And Nalamae screamed.
Chapter 42
Meryam watched the glorious battle unfold. The royal fleet and, apparently, the ships of the Alliance were arrayed in the distance. The two may have thought joining forces would help them, but it had only made things easier for Meryam—she no longer had to worry about hunting them down separately.
Ashael drifted toward the retreating ships, his hands spread wide, his mind still caught in Meryam’s dream. Ship after ship fell to her demonic horde.
“It won’t be long now,” Meryam said to Amaryllis.
Beside Meryam, Amaryllis stood on The Gray Gull’s foredeck, motionless. The ifin wrapped around her head flapped its wings lazily, in time with her breath. Her eyes, still visible through the interlaced wings over her face, were opened wide. Her mouth worked soundlessly.
“We’ll finish them, then move on to Sharakhai.” Meryam pointed to a smudge along the horizon. “Just think, by this time tomorrow, the city will be ours.”
Amaryllis, still as a statue, blinked. Tears trailed from her eyes, making bright lines along her cheeks and the ifin’s black wings. The rest of Meryam’s crew moved woodenly, steering the ship in the churned wake of the demons. The ships trailing The Gray Gull were the same, their crews expending the minimum effort to keep their ships on the move.
Meryam took a pinch of powder from the bag at her side, breathed it in deeply, and the dream shared by both her and Ashael brightened. In it, Ashael and his flock of ravens were nipping at the heels of a host of fleeing ships. He’d caught them at last and was hungry for revenge.
“I wonder if Queen Alansal knows,” Meryam said absently. “She must. Surely her water dancers warned her of what’s to come. Or maybe her hoard of artifacts contains a looking glass. She might be watching at this very moment.” Meryam imagined Alansal’s growing terror as she watched the horde approach the city. “Be content it was yours for a time,” Meryam said to her.
Content? came Yasmine’s voice. You think she would ever be content? Yasmine’s laugh was biting. She’s as hungry for power as you ever were.
“No.” With a smile, Meryam surveyed her host. “No one’s as hungry as I am.”
Yasmine paused, a grudging acknowledgment of Meryam’s statement. The real question is which of you sees farther?
Suddenly a comet streaked down and struck the sand near the front line of the battle. A newcomer had arrived, a woman in shining armor holding a spear that shone brightly in the sun.
Meryam laughed. “At last, the goddess has come out of hiding!”
Her sudden arrival presented a problem, though. Ashael might recognize her. He might start questioning the reality around him, so Meryam altered the dream, disguising Nalamae as a witch of the sea.
The witch smote Ashael’s ravens. She struck down the beasts he’d summoned to his cause. Ashael would not be undone, however. He conjured a whip and threw lashes of fire against her. When the witch hid behind a ship, he raised one hand and shattered it, lifting the pieces into the sky and Nalamae with them.
Nalamae’s arms and legs were drawn wide as if she were lying on a confessor’s table. Her adamantine spear fell to the sand. Ashael approached, one finger raised, and touched her chest. And Nalamae screamed, the sound carrying over the vast battlefield. Meryam reveled in the sound of the goddess’s pain. Her enemies’ best defense was nothing compared to Ashael. Nalamae was a young god, a malnourished child before a gilded warrior. It was as heady a feeling as Meryam had ever had. After all, if Nalamae couldn’t stop Ashael, no one could.
But then, as Ashael stared at Nalamae’s writhing form, the ashen skin along his brow furrowed . . . and in that moment, as Meryam sensed a glimmer of recognition within Ashael’s mind, she saw the danger. Ashael was beginning to pierce the dream. He was beginning to see Nalamae for who she truly was.
Knowing that to manipulate him too much could shift his attention to her, Meryam dropped the guise she’d placed over Nalamae. As Ashael, perplexed, peered into Nalamae’s soul, Meryam felt something new. There was something hidden. Something near her, either on The Gray Gull itself or close to it. It felt very much like the spell of concealment she’d had Ashael place on the demons that had attacked the enemy fleet.
It took great effort, for Ashael was now preoccupied with Nalamae, but she forced the elder god to search for it, suggesting it was some ploy of Nalamae’s.
With a wave of Ashael’s hand toward the Gull, the spell was removed, and there, suddenly, stood Ramahd. He was heading across the deck toward her with something in his hands. A red necklace.
Fear surging up inside her, she retreated. “Seize him!”
Amaryllis and the Gull’s crew responded immediately. With leaden movements, they lumbered past her and attacked.
Ramahd seemed unwilling to fight them. Indeed, he hardly struggled as they grappled with him. “Remember who you were, Meryam!” He threw the necklace toward her. It fell against the deck with a rattle, then slid to a stop against her slippered feet. “Remember who you were!”
For a moment, Ramahd managed to free himself, but Meryam’s terror had summoned the attention of a winged demon. It swooped in and bowled into Ramahd, knocking him over the side of the ship. Several of the crew, including Amaryllis, jumped after him, dumbly following the orders she’d given.
Meryam, meanwhile, stared at the necklace. It was Yasmine’s necklace, the one she’d sacrificed to liberate Goezhen’s body from the pool in Mazandir.
Old memories began to swirl. Of Meryam and Yasmine being kidnapped as children. Yasmine giving the necklace to Meryam as a symbol of hope they would survive. Meryam had worn it for years, and when Yasmine had been killed by the Moonless Host, she’d often rubbed the beads, especially when she grew tired of the endless chase for Yasmine’s killers. Later, it became her path to an endless well of anger, a fount where dark inspirations were born.
In Mazandir, Meryam had tossed the necklace onto the hardened surface of the pool that held Goezhen, as a signal to Tulathan that she would give up the past and focus on what she, Meryam, wanted. What I do after this point, she’d told herself at the time, is for me and me alone, to fulfill my dreams.
She thought she’d left Yasmine behind, and yet, as she stared at those red beads lying on the deck at her feet, her grief at Yasmine’s death came rushing back. She was reminded of all those she’d hunted and killed to have her vengeance against Macide and the Moonless Host. Hundreds had died on her orders, many by her own hand.
She’d justified it because her sister had been taken from her. Even murdering her own father had felt noble at the time.
In her mind’s eye, she remembered her father in the moments before the ehrekh, Guhldrathen, feasted on his heart. The terror in his eyes was echoed by his short, ragged breaths. When it was over, when he lay dead and the mantle of queen had passed to her, Meryam had prayed for her own death. In a strange twist of fate, it was Ramahd himself who’d helped her overcome it, who’d consoled her, unaware she’d orchestrated it all, and slowly but surely the armor she’d constructed for herself after Yasmine’s death had been reforged.
She’d reinforced it many times since. But now she stood face to face with her necklace, the very thing she’d sacrificed to gain her newfound power, and it was dismantling her armor in ways she hadn’t thought possible. Which was why Ramahd had brought it.
The knowledge made it all the worse. She felt frail and weak all over again, a helpless princess unable to control the forces swirling around her.
That feeling of helplessness was like the opening of a door that allowed more emotions to flood in: guilt over trapping her father, guilt over others who’d died at her command, some with only the thinnest of threads tying them to the Bloody Passage.
They still deserved it, Meryam told herself.
Did they, though? Yasmine asked.
She had a vision of two men,
a father and his son, who Meryam had experimented on to perfect the spell of summoning before using it on Macide. She’d had their ears put out to be sure it was the spell drawing them together, not their own senses. Other visions came: of men, women, and children slaughtered in her long, unending quest for revenge.
She saw The Gray Gull’s crew anew, and the ifins wrapped around their heads, lazily flapping their wings. She turned a circle and cast her gaze over the crews on the other ships, all similarly enslaved. Her mouth went dry as every woman and man met her gaze with sightless eyes. She felt as if a pit were opening beneath her, the Hollow remade, and she was falling into it, to be lost until the end of time.
Yasmine’s laugh echoed in her mind. Come, sister. You can’t tell me you’re shocked. This is what you wanted.
Meryam wanted to bicker with her as she once had, but she paused. Movement beyond the ship drew her attention to the horde. Sensing the wild swing of her emotions through the dream, Ashael was floating toward The Gray Gull. Soon the god towered above her. Though ancient bandages still covered his eyes, he seemed to regard the crew. He was piercing the veil of the dream. He was starting to understand what was happening.
Meryam felt it all slipping away. She considered ending it right then, of allowing Ashael to awaken, effectively giving up her quest for power.
But no. She’d come too far. She refused to give up now.
As Ashael bent close and inspected her with hidden eyes, Meryam took a handful of the powder from the pouch at her side and threw it into the air.
The elder god reeled and retreated. He’d breathed in a good amount of the powder. The trouble was, Meryam had too, and she’d taken too much.
As Ashael craned his neck toward the heavens, so did Meryam. Her last thought was for Ashael to save her, to protect her from her enemies. She had no idea whether the command had worked, but just then, all around her, the demons on the ship, on the sand, and in the air went wild.
Chapter 43
Çeda sprinted over the sand toward Nalamae, who floated in the air before Ashael. Her screams were cut blessedly short as Ashael’s head turned. Çeda had no idea what had attracted his attention, not until he turned mid-air and fixed his gaze on the fleet of Qaimiri ships trailing the horde.
Çeda peered at the lead ship, a tumbledown sloop she recognized as The Gray Gull, and her footsteps slowed. Meryam stood on the foredeck, surrounded by her crew, who had ifins wrapped around their heads. A moment later, she realized it wasn’t only The Gray Gull’s crew, but all the Qaimiri ships’—across her fleet, soldiers and sandsmen alike moved over the decks and rigging, but in an oddly stilted manner, each controlled by one of the black demons.
On the sand near the Gull, a man was apparently trying to flee but was struggling against several enslaved crewmen. By the gods who breathe, it was Ramahd. What he was doing there Çeda had no idea, but she suspected it had something to do with Ashael’s sudden interest in Meryam. With a great shove, Ramahd broke away from his pursuers. He tumbled once, then was up again in a flash and sprinting over a nearby dune.
Ashael, meanwhile, floated toward The Gray Gull, leaving Nalamae and the shattered remains of the Bastion suspended above the sand. When he reached the Gull’s prow, he bent down and stared at Meryam. He seemed transfixed, a child who’d stumbled upon a curious toy, and Meryam’s hand whipped upward and a cloud of dust billowed into Ashael’s face. Ashael reeled. He retreated from the ship’s prow and, as one, the demons burst into motion. They flew randomly, mindlessly attacking any that were near, including their own.
As Çeda cringed from the intensity of their wild screams, Nalamae dropped from the air like a stone. So did the pieces of the sundered Bastion. Çeda launched herself into motion, hoping to break Nalamae’s fall, but she was too late. Nalamae thudded against the sand without so much as a groan. Surging forward, Çeda threw herself across the goddess’s body to protect her. Pieces of falling debris struck Çeda’s back and legs, and a wooden beam crashed into her helm so hard her vision went hazy. More shattered pieces of wood pounded the nearby sand, sending sprays of sand over Nalamae and Çeda.
When the hail of ship’s pieces finally ended, Çeda lifted herself off Nalamae. The goddess was breathing, her heart still beat, but she didn’t wake when Çeda shook her.
Çeda leaned close and spoke loudly so she could be heard over the demons’ high-pitched screams. “Please, Nalamae, hear me! It’s Çeda. We have need of you.”
But the goddess didn’t stir.
With one eye on the warring demons, Çeda dragged Nalamae across the sand, hoping to reach the relative safety of her fleet. Ten paces away, a cluster of long-limbed demons battled one another. Black blood flowed as they clawed and bit, rending one another’s flesh.
Their roars and pained whoops pushed her to the brink of her flagging strength. But she was too slow. The battle was spilling closer.
A hyena-like demon with long limbs and beady eyes had just finished ripping the throat from a smaller demon. A shiver ran along its skin as it spotted Çeda. It lurched toward her with a halting gait, then rose up on its hind legs to face her.
Çeda drew River’s Daughter and placed herself between the demon and Nalamae, then met its charge with a mighty swing of her shamshir. The well-honed blade bit deep into the demon’s forearm. She blocked a swipe of its claws with her buckler, then skipped back as its elongated jaws snapped. She moved quickly, instinctively, sending cut after cut into the demon’s flesh.
Yet every wound she inflicted seemed only to enrage the demon further. When a downward swing of her shamshir glanced off its shoulder, it surged forward and butted her with its head.
She let the momentum carry her away, then rolled backward over one shoulder and regained her feet. She was readying to defend against another charge when the demon inexplicably turned away.
She understood why a moment later.
A demon the size of an ox was charging it. It gored its smaller brethren with the horn on its snout, tossed its head, and launched the smaller demon skyward. As it tumbled through the air, the larger one spun toward Çeda. With a thunderous, bellowing trumpet, it hurtled toward her. She was preparing to dodge from its path when a massive black spear blurred through the air and struck the demon through the ribs. A moment later, an arrow caught it in the neck. A second arrow streaked in, then a third, all of them sinking deep.
The demon collapsed onto the sand, its momentum sending it into a hissing slide that ended mere paces from Çeda.
Frail Lemi was there a moment later, placing a sandaled foot against the demon’s barrel chest and yanking his greatspear free. Behind him, Emre sent another arrow streaking into the sky, felling a winged demon that was shrieking down toward them.
Kameyl, Sümeya, and a host of others stormed in behind them. Çeda was relieved but also confused—many of her rescuers had fallen victim to the ifin.
“How?” she asked Emre.
“The moment the horde went mad,” he said, “the ifin released us.”
Çeda looked up and saw that the air above the battlefield was thick with ifin.
Husamettín, Yndris, and Nayyan arrived, all of them wearing dark battle garb. Supporting them were a dozen Blade Maidens, their veils covering their faces, and two hundred Silver Spears in white armor.
Ihsan arrived last, huffing and puffing and bearing a litter. “Quickly,” he said, and lay the litter on the sand beside Nalamae.
As the sun began to set in the west, Ihsan and Çeda lifted Nalamae onto the litter and carried her toward the Amaranth. With Husamettín bellowing orders, five hundred desert warriors, Blade Maidens, and Silver Spears set up a defensive line against the demons. The horde fought each other senselessly, which helped, but their numbers were staggering. All across their line, wherever their soldiers were near the demons, they were attacked, and more and more were falling.
Then something change
d. Across the battlefield, demons began to collapse against the sand. Winged demons dropped from the sky, pattering against the dunes.
“Look!” Emre said.
Çeda followed his gaze toward the center of the horde, where Ashael floated in midair. He’d gone perfectly still. Though his eyes were bandaged, his head was tilted upward, as if he were staring at the heavens. Or dreaming.
Frail Lemi had his greatspear lifted high, ready to plunge it into the neck of a demon lying helplessly at his feet.
“Don’t!” Ihsan cried. “Touch them and they may awaken.”
Frail Lemi looked as if he was going to stab it anyway, but then his gaze lifted and he took in the horde anew. His battle rage faded, and he lowered his spear. Others stayed their swords. After the terrible shrieking and the din of the battle, the silence made Çeda’s skin prickle. It felt as if any sound they made, be it cry of pain, clank of armor, or hiss of sand, would wake the demon horde.
All across the battlefield, companies of soldiers collected their wounded and made a swift and quiet retreat toward the bulk of their hobbled fleet. It felt truly bizarre, as if they weren’t a retreating host, but a den of thieves stealing past sleeping guards. With every heartbeat, Çeda worried the horde would reawaken, but not a single demon roused as their soldiers navigated between the demons and returned to the waiting ships.
King Ihsan, King Husamettín, and Queen Nayyan joined Çeda on the Amaranth. All across the fleet, ships’ crews made hasty repairs. Rigging was replaced. Rips in sails were sewn up or replaced with sets scavenged from nearby fallen ships. It was slow work. At every moment it seemed Ashael would awaken and call for his horde to renew their assault. But the elder god remained frozen.
Through some strange combination of Nalamae’s and Ramahd’s interventions, they’d gained a temporary stay.
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