Night Spinner

by Addie Thorley

  None of them think to look up.

  Except for Ghoa.

  “Enebish!” she roars as we swing closer. I lock the knee of my good leg so it juts out like a pike, and before she can duck, my heel slams into her chest, clearing the way for Chanar to cut Temujin’s rope.

  Sparks fly from his saber and the rope splits as we swing past. A second later Chanar severs our rope too. We crash to the white marble steps. A few paces away Temujin lies on his side, sputtering and coughing, and I’m so relieved he’s alive—that we’re all somehow alive—I hardly notice the bursts of pain shooting up my bad leg.

  “Enebish!” Ghoa scrambles up from her back. “Stop this! You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  No. For the first time in two years, I know exactly what I’m doing. I won’t sit back and watch her ruin my life a second time. I won’t let her murder another friend.

  “If you want to save Temujin, help us! Keep the guards away,” Inkar calls to the crowd.

  After a breath of hesitation, spectators swarm around us, creating a human barricade. Another host surges up the steps toward Temujin, wedging themselves between him and the guards like a herd of cows in the road.

  We thrust toward Temujin. The guards roar threats and wave their sabers, injuring a few, but they can’t cut through thousands of citizens. Just as the Kalima can’t unleash the full fury of the sky. The air is dangerously cold and snow stabs and swirls around us. Torrents of wind batter us from every angle and rain slants sideways in our eyes, but none of it is strong enough to stop our progress.

  Ghoa heaves through the crowd, head lowered like a bull, furiously pushing people out of her path. If she reaches Temujin first, she’ll kill him with a slap of cold—the law be damned.

  A growl rumbles through my chest, and I lean into that fierce, primal part of me. A monster I no longer fear. A monster I have learned to harness.

  I grasp at the darkness again and manage to catch a handful of threads. Not enough to engulf the courtyard in blackness, but enough to raise a thick, shadowy fog. While everyone yelps and trips, I guide Inkar and Chanar the last few steps to Temujin. He’s curled on his side, still coughing, and trying to push himself up. I steer Chanar to his head and Inkar to his feet and help them hoist him off the ground. Blood from unseen wounds seeps through the felt bindings, and his neck is marred with angry purple bruises. Still he manages to swing a shaky fist in self-defense.

  “It’s us.” I skim three fingers over his cheekbone and down the side of his face. Tracing the pattern of my traitor’s mark so he’ll know who I am.

  At my touch, his eyes flutter open, blazing as bright as the stars above. A weak smile bends his lips. “Enebish.”

  “You looked a little uncomfortable up there,” I whisper. The first words he uttered to me, so long ago at Qusbegi.

  Temujin’s smile widens. “You truly are Goddess-sent.”

  “If we don’t get a move on, we’re all going to be meeting the Goddess,” Chanar retorts.

  The darkness thrashes in my hand as I lead them away from the palace steps. The tighter I cling, the more light-headed I become. Sweat soaks my hair and my legs feel like feathers. I manage two more steps before I crumple to my knees.

  The darkness immediately disintegrates.

  Imperial guards surround us, but the people are right behind them, throwing themselves in harm’s way to clear a path. Sabers graze my tunic. Sweaty hands paw my sides. Chanar kicks and spits, and Inkar slashes her dagger wildly.

  I reach for the night again and again, but my hands are too slow, too shaky. The daylight flashes in and out like a maddening candle that refuses to gutter.

  “Stop, Enebish!” Ghoa yells, closing in. “If you love me at all, stop this. Think of Ashkar.”

  I am thinking of Ashkar. I am the only one thinking of Ashkar. And how dare she suggest she’s deserving of my love after framing me for a massacre? And forsaking the people? And killing Serik?

  Ghoa’s desperate eyes lock with mine across the chaos and she hurls the word she knows will cut me deepest. The only weapon she has left. “Sister!”

  Her dart hits its mark with deadly accuracy.

  My steps falter as a lifetime of memories bombard me: I see her riding through the flames on her massive black warhorse, looking like an armor-clad angel as she pulls me from the embers of my hut. I feel the soft press of her lips on my forehead as she tucks me beneath a pile of furs and tells me to sleep well. I see us riding across the grasslands, our smiles wider than the endless sky.

  It was all a lie. I know that now. But that only intensifies the pain.

  I double over and dig my fingers into my scalp, and like the predator she is, Ghoa pounces on my moment of weakness. She batters through the remaining citizens, but instead of grabbing me, she catches Inkar’s ponytail and flings her to the ground. Inkar’s head hits the cobbles with a sickening thud, and as Temujin’s legs fall, Chanar stumbles backward and nearly drops him altogether.

  I grapple for the darkness, but the well of my power is still dryer than the desert.

  Ghoa crawls over Inkar and kneels at Temujin’s side—like a vulture looming over carrion. Her hair hardens with frost, and when she raises a hand, her fingers glow ghostly blue.

  She has already taken everything from me. She can’t have Temujin, too.

  “Please!” I beg the Lady of the Sky—a one-word prayer. The shortest and most fervent of my life. Then I make a final grasp for the night, clawing at the air as if searching for a handhold at the edge of a cliff.

  The Lady’s answer is immediate.

  My throat catches fire and tingles catapult up my arms. When I flex my fingers, every tendril of night in Sagaan answers my call. More than I’ve ever manipulated at once. I slam them to the ground with a roar and rage toward Ghoa like a snow squall.

  Her eyes momentarily blink up at the blackness, and her icy hand falters, a finger’s breadth from Temujin’s flesh. I jam my boot into her gut so hard, she topples over backward, and I’m kneeling on her chest before the impact knocks the air from her lungs. Her mouth forms a quivering O and she holds up her hands.

  “I’m sorry. I made a mistake. A terrible mistake. You have every right to hate me, but you must believe me about Temujin.” Her lip trembles, but her eyes are bright with conviction. “Ashkar will fall because of him.”

  “No. If Ashkar falls, it will be because of you. Because of your toxic obsession and pride.” I throw my hand skyward and twine my fingers in the smoldering tails of starfire. Their cosmic heat rushes through me, faster than the Amereti in flood season. So hot, I feel as if I’m dying. In a way, I suppose I am. I’m purging the Enebish of my childhood. And, as that naïve, deluded girl breathes her last, a cry that’s half growl and half sob bursts from my lips. I slash my arm in an arc, aiming directly for Ghoa’s chest.

  I wait for a rush of overwhelming peace to envelope me. For the balm of vindication to fill the gaping wounds Ghoa cut into my flesh. I wait for triumph to lift two years of soul-crushing heaviness from my shoulders. But as I watch the orange starfire ripple through the blackness, I hear Serik’s adamant reassurances instead: You are good, Enebish.

  I hear Temujin’s unfailing faith: Your Kalima power could save our people—if you learn to control it.

  And I hear the voice of the warrior within me, a truth I have known all along: I am not a monster, and I won’t let Ghoa turn me into one.

  Before the starfire slams into her chest, I pivot and throw my hand to the side. The abrupt shift nearly tears my arm from my body, and I shriek as pain pops through my joints. The starfire whizzes past Ghoa’s cheek and explodes against the Sky Palace. A thunderous boom rocks the Grand Courtyard. Windows shatter, one after the next. The only thing louder than my scream is the scream of the spectators and guards running for cover.

  Flames scale the palace walls like ruthless invaders, racing and rampant. Deadly and devouring. I’m so stunned, I can’t move. Can’t tear my eyes away.

  “Y
ou actually burned it to hell,” Chanar whispers.

  My mouth is so dry, my tongue flops uselessly. And while I stand there, trying to string together a coherent response, the terrace overlooking the courtyard collapses. Melted filigree falls like burning rain, and we drag Temujin out of the way, realizing too late that we should have helped Inkar, too. She’s only just come to and is slow on her feet, blundering toward us with her hand clamped to her head.

  She doesn’t even see the mutilated hunk of metal hurtling toward her until it slashes across her lower back.

  “No, no, no!” Chanar yells as she falls. The bone-chilling dread on his face cracks my breastbone down the center. He sets Temujin down and dodges through the sparks to help her up.

  Inkar’s skin is chalky and sweat-slicked and a stain as dark as wine is already soaking her tunic, but somehow she manages to stagger to where I wait with Temujin. She even tries to take up her position at his feet but quickly collapses with a groan.

  “Just trying to do my part.” Inkar attempts to smile, but her breath catches.

  I take her place, holding Temujin’s legs awkwardly with my good arm. Inkar will be fine. Everything will be fine, I chant as we run. But my confidence leaks like water from a cracked pot as I look into the mortified faces all around me, as I hear the painful howls.

  The only good to come from the fire is that everyone is running in the same direction. We easily fall in with the masses and ride the current out of the square. But the faster we run, the more Inkar lags. Her steps are slow and bungling, her breath is liquid and labored.

  “Just a little farther!” Chanar shouts, even though we both know she’ll have to make it much farther than the rendezvous point. Her only hope is Loridium.

  We slip down a street with cinder-block apartment buildings and sagging clotheslines. The crowd thins as we go, which should allow us to move quicker, but Inkar can hardly keep her feet. Every time I glance back, she teeters more.

  Guilt rakes through my heart like claws. “We’ll get you to the temple,” I grind out, but Inkar topples over with a wail.

  “I’ll get him. You get her,” Chanar orders. “Help is only a block away.” He hefts Temujin over his back and I lean down and slip my arm beneath Inkar’s arms, but my bad leg gives out when I try to lift her. My darkness flickers like a lamp, threatening to reveal us.

  “I can’t,” I cry.

  “You have to!” Chanar bellows.

  I glance down at Inkar shuddering on the ground, at Temujin hanging like a limp sack over Chanar’s shoulder, and take off running.

  If we can’t make it to Kartok and Oyunna, I will bring them to us.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  KARTOK AND OYUNNA WAIT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE darkened street. They squint into the blackness from beneath their cowls, and their horses whinny and sidestep at the sound of my off-kilter gait.

  “Who’s there?” Kartok demands.

  I loosen my grip on the night so they can see me. “Come quickly,” I say, bracing myself on my knees.

  “What happened? Where are the others?” Oyunna looks behind me with panicked eyes, and my tongue refuses to say the rest. That I couldn’t summon my Kalima power, which is the only reason Inkar and Chanar saved me. Then, when I finally could, I set the Sky Palace ablaze, hurting Inkar—and so many others.

  It takes all of my strength just to point. “Around the corner. Inkar and Temujin are gravely injured.”

  Kartok gallops past me, spitting curse after curse. Oyunna follows, leaving me to limp behind them, even though they brought an extra mount.

  By the time I round the corner, they’re already off their horses. Chanar is lashing Temujin to the extra horse while Kartok scoops Inkar up like a child. Within seconds a scarlet stain spreads through his tunic.

  “What happened?” Oyunna’s hand flies to her mouth. “She’s losing so much blood.”

  Chanar cuts me a glare. “Enebish decided to spare her sister and sacrificed mine in the process.”

  Oyunna gapes at me. I bite my lips and focus on wriggling up onto her horse. I can’t change what I’ve done. All I can do is cooperate and get us to the realm of the Eternal Blue as swiftly as possible.

  “Don’t be so sour, brother,” Inkar wheezes as Kartok hefts her onto his horse. She lifts a boneless hand and gestures back toward the palace. “Did you see what Enebish did? This is better … than we could have—” She coughs up a mouthful of bloody phlegm that drenches Kartok’s tunic. It feels like someone is clawing out my heart with blunted fingernails. She’s still defending me, even as she’s dying.

  “Save your strength,” Kartok says as he mounts behind her. “You’re going to need it. Our time is clearly up.”

  We fly down the streets, churning up the snow-packed dirt. Townhomes and feed shops and vegetable stands blur on either side, but we’re caught in the center, locked in the eye of the storm where every second stretches. Too calm. Too quiet. Inkar isn’t moaning. Is Temujin still conscious? Still breathing?

  We dismount in a flurry outside the Ram’s Head. Kartok is off his horse and carrying Inkar through the tavern door before I can wiggle down from my saddle. Chanar, Oyunna, and I maneuver Temujin, and when we reach the dusty bedroom, Kartok has already illuminated the gateway. I stare at his silhouette against the white-hot flames. He has never opened the portal before. He has always waited for me to do it when we transported new recruits. Though of course he would have the capability. Temujin would have given him blue bonfire stones. Perhaps his are reserved for true emergencies?

  Despite Inkar’s and Temujin’s injuries, I don’t expect Kartok to join us—he never crosses into the realm of the Eternal Blue—but he strides through the gateway without a breath of hesitation.

  We follow, but the crossing isn’t as seamless as usual. The glowing barrier feels sticky and viscous—almost like honey. It drags at my arms and sucks at my boots, trying to hold me back. I heave forward with all my strength, and when I finally break free, I lose my grip on Temujin and crash into the field of globeflowers.

  “Did you feel that?” I gasp as Chanar and Oyunna emerge behind me, jostling Temujin between them. “It felt like the gateway was trying to swallow us.”

  “Is that your excuse for dropping Temujin?” Chanar glowers. I lower my head and scramble to retake my position, but he barks, “Don’t bother. We’ll be faster without your help.”

  As I shrink back, Kartok takes off across the field. We hustle to keep up, stomping through the tall grass. Yellow and orange globeflowers bob around us like pollen in the springtime, but instead of the delicious lemony aroma they usually give off, their perfume is acrid and sweet. Almost like rot. And the plants themselves look sick. The buds droop toward the ground as if melting, too heavy for their stalks.

  Frowning, I lean over, but upon closer inspection, there’s nothing to see. The flowers stand as straight as a regiment of soldiers. The delicate petals ripple in the slight breeze. The lemony tang is so intense, the sourness stings my cheeks.

  “Stop dawdling!” Chanar digs his toe into the dirt and it sprays the back of my calves.

  Get a grip, Enebish.

  Summoning so much darkness and starfire has clearly taken its toll. I’m seeing things. Imagining things.

  I shake my head and hurry on, but I only make it a few steps before I stumble and crash to my knees. In my frenzy to save Temujin and reach the realm of the Eternal Blue, I’d all but forgotten my wounds, but they refuse to be ignored any longer. Pain corkscrews down my thigh. My foot drags like a plow.

  Get up, I tell myself. For Inkar and Temujin.

  I blow out a breath and focus on taking one step at a time. Heel, toe. Steady on. But I falter again. And again, and neither my leg nor my guilt is to blame. The ground is moving. Tremors roll across the field in waves, like a constant, rumbling earthquake.

  Somehow it doesn’t disturb the others. While I blunder and trip, their strides remain unnervingly steady, their faces impassive.

  “Do
n’t you feel that?” I point to the grass as it ripples past, like a pond disturbed by a pebble.

  “The Lady of the Sky is speaking to us.” Kartok’s tone is clipped, as if I’m a fool for not knowing this. “The time has come to mobilize our army.”

  I stare at the bucking ground. I have worshiped the Lady of the Sky all my days, and I have never felt Her presence like this. But if She can ride the wind and command the rain in Ashkar, why wouldn’t She be able to rattle the earth to call Her warriors to arms here, where Her power is greatest?

  “Just keep walking, Enebish,” Oyunna says. “And try to focus on the injured.”

  Shame drives its fist into my gut. I stitch my lips together, lower my head, and try to keep my balance as the swells increase in frequency and magnitude. By the time we reach the Shoniin encampment, the ground is a constant rumble. The towering tents wobble, and the hoopoes fly in frightened circles overhead. I expect Orbai to be among them, but there’s no sign of her golden wings. Warriors spill into the clearing and return from the training fields in droves. They congregate around the azure bonfire—hundreds, maybe thousands, of them. Nearly as many as were gathered in the Grand Courtyard for Temujin’s execution. Twice as many as I believed to be among our ranks.

  I ferried a good many recruits here, but not this many. Or perhaps I just never saw them all assembled in one place. I was always away on missions, desperate to outrun my grief.

  Apparently, I accomplished far more than I realized.

  They are a vast sea of shimmering gray. A formidable army. Large enough to make a difference against the Zemyans. And hopefully large enough for Ghoa and the Sky King to accept an alliance and agree to our conditions.

  They follow us up the hill toward the Temple of Serenity, a huddled mass of whispers and gasps. A few come forward and offer to help us carry Inkar and Temujin, but it still isn’t enough. Before we’re halfway up the hill, Inkar lets out a choking cry. Her eyes roll back and her limbs begin to thrash. Kartok lays her gently in the grass. “Loridium! Now!” he booms.