Saad and the monk had been walking for perhaps ten minutes when she heard the footsteps behind them.
She knew them before she turned. The particular rhythm of them — unhurried, slightly too wide in the stride for the street — was as familiar to her as her own breathing.
Suad fell into step beside her without a word. Hands behind his head. Eyes forward. The expression of someone who had somewhere else to be and had simply chosen not to be there.
She looked at him.
He didn't look back.
"I thought you were going to the hotel," she said.
"I changed my mind," he said.
"Why?"
"I felt like walking."
She looked at the monk, who was watching the street ahead with the serene expression of someone who had not noticed anything and was not going to mention it if he had. She looked back at Suad, who had the slightly rigid jaw of someone who had made a decision and was committed to not explaining it.
She said nothing. She let him have it.
The monk acknowledged Suad with a small nod and continued walking, and the three of them settled into step together — the monk on her left, Suad on her right, the evening street quiet around them — as if this had always been the arrangement.
The bridge was old — wide stone worn smooth at the center by generations of feet, and below it two rivers met, the darker water of one threading slowly into the lighter water of the other in patterns that took a moment to stop watching.
It was on the bridge that the monk began to hum.
It caught Saad off guard — the sound rising from him clear and unhurried, like water running over stone, not quite a melody she could name, not structured in any way she could place. Just a tone that moved slightly and repeated and settled into the air around them and stayed there.
She found herself walking closer to him without deciding to.
Sadaharta turned and looked at her and smiled.
"Are you interested?" he asked.
She nodded. She was not sure she could have said why — this man seemed so entirely out of place in the world she moved through, and yet so entirely unbothered by it, that she kept finding herself wanting to know what he knew.
"It's called a hymn," he said. "We use it in prayer. When you hum, it brings comfort and serenity to the soul. Most hymns are meaningless as words — that is the point. You clear your mind and repeat it, and after enough repetitions it comes naturally, without effort."
"How many repetitions?" she asked.
"About a thousand."
"That's too many," she said.
"It isn't, not really. One hymn takes about fifteen minutes. The day has twenty hours. If you hummed without stopping, you would reach—"
"Eighty times a day," said Suad.
He was walking a few paces ahead, hands still behind his head, eyes on the far end of the bridge. Saad had been completely certain he wasn't listening. She kept her expression neutral.
The monk looked at Suad's back with an expression of genuine pleasure.
"Exactly," he said. "And one week here is sixteen days. So in a single week of full humming you would exceed a thousand repetitions already. If you hum only ten hours a day, two weeks is enough. It is not as long as it sounds."
He glanced at Suad, who was now muttering something under his breath that Saad couldn't catch. She ignored her brother and turned back to the monk.
"Who created it?" she asked.
Sadaharta looked up at the sky. Two moons were still visible at this hour, pale and fading. He looked at them the way she had seen him look at things that meant something specific to him — not casually, but with a kind of private recognition. Then he turned to her.
"Let me tell you a story," he said.
They walked. His voice was the same quality as the humming — unhurried, clear, as if the words knew where they were going.
"The hymn did not come from this world," he said. "It was brought here by a man who traveled very far — not across land or sea, but across something much greater. He came from another world, another place entirely, and when he arrived he carried this with him as a gift. A gift from his god to the people he found here."
Saad said nothing. She kept walking.
"His god had chosen him for this purpose," the monk continued. "Given him enlightenment — truly, not in the careless way people use that word. An understanding of what is harmonious and what is not. Of what brings peace across great distances, and what breaks it. He was sent to teach this. To carry the truth to those who did not yet have it."
"And people believed him?" she asked.
"Some did. Some always do, and some never will. Truth does not force itself. It only waits."
Saad thought about a man arriving somewhere from somewhere else entirely, with a hymn in his throat and a god's instructions in his chest and a world full of people who had no story prepared for him. She thought about what it would take to keep going under those conditions.
She thought about the monk's face as he said it — not the face of someone recounting a legend. Something more specific than that. Something known.
She filed it away and said nothing.
"That's all very well, monk," said Suad, stopping and pointing, "but we've arrived."
Saad looked up. The hotel was directly in front of them — they had looped back without her realizing it, the walk circling in a way she wasn't sure was accidental.
Sadaharta bowed — hands together, the small forward tilt — first to Suad, then to Saad.
"It was a pleasure walking with you both," he said.
"You mean trying to brainwash us into the Rakash," said Suad.
Saad glared at him. She turned to the monk and copied his bow as best she could.
"Thank you for the walk," she said.
The monk's smile widened. He turned and went, unhurried, back the way they had come, the orange robe catching the last of the evening light until he turned a corner and was gone.
Saad turned to her brother.
"You could spare to be a little nicer to him," she said.
"And be a third wheel? No thank you," said Suad. He was pouting — the deliberate, exaggerated pout, the one he deployed when he wanted her to find him difficult to stay annoyed at. It was working, which was annoying in itself.
She shook her head. She pushed his shoulder to get him moving.
"Come on, baby brother. Back to the hotel."
He went, still pouting, and she walked beside him, and she was feeling, for no reason she could fully account for, slightly goofy — lighter than she had felt in days.
While they walked, she turned over what the monk had said. The things he described contradicted much of what she believed — not at the edges but at the center, the parts she had always assumed were settled. Suad seemed to be in a cheerful mood beside her, but she felt the friction of it pressing against the inside of her chest, the defensive tightening that came when something challenged what she had always taken to be simply true.
She wondered how anyone could believe it. How they could say it with a straight face — world travelers, chosen men, gods sending people across galaxies with hymns in their mouths. Myths recited as fact.
What a load of nonsense, she thought.
She didn't quite manage to make it feel entirely true.
* * *
As they neared the hotel they saw two suspicious persons walking toward the outskirts of town.
Both siblings looked at each other. Then they followed.
It was not a necessity — they both knew that. But it was something they decided to do without discussion, the way they had always decided such things since they were children. Someone going somewhere interesting, and you followed, and you found out. Simple as that.
The two figures were both adults, both male, wearing dark hooded cloaks. The thing that distinguished them was the brooch on each hood — a stylized symbol, worked in dull metal.
Saad signed to Suad without looking at him:
Arwasim.
He nodded. His face had the look she recognized — the childlike excitement he never bothered to hide when something caught his interest. She felt it rise in her too, despite herself. The chase and follow, natural as a game.
"Do you feel like we are being followed?" asked the bigger of the two men.
Saad pressed herself against the wall and raised her mouth cover. She let the training take over — the mantra she had repeated until it lived in her bones rather than her mind.
Blend into the shadow. Hide your presence. You are nothing, and nothing is you. No one sees anything, and you see nothing.
She turned to check on Suad.
He was not there.
"Yo," said Suad's voice, loudly, from the middle of the street. "Where are you two going?"
She wanted to hit him. She stepped out of the doorway instead.
The bigger man had squared up. The smaller one had shifted to the side, already reading himself for a fight. Two against two. Saad inhaled the strengthening drug as she walked forward — and she began to think through what she knew about the Arwasim.
A secretive people. Rumors about them were plentiful and contradictory — some said they practiced black magic and served Ragim, others said they worshipped an extinct creature, a legendary being called the CAT. The queen of all animals, supposedly — an intelligent creature that had once lived in the wild and was respected by every animal, small and large alike. It had appeared to their ancestors, so the story went, and shown them the truth of the world. Their faith and their traditions all traced back to the CAT.
Based on their genders, these two would be at the very bottom of their civilization's ladder. The Arwarians were known for their severe discrimination against men. Their country was ruled by the great priestess. Men existed, in their faith, only to serve women — their primary purpose was to produce children, daughters above all. Whatever these two were doing here, they were doing it far from home and on their own terms.
"We are from Namo," said Suad, hands behind his head, wide open, unbothered. "We are not suspicious."
The shorter of the two laughed.
It made Saad jump back slightly — then she heard it properly, genuine and young, and looked at him. He pushed back his hood to reveal a face that was round and bright and couldn't have been more than fifteen. She relaxed.
"Don't worry," said the boy. "You are very suspicious. But you are outsiders. Same as us."
"So what are you carrying?" asked Suad.
The two men looked at each other. Then they looked at Saad — asking permission, she realized. Suad had removed his blindfold and was grinning at her. She knew exactly what he was suggesting. She didn't have the time or energy for it.
"Is the lady Saad interested in our humble job?" said the tall guy, he seemed to be on guard
She removed her mouth cover anyway. it was a reckless move, but she already inhaled the powder, so if it came back to a fight, then she would have time to throw some moves before the need to sniff the drug arise.
"First — just Saad, not 'the lady.' Second, we have nothing to do until we leave, so we might as well get some enjoyment," she said.
She turned to Suad, who was pouting at her. Serve him right.
Both men seemed annoyed. She felt a flash of panic and cleared her throat.
"I mean we can—"
"We can help you," said Suad, cutting in smoothly. "As you can see, we are in need of funds."
She rubbed her shoulder. She was grateful he had saved it — the men had relaxed immediately — but she felt like she had lost something. She hoped she hadn't appeared to be showing off.
"Well, if it is about money, then we can afford to hire you," said the shorter man. He turned to Saad. She nodded, not entirely sure what she was agreeing to, but it seemed to be enough for them to continue.
"My name is Amri," said the taller one, "and this is Awa. We are carrying this load to a doctor outside the city. It is very important that it arrives undamaged."
"It looks heavy," said Suad. "What is it?"
"Well, we don't mind telling you," said Awa, "but then we would have to kill you."
Suad laughed. Saad tensed — then heard the others laughing and understood it was a joke. She never understood these types of jokes. Suad said she never understood any jokes, which was not true. It was just this particular kind.
"We are helping Dr. Awran with her research," said Awa. "Have you heard of her?"
"No, but she must be in the medical field," said Suad.
"Yes. A great doctor. She has brought very revolutionary discoveries in the field of medicine and surgary," said Amri.
Saad looked at the bag. At its size. At the careful way they held it. She felt the dread creep up slowly, already knowing.
"So you kidnap people for her study," said Suad.
"No, no, no—" said Amri, shaking his hands.
"Dead bodies," said Awa. "Dug freshly from the graveyard."
"Ah," said Suad. "That explains the smell."
Saad stared at him. He looked entirely untroubled. She looked at the bundle. What was he doing — kidnapping bodies? They were humans. They were people, alive or not. No one had any right to play with their remains, to disgrace their rest. It was not right. It was not ethical.
"Imagine this," said Amri. "These people are dead. They do nothing. But once we take them, they can contribute to the development of medicine that saves millions — billions, even. Some of these people amounted to nothing in their lives. But in death they can say they helped the world. Isn't that great? If I die, I want to be used like this. To be remembered as a saviour. Isn't it?"
Saad wanted to protest. But Suad was already nodding, and she wanted to scream, and then she stopped. Was it right? If it helped, shouldn't it be fine? There was something wrong about this — but also something that wasn't? She didn't know. The doctor was trying to do good, using something no one would care about. After all, when the soul leaves the body, the body is left to rot in the ground. So what was the problem? The memories? The vessel?
She didn't know. And she was not in any position to give judgment.
If this had been the Saad from before — three months ago, six months ago — she would have objected. Loudly, and with the confidence of someone who had never needed to question what they knew. She had been ignorant and self-centered in her beliefs. But now, after everything, she knew that nothing was simply black and white. Nothing was justified purely by your own beliefs and morals. What mattered were the benefits. What you gained.
"It makes sense," she said.
She had muttered it. But it made the other three go quiet. The two Arwasim recovered quickly. Her brother was looking at her strangely. She ignored him.
"We'll help," she said. "What do you need?"
"Help us get out of the city unnoticed. Avoid the guards," said Amri.
"How much can you pay us for that trouble?" said Suad.
Saad wanted to knock him out. She was the one talking. Why did he always take the momentum? She was the higher ranked. She was in charge.
"Are you really negotiating money right now?" she said, hands on her hips.
"You are the one who said we are low on funds," said Suad.
"And who is the reason for that?"
"I am trying to fix it," he whined.
This produced a laugh from both Arwasim that broke whatever remained of the tension. Saad felt something in her chest loosen. Sometimes — only sometimes — her brother's childishness produced exactly the right result.
Suad and Amri negotiated. It went on for some time.
"How about—" said Suad.
"No. We can give you no more than—" said Amri.
"We take no less than—" said Suad.
"We can only afford—" said Amri.
"Deal," said Suad.
"Deal," said Amri.
Both men shook on it with the satisfied air of people who enjoyed the process as much as the outcome. Saad watched in amusement. Awa shook his head, then looked at her hurriedly as if afraid of insulting her, then shook his head again. She snorted.
Suad held Amri's hand a beat longer than the shake required. Saad felt her headache beginning. He was pent up. She just hoped he would not start performing as usual — but she supposed that was something she could only dream about.
Amri seemed not to notice. He was laughing happily.
The group moved out. All the way through the city and past the guards — Suad handling the story, Saad providing the bearing — Suad tried to be flirtatious, and all of it went entirely over Amri's head. When they reached the handoff point outside the walls and said their goodbyes, Amri did not react to Suad's hug. He patted his shoulder cheerfully and turned away.
Saad watched her brother watch them go.
He was an animalistic creature, she thought — always honest about his desires, never embarrassed by them, even when the world had no room for what he wanted. The Arwarians were lenient with women and women's relationships, but they were severe about men. To them, a man who wasted himself on another man had failed his entire purpose. These two were devoted Arwarians, she could tell from everything about them. Her brother would have to satisfy himself elsewhere.
She didn't say any of this.
"Ready?" she said.
He put his hands behind his head.
"Ready," he said.
They walked back toward the city together in the dark.
* * *
By the time they reached the hotel they were both exhausted and their funds were in better shape than they had been in days.
Suad counted out his share. He looked at her once — the look she recognized, the one that meant he was going out — and she looked back at him and said nothing, because she was tired and because she too was pent up and there was nothing useful to say about either of those things.
He left. She heard his footsteps on the stairs, then the street door, then the city swallowing him.
She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment.
There were no brothels for women in this city. She had checked, not because she had expected to find one, but because it was the kind of thing she checked. There weren't. This left her with her own resources, which were sufficient.
She went to the bathroom. Used the toilet. Washed her hands. Looked at her face in the small mirror — someone who had been traveling through difficult cities for a long time, which was accurate.
She took a long hot shower and let the water run until it went cool, standing in it with her eyes closed, not thinking about the hymn or the bundle or the monk's face when he told his story.
When she got out she took care of her remaining business efficiently and without drama, because she was a practical person and the body was a practical thing, and by the time she was finished she was tired in a way that went all the way down.
She pulled the blanket up.
She closed her eyes.
The hymn followed her anyway — the monk's voice on the bridge, clear and unhurried, moving slightly and repeating. Meaningless, he had said. That was the point.
She let it go.
She slept.