Munayair landed heavily and was nearly crushed by Bast falling on top of her. She shoved him off and scrambled to her feet. Thunder cracked and rumbled, but each bolt hit Zain and caused his glyphs to glow brighter. Hadad screeched and continued to limp down the beach, heading for the crowded wharf. The surface of the river shimmered as Sorath touched the horizon. In moments it would be sundown, and the sanctuary would be lost.
“Hurry, Munayair,” Anjita growled, throwing out an arm to keep Bast from being trampled by the mob shoving to get onto the wharf. Standing nearby, Falean gazed with a line between her eyebrows. Munayair touched her collar self-consciously.
“Bast Hashemi!”
Bast flinched at the cry, turning to see Sisue Mishra shoving her way towards him. She smothered him with a tight hug. He hesitated, then returned her greeting fervently, fresh tears dripping from his chin.
Sisue stepped back and shook him by the shoulders, eyes glinting and chin trembling. “You gods-blasted fool,” she said. “What were you thinking? You nearly gave this old woman a heart attack. Do you want that on your conscience?”
“You’ll outlive us all, Sis,” Bast said, smiling.
A great cry rose from the crowd. Vessels were casting off only half-full, leaving many behind. Desperate villagers jumped into the water after their departing hope. They clambered up the sides, threatening to capsize the boats. The mob took no notice of the sailors’ shouts and curses, preferring the uncertainty of the river to the fate waiting on shore. Wood creaked underfoot and water foamed through the boards. Lightning continued to bombard Zain until the tip of its sword glowed white-hot.
A pack of villagers, led by Radhan, shoved their way through the crowd, forcing them back and taking control of the boats. “Lines!” Radhan roared. “Or we’ll all be fish food.” He stopped when he saw his wife with her arms around Bast and sneered. “Still alive, Bast? Shame.”
Villagers began to gather, raising hands and voices. Bast crouched to the creosote-soaked logs of the wharf, head bowed. Munayair stepped in front of him, lifting her chin and glaring back. “I’m the only one who can stop the spirit. The price of my protection is his life.”
“And what if we decide the fee is too steep?” Radhan demanded.
A hot jolt of anger shot through Munayair. “Don’t test me, Goodman Innkeep.” She held his gaze. “Don’t forget what I could tell these folks about what you’ve done, too.”
Sweat beaded on his forehead and he looked away. “Start getting the boats loaded,” he growled, turning his back on Bast. The others followed reluctantly.
“Get everyone to safety,” Munayair said through her teeth. “I’ll take care of Hadad.” Pushing past the waiting guard, she walked a few paces down the wharf, touched the cage hidden in her sleeve, and waited. At a signal from Sachin, a nearby guard raised the bansuri to his lips and began to play. Music wafted over the dusty beach. Calm, it said. Nothing to fear here.
Sorath was halfway gone. Hadad’s pace slowed as he stepped onto the dock over the running water, setting his clawed feet carefully. Anjita’s arrow quivered in his outstretched wing near the shoulder. One milky eye surveyed Munayair and his beak clacked. She met his gaze, trembling, bravado dissolving faster than salt in water. Claws scraped on wood, and feathers ruffled in the wind. The storm raged, villagers shouted, and water foamed, but there was a calm around them like the eye of the storm. The bansuri’s compulsion dripped over them, thick and viscous as honey.
As Hadad came closer, her wrist itched, then burned. As the music curled around them, he lowered his head like a tame pony, crest rising. His beak clattered and he tossed his head. A glimpse of yellow peeked through the milky whiteness covering his eyes. Excitement boiled in her gut. It was working!
“Mother? Is that you?” he croaked, lifting his foot to take the final step that would bring him within arm’s reach. A sliver of Sorath’s light still shone above the molten river.
Then a shout split the silence. “This is for you, Falean!”
Sachin leapt upon Hadad, sword raised to deliver a two-handed blow to his neck. The blow ricocheted off the thunderer’s thick feathers and their protective static. Hadad reared back and, at the same moment, an enormous bolt of white light blasted from the clouds. Sachin dove away, avoiding death by less than a handspan. The flute playing faltered, its compulsion fading.
“You idiot!” Munayair screamed. The guards behind her muttered among themselves. “What are you doing?”
Sachin’s teeth were bared and his eyes were wild. “Once I have this beast’s head, my love will return to me,” he growled. “I advise you to stand back, Miss Sarem-Ori.”
He swung his sword back for another blow, but Hadad flung out his wings, knocking the young lord away with a gust of wind. Sachin flew, limbs flailing, and crashed to the ground. Hadad screeched. Another blow, and the flutist fell with a cry, bansuri clattering in pieces to the ground.
Hadad spun back around to face Munayair, and his eyes fell to the cage clutched in her hand. He let out a hoarse shriek, wings flaring wide. White clouds billowed over his eyes, enveloping the bright yellow. He lashed out and the cage disintegrated in a spray of cold water, sluicing through the wooden slats and into the river. Munayair cried out and fell to her knees, scrabbling at the boards. At the same moment, Sorath disappeared behind the horizon.
A concussion rocked the earth, a soundless explosion. Light lanced towards the darkening sky, outlining the trees. A moment later, a blast of wind rushed over them, and then silence fell.
Hadad’s answering cry was long, drawn-out, and full of pain and fear. He heaved himself into the air, limping on his injured wing, and disappeared into the swirling clouds. Munayair hurried back up the wharf, passing Sachin on her way. His soldiers were helping him back to his feet, and all of them watched the clouds with dazed expressions.
“Back onto the wharf!” she snapped, grabbing Abhi’s shoulder and pushing him.
The soldiers, half-carrying their leader, hurried past her across the creaking boards. She followed, shoulders bowed with the weight of her failure. Everyone watched her with wide eyes, and she shook her head. Her mouth tasted bitter.
“It’s too late,” Anjita groaned. “The confluence is broken. The sanctuary is lost.”
There was a moment of breathless silence. Villagers muttered and shifted on the wooden boards. Bast’s breath was loud and harsh as he gaped around.
“Five gods, what is that?” an old woman gasped.
She pointed a shaking finger up the slope towards the woods. The sky was dark, the sun but a faint memory. Dark shapes emerged from the trees, lurching down the slope towards the village.
“Chouloi,” Munayair whispered.
She touched her neck, fumbled with increasing desperation, then whirled and caught Sachin’s eye. He smirked, spinning Mehan’s amulet on its chain around his finger. He slipped it over his own head and let it fall to his chest. At the same moment, Bast let out a loud gasp and fell to the muddy wharf with a breathless grunt. He writhed and panted for breath.
“What’s wrong with him?” Sisue gasped, sinking next to him.
Munayair met Anjita’s eyes. “The mage can touch him again,” she said.
Chapter 50: First Love
Chouloi rushed down the street in a cloud of dust. Torn garments fluttered like flags around emaciated bodies, mouths gaping wide in silent screams. Munayair fished in her pocket and threw a shield stone down on the wharf. A sphere of light appeared around the villagers. The chouloi hit the shield and rebounded, vacant grey faces illuminated by shimmering light. They banged and scraped with splintered fingernails. Each touch shivered across Munayair’s skin. The villagers approached, silent with dread, drawn and repulsed by those horrible faces. Cries and screams rose, some incoherent with grief, others full of words sharp as knives.
Lado’s voice rang over the crowd, raw and torn. “My son has come home!”
“Ajay?” a woman said, her voice breaking. “No, gods, no. What have they done to
you?” She slumped to the ground, harsh sobs reverberating inside the shield.
Bast screamed hoarsely, writhing. “Please,” he choked out, redness spreading up his throat. “I have to—see Faajal again—I never told her—”
Sisue cradled his head as his limbs twisted and muscles spasmed. “I know, Bast, I know. You’ll see her soon, and tell her everything.” Tears streaked her wrinkled cheeks as she smoothed sweaty hair from his face. A thin line of blood trailed out of his nose. His eyes widened, and they turned to see a white-cloaked figure at the head of the pier, ranks of mercenaries behind him. Sachin strode forward and bowed, Falean at his side. Her face was expressionless, and her salt-tempered dagger shone in her hand. Zain shifted, and its sword hissed, slashing.
“Take it down.” Taichar’s voice was soft, but it pierced Munayair like an arrow.
The mercenaries advanced in a rush, hammers and clubs swinging. The chelka fought valiantly, but within moments was overwhelmed. Mercenaries swarmed up the horse’s legs. Its sides were dented and its sword was snapped in two. Ropes whizzed through the air, lassoing its neck and arms. Metal creaked and groaned, and men shouted. Daggers scratched at the glyph painted onto its forehead, and then the glow faded and Zain came to a sluggish halt. With cries of triumph, mercenaries heaved on the ropes. The statue groaned, then toppled into the river. Zain was conquered. Munayair looked away, blinking back tears.
Taichar-Mage spoke again. “Orderly lines, please. Everyone here will be going up the river today.”
A voice rose from the crowd. “Who do you think you are, commanding us?”
Taichar-Mage spoke again, pityingly. “You think these are your lost loved ones, but if I command it, they will tear you limb from limb. Think, before your defiance costs you everything.”
Radhan shoved his way through the crowd to Munayair and spoke in a loud, caustic tone. “I see you failed, witch. It was only to be—” He saw the mage and reeled back as if struck. “What—what is this?”
“You kept asking to meet our patrons, Goodman Mishra,” Sachin said, smirking. “Well, here they are.”
“His presence here is a declaration of war,” Radhan said, never taking his eyes from Taichar-Mage. “The Reconciliation of Al-Thina states no Tsai-chuul mage is to set foot on Thinavaran soil.”
Falean shook her head. “What did you think was happening to the villagers you sold out?” Her lip curled. “You really believed they were taken by an angry spirit?”
The other villagers stirred and muttered, drawing away as from a leper. Radhan stood dumbly, terror etched into the lines of his face. His jaw fell open. “It—it’s not true,” he whispered in desperation.
“Drop the shield, witch,” Sachin said to Munayair. “Don’t delay the inevitable.”
With a sense of futility, Munayair shoved back her sleeves. Anjita was cursing the air blue under her breath, gaze burning holes through the approaching mercenaries.
Sachin stepped closer, sword in hand, and he tapped the amulet on his chest with a smirk. “You might as well put those witchmarks away,” he said.
Anjita raised her bow, but before she could speak, someone else stepped forward. “This isn’t right, Young Lord Tarokh.” Abhi’s hands trembled around his spear. “You know it’s not. If you’re working with mages, I’ll have to stop you.”
Sachin guffawed. “Boy, put that spear down before you embarrass yourself. Again.”
Abhi flushed but didn’t budge. Other villagers moved to stand beside the young guard. Anjita put a hand on his shoulder before turning a look of deep disgust on Sachin.
“It seems you still need persuasion.” Taichar-Mage raised a hand. The amulet glittered. “This is only a taste of the power at my command.” Bast screamed, contorted with pain. Blood leaked from the corners of his mouth. Sisue cried out as well, trying to hold him still.
“No, you don’t,” Anjita snapped.
She pulled back her bow and set her arrow loose. Taichar-Mage fell with a shriek, scarlet soaking his white robe. The amulet flew from his wrist and landed under the churning feet of chouloi and mercenary. Instantly Bast relaxed, face slackening under grey skin.
Anjita tossed the bow and fell to her knees, pressing her ear to his chest. “He’s still breathing.” She heaved a sigh.
Munayair gaped. “You saved him.”
“And?”
Suddenly, a hammer blow hit Munayair mid-back, and she fell with a cry. She looked around with tear-blurred eyes. Her chelka-stone was smoking, broken in two by the pommel of Lado’s fish knife. As the shield vanished and the chouloi lurched forward, he hurried to greet his long-lost son. Others followed, reaching towards those twisted faces as if they could still read love buried deep within. Sisue’s wordless cry of warning went unheeded.
Lado threw his arms around his son, who sunk blunt teeth into his throat and tore. Blood splattered.
Chouloi fell on the villagers in silence. In moments, writhing bodies struggled across the dock. Screams rent the air. Abhi fended off attacking chouloi with his spear, while Anjita picked off others from a distance with her arrows. Thunder grumbled overhead.
Munayair pushed herself to her feet with only one thought: I must get that amulet. Hobbling to the end of the wharf, she scanned the churning mass of bodies for Sachin’s blue tunic. There. She hurried forward with focused eyes. Not far away, Falean fought a dozen chouloi, dagger flashing as they slowly backed her towards the edge of the pier. Sachin saw Munayair coming and grinned, raising one hand as if in greeting. She didn’t waste time on pleasantries. With one hand she grabbed his wrist, and with the other she punched him full in the nose. He grunted and fell like a sack of rice, already trying to struggle to his feet as soon as he landed. Luckily, she didn’t need long. Holding his gaze, she grabbed the amulet hanging against his chest and yanked. The overtaxed chain snapped and fell, leaving her with only a metal disc in her hand. She allowed herself a grin at his astonishment.
Sachin recovered enough to speak, although his limbs trembled. “Idiots!” he cried to his men. “Get that amulet away from her!” They faltered, staring at her fearfully.
“No,” a voice creaked. “The witch is mine.”
Munayair spun. A tall, thin shape loomed from the tumult, blood-soaked white robe livid against the black sky. Taichar’s face was livid and his teeth were bared. He seized Munayair’s wrist while his other hand flashed towards her. Automatically, she flung her free hand down and knocked the knife away, but not before the tip sliced through her tunic. She fell back to avoid his next jab, slipped in a pile of rope, and fell. The amulet spun out of her hands.
Taichar’s dark eyes bored into her with palpable hatred. “Do you know what you took from me?” he hissed.
Not having breath to speak, she didn’t bother replying. She scurried, crab-like, and her hand fell on the amulet. She grabbed for it and tried to speak, but he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked. She screamed and heard Anjita yell her name over the tumult. The curved blade rose high, aimed at her heart.
“Everything,” he snarled. “And now I’m going to take it from you.”
A stout wooden staff whistled through the air. It caught the mage in the jaw and sent him spinning to the ground. “Hurry up about it, girl!” Radhan shouted, lifting his staff to block a mercenary’s sword.
Munayair felt around until she found the cool round shape of the amulet. She turned in time to see the mercenary fall, blood gushing from her scalp. Radhan’s chest heaved with exertion. Dozens more chouloi were converging on them, reaching with bloodied hands, teeth bared. Throwing a wild glance over his shoulder at her, Radhan raised his staff in preparation.
She had no time to think or plan. “STOP!” she shouted into the wind, raising the disc over her head.
In response to her command, the snarling chouloi halted, eyes unfocusing. They turned from their grisly work, standing in place as they had in their bamboo palisade. Gathered in a tight knot at the end of the pier, the surviving villagers gasped with re
lief while the mercenaries looked around in surprise.
The next part happened with the slowness of dripping honey. Radhan turned to meet the rush of two mercenaries. Behind him, Taichar-Mage climbed to his feet, raised his glinting knife, and took aim at the innkeeper’s unprotected back.
Without thinking, Munayair leaped forward and flung out her hands. The knife sliced her sleeve and the amulet dropped through her fingers, sliding across the deck where it was stopped by Sachin’s boot. He bent to collect it, and she watched his mocking grin widen. One of his eyes was beginning to blacken.
“No!” she screamed through blinding tears, legs collapsing underneath her.
“Naya!” Anjita cried in answer from somewhere among the milling crowd.
Clutching at his arrow wound, Taichar-Mage chuckled, falling back into the gloom. “See you in Hel, witch.”
Cursing, Radhan whirled. His face cleared when he saw Munayair kneeling, unharmed, and he shook her by the shoulder. “Pull yourself together, girl,” he cried.
“Naya!” Anjita yelled again, coming closer.
Munayair glanced at Radhan’s hand. On the inside of his wrist was a familiar mark. She stared from it to his face.
He chuckled. “Again, the judgment in your eyes,” he whispered. “We’re no different, you and me. Both with promises left unfulfilled.”
“In truth are all things set free,” she whispered.
A gasp escaped Radhan and he jerked his hand away, staring. Then he was gone.
“Munayair!” Anjita’s voice rang through the tumult, colored with panic. In a moment arms closed around Munayair, hard breaths on the verge of sobs. “You screamed—I thought—” Anjita’s voice cracked. “I couldn’t see you.”
For a long moment they held each other, even as the battle raged on. Bloody-mouthed chouloi waiting in silence, screaming villagers, grinning mercenaries. Munayair watched Falean bending to the deck and gathering something that glinted from among a coil of rope. Sachin stood only a few paces away, watching her.
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