How long had she looked into the dark water? She stared at her reflection, the glittering sweep of stars behind her head. The black night beyond.
Nothing.
Saraal let herself absorb the dark sky as she felt her body dissolve, until the stars shone through her and not around. Her hair—that loathsome rope that had bound her to her captor—drifted in front of the vision, marring her view of the sky.
She sat back on her heels, searching the camp.
Kuluun was drinking from a human at the edge of the fire, four of his sons surrounding him. They hoped for his cast-offs. Usually, Kuluun would let them feed after him. If there was any blood left.
Odval was in the corner, fucking a human woman who no longer cried. He’d kept her for almost a week. The woman’s eyes were dead. He would drain her blood soon. Saraal felt relief on her behalf. Odval had no gentleness in him.
Various other Sida strolled around the camp. Some drinking. Some fighting. Others polishing weapons or saddles, since most of them still rode the ponies they stole from the humans. They weren’t strong enough to fly.
Saraal’s eyes finally fell on Suk. He was leaning against a rock, sharpening his bronze sword on a black rock they’d found in a human’s bag. It was smooth, and when you wetted it, was excellent for sharpening blades.
She walked toward him, feeling bold.
“Saraal.” He eyed her. Suk was not as dumb as Kuluun; he wasn’t as powerful, either. But if there were any kind of challenge to the leadership of the tribe, it would be Suk and his keen eyes. He saw far more than his brothers.
“What do you want, Saraal?”
She was silent, eyeing his sword.
“Did your invisible friend leave?” He looked amused. “You’re not talking right now?”
She held out her hand toward the blade.
“No.” He looked around and tossed a sharp-sided stone toward her. “Use this.”
She ignored the rock that hit her chest and kept her hand out, eyes on the bronze.
“No, Saraal.”
She sat down across from him, saying nothing.
Suk continued sharpening the blade on the wet rock, dipping it into a jar of water when it dried. He studiously ignored her.
Scrape. Turn. Scrape. Turn.
The metal caught the edges of the cooking fire the humans tended.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
Suk sat back and sighed. “You really want my sword, don’t you?”
She said nothing but thrust her hand toward the blade again.
“For what? You’re not going to try to kill yourself again, are you? You know it doesn’t work.”
Saraal narrowed her eyes, still not speaking.
Finally, Suk shrugged and held out the sword.
“Fine. But don’t mar your face. You’re in my tent tonight, and I don’t want to find extra blood for you because you’re healing.”
Saraal didn’t even stand up. She sat across from Suk, eyes on the ground, holding the blade in her hands. Then she reached back, grabbed onto her braid, and cut.
The sharpening stone worked. The sword sliced through her think shank of hair with ease. Saraal immediately let out a sigh of relief, then she brought the blade back to her head and cut again.
Over and over, she grabbed fistfuls of her thick black hair, cutting it as close to the scalp as she could.
She left nothing to grab.
As she lifted the piece behind her ear, she felt it—just for a second—her son’s tiny fingers twisting in the black strands as he nursed from her breast. Then the bronze blade sliced through the last of the girl’s hair, and he was gone.
When the warm seasons passed, the flying girl did not leave Saraal. And despite her misgivings, she began to trust her appearance. It was never predictable. Aday would alight on the top of a tent as Saraal passed by on her way to whatever stream, creek, or lake they were camped near. She could keep Saraal company on long nights when the others ignored her. She didn’t question it when they began having conversations, though Saraal was always cautious what she said.
No matter how Aday coaxed her to rebellion, Saraal was resolute. This was the fate she had been granted. She would exist for as long as she existed. And perhaps, if death finally found her, her ancestors would be pleased. Or if not pleased, they would at least grant her rest.
Rest was all she longed for.
Some nights, Saraal thought she could lay for a thousand years, staring at the sky and listening to the wind. The night was her blanket. The stars, her family. They wrapped her in their precious silent glow, even when the camp erupted in violence around her.
“Psst!” Aday hissed in her ear. “Go! Run now!”
Saraal blinked and let her eyes come back into focus. She was laying on the edge of the camp, hidden behind some rocks as the other Sida feasted on the humans from a village they had ravaged. They were becoming more and more violent as their numbers grew. Fewer captives were allowed to live. Whole villages were being wiped out. For some reason, Saraal knew this was wrong. Some instinct from her human life told her so, but she pushed back the feeling and turned her eyes back into the night. She didn’t care about the humans. Why should their lives be any easier than hers?
“Saraal! You stupid girl! Where are you?”
She heard Odval’s voice drift on the wind. He was quiet, trying to remain quiet, anyway. She didn’t respond, but she didn’t move, either. Aday stayed with her, crouched on the top of the rocky outcropping, watching Odval approach with narrow eyes.
“There you are.”