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  By the time she had finished dressing it and cleaning herself up, dinner was ready, and her mother was handing her dishes to bring to the dining table. She arrived in the dining room to find her father, Mica, and Amir already seated, sipping hot tea.

  “Kivanya! Little moon, how was your day?” Kiva’s father asked, sitting cross-legged on a cushion at the head of the low dining table. He looked at her fondly with eyes of deep hazel, mingled with thin spikes of green extending from his pupils. His thickly muscled arms—earned through years of hard work in the stonemelter forges—rested at his sides with his hands upon his knees. At first glance, her father could easily be mistaken for a fearsome and imposing individual—a force to be reckoned with. But Kiva and her family knew the gentle truth of his soul. Haruk Fariq was slow to anger, and quick to forgive.

  Kiva set down the lidded dishes and greeted her smiling father. “Hi Papa…My day was mundane and tedious, as usual,” she said, hoping her mother hadn’t told him of her transgressions.

  “Is that so?” he asked. “Perhaps if you had gone to the weavers hall, it would have been more exciting,” he said with a knowing smile.

  Mica stifled a laugh.

  Kiva forced a grin, pleading for mercy with her eyes.

  “Though I’m sure your mother has already suggested it,” he finished, taking a sip of tea.

  She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that she wouldn’t be hearing it from him as well.

  Her mother brought in the rest of the meal and they all began to dine on baked scorpion medallions, warm chava bread, and purple slices of boiled kerava root.

  “Amir,” her father asked, “have you decided whether you will be issuing a challenge at the ceremony tomorrow?”

  Amir choked on his drink. He cleared his throat and answered, “I have not yet decided.”

  “You know, your brother was your age when he—”

  “Issued his challenge for the zilsiad,” Amir interrupted, gesturing dramatically. “The Sahra’s greatest and most esteemed battle sect. Yes, I know.”

  There was a long moment of awkward silence before Amir sighed and spoke again, “Sorry. I’m just…it’s just nerves. I want to challenge, I’m just not sure if I’m ready.”

  “No one ever feels ready,” Mica said.

  “But what if I fail? All of the training will have been for nothing.” Amir was looking at his father. He had spent the past three years apprenticing with him in the forges, helping to craft weapons for the warrior sects. They all knew Amir would at some point be issuing a challenge for the stonemelter sect. It was just a matter of when. Challenging too early could mean failure, and once a challenge is failed, the door to that sect is closed, forever.

  “Easy. You pick another sect,” Kiva said, earning a glare from her mother.

  “What?” Kiva asked, eyebrows raised. “It’s true…”

  “Look at me, son,” their father said, setting down his bread. “You have worked hard over the past three years. I’ve seen you craft steel worthy of the stonemelters fifty times over. Should you choose this year as your proving, you will succeed.”

  Amir sat silently for a moment, staring down at the half-eaten food on his plate. The tension hung in the air, as everyone waited for his reaction, except Kiva, who casually shoved three scorpion medallions in her mouth and drank deeply from her cup.

  Right when it seemed he’d not say anything at all, Amir finally spoke, “Alright. Tomorrow, then. I will issue my challenge tomorrow.”

  The table erupted with cheers. Mica and their father stood and slapped Amir on the back, congratulating him, while their mother rushed to the kitchen. She returned a moment later, her face aglow, holding a tray with a fresh pitcher of jallab and five cups.

  “We are so proud of you, son,” she said, setting down the tray. She grasped his face in both hands and kissed the top of his head. “I know you will succeed.”

  “Thank you, Mama,” he said, smiling nervously.

  “We will all be there to support you,” she said, with a stern glance at her daughter. The look wasn’t unjustified. Kiva had nearly missed Mica’s challenge two years ago, when she became stranded atop a great stone, surrounded by sandsharks. Not my fault, she reasoned.

  They all raised a glass and drank to his success. The cool liquid was dark, sweet, and fruity. Amir still looked nervous, but also relieved at having finally come to a decision.

  They spent the rest of dinner listening to the story of their father’s challenge. Kiva had heard it a hundred times before, but didn’t mind it so much this time. The way his face lit up when telling it never failed to make her smile.

  Once they finished eating, everyone helped clean up. Kiva did the dishes. She yawned as she placed the last clean plate beneath the counter, then made her way to the clean-room. She lit a small oil lamp and closed the curtain. Running her hands over the smooth, olive skin of her face, Kiva looked back at her reflection in the polished sheet of metal.

  Her hair was so dark brown it might as well have been black. Much of it hugged the sides of her scalp in tight braids. The top of her head was covered in loose, criss-crossing braids that had come undone at the back, falling loose over shoulders.

  She looked into the large, almond shaped eyes staring back from her reflection. Even in the dim light, she could see the bright yellow spikes of color thrusting out from her pupils into the prevailing violet of her irises.

  Am I really going to do this? she asked herself silently.

  For the past several months, she had been planning something for the proving ceremony. Something no one would see coming. Something that would likely see her ostracized, or perhaps even exiled…and that was if she succeeded. Failure would almost certainly mean death.

  When Kiva first came up with the idea, she never actually planned to go through with it. The whole thing was just for fun—Make believe. Something a child would pretend, but never dream of actually doing. But the more Kiva pretended, the more real it became, and before long she found herself preparing in earnest.

  She took a deep breath. She was sorry she wouldn’t be there for Amir’s proving.

  Kiva stripped off her clothing, kicking it aside and dipping her scrub cloth into the shallow watering pan. Once the sweat, dirt, and grime were washed from her skin, she squeezed water from the soiled cloth over a concave sheet of fabric hanging above. The water dripped as it fell back to the watering pan, filtered by the fabric.

  By the time she finished, she was certain. This year would be her year, for better or for worse. With that, she lifted her long white shift from a hook on the wall and pulled it over her head. She scrubbed her teeth with a small wooden brush and rinsed with fresh water; then brushed out the braids from her hair, and left the clean-room. After wishing her parents and brothers goodnight, she retreated to her bedroom. A good night’s sleep would be needed to remain at her best the next day. Thankfully, being the only female sibling meant she didn’t have to share a room with anyone. One of the few perks.

  After closing the curtain, she set the lamp down on the floor, beside her bed of softened skins and thinly woven sheets of desert cotton. A gentle breeze blew in through the high circular window, raising goosebumps on her skin. Kiva quickly crawled under the covers.

  She was reaching to turn off the small oil lamp when her father’s voice spoke from outside the curtain. “Daq Daqun.”

  “Come in,” she said. Her father pushed aside the curtain and stepped inside.

  “Daughter, I would speak with you a moment,” he said.

  Kiva sighed and sat up on her bedding.

  Her father stepped forward and lowered himself onto a broad circular pillow. “You know your mother loves you very much,” he said.

  Kiva looked down at her hands. She could tell where this was going. “I know,” she said. “I am sorry I disappeared this afternoon. The weavers hall is just so
…”

  “Boring?” he finished her sentence, and Kiva looked up at him, smiling.

  “I’m no good at weaving,” she said, “I don’t have the patience for it.”

  “Patience is a skill one must master, regardless of sect.”

  Kiva didn’t respond.

  “Listen, Kivanya, it is as my grandfather used to say, ‘Life is like the precious stream of water that flows across the stones in the wet season.’” He gestured with his hands, and Kiva couldn’t help but smile. His metaphorical life lessons rarely held much relevance to the situations at hand.

  “It travels in all directions,” he continued, “flowing continuously until it again joins with the great oceans beneath the stone. Your mother’s life flows along the weaver’s path. As of now, yours does as well, but that does not mean it must always be so. Our lives often take the same path as those before us, guided by the deep channels worn in the stone by previous generations. But over time, many come to forget that the channels themselves would not exist, had the first few drops of water not dared to flow where none had before.”

  Kiva nodded. This was actually one of the rare cases where his metaphor made sense.

  “If you would like to apprentice for another sect, then you must tell your mother the truth.”

  Kiva sighed. “If I told her the truth, she’d be furious,” Kiva muttered. And so would you, she thought.

  “Undoubtedly,” he said, and Kiva sagged.

  He placed a hand on her shoulder and continued, “…at first. But she loves you dearly, Kivanya. Though you may not think it, she desires your happiness above all else. You just need to explain to her that your path lies elsewhere, if that is how you feel.”

  “If only it were that simple,” she sighed, and looked up into his eyes. “Do you promise that you will always love me, no matter the path I choose?”

  “Without hesitation, even if you forsook all sects and chose life as an urchin, begging for scraps outside the basin,” he said with a grin. “Come, you are only sixteen years in life. You have plenty of time to decide your path and issue a challenge of your own. Now is the time to enjoy your freedom, and support your brother in his own proving.”

  Kiva felt a stab of guilt. Am I being selfish? She pushed the thought away.

  “Yes Papa,” she said.

  “Good,” he said, standing. “I will see you in the morning. Tomorrow is a big day! Goodnight, dear one.”

  “Goodnight Papa…thank you,” she said, stifling another yawn.

  “You are welcome, little moon.” He walked toward the curtain, then paused and turned. “Oh, one more thing.”

  She looked at him questioningly.

  “No more climbing with your brothers. It is far too dangerous, and behavior unfit for a young woman.”

  “Yes papa,” she said, averting her eyes.

  “Pleasant dreams,” he said before slipping out.

  Kiva blew out the lamp, lay down, and prayed that her family would forgive her for what she was preparing to do.

  2

  The Proving Ceremony

  Kiva awoke to the sounds of fast paced, rhythmic drumming and the tinny clang of hand cymbals echoing from the basin below. She stretched, then glanced up at the window to find mid-morning sunlight streaming in.

  I overslept! She scrambled out of her bedding. By the sound of it, the proving ceremony celebrations had already begun. The smell of fresh roasted meats wafted up, and Kiva could hear laughter, children playing and merchants shouting.

  She lifted one of the seating pillows and collected the black tunic and cloth pants from their hiding place. Pulling her shift over her head, she quickly dressed in the surreptitious outfit, before covering it with her normal clothing. She burst from her room, then stopped, running back in to grab a black head wrap, which she tucked inside her white tunic.

  Kiva slid into the dining room, which was now empty.

  Al’ama! They’ve already left!

  She grabbed a halu fruit from a bowl on the table and rushed out the front door.

  Kiva’s senses were assailed by the revelry taking place in the massive, curving basin. Her mouth watered at the smell of roasting meat, mingled with the floral scents of alshaysha smoke and incense. There were great baskets filled with seeds, spices, and colorful fruit, as well as stands with scarves in every color imaginable. The varied, hollow beat of drums and high pitched jingle of hand cymbols competed with loud laughter and spirited conversation, as small children danced before the performers. Today was the day of proving, and everyone was celebrating.

  Kiva quickly scrambled down the steps toward the basin floor, skirting around those who descended far too slowly, and ignoring their curses. She scanned for her family as she hurried along. Their destination was known to her, but she hoped to find them before they arrived, if for no other reason than to avoid the shame of her late start. Despite her rush, Kiva couldn’t help smiling. It seemed everyone was in a good mood. The excitement of the proving challenges was infectious.

  “Roasted sahalia! Fresh roasted sahalia!” called a merchant, weaving his way through the crowd holding a bundle of long sticks. Kiva reached in her pocket for a scarab shell, and quickly exchanged it for one of them as she passed. She brought the end of the stick toward her mouth and took a bite of the spiked, roasted lizard.

  Kiva hadn’t seen her family yet, but would hopefully find them soon. The ceremony commencement stage was atop one of the low, flat stone formations against the eastern wall of the basin. Finishing the sahalia, she hurried through the crowds, still searching. Soon, the raised stone of the ceremony stage came into view. Her father would be the easiest to spot in a crowd, given his size.

  After nearly an hour, she still had not found them, and Kiva began to worry. The commencement ceremony would soon begin, and she hoped to make an appearance before leaving to execute her own plan. That way she could at least show the respect of being present when Amir issued his challenge.

  Suddenly the crowds surrounding the stone platform quieted, and Kiva looked up to see Sidi Yehiel—the eldest of the sect of mystics—climb the steps leading to the stage, leaning heavily on a gnarled wooden cane.

  Kiva stepped up on the tips of her toes, searching desperately.

  There!

  She spotted the top of her father’s dark green shemagh, wrapped around his head. Kiva quickly weaved her way through the crowd toward him, where she also found her mother, and Mica.

  Her father smiled. “Welcome Kivanya. You’re just in time,” he said.

  “I see you finally found your way out of bed,” her mother said, raising an eyebrow.

  Kiva grinned sheepishly, and before she could respond, the elder mystic began to speak.

  His voice was surprisingly strong considering his aged, bent stature, ringing out over the respectfully silent crowd.

  “Today, we live and breathe by the will of the great protector, Ahn Ket Suun.”

  The crowd responded in unison, “We give thanks.”

  “May The Protector watch over us, and keep us.”

  There was a pause as the mystic looked out over the crowd.

  “This is a sacred day. It is the day many of our young ones will take their first step toward adulthood. It is a tradition going back hundreds of years, to the very settlement of our people in this land.”

  Kiva mouthed the words along with the mystic. It was the same speech every year, and she’d heard it enough times to know it by heart. She glanced down, and saw a black sleeve peeking out. She quickly tucked it back in. Her mother noticed her fidgeting, and gave her a look. Kiva rolled her eyes, and listened to the same boring lecture she’d heard many times before.

  “…let us remember, that this peace came with great cost. For centuries, the Qatal Sharun ravaged our people…”

  Kiva stifled a yawn. More fairy tales, she thought. Af
ter what felt like an eternity, the mystic tapped his cane on the rock three times.

  “And now, let those step forward who would issue the challenge.”

  The crowd turned their eyes toward the stairs leading up to the stone stage, and watched as five boys and four girls ascended, each dressed in elaborately embroidered, ceremonial robes.

  “State your name, and tell your people which sect you aspire to join.”

  Amir was at the front, and the first to step forward.

  “I am Amir Masai Fariq, son of Haruk Fariq. I respectfully issue my challenge to the stonemelter sect.”

  Kiva looked up to see a smile on her parents face, and found herself smiling as well. She and Amir often fought like sand lizards, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t proud of her slightly older brother.

  Amir stepped back, and the others came forward one at a time, each issuing their own challenges to the various sects. One girl challenged the weaver sect, another the songmaker sect. The other two challenged the clayform and spicemakers sects. The boys issued challenges to the builders, safekeepers, stormwatchers, and stonegrowers sects.

  Kiva could almost feel the crowd’s disappointment that there were no challenges to the windwalker or shadestalker sects. These always proved the most exciting, but were the most deadly. It had been years since any were challenged, and their dwindling numbers showed it. Some said the sects would soon dwindle to nothing, given their lack of purpose. Both were formed to protect the Sahra’ from ancient enemies. Enemies that none had seen for hundreds of years.

  Windwalkers kept watch, flying high over the desert sands to ensure that the Sahra’ knew of any and all possible threats well before they arrived. They were also the few who knew the secrets of what lay beyond the desert, in lands forbidden to all else. The shadestalkers were trained for offensive strikes, seeking out and destroying any threats to the people of the basin. Their ways were shrouded in secret, and mothers would often tell tales of the Sharun demons they once fought, to scare misbehaving children.