He pointed to his own chest, face the picture of innocent surprise. Me?
Yes, uneg! She kicked his ankle under the table.
With a pleasant smile, Khuson turned to Ronyl. “You mentioned your father earlier,” he said. “What fathers a river?”
Anjita stopped mid-rant and lowered her crayfish with narrowed eyes. Munayair kept her eyes on her plate while listening with all her might. Bast shoveled rice into his face and chewed open-mouthed, pausing only to wash it down with cups of water.
The river turned with a thoughtful air, steepling long fingers together. “Your question has no easy answer, uneg. In the sense you mean, I have no father—no mortal seed begat my body. But in another sense, I have two fathers. The father of my spirit is Napai, He Who is Endless and Patient. A piece of his spirit resides in me.”
Blinking, Munayair absorbed this new information. Anjita sat with her mouth hanging open and Khuson’s eyes glinted. Meanwhile, Bast unshelled a river snail with much grunting and squeaking.
Ronyl continued in her gentle voice. “The one I call father is the river that was, the greatest this land has known. In the days before the cataclysm, he fought back demons at the cost of his life. My sister Budakh and I were born from his tears and blood, and we swore to protect these lands as he had done.”
“Cataclysm?” Khuson repeated.
“Demons?” Anjita went white. She glanced around the table. “There’s no such thing!”
Ronyl spread her hands. “I am sorry, Journeyer. I know the religion of the Cayori does not allow for corrupted spirits, but they are as real as I am.”
Bast began cracking into an enormous crayfish, making a terrific din. Ripples coruscated up and down the table. “Five gods!” Anjita rounded on him with a roar and he gawked up at her. “Be more irritating, I dare you.” Her fingers jumped to the spells on her arm.
“Jita!” Munayair said.
Bast stumbled back, knocking over his chair. The crayfish tumbled through the air. In his confusion, he bumped full into Hadad, who rustled his wings. Sparks jumped around the room, lighting everything in flashes.
“Five gods, they’re attacking!” Bast yelped. Khuson caught the flying crayfish. Hadad rose to his full height, eyes flashing from person to person. Bast scurried around the table to hide behind Munayair’s chair, trembling in every limb. “Pl-please, save me.” He gripped hard at her sleeve.
Hadad tilted his head to examine Anjita. “I find your attitude strange, Journeyer, when the emissary risked his life to save you.”
“Hadad,” Ronyl warned.
Anjita snorted. “Risked his life? Cowered in the bushes, you mean, while Khuson fought off mage, mercenary, and chouloi alike. Backlash or not, I know what I saw.”
Munayair’s heart leapt. Khuson watched her with a line between his eyebrows, and she swallowed down a sudden wave of guilt. She knew he knew what she was thinking—if Anjita saw all that, what else did she see? There had been no improvement yet in her mysterious ailment. The spells on her skin were still nothing but useless ink. If she remembered Munayair’s strange burst of uncontrolled magic, how would she react?
She should speak the truth now. It would be hard. There would be so many questions she didn’t know how to answer, questions about the loss of Anjita’s magic. Whether it might be restored. Questions, perhaps, about where the power came from. Questions about its purpose.
I can’t, Av, she said silently. I promised. You remember, don’t you?
She looked up to find Ronyl’s eyes also watching her, calm and dispassionate as the moons reflected in water. The river had been there also that day, as smoke smothered the sky and turned the face of the sun to blood … Munayair shuddered and looked away. She did not remember. She did not want to remember.
The walls flashed three times in quick succession. The accompanying noise was so loud Munayair’s ears continued to ring after it stopped. The ulgeroi fell silent. The cat jumped off Hadad’s back and disappeared into the darkness.
“What—” Bast gasped, lurching back.
“Nothing to fear, goodman,” Ronyl said, but ripples ran across her form. Everyone else sat in tense silence, glancing at each other.
A crash echoed through the room, shaking the floor and knocking food off the table. This time, Bast toppled over and lay on the floor, eyes wide. The ulgeroi bunched into one gleaming ball. Khuson rose, sword leaping into his hand and flashing in the coruscating light from the walls. He held out a hand for Munayair and pulled her to her feet. She pushed back her sleeves, readying herself as the alarm boomed.
“Sounds like the third course needs a bit more time in the oven.” Anjita chuckled weakly, standing with hands clenched at her sides. Khuson held out a knife from his belt and she snatched it with a grateful nod.
A goblin burst into the room, forked tongue dangling between her teeth. She bowed. “My lady, there’s a problem—”
Then an enormous spirit plowed through the wall, knocking chunks of rock from the ceiling and showering everything with water. They ducked as it staggered into the room, an oddly jointed skeleton of dark stone. It walked on two hind legs with massive, three-toed feet, two smaller feet tucked in close to its chest. Knife-like teeth ground together in a skull like a crocodile’s, but the spirit did not speak. The ulgeroi whispered in tiny, frightened voices.
“It’s Pich, isn’t it?” Ronyl’s voice was tight. “From the eastern canyons? What brings you this far?”
“What’s wrong with its eyes?” Anjita whispered.
Everyone leaned closer to look. The stone creature tilted a reptilian head. It took another halting step, claws digging into the watery floor. Light glinted on bony limbs and teeth, but nothing reflected from under the graceful curve of its eye sockets. Something dripped from those eyes, splashed onto the floor—tears? No. Munayair’s heart leaped into her throat.
Black ooze, thick and viscous.
Ronyl jumped up, throwing out an arm towards the advancing goblins. Her arm stretched a dozen paces to halt them. “Everyone stay back!” she cried. “She’s been corrupted.”
Chapter 40: Corruption
Engge screamed. Everyone stared in horror. Pich wobbled another step before collapsing in a heap. The ground shook and shockwaves ran the length of the room. “Help me,” she ground out. “Please.”
“How did this happen?” Ronyl stepped forward.
“My lady—be cautious!” a goblin woman cried out.
Ronyl waved reassuringly. “No fear, I know what is at stake,” she said. “Do not move, Pich. Let me examine you.”
The rock spirit’s teeth gnashed, and more tar-like ooze spilled onto the floor, but she held still. Ronyl peered into her eye sockets, lifted her limbs, and watched the ooze dissolve into the floor. Finally, she turned.
“There might still be time,” she said. “Bring her to the confluence. Can you walk, ancient one?”
In answer, Pich staggered upright. The gokhai led her from the room, a ragged contingent of goblins trotting in their wake. The wall closed behind them, leaving the rest in silence. Engge wept onto Tevulai’s shoulder. Dashjin clung to Munayair, wings fluttering.
White noise filled Munayair’s mind. This is all my fault. I was a fool to think I was safe here. Anyone was safe.
“Well, that’s it, then,” Bast roared. He shoved his way around the table, belligerent gaze never wavering. He pulled the fish knife from his belt and advanced on Khuson, who watched with wide eyes. “Get out,” Bast bellowed, waving the knife. “Get out before I skin you like a perch!”
Munayair shook off her stupor and shot to her feet. “Goodman.” She put herself between the two men. “You’re drunk.”
“Yeah,” Bast hissed. “Drunk enough to see what youse won’t. Someone here is working against us—someone like this snake in the grass!”
Munayair shook him to a halt, and he weaved around to face her, alcohol-heavy breath choking. She yanked the knife from his hand. The ulgeroi clung to her sleeve.
&n
bsp; “Haven’t you been paying attention? Every time something goes wrong—he’s there.” He shoved past her.
She stood arrested. A scream was trapped in her throat, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to hold it back. Of course it wasn’t Khuson who had brought corruption and death into the sanctuary—it was her. She’d brought it to the Sarem-Ori clan. It had followed her like a shadow even into the purity of the Marble Hall. Now it would destroy the safety and peace of these beleaguered spirits.
Khuson backed away, raising his hands. “Don’t do this, Goodman Hashemi. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Bast aimed a wavering kick. “Give it your all, Bui-taran!”
The scuffle that followed was brief but intense. Khuson was quick with a long reach, but Bast had weight and fury on his side. When the dust settled, Bast was red-faced but triumphant, Khuson pinned to the soft floor. “Ow-ow-ow-ow!” he complained, eyes squeezed shut.
Munayair frowned. Before she could speak, she was shoved aside, and a grey blur tackled Bast to the ground.
“Anjita!” Munayair cried. She hesitated, then hurried to kneel beside Khuson, groaning face down.
Anjita and Bast rolled in a flurry of limbs and cursing. She pulled her fist back, there was a sharp crack and a spray of blood. Bast shoved her away and staggered to his feet, crimson pouring from his nose. “Crazy—” he choked.
Khuson rolled over with Munayair’s help and lay panting, one arm flung over his eyes. Munayair looked him over but found no injuries. Even the stab wound had scabbed over. She bent closer, concerned. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”
“I—I don’t know,” Khuson sighed, lowering his arm. “I missed your voice and felt faint.” Then he grinned and winked.
She leaned away, glaring. “What are you up to?”
“Me?” he whispered, clutching at his heart. “I don’t know what hurts more, the emissary’s death-blow or your doubting words.” Munayair rolled her eyes but didn’t get the chance to speak.
“How dare you?” Anjita shrieked. “You hypocrite—”
Bast bared bloody teeth. “Go ahead, call me names. Doesn’t change the fact—”
Sparks flashed as Hadad shifted, stretching his wings as far as the walls would allow. Bast froze. Hadad glanced around, eyes narrowing and sparks building between his feathers. “What’s this, emissary?” he said to Bast. “You wish to accuse the Night Watcher?”
“I—I—” Bast’s eyes bulged and his breaths gargled.
Anjita shoved him aside and stood with head held high. “This man is not worthy of your trust. He’s a lying, thieving—”
Hadad’s eyes flashed and thunder rumbled overhead. “Have a care, mortal,” he hissed. “An insult to my emissary is an insult to me.”
Munayair cringed as Anjita tossed her head back. In this mood, she would challenge the sun in the sky, let alone a thunder spirit. Her voice rang clear. “I said what I said.”
Lightning flashed and thunder crashed. Munayair yelped and covered her ears. Anjita barely flinched.
“Mortals!” Hadad cried. “I am the Farseer, peering over the horizon. Can a blind earthworm know a man better than I?”
Anjita met those flashing eyes. “That man, yes. He kidnapped me from a bathroom!”
Hadad reared back. Wind blasted from his wings, cold and stinging. Munayair shielded Khuson’s face with a sleeve. The ulgeroi darted from the ceiling and circled the thunderer, blinking. Anjita stood in the center of the whirlwind, straight-backed and glaring.
Before the storm could reach its peak, Khuson groaned loudly. Everyone turned to look, even Bast with head tipped back, pinching his nose. The wind lessened.
“Night Watcher,” said Hadad, “I apologize. Are you badly injured?” He stepped closer, sparks continuing to fly between his feathers. Munayair leaned away. Khuson peered with watery eyes, a theatrical grimace dragging his mouth down. Even Anjita’s anger was thawing into concern. Munayair swallowed a scoff, wary of Hadad’s fluffed feathers.
“I beg you not to worry about me,” Khuson sighed.
“I barely touched him,” Bast gurgled, but doubt tinged his tone.
“Ronyl warned me of mortal frailty.” Hadad said, lifting his wings. “I should summon her.”
But Khuson raised a trembling hand. “Don’t disturb her for one as insignificant as I,” he choked out. Munayair had to turn away to hide a giggle.
Hadad lowered his head. “Do not debase yourself, Night Watcher. You have guarded my forest faithfully.”
Khuson struggled to meet Hadad’s eyes. “Perhaps if I had seen this fate approaching ... I could have stepped out of its path ...”
A wet snort echoed from Bast’s direction. Munayair shook her head, awed by Khuson’s daring. She remembered the glint of his eyes as he said: Everyone is seeking something. Even you.
The mark burned against her skin. What am I seeking? she wondered.
Hadad hesitated. “Perhaps it is finally time to set your mind at ease …”
“No, no,” Khuson cried weakly. “Do not think of defying your mother’s wise counsel on my behalf. I see my future before me—a nameless grave, not a tear shed—”
This was too much for Bast. He stepped forward, crying, “Nobody’s ever died from being thrown like that! Were you spun from sugar?” His vehemence splashed vivid red blood across the floor. Engge squealed and took flight, hiding among the stalactites. The other two ulger followed.
Shaking herself, Anjita moved to intercept. “Don’t speak!” She jabbed a finger so close to Bast’s bruised nose he went cross-eyed. “It’s your fault we’re in this mess. Your fault those poor kids are dead. Your fault—” She traced her spells. “Your fault I might have lost everything.” She glared with poisonous hatred.
Munayair’s stomach lurched. She turned away and found Khuson watching her with a line between his eyebrows. Her heart pounded. “You must tell her yourself,” he had said. But how could she? Anjita hated as passionately as she loved, and she was all Munayair had left. The thought of losing her was … impossible. Intolerable.
Khuson hadn’t looked away. You must tell her yourself. She turned her head, heart pounding.
A door opened and a troop of goblins came through. Their leader caught sight of Bast’s bloody state. “Again?” she cried.
Bast burbled and ducked behind Munayair. The goblin sighed and snapped her fingers. The water coating the floor enveloped Bast in another transparent cocoon. “No, gods, not again!” he howled as it began to drag him towards the door.
The captain bowed, teeth bared in vexation. “The gokhai sent us to escort you to your rooms, mortals.”
Hadad shook his wings then cast himself into the sky, disappearing in an instant. Tevulai and Engge glanced at each other and launched after him, bright against the gloomy clouds. Dashjin watched them go.
Khuson sighed. “So close.”
The quiet word drew the goblin captain’s attention. She tilted her head at him lying prone on the floor. “Are you injured as well, uneg?”
Another sigh. “I suppose.”
She gestured. As water encased him, he met Munayair’s eyes piteously. She stifled a giggle and mouthed, Serves you right.
A door opened in the wall, and the goblin stepped back to allow them to pass. Bast was still struggling, and Khuson lay in an attitude of deep resignation. Anjita grabbed Munayair and towed her through the maze, outdistancing their puffing goblin guide. The walls gave off their own crystalline light, flashing and sounding as the siege outside continued. Soon after, they were back in the circular room filled with the scent of dried grass. Munayair sank onto her pallet while Anjita paced—four steps one way, turn, four steps back. The walls pressed down and the sweet scent of the grass felt heavy and cloying.
“You need to rest,” Munayair said, with no very fond hope her petition would be heeded.
“Gods, Naya,” Anjita whispered, pressing hands to pale cheeks. “Did I wake up, or did I die? I nearly picked a fight with
a thunder spirit just now. A gokhai made me breakfast. What other myths are going to come walking?”
“You’ll wear yourself out,” Munayair sighed.
“I can’t sit still,” Anjita said, dismissing the idea with an impatient wave of her hand. She continued to pace while gnawing on a knuckle, eyes fixed on something far distant.
“Want to spar?” Munayair suggested at last. “I could use the practice.”
Looking up, Anjita nodded eagerly. They kicked the piles of grass against the wall and removed their outer tunics. Anjita bound her hair into a horsetail and stepped towards Munayair, hands raised. Munayair ducked her first upward jab and whirled, leg swinging to trip her opponent. As she launched a kick towards Munayair’s midsection, Anjita spoke. “You’re handling all this very well,” she said. “I suppose it’s less of a shock for you.”
Munayair risked a smile. “A lifetime of spirit worship prepares you to meet them.” She blocked the kick, responding with an uppercut. Her blow knocked Anjita’s head back and she came to a halt, worry flooding through her. “Oh—spirits, I’m sorry.”
“Sayakhunii don’t worship spirits,” Anjita retorted. She danced back, shaking her head to clear it. “Anyway, don’t try to change the subject. Naya, speaker to spirits? I know you see things you won’t tell me about. Like the village in the woods.”
Munayair shook her head, lowering her hands to give Anjita time to recover. “Some things are better left unspoken,” she said. She realized her mistake when Anjita darted forward and landed a blow on her side. She backed away, fending off a flurry of attacks. Finally, she countered with a jab to Anjita’s shoulder, and they both backed away, nursing bruises.
“That’ll teach you to go easy on me,” Anjita said. She rotated her shoulder and grimaced. “Why should you bear it alone?”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew,” Munayair said, shuddering. She jumped forward, aiming a kick at Anjita’s midsection. “Besides, to speak of them only adds to their powers.”
“More heathen superstition,” Anjita said with a grin, rolling off to the side. “I should report you.”
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