already saved my life at risk to his own, so I guess I couldn’t complain.
Favors . That had seemed key, the word he’d fought to say. But how did one do a favor for a massive sea monster tasked to kill you?
By the next day, we’d arrived. Geographically, the northwestern coast of Socotra is similar to the quiet shores and soaring
limestone caves of the more desolate east. But the beaches here were wider, the craggy cliffs gentler, and facing the Somali
peninsula and the Gulf of Aden—the well-traveled waters between them plied by ships carrying some of the richest cargoes in
the world—I suspected this part of the island was an easier place to make a living.
However, with wealthy trade ships comes their constant shadow, and if my first glimpse of the pirate fleet of Socotra was
anything to judge by, these waters were very rich.
There were nearly as many vessels here as I’d seen in Aden, at least a dozen anchored in the glittering shallows and more dragged up on the sand for repairs.
Khayzur had taken us to a hidden overpass tucked away in the cliffs, and yet the nakhudha in me could not help but peek out to admire the impressive armada below.
The deep-water qaraqir with ornate stern carvings and the best sails one could buy.
The sleek galleys with room for a hundred oarsmen that were twice as fast as any vessel I’d ever been on.
The much-feared barija with its naft -spewing bellows and battering rams. Even the smaller bandit skiffs, the kind of boats that float so close to the waterline they’re all but invisible until their fighting men are throwing grappling hooks over your rails, were glossy and striking, drifting on the clear blue water like clouds on a beautiful day.
“I leave you two here,” Khayzur said softly, a low coo of distress in his voice. “The Maker be with you, Amina al-Sirafi.
I pray we see one another on the other side of this.”
“God willing,” I agreed, tearing myself away from the sight of the fearsomely gorgeous pirate fleet so I could bid farewell
to my peri savior. “And thank you, Khayzur, for—”
But Khayzur was already gone, vanished into the cobalt sky like he had never been there, leaving Raksh and me alone. My treacherous
husband had shifted back into his human guise and the effect was disconcerting. Though he was more visually pleasing without
the tusks and the beating heart around his neck, it sometimes felt easier to remember that Raksh was a monster when he looked
like one.
He stepped closer to the cliff’s edge, stretching his long fingers toward the distant beach. “ Oh .” Raksh swayed like a spellbound drunk. “There are some interesting personalities down there.”
“Anyone with ambitions to fight a Frankish sorcerer?”
“My abilities are not that precise.” Raksh shivered, the crimson line blossoming in his eyes. “But I’m eager to find out.
Shall we go introduce ourselves?”
***
Introducing ourselves did not go well.
After we had been greeted by waves of javelins on the beach and forced to take cover behind an exceedingly small boulder, shouting my name and swearing I’d come in peace had finally resulted in something of a cease-fire.
If by cease-fire, I meant being divested of my weapons and marched to face the judgment of yet another court of hostile strangers, this time the pirate council of Socotra.
Let me first say this on behalf of the much-dreaded pirates of Socotra: they were not the idle, filthy, debauched murderers
out of legend (well, perhaps they were debauched, but if so, they were doing it discreetly and in style). Raksh and I had
been led to a splendid tent perched upon a bluff overlooking the sea. Fine rugs from Persia and the Maghreb made the rocky
ground inside as soft as a cushion, and ornate Egyptian glass lanterns were strung overhead (hopefully among their painted
holy verses was an admonition against killing guests). The air was scented with frankincense, rose, and musk, along with the
smell of ink from the other side of the tent, where a dozen scribes sat with writing boards, taking inventory from piles of
loot and speaking with the most patiently queued group I had ever encountered.
It was a scene of such wealth and organization to make a sultan weep in envy, and I felt a great lout sitting before them—my
own criminal days had never been so officious. Then again I never had to oversee multi-ship convoys, fend off navies, or snarl
an entire seaway, so perhaps this was the usual practice. The pirate representatives themselves were even more magnificently
intimidating. Six nawakhidha and an elderly local woman, all arrayed in fine jewels and embellished garments, sat on plump
silk cushions, each with handsome personal retainers and servants to stir the hot air with palm-frond fans. At hand was iced
sherbet (yes, iced!), wine so tempting I couldn’t even look at it, and cut fruit.
If I found it all overwhelming, it turned out the extraordinary display of fortune and criminality was quite literally intoxicating
for Raksh. My estranged spouse had taken one look at the most ambitious, cunning, and accomplished sea raiders of the Indian
Ocean, let out a deeply inappropriate gasp of pleasure, and been promptly stupefied into speechlessness. Helpful, I know.
However, we were not the only ones in the tent who had heard legends of the other.
“Amina al-Sirafi...” the youngest nakhudha drawled after I finished relating my tale, with several key parts missing. The nakhudha was a Malabar man like Tinbu, though better dressed in orange-and-purple-patterned silk. “The Sea Witch of Sur, the Harlot of Horse Thieves... so you do exist.”
“Of course she exists,” a far more elderly pirate opined. Henna colored his beard, gold ringed his wrists, and I heard Mombasa
in his accent. “If there were any man to spawn a girl-child in his fashion, it would have been the Sea Leopard.”
My hopes rose. “Were you and my grandfather companions?”
His gaze turned severe. “It was not a compliment, al-Sirafi. Your grandfather stole a very valuable cargo of tortoiseshells
from me, and I am disinclined to believe anything you say, let alone some nonsensical tale about pursuing a Frank to Socotra
to rescue the daughter of a comrade.”
“And yet her tale matches the rumors we heard of a foreign killer in the east.” It was the lone woman of the bunch. She had
a Socotran inflection not too dissimilar from that of the villagers I’d met and wore an ornate iron cross around her neck.
“The news about that slaughtered village, news the group of you did not believe bore investigating,” she added pointedly to the pirate council.
“ Yes ,” I said. “That sounds like the village we encountered. Are the survivors safe? They intended to ask your clan for aid.”
A grim expression crossed the old woman’s face. “They have not yet made it here. There are apparently wounded amongst them,
and another village invited them to rest and recover before continuing onward. A messenger was sent to apprise us of the situation,
but the things they were saying—”
“They claimed they were attacked by a foreign sorcerer,” the young nakhudha interjected. “They spoke of their people being
harvested like cattle and of a great leviathan that could be summoned from the sea.” His dark eyes narrowed on me. “Interesting
that you left those parts out of your story, and the villagers said nothing of being saved by a female nakhudha.”
I cringed. “I asked them not to mention me,” I explained, hating how suspicious the response must sound. “It was suggested
you might not look kindly on my presence in Socotra. But the rest of their story is true, I swear.”