Arikara, the capital of Missinia, had once been a magnificent city of clay-brick towers and arched gateways, open courtyards and busy marketplaces. But when the former soldan-shah arrived with his three granddaughters, he saw only wreckage and death.
Even the driftwood reader’s dire predictions and Burilo’s report had not prepared Imir for such devastation. Swaths of Arikara’s buildings had fallen into piles of rubble; thick walls were shattered, support beams broken, roofs collapsed. It was as if an angry Ondun had smashed the city flat.
When the traveling party rode up, Adreala cried out in dismay. Cithara looked surprised and saddened; Istala began to pray aloud.
Imir pulled up his horse. “The whole city will have to be rebuilt.”
Burilo’s face was drawn into a sketch of grim lines. “We will rebuild later. The injured are still in dire need of medical attention. We’ll need to provide shelter and supplies to the survivors. After all that is done, we can think about Arikara’s future.” He nodded toward Adreala and her sisters. “Welcome, cousins, but I’m afraid we have little hospitality to offer.”
Conversation swelled among the volunteers who had accompanied the group from Olabar. Before the sight of the ruined city discouraged them, Imir called out in a loud and confident voice, “God challenges us, and we do not turn from a challenge.”
Their response was dutifully determined, though with forced enthusiasm.
He nudged his horse forward. “Come, Burilo, we should let your father know that more help has arrived. Girls, follow me.” They rode toward the shambles on the hill where Soldan Xivir’s palace had stood. Only two of the walls remained now; the rest of the structure had collapsed into a pile of tan bricks, terra-cotta tiles, and splintered timbers. A cluster of temporary tents had been erected in what remained of the courtyard.
When Burilo shouted, the Missinia soldan emerged from the largest tent. Xivir looked drawn and haggard, and beside him came Lithio. The matronly woman saw the former soldan-shah and ran forward, grinning. “My husband, I knew you would come to save us!” She kissed him on the mouth, making Imir feel awkward until she added a typical barbed comment: “Although you should have come sooner. You aren’t the first to arrive, you know.”
“We came as fast as we could, Grandmother Lithio,” Adreala said, swinging down off her horse.
Lithio gasped and released Imir. “You brought our granddaughters into this mess?” She clucked and gave each of the girls a hug.
Imir sighed. There was no pleasing the woman. “Our party left Olabar within days of learning Burilo’s terrible news.” He turned to address Xivir. “We brought carpenters and engineers, diggers and stonemasons, not to mention food, fabric, and tools. And more will come in the next caravan.”
An older, leathery-skinned man clad in gray-brown furs emerged from the tent and squinted into the sunlight. Most of his hair was gone, and large hoop earrings dangled from both ears. He chattered in heavily accented Uraban. “Imir, old friend! I finally came to see your lands, and look what I find.”
Imir sputtered. “Khan Jikaris! When did you arrive? How—”
“We built our own sand coracles.” Jikaris was obviously proud. “I came to visit you, since your merchants did not come to trade this year. Now that you are here, you can help translate.”
“Me? I don’t speak your language well.” Imir watched other Nunghals emerge from the smaller tents, attracted by the commotion. “But I suppose I do well enough to pass along instructions. There’s plenty of work to do.”
The Nunghals had arrived from Desert Harbor only the day before, and after assessing the huge task at hand, Khan Jikaris and his companions offered many interesting ideas. “Your buildings are hard and stiff, so they fall when the ground shakes. You could be more flexible if you moved from place to place and lived in large tents.”
“We don’t have either tents or buildings right now,” Xivir pointed out.
The khan continued, “You must treat your city as a large camp—we show you. Nunghals know how. You forgot how to dig latrines, how to store water, how to bank cookfires in the open, and how to set up a tent against the wind and rain. Let my people remind you.”
The former soldan-shah nodded. “He’s right, Xivir. With so many dead, the rotting corpses will draw flies and may cause sickness.”
“We should let the collapsed buildings become their tombs.” Burilo sounded sad. “The world has already buried them.”
Soldan Xivir drew himself up. “I have no intention of letting Arikara become a cemetery city. We must take the corpses away in carts, and build giant funeral pyres outside the city.”
“Not funeral pyres. We will need the wood for rebuilding,” Imir said. “Better to make mass graves, pile stones atop them.”
The khan added, “Far from the city. As far as possible.” Jikaris fell back into his own language when he didn’t find what he wanted to say, and Imir helped translate.
“The gray fever struck a Nunghal clan gathering seven years ago. Hundreds died. The Nunghal-Su believed the sickness was carried on the buffalo hides the plainsmen brought to trade. The Nunghal-Ari claimed the fever came from the ships, from some foul wind out at sea. Either way, they had to destroy the entire camp. They burned the tents with the bodies inside and moved on.”
Soldan Xivir said, “We’ve got to take care of the living as well as the dead. Many of our storehouses were destroyed in the quake. Granaries collapsed, silos crumbled, casks shattered. The food from the first caravan is nearly gone, and what you brought will not last long with a whole city to feed. I’m afraid my people will be hungry until we get relief from the other soldanates.”
Imir nodded. “Soldan-Shah Omra is gathering supplies as quickly as he can, but it will take some time for them to arrive from all across Uraba. With the defense of Ishalem, the army has already drained the surplus from other soldanates.”
Jikaris hunkered down outside the tent. “Combine your supplies, bake the bread, and cook large pots of stew and soup. Serve everyone. Your people work harder and sleep better if they know their khan takes care of them. And my men will help build large tents. Fortunately, your climate is warm.”
Xivir said, “Yes, my people will feel safer with a roof over their heads.”
The Nunghal khan let out a dark chuckle. “I would not feel safe. Many people just died because roofs fell on their heads. Better to be out in the open.”
Adreala spoke up. “We’re ready to do our part—whatever you need most. I’ll even crawl into the rubble and pull out bodies, if you ask me to.”
Cithara said, “Istala and I would like to help with the injured. Where should we go?”
Soldan Xivir regarded the earnest young girls with consternation. “Our local haulers and the Saedran surgeons have set up a pavilion not far from here, but I’m afraid it’s no place for children.”
“Arikara is no place for children right now—or anyone else, for that matter—yet your people have no choice but to be here,” Imir pointed out. “The whole city is in desperate need.”
“Which is why we came all the way from Olabar to help,” Istala said.
Adreala raised her chin. “And if this is no place for children, then it’s time my sisters and I grew up.”
“Shall we share a meal first?” Lithio suggested, apparently anxious to spend time with Imir and her granddaughters.
Imir patted his stomach, which had grown rounded over the years of his retirement. “I can do without a meal or two, if so many people in Arikara are hungry. There is work to do.”
“I’d like to get started now,” Adreala agreed. “I think I should learn how to set up tents and dig latrines.”
“My men are ready,” Khan Jikaris announced. “Nunghals will show you how to run a camp.”