The sun beats down on us as we leave Ehram.
Hanun, Ramir, and a stranger. This isn't how I'd expected to get out of the city.
Of course, it wasn't like people leave the city, right? You get there once and you're stuck in it forever.
It is a place of tragedies and loss.
The husks just make it clear.
"The Glassmakers did this," I say. Nobody bothers responding. That's fine.
Who needs conversation?
They say that in the darkest night it is good to be quiet. You do not want to call the demons to your side.
And what is this if not our darkest hour?
The road is weathered and well-worn. Those who got out before the gate closed are already ahead of us. Menir's slow now that we're out.
Did he hurt himself?
"Nobody else got bitten, right?"
Hanun sounds so desperate, so tired.
And so lonely.
I want to be back in Odun, watching the flocks. He'd be coming back to the oasis around the same time I would be, and we'd talk for an hour as the sheep drank.
Then it would be dark and we'd go our separate ways.
At least then we knew we'd see each other in the morning.
Ramir cuts in when nobody else will. "Zefra, are you alright?"
I didn't notice my own sobs. "Just thinking about Odun."
The priest sighs.
I reach out a hand and take a water-skin from him. "What's the plan?"
Hanun looks down at his arm. "We don't have a plan. Go back to Odun, ask the elders."
Ramir scoffs. "Elders miles away from the city?"
"You have a better plan?"
Of course he doesn't. Nobody has a plan. There's just the road and the sun and the dust and the thirst.
"The elders will know," Menir says. "They're elders for a reason. Don't assume that just because the temple is in the city they know anything more than the village folk."
"Can we even do anything?"
He's right to doubt. It kills me to admit it. "With those many husks?"
Hanun scoffs. "You too, Zefra? I thought you trusted the gods."
I say nothing. Why should I?
It's not like Akkun did anything more than send dreams. And where are the other gods? Who can say that they will take care of us?
The shrine keeper's duty is to take care of them. They haven't paid enough in return. Why bother?
I spit in the sand. "Not now."
Ramir is shocked. I see it in his eyes. And I only know because I wanted to see if he flinched. "You don't believe that?"
"Why not?"
"What about the dreamer? He knew what was happening."
"He saw a husk and lost his nerves."
"Maybe, but what does that mean for us?"
"That the gods have abandoned us."
He glances down, maybe at his robes. "No, I don't believe that. They're testing us."
"That's a test?" I can tell I'm shouting by how they look at me. The second time in a minute I haven't known what my body is doing.
My head hurts. It slides around on my neck, and the world sways back and forth. "Zefra?"
I stumble and lose my balance. I let the water-skin fall, catching myself on my hands and knees as the ground rises up to meet me. I can hear people talking, but not over the rush of blood in my ears.
Menir helps me back to my feet. "Water. Drink some of that water."
The water's warm, and it's been in the skin a while. If I had my choice, I'd go back to the fountain and have a drink of cold water.
But I feel better. Mostly better. "Thank you."
"We should all take a drink, make sure we don't get sick."
But Hanun only pretends to drink. He thinks I can't see him, but I know that he doesn't raise it all the way to his lips, that his hand is clasped around the neck as he lifts the bag.
I want to cry. I know why he's doing it.
He wants to live, of course. But he knows he's dying. If he pretends hard enough, then maybe I'll think of him as alive.
I wish I could. I wrap my arms around him.
For a moment, I picture him leaning his head down to bite me.
Instead, he whispers in my ear. "I have to go back."
"You don't."
"I'm a guard, remember? It's my duty to protect Ehram."
"There's nothing left to protect."
"I'll wait a while. Then I'll go into the city. People will be hiding, trying to stay safe from the–the husks. I'll take them out through the wall, just like how we left."
"You don't have to be a hero." We both know it's a lie.
He hands the water-skin back to Ramir. "You did well to think of this."
"I've traveled a few times. Desert's harsh without water."
"The nearest waypost is a few dozen miles down the road. You might not get there until tomorrow, but they'll have a well. Drink along the way, don't try to save water."
The priest nods.
Menir walks over to Hanun. There are tears in his eyes. "You're a good man, Hanun."
"Take care of Zefra for me."
Menir casts a glance my way. "She doesn't need my help. I'll go with you if–"
"No. It'll be easier alone."
"I'll tell them of your bravery."
"Thank you."
Then Hanun walks away from us, back toward the distant walls. He stands out, his armor a flash of copper ember against the yellow-white sands. Then the road dips below the horizon and he's gone.
Menir breaks the silence. "We can wait here a while, if you need to."
He's talking to me. I realize I'm sobbing, I feel burning in my lungs as my breath runs ragged. The old man helps me to sit–keeps me from falling.
"You're a brave woman, Zefra. You can do this."
"You keep calling people brave."
"It's true, though. You would've fought to save us. That counts for something."
Why even go on? Ehram may as well burn at this point. The Glassmakers have doomed us.
And Hanun is dead. He died the moment he left my sight.
He'll never hold me again.
ns 15.158.61.23da2
