Hero at the Fall (Rebel of the Sands #3)(47)

I leaned down on Maz’s feathered neck and shouted over the wind for him to take us down. I didn’t need to get any nearer.



‘You ought to be able to walk from here,’ I said to Tamid as he slid from Izz’s back. ‘Less chance of getting shot if you don’t arrive from the sky on the back of a giant bird.’

Tamid stared up at me from the ground, where he was trying to steady himself on his bad leg. ‘You’re not coming with me?’

‘You’re the one who wants to go back, not me.’

Tamid dropped his head, nodded. ‘So I guess this is goodbye then.’

‘I guess so.’ I didn’t move to get off Maz’s back. We still had plenty of ground to cover and we needed to use all the daylight we had.

Tamid looked like he was about to say something else, but Jin spoke first. ‘Something’s wrong.’ I twisted around on Maz’s back to where Jin was sitting behind me. His eyes were fixed straight ahead on Dustwalk.

I squinted against the bright desert light at the town. It looked exactly like I’d left it. Even from this far away I could spy the wooden roof of the prayer house sticking up a little bit higher than the others around it. A few doors down would be my uncle’s house. A few doors the other way was Tamid’s: the only home in the whole town with two storeys. I used to think Tamid’s family was the richest I would ever know. Then I’d lived in a palace for a while.

I realised what Jin meant. There were no signs of life. Even on a hot day there ought to be a dash of movement, a face watching us through a window on the edge of town – something.

It looked deserted.

I cursed under my breath as I slid off Maz’s back. I could feel time running away from us. But while I might not want to set foot back in Dustwalk as long as I lived, I couldn’t exactly leave Tamid alone here. He’d starve to death or get killed by a ghoul or a wild animal before he could get back to civilisation. We had to see what was going on in Dustwalk.

‘Looks like we’re coming with you after all.’

It was slow-going as we moved across the shifting sands, back towards the place that had made me – part of me, at least: the dangerous, angry, restless, selfish part. The one I’d been trying to discard piece by piece. Tamid pulled ahead in spite of his bad leg, anxious to get home. I found myself falling further and further behind. Jin noticed. He slowed down, waiting for me until I fell into step beside him.

‘You know the story of Ihaf the Wanderer?’ I asked. We were getting closer, no matter how slow I walked, and my breath was feeling shorter. ‘Ihaf was a farmer who left his home and defeated the ghoul that had been terrorising his people. He was feasted in Izman for a hundred days for what he had done. And then, at the end of it all—’

‘He returned home and went back to tilling his fields and a peaceful life,’ Jin filled in, tugging his sheema a little so that it covered him from the glare of the sun. ‘My mother used to tell us that story.’

‘So did mine.’ My eyes found the place where my mother’s house used to be. Before it burned. I wondered if on some night, across desert and sea, Jin and I were hearing the same story under the same stars from our mothers. ‘I always hated that ending. How could you go home again after all that? After slaying monsters and saving princesses and dining in the homes of immortal beings …’

Jin kept his gaze straight ahead as he answered. ‘Back when all this started, I used to think there was nothing I wouldn’t do to go home again.’

It was rare for Jin to talk about Xicha. He hadn’t told me much. That their small home overlooked the sea and always smelled of salt. That Jin and Ahmed shared a room, and Delila shared another with Jin’s mother. That the floor was always stained with dark dye from trying to hide Delila’s purple hair. They had a rotted roof that leaked so badly that when Jin was just six years old, he and Ahmed stole some wood from the docks and clambered on to the rafters to patch it up. There was a scar on his palm where he’d sliced it open with a rusty nail. I knew that place had been home for as long as he and Ahmed had been sailing, heading from dock to dock. It had been home until Ahmed had abandoned it for the desert, and Jin’s mother had died, and Jin had collected Delila to bring her to the country of their birth. To a place where they would have to make a home.

I thought of the Dev’s Valley, the colourful tent I had shared with Shazad for half a year. Of nights full of stars and warmth. I would give just about anything to go back to that home, too. Except it had been taken from us. And then it had been taken again when the Sultan ambushed us that night in Izman.

This wasn’t home. Neither of us had one of those any more.

The closer we got, the more obvious it was that Dustwalk was quiet as a dead man. I waited for the twitch of curtains that would mean we were being watched on approach, or the sound of a voice. I felt an itch start on the back of my neck, a restlessness. There was danger here.

Jin and I caught up to the others, drawing our guns at the same time on the outskirts of town. When I glanced back to my right Sam had done the same, and the twins had shifted into large dogs with sharp teeth. I lifted my finger away from the iron for a moment, moving it far enough from my skin that I was sure I could feel the sand at my fingertips, too. That my power hadn’t abandoned me.

And then we moved into the town as one.

The streets were empty as a drunk’s glass. The door to the house that had belonged to Amjad Al-Hiyamat was swinging in the wind, breaking the silence as it bashed into the house. Sand had built up in it, keeping it from shutting properly. I pushed it open with my foot, peering around the darkness inside. It was empty – but not wholly. A low table still sat in the middle, and in the room off to the side, I could see a large bed. But everything else was gone: clothes, food, cookware. Anything someone could carry, like they’d fled. But not in a hurry.