by K A Doore
“Your turn, Sametket,” she said. “If you truly desire to work with me and be rewarded for your faithfulness—cut out your eye.”
30
Heru raised his hand, but didn’t take the dagger. “I’m not sure I understood you correctly.”
“You did.” The Empress was smiling now. “The marab who imprisoned these sajaam lost their right eye to the cause. The sajaami in this rock must believe that the same marab have returned. You of all people should understand the value in adhering to the proper procedure. Take the knife, Heru.” With her other hand, she gestured past him.
Heru stepped back just as Tamit and one of the guards closed in. But it wasn’t one of the guards with glassy eyes. Atrex was still alive, his eyes clear and alert. He had one hand on the hilt of his sword.
“I’m certain this isn’t necessary,” said Heru. “If it’s a sympathetic tie you’re attempting to forge, then I can assure you that there’re far less painful—and messy—options available. For example, we could cover one eye, assuring temporary in lieu of permanent blindness. Or, alternatively, we could dry the eye over a flame or scour it with sand. Again, less painful and far less untidy, and both within the skills of your healer to reverse. My notes indicate that the sajaam weren’t known for their intelligence. The reference to the loss of an eye could also have been metaphorical, in which case I’d suggest—”
The Empress gestured and Atrex grabbed his throat, ending Heru’s rambling with a gurgle. He struggled for a moment, but Atrex was easily twice his size. Heru sagged.
The Empress cupped Heru’s chin with her palm and lifted it, forcing him to look at her. “We know you’re not squeamish when it comes to such matters. We’ve seen what you do with the prisoners we’ve granted you.”
“Yes, well, mostly my assistants do all the hands-on work. I actually have a weak stomach. They’re always telling me not to watch when they’re performing the practical experiments because I might contaminate the equipment, so really, I’d understand if you’d prefer I observed from a distance instead.”
The red-robed marab watched their exchange with disdain—and with only one eye. The healers remained unscathed, at least physically. Mo’s gaze kept flicking toward the Empress, then settling, lost, on the sand. Thana’s chest tightened. Time was falling, too fast, and she needed to do something, to stop this and free Mo before the Empress used the healers in her plan. But how? And what?
She closed her eyes. Amastan, she called silently, hopefully. I need you.
But her mind returned only echoes of her own fear. Amastan wasn’t there.
A wet, squelching sound yanked her back to the present. Heru gurgled his pain deep in his throat, but didn’t cry out. The Empress straightened, something red and wet and stringy pinched between two fingers. She made a face and tossed it over her shoulder.
“Healer,” she snapped.
Semma grabbed Heru’s arm, the blue haze already snaking up and around Heru’s head. The steady drip of blood from Heru’s chin slowed, then stopped. Thana couldn’t see what remained of his face and didn’t want to.
“Good.” The Empress offered Tamit the knife. “Your turn.”
Tamit took the dagger without hesitation. Thana looked away, but nothing could block out the wet squelch as Tamit removed his own eye. He grunted once, then his eye joined Heru’s in the sand. Thana looked again when the air glowed blue, sealing up the ragged wound where Tamit’s eye had been. When Semma was done, Tamit had a dry, crusting hole that could’ve been years old instead of moments.
The ritual was moving quicker now and Thana needed to stop the Empress before it was too late. But how? If she had her darts, she might have had a chance to strike the Empress before her guards or Tamit could react. With only her knives, rings, and garrote, she had to get close to the Empress—much closer. But a whole brigade of bound guards stood between her and her mark.
Absently, Thana unscrewed one of her rings, then stared in disbelief. She always emptied her rings unless she planned on using them, but she must have missed this one. White powder filled its shallow impression. She quickly secured it again. The last thing she needed was to accidentally poison herself. She checked her surroundings, thoughts whirling. If she had some water, she could coat one of her throwing knives with the poison. Then, maybe, she’d have a chance.
But there was no sign of water nearby, only the bound and their fires, and her mouth was as dry as sand. A shattered glass bowl lay half-buried at her feet, but its contents were long gone. Still, one shard curved to form a basin, in which she could mix the poison. She just needed something to mix it with.
The solution was so obvious Thana took another moment to accept it. Then, gritting her teeth, she drew the blade across her own palm. She squeezed blood onto the glass, drop by drop, until there was enough.
Shaking, she tore off a piece of her wrap and bandaged the wound. After taking a deep, steadying breath, she unscrewed the cap of her ring and gently tapped out the poison. The white dust dissolved in her blood and together, the two turned black.
Meanwhile, the Empress was still speaking. “We return to this place of treachery and pain to undo what was once done, to unmake what was once wrought, to reforge what was once broken. We prove our penance through our eyes and renounce the thorns that empowered us, the fire that weakened you, and the blood that bound. Through the same, we will release you. Through thorns, fire, and blood—you will be freed.”
The wind stirred, no stronger than a breath. But it was enough to emphasize how very still the air had been only a heartbeat before. Thana dipped her knife into the poisoned blood, turning it until its blade was coated. She perched it on the rim of the broken bowl to dry.
The Empress raised her hands. “Thorns.”
The bound guards moved as one, shifting their grip on the spears from underhand to over. The spears were unusually shaped. Instead of a uniform thickness throughout, these tapered to a point. In lieu of a sharp metal head, the wood had been whittled down to a needle-fine tip and blackened by fire.
Like thorns. With that realization, Thana knew what was about to happen. The circle of guards tightened around the imprisoned marab and healers. Thana steeled herself; she wouldn’t look away.
The guards struck. The spears slid into the marab’s backs and out their chests. The marab crumpled to the ground with muffled screams and dragged the healers chained to them down. A few healers cried out. One started to sob. Mo caught herself on her knees and refused to let the chains pull her to the sand. She struggled to stand again, but the bodies on either side weighed her down.
“Fire,” said the Empress.
Flames flared skyward all around the camp until its edge was one unbroken wall of fire. Tents caught and burst and somewhere, someone cried out. The relative silence was gone, replaced by the fire’s all-consuming roar. The wind whistled, high-pitched and frantic, catching and dragging at Thana’s wrap. She checked her knife; it was dry.
“Blood.”
The Empress stepped behind Tamit and slipped the rusted dagger from his hand. He tried to turn with her, but the Empress grabbed his tagel and yanked his head back, exposing his throat. She slid the blade through his neck from ear to ear. Blood poured down Tamit’s front, darkening his red wrap to black.
The Empress dragged his quaking body to the foot of the pillar. She held his opened neck over the trench until the gush of blood slowed to a trickle, then finally stopped. The sand drank up most of the blood, but a red stain lingered and spread. The Empress dropped Tamit’s body and turned to Heru. The wind was now a gale and the sand felt as if it were shaking.
“I’m quite grateful that you chose him and not me.” Heru’s voice was as fragile as a bird. “Now we only have to share all that glory and power between the two of us.”
The wind tore at the Empress’s headdress, ripping away feathers and tilting it to one side. Her blue wrap, now spattered with Tamit’s blood, shook and snapped. Without a word, the Empress advanced on Heru, leavin
g bloody footprints in her wake. A haze suffused the air around her like that of a healer. But instead of blue, this haze was white. The color of bones and maggots and salt seas. Of death.
The pillar shuddered. Pieces of rock broke free and fell. Sand splashed into the air at their impact. Thana weighed the poisoned knife in her palm. She had one chance.
Heru turned and ran. He only made it a few stumbling steps before Atrex had him, first by the arm, then by the shoulder and throat. Heru shoved a hand against the guard’s face and gritted his teeth. Atrex slapped Heru on the side of the head. Heru’s hand fell. Blood dribbled from his lips as Atrex carried him back to the Empress.
Thana pulled her tagel over her mouth and stood. She scanned the scene, confirming her plan one last time—inasmuch as it could be called a plan. The marab sprawled dead next to the trench, the guards once again frozen in place, their spears caked with drying gore. The Empress watched Atrex approach. Semma stood to one side, hands fluttering, useless.
And the pillar loomed behind them all, shedding stone and sending out tremors that stirred and shifted the sand.
Atrex dropped Heru before the Empress and stepped back, one hand on his sword. The Empress knelt, grabbed Heru by his hair, and hauled him to his feet.
Thana approached, no longer bothering to hide. She stepped into the circle of firelight and set her stance. The Empress yanked Heru’s head back. Thana aimed. The Empress touched the dagger to Heru’s throat.
Thana threw.
The rust-covered dagger bit into skin just as the poisoned knife struck the Empress’s shoulder. Her fingers spasmed open and the dagger fell. For a heartbeat, the world stood frozen: the Empress’s stunned expression, Heru’s closed eyes and sagging body, the flickering flames, the bound guards, the chained healers, the stone prison, and Atrex.
Then the Empress dropped Heru to grab the knife in her shoulder and Atrex spun, sword already drawn, scanning for the offender. His gaze caught and narrowed on Thana. He didn’t wait for an order from his Empress—Atrex charged.
Thana ran. She weaved between the bound, trying to confuse and lose him. She was faster than him, and soon she was doubling back toward the pillar, Atrex a safe distance behind. The Empress had pulled the knife from her shoulder and was studying it, lips pursed. She looked up as Thana came running through the bound guards. She tossed the knife aside.
Two guards grabbed for Thana, but they were slow and clumsy and Thana was thrumming with energy. She was finally in her element. No more waiting and hiding. Only action and reaction. Thana dodged and pivoted, heading for the chained healers.
Heru had put a few feet between himself and the Empress. He stooped and picked up the rusted dagger. He held it in front of him as if it might hold the Empress off as he kept backing up, step by step. He didn’t seem to be in immediate danger, so Thana focused on rescuing Mo.
The Empress’s voice boomed too close behind her. “We took your jaani. You should be dead.”
The ground shuddered again, hard enough to throw off Thana’s balance. She stumbled and fell just a foot from the first healer. The girl—for she was hardly older than sixteen—tried to shy away but her chains stopped her. A few bright-colored salas stood out among her short braids. From the style of her wrap, she had to be from one of the other crescent cities.
“You’re too late,” said the Empress.
The charms around Thana’s waist had been burning hotter and hotter as she neared the pillar and now they let out a piercing whistle. With a loud ping, the first charm exploded, its hot glass slicing through her skin and wrap. The second shattered as a hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Thana stared up into the Empress’s face, paler now and glistening with sweat.
In her other hand, the Empress held Thana’s knife, fresh blood still drying on its blade. “You cannot poison us.”
Thana responded with a knee to her stomach. The Empress let out a whoosh of breath, but instead of letting go, her grip tightened. Behind her, the bound guards were closing in, spears pointing at Thana. She didn’t need to turn to know that the guards were also behind her. She was trapped.
The Empress smiled wide and dug her fingers into Thana’s shoulder, forcing her further to the ground. “You cannot stop the inevitable. You should have stayed dead.”
The ground shuddered again, but the vibrations were different this time. Instead of rocks thumping to the ground, the guards had all collapsed. The Empress jerked, then hissed and shoved Thana away. Thana hit the ground and rolled back up into a crouch, fists up. But the Empress was no longer fixated on her.
Chest heaving, Heru stood in the center of a circle drawn in the sand. He’d dropped his arms, but blood dripped from his hands and the knife clutched in his fist. The guards were facedown and motionless. Quieted.
As the Empress stalked toward Heru, Thana seized the opportunity he’d given her. Her third charm shattered when she reached the bloodied trench. One of the healers covered her head and cowered away from Thana, her clanking chains barely audible above the roaring wind. Thana grabbed the nearest link and followed the chain to a lock. She stared blankly at it. She didn’t have a pick and she’d used her last throwing knife to poison the Empress.
The roar of the wind intensified until it was all Thana could hear. A rock struck her shoulder as she tried to fit her remaining blade—a long, curved dagger—into the lock. She grabbed her shoulder, the pain blossoming a moment later along with blood. Despair and hopelessness ate at her, but she wasn’t done, not yet. She wrapped her fingers around the rock that had hit her and bashed at the chain. When the metal refused to even dent, Thana growled her frustration.
Her fingers picked through the sand for something, anything, and slipped across a jagged piece of Salid’s charm. The thick glass he’d used had shattered into chunks and this one could easily have been a small dagger. Her blood already stained it, turning the blue glass a bright red. She jabbed its point into the lock and felt the first tumbler click. Gritting her teeth and ducking her head against the flying sand, she wiggled the shard until a second and third tumbler clicked. She hardly dared to hope when she yanked hard on the lock, but it opened and released a portion of chain.
It was a small victory. Several locks remained, tethering the healers to each other and the ground. The shard had cut Thana’s hand deep and now her blood made the glass too slick to grasp. The wind spat sand into her face and eyes, making it harder and harder to see. She tore off a piece of her wrap and twisted it around her bleeding hand. With this makeshift glove, she was able to free the shard from the lock.
Thana felt along the chain for the next lock. The Empress had been lazy in at least one respect: all the locks were the same make, so once Thana figured out how to spring one, the rest were easy. The first healer was freed and sent stumbling away from the disintegrating pillar. When Thana looked back, Heru was crouched on the sand, blood staining his arms. The Empress was only a few feet away, but she stood frozen in place, both hands clutching at her throat.
Thana kept moving. She didn’t know how much more time Heru could give her. The next healer scurried away, whispering prayers under her breath. A third stayed kneeling no matter how much Thana pushed or yelled at her. The fourth and last was Mo, dark eyes wide with relief.
“Your hands,” said Mo when the last lock opened. The wind snatched her words, but Thana could read her lips.
“We have to get away,” said Thana.
She pulled Mo to her feet, the chains falling away like water. Mo glanced toward the healer still kneeling in the sand, but—
CRA
CK
Thana’s ears sang. Pebbles rained down, catching on her arms and head in painful bursts. Thana glanced up just as the pillar of the Aer Essifs split in two.
Thana didn’t think. She grabbed Mo’s hand and ran. Rocks fell all around, some as small as sand, others as big as boulders. One large rock slammed into the ground only feet away, crushing a marabi’s corpse. Thana swerved around the rock, one
hand over her head, the other clutching Mo’s.
They passed the collapsed guards, just starting to twitch and move again, then the Empress. She sputtered and clutched at her throat, eyes wide and skin even paler than before. Thana allowed herself a small amount of satisfaction—the poison had worked—and then the fourth charm sang and shattered.
A trail of blood guided them to Heru, just beyond the first bound. Thana grabbed the fabric of his wrap and yanked him along. Behind, the mountain crumbled. Stones tumbled and struck the ground, sending out more tremors. The wind sang through the air, kicking up dust and sand. Thana yanked her wrap up over her mouth and nose. Already her eyes and throat burned from the dry air. The last two charms whistled and shrieked, their heat searing.
Once beyond the radius of falling rubble, Thana slowed and turned. The pillar was completely gone, a haphazard heap of debris the only sign it had been there at all. A buzzing darkness filled the air in its place. The ground still trembled beneath their feet, but had otherwise stopped trying to throw them off balance.
The flames encircling the camp flared, black smoke billowing into the brightening sky. A deep rumbling suffused the air, as if a herd of spooked camels were bearing down on them. Thana backed up until she could feel Heru and Mo’s reassuring presence, then she slipped her garrote free.
“I couldn’t stop her before she set the ritual in motion,” said Heru, his voice thin. “The sajaami is free.”
“Won’t the Empress’s seal trap it?” asked Thana.
“Perhaps. But if she’s dead, it won’t hold for long.”
“You killed her?” Mo’s voice was almost as thin as Heru’s.
“Thana poisoned her, I weakened her further, and the falling rocks we so narrowly avoided ourselves will have finished the job.”
“We are not dead.”
The words echoed all around them in a chorus of broken and gargled voices, high and low, scratchy and clear, and yet, unmistakably, the Empress’s. Heru closed his good eye, resignation smoothing out the wrinkles in his face. Thana tightened the garrote between her fists, scanning the crowd of bound. The people with glazed eyes had turned as one to face them.