They moved a few hundred yards, the spray from the waves pelting their faces, when the bone-white serpents returned. Two of them shot in toward Jahalan. Nikandr dove beneath the surface and stabbed one of them, but the other slithered to one side and lunged for his arm. He tried to pull it away, but wasn’t fast enough. He managed to avoid getting caught in the grips of the serpent’s jaws, but the small, sharp teeth grazed his forearm, leaving bloody gashes in its wake.
“Faster!” Nikandr shouted.
Jahalan tried, but his endurance was nearly at its limit. The same was true for Nikandr, but the soul-wracking fear of seeing the creatures face-to-face was enough to keep him going a while longer.
The group ahead had reached the shallows, and many of them had already stood and begun wading toward shore when Udra screamed and was pulled under. The men shot toward her, looking down through the water, but they could not find her.
Nikandr and Jahalan reached them soon after. The serpents tried to attack them again, but there were enough now that had knives, and they stayed between the rest of the group and the serpents, protecting them when the vicious creatures came close.
Everyone dragged themselves onto the black beach, which was blessedly warm after the frigid waves. Nikandr pulled off his shirt, cut it into strips, and had one of the crewmen wrap his arm as best he could. Then he moved to Jahalan, who lay on the beach, his face nearly as pale as the serpents.
Jahalan’s right leg was bleeding heavily, and Nikandr wondered how much he had lost in the water. Nikandr moved to his side, and held his arm while Pietr and Ervan worked diligently on his leg.
“It will be fine,” Nikandr said.
Jahalan’s eyes shut tight as the men used a belt to cut off the blood flow just below his knee. When he opened his eyes again, he was frightened, though much less than Nikandr would have been in his place. Seeming to overcome some of the pain and fear, he smiled. “My time may have come.”
Nikandr shook his head. “Nyet. Not here, my friend. Not now.”
He fell unconscious moments later.
Ervan, a thin man with curly brown hair, held the belt in place and nodded toward Jahalan’s ankle. “We won’t be able to staunch this wound, Kapitan. He’ll die tonight if it isn’t cut and sewn properly.”
Nikandr swallowed. “We don’t have the equipment to amputate.”
“Da. We have nothing proper, but we can get thread easy enough, and Pietr can fashion a needle from a buckle.”
“What good is a needle that large going to do him? He’ll be bleeding as badly from the puncture wounds as he is right now.”
Ervan shook his head violently. “Nyet, Kapitan. We’ll need to bind it tightly for a time, but it will hold. Against this”—he tipped his head toward Jahalan’s ankle—“we have no chance.”
Pietr and Ervan watched him expectantly. The other men were nearby, waiting for his decision. “Do it quickly,” he said finally, “and by the ancients be careful.”
Nikandr was good at starting a fire without flint, but Pietr, a hard man with several deep scars running along the left side of his face, was even better. From the rough bark of the tall fern trees near the shore, he fashioned tinder and then made a bow drill from some branches and twine they liberated from some of the canvas that had washed ashore. Other men collected fresh water in huge conch shells from a tidal pool and placed it over the fire to boil. Soon they had purified water that they used to sterilize the thread and needle.
The surgery was not quick, at least not by Nikandr’s recollection. He stopped by from time to time, but it was difficult seeing Jahalan losing a limb like this. He didn’t know how he would tell him when he finally woke, but he knew he would be the one to do it. He owed him that much—to look at him in the face and tell him what this journey had done to him.
If only he could do the same for Udra and Viggen and the other men... But he could not, and he would have to live with the knowledge that their deaths lay at his feet.
At last the surgery was complete. Jahalan’s leg was bound with strips they had boiled and let dry in the strong wind. They would make more, and hopefully in a day or two the worst would be over—for Jahalan, at least.
Nikandr and Pietr sat near the fire late that night, neither of them able to sleep. Pietr had been second mate in his haphazardly chosen crew, but he’d proven himself to be a good man. Nikandr had sailed with him several times before, but they’d never had a chance to speak at any length.
Jahalan was sleeping soundly, and though his heart seemed weak, the quick work that Ervan had made of the wound had probably saved his life.
“What are we to do?” Pietr asked while staring off toward the horizon—eastward, toward home.
Nikandr poked the fire, causing the logs to shift and sparks to drift on the brisk night wind. “Take stock of our surroundings. Build shelter.”
“Forgive me, my Prince, but that is not what I meant. How will we return home? No one knows where we’ve gone. Even your mother, may the ancients watch over her, will not be able to find us.”
“I know what you meant, but we have the men to consider first. We make shelter, we prepare defenses, and we take what the ancients provide for us.”
“But with no ship...”
“I know. The man we were chasing, it seems, is now our sole source of hope. We will search for him as well. He will be headed for Alayazhr, and so shall we.”
“With his ship, he’ll already be there.”
“Don’t be so sure. This place—if legend is to be believed—is wild, untamable. Greater men than Ashan have tried over the centuries.”
Pietr nodded. “If we come across his trail, Lord, I’ll be able to lead you to him. Have no doubt of that.”
In the morning, Nikandr waited as long as he could, hoping that Jahalan would wake so that he could speak with him, even if only for a short time, but the need to find Ashan was more pressing by far than comforting his old friend, and so he left with Pietr and two other men: Kirilai and Oleg.
They forged their way through dense growth near the shore, but this soon gave way to an ancient forest with a tall canopy high above them. The temperature soon forced them to remove their shirts. The smell of rotting wood filled the oppressive air. Small, biting insects plagued them as Pietr led the way, using a short but serviceable sword to hack a path through the undergrowth.
They came to a sharp rise and were about to follow it upward to higher ground when the earth began to shake beneath their feet. It soon became clear that it was coming closer, so they hid behind the fallen trunk of a massive, decaying tree.
Nikandr glanced to his right and saw his own fear reflected in the face of Kirilai. Ahead, a flock of white birds with long blue tails took flight and flapped noisily away. The ground thrummed. The palm fronds they were peering through fluttered in time, and soon they saw it—a hulking body made of dark earth took long strides toward them. It had four stout arms and two massive legs that looked like the ripped-up roots of trees more than they did earth. The creature—some sort of vanahezhan—slowed and finally came to a stop, as if its mass were incapable of concise movement. It scanned the forest, and Nikandr had the distinct impression it was looking for them. He knew, as did the other men, that there would be no fighting this thing. They had two pistols among them, and a fair amount of shot, but without a good deal of iron or an Aramahn qiram to protect them, their only real choices were to hide or flee.
They remained stock still as the creature lumbered forward. It lowered its bulk to its arms so that it was resting on all six appendages like some huge earthen insect. Four pits within the head twinkled like gems as it moved its head back and forth, and Nikandr wondered if this were its equivalent to smelling—akin to what Berza would do while hunting grouse.
Nikandr swallowed as it scrabbled forward, moving its head back and forth. Along the vanahezhan’s soil-skin were tiny green plants with toothed leaves that opened like a clam shell. As the creature swayed, some of them clamped down, catching t
iny insects in their jaws.
Next to him, Kirilai’s breath was coming in short gasps. Nikandr squeezed his forearm, willing him to remain silent. But when the creature took another step forward, it became too much. Kirilai stood and sprinted away.
The vanahezhan galloped forward and leapt easily over the tall log. Kirilai, in his panic, released a long, high-pitched wail. He ran behind a tree, and Nikandr lost sight of him for a moment, but the galloping mound of earth caught up to him on the far side, downing him and stepping on his chest with one huge leg. Blood spouted from Kirilai’s mouth, cutting off his scream just as the report of a pistol rang out. A puff of dirt exploded near the top of the creature’s head. With one foot still pressed down onto the caved chest of Kirilai, it slowly turned its head. All four pits of glittering eyes seemed to be trained on their location.
Oleg stood next to Nikandr, staring at the beast, chest heaving.
“What have you done?” Nikandr said as he snatched the pistol away.
The creature took a step forward.
“Run!” Nikandr ordered, and he was over the log and sprinting down the far slope. “And spread out!”
He fell on the slick undergrowth and slid downward, losing the pistol he’d snatched from Oleg. He flew downhill, unable to slow his descent. He heard Pietr and Oleg behind him, but soon the sounds of their escape was replaced by the roar of a river.
Finally the ground leveled off, allowing him to come to a halt by digging his heels into the soft earth. He spared one quick glance back and saw the hezhan moving quickly, twisting through the trees like a snake.
Oleg’s screams came moments later.
Nikandr stood and ran, knowing there was no longer any hope for Oleg. In the time it took him to run a hundred paces, the pounding chase of the vanahezhan picked up once more. It came louder and louder as he reached the top of a steep decline. He leapt as the sound of snapping wood came close behind him.
The ground tore at his skin as he slid downward. Above, the vanahezhan was watching him slide away. It turned to its right and followed the ridge from which Nikandr had leapt.
And then Nikandr found himself in mid-air, falling.
CHAPTER 45
Nikandr splashed into a deep and swift flowing river. He coughed, fighting to stay above the frothing water, but when he slipped down a shallow decline, the current dragged him under. He held his breath and felt himself falling again. He tumbled over stones and briefly saw the bright blue sky through the tall trees before being pulled down once more. He was turned about, and his shoulder crashed into a large, rounded rock. He fought for the surface, his lungful of air nearly exhausted, to no effect; the current was too strong.
Finally the current slowed, and he was able after several long strokes to break through to the surface. As he spluttered for breath he found himself in a wide pool. He could hear the sound of rapids ahead, but here the current was weak. He struggled for the bank, and finally, his breath coming in heaving gasps, he pulled himself up the thick grass onto firm ground.
Behind him, the booming sound of the vanahezhan was approaching. Moments later its lumbering head was visible through the trees farther up the slope.
The pounding neared his position, but he remained immobile, hoping the creature would fail to find him, but it soon became clear it was headed straight for him. He leapt into the water as the pace of the creature quickened. It roared—a sound like a growling bear and crumbling stones—and moments later the sound of wood cracking and snapping came. He turned just in time to see a tree with a trunk as thick as a ship’s mainmast arcing toward him. He ducked under the water as the thing sailed overhead. Tree branches gouged his back, and he was sent tumbling deep underwater.
He swam beneath the tree and peered carefully between a cluster of vinelike branches. The vanahezhan stepped into the water and waded toward him. Its eyes glittered, and though it was silent in the water, it seemed even more menacing than when it had released its moaning call.
Nikandr was ready to dive beneath the surface to swim for the opposite shore when Pietr reached the bank of the river and began shouting and waving. The vanahezhan continued until Pietr threw a large branch, which struck it on the head. The earth spirit turned. It seemed unsure what it should do—first it stared at Nikandr behind his tree, then the screaming Pietr, then Nikandr again—but finally it began wading toward the bank.
“Nyet!” Nikandr screamed as he kicked his legs and began swimming away. “Over here!”
He had hoped to confuse the creature, to give himself and Pietr enough time to flee while it was caught in the water, but it didn’t listen.
He didn’t know what to do. He felt helpless. He wished he could control these creatures as the Aramahn did.
And then he remembered his vision of Nasim, on the ship, just before it had plummeted into the sea. He had known of their connection, their link, for some time, but it had always seemed to be at Nasim’s discretion. Why, Nikandr thought, could it not work the other way?
He closed his eyes.
He reached out.
Nasim, he called. Nasim, please hear me.
Nothing. And the vanahezhan had nearly reached the bank. Pietr turned, ready to run.
Nikandr had become accustomed to the sensations that Nasim created when they were linked. It was one of disorientation, but also of connection to the world. That was the key, he realized.
He opened his mind to the air and its loamy scent, its kiss upon his wet skin and the clouds above. To the earth, the feel of it as it pressed against the water, and the water pressed against it, the way it held the trees in its grip, its massive presence as it rose toward the peaks of the island.
And he feels him.
He is near. So near.
He wants to ask Nasim for his help, but he cannot. He feels only the world around him, the cool touch of the water, the rippling waves and the tug of the current. He can feel the stones that lie along the riverbed, the rivulets that feed this greater body and the coursing mass of fresh water that flows out for hundreds of yards into the salty sea.
On the other side, just beyond the veil, is a jalahezhan. It watches, curious. It would be so simple to draw him across, to bring his aid. This seems wrong, somehow—a violation—but he does so anyway, for his need is great.
Nikandr shook his head, the vision that was so clear a moment ago vanishing. He watched as the massive spirit of earth gained the edge of the bank. As it began climbing out, a tendril of water snaked upward along one leg and wrapped around its waist. The vanahezhan turned and pounded four fists simultaneously into the water, sending white, frothing water high into the air. It resumed its climb up the bank, and to Nikandr its movements seemed desperate now. The thick cord of water was still around it, and the tendrils, like quickly growing vines, hungrily climbed the length of its leg. The sad cries of the creature were cut off as it was pulled backward and under the water.
The water churned as Nikandr gained the opposite shore. He ran into the forest just as the tree was grabbed by two black arms and pulled beneath the surface. The gouts of water continued to fly, and the pool was now swirling violently with the detritus of the tree and the vanahezhan. The last Nikandr saw was the tree breaking the surface in a rush and then bobbing there as the water churned and roiled.
Nikandr pointed Pietr upriver. Nasim was somewhere in that direction, he was sure. He could feel him.
After about half a league, they came across a shallow ford. Nikandr crossed, and they continued uphill toward a ridge they could see through the breaks in the trees. They heard movement. Someone was running ahead, hidden among the dense foliage. The tall trees were much less prevalent here, but that only meant that the going was much slower, as grass taller than men and ferns the size of a skiff now dominated the landscape.
And suddenly, the forest stopped. Ahead, a dozen paces away, was bare rock leading to the edge of a precipice.
Nasim stood there, his back to Nikandr. He turned, somehow sensing their presence
, before resuming his watch of the landscape below.
“Nasim?” Nikandr said as he took a step forward. He didn’t know why, but he had the distinct impression the boy was preparing to leap from the edge of the cliff.
Pietr crept forward, preparing to rush Nasim, until Nikandr grabbed his arm and shook his head.
“Nasim, can you hear me?”
Nasim turned to face Nikandr. His heels were touching the sharp edge of the rock. A wave of vertigo passed over Nikandr just watching him.
“Step away, Nasim. I want to talk to you.”
The wind tugged at the simple black vest the boy wore, and played with his short brown hair.
“Where is Ashan?” Nikandr asked, taking another small step toward Nasim.
“They are near.”
“Who is?”
He looked into Nikandr’s eyes with a serious expression. “Sariya.” He glanced back over the cliff. “And Muqallad.”
“Do not be afraid, Nasim. We won’t let them harm you.”
Nasim shook his head. “I was meant to return here, to find them. But you know this, do you not?”
Nikandr nodded. “Where can we find them?”
Nasim pointed to the ridgeline to the north. “In Alayazhar.”
Moments later, the wall of plants nearby parted, and Ashan stepped out from behind a large fern, brushing off his arms as he did so. His curly hair was tousled by the wind, and his robes were rumpled and dirty, but otherwise he looked little different from the first time they’d met on the eyrie.
As Nikandr stared at him and the calm expression on his face, all the confusion—the frustration and the rage that had built over the days since leaving Khalakovo—boiled over. He stalked forward and struck Ashan across the face.
The Winds of Khalakovo Page 35