Born Magic

Chapter 1 Along the horizon the sky began to lighten, throwing shadows on the sides of the sand dunes. A gust of wind blew a fine abrasive cloud that scoured the landscape. Jamal Fayed nudged his horse with his heels, setting the animal ambling forward again. There was still a half a day left on this patrol assignment. He glanced at his partner, Tarik, also mounted on a horse, plodding along beside him. “It’s been half a season since any of our people have seen the Peratheans trying to sneak across the Burning.” The swath of hot arid desert that separated Quertesh from Perathea took two days to cross with a good reliable animal. It took three days for a determined man on foot. “I did hear that a trade caravan came across a couple of weeks ago,” said Tarik. He adjusted the keffiyeh on his head, settling the cord that held the cloth in place at a different angle. “Anything of great note for sale?” Jamal asked. “Someone said they brought some peaches. All preserved against the journey by some magic charm that keeps them the same as the day they were picked.” “I bet they cost a small fortune.” “More than you and I can afford,” Tarik said. “It could be worse. We could be at war again with Perathea. My history knowledge is sketchy. Has it been four or five times?” “If you ask my grandmother, she’d probably say four, because I don’t think she counts the couple years of peace in her teens as an actual lack of war. She calls what’s going on right now—pretending peace—” Jamal squinted. What was that he saw lying on the sand in the distance? An animal? A hunk of fabric picked up by the wind? “There’s something over there to the left. I’m going to have a look.” “Probably part of a tent.” Urging his horse to move at a quicker pace, Jamal kept an eye on the object. The closer he got, the more the object looked like…a person. Judging from the lack of movement, he immediately began to wonder if the person was still alive. Drawing close, he slid down off his horse and strode over. The body had close cropped light hair and wore an ankle length tunic, no shoes, and nothing else as far as could be seen. All of it was filthy, encrusted with a mix of sand, sweat, and dried blood. Dropping to one knee, Jamal thought he detected a faint rise and fall of the chest. Alive? He rolled the body on its back. The lips were ragged, scabbed, the left cheek darkened by a severe bruise. Somehow, he had expected the features underneath to be delicate and feminine. They weren’t. The jaw line was strong and the cheekbones high and angular. And yet there was no sign of facial hair. Young man? He looked so damaged and so very vulnerable. Sunburn and blisters marred his skin. Jamal pressed his fingertips to the man’s throat. A fast weak pulse beat beneath the skin. He was alive. Why did that make Jamal unexpectedly relieved? Touching fingers to skin…felt odd, somehow familiar. “He looks Perathean,” Tarik commented, stepping up beside Jamal. “Pale skin and light hair, yeah, okay, possibly true.” “We should leave the body where it is.” “He’s alive!” Jamal replied. “So slit his throat and be done with it.” “You have no idea who he is! There are immigrants who live in Quertesh. Not many, but they’re legal citizens.” Anger flooded Jamal. “Why in the f**k would a Querteshan be out here in the Burning, mostly dead and by himself?” “Wandered away from a caravan?” “The nearest trade route is a full day’s ride west.” Tarik looked dubious. “Which could be why he’s in such awful shape.” “There’s a lot of blood. Is it his?” Jamal ran his hands along the man’s limbs. There were scrapes and gashes. He gingerly pushed the stiff, stained fabric of the tunic up. Dried blood coated the insides of the man’s legs. His p***s hung limp and splattered with similarly dried blood. It also looked like there might be other injuries in that sensitive area. “Did he get stabbed, or did someone rape him?” Tarik asked. “I can’t tell, but does it really matter? Hand me one of my water skins. I’m going to see if I can get him to drink a little.” Jamal slid an arm under the man’s shoulders and lifted him slightly. “Seems like a waste of perfectly good water.” “You’re a bastard,” Jamal snapped. He grabbed the water skin Tarik held out and twisted the top open. He dribbled water into the man’s mouth a few drops at a time until there was a weak coughing swallow. “Easy. There’s more.” It took a number of minutes to get a few mouthfuls into the man. Slowly, his eyes opened for a moment then sank shut again. Jamal said, “Even if he’s a Perathean smuggler or spy, if we take him to the garrison, they could gain some intel.” “Are we going to be asked to justify our actions?” “Maybe, maybe not. If the higher-ups decide he’s not worth the effort, then it’s out of our hands.” Jamal was hard pressed to give a logical reason why he thought saving this man was so important. Call it a gut feeling or an smidge of intuition. Something about this person felt important. Jamal needed Tarik’s cooperation because the guy on the ground was tall. Although he was slender, he was still obviously as large as an adult. Getting him up onto the horse for transport was definitely a two-person chore. “Okay, I guess it’s worth the gamble.” “Let me see if I can get a little more water into him before we try to move him.” “You’re soft-hearted. Maybe soft headed, too.” Tarik rolled his eyes. “Screw you.” Jamal was used to the teasing from his partner. He kept at what he was doing, managing to coax another few swallows of water in the man. Maybe he ought to use a healing scarab. Every soldier on patrol carried at least one lapis scarab charged with healing power. With the random fire tornados and storms that still occasional blew through the Burning, burns and injury were always a possibility. The power kept within a scarab wasn’t enormous, but it might keep you alive after a serious injury. “You do know it’s going to take a few hours to ride to Garrison Nine.” “Like we weren’t going home anyway.” “Well, true, I guess.” Jamal dug into the pouch on his belt, fumbling around until he located the smooth roundness of the scarab. He pulled it out and pressed it to the man’s chest a hand span below his throat. Jamal murmured, “Shifa.” The dark blue stone scarab flared with internal light for several seconds then faded. Obviously, the dried blood, dirt, and sand stayed exactly the same, but some of the sunburn and abrasions looked to be improved. The man’s eyes opened again. He looked up at Jamal with apprehension and confusion. “Just stay still. The healing spell’s probably not finished quite yet,” Jamal said. He held the scarab in place for a another minute before returning it to his pouch. He’d have to pay to get it reset later. “Water.” The man’s voice was a hoarse croak. “Of course. It looks like you’re still dangerously dehydrated.” Jamal gave him another drink. “So who the hell are you?” Tarik asked. “I am Nev,” the man said. “That’s nice but not super helpful. Querteshan? Perathean?” Tarik pressed. “I have been living in Driven.” “So Perathean then. I guess you’re trying to sneak across the Burning to get into Quertesh. Hoping to get into Quertesh for a little larceny or hoping to scope out some military intel?” Nev looked confused. “I am a servant to Kustaa. He intended to sacrifice me to open a portal and bid a demon through.” “Intended?” Jamal asked. “Demon?” Not that magic couldn’t be a powerful and dangerous thing, but there was also a chance the man was delirious. Nev’s expression was both fear and embarrassment. “I escaped.” Jamal offered him another sip of water. “Could we maybe postpone the interrogation until we get to the garrison? I’d rather not be out here when afternoon rolls around again.” “Okay, so let’s get going. He’s riding with you.” Tarik gave Jamal an irritated look. “Unless you want him to walk.” “No, he’d probably make it twenty paces and pass out again.” Jamal helped Nev sit up more fully. “Do you think you can stand?” “I’m not sure.” “Okay, slowly then. “ Getting Nev to his feet was not easy, not because he was extremely heavy but more because he was weak and clumsy. Jamal supported him with an arm wrapped around Nev’s chest from behind, his thigh wedged against the base of Nev’s spine. It took a long moment for Nev to stabilize his footing. Even then, he leaned back against Jamal a bit. “Tarik, bring my horse over.” Tarik complied. Jamal guided Nev’s hand to the edge of the saddle. “Hang on to the saddle while I mount, then I’ll get Tarik to help you up.” Nev nodded. One foot in the stirrup, Jamal swung up onto his horse. Stonekicker made a low snort of curiosity. The horse was one of the breeds with extra wide hooves and a tolerance for the dryness of the desert. He had a relative even temperament but a tendency to wander if not kept on task. “Do you want him in front or in back?” Tarik asked. “Front. He’s awfully weak. I’m afraid he’ll fall off if he’s behind me.” Jamal leaned over and slid his hands under Nev’s arms. “Okay, give him a boost.” It was a dicey maneuver. Jamal had to hug the horse with his knees, heels down in the stirrups to have enough leverage and stability to get Nev in front of him without both of them falling off. Finally settled into position, he could feel Nev gasping for breath, or maybe that was gasping in pain. “You okay?” “Uh-huh.” Nev’s voice had returned to hoarse and barely audible. “Just try to relax. It’ll take us a few hours to get back to the garrison.” Jamal wound his arm around Nev’s torso, holding the man against his chest. As Stonekicker began to walk, Jamal kept only a scant portion of his thoughts on guiding the animal. The rest of his mind was occupied by trying to decide why having Nev against his body felt comfortable and correct. And why was he concerned about Nev’s dehydration and exposure injuries when he didn’t even know the Perathean?