Chapter Twenty-Nine—Watchers in the Hills

It was early morning and the chill weather—getting colder now as they headed north—was beginning to nip when the sun wasn’t about.

Shiro crouched beside the stream as he went to get some water. The pool before him was disturbed very little by the current. He used it as a looking glass and saw that he was beginning to grow a beard.

It didn’t look bad, especially considering those he travelled with and despite Debaku managing to keep a smooth face.

He filled his jug and came back to the fire where the others were sitting and preparing the morning meal. Dried meat and rolled oats. It wasn’t very tasty, but it would keep them healthy.

Along with those, they had also brought hard bread, beans and rice—things that were easy to preserve and carry, and of course, to cook.

Shiro filled the small cauldron hanging over the fire. The metal hissed and the water crackled before stilling. Once the pot was full, they dumped a small sack of the rolled oats inside with a few seasonings. Sugar and cinnamon was easy to keep and their guide Subulau brought fresh milk. “Where did you get that?” Shiro asked.

Gesturing with his hand behind his shoulder, he seemed to think that was explanation enough, and said no more. Shiro shrugged with a shake of his head. Clearly he had milked someone’s sheep.

A milk poacher.

“The goat herders,” Ali said. “They have milk and they’re usually willing to sell to travellers.”

“Ah,” Shiro said as Subulau poured the milk into the boiling oats. “I wonder what sky sheep milk tastes like.”

“It’s very expensive,” Ali said. “But it is good. Naturally sweet and very creamy.”

“Mmm, much better,” Subulau said as he stirred the milk into the pot.

“Not bad,” Ali added.

Noticing that Debaku was glancing about surreptitiously, Shiro sat down on the rock next time him. “What is wrong?”

“What makes you think anything is wrong?”

“You seem… nervous?”

Debaku smiled. “I would not use that word. But it seems we are being followed by at least three men.”

“Really?” Shiro glanced about as if he were simply taking in the view. “Are you certain of this?”

“They are hiding in the rocks in the hills to the west.”

“What is this?” Ali said, glancing up as a look of indignation crossed his face. His hand went to his scimitar hilt. “Then we should rush out and confront the bastards, yes?”

“Do as you wish,” Debaku said.

“It may be that they lie in wait, Ali,” Shiro said. “They may want to ambush us.”

“Come on!” he called with an aggressive beckon of his hand. “Come—and we will see who dies! Or will you hide with your mothers?”

Debaku raised a skeptical eyebrow and Shiro got the sense that Ali’s brashness mildly annoyed him. Fortunately, the Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul was a patient man.

“Have you ever been to this part of the empire?” Shiro asked him.

He shook his head. “I have been to many lands, but never in this direction.”

Shiro nodded.

“So,” Ali said, seemingly forgetting about the men he was just yelling at, of which who were nowhere in sight. “Our guide says about six more days until we reach the Issyka Mountains. Let’s just hope Razul is still there, yes?”

“Indeed,” Debaku said.

“Do you really think he will help us?” Shiro asked.

“It is done!” Subulau said, and grabbed his wooden bowl. He slopped two big ladles of the rolled oats sweetened with cane sugar and spiced with cinnamon from the south.

Taking turns, each of the men filled their own bowls and began to eat their morning breakfasts.

“Ali,” Shiro persisted. “Your friend, Razul.”

“Oh,” he said. “Right,” He nodded. “He will help us.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do,” he said.

“When was the last time you saw this ‘friend’ of yours, Abassir?” Debaku asked.

Ali spooned another portion of the porridge into his mouth and shrugged. “Maybe five years?”

“Kami-sama,” Shiro breathed. “That long?”

“Now, don’t start with that,” Ali said. “For one, I know him well. He is an adventurer, but not just that, he is a true risk taker. And he craves excitement. He is crazy, so… yes, he will join us, I am certain.”

A sudden doubtful looked crossed Debaku’s face.

“Well,” Shiro said, “I suppose if he does not join us, we will simply have wasted our time.”

“He will join us,” Ali said. “Trust me.”

“Hmmm.”

“Have I ever let you down, Shiro?”

Shaking his head, he swallowed another mouthful of the soft, sweat porridge. It reminded him somewhat of the okayu dish made of rice in his homeland.

“So,” Ali said, gesturing with his spoon and bowl. “Trust me, my friends.”

Shiro nodded. He had no reasons to doubt Ali. He had been right about Faridoon before they had snuck into his manor to get Jessamine. His guards had been few, just like Ali had suggested, due to Faridoon being low on household funds.

Especially after having paid Debaku most of his remaining fortune to return the lamp—of which he eventually did.

As a chill breeze swept across them, Shiro stepped closer to the fire.

“What are you thinking about, Shiro?” Ali asked.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Are you certain? Are you worried about something?”

“Of course he is worried,” Debaku said.

Ali rolled his eyes. “I meant something else.”

“I was just wondering,” he said. “What will I do if we cannot rescue Jessamine from the sultan?”

Ali’s eyes widened, the look on his face one of rebuke. He used his wooden spoon, pointing it at Shiro like a weapon. “We are rescuing Jessamine, and we are killing the sultan.”

“Yes, yes,” Shiro sighed. “I know, Ali. You want your life back as much as I want Jessamine.”

“Man, no!” Ali said. “It is more than just that.” He tapped his temple. “It is about not giving up, Shiro. We are doing this. If we fail, then we will try again.”

“So,” Debaku said, interrupting. “Your friend is an idealist, Shiro, and you are a pessimist.”

“I am not a pessimist.”

“Ha!” Ali said, a look of excitement coming over him. “I think Debaku is right, my friend. You are always sighing and thinking on the worst, instead of just, reaching out, taking what you want. You worry too much. I think it is putting grey in your beard, yeah?”

Shiro shook his head and touched his face. He had just seen himself in the river’s reflection moments ago. “I am not going grey.”

“Oh, just give it another few years—you will be completely grey, I am sure.”

Shiro rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help by crack a wry smile at Ali’s buffoonish behavior.

The Abassir was arrogant, and at times, a fool. Shiro wasn’t certain he was aware of it. It was just the way he was, but also imparted somewhat by his own culture.

Without my friends, I would be lost.