Memories of Ash (The Sunbolt Chronicles Book 2) by Intisar Khanani Page B

the rider is a woman: her thobe is loose and swaying, heavily embroidered with cross-stitched bands of red and yellow above the bottom hem — interlocking diamonds and triangles that are repeated along the edge of her head scarf and on the front of the bodice. The sides of her thobe are open to the hips, and the woman wears loose pants beneath.
    Within another minute, the camel has crossed the remaining distance and the rider pulls it to a stop. Setting her foot in the curve of her camel’s neck, she swings down, turning to me with a smile. “ Ahlan wa sahlan. ”
    It is the greeting of a host to their guest. Though I cannot remember having heard it before, I recognize it, and it stirs something deep within the ashes of my memories. Family and plain , she has said, one of the most generous of desert welcomes, treating a guest as if they were returning to both family and an abundant and spacious land.
    “I thank you.” My words sound strange to me, my tongue tripping over their form. It is far easier to understand her words than to construct my own. How well had I known my father’s language? And how much will come back to me now?
    The woman steps forward, reaching out her hands to clasp mine. Her face is somewhat stern, but that may simply be this moment. She has large, expressive eyes, dark as the deepest wood, and bright with pleasure. “I am Huda bint Ahmer of the Bani Saqr. My sister and I are camped an hour’s ride north of here. You would bring us great honor if you joined us — we can discuss where your travels will take you, and how we might aid you.”
    I dip my head. “It would be my honor.” And then, belatedly, “I am Hikaru.”
    If she thinks it strange that I give no family name, no tribe, she makes no indication of it, saying simply, “We are honored.”
    She has her camel sit down, then straps on my pack and helps me up before climbing up to sit in front of me herself. Huda clicks her tongue and the camel lurches to its feet. I grab hold of her waist as we pitch forward and back, half-certain I’m going to slide off. Huda waits patiently until the camel stands still and I drop my hands.
    Thankfully, camels walk more smoothly than they stand. Our mount adeptly makes its way through a scattering of rough stones and around the dusky green branches of thorn bushes. We leave the valley with its forgotten road to the bridge, crossing over low hills and continuing on. There are no visible paths, no stars but the sun in the sky, yet Huda knows precisely where she is going.
    I spend the hour’s ride mulling over my questions, trying to find the right words in a language I don’t consciously recall. I need to get to Fidanya as fast as I can. The more I consider the theft of Stormwind’s mirror, the mages that converged on her valley, and the closing of the portal in Sonapur, the less I can make myself believe she could possibly be well. Add to that the easy violence of the mage who followed me here, and I’m completely certain Stormwind has either been falsely convicted and imprisoned, or is in imminent danger of such violence herself.
    To cross the desert to Fidanya safely and quickly , I’ll need Huda’s help. While she’s already intimated her willingness, I suspect my requests will be easier to discuss when we’re facing each other and I can make gestures and point at things.
    Soon enough, we reach the wide valley where Huda and her sister have made their camp. A herd of nearly sixty goats move in knots across the valley, grazing on the finest of desert grass that grows here, or munching on the tough leaves of the hardy desert bushes. Two more camels wander among the goats, and past them hunches a small black structure — a tent?
    “Ya Huda!” a voice calls. A girl races across the sands toward us, her thobe hiked up to her knees, her legs flashing brown beneath.
    Huda laughs and waves to her sister.
    “Sumeyya is still a little young,” she explains.
    “You brought a guest!” Sumeyya