Munayair swallowed back tears. “How can you thank me? I destroyed your sanctuary. I ruined everything.”
“Not so, child of horses. No water can remain unmoving forever without becoming stagnant. To feel the heat of the sun, hear the voice of the wind ... even if I fall to corruption, it will be worth it.” Her smile faltered. “I am afraid my counterpart has met his doom, however.”
She gestured, and a wave washed onto the beach, leaving behind another form. Unaraq the imp, dripping wet and black as a coal. Munayair thought he was dead until his glowing eyes opened and met hers. Everyone turned to watch as Unaraq staggered to his feet. Ashes and wet coals fell from his frozen joints and the dragon-claw rents in his body. Munayair rushed over to steady him. He blinked at her, eyes like dying coals. “So you did destroy us in the end,” he whispered. “And saved us.”
“Stupid imp, why challenge a dragon when you knew you couldn’t win?” she said through treacherous tears. The heat of his body was fading.
Unaraq grinned. “I was warned long ago compassion would be my undoing. I can’t help myself. I’m too nice.”
A chuckle escaped despite herself. “I agree.”
Followed by a contingent of ulger soldiers, Dashjin came forward and bowed low. “Thank you, Lord of Hunger,” he said. The watching spirits also bowed, whispering thanks. “You saved us all.”
Unaraq accepted the gesture with a nod. “The confluence is over now.” He smiled around, lines of anger and cruelty smoothing off his face. “I am finally free.”
Then he collapsed with a groan, body cracking and splintering, ashes puffing into the air.
“Unaraq!” Munayair fought to gather him closer, keep him together with her arms. A spark gleamed deep within his chest, and she snatched for it.
He held up a hand to stop her, fingers greying and flaking away. “No, Lady Moon. This is my choice.” He gazed past her at Khuson, and a tiny smile touched his mouth. “You were right, uneg. The patterns Sorath paints underwater are truly beautiful.” Tears standing out in his eyes, Khuson bowed low.
Sparks showered the onlookers, and everyone shielded their faces. When they could see again, only a pile of ashes remained of the proud imp, stirred by the restless wind. Munayair turned away, blinking back tears.
The river spirit sighed like foam seething on the edge of a wave. “He is at peace. May his rest be long before he is called into battle once again.”
“What’s your name?” Bast ventured, wide-eyed.
The spirit looked at him for a moment. “It has been so long since I was called by my own name, I had feared I would no longer recall. Standing here under the smile of Sorath, it comes to me. My father walked with me on such a day, long ago, and spoke to me for the first and last time. He named me Janaah, his last love, before he departed forever.”
Osoljin limped forward, helped by a few dozen of his warriors. He bowed low, wavering but stern. “My lady. I am glad to see you in your true form again, especially now when we are in such dire need.”
“What can we do?” the goblin captain asked, stepping forward with a contingent of her guards. “Our ranks are too thin to fight openly, and we have no defense against the grey ones without the confluence.”
A tembu spoke, voice like crystals chiming. “If only the great ones would show their faces to us! They could wake the ones who are sleeping, call them to battle once more ...”
Tevulai pounded a fist into one tiny hand. “We must rally the other strongholds. Itrel’s folk in the eastern sea, the snowfields of the south, the salt flats in the north. If these demons are indeed waking, they will not catch us so unawares again.” The spirits murmured among themselves, smiling with renewed hopefulness.
Osoljin turned to the humans. “You begged a task of me, Lady Moon, and I have an urgent one to give.” He glanced from Bast to Anjita, Munayair to Khuson. “The spirits can no longer fight this battle alone. You must warn your people. War is coming not only to the world of spirits, but also to the mortal lands.”
“I already had an idea.” Munayair took the two amulets from her pocket. “We can bring these to Al-Thina and show the regent, as proof of the mages’ schemes.”
Khuson nodded while Bast wiped at tears. A hand slipped into Munayair’s and she looked over in surprise. As soon as she realized who she was looking at, she stared at the ground, heart thudding faster. “Anjita, I—”
Gently, Anjita interrupted. “Wait. Don’t say it. I forgive you. Of course I do.” Quaking, Munayair lifted her eyes, gulping back tears. “And I’m coming to help you on this quest.”
Janaah looked around at them, and her tone grew sterner. “There is much to do, and not much time for the doing of it. But I will not send you alone.”
She gestured. Four waves reared from deeper water to crash onto land, drenching them all with salty spray. From the waves leapt horses with stormy coats and manes of seafoam, eyes glinting in the sunlight. They were already saddled, bridled, and well-supplied, judging by the bulging saddlebags.
Bast and Anjita retreated while Munayair bounded forward, exclaiming with joy. Khuson watched with a wide grin.
“These are spirits of the waves,” Janaah said. “Children of my great father, Napai. They never tire, and they understand human speech. They will bear you as far as you need to go.”
Munayair stepped towards the nearest horse and held out her hand. He touched it with his velvet nose and blew. His breath smelled of salt. “Oh, what a beauty!” she said, grinning. She ran her hands over his shoulders and legs. “Even my father’s warhorse wasn’t this fine.” She mounted in one movement, hands buried in his soft mane. She lay against his neck and breathed in his horse smell, with a hint of salty wind underneath. From there, she watched in amusement as Khuson shoved Anjita and Bast onto their mounts.
“What if I fall?” Anjita squeaked, face a mask of terror. “I’m so far from the ground!”
Grinning, Munayair turned at a touch on her boot. The gokhai stood by her stirrup, gazing at her with large eyes. She expanded until her face was level with Munayair’s. “Good luck, Lady Moon,” she said. Cool lips pressed against her forehead. Then Janaah retreated into the river with a soft sound like a fish slipping through a shallow stream.
The waiting spirits watched in silence. Munayair glanced towards Anjita shifting on the back of her mare, clutching the silky mane until the horse tossed her head. Beside her, Bast suffered also as the kudai clambered over him. She yanked on ears, hair, and nose while muttering about how much more comfortable her old tree had been. Khuson jumped onto his horse, reins loose in his hand.
“Oh, Bast, I nearly forgot.” Khuson dug around in his belt pouch for a moment before retrieving a small object. “You dropped this,” he said.
With trembling hands, Bast took the mellet from Khuson. Fumbling a little, he began to play a strong, steady beat, humming under his breath. He met Khuson’s eyes. “Thanks,” he said. “Still pretty sure you’re a spy though.”
“I’ll kill you last,” Khuson said, straight-faced.
Anjita looked up from fastening the white moon to her collar and snorted. “Get in line, Kuku. If anyone’s gonna kill the boatman, it’ll be me.”
Bast continued drumming unabated despite the growing nervousness of his smile. As the beat rolled out over the torrent, Sorath beamed at them from a bright blue sky. The mark warmed on Munayair’s wrist, and her spirits lifted. For the first time since leaving the Marble Hall, she knew exactly where to go and what to do. No riddles, no fear, nothing but certainty and purpose.
“Are we ready?” she asked.
I am ready, Avlingai whispered from deep within.
Epilogue: Prime Candidate
The city of Upper Adasari buzzed with fear and uncertainty. Citizens huddled behind locked doors as mercenaries marched through the streets. Their boots had trampled the meadow grass into a pit of mud, shrouded by a thin pall of smoke from the ruins of the village below.
Shivne-Mage straightened his aching
back and cast an anxious look at the angle of the sun. He ignored the mud sucking at his boots and staining his robe, bending to draw a final glyph in the circle he had been working on since morning. As the sun reached its zenith, the air inside the circle shimmered, and out strode a tall man, white hood pulled low over his face. Shivne-Mage swallowed back a bitter taste and bowed low, hands clasped behind his back.
“Welcome, Kosal-Mage. I hope your—” he began.
“No time,” Kosal interrupted in a hoarse voice. “Snake haste.”
He paused while Shivne frowned to conceal the churning of his stomach. “S-snake, Your Holiness?”
Kosal giggled, and Shivne’s frown deepened. He had never understood Kosal’s sense of humor.
“Yes, because your friend. You know, the slithery one.”
Shivne checked the slope around them for listening ears. “Ah ... why haste? Is Naasiha in danger?”
“It’s not funny if I have to explain it.” Kosal grimaced. “You have secured the spirit?”
Carefully, Shivne produced a small bamboo tube capped at both ends, which he opened to reveal a calligraphy brush. He bowed slightly as he presented it in both hands.
Kosal’s fingertips ghosted over the black jade handle, the tiger fur bristles. A light gleamed in his eyes and a smile touched his mouth. “There she is at last,” he murmured. Nonchalantly, he returned the brush to its box and slipped it into his sleeve.
As he watched the brush disappear into Kosal-Mage’s robes, Shive did his best to suppress a twinge of indignation. He had found her! He had waited, and watched, and listened, and struck at the right moment! The awakening might not have gone perfectly, but the glory of presenting her to the Immortal Emperor should still be Shivne’s alone.
“I hear there was a bit of a to-do when she woke,” Kosal said, still in that absent tone.
All indignation melted like ice, and a shudder ran over Shivne’s body. Although he had been preparing for this moment since daybreak, he almost threw himself to the ground and begged for forgiveness. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he said in a controlled tone, “Odde woke angry, of course.” He noticed how his hands shook and hastily hid them in his sleeves. “She is a dragon, after all.”
“The dragon at the center of the world,” Kosal mused. “I’m glad. It would be a shame if you lost control over your slithery friend.”
“No!” Shivne cried. Gulped. “Forgive me, Kosal-Mage. No.”
“Don’t fear, you did well to capture the dragon,” Kosal said. His eyes glinted and he grinned. “You could almost say you had a … brush with death.” He shook his sleeve for emphasis.
“Are you rattling the dragon of doom?” Shivne asked, appalled.
“Still the same old stick-in-the-mud, Shivne?” Kosal dropped his arm and rolled his eyes. “Take me to Taichar-Mage.”
Shivne-Mage gulped and bowed. “Of course, Kosal-Mage.” He gestured for Kosal to follow him to a tent a dozen paces away. Inside the gloom, Taichar-Mage prowled back and forth like a caged animal. When he saw them, he let out a gasp and bowed low. “I am overjoyed to see you, Your Holiness. Can you ... help me?”
Kosal-Mage didn’t respond immediately. He cocked his head, staring straight through Taichar-Mage. Shivne watched in silence, barely daring to breathe.
“Brush with death,” Kosal chuckled.
Shivne frowned. Surely the preceptor’s right should not be showing levity at a time like this. Shivne-Mage might despise Taichar on a personal level, but he was still a full initiated brother. He prompted gently, “Your Holiness?”
“Oh, that!” Kosal glanced around. “No. What’s been done is irreversible.”
Taichar shrank back, tears standing out in his eyes.
“With surgical precision, as well.” Kosal leaned back and shook his head. “I’ve seen souls severed from magic before, but never so neatly.”
Taichar groaned and sank onto the cot, clutching his face in his hands. “What sin have I committed for God to curse me like this?” he howled.
When Shivne imagined the moment he finally ground Taichar-Mage under the heel of his boot, he had envisioned soaring triumph and satisfaction. But he felt only pity and revulsion. For even such a bitter rival to be so unmanned was a shameful thing. He had sunk lower even than a woman now.
“Not a knife thing to happen, for sure.”
Taichar’s shoulders shook, and Shivne sighed. Kosal had not lost his appetite for tasteless jokes, even in the long years since his last sleep. Shivne-Mage touched Kosal’s shoulder.
“Perhaps we should give him some time alone.”
Kosal grimaced, turning back toward the door of the tent, and Shivne-Mage hurried to follow. Once outside, Kosal said:
“I expect the boy will have a better sense of humor.”
“The boy?” Shivne repeated. His stomach sank. This particular confrontation he had been anxious to avoid.
“You know, the one you’ve been bragging about to the preceptor.” Kosal laced brown fingers together and bared his teeth at Howler, pale in the blue sky overhead. “Twins are the funniest of all humans, I’ve heard.”
Shivne ground his teeth. “He is still unconscious and—”
“Perfect!” Kosal-Mage bounced on the balls of his feet. “Take me to him.”
They strode through the camp to a tent near the outskirts, with mercenaries standing guard. Shivne nodded to them and ducked inside. Chamak orbs shone on books, equipment, and Mehan lying prone on a wooden table. A bandage swathed his thin torso, and pain creased his face even in sleep. Four chelka waited in the shadows.
“This cut was not so knife,” Kosal murmured, gazing once again through the boy. “Luckily the soul is strong, exceptionally so. The twin?”
Shivne winced at this reminder of his failure. “A girl, and a troublesome one. She slipped from my grasp before we could complete the transfer, and wandered free for a few days.”
Kosal’s eyes narrowed. “Fascinating.”
“I thought you might be interested. We have her contained now. Unfortunately she’s been damaged and is worthless.”
“I’ll take them with me.” Kosal barked out an order to the chelka, who moved to obey.
“Th-them, Your Holiness?” Shivne’s stomach tied itself into knots.
“Yes, the girl and the boy. We have better facilities at Tsai-chuul to restore them both.”
Fear kept Shivne-Mage’s tongue hidden even as rage tumbled in a torrent through his mind. He stood trembling as two chelka left the tent and the other two prepared a stretcher. Mehan let out a little gasp when they shifted him.
I’ll see us both in Hel before I let you take him and the dragon, Shivne groaned inwardly. Still, caution ruled him. He glanced around before turning to Kosal and speaking in a guarded whisper. “I must tell you something, Your Holiness.”
Kosal’s eyes flickered to him.
Shivne pressed on. “I saw ... it. With the adepts, in the woods.”
Kosal showed no sign of having heard, apart from a sudden tension in his shoulders. Black satisfaction welled inside Shivne. You thought you were untouchable. Now I have you by the tail, you slippery uneg.
“You might well imagine my surprise.” Shivne shook his head. “After all your assurances he had been eliminated. I’m sure I wouldn’t—”
Kosal cut him off. “Did anybody else see it?”
Scowling, Shivne-Mage nodded. “I’m not a fool. I already disposed—”
Interrupted again. “His Supreme Holiness wished me to convey his pledge you are not to be blamed for what occurred here.”
Gratification rushed like cool water through Shivne-Mage. “I will express my sincere thanks to our preceptor,” he sighed. “Now, about the boy.”
Faster than a striking snake, Kosal sank one hand deep into Shivne-Mage’s chest. Shivne could only gape, struggling to lash out with limbs gone nerveless. Grey tendrils leached away at the edges of his vision.
“Or perhaps he said ‘maimed?’” Kosal mused
. He giggled at his own joke as Shivne gasped out a long wheezing breath.
The chelka came back into the tent. One held a metal jar covered with glowing glyphs, and the other led Chanda’s body by the hand. They showed no shock, no emotion at all, at what they saw.
Kosal-Mage commanded, “Take her to my transport circle. The boy and I will be there soon.”
He began to withdraw his hand, and Shivne’s body shook so his teeth rattled in his head. Numbness shot down every limb. Kosal’s hand emerged holding a ball of brilliant light and he tilted his head, regarding it. “Bless my soul,” he murmured, chuckling to himself. He strode over to the table where Mehan lay and took the light in both of his hands. He pushed it inside the boy’s chest, grunting with effort. Mehan thrashed, then lay still.
Shivne let out a final, despairing gasp as the world faded. Colors blended together, fading into a homogeneous dullness. Sounds blurred even as he grasped wildly at understanding.
“Don’t despair, brother,” a voice murmured. “Now you’re one of the lucky ones.”
Then the grey overtook him completely and his mind faded like a thin scream into the night.
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