Sahir's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

They walked until the market was a smear behind them and the sun sat low. Rashid kept the reins loose and pointed them at the road that curved back toward town, toward the inn where lamplight already showed in the windows. Sahir felt the turn in the reins and did not follow it. He knew that road. A stable at the inn meant a stall the size of a coffin, straw that smelled of other horses, and a bucket of water without a single apple floating in it. Sahir slowed. Rashid clicked his tongue. Sahir slowed more. Then Sahir turned his head against the pull and walked off the road, into the open sand, toward the ridge of a wind-carved dune that rose ahead of them like a shoulder. Rashid pulled hard. "Back," he said. Sahir did not go back. He pushed his hooves into the loose sand and climbed. The dune took his weight the way it always did. It would not take Rashid's boots the same way, and both of them knew it. Rashid could dismount and drag on the bridle, but the sun was already gone behind the ridge and the cold was coming in fast. Rashid tried once, boots sinking to the ankle, and swore under his breath. He climbed back into the saddle. "Fine," he said. "Walk. See what walking gets you." Sahir kept climbing. At the top he stopped and stood. Below them, the town lights blinked on one by one. Sahir turned his rump to them and faced the dark flats. Rashid sat above the worn stirrups and said nothing for a long time. Then he dismounted, unrolled the blanket from behind the saddle, and sat down on the sand with the spear across his knees. The cold came the way desert cold always came, all at once. Rashid pulled the blanket to his chin. He did not speak. He did not build a fire because there was nothing out here to burn. Sahir stood over him and felt the wind cut along his flank, and felt too the small warm knot in his belly where the apples had been that morning. He had won the road. He had lost the stable. That was the trade. In the morning Rashid would be stiff and sore and hungry and he would want the town again, and he would remember who had carried him out here and who could carry him back. Sahir lowered his head near Rashid's shoulder. Rashid did not look up. "Tomorrow," Rashid said, flat, "we ride. Not to the market." Sahir flicked an ear. Tomorrow was tomorrow. Tonight he had made the man sleep on sand, and the man would think twice, next time, about an apple.