Several days later, Haru feels he's reached an… understanding with Ankle, if not quite a full relationship. At least Makoto's let him off the kiddy leash, even if he does still tend to stick close to Haru.
Iwatobi moves at a much faster clip than any of the unwieldy caravans Haru's been hired by before. Their captain actually prefers travelling at night over journeying under the sun—though much faster, the dromads aren't quite as immune to the heat as camels are, especially the four that they've hitched to the chassis.
Haru's amazed by how well the bandits treat their mounts. The relationship between man and animal is less master-servant, more partnership. The men (and sole woman) sleep with their animals, feed them straight from their hands, talk to them like they're humans.
Laughing, Makoto says, "Of course," when Haru points this out to him. "We're not a caravan. Anyway, you'll understand once you have to run your first getaway. When soldiers are after you, it's the trust between you and her that matters, not your steel or your strength. Delpha's probably saved my life more often than I've saved hers. One time we botched a job, I got separated from the rest of the crew. Me and her spent a week and a half squashed into this tiny little cave, half a dozen pissed-off mercs staking us out outside. We almost ran out of water and there were snakes." He smiles ruefully. "Lucky; we both had snake for dinner that night."
"They eat snake?"
"They'll eat anything if they're hungry enough—not unlike us."
Iwatobi also moves in a very different pattern than Haru's used to. Instead of the usual long, sweaty slog in the day and exhausted rest in the dead of night, they travel in three cycles of sleep-and-ride. He has to adapt to catnapping in scant slivers of two or three hours, and half those under the dead press of midday heat, the sand burning like iron through his clothes.
Still, he doesn't mind. There's something enchanting about riding at night—it's different from gazing up at the sky in the few minutes before sleep. It surprises him, how the stars rise and set just as much as the sun, how the moon shrinks every night from a bloated gold coin to a pale white circle. Leagues away from any manmade light, the sky is as cracked with colors as if some giant had spilled a sack of powdered dyes over its velvet-black curve. Sometimes, when there's no light to draw the line between ground and sky, Haru gets the dizzying feeling that he'll float straight off the earth's surface and be sucked into that infinite distance. It's those times he's thankful for these (still mostly) strange men around him, the solid feel of Ankle's smooth hide, the gentle shuffle of hooves in sand anchoring him.
He's sure harder times will be coming soon, but for now, he's enjoying things. He likes Gou, finds it amusing how her eyes wander haphazardly all over a man's body but step as surely over the stars as a king's—"Gemini's too far to our left. Turn a little." And he likes Makoto, Makoto who's everywhere at once, talking amiably to the men, to Gou, to him, the outsider, making sure everything's in working order in his unobtrusive way. Even the dromads reach out for him when he walks by, and more often than not are rewarded with some treat slipped from his pocket.
He's been in and out of the tent all day, today. He slides out of it for the third time as Haru's trying to light the fire.
"It hasn't laid a spell on you, has it?" he asks, struggling with the flint.
"I can't hear it talk—not that I really believe that, anyway." Makoto frowns. "I think it's sick."
A gust of wind whisks the beginnings of Haru's flame away. Makoto crouches—"here, let me—" and efficiently strikes out sparks against the little pile of tinder, cupping the flame in his palm until it's grown strong enough to stand against the wind.
"The water," offers Haru.
"Sorry?"
"Maybe it's the water."
"It is pretty cloudy. But we can't really do anything about it, not until we reach Damesthebeba."
"Once you sell it, it's not your problem, anyway."
"I know. Maybe—maybe Gou can talk to whoever buys it, make sure they, you know, change the water," he says hopefully.
"Are you sure it hasn't spelled you?"
"I swear—"
"Joking." Makoto falls silent, looking chastised, and Haru bites his lip to keep from laughing. The guy's built like a lion, but his demeanor is closer to a puppy's. There isn't a speck of cruelty in those eyes. Again, Haru catches himself wondering why a man more suited to healing than hurting is helping command a legion of bandits. "You care a lot about—things."
Makoto half-laughs. "I thought it was only people up till now, but I guess sirens count too?"
"And animals," Haru adds, patting his dromad's foot.
"Actually, back home we had a bunch of houseplants too, and—"
"Worst bandit ever," mutters Haru. After a second, he asks, "Why are you…?"
"Honestly? You'll probably be disappointed, it's so mundane. I just want the money."
"…that is a little disappointing."
"Haru's so mean!"
"You're a robber, you're not supposed to care."
"…Fair point, I guess."
"You're not keeping it for yourself," Haru guesses.
"No. It's for my family."
"Wife?"
"God, no! I'm only twenty-one—no. My parents, and—I have two little siblings. Twins, boy and girl. My mom and dad, they're shopkeepers in this little town in Hoet, so they're not exactly rich, you know? And the king—"
"Taxes," mutters Haru. It's difficult on everyone, but for a family, it must be even worse. The royals don't make exceptions for dependents. They don't make exceptions for anyone except themselves.
"I just—I'm really afraid for them. I caught my brother stealing once. It wasn't his fault, he was hungry, but it scared me, a lot. He was seven, that's too young to…"
Haru understands. They hang thieves, or cut their hands off if they're children. He'd like to think one's better than the other, but it's not much of a choice. "They'll kill you, if they catch you," he says.
Makoto smiles drily. "If," is all he says. "And until then, there's the money." He points at the sky, and Haru traces his finger to two pinpoints sparkling like gems at the ends of a bow. "Ren and Ran," he says, finger flicking from one to the other. "That's their names. My parents looked high."
Haru nods. The cruxes of the twin blades of Gemini, ruler of the spring-summer change, the warming air and growing things. It's a good sign, he thinks, and not less because the formation rests right under Ahanliya the swordsman, protector of Heaven's gateway.
He'd always thought the sky a lonely place, and especially at night. All these bits of light, battling vainly against the dark, constellations wrestling their shadows, so far away. Now, he wonders what it's like to look up and see your family. What it's like to fight for something, not against.
The boy next to him is still gazing heavenwards, starry-eyed.
()
When they finally, finally dismount for the day, the captain of the guard laughs at Rei's bow-legged, wincing walk. Rei's almost too sore to care about their sneers. Not all of us can be used to this barbaric lifestyle.
Step, throb. Crouching is a pain-ridden exploration of muscles worn stiff as washboards. He's ridden before, of course, but not often, and certainly never like this. In the city he'd always walk or hire a rickshaw.
Womanish, that part of him sneers.
Be quiet.
But it doesn't, of course. It's never so easy to get rid of. If only they knew about the rest, eh? Not just scholar, but queer-tempered? An oddling. They hang men like you.
He tugs loose a buckle on his boot, empties out sand and a few pebbles. They hang everyone for everything these days.
But this is different. People cheer when oddlings swing. Ordinary people hate you—mothers and fathers, schoolchildren, your fellow doctors. Men of arms, above all. You think these soldiers would tolerate you for a second if they knew what you wanted? What you dream about?
He licks his lips, parched. I said, shut up.
Or maybe they already know. They all look at you funny. Laugh at you. Maybe they're just waiting to hurt you. Way out in this desert, surrounded. No one would come help you. No one would hear you. Just like that time—
Shut up. That was years ago, anyway, back before he learned how to hide it, to school his face, his body. To parrot other men's coarse appreciation of the female form like some street entertainer's penny-pulling bird. He avoids quiet alleys at night, now, and drunkenness in others' company, and always carries a heavy knife in his pocket.
Wouldn't know in the slightest how to use it. Never wielded a weapon in his life, no, never fought back, not that time nor the others. Healer. Book-reader. Soft hands. Queer. Unnatural—
"Ryuugazaki?"
A hand on his shoulder; he can't help the recoil, or the slight hitch in his voice when he says, "Yes?"
"You're all right?"
"I think so, yes. Thank you." Never alright, never normal. He quashes the voice back down, with difficulty. It's the damn boredom of this long ride, surrounded by other men, that brings on thoughts like these. The taint of old fear coils in his stomach, hissing. He has to keep from asking himself, over and over, if this or that person knows. The members of the company have been nothing but civil to him, he tells himself firmly, so there's no reason to balk like some frightened animal when one of them comes near.
The man grunts. "Better save your thanks; we're heading out again in ten."
"Good God almighty," Rei sighs. "You'll be the death of me yet." He pats the neck of his dromad. At the very least, you don't have any thoughts against me.
The dromad whinnies and bites at his hand, and Rei laughs, pulling his fingers away. Well, maybe, but these don't bother him.
()
The next day, they reach Damesthebeba.
It emerges alarmingly suddenly from the desert wastes, tucked deep within a winding canyon sunken into the ground and threatening to vanish beneath the massive dunes surrounding it at any moment. From any angle but one, a passersby would see only innocuous sand. Approached the right way, like coaxing an animal, the city yields up a bounty of gold, alcohol, and questionable morality. The place is armed to the teeth, bristling with turrets and walls and huge heavy doors. If Gou wasn't riding with full confidence inwards, Haru would feel a little afraid.
The people certainly don't ease his mind. At first he thinks everyone's glaring at them, but he quickly realizes that everyone's glaring at everyone. Glaring's the default expression here, it seems; wrapped once again in her vermillion head-scarf, Gou's sending some major side-eye of her own.
"Welcome to the city of crooks," says Makoto cheerfully, waving at someone over the heads of the crowd. Haru snorts. Of course, Makoto would've made friends even in a place like this. Stalking through the crowd elbows-up, Gou gives Haru a long-suffering look. Haru would pity her, but it's not like she had to bring Makoto. In fact, he'd thought it rather strange that she'd insisted on bringing not only her second-in-command but also himself, hardly a trusted member of the crew—until he realized she was just choosing the fittest men to escort her.
They've left most of the caravan outside the city proper. The tank is too big and its contents too valuable for them to take inside the walls. Instead, whatever purchaser Gou is looking for will be taken to the cart, and the whole thing handed off, leaving Iwatobi free to retreat into the desert at all speed. The crew is on edge; Gou seems confident that the guard will swoop down on them at any moment, and she intends to make the sale today.
"In here." She gestures at a tavern that seems to have been carved straight into a wall of the canyon. "And easy with the hands, boys—you don't want this guy to fright."
Haru senses danger the moment he enters the room. The air outside, seething and roiling like hot oil, congeals rapidly in the cool dark to a suffocating thickness. It's quiet, eerily so. Men's eyes gleam in candlelight like wolves'. Swallowing, Haru keeps his hand well away from the hilt of his sword.
Stares track them lazily as they make their way to the back. The man waiting there is even bigger than Makoto, musclebound as the two sandwolves sitting at his feet. Their chains clink as he and Gou, impossibly slim-looking in comparison, bow slightly to one another.
"Captain Gou."
"Kairas."
He rises suddenly, and Haru feels Makoto tense behind him. Gou doesn't give an inch.
"I saw your convoy come in."
"You know we have it, then."
The man flashes his teeth at them, more a grimace than a grin. "And we the payment." He sets his goblet down on the table; the bowl of it is the size of Haru's head. "A drink for the lady?"
"I'm afraid I'm in rather a hurry," says Gou, voice colder than desert frost.
Kairas nods, slowly. "You and I both, Captain. Let's ride." He flicks one of his fingers slightly and one of his men streaks off, probably to alert his crew that the deal's been brokered.
Gou and Kairas ride ahead; their respective guards follow behind, jostling uneasily. One of the men, strong-lean and scrawny like a hyena, points at his ragged, deformed left ear and spits at Makoto. "Someday, Blackfish," he hisses.
"I'll rematch anytime," Makoto answers evenly, a foreign tang of steel in his voice.
"I'll use my teeth, like you did. I'll go slow."
After a moment of taut silence, Makoto urges his dromad a few paces forward.
()
"Your Highness."
"Let it be known that I'm going to fucking ignore you if you call me that."
Nitori sighs. "We should probably slow down. You're going to wear them out if we keep going at this rate." After a few moments of tetchy silence, Nitori pulls his dromad to an even walk, forcing Rin to follow suit a few minutes later. "And you don't have to keep glancing around like that, you'll just give yourself a crick in the neck. It's highly unlikely they'll take this route with that big of a group, and anyway, even if they did see us they wouldn't think anything of two travelers."
"Do you always have to be so damn reasonable?"
"I'd be more than happy to be the crazy paranoid one if you wanted to switch someday."
"...I don't think you could if you tried."
"My Prince would be astonished at the things I've picked up from him."
Truth be told, the guard's the least of Rin's worries. The farther out they get, the more he's realizing what a half-assed plan this is. Not for him; by now, he's more than proficient at getting away with all sorts of trouble. No, it's Nitori he's worried about.
This always seems to happen. Rin cooks up some cock-headed scheme, Nitori faithfully tags along, and in the end Rin somehow manages to pull princely privileges and get Nitori out of any serious consequences. But this, this is serious, and it's only now, with Nitori rattling away about something or other by his side that he's realizing it.
Rin sighs. He's always so shit at this—at thinking about others. At taking care of the people around him. He couldn't protect his mother, or his sister, and this time he might not be able to protect Nitori. Is it because he's a prince, or would he have been this selfish even if he'd been born a commoner? He doesn't know which bothers him more.
He's always tried to fight it—that inbred, in-looking, royal way of thinking. He reminds himself of his position at least a hundred times a day, but he's not a prince just a hundred times a day, he's a prince all the time, day and night, and it's like being slowly poisoned, being surrounded by all those painted-on smiles.
Sometimes he gets so sick of this trap that's his life that he wants to scream at everyone, hurl precious things out the window of his room, kick open doors and bruise things that don't matter. But then what would people say—look at the royal brat, throwing tantrums again. Just like his father. Just like Father.
The day someone tells him that, Rin's sworn to himself he'll go jump out a window or something.
So he sulks and snaps instead, and one time punches the wall and yells because he was unprepared for the pain, and then has to get stitches put in his knuckles. Stupid, stupid. Nitori had called him an idiot, then, behind the relative privacy of the sickroom curtains. Rin half-smiles. Yeah, Nitori's good for him. He might be an annoying little bitch sometimes, but then again, Rin's pretty sure that's just himself rubbing off on him.
Nitori's waving a hand in front of his face. "Hello? Anyone in there?"
"Yeah, yeah, I was fucking listening."
"What was I talking about, then?"
"…probably not anything important."
"Rude, your Highness. As a matter of fact, it was rather important."
"Just spit it out, already."
"As I was saying, we'll be at Damesthebeba by nightfall." When Rin stares blankly at him, Nitori prompts, "Did you have, say, a plan or something? Or were we more favoring the, ah, 'running-around-like-headless-chickens' method of approaching our murder most foul? And before you say yes, let me remind you that the last time we tried that—"
"Very funny. You'll be happy to know I do indeed have a plan."
"I'm relieved and pleasantly surprised, your Highness."
"Yeah, save your relief for after we get away with it."
"I have full faith in you," says Nitori, and the damnable thing is that Rin knows that Nitori means it.
Well, he tells himself, that just means you can't fail. The thought isn't reassuring in the slightest.