Hero at the Fall

‘Blue-Eyed Bandit,’ Samir called, eyes sparkling in the way of someone who didn’t really understand that fighting meant blood. Meant death, not adventure. ‘Are you going to fight her?’

‘Now that wouldn’t be a fair fight,’ Shazad said.

‘No,’ I agreed, and when Shazad turned around, she was staring down the barrel of my gun. I winked at my friend. ‘It wouldn’t.’

Shazad pulled something out of her pocket: an orange, harvested that morning from the chest buried in the mountain. She tossed it up in the air, a high arc. I tracked the thing with the barrel of my gun all the way to its highest point. And right before it began its descent, I fired.

The orange fell to the ground, a mess of pulp and shredded rind.

‘Now,’ Shazad said, turning back around to the recruits, ‘let’s start again. Who thinks that they can shoot like Amani?’

*

‘Will they be ready by the time we reach Izman?’ Ahmed asked that evening. Shazad had run everyone ragged before she finally released them to go to the prayers that Tamid was leading at sunset.

Tamid stood where, just a few days past, I’d seen my brother bless the gathered men and women. He led them in prayer for Noorsham’s soul, long may it defend us. And for the safety of those who had stood up to fight with Ahmed.

It was strange watching him; he seemed at home. Like standing in front of our people, our families, was where he had always been destined to be. I’d thought we were both too crooked to fit in this place. But he belonged here in a way I never had. Or never wanted to.

I belonged with the Rebellion.

Instead of going to prayers, the Rebellion gathered in a small tent propped up against one of the few remaining walls of what used to be Sazi. The last of the daylight filtered red through the tent casting a flame-like glow across our faces.

With all of us here, it was like a faraway echo of something familiar. Of our old camp and all the times we’d gathered like this to make a plan. Except now, everyone looked like shadows of themselves. Ahmed, Shazad and Delila were worn ragged. Smudged with pain and exhaustion, and something else, too: the first-hand knowledge of the suffering the Sultan was putting this country through. Of what one man could do to all of us from on high. Of what it would mean for those who lived if we lost this war, those we left behind under the rule of a man who had sent hordes of people to Eremot.

We were like a faded picture in a book that had lost a lot of its gilt.

‘Do you think we should take the new recruits with us?’ Ahmed asked.

‘I don’t think we can afford to turn away any extra able bodies,’ Shazad said.

‘Even if they’re extra bodies to feed and supply?’ I could hear the question Ahmed was really asking: Even if we might just be leading them to their deaths?

Our general cast a fleeting glance my way before she carried on quickly. ‘Assuming we can shut that machine down then this is a fight that’s going to be won on numbers.’

‘Hell, we might need them before we get into Iliaz. What with the new foreign friends Bilal has been making.’ It slipped out irritably, though I hadn’t meant it to. Rahim and Ahmed both looked at me blankly. They hadn’t been gone all that long, but a whole lot of Miraji had changed in that time. I’d been leading this rebellion, and now I had to give that power back to Ahmed. I’d thought it would be a relief. I guess I’d gotten a little used to the weight while he’d been gone. ‘Things have changed while you’ve been in Eremot. And you know, it might not kill you from time to time to talk to someone who knows about this desert.’ The words were coming out in a torrent now, my accent getting thicker as I went. ‘For one, I reckon I could’ve told you how the people here would react to us returning without Noorsham. We might’ve spared Delila needing to save all our necks. And another thing I can tell you is that Iliaz is crawling with Albish. They’re looking to make an alliance with the Gallan and move on Izman together. And the way I see it, if two of our enemies turn on us at once, we’re done for. Whether we can take that throne or not. We won’t hold it.’ Ahmed listened to me, pressing a knuckle against a spot at his hairline as I told them what they had missed. That to get to Izman we would have to get through Leyla’s inventions and our foreign enemies. That Iliaz was occupied. I pointed at Rahim. ‘Your Lord Bilal is helping, too, giving them passage through the mountains, and if we don’t get this right, we’re going to find ourselves facing more enemies than we can handle before we even see the city.’

‘My men are following orders,’ Rahim said defensively. ‘They’re not traitors to their country.’

‘We’re all traitors to our country,’ Jin pointed out. He was sitting with one knee propped up, his arm slung lazily over it, but his focus wasn’t to be mistaken. He didn’t trust Rahim. Not even if Ahmed and Delila were treating him as their brother. Not even if he was Jin’s brother, too. ‘We need them to be traitors for us. What happens if they’re not as loyal to you as you think they are?’

‘Why don’t we worry about that when we get there?’ I interjected, breaking up this fight before it could start. ‘How the hell are we going to get there?’

‘We use one of our new friends from Eremot,’ Shazad said, without missing a beat. ‘Haytham Al-Fawzi. He is – was – the Emir of Tiamat before he started sheltering rebel sympathisers and wound up jailed for it. His brother is ruling in Tiamat now, but the city belongs to him, rightfully. I reckon we can take it back.’