"Our Safar? another asked.
"Yes, said another. Our Safar has been killing."
"Is this true, boy? Naya asked, disgust in her tones.
"They were only demons, Little Mother, he answered.
"Shocking, the other goats said.
"But they were attacking the caravan, he protested.
"Oh, Safar, Naya said. I'm so ashamed of you. She butted him, knocking him down. Sharp stones jabbed into his buttocks. I suppose you used magic, Naya said.
"I couldn't help it, Little Mother, he confessed. Honestly I couldn't."
Then Naya rose on her hind legs and became Quetera, his pregnant sister. She was wearing a long white gown, swollen at the belly with new life.
"Naya says you've been out killing, his sister said. And using magic to do it."
He didn't answer.
"Look at me, Safar, his sister said.
"I can't, he said. I'm ashamed."
He pointed down. There was a demon's body at her feet.
"Did you do this, Safar? she asked.
"I had no choice, Quetera! he cried. They were killing people. He pointed at the demon. He was going to kill the girl."
Quetera's face suddenly turned kindly. Poor Safar, she said. Such a gentle lad. But now violence and death have found you. And they may never let you go."
Safar groaned and collapsed on the ground. He heard his sister come closer.
He smelled her perfume as she knelt down to comfort him. Let me take you home, Safar, she said.
He tried to get up but he couldn't rise. His limbs were numb and all he could do was groan.
Then cool water touched his temples. A soft wet cloth wiped his face and he felt as if all his sins were being sponged away.
And he was thirsty. By the gods he was thirsty! He opened his mouth. Not water, but cool milk dribbled in and he lapped it like a hungry kitten.
"Safar, a voice said. It was gentle and as soothing as that milk. Safar, it said again.
He floated out of the blackness to find a lovely face peering down at him. Dark, almond-shaped eyes full of sweet concern. Long black hair tumbling down like a silken scarf. Lips red and ripe, smoothed into a smile displaying teeth as white as the Snow Moon.
"Who are you? he mumbled, weak.
The smile became sweeter still. I'm Astarias, she said.
"Do I know you? he asked.
She laughed. It sounded like distant music. You do, now, she said. I'm the girl whose life you saved."
"Then you're not my sister, he said.
More laugher. Puzzled laughter. No, I'm not your sister. I'm Astarias."
"Well, thank the gods for that, he said.
And he slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep.
CHAPTER
When the caravan rolled into Kyrania Safar learned what it was like to be a hero.
He and Iraj rode in the lead with Coralean, mounted on the caravan master's finest horses. They were high-stepping steeds with painted shells and beads woven into their manes and tails. Behind them, guarded by the surviving soldiers was the caravan itself, bells jouncing, colorful banners waving. The air was pungent with the odor of precious goods from far away places. A boy ran in front carrying a demon's head mounted on a stake. The creature's yellow eyes were open and staring, snout gaping to display many rows of bloody teeth.
Safar felt like a participant in a strange, barbaric dream. The battle seemed distant, unreal. Yet there was the gory head bobbing in his view. His memories of the fight were vague, adding to the dreamlike quality. He felt as if it were not him but another who had cast the great spell that brought the avalanche down. There was no sign of the power he recalled coursing through his body. That morning, before the caravan set out, Safar had quietly attempted to tap some of that power. But it was either denied him, or, he'd thought, perhaps it had never existed at all. Maybe the avalanche had been a coincidence. Perhaps it was an accident of nature that killed the demons and not Safar Timura.
They rounded the last bend and excitement rushed in and all introspection vanished. Safar saw one of the Ubekian brothers posted at the old stone arch marking the village entrance. With much satisfaction he saw the bully's eyes widen in fear when he spotted the demon's head. Then he whirled and sprinted out of sight, crying the news of the caravan's arrival.
Iraj cantered close to Safar, face beaming with pride and he pointed to the gay ribbons festooning all the trees that lined the road. He started to speak but then the sound of glad music caterwauled from up ahead.
Coralean's smile was a bow of pleasure in his beard. It is good, he boomed, that your friends and family are giving you a proper reception. A true welcome for young heroes."
In the two days since the battle the people in the caravan had tended their wounded, repaired the damage and had bathed and wrapped their dead in white linen sheets. The bodies were loaded into a wagon for later funeral ceremonies. While Safar slept off the effects of the battle, Coralean had sent word to Kyrania, assuring everyone their young men were safe and unharmed. Iraj had been clear-headed enough to tell Coralean of the herd left in the mountain meadow and the messenger had carried that news with him as well so a boy could be sent to fetch the goats and llama.
When Safar had finally awakened there was no sign of Astarias. Iraj reported she'd been returned to the wagon with the other women. Safar had pined for her, although he'd been shocked when Coralean had informed him the women were being taken to the brothels of Walaria where they'd be sold.
"If it were not for you and your brave friend, he'd told Safar, Coralean's wives would not only have lost their loving husband, but would have been impoverished as wellwithout even the price of a bowl of barley and rice to stave off starvation. As for the fair Astarias, she and her sisters in seduction squabbled so heatedly over who would care for you they gave poor Coralean a headache that could only be treated with a large jar of brandy."
He'd rubbed sore temples, groaning. But the cure, as always, has afflicted your humble servant anew. I fear Coralean must apply yet more brandy to treat this malady. Then he'd winked at Safar. Astarias surprised us all with her fire, he said. She may be small, my boy, but she's as fierce as a desert lynx."
Then he'd leaned closer to confide: Coralean was worried that after they'd survived the demon attack with little harm, the gods would mock me. And the women would then be damaged in a silly harem fight. I have a large investment in those women, you know. Not only their purchase price, mind you, but I spent much Coralean silver assuring they were fresh and free of all diseases. And I gave a witch a fat purse to cast spells that will make them inventive and full of passion for any man who pays to be taken into their embrace."
Safar had flushed, angry at such treatment of Astarias and her sisters. Coralean mistook his angry coloring for a village boy's blush from hearing of such worldliness.
"You'll learn of these things soon enough, my boy, he'd said. As a matter of fact we should consider furthering your education soon. I'll make your schooling in such matters my personal responsibility. I, Coralean, do so swear. And there is not a man who knows me who will dispute that the word of Coralean is sounder than any coin a king has minted."
His promise echoed in Safar's thoughts as they approached Kyrania. What the caravan master intended, he didn't know. He had several guesses, however, that had him squirming like a fly in a honeyed dilemma. If Safar was right, one part of his nature was insulted that Coralean thought so little of him. The shameful human side of him was powerfully intrigued.
Then all thoughts were swept away when Safar saw the huge gathering at the outskirts of the village. All of Kyrania had turned out. The musicians played horns and bagpipes and drums and the whole village cheered when they saw the caravan. Safar's family was in front with Gubadan and the village headman and elders. Everyone was dressed in their best costumes. Boys stood tall, chests puffed out, trying to look like men. The girls wore flowers in their hair and blew kisses as Safar and Iraj came near.