The pocket in the mountains where Tanielo guided them was inhabited only by sheep. But there were stone huts already built for the convenience and comfort of the shepherds when they came at irregular intervals to check on their flocks. Within these snug little shelters were sacks of flour, dried fruits, and other provisions. There was even a small garden planted with root vegetables that were evidently unappetizing to the native animals, for no fencing had been placed around it.
Qamar took the largest of these huts for his workroom. The second he and Solanna used as living quarters; the third, which contained the provisions and a cooking hearth, was gradually expanded over the summer to provide sleeping room for Leisha, Nissim, and Tanielo. Qamar tried to ignore the noise as a wall was knocked down and the stones rearranged to form a foundation for the wooden slats of the disassembled wagon. But sometimes he needed absolute quiet, and took a sheaf of notes, a pen, and a bottle of ordinary ink and walked up to the narrowest part of the tiny valley, where a spring rippled down the rocks to a small pool. Seating himself beside the stream that whispered into the valley, he would mark off what was essential, what was important, what could be included if there was room, and what could be eliminated without damaging the whole. As the summer went on, he had to become more ruthless in his editing. The notes made over a dozen and more years had been distilled into sharp summations of his classes, his talks with fellow Haddiyat, other books, and his own experimentations. But he did not possess the luxury of infinite pages within his green leather book. He must restrict the final text to what was vital.
It was occasionally maddening. It was always frustrating. And each evening when the light grew too dim for him to work outside in the fresh air, he had Tanielo move his table back indoors and light the lamps, so that he might work well into the night.
When they first arrived, there was a particular notch in the cliffs where the sun disappeared. As the days shortened and the sun vanished earlier and earlier, farther and farther north of that notch, Qamar counted the pages he had written that day and began to despair. He knew he would finish, for Solanna had seen it, but he was afraid he would not be able to include the finer details, the subtler points. He wanted to finish quickly, because he had it in mind to have Nissim begin making a copy as soon as possible. And after that, another copy, and another. It would keep them busy during the winter when snow would trap them inside the huts. As his knees twinged more severely and more often, he began to fear that as the nights turned colder, the ache would move into his fingers. He told himself that the stiffness in his back was due only to long days bent over the manuscript. And if he must squint to see into the distance, to mark the movement of the sun farther and farther from that notch, it was only eyestrain from reading too much.
There was no word from the larger world until the shepherds came to attend to their flocks. From these men there was no astonishment that someone else was living in their little valley, no anger that their supplies had been used. On the day Qamar and his little group had ridden in, Tanielo had pointed out a series of wind chimes fashioned out of tin hanging from sapling pines: hazziri. Qamar had renewed them, added to them, and in some cases improved upon them, to ward away thieves, wolves, and lions. So the shepherds, already familiar with Shagara magic, had no complaints. They were getting more Shagara magic for free.
From these shepherds Qamar learned that Sheyqa Nizhria controlled Ibrayanza. She controlled Shagara. She controlled the passes that led to Tza’ab Rih. She controlled half the length of the great river, and portions of Elleon. She did not control Joharra, nor yet all of Cazdeyya.
“But there’s two reasons for that,” the most talkative of the shepherds told Qamar over an outdoor fire the evening they arrived. “That filhio do’—” Breaking off, he bowed slightly to Solanna and Leisha. “Forgive me, ladies, my mother would scrub my tongue with lye for my manners.”
Another of the men grunted. “We don’t spend much time around decent women.”
“Eiha,” the first went on, “Sheyqir Allil, he’s kept Joharra out of it by keeping Joharra in it, if you see what I mean. His soldiers are wearing the colors of Rimmal Madar. They only change back to their own shirts once the Sheyqa’s army has moved on. And then—surprise! The nicer bits of Ibrayanza and Shagarra are redrawn on the maps as part of Joharra. He’s acting for the Empress, of course, cursed be her name.”
Tanielo asked quickly, “And Cazdeyya?”
A shrug. “The Sheyqa is about halfway up the great river, camped in a huge red tent all hung about with gold and silk. Her feet never touch the bare ground, they say, for all the carpets flung about.”
“She’s not in one of the palaces?” Leisha asked.
“You’d think there’d be enough to choose from, wouldn’t you, that she could live in one of them instead of a tent? But she’s taken a vow of some sort, to live as her soldiers do until she rules from Cazdeyya to Ibrayanza.” He snorted. “I’ve yet to hear that her soldiers dine off golden plates!”
“For myself,” said the oldest of the shepherds as he politely poured out qawah for them all, “I think she has a yearning to rule more toward the south, if you see what I mean.”
“That has always been my thought,” said Qamar. He had given them only his first name, and let them assume he was called Shagara just as Tanielo and Leisha and Nissim were. Ayia, how very astonished they would be if they heard his full name—and how very dead they would make him within moments of hearing it.
Solanna fidgeted for a moment, then said, “I know it is very silly of me to ask, for we are an obscure family, but—have you heard anything, anything at all, about anyone named Grijalva?”
“Never heard of them,” said the talkative shepherd, at the same time as the oldest was saying, “The tile makers?”
“Yes!” She rewarded him with her most ravishing smile. “Do you know them?”
“Their work. But I’m sorry, I know nothing current about them.”
Late that night, as Qamar made ready for bed in his workroom—having given their usual hut to the visiting shepherds, who after all had built it—he watched his wife brush out her hair and pondered how best to ask his questions. At last he shrugged and decided on the direct approach.
“You haven’t seen any of your family in years and never felt the lack that I’ve ever been able to tell. Why ask about them tonight? Are you worried for your aunt?”
“Yes,” she answered. “If the women and boys now calling themselves Grijalva had been caught and discovered to be what they truly are, wouldn’t the Grijalva name have been connected with the news? That nothing has been heard about them means there’s nothing to hear.”
He hoped she was right. All this long summer he had been too preoccupied to worry much about the other Shagara. To learn that the mountain fortress had not yet fallen to the Sheyqa was incredible news. But they must be running out of food, and as clever as the Haddiyat were, they could not make bread out of a few talishann and a drop or two of blood. Those who had taken the Grijalva name could be halfway to Ghillas by now. He had to believe, with Solanna, that if no one was talking about them, there must be nothing to talk about.
The shepherds were with them for three days. They left with their flocks after slaughtering two fat lambs as additional thanks for the hazziri. Tanielo and Solanna rode with them down to the narrow neck of the valley, and Qamar waited until they were out of sight before seating himself at his worktable.