The soldier turns on me, and his eyes bulge. I recognize him as well. He and I were in the military encampment together in Iresh. He forgets the boy and draws his sword on me.
“General Manas!” he calls.
Manas has strolled around the bend in the road, out of sight. No other soldiers are near. I can scarcely hear my quick breaths over the woman’s wailing.
The soldier shouts louder. “General! Cap—”
“Afternoon, soldier,” Natesa purrs, pulling off her turban. Her dark-brown hair falls around her dirt-smudged face.
The soldier is so stunned by the sight of a woman—and a beautiful one at that—he does not see Yatin throw his haladie until it is too late. The blade sinks deep into the soldier’s chest, and he collapses before the family. The woman abruptly stops crying and picks up her young child. I shuffle forward to examine the fallen soldier. He is dead, or will be soon.
Yatin speaks from near the wagon. “Rohan, stay here and redirect all sound. Warn us when the general is coming. Natesa, put your turban back on.”
Rohan kicks up a subtle wind, concentrating on Manas’s whereabouts. One would not detect the mood in the skies unless already suspicious. Natesa quickly ties on her turban. Yatin strides past her to the family’s hut. Adrenaline takes over, overriding my shock, and I help him lug the body inside.
Yatin retrieves his haladie and kicks dirt over the trail of blood on the ground. “Hide and don’t come out until the army is gone,” he tells the woman, who nods avidly. “Don’t speak of this, and you’ll be left alone.”
She ushers her children inside, closes their door partway, then pauses. “Thank you, Yatin. Your sisters and mother will be overjoyed to know you’re well.”
I startle at his given name. She shuts the door, and Yatin and I hustle back to the wagon, into Rohan’s winds. Two minutes, maybe three, have passed since Manas rode off. Natesa’s turban again covers her hair. We lead the horses onward, and the next wagon comes around the bend. Rohan weakens his gusts, and we march on.
My heart beats two times faster than my feet.
“He’s coming,” says Rohan.
Manas rides nearer to us. At my prompt, Natesa tucks a loose strand of her hair down the collar of her jacket. Manas’s horse canters past our wagon and slows. He looks back at the woman’s door.
He remembers he left a soldier there.
Farther up the line, a commander calls for the general. Manas circles his mount and rides onward into the troops ahead. I release a quick breath, my heart flailing against my rib cage, and pray that no one pursues the disappearance of one soldier in this vast army.
Once we are clear of the village, I address Yatin. “Who was that woman?”
“A friend of my mother’s. We can trust her.”
We are not near Yatin’s village; that was his village. “Where is your family’s home?”
“Not far from here.”