A/N: second chapter. The series is going to take a much slower progression than the original version so that it patches up well, and if I need to make changes, it'll be easier. Thanks again to Kara, my beta, who I've gone over this chapter with countless times already. Maok's alive again, in this version. :) Thanks for reading! It may be just folly to rewrite a 20k unfinished story, but I feel as if I've gotten so much better at writing because of it.

Chapter 2

—Soraya

It had been no real surprise that the peddler had come to the desert. Soraya frowned. Of all the stupid things to do, they had to send the one man that Farsala can't afford to lose. In fact, it was only sheer coincidence that they had met at that cliff—Soraya had been on her way to Farsala herself to explain the situation, to ward off any idiotic reconnaissance mission like the one Kavi had been sent on. She could have made it back up the unstable cliff by herself, but with the man she wanted to talk to right before her eyes and not in a position to make any claims to the Farsalan Council, she was stuck. They could have both gone up the cliff, but with the path being so unstable that the ledge broke underneath an arrow (it was a miracle that the man hadn't fallen through), and how Soraya had only reached the stone's shilshadu a month ago, she wasn't confident that she could hold two people going upwards instead of down.

If they had stayed any longer in the growing darkness, Soraya wasn't sure if they could have escaped the blood-hungry Suud rebels. It was lucky that she had headed to the same cliff Kavi had been descending—the entirety of the crags that separated Farsala and the desert were always watched. The fate of the Councilherd would have been in completely different hands if she hadn't been there.

They had reached the camp a mark ago, and the peddler was just getting settled with a small plate, sparse with some bread and edible desert vegetation. It was breakfast for the Suud, after all. Soraya had no doubt that he was much hungrier than he let on, but surprisingly, the peddler had no qualms, instead nodding his thanks and eating slowly.

Not far away, Soraya sat near the fire in front of her own hutch, distracting herself by playing with the flames. She eradicated her demanding impulse to engage in a conversation with Kavi; she would wait until he was finished. Instead, she found the dancing hunger inside the fire's shilshadu with ease. As of late, she had mastered her control over most elements—not all of them, like that silent voice of stone—but most. With just a breath, she could open her shilshadu to everything around her, making the world around her vivid and brilliant with life.

However, lately she had begun to tap into the air's shilshadu without conscious thought, which made it the hardest to control. The air possessed the most… human shilshadu of all the elements, and its lack of form allowed it to dance to whatever emotion Soraya experienced. Without clamping down forcefully on her shilshadu sensing, Soraya couldn't tell when she was influencing the air's tune. But it was a difficult thing for her to do—to realize that she was connected to everything and then to cut off that self-awareness—it was like losing the ability to feel, or the sense of smell, or becoming blind.

She felt Kavi's presence approach, and reluctantly, she withdrew her hands from the flames. Delicately, she brushed the stray embers from her palms, setting them back where they could indulge in their dance and their joy. With a fading smile, she disengaged from her shilshadu trance.

Looking up, she saw Kavi as she had seen him last—with short, brown hair, equally brown eyes, features holding neither that of the distinctly handsome nor the disfigured ugly, but a face that she would always remember, even in this dim firelight. Soraya didn't hide from the fact that she'd committed his face to memory before for the sole purpose of finding and killing him. It wasn't a bad ability, to be able to pick Farsala's key man out of a crowd.

On that too familiar face rested that same hint of discomfort she remembered him having whenever she touched fire, but his expression mainly held onto a firm, candid smile. It wasn't an easy one, not by a long shot, but the circumstances that had brought him here gave him plenty of reasons to be tense. Nor were they friends—Soraya couldn't remember a time when the atmosphere between them had been easy. "I'm glad I ran into you," he said as he sat down next to her. It was a polite distance.

She didn't return the smile, instead staring into the fire, legs crossed, as she was again reminded of how stupid the Farsalan council was, to send this man here. "The desert isn't safe," she replied. She looked at him, searching his tired features. "I'll tell you everything I know about what's happening, but you have to go back. Farsala can't afford to lose you." Her tongue curled around the familiar yet foreign Faran syllables. She had taught the Proud Walking Clan—her clan—Faran, but they rarely used it. Speaking it again felt like wearing beloved clothes long forgotten. Comfortable, but not missed.

He raised an eyebrow. "So why didn't you send me straight back up that cliff?"

She grinned ironically. "I was on my way to find you, to tell you all I know about what's happening." The grin slipped from her face. "I couldn't have done that with night approaching. You would've been killed."

Despite her dry humor, his smile disappeared.

It took a moment for Soraya to recognize that his silence meant for her to continue. The Suud were hardly as polite, or as quietly compelling. It was nice, she realized. Almost as nice as it was strange. "They call themselves the Bao'mok." It was a stupid play on Suud words—the original bao'ok, the man-hunt, and mok, the equivalent of the logical right, or correct, or what was supposed to be. To them, killing is the right thing to do, she thought, disgusted. "I don't know how many people they're made up of, but their motivation is to stop any more Farsalan invasions." She gave him a pointed look. "By killing any Farsalan that comes into the desert."

It was a risk to bring him to the tribe, but a risk that she had taken nonetheless. The Bao'mok hadn't attacked any Suud clan so far, but then again, no Suud clan had sheltered any Farsalans since they had begun killing. They had no intention of hurting their own—at least, that was how their supporters had conveyed it to Soraya.

Granted, she wasn't exactly native to the desert either, but they hadn't attacked her for being a Farsalan. Yet. All of the Suud knew that she wasn't from the desert—how could they not see it? Her skin was tan, and her hair? Black. Still, she had been with the Suud for years! She was one of them now, in spirit—shilshadu—if not in body. It was ridiculous for Abab and his friends to think that they should have had to protect her when she was traveling alone out of the desert.

"Should I be expecting assassins in the night?" he only half-joked.

She gave him a skeptical look, and his grin faded. He had seen himself how her desert tribesmen could disappear into the night.

"What do the Suud council have to say about this?" he asked, serious once more.

Soft footsteps approached, alerting the both of them to another's presence. "Nothing," Maok sat down next to them, nimble despite her aged appearance. Soraya smiled at her teacher in greeting, while the peddler simply nodded. Nothing much had changed about the old woman in the four years Soraya had lived in the desert. While she had grown taller (only a little, regrettably) and into the twenty year-old she was now, Maok had remained the same—resilient, strong, and vivid with vitality.

"Why not?" Kavi asked. "They can't have a group running around, killing people indiscriminately. By the Wheel, that's begging for a war."

"If you let me speak, I will tell you." Maok's tone held the edge of someone dealing with something that needed unnecessary perseverance, and the peddler flushed. Soraya hid a grin. He probably didn't have people telling him to be quiet these days. "Our council does not meet regularly, and to meet takes time to find all the members, all from different tribes. We also are divided in what to do. The Bao'mok do not hurt their own, and many of the people wish for the same thing as they do. The men that dig have never been welcome, but still they come."

Kavi opened his mouth again, but was silenced by Maok's look. "Killing is not our way. It is the young and the foolish that do this. Some had their men killed by your miners, some their children, and more have been hurt. They do not see that killing is not our way," she repeated. "Yet, how are we to stop them, when our ways have not worked?"

With a nod, Maok signaled that she was finished.

Kavi looked thoughtful. "It's already illegal to come here and mine metals, but stopping anyone on their way to the desert is pointless. It doesn't take much to say that they're just going to the desert for some herbs, or even to hunt—nothing outside the law."

Soraya frowned. "But they'll have picks and shovels for mining. It's not that hard to judge that they're miners."

The Councilherd nodded agreement. "It's not that hard, sure, but we hardly have a perimeter of men to stop folk from coming into the desert."

Soraya raised an eyebrow. "What happened to the army Jiaan raised?"

Kavi sighed. "They've been gone for years. The threat of the Hrum and their Flame-begotten draft were what made them into Farsala's army—and Commander Jiaan, too, but both of them are gone."

Both points were true. Jiaan had been gone for four years, at first in Kadesh, and then to the lands beyond. The last she had heard, the Hrum had conquered yet another nation after the siege on Kadesh. For all she knew, Jiaan could be countries away. She was about to ask Kavi about his whereabouts when suddenly a wide, jaw-splitting yawn broke over his face.

It was surprising to feel a jab of consideration tap her conscience, and she almost said, "You should get some sleep," before she caught herself. He had probably walked quite far to make it here before nightfall. But then again, she hadn't had news of Merdas and Sudaba, or of Jiaan, for two years. She could have visited Farsala much more often—hid there, away from the Bao'mok, like Elid had told her to. She could have lived with what remained of her family. She could have, but she hadn't. It was with regret that she stifled her out-of-place concern.

However, it was a surprise that Maok was the one who said, "You must rest."

The Councilherd shook his head. "No, I have to write a report saying I got—" Another yawn. "—into the desert safely." To Maok, he asked, "Would it be possible for me to send a message through one of your lads? All they would have to do is fire an arrow with my message attached to it up the cliff. There should be a man that collects it tomorrow morning."

Maok grinned. "Clever, very clever. Yes, Abab can do that for you while he hunts."

"You should be leaving tomorrow morning, not staying," Soraya protested. Even though the danger was still unconfirmed, she was uneasy about having him in the desert. She had seen the withered bodies of miners in the rock mazes; the offhand picks and shovels in paths far too deep into the desert for any Farsalan to make it out alive.

Her teacher looked at her with eyes dancing with amusement. "The Bao'mok have never attacked one of their own, girl. It is no trouble to keep him here for a night or two."

Kavi's expression lit up with gratitude. "Thank you."

"Go, join the hunt," Maok instructed Soraya. Turning to Kavi, she said, "You, come with me. We have extra room for you with the children."

The peddler rose to catch up with the receding form of the old woman, while Soraya sat for a moment more near her fire. Then, with a sigh of defeat, she went inside her hut, took her bow and arrows, and headed outside of the camp. The moonlight was strong tonight, so she should be able to get some hunting done.

She was unsurprised to see Abab waiting for her on the trail she usually took. "I don't need a chaperone," Soraya said in Faran.

Abab smiled. "Who said chaperone? I like to hunt with you," he replied, also in Faran, falling into step with her easily. Like her, he had also grown in the years that they had lived together, and maintained his height with hers—their footsteps matched with every stride they took. And unlike most of the tribe, he had picked up Faran the most.

Soraya sighed, resigned. She hadn't been able to leave the camp without someone else following her for the last year, and she doubted she could outmaneuver Abab, much less any adult Suud. Although she had lived here for four years, and even though she prided herself on keeping up with the rest of the Proud Walking clan, she could never be able to fade into the desert quite as easily as the rest of them.

In Suud, he said, "I am glad that Kavi has come back."

Soraya snorted.

He waved a finger at her, something, she realized with a little annoyance, he had learned from her. "Don't pretend you aren't. You're a bad liar."

She grinned reluctantly in response. Abab knew her too well these days.

They walked in silence before he spoke again. "You didn't tell him about Lupsh."

"No, I didn't," Soraya replied evenly. A faint desert breeze tickled the nape of her neck. Lupsh, the first Suud to fashion a watersteel blade under the Kavi's instruction, had joined the Bao'mok a few months ago, and soon after, the group had begun to forge watersteel swords. The Proud Walking Clan had kept the technique a secret from all the other clans—Maok had said something about the Council deeming it unnecessary to their desert's way of life—and had never made more than a handful of swords. They did teach the other clans how to forge, but not watersteel.

Soraya couldn't understand why Lupsh had left. Recalling the day when the entire clan stood in shock as Lupsh's mother explained that he had joined the Bao'mok and would not return until the Suud were free sent faint chills of alarm into her body. He was her friend, a cheerful and dedicated man who had just reached adulthood two years ago. He had even befriended a few smiths in Mazad during the Hrum's siege. Why would he join the group so determined to kill all Farsalans in the desert? What reason had enough power to make a man like Lupsh help murderers?

"He doesn't need to know about it," she said, her cool expression unchanged as she tasted a muted, bitter sense of betrayal. With fierce control, she trapped those feelings away. "All he needs to do is go back and tell Farsala that they should just leave the desert alone."

Abab made a small "hm" noise in response.

"Besides, Maok has an assignment for you," Soraya said, referencing Kavi's report.

Abab smiled when his eyes caught hers. They held no judgment about her decision to avoid the topic of Lupsh. "That can wait until morning. For now, we hunt."

Soraya grinned in return, as she allowed herself to relax under his acceptance. As she did, a light breeze she had grown accustomed to faded, and she realized with a hint of distress that she had tapped into the air's shilshadu. Impatiently, she shut the door between her spirit and everything else. It never happened with water, or fire, or trees—with each, she could only feel a few emotions before they disassociated with her shilshadu. Feeling a sense of unease settle in the pit of her stomach, she glanced at Abab. He looked at her with an unspoken question, and she smiled reassuringly. She would worry about control later. Abab was much more in tune with the shilshadu of others, despite his lack of skill with fire. If she were troubled for too long, he would know.

Because she was troubled. Deeply so.