by Kat Ross
“Move, girl!” Kallisto growled. Lines of exhaustion creased her face and she clutched the staff as if it was the only thing holding her up.
Nazafareen turned away and helped roll Javid’s limp form over the lip of the fountain. Lukewarm water rose to her knees as she leapt in with the others.
All except for Alcippe and Adeia.
“Where are the twins?” she gasped.
“Alcippe fell,” Charis replied, her mouth a grim line.
Nazafareen followed her gaze to a bloody patch of ground near the temple steps where the Maenad lay face down, a gaping wound in her back. Her sister stood over her.
“Adeia!” Nazafareen yelled.
The Maenad turned to her with fever-bright eyes.
“Go! I’ll hold them off.” She spun her staff and rammed the butt end into the throat of a soldier who came leaping around the corner of the bull. He dropped his sword and clawed at his neck with horrible gasping sounds.
Nazafareen started to climb back out of the fountain. Kallisto laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Adeia wishes to stay with her sister.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “Dionysius will see to his daughters. Let them go to him.”
“Use your staff!”
“I cannot,” Kallisto said regretfully. “Not so soon.”
Nazafareen gave Kallisto a stubborn glare.
“I’m not leaving her behind.”
Soldiers pelted toward the fountain from all directions. She could see the archers now, forming a line and nocking their arrows. Nazafareen pulled her knife.
“Curse you, Adeia,” she muttered, putting a boot on the rim of the fountain. Then to Kallisto, “I’ll meet you inside the—”
Kallisto’s calloused hands closed around Nazafareen’s shoulders and gave her a hard shove. Her arms pinwheeled and she fell backwards, the great jeweled eagles spreading their wings in flight above her. Nazafareen clamped her lips shut. Water closed over her head. But instead of striking the bottom, she drifted downward. The sunlight grew fainter, then vanished entirely. When Nazafareen saw the familiar swaying reeds, she knew she had passed into the twilight realm of the gate and drew a tentative breath of air.
She couldn’t see any of the others in the gloom, but moments later the current swept her through the gate onto the rocky ledge and Nazafareen saw with vast relief that she wasn’t alone. One by one, they stumbled through the doorway: Herodotus and Javid; Charis, Rhea, Megaera and Cyrene; Kallisto, who avoided her eyes.
When the last of them had arrived safely, Nazafareen unleashed a final blast of breaking magic against the gate, unraveling the threads that held it together.
The power fed on anger and she had plenty of that.
12
A Sickness of the Soul
Darius watched the fight unfold through his window. He had a perfect view of the whole thing. Apparently, Thena thought it would be instructive for him to witness the revolting spectacle, so she’d left the shutters wide open. Darius had been sickened when soldiers dragged the Persian boy to the bull. When he saw Nazafareen, his heart had nearly stopped beating.
At the last instant, she turned and looked straight at him with a strained, intent expression. But it was bright sunlight outside and dark inside and he was chained against the far wall. Then he realized she was staring at another window just to the left of his own.
Something had drawn her attention, though he didn’t know what. Then she turned away and vanished. All that mattered was she’d gotten away somehow. She’d beaten them. He loved her more at that moment than he thought possible, even as he despaired at being so close and losing her again.
The door flew open. Thena strode up and ripped the leather gag from his mouth.
“Did you think she came for you?” she demanded.
Darius said nothing, but he’d lost control of his emotions and he knew it. There was no hiding now. His soul felt flayed.
“Who is she to you?” Thena slapped him across the face hard enough to knock his head into the wall.
“Burn in the Pit,” Darius growled.
“Who is she?”
Thena’s eyes were wild. He could see the whites all around and bright spots of feverish color marked her cheeks. She shook him, clawed at his chest.
“Why are you happy?” her voice was nearly a screech. “Why? She left you behind!”
“Because I got to see her face again before I die.”
Thena recoiled at the heat in his voice.
“I’ll tell you her name,” Darius whispered. “Though you are not worthy of it.”
She backed away. He felt her coming apart at the seams. So was he. Smoldering hatred and other nameless emotions sparked through the bond between them. Thena held up a shaking palm, as if she could push the words back into his mouth.
“I don’t want to know,” she cried raggedly.
“It’s Nazafareen.” He was laughing like a lunatic now. “Her name is Nazafareen, and you, Thena, you’re nothing but the mud beneath her boots.”
She ran out of Andros’s room, his mocking laughter echoing in her ears. When she’d felt his powerful surge of emotion through the bracelet as she stood next to the Pythia, chaos erupting around them, she thought it might be for her. That he was afraid she’d be hurt. Stupid, stupid.
Moments later, when the witch girl vanished beneath the waters of the fountain, Thena had been engulfed by a tide of longing and sadness and she saw the truth. It was not for her after all. Andros cared nothing for Thena despite all they had shared. All she had revealed. How patient she had been with him. Another mistress would have torn him apart by now, but she’d never left a mark. Not until now.
Thena steadied herself against the wall, hot tears brimming in her eyes.
He’s just a filthy witch.
All told, it had been the worst day of her life. The Pythia retreated to her adyton in a blind rage. Everyone heard her screaming at the Polemarch and the Archons, who emerged white as specters and began barking orders at their underlings. The witches used some kind of dark magic to escape and although the Polemarch sent two dozen soldiers into the fountain after them, none returned. All followers of Dionysius had a death warrant on their heads.
If only Andros could be like Demetrios. Obedient, eager to please. They hardly needed words to communicate. A single glance and he understood what she wanted, and leapt at the chance to do her bidding.
Before the executions, the Pythia had instructed Thena to stand ready—discreetly, of course—if any dissidents managed to gain the Acropolis. In light of what happened to Maia, she’d thought it prudent to use only Demetrios, who had proven his loyalty beyond any doubt. So when the Persian spy was freed from the bull, Thena had given Demetrios his power. He’d tried to choke the girl with air, but she’d done something to cut him off. This had infuriated the Pythia more than anything else, although to Thena’s relief, she hadn’t blamed Demetrios for it.
Without conscious intention, moving like a sleepwalker, Thena’s feet led her to his room.
Demetrios had earned privileges for his faithful service. He slept on a cot now and heavy shutters blocked out the sunlight. She paused before his door. She knew he was awake.
What am I doing?
Before Thena could answer this question, her hand was fishing in her pocket for the key that unlocked his door. She noticed blood on her fingers and absently wiped it off on her dress.
Demetrios sat on the edge of the narrow bed, silver hair brushing his shoulders, waiting with infinite patience.
“Are you angry with me, mistress?” he asked, a tinge of anxiety in his voice.
Thena smiled. “Not you. Never you.” She studied his hard face. “Do you love me, Demetrios?”
She felt the answer through the bracelet before his lips formed the words.
“With all my heart.”
Thena’s skin flushed. She felt sick. A sickness of the soul.
“What would you do for me?”
“Anything you asked me
to.”
She moved closer. It was dark in the room, but his green eyes caught the light, shining like cut stones.
“Tell me again that you love me,” she whispered brokenly.
He stood, his bulk looming over her. She sensed wariness bordering on outright fear but also powerful desire.
“I love you.”
“Say it again.”
And he did, over and over, as she let her gown fall from her shoulders and let his hands move over her body, tentative at first but then with greater urgency. His iron collar pressed against her cheek—the metal icy cold, though his skin was warm—as they twined together in pain and ecstasy, and when she called out a name, it was not his.
If Demetrios was bothered by this, he didn’t show it.
Thena hadn’t even noticed. His seed trickled down her thighs, but she felt perfectly empty.
13
Summoned
A cool wind blew across the Umbra. It whistled through crevices in the naked rock and swept a veil of dust along the flats. At first glance, the place looked desolate. A no-man’s land balanced on the cusp between light and dark. Migratory birds flew over, but they didn’t stop. Something about the Umbra unsettled them. It was neither alive nor dead—a dreamscape of eternal dusk.
But this was not entirely true. A few hardy animals made their homes in earthen burrows and niches in the porous rock outcroppings that thrust from the uneven ground like fangs. They drank from the rivers. The small ones ate grubs they dug out from the mud, and the big ones ate the small ones. Size was relative, as none were much larger than a plump rabbit.
A creature somewhere in the middle, with eight skinny legs and a ratlike tail, twitched its whiskers. It poked its nose out of a hole and hesitated. Sometimes it ranged all the way to the edge of the Umbra. It didn’t like the bright sun, but green things grew there. Tasty things. If it was careful, it could avoid the frightening two-legged monsters. They would give chase if they saw it.
Dark moth-wings of fear brushed its tiny heart. A vague sense of unease. It smelled nothing untoward though, and in the end, hunger trumped caution. It raised a paw and took a step forward—and gave a sharp squeak which cut off abruptly. Crunching sounds ensued.
The chimera licked its chops and bounded back to its fellows.
They took turns hunting for food while they waited. The moons had grown large and round since the quarry vanished into the rock wall. They couldn’t see the gate. Although they were creatures of magic, constructs of the power were invisible and they had no means of following.
So they’d settled down in the canyon to wait. Perhaps she would eventually return.
What else could they do?
The magic that bound them would endure until she died. If they still lived, it meant the quarry lived too.
The second chimera rose to its feet and stretched. Hunger gnawed its belly. It turned to lope away when its skin began to prickle. The chimera gave a low whine. The others snapped at the air. As one, they turned toward Delphi.
A summons….
An Adept…
Here…
Now…
Go!
They snarled with fear and started to run.
14
The Rock of Ariamazes
The sudden chill of the Dominion made Nazafareen’s eyes water as she rounded on Kallisto, though it was mainly rage blurring her vision.
“You had no right!” she snapped. “I could have saved her.”
Kallisto drew herself up. “You could not. And I had every right to prevent a pointless sacrifice. The god sent you to me for a reason. I may not know what it is yet but—”
“Damn you, old woman, and your empty platitudes,” Nazafareen growled. “And what of your staff? You could have used it to clear the whole plaza in an instant!”
“You know very little of what I can do,” Kallisto replied calmly. “But if I was that powerful, I could have rescued Herodotus single-handed. The staff has its limits. And I would not burn innocent bystanders.”
“Innocent?” Nazafareen choked on the word. “Watching two murders was their evening’s entertainment. If I had the power to summon fire like that, I would have burned them all to ash. Every last—”
She trailed off as the point of Cyrene’s spear lifted her chin. Another pressed into the small of her back.
“Drop the blade,” Megaera whispered in a deadly voice behind her.
Without moving her head, Nazafareen glanced down. She was surprised to find the belt knife gripped in her fist. For an instant, her fingers tightened around the hilt. Kallisto’s face loomed before her, selfish and weak.
She’s lying. And how dare they lay hands on me? I ought to—
And then Nazafareen caught Rhea’s worried grey eyes and remembered how the Maenad had fought at her back. How they all had. The anger ebbed as quickly as it came.
“I’m sorry.” She relaxed her fist and the knife clattered to the rocks.
“If you ever draw a weapon against Kallisto again—” Megaera began in a deadly tone.
“She won’t,” Kallisto said briskly. “Now leave her be.”
The staffs slowly withdrew.
“She wouldn’t have used it,” Javid said roughly. Lines of pain and exhaustion creased his face. “She just has a temper. I’ve seen it myself.”
Nazafareen gave him a grateful look, but he just shook his head and turned away, muttering to himself.
Kallisto sighed. “I’ve heard stories about Breakers. The magic is a two-sided coin—as many things are.” She turned to Rhea. “Let’s see about your shoulder.”
The Maenads cast worried glances at Nazafareen but moved to tend their wounded. She shivered in the wind while Kallisto and Cyrene bandaged the slash on Rhea’s arm with strips of cloth torn from her cloak. It wasn’t just the temperature that chilled Nazafareen. Once she’d feared the power might kill her. But this time, even after breaking the gate, she didn’t feel physically sick. Just weary and ashamed.
I’m more of a danger to others than myself.
Her heart grew heavier as she thought of the twins. She’d enjoyed watching them spar because they were so perfectly matched—not to mention underhanded and devious. Adeia had always been the shyer one, and Alcippe protective of her. But Adeia hadn’t wavered at the last.
They were sixteen years old.
Nazafareen wrenched herself back to the present. The ledge they stood on overhung a steep slope leading down to a forested valley. The grey, unchanging sky of the Dominion arched above like a dome. No clouds moved in that sky. No sun or moons. It was a place frozen in time—or outside of it completely. Rivers and streams snaked across the landscape, but their waters were the only thing that moved. Far off in the distance, Nazafareen saw a dark line that might have been the Cold Sea.
They’d all instinctively moved as far from the gate as the ledge allowed. It no longer gave off even a hint of light. There was something ominous in that dull black rectangle, like a window into solid darkness. Nazafareen had no idea if the gate worked at all anymore, but she felt certain that if someone did manage to step through, they wouldn’t find themselves in Delphi.
“Are you sure you can walk?” Kallisto asked with a skeptical edge to her voice.
Charis leaned heavily on her staff. “Just a twisted ankle,” she muttered. “I can make it.”
The mood among the Maenads was somber. No one seemed to have much to say except for Herodotus. Despite his dirty, emaciated state, he was looking around at the Dominion with fascination.
“I can’t believe there was a gate right outside the Temple of Apollo,” he said wonderingly. “I don’t remember it being on any maps.”
“You’ve seen maps of the Dominion?” Nazafareen asked, grateful that he didn’t seem to bear a grudge for her boorish behavior.
“Just fragments. But I made a particular study of the gate to Samarqand. It is the very one that General Jamadin led his army through after he became lost in the Dominion.” He surveyed the
forested slopes below. “It won’t be far—certainly not as far as it is in the real world. I believe the gate lay to the east, although I’m not sure which way east would be here.” He stroked his matted beard. “It’s on this side of the mountains, I think.”
“I can help find it,” Nazafareen said eagerly. “I have the ability to sense talismans and the gates are a kind of talisman.”
“Really?” He stared at her with new interest. “You’re certainly more than you appear, Ashraf.”
“About that…My name isn’t Ashraf. It’s Nazafareen.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry I lied to you. Javid isn’t my brother. We hardly know each other.”
They looked over at him. He sat with a dazed expression, the ruin of his coat pulled close around him, hands tucked under his arms. She wanted to speak to him but was afraid to. He’d been hopping mad when she cut the wrong rope on the wind ship. Nazafareen had a feeling that getting him thrown in prison and almost burned alive definitely qualified as worse.
“I’m just thankful to be alive,” Herodotus said. “The gods must have brought you to Kallisto. They have a grand design for us all, even if it does not always seem so.”
Nazafareen looked around at their ragged group. Megaera scanned the sky as if expecting an attack at any moment. Cyrene had wrapped her arm around Charis for support despite the latter’s protestations. Rhea stood tall and regal, a thoughtful expression on her face as she surveyed their surroundings.
Kallisto and Herodotus moved a few steps away. They whispered together and he stooped low to give her a kiss. They’d struck Nazafareen as an oddly matched pair until now, but it was clear from their grins and clasped hands that husband and wife had great affection for each other.
Nazafareen tried to relax and let the magic quest for talismans nearby. It grew easier each time she used it, and although the power of breaking seemed to be strongest when she was angry, it didn’t slide through her fingers the way elemental magic did. After a few moments, she sensed a faint resonance of something unnatural. Something power-forged.