slender al-Sepehr sometimes found it hard to believe she belonged to the same species he did, fretted the edge of one cuff, rolling and unrolling it to flash the back and fingers of the opposite hand.
“Master,” she said.
He did not recoil, but that was because he was al-Sepehr and had long since trained himself away from any such outward evidence of human frailty. He had grown accustomed to hearing Shahruz’s tones layered over his sister’s. Now, though—
“Shahruz,” he said. “Saadet, you said that what he is—persists.” He had thought she meant that she retained his memories, his experiences. The remnants of that unity of mind that al-Sepehr himself had forged between the twins. He had not understood that she meant Shahruz had not passed into the libraries of paradise and the presence of the Scholar-God.
“He is with me,” she said, in her own voice. “He will not leave me. Not until we can go on together. Al-Sepehr…”
Al-Sepehr waited.
It was Shahruz who finished the sentence—or rather, who began it again and this time chased it to the end. “Al-Sepehr, give me leave to train this body, that I may serve you again as one of the Nameless.”
“You are a woman!” al-Sepehr said with force. “Would you profane the Scholar-God’s semblance?”
“That is only the form,” said Shahruz. “Only the shell. Return me to your councils.” He raised his eyes, and in the set of his shoulders, the lift of his chin behind the veil, al-Sepehr could see no hint now of the self-effacing female. The stiffness of his posture betrayed great discomfort, however, to find himself clothed in a woman’s sacred flesh. “Al-Sepehr. You have not the strength to accomplish our liberation alone. Saadet and I have both seen how your wreakings in the service of the Nameless have exhausted you. The Nameless need you; without you we shall never escape the oppression under which we’ve toiled these centuries.”
“I have the ghosts,” said al-Sepehr. “They will feed me.”
“They will feed you until you must send them to fight again. And then they will draw the life from you until you are even less than they—a wraith!”
Al-Sepehr’s lips pressed thin with amusement; here indeed was his old friend Shahruz, lecturing him on taking care of himself and his priesthood. It was love, and it warmed al-Sepehr more than he could express.
“Not until Tsarepheth has fallen to the plague, in any case.” The ghosts could not directly attack the Rasan city, protected as it was by great beds of rock salt layered through the mountains. The wizards had chosen the site of their Citadel with more than earthly defense in mind. “And by then, perhaps the wars will be raging without our direct assistance. Then we can lie in wait, collecting power, ready to step in when all these self-styled kings and princelings have their reckonings.”
Saadet nodded; al-Sepehr could still tell her gestures from Shahruz’s, even when they used the same flesh.
He sighed. The twins were right.
“Go to Re Qori Buqa,” he said. “Ride the wind. He is a heathen Qersnyk, and will not care that you wear a woman’s sacred shape. And when you are there, counsel him to war. Lead him against the Uthman Caliphate. Tell him … tell him that Re Temur is in Asitaneh, and that the caliph will no doubt lend him arms and men in exchange for a promise of allegiance and quiet borders—and that even if the caliph would not, the caliph’s war-band will press the issue. Tell Qori Buqa that if he wishes to maintain his grandfather’s empire, he must do as a Khagan does—and conquer anew.”
Saadet bowed like a man—not to al-Sepehr, but to the will of the Scholar-God. She did not ask how he knew where Re Temur had escaped to. When she spoke it was in her own voice. “And if he wishes to consolidate our allegiance, al-Sepehr? If he wishes arms and men and more sorcery and science?”
Al-Sepehr shrugged. “Offer him a marriage,” he said. “That
“Master,” she said.
He did not recoil, but that was because he was al-Sepehr and had long since trained himself away from any such outward evidence of human frailty. He had grown accustomed to hearing Shahruz’s tones layered over his sister’s. Now, though—
“Shahruz,” he said. “Saadet, you said that what he is—persists.” He had thought she meant that she retained his memories, his experiences. The remnants of that unity of mind that al-Sepehr himself had forged between the twins. He had not understood that she meant Shahruz had not passed into the libraries of paradise and the presence of the Scholar-God.
“He is with me,” she said, in her own voice. “He will not leave me. Not until we can go on together. Al-Sepehr…”
Al-Sepehr waited.
It was Shahruz who finished the sentence—or rather, who began it again and this time chased it to the end. “Al-Sepehr, give me leave to train this body, that I may serve you again as one of the Nameless.”
“You are a woman!” al-Sepehr said with force. “Would you profane the Scholar-God’s semblance?”
“That is only the form,” said Shahruz. “Only the shell. Return me to your councils.” He raised his eyes, and in the set of his shoulders, the lift of his chin behind the veil, al-Sepehr could see no hint now of the self-effacing female. The stiffness of his posture betrayed great discomfort, however, to find himself clothed in a woman’s sacred flesh. “Al-Sepehr. You have not the strength to accomplish our liberation alone. Saadet and I have both seen how your wreakings in the service of the Nameless have exhausted you. The Nameless need you; without you we shall never escape the oppression under which we’ve toiled these centuries.”
“I have the ghosts,” said al-Sepehr. “They will feed me.”
“They will feed you until you must send them to fight again. And then they will draw the life from you until you are even less than they—a wraith!”
Al-Sepehr’s lips pressed thin with amusement; here indeed was his old friend Shahruz, lecturing him on taking care of himself and his priesthood. It was love, and it warmed al-Sepehr more than he could express.
“Not until Tsarepheth has fallen to the plague, in any case.” The ghosts could not directly attack the Rasan city, protected as it was by great beds of rock salt layered through the mountains. The wizards had chosen the site of their Citadel with more than earthly defense in mind. “And by then, perhaps the wars will be raging without our direct assistance. Then we can lie in wait, collecting power, ready to step in when all these self-styled kings and princelings have their reckonings.”
Saadet nodded; al-Sepehr could still tell her gestures from Shahruz’s, even when they used the same flesh.
He sighed. The twins were right.
“Go to Re Qori Buqa,” he said. “Ride the wind. He is a heathen Qersnyk, and will not care that you wear a woman’s sacred shape. And when you are there, counsel him to war. Lead him against the Uthman Caliphate. Tell him … tell him that Re Temur is in Asitaneh, and that the caliph will no doubt lend him arms and men in exchange for a promise of allegiance and quiet borders—and that even if the caliph would not, the caliph’s war-band will press the issue. Tell Qori Buqa that if he wishes to maintain his grandfather’s empire, he must do as a Khagan does—and conquer anew.”
Saadet bowed like a man—not to al-Sepehr, but to the will of the Scholar-God. She did not ask how he knew where Re Temur had escaped to. When she spoke it was in her own voice. “And if he wishes to consolidate our allegiance, al-Sepehr? If he wishes arms and men and more sorcery and science?”
Al-Sepehr shrugged. “Offer him a marriage,” he said. “That
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