“Huh?”
“I’m not trying to argue or make a point. I’m simply asking.”
Whitney kicked his legs out and crossed them in the air, then let them crack down on the marble floor. “Yeah… this old horse is finally hitched.”
“Then you should be with her. Not me. Spend as much time as you can together, because it may be all we have.”
“Hey, what happened to ‘we won’t lose?’”
“A friend let me see again.”
“Well, we won’t. So, Sora can have a few hours by herself.” He put his arm around Torsten’s shoulder, barely able to reach the far side. But damned if he didn’t try. “I’m here to make sure my old pal is okay. We really do swear not to tell anybody. It’s not my secret, anyway.”
Torsten turned, his eyeless stare boring through Whitney—a thief who’d say anything to get off. One who’d pose as a priest or lie to a King. But at this moment, he was being completely sincere.
“You know, of all the insane things that have happened since the day we met. Having you here, ready to fight and die for someone you love… that is the most surprising,” Torsten said.
Whitney averted his gaze. His throat bobbed as emotion clearly got the better of him, but Torsten didn’t draw attention to it.
“What can I say?” Whitney asked. “I’m evolved.”
Torsten laughed.
“So, you promise you’re not mad about Liam?” Whitney asked. “I only took Sora down there because she needed it. But she’s okay now. We won’t go there again.”
“I’m not mad,” Torsten said. “I’m not happy. And I truly, truly, don’t want to talk about Liam. So, would you do something for me?”
“Anything.”
“Would you pray with me?”
“Anything but that.”
Torsten laughed, then grew serious once more. “Everything we know is coming to an end. Why not take the chance with me?”
“Because it’s hogwash.”
“Then take the chance. Just once, sit and pray with me, Whitney Fierstown. The former World’s Greatest Thief. Or are you scared?”
“All right, you’re going to pull that card. That’s fine. That’s fine.” Whitney removed his arm from Torsten’s back, circled his eyes, and dropped his head. “I’ll play your game, former Wearer of White. But Iam better close his ears.”
XXXIX
The Caleef
The Yarrington docks were a jarring reminder that Mahi was not in Shesaitju lands any longer. From the yellow sands by the northern coast to the distinct lack of finger-like rocks jutting out of the sea, everything was so… different. Everything, except the hectic, crazed men and women dashing along the piers. Those, apparently, were everywhere.
However, now more than ever, there was a reason for their manic behavior. Mahi’s destruction of White Bridge wouldn’t hold Nesilia’s forces back long. There were passes to the north, through dwarven territory—and Nesilia had already proven she was unafraid of the dwarves.
Presently, longboats cut the waves from one side of Autla’s Inlet to the other, dragging with them massive, barbed chains. On the shore, teams of beastmasters whipped zhulong into action, doing just the same. Uhlvark, the High Priest’s giant friend, helped on land, attaching the chains to the watchtowers and lighthouses along the coast.
In the waters, out beyond the makeshift jetties, Lord Jolly orchestrated the larger ships, each overflowing with vat after vat of whale oil. Mahraveh marveled at his leadership. These Glassmen weren’t fools as she’d been led to believe they were her whole life. Different, perhaps, but not by much more than their skin color or chosen deity.
“Pull!” Bit’rudam shouted, his voice cutting through the rest.
She’d been watching him as he worked, barebacked and sweating, more than a little ashamed at her thoughts during such a tumultuous time. She hadn’t loved since Jumaat, and she doubted that’s what this was now. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like to have lived a normal life, here in the Glass capital, without all the infighting and politics she was so used to back home.
Would she have been wed already? Bearing children of her own?
It does not matter, she thought. You are the snake. You are the Caleef.
Behind her, a skirmish broke out just beyond the docks on what they called Port Street. It wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last. The Docksiders had been restless since they’d been informed that their home would be used as kindling in an attempt to stop the attackers. Many complained that there was no need for an invading army if they, themselves, were to destroy the city. To the credit of the Glassmen, none offered the slightest inkling that it was Mahi’s plan.
She wasn’t surprised by the protesting and riots as Glass soldiers dragged many people out of their homes. They’d decided it’d be best if no Shesaitju were seen doing anything but working in the water. They earned enough curses and hateful stares from the locals. Mahi walked along the docks, watching as Torsten’s men held the angry locals at bay. They’d done an excellent job so far, keeping the peace, but it wouldn’t last much longer if something wasn’t done. To tell so many thousands to evacuate their homes, taking only what they could carry, and find refuge at a church all the way across the city… they were lucky there wasn’t a full-on civil war.
Still, she understood. As shoddy and unpleasant as this corner of Yarrington was, she’d come to learn that people were fiercely defensive of their homes. She’d have killed every Glassmen alive when they’d burned down her own village. But that was before she gained the perspective of a thousand years of conflict.
At the same time, she found herself impressed by her own people beyond compare. They worked tirelessly, despite being underfed and sleeping on hay like zhulong in a crowded stable. It was almost like they’d forgotten about what had happened in Latiapur. Gone was the mourning and complaining, now replaced by sheer determination to survive.
Bit’rudam wiped sweat from his brow with his forearm and crossed the deck to where Mahi stood. He snatched up one of the many waterskins hanging from posts along the docks.
“How is it going?” Mahi asked.
He turned, startled as first, as if he hadn’t even seen her there. Then, he did a little bow and said, “My Caleef, it is going well. The Glassmen around here know their way around water, I’ll give them that at least.”
Mahraveh nodded. “I agree.”
“Lord Jolly has his ships ready for flame, and now they work to create the blockade. Our people, with the help of others, have successfully strung up over one hundred chains, and the rest will be done by the end of the week. It is slower work the further out we go. If we hope to impede the wianu, we must go deep and cover every route.”
Mahi looked beyond him to a group of Shesaitju women braiding rope. “And them?”
“Ah, yes. That was my idea,” Bit’rudam said. “Large nets to hang from the chains in an effort to further deter the sea beasts. We won’t have time to craft enough chains. They can spare no more smiths.”
“A fine plan,” she said. “As good as any when fighting gods.”
Those words carried with them a weight she hadn’t intended. The memory of Latiapur, although temporarily out of mind, would linger with them forever. They hadn’t stood a chance and looking around at all her men now, she wondered if the same were true.
Mahi gazed out over the sea, then followed the breaking waves to a sandbar on the southern end where a lone figure sat in the water, ignoring the waves as they crashed all around.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said to Bit’rudam.
“Of course, my Caleef.”
Bit’rudam grazed her arm with intent before he returned to his work. She didn’t scold him, even if they were out in public. They could all die soon. There wasn’t enough time not to enjoy the small things, and she enjoyed so little these days.
Mahi walked the docks, passing a dilapidated church, several tiny shacks, and one building that
looked entirely out of place. Balconies wrapped its exterior, beautifully carved wood creating elegant arches.
Even in the midst of filth, beauty can be found, she thought.
She stopped in a green patch, her naked toes curling in the grass, a feeling mostly unfamiliar to her. She wished she could have experienced more than the vague sensation. The trees here, like the one she stood under now, were so unlike those back in the Black Sands. The shade would have felt nice, too, if things like temperature mattered to her any longer. She even wished she could feel the wind blowing in from the ocean, whipping her braids. She could only smell the salt. At least, that reminded her a bit of where she came from.
From there, she watched the figure in the sandbar, who was clearly lost in thought. Sora, the mystic, was unique, but Mahi couldn’t help but feel she’d found a kindred spirit after the meeting in the Shield Hall. Not many others would know what possession by a god felt like. As a matter of fact, the only other person she knew who would was now dead, minutes after pledging himself to her in holy matrimony.
In the distance, a wyvern swooped down, breaking the water’s surface and then rising with a fish flapping in its teeth. The miniature dragon-beast flew toward the shore, ultimately landing beside Sora and wasting no time getting to work on her meal.
Mahi followed the jetty to the sand bar and slowly made her way to Sora. As she got closer, she noticed the glowing orange speckles hovering around the mystic’s fingertips. She cleared her throat, not wanting to experience the consequences of surprising her.
The wyvern looked up, but when Sora didn’t respond, Mahi cleared her throat again. This time, it elicited the reaction Mahi had hoped for, causing Sora to turn.
“Oh,” she said, rising, water dripping from her soaked clothing. Long, dark hair was matted to a face that was misted with saltwater. She swiped at the strands, tucking them behind her pointed ears.
The wyvern chirped, took a small hop closer to Sora, then went back to her meal.
“I didn’t aim to disturb you,” Mahi said. “And I understand if you’d rather be left alone.”
“I—no, not at all,” Sora said. “It is nice to have company in a city so large.”
“Where is your friend, Whitney?”
Since they’d arrived in Yarrington, Mahi hadn’t seen the two separated.
“He had some… uh, business with Sir Unger,” Sora said.
Mahi didn’t like the sound of that, but resolved to allow them their privacy. As long as it didn’t interfere with the battle, it was no concern of hers. She was a stranger in these lands, after all.
“Good,” Mahi said. “And who is this?”
Sora bent and scooped up the animal.
“This is Aquira,” she said. “She’s a wyvern.”
“Yes, my father taught me about them. Though I’ve never seen one. May I?” Mahi extended a hand toward Aquira.
Sora looked genuinely surprised at the request, as if most people were terrified of the thing. Then after looking to Aquira, likely to gauge her response, said, “By all means.”
Aquira shrank back only slightly at Mahi’s touch. Then, she pressed her head forward and into her palm.
“She prefers women,” Sora said. “And she seems to like you.”
“Yes, well, she is beautiful and ferocious. Just like her owner. Has she been with you long?” The words immediately returned to her own ears, and she regretted them. They’d just been together in the Shield Hall when Sora shared of her time spent possessed by the goddess. Unless Aquira was there with her, which was doubtful, Sora had been away from the creature for a very long time.
Sora must have noticed the look on Mahi’s face.
“It’s okay,” Sora said. “Before Nesilia took me, Aquira brought me great comfort for many months. She was all I had.”
There seemed to be more to the tale, but Sora’s words trailed off as she stared down at her companion.
“I know what it feels like,” Mahi said. She allowed a moment for her words to register with Sora before continuing. “I didn’t always look like this, you know. My people, they all consider this some great gift from our God. But I…” She kicked her foot in the water. “I can’t even feel the waves against my feet. Or the wind against my brow.”
“Sometimes, a lack of feeling is advantageous.”
“Yes, perhaps,” Mahi said. “In the castle, you said Nesilia made you do things you did not wish to do. I, too, have been forced to act in ways I would have never desired.”
Visions of her afhems being scarred and maimed at her command passed through her mind’s eye. The look on her father’s face as the skin was sliced from his scalp. Even though he understood, his heartbreak couldn’t be completely masked.
“What is it?” Sora touched her ears. “I understand being different. If I’m being too forward, I’m sorry. Just… the blackness of your skin. None of the others—“
“For you, Nesilia took over on the inside. For me and every other Caleef, our God alters the outside too. This…” She stroked a finger over her flawless, black skin. “This is the blood of a thousand nigh’jels, though it does not wash off. The sea itself first threatened to kill me, tossing me to and fro like leaves upon the wind. Then, it offered itself to me in fullness.”
“I’m sorry,” Sora said.
“Yes, well, this too shall end soon,” Mahi said. “But you… you have a unique perspective of this upcoming battle. You have felt her mind. We Shesaitju believe that you learn another’s mind through battle, and we have yet to fight. All I know is that she killed my father.”
“Muskigo, right?”
Mahi noted the way she said it. Like his was not a name she’d merely heard from the war.
“You knew him?” Mahi asked.
“Briefly,” Sora said. “In Winde Port, when everything changed. I got trapped in the city. Everyone around here calls him a monster, but he was kind to me. Protected me.” She scratched the wyvern’s chin. “And Aquira.”
Mahi sighed and nodded. “He could be as hard to read as the ocean. But the things he chose to protect, he did so with the ferocity of a dragon.”
“I can see him in you. Strong, resilient, unwavering.” Sora’s gaze turned toward the ground, and her features darkened. “I guess we all can’t help but be like our fathers.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I don’t know what it is.”
Mahi could again tell there was more history there, but she didn’t press. “Well, what a strangely small world it is that we would meet here… a Panpingese woman in Yarrington, with a soft spot for my rebel father.”
Sora chuckled. “Strange, indeed.”
“So, Sora the mystic, against this enemy who slew my legendary father like he was no challenge at all. Do we have a chance?”
Sora appeared to be mulling the question over while she stared off toward Mount Lister. Mahraveh had never seen anything like it. The Shesaitju deserts had dunes, even some large ones, and the cliffs near Nahanab were tall and steep, but she didn’t think anything of such magnitude could have existed. If its peak hadn’t been sheared off, it would have touched the sky and beyond.
Finally, Sora spoke, pulling Mahi’s attention back. “I have to believe that if there’s any force on Pantego that could stop her, it is here, in this city. With your Serpent Guards, Torsten’s knights, and the magic at our disposal, there could be no greater hope.”
“Is it true, then—what was said about your battle in the north?” Mahi asked.
“It was hardly my battle,” Sora said with a small laugh.
“Poor choice of words, but the question remains. Had it not been for the meddling pirate, would Nesilia truly be gone?”
“I can’t say for certain, but that’s how it appeared,” Sora said. “She was definitely caught in the bar guai. It wasn’t until the stones broke and released her presence that we lost.”
“Resourceful, that thief of yours, isn’t he?” Mahraveh peered across the wa
ters at the docks, once again letting her eyes linger upon Bit’rudam. “You are lucky to have him, and him, you.”
“I’m sorry about what happened with the King,” Sora said as if the two were in any way related. Though, Mahraveh knew the mystic had no way of knowing just how shallow an arrangement the marriage had been. Mahi had hardly known the boy before they stood before the Glass priest. Even though he was the start of her newfound respect for the pink men, she’d only known him for a matter of days, and that wasn’t enough to qualify as anything more than moderate interest.
Sora kept talking, but Mahraveh’s attention remained on the wharf where something new was taking place. Three Glass soldiers stood with Bit’rudam. The look on her commander’s face spoke of dire news.
“What is it?” Sora asked, apparently noticing as well.
“I’m not sure, but it doesn’t look good.”
“Let’s find out,” Sora said. “C’mon Aquira.”
The wyvern obliged, begrudgingly abandoning its seafood to land on her shoulder.
They followed the coast up the jetty until they arrived at a small stone staircase leading up to the docks. Before long, they stood with Bit’rudam and the soldiers, Sir Austun Mulliner, present among them. She may have found a new respect for Glassmen, but that one, she preferred to stay away from.
“Dire news, Mahre—my Caleef,” Bit’rudam said. Then, he looked to Sir Mulliner.
“Mahraveh,” he said. It wasn’t exactly reverence, but there was a measure of respect in his tone. “Despite my protestations, even I must admit that your plan to disrupt Nesilia’s travels by destroying the bridge was smart—however, it didn’t work.”
Didn’t work? How could it not have worked? Mahi, herself, was there, and she saw to it that White Bridge lay in ruins at the bottom of the gorge. What was left of it could hardly have been called passable.
“Speak plainly,” Mahi said.
“We don’t know how, but we’ve received word by scouts that Nesilia rebuilt the bridge and has crossed with her entire army and are on their way through the fringe towns.”
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