Upon his return to the Bhadyar, Nasim stepped off the skiff and found Soroush waiting for him.
“Come,” he said. “There’s someone who wishes to speak with you.” “Who?”
Soroush merely turned and headed to the stairs leading down into the forecastle. He came to Ashan’s door, motioned to it, and began walking away.
“I’ve thought on what happened since we last talked,” Nasim said.
Soroush stopped and without turning said, “You have?”
“I forgive you for what you did.”
“I don’t want your forgiveness, Nasim.”
“I know, but you have it just the same.”
Soroush paused for a moment, and then continued on without saying another word, leaving Nasim standing alone before Ashan’s door.
Nasim reached out and held his hand above the handle once more, and this time, though his hand shook, he was able to grasp it, to open it.
Inside the tiny cabin was a bed, a small table with a lit lamp, and a chair. Ashan sat at the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his head in his hands. As Nasim entered, Ashan looked up and smiled broadly, though the physical act of it seemed somehow to pain him. “By the fates who rule above, it does my heart good to see you, Nasim.”
Nasim backed the chair up until it rested against the far wall. Only then did he sit down.
Ashan’s smile faded. “I don’t blame you. I’ve done little to gain your trust.”
“That’s not true,” Nasim said. “You were the one who showed me the most kindness.”
“Kindness, perhaps, but in the end I think I was little better than anyone else.” Ashan held his forehead tighter and grit his teeth against the pain. “I searched for you,” he said after he’d finally recovered.
Nasim smiled. He almost wanted to laugh. “You won’t remember, but we’ve had this conversation before.”
Ashan looked confused but intrigued. “We have?”
Nasim explained the talk he’d had with Muqallad in Shirvozeh, the village near Alayazhar. “We spoke of your travels after I’d been taken to Mirashadal. We spoke of the Atalayina. And many other things.”
Ashan frowned. “It makes a certain sort of sense. He was trying to make you believe that it was truly me you were speaking to, and of course a man like Muqallad would find it difficult to lie.”
“He spoke to me again at the celestia as Soroush.”
Ashan’s frown deepened. “Did he?”
“He caught me like this and was rifling through my mind. For what, I do not know. It was Kaleh that saved me from his attentions, and she may have unwittingly done more damage to Muqallad than she knew of.”
“Because she prevented Muqallad from finding what he sought.”
Nasim nodded. “Still, we were harmed much that day. Muqallad followed us to Rafsuhan to fuse the pieces of the Atalayina together, and if the column of fire we saw above Rafsuhan was any indication, he succeeded.”
“Soroush said as much.” Ashan sat back in the bed until his back was propped against the wall, though judging by the look on his face it gave him no comfort. “Muqallad wants the Atalayina whole, which was why the three pieces were split among the Al-Aqim those many years ago. Each of them knew that none could be trusted with all three pieces.”
“The third now lies upon Galahesh with Atiana Vostroma.” He told him of his encounter with Sariya in her tower, how he’d spoken with Sariya, how the monolith had crumbled before him, how he’d prevented Sariya from taking the piece of the Atalayina by giving it to Atiana instead. What he didn’t share with Ashan was the story of Rabiah. His memories of her, particularly those memories, were still much too raw.
Ashan took this all in and worked it through, as he always did. “It’s too bad you couldn’t have brought it to Ghayavand.”
“If I’d done that, Muqallad would most likely have it now. Better that it lies hidden on Galahesh for now. With any luck she may think that I still have it.” Nasim worked at the problem further, more than he had at any time since leaving Rafsuhan. “What I don’t understand is what the two of them are doing. Why is Sariya pulling strings on Galahesh when she could be with Muqallad, helping him?”
Ashan drummed his fingers against his knee absently. “I wonder if they’re working together at all. Had it been so, they might have been able to find the stone in her tower. Which makes me wonder if they now oppose one another.”
Nasim shook his head. “There was a map on the celestia floor. Did you see it?”
Ashan nodded.
“What you probably didn’t see was that it showed the progression of the ley lines and how they were compressing around not only Ghayavand, but Galahesh. The straits are certainly the cause, and now Sariya has built a bridge over them. Saphia Khalakovo told me just now that Sariya’s using it to attack the islands. She wouldn’t do so merely to take Anuskaya, to rule over the Duchies, for to do so would be to ignore Muqallad’s plans.”
“Perhaps she’s fooling herself. Perhaps she wishes to live the life she gave up those many years ago.” Ashan said these words with a mischievous glint in his eye. This and the beginnings of a smile that made it clear that he was impressed with Nasim. Perhaps he’d thought Nasim would still be simple, or callow, or at least confused in certain ways like he’d been years ago, but Nasim had grown. He’d left so much of that behind.
“Sariya may be many things,” Nasim replied, “but she is no fool. The fact that Galahesh is the very place Muqallad will bring the Atalayina nearly rules out the possibility that she’s planning to oppose him. The greater question is how Muqallad hopes to widen the rift once he’s made the Atalayina whole. It troubles me that he posed as others, and that he searched through my mind as he did. What could he have been looking for?”
“As for the disguises, it seems to me he was merely trying to get what he wanted,” Ashan said.
“Perhaps, but he could have done so merely by forcing my hand. He had you. He had Rabiah and Sukharam.”
“Meaning you would have handed the Atalayina over?”
Nasim looked into Ashan’s eyes, but couldn’t hold them. He was too ashamed. “Of course I wouldn’t.”
“There’s no need to be ashamed, Nasim. That would have been the right thing to do.”
“That doesn’t make it easier, Ashan.”
“I know…”
“And then there is Kaleh to consider,” Nasim said, more to change the subject than anything else.
“There is Kaleh,” Ashan echoed. “She is the one who caught me. Or at least, allowed Muqallad to catch me. I saw her near the celestia, and I was so confused as to how a child could have come to Ghayavand that I didn’t notice Muqallad until it was too late.”
“She helped us once,” Nasim said. “She may help us again.”
Ashan reared back, stretching his ribs and grimacing. “Perhaps she will, but we cannot count on it. So the question remains, where do we go?”
“We?” Nasim asked.
“I would join you. I learned much about the Atalayina before I made my way to Ghayavand. If we find the pieces, I hope to teach you.”
“Are you offering to be my kuadim?”
Ashan smiled, showing his crooked teeth. “I suppose I am.”
There was a part of Nasim that wanted no one near him. A part that wanted simply to run. But these were not things he could run from, and it would be good to stand at Ashan’s side once more, no matter how confusing or painful it might have been in the past.
“Then I think,” Nasim said slowly, “I accept.”
Ashan laughed. “You think?”
“I accept, Ashan. I accept.”
“That’s good. And I have an idea of where we can learn more, from people who may, in the end, decide to do more than simply teach us.”
Nasim didn’t understand what Ashan meant, but when he put his mind to it, the answer was obvious. “Mirashadal.”
Ashan’s smile widened. “You were always very bright.”
Nasim shook his head, nearly laughing. “It would be good to see Fahroz once more.”
“You are wise, Nasim.” Ashan stood and rubbed his head, as he had many times when he was young. “You are wise, indeed.”
Nasim woke at dawn the following morning. He prepared himself to leave, packing away his few belongings into a bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He went quietly through the room as many of the refugees from Rafsuhan slept. A small girl, no more than five, opened her eyes at his departure. She watched him go, brushing away her black bangs from her eyes, but she didn’t call out.
He made his way up to the deck. Soroush was manning the helm, adjusting the keel levers, watching Nasim from the corner of his eye. When he finally did look at Nasim, he didn’t nod and he didn’t smile; he merely watched and then turned away, his attention returning to the attitude of the ship.
Nasim headed aft, to the windward side of the ship where a skiff sat waiting. Sukharam sat in the confines, watching him with a serious expression that was also the tiniest bit hopeful.
Nasim shook his head as he approached. “You cannot come.”
“It isn’t up to you.” This came from behind Nasim. He turned and found Ashan approaching. “It’s his choice,” Ashan continued. “He deserves to learn from those who would teach him, the same as you.”
Ashan stepped into the skiff as Sukharam stared up at Nasim with a hardened expression and said, “I go despite you, not because of you.” With that he shifted away on the thwart and hugged the far side of the skiff.
Nasim balanced himself against a nearby belaying line as the sting of their words settled in. He should have been the one to teach Sukharam. But he had failed utterly.
Ashan waited, his hand held out, smiling. When Nasim didn’t accept his offer of help, his smile faded and his eyes grew serious. “It’s your choice, Nasim. You don’t have to come.”
You’re wrong, Nasim thought.
Yesterday when Ashan had made the offer, he’d felt like he was making a choice. And here, standing near this skiff, felt like another. But there really was no choice. He’d been trapped from the moment Khamal had died. Despite what had happened on Oshtoyets-or perhaps because of it-he felt as though he’d been walking his entire life in the footsteps Khamal had left for him.
And this was merely one more step.
He nearly turned away, nearly considered returning belowdecks. But he did not. He was trapped, well and truly.
He took Ashan’s hand and stepped into the skiff.
What could he do now but find out why?