Sci strolled alongside the endless, deserted boulevard of sand hardened and wetted by the constant rhythm of waves spraying up on the rocks. Sooty gulls squawked shrilly, announcing the sky colouring red on the horizon.
She straightened her bag on her shoulder and quickened her pace. She hadn't drunk her own weight in carob juice last night to still arrive late. The pulpy sweetness still lingered in her mouth. Her home, her family—it had been two hours since she had left her hammock and started walking all the miles up to the other side of the city. Another world. Another life.
The excitement flowed back as Kayani's arch rose in the distance. There, beyond the ornate stone remnant of the King who had brought international trade to Scoria, her adventure would begin. Old King Kayani had slaughtered thousands of Sarisians and Makurdyians too, but hardly anyone remembered that gruesome part of history. And frankly, at this moment, she cared very little for it too.
Two royal guards were on duty to keep any pryers or other nuisances out. Their halberds crossed to block the entrance. These were the only two that she could see anyway. When the royal family was involved, one never knew how many extra pairs of eyes were watching.
"Scirocco Bint Harun Bin Tayo," she announced herself to the guards. Slightly out of breath, but in time. The yellow circle of light barely peeked above the horizon.
A synchronised nod, the halberds parted.
She went in.
There was no doubt which ship she had to go to. There was only one: a three-master with bright red sails.
It was small. Ordinary even, with the way it was connected to the dock by a few ropes and a narrow gangplank. Something that resembled more a merchant ship than something the army would take out on a secret mission.
Definitely not the revolutionary steamship Indra and Abah had raved about the last time Abah had been home.
She counted eight... no... ten people on deck. Among them a very familiar boy with tousled black hair and a distinctive hearty laugh that he couldn't produce without throwing his head back.
Esen.
Why was he here? The Queen had asked her. Not him.
"Scirocco Bint Harun Bin Tayo," she said to the first person she saw. A woman with such long hair, she mistook the long tail hanging over her shoulder for a shawl. Though that could also be because she couldn't keep her eyes off of Esen.
"One." The woman turned her head—and her hair flicked with it. "Five's here. We're complete."
"Good," answered the stern-looking man wearing a long black thobe.
Sci didn't pay him much attention. Too focused on mouthing, "What are you doing here?" at Esen.
Esen grinned broadly.
Then, the stern man stepped in between them, crossing his arms. "I see you know each other. That's unfortunate."
Sci looked at the man."Unfortunate, Sayid?"
"Forget what you know about each other—it's not important. I'm One. You're Five. He..." He pointed at Esen, "Your boyfriend's new name is Two. You'll learn the rest soon enough."
"He's not my boyfriend, Sayid," Sci said.
His dark eyes peered into her skull. "One... the name's One, Five!"
Sci swallowed. Numbers instead of names—she had read about this technique in one of Indra's books. During her time as jondi—albeit cut short by that terrible desert storm—she had never been a number.
YOU ARE READING
The Witch's Hour (A New Dawn #2.5)
Fantasy[Novella]As a child, Sci was scarred by her own mother for being a witch. While the wound has healed and her shawl now covers her face, Sci struggles to remain deaf to the call of the desert wind. She works hard to get into the Scorian army, taking...
