It was hard work, gathering enough wood for a fire when we didn't even have an axe. We had to wrench bushes apart with our bare hands, and the bushes protested, sinking thorns and splinters into our skin and under our nails. But neither Thesil nor I complained. At this point, what good would complaining do?
The desert was a cool desert, but I sweated under the sun's caress. My skin had turned to prickles of warmth, broken by the occasional thorn. I wondered if that was an early symptom of death-palsy, and once I'd thought it, I couldn't stop.
It was a stupid little worry. I hadn't shared drink with him, before he died. I hadn't touched the body.
Not yet.
I stopped to wipe my brow. Thesil gave one last tug on the bush nearest us and ripped it in half.
"You're strong," I said, for want of anything else to say.
Thesil signed, "Thanks," with the hand not occupied by branches. She gazed at me, her mouth set in a crooked frown. Aloud, she said, "You didn't have to stay."
I sent her a stupefied look. "What?"
Suddenly she wasn't looking at me anymore. "I could've taken care of it myself. You should've gone with the troupe." Her lips went almost still. I shouldn't have been able to read them. But I did. "Then only one of us would die."
What could I say to that? Words ran through my mind. Reminders that together, we still hadn't built a fire big enough to burn the body. Questions about what sort of person she thought I was, who would stand by her in insisting the body be destroyed and then run away when it came time to do it. What I said was, "We're not going to die."
Thesil's head jerked up. "It's called death-palsy for a reason."
"Abursa told us how to avoid it."
"And she wouldn't even risk touching the body."
"If we die, then there was no point to burning the body at all. We'd just leave more corpses."
"I know." She signed it, her fingers jerky and stiff as they never were. She truly believed we were going to die.
The thought gave my arms strength, and I pulled the rest of the bush out of the ground.
"Strong," she signed.
I dropped the shredded plant and turned on her. "If you were alone, what were you planning to do?"
She shrugged. "I figured I'd build the fire big enough for two."
I slapped her.
She staggered back, her eyes wide and shocked.
"How can you want to die?" I said. "You have all your limbs. You can hear and see and dance. There are people in the troupe that don't have those things, and they keep living. They keep making things, and making a difference, and they're happy. All that happened to you is you lost your voice."
Her hand pressed against her reddening cheek. "And my home."
"We all lost that."
Her shocked look faded, replaced by weariness. "Just because I haven't suffered as much as some people doesn't mean my suffering is worthless."
I hadn't meant to imply that. "No. All it means is I hope you keep going on."
Her shoulders fell. "I'll try." Then she glared over my shoulder towards something unseen.
"What? What's wrong?"
"Your goose won't shut up. It's been screaming since the troupe left."
"Really?"
"I hate you," she said, and we went back to gathering firewood.
#
We piled wood over the body with all the careful precision of someone trying not to sneeze. We'd pulled the frame of the tent apart to add to the pyre. The canvas we rolled up, the body of Damin enfolded in it. I didn't want to look at it again, and Thesil made no objection. Then we poured the jug of naphtha over the whole thing. The flammable liquid sank into the tent, darkening the fabric like tears.
How long, I wondered as I tried to get the flame to catch from my flint striker. How long would it take for signs of illness to show themselves? How long to kill the disease as the body burned?
Abursa hadn't looked concerned that the man could have already been contagious before he left to scout. So it must be short-acting. Fast. In a few days, we would know if we were infected.
I prayed not. As I told Thesil, it would only mean two corpses had replaced one.
The sparks caught on the puff of dried grass I'd laid at the edge of the branch pile. I backed away as the flame licked upwards. A moment after, fire met naphtha, and the pyre erupted into a white inferno. The heat beat against my face, searing my skin and stinging my eyes.
I retreated to stand beside Thesil and watch the fire rage. It didn't dwindle, even when it met green wood. It vomited smoke into the sky and grew and grew. Sweat clung to my brow and shone on Thesil's pale cheeks.
"You know we should throw ourselves into the fire," Thesil said.
"No." I was willing to risk my life. I wasn't willing to sacrifice it.
"The disease will come back. Even if we live, we might carry it."
"We'll hide away in the wilderness if we have to. But suicide is not an option."
She offered no arguments. We stood in silence. It took a long time for the fire to die.
#
The sun beat down on the ashes of the pyre, making them brilliant black and white, like snow dusting rock. But when I looked closely, bone poked from the ash.
I did not look closely again.
I sat with Thesil outside our tent, which we had not burned down, and hugged Sefi. The goose squirmed and nipped my ear, but she was used to my displays of affection. I thought that if I hugged Thesil she wouldn't respond half as well.
She looked as though she needed a hug. Her head drooped towards her chest, and her arms cradled her breasts as if to shield them. I wondered if she regretted my being here. If she would rather have thrown herself into the fire last night, and had to deal with being an imperfecta no longer.
I was glad I'd stayed with her. I didn't want a world without Thesil. She was prickly and angry and quick to despair. But she was quick to learn sign, and willing too, and she would give anything to protect the people around her. Even her life. She had become a friend. And as a friend, it was my job to make sure she stuck around.
I dropped Sefi on her lap, ignoring Thesil's open mouth and Sefi's gaping beak, and rose. I went inside our tent and got to work.
#
I came back outside half an hour later and found Thesil and Sefi sitting together, Thesil's arm thrown across the goose's back. Sefi was snoozing in the sun, her head tucked into her own feathers. I smiled.
"What did you run off for?" Thesil said.
"I wanted to see how many days we can afford to hide out here, in quarantine."
Thesil's mouth shut.
"I presumed you didn't want to run on to the next city. Not when you think we might carry the disease."
"No." She looked away from me. "I thought you might insist we do."
"Why? Because I wouldn't kill myself? We told Abursa we could quarantine ourselves. I meant it."
Her nod was slow in coming. "So. How many days can we stay here before we die anyway?"
I sat on her other side, the one not occupied by the goose. "With the small well near the crossroads, we won't run low on water. But I don't know how far our food will stretch."
"We can eat small meals."
"That will help. But how long is the journey to the next imperfecta camp? If we guess wrong–"
"Starvation," she signed, and looked pleased at herself when I nodded. She was picking up sign so well. Then her smile faded. "We have to risk it. We can't carry the disease to camp."
"No," I agreed. "Are you still convinced we'll be dead in a few days?"
She nodded.
"Don't think like that. Think what we'll do afterwards, instead."
"Walk a long way, I guess."
I nodded. "We'll need to find a new troupe as well."
"Why? You could make a good trade off your paintings without one. Paint a few rocks, and we'd be in business."
"Who would buy a rock?"
"If you put holy symbols on them, the pilgrims will."
"They're already starving."
"Soon so will we." She shrugged. "Without the troupe..."
She had a point. But I didn't like the idea of preying upon the hopes of people who just wanted to be cured. I'd met Amaz, their leader, and I was too certain they would consider the images sacred assistance. I said, "We'll go to my grandmother. I wanted to go there, anyway."
Thesil eyed me. "Your grandmother."
"I've never met her. But she's deaf, too."
Thesil looked at me a long time before nodding. "I can practice my sign."
I laid a hand across hers on Sefi's back.
"If we don't die tomorrow," Thesil said.
#
We waited a week and didn't die.
Our supplies dwindled to a large block of pressed soya and a bag of rice. Sefi's eggs kept us going, I think. At least they were fresh each morning. But they wouldn't be enough for long. We had to move on or we would perish.
Neither of us talked about it. We just packed as many of our things as we could carry on our backs. Our bags barely fit the food and cookware. Thesil wedged two blankets into hers.
My painting things filled much of the space in my pack. Grandmother's letter sat at the bottom. I pushed away the guilty feeling that I was not carrying my share. If Thesil thought my painting could keep us fed, I couldn't afford to abandon them.
Thesil tied her bag shut and waved a hand to get my attention. Her lips moved. "Should we tear the tent down?"
"It's a lost cause," I said. "We could never carry it."
She shrugged. "I didn't mean to carry it. Just... so people don't think someone is still staying here."
I opened my mouth to say, "It'll fall down on its own after a few months," but closed it before any words left my lips. I imagined travelling north on the road and coming across a tent alone and abandoned, like something out of a ghost tale. I shivered. A man had died here. We weren't so far from such a tale. "We'll pull it down," I said and rose to make good on my words.
"Wait. Someone's coming."
"Who?" I signed back, but Thesil was staring outside. I crouched near the entrance and peeked out with her.
A caravan wound its way north in the distance, preceded by a handful of donkey-riders. I couldn't see their faces, only the white of their outfits and the flags that snapped among the wagons at their backs. Flags bearing holy symbols.
Pilgrims.
I took a deep breath, relief welling at the base of my sternum. We could catch a ride with them. They took anyone willing to humble themselves and ask. We wouldn't eat well, but at least we might keep our tent. I stepped out, a hand lifting to wave the riders down. At least, I tried.
Thesil grabbed the back of my camise and hauled me down. "Don't," she said, her lips inches from my face.
I stared at her in bewilderment, my hands stinging from slapping the dirt. "Why?"
"They're talking," she said, her eyes shooting towards the riders. "They're not here to help us. They're here for the baby."
Frisa's baby. I inhaled. "Well, we don't have it. We can still hitch a ride–"
"They're talking about executing people, Zisha."
I froze. "What?"
I was staring out the tent flap, so I missed whatever she said next. But I saw the riders turn their mounts and ride straight for us.
#
I had untangled myself from the tent by the time the first of them reached us. I recognized him long before he swung down from his saddle-pad. The lack of a nose was distinctive. Amaz strode towards me, his eyes narrow and flashing. He didn't look much like the man who had rescued me from the spectacles, or signed kind words to me like I was a lost little girl. He looked enraged, his nostrils flared and chin jutting forward, and he stepped far too close to me for comfort. He smelled of sweat and myrrh.
"Where is the child?" Amaz demanded, his hands slashing.
I took a step back. "I don't know. We separated from them–"
"Surely you understand that an infant cannot be allowed to grow in such squalor. Its soul–"
Thesil had come up beside me. Now her hands swept the air, her signs clumsy but legible. "She told you, we don't know! Are you stupid?"
Stupid was running up to insult a man who'd just been talking about killing people. I glanced at Thesil's face, and the terrified defiance in her expression struck me. She knew it was stupid. She'd done it anyway, to draw him off me. In that moment, I wanted to hug her. But a furious pilgrim loomed over us, so I kept the feeling to myself.
When I looked at Amaz, some of the fury had drained from his face, replaced by something cold and calculating. He signed, "Did they abandon you here, child? It is not done to leave children to starve between camps. Another thing Abursa must answer for." He looked over my head, towards the sky, as though he could see her punishment written in the clouds. I didn't want to know what he saw.
"No!" I signed, so violently he looked back at me. "We chose to stay."
His brows lifted. "People do not chose to stay in the wastelands cursed by the Unknowns. What drove you away? Did they abuse you?" The glitter in his eyes suggested he wanted me to say yes.
"Nothing Abursa did. She's been kind. But she wouldn't let the troupe to stay here to do what needed to be done. We were willing to take the risk." My face heated. I'd made us sound very heroic.
He frowned. "What needed to be done?"
I stepped between him and Thesil. "One of the troupe-members died. A scout who had gone ahead to the city. When he came back..." I hesitated. To name the devil seemed to conjure it.
Thesil, behind me, must have responded, because Amaz's face paled and then turned red. A vein stood out in his throat, drawing my attention away from his hands. But I couldn't ignore the sign he threw his body into. "That's impossible."
I said, "Abursa said it was death-palsy."
His signs had a terrible precision. "She was mistaken. Holy Efra would never allow it to return."
I said, "But it killed a man. We saw it."
"We have followed her directives perfectly. We have kept pure. She would not allow it to return."
"But she did." I pointed towards the pyre. "His bones are over there. We burned the flesh off them."
Amaz stalked past us, neck held stiff. He didn't look as though he believed us, but even so fear flashed in his eyes.
Thesil stepped closer. Her hands signed, "Is he an idiot?"
"No," I signed. "He just has a lot of faith."
"Same thing," she signed.
I didn't have the energy to chide her. I was too busy watching Amaz as he stood over the cremated remains and rubbed the scar of his nose. His boot lashed towards the pile of ash and scattered it, uncovering bones I could see even from here. He crouched and stared at them.
I led Thesil over to his side. I hadn't seen the bones of the dead man earlier, not really. They lay in the ash just as the dead man had lain. The hands were still crooked into claws, the back arched, the legs frozen in the last moment of a frenzy. It didn't look like a peaceful death. It didn't look like a body laid gently to rest. For a moment, I wished we could have straightened his limbs. But his spirit surely would not care, and to touch him that much would have been more risk than I dared.
Amaz shot to his feet as we neared him. He turned on us, his brows peaked over his ruined nose. He did not bother signing. "Did you touch the body?"
"Not directly," I said. "Only the tent around him."
"I should kill you."
Thesil stiffened. "Are you crazy? You can't–"
"Abursa, for all her foolishness, was right to refuse to approach the body."
"We couldn't leave him here," I argued. "Someone could have found the body and gotten infected–"
"That, too, is right. But you should have buried him in rocks, thrown stones from a distance. Anything but stepping near the corpse of a man so impure he brought this death down on his own head."
"I don't think he did," I said. "He was unlucky–"
"He was corrupt. Otherwise, Holy Efra would never permit–"
"Holy Efra doesn't care about us," Thesil signed. "Otherwise she'd have saved all of us by now. If the disease is gone, why do we keep getting thrown away?"
He stared at her. "Because the cities do not need corruption. And because of the risk of this." He shook his head. "You are not merely imperfectas now. You are carriers."
"We waited a week," I said. "Neither of us have gotten sick yet. Surely if we'd caught it–"
"I should kill you," he repeated. His face had fallen into sorrowful lines. "But you are only children. And you meant well." He closed his eyes, lifting his head towards the sky. "I will pray for guidance in this matter."
"You do that," signed Thesil, nudging me away from him. "We'll just–"
He opened his eyes. "I cannot allow you to spread this. Forgive me."
I never saw what hit me.
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