Ramir barges into the warehouse as we make it to the door. I make out the fringes of his robe against the light of day. He must see us, too, because he makes his way to us.
He's shaking.
"I tried to get what I could, but this is all I could find."
He has waterskins in his hands. We'll need them.
"Good thinking." Hanun ushers him into the wall. It's hollow. Once this space was used to store weapons and armor, even house the guard.
But now it's out of use.
It has been a thousand years since anyone laid siege to Ehram.
Some of that is good fortune, but everyone knows it's a fool's errand. Even the doors leading to the insides from the city are several inches thick. They're made of wood banded with iron, and the locks are equally solid.
They'd foil anyone else with an idea to flee through the walls, but people trying to flee don't think about the walls. They think about gates. They're all going to die.
I try not to think about it. I put my hand on Hanun's back and follow him. It's lighter in the wall than it was in the warehouse. The holes for the ladders that lead up to the parapets don't have hatches, and the sunlight filters down past the awnings that keep rain out.
Ramir trips over something and stumbles. It takes him too long to get up.
Then I realize he's crying. "They're all going to die."
"Who?"
"Everyone I've ever known."
Hanun helps the priest to his feet. "Everyone dies. It's just coming sooner than we thought."
"My father–"
I interject. "He's a priest of Olipha. The gods will take care of him in this life or the next."
It rings hollow, but there's nothing else to say.
Menir clears his throat. "We should move. If those things get into the wall somehow, we won't be able to fight them in here."
Hanun shrugs. "We've got time. Besides, I don't think they can climb. We should move quickly, though. Our supplies are short, and we need to let people know what's happened. If they've closed the gates, we might be the only people to make it out who know what's going on. Word doesn't move much faster than the plague."
"The plague?"
"What else would you call this?"
Ramir stops him. "Why did they close the gates?"
"Containment. We did it in the Glassmakers' Quarter."
"But it's going to kill thousands of innocent people."
Tens of thousands. But I don't correct him.
Hanun shakes his head. "And if they get out, and they've been bitten? There could be thousands of those things–."
"Husks." I startle myself with the ferocity of my own voice.
"Husks?"
"They're husks."
Hanun looks at me with eyes full of sorrow. "Soon, I'll be a husk."
I move close to him, hold him tight against me. "No."
The other two say nothing. The noises outside grow louder. Someone pounds at the door.
Ramir goes to open it, but Menir pulls him back.
"We'll die."
The priest stops in his tracks. Then the pounding goes silent. Whoever it is moves on to search somewhere else for salvation.
Hanun leads us through the wall, past support columns and ladders leading up to the parapet.
There's nobody in here, not even guards.
"We might have to fight when we get to the gate-house."
"Fight?"
He nods. Menir gives him the spear. "You're better at it than I."
I reach my hand out. "I'll do it." Hanun shakes his head.
"Hanun, don't argue with me. You know I've fought lions."
"I don't want you–"
"Your arm's hurt, and Menir is old."
Ramir goes to say something, but stops himself. Hanun looks to Menir. The old man nods.
I grasp the spear in my right hand. I hold it like I'd a staff when watching the herd, by my side with the blade forward. It's heavier than my staff and made from better wood without the imperfections of the trees that grow out by the oasis.
It feels nice to have it in my hand.
When we get to the gate-house, we see that our fears are unfounded. The inner gate is closed, but the outer gate is open.
The guards must have fled.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Hanun places his hand on my shoulder. "We're out."
ns 15.158.61.8da2
