The Bones of the Old Ones (Dabir and Asim) by Howard Andrew Jones Page B

ready for a journey to Harran. But surely,” she emphasized, “that cannot be right.”
    Here I’d been thinking I’d have to break the news to her, but naturally palace gossip had reached her ear already. I doubted that would make my mission simpler.
    “So it is true?” she asked.
    “There is a man in Harran who Dabir thinks can help you.”
    “Dabir promised he would help me return to Isfahan.” Those stunning eyes pierced me like spear points. “That is two weeks the other direction from Harran.”
    When the matter was broached this way, I knew shame, for Najya was absolutely right—word had been given, and must be broken if Dabir had his way. Speech failed me, and as I struggled for a proper reply Najya’s scrutiny intensified, which made concentrating on a response all the harder. I could not help wondering if Dabir had sent me in his stead because he’d anticipated some of this. “You are right,” I admitted. “Dabir promised to return you to Isfahan. We fully intend to do so … but right now…”
    Still she glared daggers.
    The servant girl could not have been more than eight. She lowered her head while brushing, as if she expected us to begin hurling pottery at one another.
    Truly, I had been more comfortable fighting strange monsters. “We didn’t know the power of the men who had kidnapped you. Or that you suffered strange fits. Or that there was a peculiar spear involved. Did you, too, see strange visions when you touched it?”
    At this last, she left off glowering; now her stare was more blank, which was equally disconcerting. It would have been nice if she made some reply. But she did not, so I was left to continue the conversation on my own.
    “So. Eh. There is a man in Harran, and Dabir thinks he can set everything aright with you. Also, he is an expert on the kind of wizards that Dabir thinks are chasing you.”
    Najya pressed lips tightly together, then raised a hand to still the servant tending her hair. “Thank you. You may go.”
    “Madame?” The girl lowered the brush.
    Najya turned her head, and her voice was firm, though not harsh. “I said to go.”
    The girl collected all the feminine beauty articles in a little basket beside her and exited hurriedly.
    Najya waited until the girl had shut the door, then considered me with more care.
    “I do apologize,” I said. “But you were not conscious, and we … Dabir, I mean—”
    “What did you see in the visions?” she asked.
    I found it far easier to discuss the distressing images I had seen than to speak to her about Harran, so I welcomed the change of topic. I omitted nothing.
    She did not listen like Dabir, with interruptions. Instead she waited pensively and allowed me to reach a natural conclusion. After, she sat looking troubled.
    Once again I tried to prod her forward. “Did you see something similar?”
    “Somewhat.”
    With that admission, it was easier to take the initiative. “You see, then, why we need to speak with someone better able to help you? Dabir would not have suggested going to Harran if he did not think it would aid you.”
    “I believe you,” she said finally, and touched a hand to her face.
    It was a relief to know my arguments were seeing me to victory, and I began to relax. Another fine point had just come to me, one I might have mentioned earlier if I’d been thinking more clearly. “If we return you to Isfahan, who is to say the sorcerers would not simply follow and take you away once more?”
    She frowned, seemingly in acknowledgment. “Who is this man Dabir is taking me to see?”
    “I do not know him,” I confessed. “But he is a scholar who helped train Dabir. Dabir is one of the brightest men in the caliphate, and if he respects the fellow, he must be wise indeed. I am sure he will be able to cure you.”
    “Very well,” She said resignedly. “I will go.” She then addressed me with great dignity. “Your … friend is very kind to me. I will happily remunerate him for these