“You’d better listen, if you value your skin.” Unaraq’s eyes narrowed. “Hadad, spirit of the thunderstorm, has fled the barrier bent on your destruction. We came to warn you and ask your help in capturing him.”
Lady Tarokh’s face whitened further. Her hand tightened around Sachin’s arm. “But—that’s—” She peered at the clouds, tongue running over her lips. “I see no reason to risk my men for a matter you spirits ought to deal with on your own.”
With a sneer, Unaraq gestured to the looming clouds overhead, the rumbling of thunder. “You’d prefer he destroyed both our homes, then?”
Lady Tarokh raised an eyebrow. “We can shelter inside our walls. If the thunderstorm can break through those, it deserves to.”
“And the village?” Anjita stomped towards the barrier with murder in her eyes. “You’d let Hadad destroy it while you watch?”
Brow furrowing, Lady Tarokh eyed Anjita. “Any villagers seeking refuge will be admitted, of course. We maintain shelters for the purpose.”
Anjita slammed a fist against the barrier. It shimmered like a gong. “Refuge? With those who have been selling their children to the mages?” Sachin observed her rage with obvious glee. She jabbed a shaking finger at him. “And you—if I catch you, I’ll wring your—”
“You aren’t helping.” Munayair dragged her back by the sleeve.
Lady Tarokh shrugged. “If there’s nothing else ...” She turned.
Munayair stepped forward, heart thundering. “Your masters don’t just want the sanctuary, though,” she said. “They want its power.”
Silence fell. Lady Tarokh’s eyelid twitched, but she pointedly avoided looking at Munayair. “Masters.” Her nails dug into Sachin’s blue-uniformed arm until he winced. “How dare you. If anything, I am—”
“It rankles, doesn’t it?” Munayair sighed. “All your power was given to you and could be taken away just as easily, while you’re still in the mages’ patronage. You’re a clever woman. You must have seen the potential for profit in new spells. Protection amulets and self-perpetuating energy for ovens, water, and so much more. The problem is their power won’t work for anyone else.” She held something up to the barrier.
For a moment there was silence. Then Lady Tarokh gestured jerkily, and Sachin stepped forward to study the object in Munayair’s hand. “One of the amulets the mercenaries wear.” He looked at Munayair with narrowed eyes. “We’ve already collected a few and they’re useless. The spell breaks when it’s removed, and nobody but Shivne-Mage can reactivate them.”
With the help of two guards, Lady Tarokh picked her way after him. “The glyphs have been altered.” She pressed delicate fingertips to the barrier and looked at Munayair. “Your work?”
Munayair didn’t respond. “It’s yours to keep, if you help us.”
“Mother!” Sachin burst out. “You can’t—”
Munayair replaced the chain around her neck. Lady Tarokh’s gaze followed hungrily. “Quiet,” she snapped, holding Munayair’s gaze. “What do we have to do to catch this spirit for you?”
“Nothing,” Munayair said. “You can go back to your city and close the gates, for all I care. But before that, I need a couple of things.”
She held out a folded piece of paper halfway through the glimmering barrier. With a sulky glance at his mother, Sachin took it. When he unfolded it to read the contents, his eyebrows climbed towards his hair. He let out a low whistle as he handed it to Lady Tarokh. “You’ve got a lot of guts, witch,” he said, with a speculative glint in his eyes.
Lady Tarokh scanned the short list and nodded, handing the paper back to Sachin. “See to it Miss Sarem-Ori gets what she wants, Sachi,” she said. “And we also get what we were promised.” Her eyes lingered on the amulet lying on Munayair’s chest.
“This will be a victory for everyone.” Munayair paused, sweeping her eyes over the gathered men, and raised her voice a fraction. “We are going to catch the Night Watcher.”
There was a moment of silence.
A smile curled Lady Tarokh’s mouth. “Well, why didn’t you say so from the start?”
Book Five: Warrior
Chapter 48: Stormfront
The thunderstorm loomed overhead, so thick and black it turned the day into night. Wind tossed the grass in ragged gusts, and thunder rumbled without ceasing. The villagers had organized themselves into brigades, setting out sandbags and tying straw over the shingles. Dozens of coarsely dressed men and women labored in the oppressive humidity. Lookouts shouted updates on the movements of the clouds.
Nobody spared a glance for the polished regiment of the city guard marching across the meadow, or the two women following them. They reached the village green and looked around at the confusion. Anjita tried to stop a few people, but none of them paid her any mind.
A commotion arose from the road as a guard raced his foam-flecked horse through scattering villagers. He skidded to a halt and bowed to Sachin, holding out a cloth-wrapped bundle. “My lord, the items you required.”
Munayair hurried forward, but Sachin was quicker. He unrolled the packet and ran his fingers over the contents. A long, graceful bansuri flute carved with glyphs and a small box of black marble.
Catching the lead of the blowing horse, Munayair addressed the rider. “And the third item I requested?”
He nodded, cautiously respectful. “The journeyers are preparing it as we speak.”
Sachin dismissed him with a wave. “We’ve done as you instructed, Miss Sarem-ori. Now will you share your strategy?” His tone remained casual, but she saw his gaze drop to the amulet around her neck.
Munayair looked up at the sky. “Lure him down and trap him.”
His lips thinned. “I need more than—”
A maid from the inn saw Munayair and let out a cry, pointing. Whispers ignited as villagers gathered, staring at her and Anjita. None of the expressions were friendly, and many downright wary.
“It’s them!”
“They’re alive?”
Nasim shoved her way to the front of the crowd, staring. “The Night Watcher preserved them,” she whispered. “Blessed spirit, who sees all.” Sachin looked at Munayair with a curious light burning in his eyes.
A man snorted. “There’s no evidence of that, you superstitious fools. The Night Watcher is a tale told to trick weak minds—nothing more.”
Another man returned, “How else could they have escaped, when none else has?”
Several villagers fell to their knees, chanting with hands raised to the sky. The press drew nearer, dirty hands clasped and hungry eyes intent, shuffling feet raising clouds of dust. Anjita and Munayair drew closer together.
“Did you see my son?” the old man named Lado said, voice trembling with tears. “When will he come home?”
Munayair’s heart fell. Thunder rumbled overhead. Sachin urged his horse to the front, allowing it to dance as he raised his voice. “I come to offer shelter within the walls of the city. We must hurry, before the storm breaks.”
“And leave our village?” One of the fishermen spoke incredulously, while many of the other villagers murmured among themselves. “It may not look like much to you city folk, but we’ve put our blood and tears into it. My great-great-grandmother was born in our hut!”
“I realize you may harbor a ... sentimental attachment to your homes and boats,” Sachin said. “But they can be replaced. Your lives cannot.”
The villagers murmured and shifted, confused and annoyed. As more and more gathered, a stout figure elbowed his way to the front. “Do youse think the spirits are gonna save your homes?” Radhan Mishra bellowed, glowering at the muttering villagers. “When have they done anything for us?”
Munayair stifled a groan. Radhan’s face soured when he saw her, and his hands clenched into fists. He motioned a couple of men closer and whispered in their ears. They nodded and hurried off in the direction of the inn. Anjita stepped forward to intercept him, primed for a good argument.
“Let me g
uess,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “You’re here to warn us about a murderous thunderstorm trying to level the entire village.”
“You—” Anjita sputtered to a halt. “How did you know?”
He surveyed the sky with a smirk. A few chuckles ran through the crowd of villagers. “Oh, I’ve always been good at guessing games.” Putting a finger against his lips, he made a show of thinking. “What else? Oh, yes. Perhaps the grove is home to hundreds of sweet, kindly spirits who need our help.”
Munayair swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. Tachoul were beginning to materialize within the village, either in response to Hadad’s rage or the growing discontent of the mob. Av? she called, as she had been doing ever since they left the grove. Av, are you there? I could really use your help right now. The grey shadows are come again.
“Oh yes.” Radhan turned his malicious gaze on her. “And no doubt there’s evil mages hiding in the woods to conveniently blame everything on.”
Shifting, Anjita muttered, “More or less.”
“That’s all?” He barked a laugh. “You’re late, as usual, adept.”
As he spoke, two men came forward, dragging a third between them, with Falean hurrying after. They threw him to the ground, and he rolled with a groan of pain. He tilted his head to gaze at Munayair and she bit back a gasp. It was Bast.
His eyes were blackened, bloodshot, and vacant. His lip was split and weeping blood-stained saliva down his chin. His nose was misshapen and swollen to three times its original size. She took a step forward, but the villagers blocked her way. Even Anjita let out a little grunt of sympathy, eyebrows lowering. When Falean saw them and Sachin, her lips compressed but she bent to resume tending to Bast without a word. She, at least, had not forgotten Munayair’s words the last time they met.
Munayair glared at Radhan, fingers tightening into fists. “You did this?”
“Don’t waste your pity on this khuttoch,” Radhan said, his sneer deepening. “He’s a coward and a traitor, and I’m ashamed to call him family.”
The wary gazes of the villagers shifted into something hostile. Tachoul were appearing rapidly, crowding the streets with motionless, cloudy figures. They gathered in knots around the angry villagers like ants around honey. Once the rampant emotion spilled over, they would feast.
Anjita glared at the injured boatman and shook her head. Bast managed a weak smile, and she scoffed and looked away. Thunder growled overhead and the wind rose, bringing with it the scent of rain. Nasim gawked upward, whispering fearfully.
Stepping forward, Munayair jabbed a finger towards the sky. “Listen to me, people of Lower Adasari! The Night Watcher is here,” she cried. “And he’s angry.”
As she spoke, lightning shot from the sky and hit a nearby hut with an explosive blast, rocking the ground under their feet. The villagers ducked, crying out in terror as flaming chunks of wood and thatch rained down on them. The storm swirled overhead, black and threatening.
“The Night Watcher is angry, all right.” Radhan’s voice rose over the rage of the storm. “Go ahead, Bast. Tell them what you told me when you crawled into the inn this morning.”
Dim eyes rolling, Bast mumbled through misshapen lips. With an impatient growl, Radhan bent and yanked him to his feet. Bast’s bad leg nearly crumpled, but he regained his balance and stood staring at the sky.
“Goodman Mishra,” Falean cried, scrambling upright. “Your thugs already—”
“Tell them,” Radhan repeated through his teeth.
For a moment Bast stood with fists clenched. “I took them,” he said, trembling all over as he looked at the raging sky. It appeared Radhan’s hand was the only thing keeping him upright. “And sacrificed them inside the grove in the name of the Night Watcher.”
“Bast—” Munayair hissed. “What are you doing?”
“I wanted to be powerful and respected, like my grandmother,” he continued in a monotone. “But instead I angered the spirit, and now he has come to destroy us.” His eyes squeezed shut. “It’s such a relief to finally confess. Such a relief.”
Munayair’s heart sank. Shivne must have gotten to Bast, then sent him to the village filled with lies as a scorpion’s tail was full of poison. Perfect trust, Mehan had said—but was there anyone in the world Bast trusted?
“And these Adepts are acting in their own self-interest, as always.” A triumphant light gleamed in Radhan’s eyes. As his fellow villagers cheered, he said, “I say we take them back to the forest and—”
“Radhan, don’t be a fool.”
He released Bast, who collapsed, and turned as the crowd parted. Sisue surveyed her husband with her hands on her hips, then seized his ear. He yelped as she pulled him down to her height and shook him. When she spoke, her tone was sharp and irritated. “Lady of Spirit, has reason altogether deserted youse today?”
“Mother Mishra,” Munayair said, feeling suddenly lighter.
But before Sisue could speak further, a blow fell. Bast lay on his back, blood streaming from his battered nose. He whimpered and curled into a ball.
“My son! I want my son!” Tears glistened in Lado’s eyes. He raised his fists for another strike. “Where is he?”
The gathered villagers shoved forward with angry glares, shovels and pitchforks raised. Before Munayair even had time to draw one startled breath, they descended on Bast like snarling wolves. Lashing out with fists and feet, shouting and screaming, taking their frustration and rage out on his trembling body. The tachoul wavered forward, silent mouths speaking words no one could hear. Only Nasim hung back, mouth falling open as she stared up at the clouds.
“Bast!” Sisue cried.
Munayair was crushed on all sides as she fought through thrashing bodies, but Falean was faster. She stepped over Bast’s quivering form and threw out a hand, touching a spell to push the villagers away. “Get back!” she cried.
They stumbled away with mingled cries of fear and anger. But they were back again in an instant, faces twisted into grotesque parodies of themselves. Anjita and Munayair stepped to Falean’s side, glaring. Falean turned her back and knelt at Bast’s side, trying to coax him into letting her see his wounds. Leaves and dust swirled. Lightning flashed between the clouds, and thunder boomed and cracked.
“Step away, witch, or you’ll meet the same fate,” one villager said.
“Adept or no adept,” a fishwife muttered, hefting her pickaxe, “you’ve no right to interfere in local matters.”
Munayair stood her ground. “Bast is under thrall. Killing him will do no good. There’s a greater threat here that we must stand together to fight! The Tsai-chuul mages are—”
“Mages, mages, mages,” Radhan growled, throwing an apprehensive look at Sisue. “You’d best learn another tune, girl.”
Nasim tugged urgently on his sleeve, still gaping at the sky. “Goodman Mishra,” she whispered. “Look at the storm. I thought I saw—”
“Leave be, Nasim,” he snapped, yanking his arm away. “What are you blabbering about?”
“There’s something in the clouds!” she shrieked suddenly, falling back and nearly tripping onto her rear. “Like a huge bird covered in lightning—it looked at me!”
Radhan blinked, and Munayair got the distinct feeling he, at least, had some idea what the Night Watcher’s true form looked like. The villagers backed away from Bast, murmuring fearfully and gesturing over their heads to ward off the evil eye. Munayair felt a small hope tugging at her breastbone. Even with Radhan’s skepticism, many of them still clung to the old beliefs. Perhaps they could still win this.
Sachin came forward, his guards clearing a path through the angry pack. “There’s a simple solution.” He gazed at Bast’s pitiful form, eyebrows lowered in sorrow and sympathy. Falean glared at the ground with hands clenched in her lap. “If the Night Watcher wants this man, why not give him up?” The villagers whispered among themselves, nodding thoughtfully. He turned to Munayair. “You said you wished to lure the spirit. What better bait do
we have?”
Munayair bit hard on her tongue to keep from spitting in that smug face. She looked at the bundle under his arm and took a step forward. Inside were the tools she needed, if he would just give them to her … A hand clamped around her arm, and she looked around, startled.
Anjita shook her head. “I know you don’t want to hear this—and I definitely don’t want to say it—but Sachin is right,” she whispered. “The thunderer hates Bast even more than I do. If we want him to get closer, we must think of the greater good. And ... this might be his only chance to make up for what he’s done.”
Growling in frustration, Munayair tore her arm out of Anjita’s grip, but before she could say anything someone else spoke in agitated tones. “How dare you, you perfumed peacock!” Sisue snapped, glaring at Sachin. He gazed back at her with a gently surprised expression. “This man is my husband’s cousin. Ravi, tell him—”
Radhan’s jaw worked, and he dropped his eyes. “Bast was the one abducting people all this time, dear.”
Sisue drew back as if struck. “Bast? Absurd.”
“He admitted it himself.”
She stared at her husband as if seeing him for the very first time. Tears stood out in her eyes, and she pressed her lips together. Eyes darting between them, Falean was pale to the lips, hands trembling.
With practiced grace, Sachin swung back onto his horse. “I’ll still take anyone who would like to seek shelter in the city.”
“Bast?” Munayair whispered, crouching to survey his bruised face.
He spat blood, avoiding her eyes. “Leave it be, kid,” he said. A tiny smile touched his mouth. “In truth are all things set free, right?”
As she looked at him, the huge swooping realization came to her. Shivne had never come near Bast. He wasn’t enthralled, he had spoken those lies of his own volition. He desired blame—punishment, even death. And the irate villagers and smug city watch were content to allow him to sacrifice himself.
Ink Adept Page 46