Somewhere north of Adana (modern Turkey), 1109 AD
“If you don’t have a good reason for needing to be with him, I’m going to separate you from the Christian,” Afan, the caravan owner, said. “The pilgrims like him, and they pay good money for this part of the journey, so I like to keep them happy.”
“They’re going to al-Quds, they know there’s going to be other Muslims there right?” Yusuf said with a sigh, looking up from oiling his sword. He and Nicolo were doing guard duty on another caravan on the run from Adrianople to al-Quds, because the money was good and neither of them particularly cared about the risk. All kinds of jobs paid you extra because you might die, and this one meant they could both do pilgrimage in al-Quds.
Afan sighed, and spread his hands before him.
“I have explained this,” he said. “But they like your Christian, and they are always saying they prefer Christian guards.”
Yusuf rolled his eyes.
“Nicolo is too nice for his own good,” he said. Afan nodded.
“This is why they like him. I want to put him next to their wagon, and you at the rear,” he said.
The rear was where bandits liked to attack first, to prevent retreat. Yusuf would feel a lot better about it with Nicolo at his side, rather than one of the poor mortal soldiers Afan employed. They couldn’t help the fact they died as easily as falling, but he trusted Nicolo’s steady presence more than their gadfly lives.
“If we are attacked, we will be attacked from the rear,” Yusuf said. “I would like to have Nicolo with me. We are your most experienced fighters.”
“If we are attacked, the pilgrims will bleat like sheep and get in the way,” Afan said. “Your Christian is good at making them listen.”
Yusuf sighed again, giving Afan his best put upon look. He hated to lie to him; Afan was their best employer and not particularly inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth when they miraculously recovered from their wounds.
“I do not wish to be separated from Nicolo,” he said. “We are joined by destiny.”
“Well,” Afan said slowly, clearly surprised by the sentiment. “I don’t want to come between you.”
Yusuf tried to look soulful and romantic, like he was afflicted by destiny. Nicolo was a much better liar than he was, but in a typical fashion, he was nowhere to be seen now that Yusuf actually needed him.
“We have been lovers for many years,” Yusuf said, looking determinedly at Afan’s nose to keep himself from laughing. “We must face danger together.”
“Ah,” Afan said, after a moment. “Well, in that case…”
“I could not fight without him by my side,” Yusuf said, laying it on a bit more thickly. “I would rush to his side, if he were injured.”
Afan reached out and put his hand on Yusuf’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.
“Brother, I understand,” he said. “If my wife was here, I couldn’t think for the danger she’d face. Of course you and your Nicolo should stay together when we are on the move. I will tell the pilgrims to be happy with Bishoy. He is a Copt, which is surely close enough.”
“Thank you,” Yusuf said, putting his hand over Afan’s. He felt a little bad about lying, but Bishoy was barely twenty and still learning how to handle a sword. Walking alongside the pilgrim’s cart was the best place for him.
Later, when Afan had finished complaining about the work of keeping the caravan’s mercenaries and guards in check and Yusuf had finished caring for his blade, he walked out to the little fire where Nicolo had pitched their camp, bedrolls laid next to each other. He was reading the tiny psalter he carried everywhere with him, the one Yusuf had scrimped and saved for nearly four years to buy him, his mouth moving as he recited the words to himself quietly.
Yusuf watched him for a long moment, not wanting to disturb him. It had been three years since their last journey to al-Quds, driven by a wish to see more of the world. They had gone north, to the Rus, and east over the great steppes, and made their slow way back to the Mediterranean. They had seen such wonders, glories beyond Yusuf’s own imaginings, but he knew they were both drawn back to this place, and to al-Quds especially. It was the place of their death and their new birth together, as two souls joined by their strange fate, as brothers and friends.
The firelight cast Nicolo’s face in shadow, his long nose, his delicate eyelashes, the hollow of his collarbone above his shirt. He had let his hair grow long, and his beard gave him a severe look, like he was not the over-generous man who gave his last coin to hungry children and the clothes off his back to beggars. ‘We do not need it Yusuf!’ he would always say. ‘Is it not a gift to give so freely?’ Fate had given Yusuf’s life a path he had never imagined, but Nicolo as his brother through it all was the gift of God.
“Brother,” Nicolo said, disturbing Yusuf’s melancholic thoughts. He had closed the psalter and was looking up at Yusuf, his expression concerned. “Is everything alright? Did Afan say something?”
“Oh, nothing,” Yusuf said, crossing to join Nicolo next to the fire. “I was just thinking.”
Nicolo smiled. “A dangerous occupation, I am told,” he said. “Perhaps, you should stick to the work of the sword.”
Nicolo had made camp in the shadow of one the caravan’s supply wagons, and Yusuf was able to lean against one of the wagon wheels and stretch out his legs, the fire warming the soles of his feet. He lay his sword next to him, alongside Nicky’s own sword, in its practical battered scabbard.
“Well, speaking of our work,” Yusuf said. “Afan wanted to move you off the rear guard with me, to the pilgrim’s cart.”
“But the rear guard is the most dangerous,” Nicolo said. “I wouldn’t like to think of you fighting without me.”
“That’s what I said,” Yusuf said patiently. “But Afan said the pilgrims like you.”
“Oh, well,” Nicolo said, his cheeks pinking up lightly. “They have had a hard journey for faith. It is not difficult to be kind to them.”
“You’re too nice to them,” Yusuf said, knowing it was a lost cause. Ten years had not changed Nicolo, another ten of Yusuf’s griping would not do it.
“I still don’t want to be separated from you,” Nicolo said simply, tracing a pattern in the dirt with his fingers. “Afan will want to put Bishoy on the rear guard, and he is just a child really.”
“Don’t worry,” Yusuf said. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I told Afan we were star-crossed lovers and I couldn’t bear to be separated from you, even for a moment. You’re still on the rear guard with me.”
Nicolo looked up at him suddenly, his face a mask of confused surprise, and then he laughed, clapping a hand to his forehead.
“Yusuf!” he exclaimed, still laughing. “You can’t lie to the poor man. Star-crossed lovers indeed, did you tell him all the times you tried to kill me?”
Yusuf leaned back, putting his hands behind his head comfortably, enjoying the sight of Nicolo’s bright smile.
“No, I left that part out,” he said. “And I very kindly didn’t mention all the times you tried to kill me, I don’t want Afan thinking you’re a poor lover.”
Nicolo shook his head. “Lying is a sin, you rogue,” he said, but it was with good humour in his voice.
“Ask for forgiveness in your prayers,” Yusuf said. “I know I will in mine.” He paused then, suddenly realising what he had thought of as a small white lie might be inconvenient for Nicolo. “Unless you want to find a man when we stop in Adana,” he said quickly. “I don’t want you to think you can’t find lovers...” he trailed off a little nervously.
Nicolo waved it off easily, like he waved off every other inconvenience of his life with Yusuf.
“I am not so desperate I need to find someone to pay in Adana,” he said easily. “Afan can think we are lovers, if that makes things easier.”
“Alright,” Yusuf said, relaxing a little. Nicolo was so easy-going sometimes it was hard to know his real preferences.
“Come, lie down, we have a long march tomorrow,” Nicolo said, stretching himself out on his bedroll, the fire burning low. Yusuf lay down next to him, feeling the warmth of the fire and the gentle heat of Nicolo’s body. Above him were familiar stars.
“What will you do in al-Quds?” he asked, knowing Nicolo was also looking up with him. They had been to the holy city many times in the last decade, but neither of them ever tired of it. It pulled them in towards it, the way a normal man would be drawn aways to his home city, or the way stones always fell towards the ground, drawn by their shared element.
“Hmm,” Nicolo said thoughtfully, his voice heavy with sleep. “I wish to climb the mount of olives, and think of Christ’s time with the apostles. I find myself thinking more of their bond, the love that brought them together, as the years pass. What about you? Where will you go?”
“They say the tomb of King David is open,” Yusuf said, musing aloud. “We could go together.”
“I would like that,” Nicolo said quietly, and neither of them spoke for a long moment, until Yusuf’s eyes felt heavy and he slipped easily into sleep, Nicolo at his side.
Kish, on the Persian Gulf (modern Iran), 1144 AD
Nicky had liked Kish, until someone stabbed Yusuf. They’d been working their way east, in vague agreement that their dreams were not visions but some kind of reality, and the women they saw in them were real, not figments of their imaginations. Yusuf had found them work for a merchant family, and their pay was room and board and transport east. It was a snail’s way to travel, no faster than a strong ox could pull a heavy cart, but they were in no hurry. They hadn’t been in a hurry in many years.
Kish was where the rich went to spend the warm months, relaxing and spending large amounts of money on luxury, so their caravan had turned south, moving to the coast and then to boats to take them to the island, and then they had sat, brothers in arms, weapons on their knees, while their merchant employer tried to entice passing trade.
It had been a quiet journey, so neither of them were much on guard. Someone shouted a few stalls away in the marketplace, and they looked over curiously.
“Thief!” shouted a stall owner. “A thief!”
Nicky raised his eyebrows, even as Yusuf sighed and pushed to his feet.
“Yusuf, we aren’t being paid to guard the whole marketplace,” Nicky said, but Yusuf waved him off.
“Someone will get hurt otherwise,” he said, and stepped out into the little cobbled street. Nicky sighed. Yusuf seemed to think being immortal justified putting his body on the line for any little thing. Nicky did not think their blessing was best shared through pain, and he did not like to see Yusuf hurt. It was one of their old arguments, the paths well trod.
“Stop that thief!” yelled the stall owner, running into view, pursuing a short man with a bundle under his arm. Yusuf sheathed his sword, and stepped out into the path of the runners.
“Peace brothers,” he said calmly but loudly, like calming a horse or a large crowd. Nicky watched him put his hands out in front of him, both palms empty.
The running thief swore loudly, and Nicky saw his arm move, the flash of a blade, and cried out.
“Yusuf!” he shouted, but it happened quickly, too quickly for Yusuf to do anything, and the thief only slowed in his running to stab viciously at Yusuf’s stomach, like he was a curtain that could be parted, rather than a man. Nicky stood up quickly, shouting in warning, not even in the right language but in Ligurian, the language he still defaulted to when he needed to speak quickly.
The thief kept running, but Nicky didn’t care. Yusuf was crumpled in the street, clutching his stomach, blood bubbling horribly between his fingers. Nicky ran to him, barely feeling like he was moving, because every time he saw death it was horrible, even as part of his mind told him Yusuf would be fine, the other part screamed that his brother and his friend were dead, they were dying, they were gone to him.
“Yusuf,” he said, sliding to his knees next to him, pulling him into his lap. Yusuf smiled, blood on his teeth where he had coughed some of it up. Nicky held his head up for him as he coughed again.
“Silly mistake,” he said, his words muffled. He had not yet died, and was struggling to reach it before the healing could begin. “Nicolo, you must get me under cover.”
“Yes, you are a great fool,” Nicky said quickly, putting his hands over the wound, feeling Yusuf’s slick blood running over his fingers. “I will get you to the caravan.”
A little crowd had gathered, and the merchant they were working for, Kayvan, touched Nicky’s shoulder.
“I am sorry friend,” he said seriously. “But I do not think Yusuf will recover. The wound looks serious.”
Nicky tried to be casual, shaking his head. Yusuf’s breathing sounded ragged now, and it was important to get him under cover before he died properly and they lost all hope of subterfuge.
“No, no, Yusuf is a big faker, he is probably fine,” he said, smiling weakly. “Will you help me get him to the caravan?”
“Yes, Yes,” Kayvan said quickly, going for Yusuf’s legs. Nicky put his hands under Yusuf’s arms. Yusuf groaned when they lifted him, and Nicky shushed him.
“It’s okay friend,” he said, and they carried him off the street and into the cart behind Kayvan’s stall. There was nothing soft to lay him on, and Nicky had to put him in the bottom of the cart, which was just wood. Kayvan put his legs down, and then fidgeted.
“Someone needs to watch the stall,” Kayvan said nervously. Nicolo turned to glare at him.
“Then you can watch the stall,” he snapped, and climbed into the cart after Yusuf, trying to shield view of him from Kayvan and interested passers-by. Kayvan left, and Nicky bent to push Yusuf’s hair off his forehead.
“My friend, you really must stop dying,” he said, and Yusuf laughed and then groaned at the pain.
“Don’t make me laugh,” he said, muffled and horribly bloody. “Right now I would like to hurry up and die so I can heal.”
Nicky kept Yusuf’s head cradled in his lap. Yusuf groaned again, and then made a horrible choking sound, his eyes falling closed. That was the death coming over him, the moment of emptiness. Nicky had felt it many times, and, in himself, it barely registered any more. He hated to see it in Yusuf.
It was only a moment, barely a breath, and then Yusuf jerked and came back, opening his eyes. There was less blood coming now, and when Nicky moved aside Yusuf’s horribly ruined shirt, his stomach had no wound, his skin smooth and whole.
“There you are my friend,” Nicky said, still holding Yusuf’s head. “Good as new.”
Yusuf coughed, and tried to sit up before falling back, his head in Nicky’s lap.
“Why did God give us immortality,” he said. “And leave the pain behind? It seems a major oversight.”
Nicky rubbed some of the blood away from Yusuf’s neck with his shirtsleeve.
“Maybe He wanted to keep you humble,” he said, with a smile. This was a familiar terrain of jokes. Yusuf groaned and rolled over so he could spit over the side of the cart, clearing his mouth of blood.
“I am humbled,” he said, grumbling. “I am so humbled my humility made a hole in my stomach and my blood leaked out.”
“Very funny,” Nicky said. “Half the market saw you stabbed. You’ll have to pretend to be hurt for a week, at least. Until we can leave Kayvan behind.”
“Can I not make a miraculous recovery? You saw an angel come down from the heavens and heal my stomach?” Yusuf said, but Nicky knew he was just stalling. They’d had to pretend to be hurt before, Yusuf would just have to spend a week in bed pretending to be too weak to walk, and then they’d sneak out of the city at night, with no one the wiser.
Nicky gave him a serious look. “Kayvan is a Zoroastrian,” he said. “I don’t know if he believes in angels.”
“Hmm,” Yusuf said, leaning against the side of the cart. “That does present a challenge, yes.” His torn shirt exposed his stomach and chest, and even streaked in his own dried blood he looked hearty and hale. Nicky had fought beside him, had walked thousands of miles across the world with him. He knew how strong his body was. It was good to have a fit friend and brother. Neither of them let the other fall behind.
“There is an lodging house at the edge of the market,” Nicky said, digging in one of the packs they kept in Kayvan’s cart. He tossed Yusuf one of their spare shirts. They had not bothered with separate clothes in many years. “I will find us a room. You put this on your wound and pretend to be in pain.”
Yusuf clutched his chest dramatically.
“You wound me Nicolo,” he said, falling back in the cart to lie on his back. Nicolo kicked at him.
“It was your stomach you fool,” he said. “Lie still and try and look injured.”
Yusuf stuck his tongue out dramatically and Nicky snorted, scrambling out of the carriage and slid back into the line of stalls and marketplaces. Kayvan was fidgeting behind his stall, looking a little grey around the edges. Nicky felt bad. He was only a young man, sent out by his father to do the long circuit of markets and sales on the coast. He was trying to make his father proud, and having one of his guards die on his watch was not a good start.
“Nicolo!” Kayvan said with a start, when he saw Nicky. “Is Yusuf... will he live? There was so much blood.”
Kayvan looked at Nicky’s shirt and hands, all streaked with blood. His face blanched even further. Nicky smiled, and tried to look as if all was alright.
“Yes, Yusuf has had many wounds much worse than this one. But he will need time to recover. We will need our pay up to now, if you can,” he said.
“Oh, of course,” Kayvan said, scrambling for his purse. “Are you….are you sure he will recover?”
Nicky kept a smile stuck on his face, and took the purse of money when Kayvan found it. He didn’t think a Kayvan would short change them, and there wasn’t time to count it. They might have to go hungry for a little while, if Kayvan had miscounted.
“Quite sure!” Nicky said, falsely positive. “We will be in the lodging house until the end of the week, if you still have work for us then. Good luck Kayvan.”
Kayvan said something else, perhaps thanks or maybe more worry about Yusuf. Nicolo felt a little bad. Kayvan would need to find new guards, or risk theft on the road. Well, it was not Nicolo’s problem any more. Yusuf was always his first concern.
With the money secured, Nicky took both their packs from Kayvan’s cart, and tucked Yusuf’s scimitar, in its scabbard, under his arm.
“C’mon,” he said to Yusuf, still sitting in the cart with the make-shift bandage over his ‘wound’. “Let me help you up.”
Yusuf rolled his eyes, but there were people a little ways away, not watching them but close enough to notice if a man who had been previously coughing blood vaulted himself down and walked away. Yusuf let Nicky help him out of the cart and support him, one of Yusuf’s arms around Nicky’s shoulder, as they hobbled to the lodging house, Yusuf bent over to hide his stomach.
The man who owned the lodging house was not impressed.
“I saw your friend get stabbed,” he said, his arms crossed and a no-nonsense expression on his face. “I’m not having someone die in one of my rooms, it’s terrible luck and horrible clean up.”
Oh, in the name of the son of god. Nicky wanted to swear, but kept smiling, Yusuf leaning over and staying silent since he was supposed to be hurt.
“Please,” Nicky said. “We can pay extra for the room. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Not if he’s the twelfth imam himself,” the lodging house owner said without sympathy. Nicky wanted to sigh, but tried to look sympathetic and concerned.
“Please sir,” he said, pulling Yusuf closer to him and batting his eyelashes. “We’re new lovers and I can’t be away from him, I’m so worried about him.” He sniffed, like he was about to cry. The lodging owner looked suddenly embarrassed. “Please sir, he’s the love of my life.”
Maybe that was laying it on a little thick. Yusuf was snickering under his breath. Nicky jammed his heel into his foot, and Yusuf groaned dramatically.
“We’re two soulmates, two stars destined to be together,” Nicky said, drawing breath like he was about to continue. The lodging owner raised his hands, cutting him off.
“Fine, fine, far be it for me to separate lovers,” he said, exasperated. “You can have the small room at the end of the hall. Reza!” he turned and shouted for the serving boy. “Show the lovers,” at that he gave Nicky an unimpressed look. “To the small room.”
Reza was maybe fourteen, and gave Nicky a curious look when he had to half-carry Yusuf up the steps. He didn’t offer to help with the bags or the swords.
“Did you really get stabbed?” he asked. Yusuf looked up, blood still on his teeth, and smiled.
“Sure,” he said.
“Cool,” Reza said, clearly trying not to look overjoyed at this excitement. “This is the small room. Someone will shout at mealtimes. They cost extra.”
“Thank you,” Nicky said, heaving Yusuf into the room. He managed to dig a coin out of his purse and drop it into Reza’s waiting hands. Finally, he pushed the door closed with his hip and dropped their packs on the floor, Yusuf’s sword on top of them.
“Hey,” Yusuf said, sitting down on the room’s one bed. The lodging owner had been right, the room was very small. “Careful with that, it’ll be an antique soon.”
Nicky just looked at him.
“You are welcome,” he said a little hysterically. “For lying to that poor man about our love so you could hide in here in peace!”
Yusuf put his hands up. “Nicolo, Nicky, brother, thank you my friend.”
Nicky threw himself down on the bed next to Yusuf and leaned against him. At least Yusuf was alive and uninjured, with nothing more than his dignity hurt. But Nicky always worried, even when he knew they would heal. What if it went away? The healing, the immortality, it had come suddenly, with no sign. What if it went away as quickly? He let his head fall onto Yusuf’s shoulder, and Yusuf raised a hand to pet his hair gently.
“I know you hate lying, friend,” he said. Nicky sighed.
“It’s okay. It’s just for a few days,” he said. “I’m glad you’re okay. You should be more careful.”
“Why would I be more careful?” Yusuf asked, and Nicky could hear that he was smiling. “You always look after me.”
Nicky snorted. “Maybe I will not be there one day,” he said. Yusuf laughed, and mussed Nicky’s hair.
“You just told the whole room downstairs you’re my star-crossed lover,” he said playfully. “You can’t leave me now! They’ll think you’re a villain, playing with my heart like that.”
Nicky tried to duck away from Yusuf’s hand in his hair but Yusuf got his arm around his neck and then they were both wrestling, the blankets on the bed getting between them, both of them laughing and trying not to be too loud, until Yusuf finally managed to force Nicky back on the bed, a pointy elbow in his stomach.
“Yusuf, ugh,” Nicky said, trying to wriggle out from under him. “You are getting blood all over me.”
Yusuf pretended to ignore him. “Hmmm,” he said, an exaggerated thoughtful expression on his face. “I can’t have them thinking you’re not a good lover Nicolo. The walls can’t be that thick. Maybe some loud moans would make your terrible lies believable.”
“Yusuf!” Nicky groaned, covering his eyes with his hands. Yusuf laughed.
“See, there we go,” he said, sitting back, and winked. It looked terribly lascivious on Yusuf’s smiling face, even with the blood. Nicky blushed, and shoved at him.
“I am going to stab you again,” he said, but that just made Yusuf laugh more. He lay down on the bed next to Nicky. It was too small for them both really, and they only just fit with their shoulders pressing against each other.
“Thank you, my friend,” Yusuf said, after he had stopped laughing. “You know I’m grateful for everything you do for me.”
Nicky’s fingers were against Yusuf’s hand already, and it was easy to turn his hand over so their palms were against each other, and hold Yusuf’s hand tightly.
“No thanks needed,” he said, looking over so he could see Yusuf’s eyes. “We said long ago, there is no gratitude between brothers.”
On the trade route East from Tashkand (modern Tashkent) in Central Asia, 1182 AD
It was, in the end, a day like any other. It was a bright, clear day, the huge sky that was the marker of these lands completely empty of cloud, so blue it nearly hurt to look at it. They’d had the same horses since they had left Tus, and Yusuf leaned down to pat his mare’s neck. They had made good time on the last month’s ride and the horses were still in good shape.
Ahead of him, Nicky had also stopped, pulling his horse to a halt. He looked over his shoulder. He’d had his hair cut in Samarkand, when they’d last had work, and he looked boyish, younger than his 113 years. When Yusuf looked at him, it was easy to forget the time. He felt the same as he had when they had first set out on their journey together. He would never be lonely, at Nicky’s side.
“There is someone coming,” Nicky said, and Yusuf followed his pointing finger to see the dust rising in the distance. Someone on the road. Not that strange, it was a popular road, and the journey eastward was not uncommon. They had passed traders, single men with heavy packs or long merchant caravans, or farmers leaving the market at Tashkand. There was nothing to indicate this was anything different.
Maybe it was the destiny that Nicky had taken to speaking of, the force that bound the two of them together, but Yusuf looked at the rising dust and felt something different - apprehension, excitement.
They had been dreaming of the women for 83 years. They knew their faces as well as they knew anyone, as well as they knew each other. Yusuf still felt like he was going mad when the warriors of their dreams, on horseback, rode out of the dust and up the road, alive and real. Both of them wore the tubeteika hats the steppe riders preferred, one red, one blue, with wrapped scarves to cover their hair, and carried recurve bows, the quivers bristling with arrows hanging from their saddles.
Yusuf made eye contact with the taller first, and it was a moment of bright recognition. They had never met, but they knew each other instantly, deeply and completely.
Her face brightened into a smile and she rode up right alongside him.
“Brother!” she said, and it was in the local language. He and Nicky only had a few words of it. His face fell. He hadn’t even thought it would be like he and Nicky’s first days, scrambling to be understood to each other in the trading tongue. She saw his reaction. “You speak Karluk?” she tried, and he waggled his hand back and forth.
“A little,” he said, and she laughed, probably at his accent. She turned over her shoulder and said something to the other woman, this not in Karluk but in another language all together, fast and explosive.
“Arabic?” he tried. She similarly waved her hand to say ‘only a little’. He looked at Nicky, who only shrugged. Yusuf was the best linguist of the two of them. “Farsi?” he tried. Most of the locals spoke at least a little of the new persian, and they had been managing with their little Karluk, their much greater command of Farsi, and Arabic. But these women had ridden from the east, where he knew other languages were spoken. They may have never had to learn Farsi.
The woman smiled. “Only a little,” she said. She tapped her chest with a fist. “I am Andromache,” she pointed at the other woman. “She is Quynh.”
He tapped his own chest. “I am Yusuf. This is Nicolo,” he said, pointing at Nicky, who raised a hand in greeting. Andromache was not a local name, for all they were dressed as the locals and rode as the steppe people did. He dug up the languages he hadn’t needed since they had left Persia proper.
“Greek?” he tried. At that, Andromache grinned.
“Yes!” she said happily. “I have Greek! It has been many years, but I have Greek!”
For a second, neither of them said anything, just grinned at each other foolishly, delighted in their shared language, and then all four of them exploded into words, talking over each other, asking questions, laughing and smiling the way people did when they were hugely relieved. They had found each other.
Eventually, still talking - it transpired Qunyh also had Greek, strangely accented like Andromache’s - they rode down the road until they found a sheltered area to camp for the night and set up camp together, easily sharing everything they had. After sunset, Yusuf washed and stepped away from the camp, turning west and south towards Mecca. Behind him, he could hear Nicky murmuring his own prayers quietly. Andromache and Quynh didn’t pray, it seemed, but they did talk to each other in the strange language Yusuf didn’t know.
As the darkness fell completely, they shared food together, Andromache and Quynh telling of their journey from the far eastern lands. Yusuf had not spoken Greek for nearly a year now, and it was strange to listen to it in new mouths. The way Andromache and Quynh spoke it sounded ancient, like the Greek he had learned to read, rather than the language he had spoken in the trading forums.
“And you were dreaming of us, all this time?” Nicky asked, in a pause of Andromache and Quynh’s story. Andromache nodded, but she was chewing, and looked to Quynh to answer for her.
“We dreamed of each other, to start,” Qunyh said, looking at Andromache fondly. “When we dreamed of you, we knew it was because you were like us.”
“We thought we were alone,” Nicky said. “We weren’t sure you were real to start with.”
Andromache swallowed. “I thought that about Qunyh at first,” she said. “But the dreams, they’re how we find each other.”
“Are there others?” Yusuf asked, feeling giddy. Others, like them, free of death. He had for nearly 100 years thought it was only him and Nicky, alone in all the world.
Andromache’s face was serious, and she glanced at Qunyh for a moment. “There was another, Lykon, our brother” she said.
“What happened to him?” Yusuf asked, meeting Nicky’s eyes nervously. He had a nervous feeling he already knew.
“Before we dreamed of you,” Andromache said. “It was when Alexandros of Macedon crossed the Indus. We were south of the Kush when it happened.” Both her and Qunyh bowed their heads for a second, solemn and serious.
“He died,” Qunyh said eventually, softly. “Whatever that makes us unable to die - it left him. He was injured, and did not heal, and he died, like any other man. We did not know then, but now we do. It can leave us at any time. We are not beyond death.”
That was sobering. Yusuf thought suddenly of every time he and Nicky had been careless or foolish, every time he had watched Nicky die and been comforted by the idea he would rise again, his ever-living brother. He looked across the fire at Nicky, his face cast into shadow by the flickering light. Never again. Never again would let Nicky throw himself at death, careless with his body and life. He would not be able to withstand it, if Nicky died as Qunyh had said, like any other man. To Yusuf, he was not any other man.
Nicky also looked serious, but then looked up, his bright eyes alight with something.
“Wait,” he said intently. “Alexandros of Macedon? You mean Alexander the Great, the ancient king of the world?”
“Not quite the world,” Andromache said. “But yes, but he was just of Macedon when I knew him. Why?”
“In the lord’s name, how old are you?” Nicky asked, his face a mask of shock. Andromache only laughed, and would not say, no matter how Nicky pressed her.
It was not till late, the moon bright above their heads, that they ran out of talk, and the fire burned low. Yusuf took their plates and bowls and the pot they cooked in to wash in the basin of water they had filled when they made camp, and Qunyh came with him.
“I am sorry your friend died,” he said to her, while he washed and she dried. She gave him a small smile, glancing over her shoulder towards Andromache and Nicky, and then back to him.
“Thank you,” she said. “It hurt to lose him. He was like a brother to us. But I have Andromache and she has me. As long as we are together, we will be happy.”
Yusuf could see Nicky at the fire, gesturing as he spoke. His face was more familiar to Yusuf now than any other had ever been. He nodded.
“I think I know what you mean,” he said. Qunyh dried the last dish and passed it back to him to pack away.
“All things are made easy with love,” she said.
“I -” he said, maybe to protest, but she was already standing to walk back to the fire. If they had been speaking anything but Greek, he could have thought she was mistaken, or speaking of the love of brothers, but she had said erotas, the love of passion. When he looked back to the fire, Qunyh paused at Andromache’s side, a hand on her wrist, and they kissed quickly and gently, the kiss of people who had loved for many years.
“Yusuf, hurry up, we need to sleep,” Nicky called from the fire, and Yusuf was broken free from his thoughts. He packed the plates and bowls away, checked the fire was banked and the horses well-tied and grazing, and then went to lay down in his bedroll beside Nicky.
Quynh and Andromache slept on the other side of the fire, their bows laying beside them. Yusuf could hear them whispering in the language he did not know. Nicky had laid Yusuf’s sword on the grass beside his bedroll, and kept his own straight sword for himself, unsheathed. They were sleeping in the open, and it was foolish not to have a weapon to hand.
In the darkness, Yusuf could see only the grey outline of Nicky’s body, and the faint shape of his face. He lay down in his bedroll, and Nicky turned towards him, propping himself up on an elbow.
“It is a wondrous thing,” Nicky said, his voice barely a whisper. “To find them. After all this time. I almost can’t believe it.”
Yusuf could not see his face, but he could hear the awe in Nicky’s voice. They were no longer alone.
“Nicolo -” Yusuf said, and then felt himself falter. They were not just friends or brothers. Yusuf did not think it was even love, for so simple a word could not express the deep well of feeling that was everything he felt for Nicolo. They were two arms of the same body, two hands forever joined. They were bound together, by blood and death and rebirth, and a hundred years had given him the gift of certainty.
Nicolo’s body was so close to his, Yusuf could feel the warmth of his skin. They slept side-by-side every night, for warmth and for comfort, for the pleasure of having someone close.
Quynh was right. All things were made easy with love.
His eyes had adjusted to the dark. He could see the faint lightness of Nicky’s eyes looking at him, waiting for him. His lips parted, and Yusuf saw it nearly in slow motion. Nicky reached out and put a hand on Yusuf’s arm, his thumb gently digging into the muscle of Yusuf’s bicep.
“We have wondrous lives,” Yusuf said, and Nicky smiled at him. “Sometimes I do not always see the wonders until they’re right in front of my face.”
“That’s alright,” Nicky said, and he was leaning forward, moving closer to Yusuf now, as if he knew what Yusuf wanted, the realisation he had reached. “I’ve had the time to wait for you.”
Nicky’s grip on his arm was firm, and his face was so close Yusuf could see the colour of his eyes, even in the dark. It was only a hairsbreadth distance to cover; nothing when Yusuf thought of the leagues they had covered together.
Yusuf leaned in and kissed him, or maybe Nicky kissed him, but it was all the same in the end. The night was chilled, but Nicky’s body was warm against him. Yusuf put the palm of his hand on Nicky’s chest, feeling the strong muscles under his shirt. His body was familiar to Yusuf in every way, but this was new, this heat, this closeness. He wanted nothing else.
Nicky kissed his neck, pulling their bodies closer together, their legs tangling, and Yusuf gasped.
“Nicky,” he said, not sure what he was going to say, and Nicky kissed him again, groaning under his breath. It wasn’t pleasure; it was frustration.
“I can’t believe you had to realise this now,” Nicky said, letting his head fall against Yusuf’s shoulder. “Why couldn’t it have been in Tashkand, when we had a bed?”
Yusuf snorted. Nicky’s arm reached around his waist and pulled him in close. They’d embraced a thousand times or more, but this still felt different.
“I thought you said we have time,” Yusuf said, which made Nicky laugh, and pull Yusuf down to the bedroll, so Nicky could rest his head on his shoulder.
“You know,” Quynh said, in her clear voice, after a long moment. “We don’t mind.”
“Quynh!” Andromache said, scandalised, and then all four of them were laughing, together under the dark sky.
Almería, southern coast of Spain, 2019 AD
The summer in Almeria was hot, the sun so bright and yellow it bleached every other colour in comparison. Nicky loved it. Everything was warm, and nothing moved quickly. It reminded him of Palermo, Valletta, Acre, even Rabat and Tripoli. He was a child of the middle sea, and would be for all of his long life. He and Joe had crossed to every corner of the world and seen every kind of life, but they were both always drawn back to the lands where they had been young men; the bright sun and blue water of the Mediterranean.
Nile had never been. Andromache had been sore and in no position to argue, so Nicky had booked plane tickets and rented an entire house. Joe had helped him bully both Nile and Andy onto the plane and, before long, they were pulling up in a rented car to the house on the outskirts of Almeria, set into the hill and bright in the sunshine.
Travelling with Andy was familiar. They had crossed the steppes together, on horseback, by train, in a car, once they were invented. Together they had crossed the Sierra Nevada into California by foot, seeing the Pacific ocean glittering like a blue jewel in the distance. Nicky was used to the way she grumbled when babied over her injury, the way she slept anywhere, an old soldier down into the very marrow of her bones.
Nile was new. He had forgotten what it was like to have a new one of them. She seemed so young. Maybe it was her joy, the open cast of her face under the sunlight.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, when they stepped out of the car. The view of the city stretched out in the valley, and beyond that the sea. She turned and looked over her shoulder, meeting Nicky’s eyes. “Have you been here before?”
Joe was letting Andy into the house, carrying their bags over his shoulder, so Nicky went to stand at Nile’s shoulder, looking out at the view with her. She was right; it was beautiful.
“Very briefly, before we met Booker,” Nicky said. “I thought it might be a good place for a holiday.”
Nile smiled. She had such a beautiful smile, dawning over her face, lighting up her eyes. God, it had been so long since they had lived in joy. Nicky hoped they could find it again.
“When was the last time Andy had a holiday?” she asked, her voice full of humour. Nicky snorted, looking over his shoulder where Andy had gone into the house.
“I think we spent a summer on the Black Sea, in 1840,” he said. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget we need to rest.”
Nile put her hand on his shoulder. “It won’t be all rest,” she said. “Joe promised you’d teach me to use your sword.”
Nicky blinked. “I don’t know why Joe is promising me for things,” he said. “Why don’t you get him to show you the scimitar? It is a different style, but the sabre is more modern anyway.”
Nile smiled. “He said you were better,” she said. “He also said not to tell you he said that.”
Nicky snorted. “I was a soldier when we met. I’d been fighting with the sword since I was able to walk. Joe was a conscripted soldier fighting a siege. He lets the first impression stick in his mind. He’s caught up with me by now,” he said. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”
He’d chosen the house for a reason. It had a big central kitchen, and a huge wooden table, big windows that let in the light of the sunshine. The bedrooms were all on the same floor, and Andy had already gone to lie down, the door to her room open. She tried to pretend she was as strong as she’d ever been, but the wound pained her. He went to lean in the doorway, and she looked at him, raising her eyebrows.
“Nice place,” she said. Nicky shrugged. Andy didn’t long for the sea the way he did. She never felt pulled back to this part of the world. She had gone with him and Joe to Jerusalem, sometime in the 15th century, he had forgotten the year, and to her it had just been a city, and a small, dirty one at that. He had made his peace with that. They were sister and brother of different parents, different worlds that had formed them. He would still follow her until the end. He had known no greater cause, then to be at Andy’s side.
“When was the last time you swam in the sea?” he asked, instead of saying any of that. Andy knew it all anyway. “We can drive to the beach tomorrow.”
“What’s my odds on being made to go if I say no?” she said. Nicky crossed his arms and smiled.
“I’d say pretty high, boss,” he said, and she snorted.
“Fine,” she said, a smile tucked into the corners of her mouth. “I see you’ve stopped pretending this isn’t a forced holiday. Go get us some food, Nile’s probably going to come and bother me about whatever physical therapy is again.”
She waved at him in dismissal and, not for the first time, Nicky remembered she had been a god-queen of the Scythians, before Christ had even been born. It had been a humbling realisation when he was a hundred years old, but now it just made him laugh.
Nile was indeed lingering in the kitchen, trying and failing to pretend she was interested in the appliances. Nicky nodded towards Andy’s room.
“Boss wanted to talk to you,” he said, trying not to let his amusement show. Nile jumped, and then nodded, looking serious.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, and went through to Andy’s room.
Nicky looked through the other rooms for Joe. Their bags were on the double bed in their room, but he had to search every room one by one until he found Joe on the patio, lying shirtless in the sun, eyes closed behind his sunglasses. Nicky watched him for a moment, enjoying the view. They’d been fighting for too long, taking job after job. It wasn’t just Andy who needed the rest.
Joe opened his eyes and lifted his sunglasses, giving Nicky a warm look.
“Enjoying the view?” he asked. Nicky smiled slowly. He was enjoying the view. He didn’t precisely have a favorite part of Joe, but the muscles of his chest, the little shadow of hair, the skin he knew intimately well.
“Vanity is a sin,” Nicky said, but he could hear the humour in his own voice. Joe laughed, and reached out to him, grabbing him by the wrist and reeling him in. Nicky went, not able to resist. There was a drop of sweat on Joe’s neck, working his way down to his shoulder, and in the full blaze of the sunlight, Nicky could feel his own skin prickle with sweat, feeling himself heating up from without.
“Appreciation of beauty is a virtue,” Joe said, when Nicky’s legs hit up against the side of the lounge chair. Nicky pulled at his wrist to kiss his palm and nip at his fingers playfully.
“Oh, you’re a beauty now?” Nicky said doubtfully. Joe let his sunglasses fall back over his eyes and grinned.
“I think I’m looking pretty good for 900,” he said. Nicky bent and kissed his forehead.
“C’mon, you can lie in the sun later. Andy wants us to go pick up some food,” he said.
Joe grumbled at that, because he was comfortable and tired from the travel, but eventually he put a shirt back on and they left Andy and Nile still talking in Andy’s room, taking their cash and fake IDs with them to walk down to the little cluster of shops a few streets down from the house. Fruit and vegetables were arranged in plastic bowls on the tables outside the shops, and there were other people shopping, gossiping with each other about family and friends. Joe wandered off to the bakery, and Nicky let the sounds of normal life, normal conversations, wash over him while he filled a bag with fruit and vegetables.
The woman at the register of the shop was young, with black hair in a high ponytail, and she smiled when Nicky brought the food in, typing in the numbers of tomatoes and peaches, the head of lettuce and bunch of cucumbers.
“Tourist?” she asked, in English, when he looked through his wallet for cash. He had pounds and euros, dollars and dirhams, all of it mixed together.
“Yes,” he said, apologetically, in Spanish. “We are staying in the house on Plaza Anzuelo.”
“Ah,” she said, shaking out a plastic bag. “What a lovely place for a honeymoon.”
“Sorry?” Nicky said, because he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly, but then Joe, apparently finished in the bakery, came up behind him and put an arm around his waist. He was warm and Nicky leaned back into the embrace. The woman smiled at them.
“Sorry, I saw you both through the window. I always know a honeymoon couple when I see one,” she said, handing Nicky his food.
“Oh, uh-” Nicky said, caught a little off guard. “We’re not-”
Joe reached over his shoulder to take the bag from here. “Nicky’s just shy. We’re very happy,” he said, smiling that charming smile Nicky knew so well.
Nicky knew that smile could melt any heart, and it worked on strangers as well as it worked on him. The woman’s smile turned soft and romantic.
“So romantic. I hope you have a good time here!” she said. Nicky finally managed to find the euros he’d been looking for, and dropped them into the change tray.
“Thank you,” he said, and elbowed Joe in the side to get him moving out of the store and back into the street. Safely in the street, he swatted at Joe’s shoulder.
“Lying is still a sin,” he said. Joe laughed, and dodged the swat, grabbing Nicky’s wrist and pulling him in for a kiss.
“You don’t believe in sin,” Joe said, when they pulled apart. “And it wasn’t lying. It can be another honeymoon.”
Nicky made a face, but he could feel himself relenting under Joe’s smile and his hands sliding around his waist in a gentle embrace.
“You can’t call every vacation a honeymoon,” Nicky said, but he kissed Joe softly, enjoying the feeling of his warm body and soft mouth, the prickle of his beard.
“Stop making up rules,” Joe said. “Let’s go back to the house.”
The sun was at their backs as they climbed the hill, close enough for their shoulders to brush. In the house, Nicky could hear the low sound of voices from behind Andy’s closed door, and then Nile stopped out, closing the door softly behind her.
“Andy okay?” Joe asked. Nile nodded.
“She’s going to sleep until we eat,” she said. “Did you get food?”
Joe lifted the paper bag in his hand. “Pastries. Nicky got real food.”
In the kitchen, Nicky filled the fruit basket and the refrigerator, while Nile poked around, exploring. He held back two peaches, the skin gentle and soft beneath his fingers. Perfectly ripe.
He tossed one of them to Joe, one-handed, and he caught it easily, having seen the movement coming. He bit into it, watching Nicky the whole time.
It wasn’t really sexy, or, at least, he wasn’t trying to be. He was just eating, one hand cupped under his mouth, to catch the juice, but Nicky didn’t need Joe to do anything special. The arousal was always just under his skin, the force of his love and their time together had not dulled the fire. He felt his face heat.
Joe winked at him. They knew each other too well to hide anything.
“Have you seen our room yet?” he asked, after he swallowed. His mouth was still wet with juice.
“No,” Nicky lied, because Nile was looking in the fridge next to him. “Show me?”
Joe dropped the pit of his peach into the bin next to the sink, and smiled slowly.
“Sure,” he said.
Their room was just down the hall. One of the windows looked out over the city, where the light was golden. Joe sat down on the bed, smirking a little, and Nicky closed the door firmly, heaving it click.
“How thick are the walls?” Joe asked, reaching for the hem of his shirt and then pulling it over his head.
Nicky watched him, feeling warm all over, not just from the sun.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe we should test it out.”
Joe leaned back, the last of the sunlight through the window lighting up his shoulders, shining in his hair. Nicky smiled. He was so beautiful.
Nicky started to unbuckle his belt, letting his eyes roam over Joe’s chest, the shadow of hair that led down his stomach. Joe smirked.
“Think I can make you shout?” he asked. Nicky palmed himself through his underwear, his trousers open and sagging down his hips. He was half-hard, and hardening up under his own hand. Joe’s eyes were warm and intent, and Nicky watched him lick his lips slowly, catching a drop of juice.
“I think I’d like you to try,” Nicky said. Joe reached out to him, crooking his fingers.
“Come here then,” he said, and that broke the spell of watching. Nicky crossed the room to the bed in three paces, and Joe wrapped a warm hand around the back of his knee, fingers digging into the softness of the joint. “Take your shirt off,” Joe said, looking up at him blatantly.
Nicky swallowed, and pulled his t-shirt off over his head, dropping it on the floor. Joe smiled smugly and made eye contact as he hooked his thumbs into Nicky’s underwear, pushing them down his thighs, letting his cock bob free.
Joe’s fingers gripped the back of Nicky’s leg harder, and that was the only warning he got before Joe pulled Nicky forward, pushing his dick into Joe’s open, waiting mouth. It felt exquisite, sending shivers up Nicky’s back and down his arms. Joe’s mouth was warm and wet, sliding up and down his cock, pulling him all of the rest of the way towards hardness.
He groaned, quietly, and nearly laughed when Joe smiled, as best he could with his mouth full.
“That wasn’t - ah - shouting,” Nicky said breathlessly, letting his hips move as they wanted, his body chasing the sensation of Joe’s mouth. Joe lifted his eyebrows in challenge, and pulled Nicky closer, until his legs were right against the bed, between Joe’s spread knees. He wanted to be closer. Joe slid forward, his mouth moving so slowly it was nearly torture, the feeling dizzingly good and still a maddening tease. Nicky didn’t rush him. Joe knew what he was doing. 900 years and more meant they didn’t have to give each other notes. He trusted Joe to get him there.
“Oh,” Nicky said, his breath catching, as Joe swallowed, his nose rubbing at Nicky’s pubic hair, the slick tightness of his mouth and throat closing around Nicky’s cock. He wasn’t thinking about Joe’s teasing anymore, he was thinking about the feeling of his mouth, of how his body was thrumming with desire, warm and shivery all over. He couldn’t focus on anything, his eyes wandering over Joe’s bare shoulders, his curls, the flutter of his eyelashes, and he gripped Joe’s shoulder, feeling himself curl forwards. Joe’s mouth was tight on him, sucking loudly, the sounds wet and animal now, slick, and Nicky felt like his desire was being pulled out of him, every pulse of Joe’s mouth pulling at something deep in his chest.
“Fuck, Joe, ah-” he said, breathing hard, his fingers clenching and releasing Joe’s shoulder, the muscles of his core shaking. It was a struggle to keep his knees locked. Fuck.
It crested over him like a wave, shaking his whole body, his cock pulsing as he came. Joe swallowed, Nicky twitching at the intense feeling on his suddenly sensitive dick, feeling his stomach swoop in useless, too-late arousal as a white drop of come trickled out the corner of Joe’s mouth.
“No shouting,” Joe said, in fake disappointment, and Nicky snorted, bending to kiss him, sucking the taste of his own come from Joe’s tongue. Even just after an orgasm, it was a thrilling, illicit feeling. They had tried everything together, but none of it ever grew old. Joe was ever new and wondrous to him.
“My turn,” Nicky said, pushing his trousers the rest of the way down and then kicking them off, naked and between Joe’s legs. Joe leaned back on his hands, watching Nicky as he kneeled.
Taking his time, enjoying it, he undid Joe’s belt, and then the button and zipper on his jeans. Joe moved for him, lifting up to let Nicky pull his jeans and underwear down Joe’s thighs, his dick hard and curving upwards towards his stomach.
Nicky licked his lips, slowly, looking up through his eyelashes at Joe, leaning forward to put the cushion of his bottom lip against the soft skin at the head of Joe’s cock. He loved seeing the effect it had on Joe, Nicky’s mouth on him as disarming as any injury, any weapon, any death. Joe hissed, and his hips moved in a slow roll, the ridge of his cock bumping over Nicky’s lip, and then Nicky stopped messing around and opened his mouth properly, tipping his chin down to take the first few inches, sucking loosely.
Even with his cock fully spent, it still thrilled Nicky. The taste, the feeling, the power, the sounds of Joe’s reactions, it all combined to a heady mist that Nicky felt all over his body, no less intense for its familiar feeling. He loved it. Above him, Joe groaned and grabbed at his shoulder, too overwhelmed to really make purchase, and Nicky bobbed his head, saliva escaping the corners of his mouth, making everything wet and slick.
Finally, Joe’s fingers made purchase on Nicky’s shoulder, digging in tightly and holding him in place as Joe pushed his cock into Nicky’s mouth, too far gone into pleasure. Nicky loved this moment, when Joe took what he needed without apology or care. Nicky loved to let him take it.
“Ah, Nicolo,” Joe said, his voice rough, and then his cock throbbed and twitched, coming in Nicky’s mouth, warm and salty. He twitched as Nicky swallowed and licked gently at his cock, cleaning the final drops away, and Nicky smiled smugly when he sat back, enjoying the vacant, impressed expression on Joe’s face.
He reached out to wrap his fingers around Joe’s ankle, feeling a wave of fondness for him, for every soft part of him, even the soft skin over the bone of his ankle, even the hair on his legs and feet.
Joe’s hand on his shoulder trailed up to touch Nicky’s hair, soft for just a moment, and then he let himself flop back, his back hitting the bed with a soft thump.
“You didn’t make me shout either,” he said vaguely. Nicky grinned. When it was just the two of them, they often slipped out of English, and into the language they’d spoken to each other for decades, heavy with Nicky’s old Ligurian, Joe’s Arabic, and the Greek and Persian they’d spoken for years with Andy and Quynh. Nicky loved to hear it on Joe’s tongue, the strange language that only the two of them spoke, the Ligurian so ancient he’d had to relearn Italian in Genoa nearly forty years ago.
“We can have a competition some other time,” Nicky said, and kissed Joe’s bare knee gently, before unfolding from the floor and joining Joe on the bed. It had been a long journey, and lying down, naked, with Joe’s familiar body next to him, was making him drowsy. “Wake me up when it’s time to eat?” he murmured, his eyes already closing.
Joe turned and kissed him gently, his lips soft and warm.
“Sure,” he said, and Nicky felt himself slide into sleep with the scent of Joe’s body in his nose.