He gasped a shuddering sob. I wanted to reach out to him, but couldn’t force myself to move. Then he lifted his voice again, but the wail rose against his words, as though he had two voices crying out at once.
“Some of us felt as much, but were too cowardly to speak or to act. And so we are damned with all the rest! And the folly of it all is that there is nothing, there is no one, nothing to fear, nothing to regret, nothing to seek, nothing to find, nothing…”
I flinched, startled. “But you aren’t dead, are you? If you aren’t dead, then you can still choose! You can still act!”
His hand brushed the hilt of an ornate dagger hanging at his belt. “How long I’ve wished it,” he murmured. “I would do it if I could. Rise up. Strike him when he least expects, or finally to die in the attempt. Free from this prison. Death…I never thought I would long for death. We live without life and without hope of rest, wandering like unburied corpses bound to the shores of the Stukhe. Damned and worse than damned – and there is nothing to be done! Choice is no longer ours to make.”
“But you can choose. You did, just now. You chose not to kill me. If you never made the choice before, then maybe…”
The sobs faded and he lifted his head, the despair in his dark golden eyes beginning to fade. “Then perhaps I have a chance? The choice I ought to have made then, I can make at last, now? These centuries of anguish and at last a light?”
I wished desperately that Mykyl or any of the Brethren were with me. Who was I to tell this tormented soul what hope he could cling to? I reached into the pouch at my belt. My hand curled around Pyelthan, feeling its warmth. The tip of my finger traced the endless script. For a moment I sat motionless. Then the doubt and uncertainty fled, and I stared straight into his eyes.
“That choice is still yours. You must choose now, and then you shall be judged according to your acts. But do not replace treachery with a more abhorrent crime. Your father will meet his own judgment.”
My voice was firm, steady, but it sounded surreal and distant. For a second I wondered if it was me who actually said it. The darkness blurred like ink, and I bowed over my legs with my fists pressed against my brow. The ground trembled under me. I realized the pounding in my head was the same throbbing pulse in the air, drawing around me from all sides.
Everything happened at once.
A score of Ungulion appeared, forming a slow circle around me. The boy met my gaze, then with a shriek of rage he leapt up and raced toward them. Yatol flew up beside me, collapsing onto the ground breathless. The boy lifted one hand high above his head. Some of the Ungulion rallied to him, but the rest surrounded them. The darkness seethed and churned. Suddenly it was like a veil fell over my eyes, and the weight of it bore me to the ground. I could still see, faintly, and I watched the chaotic battle transfixed. Watched until the boy and his comrades and a number of the others fell and faded into the sand.
The rest of the Ungulion regrouped, rushing on toward us as though nothing had happened. The low, trembling drone swelled around us. The ground tremored. I cringed back in panic, but then felt Yatol’s hand on my shoulder, firm and steady. I buried my head in my hands.
The drone rose to a wail, then a piercing shriek. My skull felt like it would split open, and I dug my knuckles desperately against my forehead. I knew they were trying to reach me – I remembered how it felt. The chanting, the drone, the suffocating shadow… But I could hear nothing distinct. Even the shadow seemed held at bay. The only thing that reached me was the pain driving like a screwdriver into my head. I squeezed my eyes shut. The frenzy rose to a chaos.
Then, suddenly, it stopped. The drowning shadow subsided, but the ache in my head lingered – less severe now, but constant, like when you dive too deep in a pool. The Ungulion hadn’t seen us. They filtered around us where we lay, the way bats stream around an obstacle they can’t see. Their steps receded. Quiet.
The heavy veil drew back. I scrambled to my feet and ran forward, scanning the sands for any sign of the boy or his allies. After a moment I noticed that, after all the darkness, I could actually see a little. Some faint luminance seeped over the sand, tingeing it pearly gold. It didn’t really matter, though. I found nothing but empty desert. Already a gentle breath of wind sifted away the marks of the battle. I stared numbly out over the drifts and dunes, and the wind or some strange sorrow drew tears from my eyes.
Yatol. I spun around, panicked that I might have lost him in the dark. But the sand behind me shone with a subtle radiance. Yatol stood in the light, and close beside him was a luminous being. I gaped. Everything about him was the soft sheen of natural pearl – or desert sand. Hair, skin, and robe all shimmered with the same hue. Only his eyes were a honey-gold that seemed startlingly dark against the fairness of his skin. His face bewildered me – it seemed both extremely young and, at the same time, more ancient than any other being I had ever seen. The sleeves of his robe hung wide and long, ending in feathery wisps that fluttered against the sand even in the dead-still air, the color always shifting but always the same.
I wrenched my gaze away to look questioningly at Yatol. And suddenly I realized that I hadn’t actually seen him since he’d come back. My heart plummeted, and I ran to him.
“You’re hurt!”
“Not so much,” he said, smiling gently at me. He glanced down at his arms, where the sweat and blood trickled down in tiny rivulets. “It’s nothing.”
“But your face! What happened? You fought them?”
“I did, as much as I could endure. Enough to force them back for a time.”
“But Yatol!” I faltered, staring at him. “You need that drink Enhyla gave us. And you need your wounds treated.”
“Enhyla gave me a flask of it before we left, and I already drank some. As for my wounds…what wounds?”
I frowned and walked a circle around him, but beside the sweat-mingled blood dripping down his arms and cheeks I couldn’t see anything that would have caused it. I stopped in front of him.
“I don’t understand.”
He turned his head and closed his eyes. Two drops of blood gathered at their inner corners, slipping down his cheeks like tears. I stared at him, horrified and speechless.
“It will pass,” said the sand-hued being. “Do not be terrified for him. It hurts little and is not so severe as it looks.”
“But it looks awful,” I said. “Why is it doing that?”
Yatol turned away without a word, his eyes shining strangely. I glanced at the figure, but he was staring into the darkness too, caught up in some other world of thought.
“What just happened?” Yatol asked. “Stitista?”
Stitista fixed his gaze on me, and I bowed my head under his powerful stare. But I could feel Yatol watching me expectantly, so I pointed across the sand.
“They aren’t dead. They haven’t been judged.”
“What?”
“I saw one of them. He was just a boy! About my age, or Tyhlaur’s.”
Yatol knitted his brow. “An Ungulion?”
“Yes! No. I mean, he was an Ungulion, but…they were just like us once. Human. He said…”
“He spoke to you?” Yatol interrupted, baffled.
“Y-yes. When he didn’t try to kill me, I asked him why not, and he answered.” I shook my head irritably. How could I explain what had happened? “He said it was what they merited.”
Stitista watched me steadily through those piercing eyes, but Yatol just stood frowning at the sand. I felt incredibly small when I looked at Stitista, and very lost when I looked at Yatol, so I did what he did, and stared at the ground.
“And do you understand this thing he spoke to you?” Stitista said softly.
“Yes…no. I don’t know. I need to think.”
I turned abruptly and walked a few steps away, dropping onto the sand and staring into the darkness. But I couldn’t stand the blindness, so I turned until I could see Stitista’s radiance breaking the murk. All I wanted was to think, but I couldn’t. M
y mind felt completely empty. I couldn’t force my thoughts to focus, though a million things tugged at them for attention. I just sat, and stared straight ahead.
“We still have a long way to go,” Yatol said. “Have you seen the main force? Do you know where they are?”
I slanted a glance at Stitista as he gave Yatol a sad, mysterious smile. “You know, Yatol. You measured their pace. You know from the darkness they are drawing across the Perstaun. And you know also how long it will take them to cross the sands. You know how long it will take you to reach K’hama. There is nothing you need to hear from me.”
Yatol gazed at him searchingly. “The Ungulion will be spreading out to drive whatever lives toward Alcalon – or slay them now. And we’re days, weeks even, from the outer borders.”
He shook his head. I stared at him. His expression puzzled me – it seemed forsaken. On the brink of despair. I pushed myself to my feet and came back to them, glancing anxiously at Stitista. But he only gazed down at me, meaningful and encouraging. I knew he would not say anything to Yatol. He couldn’t. I took Yatol’s arm.
“We’ll find a way. If we have to get past the lines, there must be some gap where we can get through. I can find it – I’m smaller than you. They’ll never see me.”
He looked at me like death. His face turned ashen, stricken with more than just pain. “No, Merelin.” The raw anguish in his voice sliced right through me. “I won’t let you do that. I can’t. It’s not worth the gamble…”
He turned away, jaw clenched. I stared miserably down at my feet, scuffing my toe in the sand. Some slow realization woke in me. My gaze shifted from the strange sandals to the pants that were just my size, to the worn embroidery on the shirt. The blood plummeted to my feet, and if Stitista hadn’t reached out suddenly to support me, I might have collapsed.
“Yatol,” I whispered. “What was her name?”
“Eleya,” he said. I barely heard him. “My father called her Eleya before she was born. It means ‘one hoped for,’ because he knew she would be his only daughter. But he never lived to see her day.”
I dropped to my knees, sitting back on my heels and staring out at nothing. I could hardly breathe. Faintly I heard Stitista bid us farewell, then he seemed to dissolve into the sand, leaving only a faint curl of light hovering over the earth where he had stood. Yatol came to my side.
“Come.”
Yentsi. How strange it had sounded the first time I’d heard it. Yatol crouched beside me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I bowed my head and wept.
Chapter 22 – The Blade of Heaven
He let me cry. After a moment he sat down beside me, still clasping his arm around me. Even when I finally dried my eyes on the sleeves of my tunic, he didn’t move to get up.
“Yatol,” I said at last. “How do you know the way to go?”
“I’ve made this journey more than enough times, so I know the shortest distance across the Perstaun. That’s the way we’ll go.”
“But how can you find it? It’s all desert. And so dark.”
He just smiled. “We’re almost to the dunes. The Perstaun is narrower here than toward the Gorhiem Bolstoed, so if we run, we may reach the Branhau before night.”
I glared at the sky. “It’s all night. I don’t know how you can tell what time it is.”
He got to his feet and helped me to mine. “Trust me,” he said, and broke into a run.
I sprinted after him, wondering how long we would have to run before we reached the dunes. Suddenly I felt the ground lurch up and I collapsed in a shower of sand. Well, there was my answer. Yatol kept running, balancing expertly against the shifting ground. Before I could lose sight of him I made another attempt, mimicking his method. My legs were burning by the time I finally made it to the top.
The dunes weren’t nearly as high as I’d seen in pictures of Earth’s deserts, but they were bad enough. My mouth felt like sandpaper by the time I reached the crest, and for a moment I just knelt there coughing, trying to moisten my parched throat. But Yatol didn’t slow down to wait. He slid down the opposite slope, sand rasping behind him. I gave up trying to rest and slipped down after him, squinting against the spray of sand. I hit the bottom and ran on.
“Wait,” I gasped, floundering up the next rise to join him near the top. I threw myself down beside him, breathless. “How many more dunes are there?”
“How many?” he echoed. “I don’t know. The desert is always changing. There are always dunes here, because of the winds, but the number and size always changes. Sometimes there are many small dunes, sometimes a few high ones. From these two I’d say we’ve got a number of small ones still ahead.”
“These are small?” I groaned. “Was there no easier way?”
Before he could answer he suddenly tensed. “Listen.”
I tried, but couldn’t hear anything besides the sand sifting in the breeze.
“What is it?” I whispered.
And then I felt it. Low and almost inaudible, the same dull throb that had heralded the Ungulion approach earlier.
“I thought the Ungulion already passed us!”
“That was just a dispatch.”
I flattened myself on the sand and crept the rest of the way up the dune. Yatol came quickly after me, grabbing my arm before I went over the crest. I inched forward a little more, and peered over the top.
And saw the army. They were still some distance away, skirting the next dune a little up from our position. They carried huge torches that cast pools of shuddering light over their ranks, showering sparks and acrid smoke into the starless dark. They marched slowly, and it seemed that the heavy pulse was steadily winding down. Finally it stopped, and I realized that the force had come to a halt.
“They stopped,” I whispered. “I think they’re setting up camp. Why do they need to camp?”
“I don’t know. Are you sure?”
I went a little further, heard his breath hiss out sharply. “They’re lighting fires. Three of them are coming this way…”
Yatol scrambled up beside me to see for himself, eyes gleaming. “The watchmen.”
“How far will they go?”
“If they establish their perimeter at all like we do, maybe a few hundred paces from the camp, no further.”
“How far is that?”
He narrowed his eyes, squinting out toward the camp. His gaze ran over the dunes as if mentally measuring the distance, and finally he nodded at the slope in front of us.
“Right there.”
I swallowed. The three Ungulion came steadily toward us, their tall torches scattering light between the two dunes for some distance. I thought I saw the shadows of several others coming out of the darkness to join them, but couldn’t be sure.
“They’re going to see us,” I said. “What’re we going to do?”
His gaze flitted over the dunes, experienced, calculating, then he said, “When I tell you, run twenty paces along this slope until you come to the shadow, then cut across and over the rest of the dunes. Don’t stop, don’t even slow down until you cross the last dune. Wait for me there.” He fixed me with a somber gaze. “If I don’t join you in an hour, go on toward the Branhau. Akhmar will come and carry you as far as he can. Beyond that…”
“What do you mean?” I gasped. “Don’t say that! Come with me. If they wouldn’t see me, surely they wouldn’t see us if we both went…”
“But they’ve already sensed a stranger’s presence.”
I reached to my belt to unhook the knife he had given me. He had no other weapons – if he had taken any from the camp, he had spent them all already. I knew he wouldn’t accept the knife if I offered it, so I took it off wordlessly and laid it beside his hand.
“Go!” he whispered fiercely. “Go, go! Run and don’t look back!”
I slid back a little way and scrambled to my feet, hesitating the briefest of moments. But then he turned and met my gaze, and nodded once, slowly.
I ran. I wasn’t sure how long a
pace actually was, but I ran until I thought I could slip between the slopes unseen, then I breasted the dune and slid down the other side. My guess was right – I stood just a few steps beyond the perimeter of light. As soon as I hit level ground I was on my feet again, racing toward the next slope. I had nearly crossed the trough when a horrible shriek split the air. It froze me in my tracks. I swept my gaze back toward the light, watching as Yatol flew down toward the Ungulion. Seven of them. Silent now they surrounded him, and then he was lost to my sight.
I realized suddenly that I had stopped. I’d stopped and looked, just like Yatol had told me not to. Shaking with fear and rage, I wrenched myself away, forced my legs to move. I clambered over the dune and the next, hardly able to summit the last. But finally I made the top and skidded down the opposite side. I collapsed in a heap at the bottom, and waited.
The minutes crawled by.
I drew up my knees and hugged my arms to my chest, trying to stop shaking. The air seemed colder now, the breeze stiffer. Sand filtered down the slope and caught in my hair, then whipped up toward the dune and stung my cheeks. I buried my head in my arms, and waited.
An hour passed as I listened desperately for the sound of Yatol sliding down the slope to join me. All I heard was the wind sighing and howling over the waste, a bodiless voice in the blind dark. I scooped up handfuls of sand, feeling it trickle slow and sharp between my fingers. I justified waiting half of another hour, but still I sat alone.
Finally I forced myself to my feet and stumbled along the base of the dune, up and down. Maybe he was searching for me. Maybe I had gone too far, and he hadn’t been able to see me. But I couldn’t find him anywhere. After a while I stopped and stood staring toward the Branhau. And then I turned around, and climbed up the dune. He was crazy if he thought I would leave him behind.
I stayed low, creeping cautiously back the way I had come. I crossed another dune, then another. Here was the high one we had hid behind when Yatol told me to run. I could see the light of fires up at the camp, but toward the watchpost, nothing.
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