Followed by Fros(26)
Imad reined in his mount outside the capital and guided it back toward me. He pointed, as though I might have missed the grand city in the expanse of sandy desert hills. “This land has always been a dry land, but in the winter the mountains used to collect enough rain to sustain us. For three years, however, the rain has not come, and the wells grow more and more shallow.”
He grinned and faced his camel forward. “Come, Smeesa, and bring them water.”
I nodded, oddly nervous. Imad raised his hand and the soldiers cheered. We raced down the sandy slopes, the camels’ hooves raising a cloud of dust. My own anxiety left me dizzy, but I tried my best to mask it as we entered the place that would become my home.
Guards on camelback greeted us before we entered the city, speaking to both Imad and Lo, too far ahead for me to hear what was said. We began moving again, and I almost kneeled in my saddle, straining to see what lay ahead of us.
The sheer size of the population astounded me.
People filled the streets from gutter to gutter. Men wore wide scarves—mashadah—wrapped around their heads and under their chins, and long, loose shirts and slacks in all sorts of pastel colors: honeydew and cyan and tan. Women sported long dresses with woven belts to emphasize their waists. They, too, wore the long scarves, but many let them drape around their necks or wrapped them around dark, thick braids of hair. Thick black braids fell to hips, knees, calves. Despite the desert heat, women in Zareed clearly believed long hair to be a sign of beauty. Nearly everyone, even the children, had their ears pierced multiple times, and the more richly dressed members of the crowd wore so many studs and rings their ears sagged. A common fashion was to weave one or two fine chains through the rings—something I had noticed Lo wore on his left ear, when his hair didn’t cover it. I later learned that the piercings were a sign of wealth, though I found it interesting that Imad, the wealthiest man in Zareed save for his ill father, wore very few.
All these people bustled down and over the roads, carrying tweed-woven packs on their backs and heads, guiding bizarre-looking deer by ropes, bartering for sales, chasing after stray children. But they all paused for long enough to look up at the hefty cloud that spread over their city, strange and heavy and white. They paused, stared, and pointed, confused. Some cheered when they recognized Imad among our ranks. Others noticed me, my white skin and hair, my blue lips, the tattered pieces of my skirt that hung below my borrowed shirt. And wherever we went, a foreign wave of cold followed. They gawked, whispered, disappeared into tents and doorways or pulled their mashadah over their faces.
Imad directed Lo forward, then fell back to ride beside me. He said nothing, but his presence beside me—and therefore his acceptance of me—spoke volumes to the people of his city. I knew I was not a surprise, for I heard the murmurs of “Svara Idyah” more than once. I saw a few women cross their hands over their chests and pat their shoulders, which I later learned was a gesture to ward off demons. I’m glad I did not know that when I first came to Mac’Hliah, for my nerves were already frayed at the ends, and my own anxious trembling in addition to the shivering from my cold had already threatened to throw me off my camel.
We moved deeper and deeper into the city, and I could not help but marvel at the scene that lay before me. Goats, sheep, and camels pushed through the crowds without any reaction from the people. We passed by a bazaar dyed every color imaginable, carmine and chartreuse and aquamarine, tall stands swathed in fabric, merchants selling chunky metallic jewelry and beautifully embroidered dresses. Women draped in pinks and oranges examined the merchandise.
But though the city was a feast for the senses, I noticed the underlying want. Large bins holding dates, cashews, beans, and rice sat half-or nearly empty. Racks meant to hold plucked chickens and lamb legs stood without meat, even without flies. I did not know the exchange rate of Zareedian coin, but the price tags I saw in passing seemed very high. When I looked closer, I noticed the thinness of the children beneath their loose clothes and the weariness in their mothers’ eyes. We passed a well—I would not have noticed if Imad had not told me, for many people crowded around it, hiding it from view. These were a people in famine, men and women desperate for relief. They cast expectant glances at me—no, at Imad—hoping their prince had finally found a way to save them.
“Our granaries are empty,” Imad murmured beside me, swaying back and forth with the stride of his camel. “That is why I came to you personally. We need your help, Smeesa.”
I looked over the bronze-skinned strangers who surrounded me and nodded. “I will. As soon as we stop moving, the snow will come.”
He nodded but did not smile. I could tell the sight of his people’s suffering weighed heavily on him.
We reached the palace—that grand, three-tiered work of art in the mountains, even more beautiful close up—and dismounted. Imad helped guide my camel down, and I fled its saddle, not wanting to scare it. Lo barked orders to the soldiers, directing some to take positions in the palace, others to go home and report back in the morning. He rubbed his chin, which was now lined with a full but short beard, and waited for Imad and me to move ahead of him before following after us, keeping his quiet distance.
The grandeur inside the palace overshadowed that of the exterior. Great scarlet curtains draped from ceiling to floor; tiles embedded with what appeared to be mother-of-pearl lined the floors. A great stone staircase spiraled up from the center of that main room, its banisters matted with gold leaf. A giant wind chime, at least the height of a camel, hung from one corner—its chimes made from some sort of aged, hollow wood, its clapper a round disc of sandstone. It would take two men to ring such a thing. I could not fathom what its song sounded like, for we had nothing of its like in Euwan. In Iyoden! Everything about this palace—this country—was so unlike the world I had grown up in it took my breath away. And I had once thought my father’s turnery so grand . . .