"You are certain about this?" asked the kha'a of Visarya, taking the offered wine from his only son.

Nazir looked at his father with the usual sense of anxiety crawling in his stomach. Being in his late forty––though still well in his prime where skills and strengths were concerned––the lines of age on his face deepened every time he frowned, adding to the intimidation the old scar running down the left side of his cheek already delivered. Za'in izr Husari was said to be a strikingly handsome man in his youth. To Nazir, his father appeared more striking than handsome, and the evidence of time and hardships over the years only made that fact more severe.

"My visions are never certain," Nazir replied uncomfortably. The things he saw weren't always clear, and most require interpretations one could rightfully call a blind guess.

"Spare me your diplomatic presumptions, Nazir." The kha'a seated himself on a cushion behind the low table as he spoke. Nazir did the same on the opposite side. Nobody sat or stood higher than the kha'a, as per tradition. "You are the khumar and my trusted advisor. It is your opinion that I need, not information. Are you certain?"

Nazir swallowed, trying to keep his composure despite the reprimand he'd just been given. The kha'a of Visarya had never been a subtle man, especially not to his son. His father was a seasoned fighter, a battle-hardened, self-made kha'a who had risen into rank from a mere commonblood family. Someone who had obliterated three rival kha'gans and taken five more into his own, had done it first with an unimaginably small army of two hundred men, which had now grown into more than two thousand in the past twenty years. Za'in izr Husari was a legend, a name that opened doors and passages for those who followed him, a disaster waiting to happen for those who didn't.

A nightmare for sons to live up to, he often caught himself thinking. Not bitterly though, never that. Nazir loved his father, and had always found himself looking up to him, sometimes in a mixture of fear and respect, most of the time in awe.

"I am," he replied, this time with more conviction in his tone. He was going to be the next kha'a of Visarya, the most powerful kha'gan in the west, and would have to learn to wield and hold such a power. His father had never allowed him to forget it, even in small things, or when Nazir had been too young to understand what was being asked of him and why.

The kha'a nodded. "And Djari knows what this means?"

I believe so, were the words that came to his mind. He checked himself just in time. "She does."

He had told them everything—the boy and his sister—of what it all meant should they agree to do this. It was not a decision many people dared make, even for a grown man. To be someone's sworn sword and blood was to swear an oath to serve and protect the person beyond all reasons for life or until that oath was released. The boy would live and die under her command, regardless of the obligations to his family or his kha'gan. The punishment for breaking such an oath was the same as a White Warrior breaking his—an execution of three generations of one's bloodline. In exchange he would be under her protection and be subjected to her judgement alone. No laws could touch him so long as he remained her sworn sword and blood. It was the only way the boy would live past tomorrow.

To Djari, however, it meant that her life would be on the line for everything the boy did. One took full responsibility for one's sworn sword, that was the cost of having one. The problem being that she was a bharavi, a daughter of a kha'a, while the was a stray with no family for them to execute should he ever break his oath. The stakes were too unbalanced, too high for Djari or their khagan as a whole. While it would be her sole decision whether or not to accept that oath, the kha'a had to be informed. You are insane, was what he'd expected his father to respond to this. In too many ways, it was insanity.

"Has she agreed to this?" asked the kha'a, thoughtfully.

"She is thinking," Nazir replied. "I told her she has until the morning to decide." None of them were going to sleep that night, for sure.

The kha'a simply nodded, sipped his wine, looking all calm and composed. "Then we will wait for tomorrow."

"You approve?" Nazir asked. He had expected some kind of concern, even a flat-out rejection of the idea, and had prepared quite a speech for it.

Za'in kha'a finished the wine and placed the cup on the table. Nazir filled it and waited.

"Did you wait for my approval when you went to them?" asked his father, his eyes—an intense green—pinned him to the ground the same way he might have done so with a spear.

Nazir, aware of what was expected of him, took a breath and made himself stare right back at his father. "No." Something told him this had to happen despite his father's approval, and he had, in a way, done it to make sure it would be too late for anyone to interfere, even the kha'a.

"And you have done this, knowing the stubbornness of your sister?"

He hesitated, and then rectified it immediately. "I have."

"Then it doesn't matter if I approve." The kha'a smiled and leaned back on the cushion, sipping his wine leisurely. "Djari will do exactly what she wants. That bloody girl always does and Ravi is always on her side to accommodate. You know this as well as I do."

There was pride in his expression. There had always been pride whenever he spoke of Djari. The kha'a loved his daughter dearly, despite the way they always clash against each other. Stubborn, decisive, and utterly fearless, Djari was her father's daughter as much as Nazir was his mother's son. She would have made a great khumar, if only she had been born a boy. She might still make a great kha'a if customs allowed it.

"You are not angry with me?" He didn't do that a lot—allowing his insecurity to show, especially to the man sitting across the table who would have seen it as a weakness to be crushed immediately. Perhaps it was the magnitude of his decision that had given him the need to seek some kind of approval from someone whose impossibly large shoes he was not likely to fill.

The kha'a leaned forward and picked up the pitcher to refill his cup, then did the same for him. It was the first time he had done so, and Nazir, aware of the significance of such a gesture, found himself drawing back the cup reluctantly. Fathers didn't do that for sons, especially when one's father was Za'in izr Husari.

"Do you think," the kha'a said, looking at him, "that I have been hard on you because I want your respect? Your submission?"

He took a sip of the offered wine and returned the gaze. "I think ... that you want me to be a capable kha'a."

"And what do you think are the qualities of a capable kha'a?"

He thought for a time before voicing his answer. "Strength. Discipline. Courage to make difficult decisions."

"You would have made a great kha'a." He nodded. "And be dead within a year."

Za'in kha'a rose from the cushion and gestured. "Come," he said, commanding Nazir to follow him out of the tent.

The numbing cold hit him as soon as they stepped outside, made worse by the persistent wind that raced through the valley, howling as it went by. Nazir tugged at his robe to shield himself from the cold. Next to him, his father stood unruffled in his worn-out gray tunic. The kha'a of Visarya had never liked wearing his zikh, and would only put on one for the sake of ceremony when he had to. It gave away too much, he had said. It was a testament, as with all those scars that covered nearly every inch of him, that his father was a fighter, a warrior before all else.

"Look at our people," he said, gazing at the tents scattering around the settlement. They had been here for every spring and summer for three years now. In the winter they would move further south where the ground wouldn't freeze over. "Why do you think they sleep so soundly without guards around the valley?"

Nazir knew the answer to that question. He'd always known. "Because of you." No one attacked Za'in izr Husari or his people at night, except maybe a Rashai army whose presence would be known days before they could even get close. For the kha'gans, it was a matter of pride. If you were going to kill a legend, you'd want it known and talked about honorably for generations to come. Only a coward would attack him in the dark like and risk disgracing his entire bloodline doing so.

"Because I have done the unthinkable," the kha'a replied, his expression hard as a hammer. "I've killed my kha'a and taken over the kha'gan. Me, a commonblood, born into a family of camel herders. Now, I rule over half the western region of the White Desert, my wife was a bharavi, my son a trueblood oracle, and my daughter holds the fate of the entire peninsula. Some will tell you that what I've done is an inconceivable act of treason, others will say I'm a tyrant, but that is why they fear me."

There were some who considered it treacherous, yes. There would always be men and women seeking to spit on those who rose above their station or above them. "Some people find comfort from seeking faults in what they can't achieve."

"In what they lack the courage to." His father nodded. "Nazir, I am what I am because I've never waited for anyone's approval. You do what you have to for the survival of your family, your people, even if it means breaking a thousand years of tradition, even if it makes you a tyrant. That is what makes you a good leader. People will follow you for doing what they can't accomplish, for risking what they wouldn't dare, for carrying the weight they believe they cannot."

The kha'a turned to face him. They were of the same height now, if still differ much in substance and hardness. "Our people don't need you to do what you should. They need you to do what you must to protect them. What you did today told me you are capable of foregoing my approval to do what you must," he said, his large, heavily calloused hand slapped Nazir twice on the cheek endearingly. "You are much wiser than I am, and have been given a gift that is far beyond what I can do. I need you to become the leader that knows what needs to be done and won't hesitate when the time comes, even if it means killing me. Do you understand?"

It would seem that there was still an unlimited number of things his father could still surprise him with, after all this time. For all the lack of affection and the harshness of his words, Nazir had always known that at the center of it was the need to shape him into a kha'a capable of leading their kha'gan. What he didn't know was how much of it had been done to preserve the lives of his people rather than his reputation. How foolish and naive of him, to have focused on earning his father's approval, rather than using his ability to do what was best for them? It was his support, his foresight as an oracle that the kha'a had needed, not a son who wanted to fill his shoes. That day, Nazir discovered that Za'in izr Husari wasn't an ambitious man at all. He was a pragmatic one, if a little brutal in the way he chose to do things. Or a lot.

Even if it means killing me. He thought about that statement for a time as they stood, side by side, watching the peaceful night being unravelled by the gradual onset of dawn. A subtle, golden light drew a faint line at the horizon, separating the pitch black sky now streaked with purple and blue from the white dunes that seemed to go on forever. The stars blinked out of existence one by one, like dancers in white taking turns to bow out from the stage. He could feel the warmth of the new day on his face as he stood, and that of his father standing next to him.

"Is that why you killed the last kha'a?" Nazir asked.

His father, grinning a little wider than usual, shook his head slightly. "No," he said. "That was for your mother."

Nazir allowed himself to smile at the rare display of amusement from the kha'a and the love he still harbored for his kha'ari. "She was one hell of a woman, wasn't she?"

"She was," he replied, fixing his eyes somewhere in the distance. His expression softened considerably then. Nazir couldn't remember the last time his father had allowed him—or anyone—to see such vulnerability in him and would alway remember that night for years to come.

They stood there for a while, sharing the quiet moment without any more words spoken before he was excused. Nazir took one last look at the kha'a before he turned to go, and once more was flooded by an overwhelming sense of awe for the man he called father. Za'in izr Husari was a sight to behold and remembered. A figure so large and terrifying under the stars, whose shoulders seemed capable of holding even the weight of the sky. He often wondered, if everyone felt that way about their father. If there would ever be the day when he didn't feel so small against such a man.

***

Sunlight bled through the line of the horizon, painting the dark sky with new bruises of red and purple as dawn approached. Za'in izr Husari closed his eyes and breathed in the cool night air, thinking of the morning that would soon come. It was no small thing he had done tonight, no trivial decision he had made. And it had been his decision to make. Despite what he had told his son.

He could insist on seeing the boy dead tomorrow. He could even have him killed tonight. No one would question his honor for having a stray––a thief––killed without trial. It would be wrong, with regards to their code of conduct, but it wouldn't be the first wrong thing he'd done, and hardly the worst. When two-thousand lives—or just your daughter's—depended on you, codes and laws meant very little to Za'in.

But Nazir had done this thing. His only son, who had always been fearful of his father—or his opinion of him—had decided to go to Djari first with a clear intention of muscling him into accepting the inevitable. It had been Nazir's first rebellious act that marked him as an adult, a man who'd decided to step out of his father's shadow. One did not say no to such things, being a father, and he was a father before all else. His children didn't know that, of course. There were damages one could do to one's children for appearing too much of a parent.

Or too little of one, their mother would have said. She would recognize such a balance. Women were sensitive to these things, and Zuri had been one hell of a woman. She had been a loving mother, an understanding wife, a kha'ari much loved and admired by her subjects. The light of his life.

He had loved her from the moment they met. Many things he'd done, those life-changing decisions—and even suicidal ones—had been a result of his love for her. Young, long-limbed, and beautiful, she had been a bharavi promised to the last kha'a. A woman so far out of his reach that had been the driving force for him to do the impossible—the inconceivable. She had, once again, become far out of his reach now, and this time it was beyond his ability to close that distance. He could kill the man who had made it so. He could still do that. It gave him a sense of purpose, if nothing else. Vengeance was easy to hold on to and fight for.

It could also destroy a man.

Za'in was aware of the risk he was taking. He had always known of the madness that surrounded it, how fast it could consume and blind a perfectly wise and reasonable man. He could destroy the entire kha'gan, or march them all to their deaths in the pursuit of his personal vengeance if he was not careful.

But he had Nazir, his only son who was also a trueblood oracle. The power that boy possessed—the wisdom and knowledge that came with it—was the assurance he needed. Nazir would know when to stop him. It was why he had to be hard on his son—too hard on occasions, he knew. When the time came, Nazir would have to be able to do it without hesitation. Or with one, if necessary.

He had revealed a bit too much of himself tonight, Za'in thought with a grimace. There were weaknesses that came with being a parent, with loving another life other than your own. He was going to have to fix that tomorrow. Nazir izr Za'in was a trueblood oracle and his khumar. He must be these things before all else.

So must Djari, for everything that she was and was destined to be.

A shiver ran down his spine at the thought. He had never quite come to terms with it ever since Nazir had told him of his vision at the moment of her birth. She would bring an end to the war, he had said, but by way of salvation or destruction to their people, it had not been clear. They had tried to raise her as well as they could, to make sure it would be the first, not the latter.

She was like him though, his daughter, too much like him for her own good. Djari had been a strong, feisty baby from birth. By the time she was three it had taken several guards to keep her from venturing too far away from camp. The girl, curious, adventurous, and virtually fearless, could never be kept still for any amount of time. Intelligent children were all like that, his mother had said. But intelligence was never a problem. The problem had always been her tenacity, or too much of it. Djari was a rock, an immovable one once she set her mind to a task. No amount of punishment or chastising had ever been able to discourage that girl.

Intelligence and tenacity, his skin pricked at the thought. One could create a hero or a monster from that combination. There was never much distinction between the two for a start, if any. Djari was his daughter in this more so than anything else, and he knew how much of a monster he could become. How many times he had become just that. The thought scared him, and Za'in had never been afraid in all his life. It would have helped if Zuri had been alive. She would have known how to deal with it.

Or would she?

He wanted to laugh at his own folly. Djari would do exactly what she wanted, the same way he would have. More than this, she was the girl of the prophecy. It was her decision that would shape the fate of the peninsula. That, and Nazir's visions. Who was he to interfere or get in the way?

Not his role to play, truly. There was an ache in that reality as much as there was pride, he thought, grinning to himself. Children grew to succeed their fathers everyday, even one who was Za'in izr Husari.

I am getting too old for this. He smiled at that thought and went back inside, pausing to rub away the pain in his knees along the way. Even the cold was getting to him now, Za'in had come to notice lately. He wondered what his wife would have said to all this, if she would find him old and brittle now, and realized he'd already known the answer.

You have won yourself a bharavi, is that not enough?

***

A/N: I should explain the difference between 'izr' and 'iza' as these aren't mispelled words. Izr (ee-zer) in Shakshi literally means Son of, whereas iza (ee-za) means Daughter of. Women in the White desert take the name of their mother while sons take the name of their father. Djari, therefore is referred to formally as iza Zuri, and Nazir is izr Za'in.