Chapter 13 #2
“He certainly seems to believe his own propaganda.” I ran a finger along the hilt of my dagger. “A land with no crime and no war, no walls and no hunger?”
“A fantasy outside Paradise,” Majed, my other optimist, assessed bluntly. “Perhaps such a wondrous imagining is meant to give comfort to those shipwrecked here, but it might otherwise convince them not to bother leaving.”
“The three of you make for such delightful traveling companions to literally magical worlds,” Tinbu remarked. “Can you at least admit it’s lovely? There are gazelles grazing in the plaza.”
“Oleander flowers are also lovely,” Dalila replied, giving the gentle plaza a suspicious look. “Why don’t you go eat one of them?”
“Does it seem particularly magical, though?” I asked, studying the otherwise mundane actions of Khatti Ugal’s people. “It’s an unusual-looking place for certain, but Arno and his companions seem as human and ordinary as can be.”
“Deceptions often do,” Dalila muttered, glaring as a passerby gave us a curious glance. She nodded rudely at the pitcher. “Probably poison.”
Tinbu picked up one of the cups, turning it this way and that in a shaft of sunlight. “I’m fairly certain this is genuine.”
“As in porcelain from China?” I beckoned for him to hand it over.
There were a few hairline cracks and chips in the fragile white cup, but the delicate blue designs of wispy scrolling flowers were still striking.
One of the more frequently counterfeited trade goods, I was familiar with several tells to distinguish the real—and incredibly pricy—ceramic and as I far as I could determine, Tinbu was correct.
“Perhaps it came from another stranded mariner,” I offered.
“By the sound of it, this land is plentiful in them.” Despite—or maybe in spite of—Dalila’s glare, I took a sip from the cup, the liquid oddly buttery, then tried to relax and appreciate my surroundings like Tinbu suggested.
Birds sang prettily in the tree overhead, including a pair of bright red-and-orange parrots.
I glanced idly across the plaza at a large stone building half covered in weeds.
Movement caught my eye, an animal—very large with a feline grace that made me instinctively rise up.
We have leopards in the mountains back home and though they rarely attack fully grown humans, it is good to always be prepared, a sling in one’s belt.
But as I tried to peer through the brush, suddenly the very building seemed to flicker out of sight, crumbled to little more than ruins.
A large cat sunned itself on the cracked blocks . . .
And then the cat was gone. The building was back in place, a man in a voluminous tunic sweeping its wide steps. The back of my skull throbbed and I blinked, shivering.
Dalila seized my chin. “What is it?”
“Ay, I could do without your claws digging into my flesh.” I swatted her hand away and glanced around again but everything was as it seemed in Khatti Ugal’s sleepy, peaceful plaza.
“Odd. For a moment, that temple appeared very different to my eye. But it was so fast—” I shook my head.
“I don’t know. Perhaps it was a trick of the eye. I am far wearier than I wish to be.”
“Why don’t you rest?” Tinbu urged. “I often feel the same when returning to land after a long stint at sea, and with the blow to your head . . .”
“She’s also the one imbued with the ability to see into the Unseen Realm so maybe keep your eye on such visions, yes?
” Majed advised. “But I agree—lie down for a bit. Close your eyes.” He made a pillow of his saddlebag before I could protest. “Do not give me that ‘I am the nakhudha” speech. You can scarcely lead us if your head is addled.” He lowered his voice. “You do not look well, Amina.”
“Fine,” I grumbled, lying back. The shade was a welcome respite, the screen of leaves above my head lovely with dappled shadows. In the corner of my vision, I spotted Dalila still staring at me, her expression unreadable. I ignored her. She’d find a new target for her paranoia soon enough.
Majed continued talking, his voice contemplative.
“You read of sailors encountering new lands, new peoples, but it all sounded like something out of a storybook, you know? Or a liquor-spun lie. The seas we grew up on—they’ve just connected all our peoples for so long that it would seem impossible to find a land so cut off from the rest. I wonder what the Khatti Ugalans believe, how they make sense of their world . . .”
“So you think this is all real?” Tinbu asked, lowering his voice to a hush. “Khayzur made it sound as though this was a wild place, a prison of bones lorded over by an immortal witch who toyed with and then dispatched any sailors unlucky enough to wash upon her shore.”
Majed tapped the cup. “It feels real. And the people here certainly aren’t behaving as though they’re suffering under the thumb of an immortal witch,” he added as one of the napping men let out a sleepy snore.
“Who would ever know the truth if supposedly no one leaves?” I mumbled.
Dalila cut through our musings. “They are lying. If this is a land of stranded sailors and their descendants, why is it not more familiar? Where are the temples and mosques? Why are the buildings and clothing so strange if they drink out of the same tableware we cart across the sea? We are in the Persian Gulf, not some far-off land.”
“They could have their own culture and prefer to see newcomers assimilated into it,” I countered. “My great-grandfather was from China and was said to rarely discuss his old customs after taking the shahada and settling in Pemba.”
Dalila pursed her lips. “I do not trust it.”
“Ah, good, the sky is still blue, then.” My body aching and my eyelids heavy, I finally gave in and dozed. My companions’ conversation became a lull until Tinbu whistled softly in alarm.
“Guards,” he warned under his breath.
I drew up, wincing as I did so. My head was still throbbing and I accidentally jostled my blistered left hand. God, I hated getting older. Waking up from a nap should not cause this much agony.
But Tinbu was correct: six armed guards approached from the main avenue.
Their spears looked ceremonial—but still very functional.
A tall stick of a man wrapped in bleached white cloth seemed to be leading them.
A heavy copper disc hung from his thin neck, but he bore no weapons that I could see.
Arno was just ahead, clearly uncertain, the diplomatic veneer ruffled.
“Forgive the delay.” He bowed. “Your arrival has caused quite the excitement!”
Trepidation swept over me. “That’s a lot of soldiers for a city with no crime.”
“Oh, you need not fear them. They are the Queen’s Guard, meant to escort you to the palace.”
“The palace?” I repeated. “Now?”
The man wearing the disk stepped forward, dismissing Arno with a curt nod. “Yes,” he said, in fluid Arabic. “Khatti Ugal is very easy to get lost in and we would not wish something to happen to you.” He turned away with a beckoning motion. “Now, come. Her Resplendency is most curious.”