A hand covered mine. It was rough and dry, more like clasping wood than flesh. We were all so weak, so close to turning into living statues. That is what the fool would have us be, to decorate his palaces, something to be used to cow any who would challenge him.
“We cannot be that,” I said roughly, as a tremor went through my Children, some pieces of my thoughts bleeding over. “We were not the first, and will not be the last to oppose him. Those who come after us must believe that they have a chance.”
“Teacher—” Zakarriyyah pleaded.
“And they will. We will. And you will be among us when we do.”
“Not if we do not escape tonight!” The hand grasping mine trembled, but there was resolve in his voice. “Let me do this. Let me help—”
“Have you fools never heard of lanterns?”
The hissed words came out of the darkness, almost in my ear. I turned, human slow, to see the slim figure of the monster’s chief Child standing there, a lantern in each hand. I did not have time to greet her, or to attack. I could not think clearly enough in my current state even to determine which would be best.
And she did not give me the chance. The dark-haired beauty sat down the lights we so desperately needed, and a moment later, a pack hit me in the face. It was clothing by the feel, which we also needed, as our tattered rags would give us away wherever we went.
“One to each,” she said, her voice low, and two maidservants hurried to obey.
I watched, uncomprehendingly, as packs were distributed to each of my people. Until a rough hand jerked me around. “Feed.”
I stared at her. She was offering her own arm. It made no sense.
“He will kill you for this,” I rasped.
“If you keep standing there, looking at me, very likely!”
I looked at her arm instead, gleaming golden bright in the lantern light. “I cannot partake when my people starve.”
She said something shockingly rude in Greek. And then I found myself grabbed by my rags, and dragged down to her face. Her fangs were out; a breach of etiquette at court. She did not look as if she cared.
“Listen to me, old mummy,” she hissed, “and listen well. If you want to live, you will do exactly as I say. Feed, enough that your eyes aren’t crossing and you can think to lead your people. Ride for Fustat—it’s due east. Get there before sunrise, or you will surely die. Even your masters have no strength left. Go to this address,” she pushed a piece of parchment into my hand. “The man there knows me; he will hide you, find blood pigs for you. Drink; recover. Then get as far away from these shores as you can.”
She did not wait for me to reply. She slit her own flesh with a dagger like fingernail, and shoved her arm in my face. And the smell of it—
Ah, it would take a better man than I to resist!
I drank, so briefly, and she turned to go.
“Wait.” I called her back.
She spun. “I must leave! I’ve been here too long already.”
“First, tell me why you help us. You owe us nothing—”
“This isn’t for you,” she spat. And then her eyes went to the palace, and the expression in them . . . even in darkness, it was palpable.
The enemy of my enemy, I thought, and understood.
“One day,” she told me, and then she was gone.
Rain hit me in the face, bringing me back, and I looked up to see a tiny cloud on Hassani’s shoulder, busily putting out an ember and squirting me in the face in the process. I opened my mouth, caught a few drops on my tongue. Thought I’d found paradise—
Only to feel the excruciating pain of the other place, as the vision fully released me.
I screamed, my hands and arms and back burning, while what was left of my leather jacket melted to my flesh. This wasn’t a normal fire; this wasn’t a normal anything. And then I coughed, retching and hacking, dizzy from the lack of air. Hassani said and did nothing, still lost in his dreams—
And, suddenly, I understood. They were his dreams. The fluttering bits of memory or whatever they were coming off the dead demigod weren’t the problem. The first two, yes, but these last—they had both been through Hassani’s eyes. I couldn’t shake them off because I was touching him, but I couldn’t get us out unless I did!
But my jeans were full of black edged holes, with burnt red flesh peeking through. And I had nothing else to use, unless I stripped my flesh off with my jacket! Hassani was no better, in tattered rags half burnt away, and weakened to the point that they ripped as soon as I touched them. There was nothing—