The Gorovna twisted in the wind, and though Nikandr had not said a word, it soon became clear to any experienced sailor what was happening.
Viggen’s voice cut through the mist from the stern of the ship. “Kapitan?”
“Silence on deck!” Nikandr shouted as loud as he dared.
Several more shots rang out from the Kavda, but they were further now and the shots went wide. A short while later, soft as a memory, Nikandr heard the order to come about. Soon the Gorovna would be out of reach, and it was doubtful the Kavda would brave the currents to chase them down. If they did, they might succeed in capturing or destroying their quarry, but more likely than not they would in the process become lost to the winds as well.
Jahalan guided them, being careful not to use too heavy a hand lest the havaqiram aboard the Kavda sense it. The mist began to recede. Nikandr could once again see the foremast clearly. The wounded crewman lay on his side at the stern, rolling his head from side to side while Viggen, kneeling over him, clamped his hand over the man’s mouth to keep him from screaming. Udra pulled a black-and-white scarf from around her neck and began binding the man’s wound. The deck around them was bloody and mangled from grapeshot.
They continued northward, a few calls from the Kavda coming to them from within the mist. The Gorovna had now completely drifted free from it, and as the distance increased, Nikandr saw how truly immense it was. It looked like a cloud the size of an island, churning as the wind pushed them onward.
“It must be Ashan,” Jahalan said.
Nikandr furrowed his brow. “Or Nasim.”
Jahalan laughed softly. “Or Nasim.”
Nikandr studied the northern sky for any sign of the skiff, but there was none. “Is Ghayavand truly a place between worlds?”
“Who can tell? Some doubt that it exists at all. Others say it is nothing but an island where powerful qiram once lived. Others believe a doorway once existed, but that it has since closed.”
“What do you think?”
“Me?”Jahalan’s face became pensive as he too studied the horizon.“I think that something as hidden as Ghayavand is as good as a myth.”
One more cannon blast interrupted the silence, but it was soft, distant, muted by the depths of the fog.
“And what if it were real? What would you do then?”
A genuine smile lit his face. “I would learn. The day we stop listening to the lessons around us…”
“Is the day we begin to die,” Nikandr said, completing the proverb. “So you always say, but I have heard of the riches of Alayazhar.” Jahalan, like Udra and dozens of other Aramahn, had pledged themselves to Khalakovo. They had found their place, as they say, and had dedicated themselves to teaching the Landed the ways of the world as seen through the eyes of the Aramahn.
“You mean to ask would I betray my oath. I would not, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t cry for my own loss.”
“Perhaps in the next life,” Nikandr said.
“Perhaps,” Jahalan replied. “Do you still believe the city you saw in your visions was Alayazhar?”
Nikandr shrugged. “Who can say? Perhaps it was something Nasim saw somewhere when he was younger. But it felt real, as if I were the one with the memories… Nyet, as if I were living it, then and there.”
“And what if we find this place? What then?”
“We find Ashan and we bring him back.”
“What of the wasting?”
Jahalan had said the words nonchalantly, perhaps hoping to ease into the conversation, but it struck Nikandr physically. He reeled, shocked and embarrassed that Jahalan had found him out.
“Who knows?” Nikandr asked.
“Only Udra and I, but the crew suspects.”
Nikandr wanted to laugh. “They consider it another ill omen, I expect.”
“They do.”
Nikandr arched his neck back and took a deep breath. “There is time for me yet. My only hope is to bring Nasim back home, to unlock the riddle within him.”
Jahalan turned to face Nikandr. He reached out and gripped Nikandr’s shoulder affectionately. “Best you take care of yourself, then. Eat, and make sure the crew sees you doing it. Throw up if you must, but do so in your own cabin.”
Nikandr nodded, thankful for having someone who knew, thankful at not having to hide it, at least some of the time. “I will.”
The following night, Nikandr retired to the kapitan’s cabin to ride out another coughing fit. The spells were not lasting as long as they once did, but they left him feeling much more weakened when they were done. It was as if his body had had enough and his defenses were crumbling.
Viggen knocked on his door with an offer of food. He accepted, but it took him nearly an hour to force down the meager ration he’d allowed for himself and the crew. With the prevailing winds largely controlling their direction, he had chosen to stay high above the water instead of dropping to fish. It was not food, in any case, that was the issue. It was liquids. Their supply of ale was beginning to run low.
That night, he forced himself to sleep, though it was difficult with the interminable ache in his chest. When he finally did fall asleep, it was deep.
As were his dreams.
At the fluttering wings of a bird, Khamal opens his eyes. He expects a gull, but finds instead a thrush with spotted wings and a fiery red breast standing on the tower’s parapet. He sees this as an ill omen. The thrush flaps down from the parapet to the wooden roof. It hops closer to Khamal’s feet, and then it alights, scared by the creaking sound of the hinged door that opens nearby.
Muqallad is first, followed by Sariya, who carries a curved knife, a ceremonial khanjar. She holds it as though it would bite, but her face is resolute.
They stand before him.
“Your last chance,” Muqallad says.
Khamal ignores him, giving all his attention to Sariya. She stares back, and though she acts strong, he can tell that she regrets what she has done-not enough to change her mind, but there is regret, and that is a start.
“Small consolation,” he says softly.
“What?” Muqallad replies.
“You have lived centuries longer than you’d ever imagined, and you still believe that you can force upon the world its destiny.”
“The fates knew well that they were ceding the world to us. They should not be surprised when a plan of their own devising bears fruit at last.”
Khamal views the horizon, feeling in his heart the tear in the world that runs through the islands. “Only when this is healed can the world move on.”
“Enough,” Sariya says. The word is short, clipped. She is shamed at being here, and she wishes to be done with it. Muqallad turns to her. “He will not change his mind, and we still have much to do.” Muqallad nods, beckons her closer.
She hesitates, glancing to Khamal, but then complies.
Together, they hold the khanjar. Each reaches out to touch one of Khamal’s shoulders, and for a moment, it is as it was when they worked together on this same tower, centuries ago, trying to take the world to a higher place, a higher plane.
Khamal can feel the world around him, feel the power building within the two of them. They were surprised at how easily he gave in-with barely a fight. What they didn’t realize was how right it felt. They didn’t realize how freeing their betrayal might be. They were all trapped on this island from the moment the rift had formed, and though he had tried to find a way to repair it, he came to learn that he would not be able to do so while here. He also knew that he could never leave.
Unless he dies.
To do so means giving himself to the fates. He has come to terms with this. It feels right.
But he cannot allow the two of them free reign while he’s gone. He will die, but he will be reborn, and he will see to it that he remembers, that he returns to finish what he started.
The tip of the khanjar presses against his stomach, pierces his skin. He looks down, smiling.
“Why do you smile?” Sariya asks.
He stares into her blue eyes. “Someday I’ll tell you.”
“ Neh,” Muqallad says, “you will not.”
Together, they thrust the khanjar home.
Khamal tips his head to the sky and screams. He feels the warmth of his own blood, already trailing down his stomach. He feels the touch of Adhiya even now. And it is in this moment that he is free.
He binds the island, binds this tower, so that neither Sariya nor Muqallad will be allowed to leave. They will be trapped. They will wait for his return, and if the fates are kind, he will return a wiser man than he is now.
Muqallad stares into Khamal’s eyes. He knows. He knows, and he works to prevent what is happening.
“Help me!” through gritted teeth he shouts.
But it is too late. Khamal slips free of his mortal frame, and in doing so, cements the spell around the tower.
Nikandr woke, sweating, his chest so constricted he could hardly breathe. He could not find it in himself to cough. He was too weak, and he felt as though once he started, he would not stop until he was dead. And so he lay there holding his soulstone tightly in one hand, breathing shallowly, feeling the gentle tug of the wind upon their ship until slowly, slowly, the feeling of tightness faded.
He swallowed and took in a deeper breath. To be so caught by this spell made him feel powerless. It was something he resented. But he also felt grateful. He was alive, and so there was hope that he would weather this storm.
He kissed his soulstone and stood, testing his breath for a moment before unlatching one of the landward windows and peering into the night. Nasim’s ship lay in this direction. He was sure of it. He didn’t need the stars to feel where Nasim was now, some many leagues ahead of them.
Unable to sleep, he left his cabin and wandered the deck. Several men stood watch, with Viggen tending the helm. Jahalan normally slept on deck, but when Nikandr moved toward the forward patch of deck where he normally laid out his blanket, Nikandr found him sitting there, studying the sky. Nikandr waited, not wanting to interrupt, but just as unwilling to return to his cabin.
“Come,” Jahalan said, making space for Nikandr to sit.
“I saw the city again,” Nikandr said as he sat on the blanket. “I can feel it. We’re coming closer.” He studied the stars for a time as a chill wind blew abeam the ship. “Khamal died in my dream. He was murdered by the others-Muqallad and Sariya.”
Jahalan was already shaking his head. “They were arqesh.”
“Meaning what? That they could not have found it in themselves to commit murder?”
“Just so.”
“The Maharraht murder.”
“The Maharraht are not arqesh. They are selfish, thinking only of themselves.”
“They claim they are doing it for you. For all of us.”
“ Da, they claim this. But what they’re really doing is alleviating their own fears, their built-up hostility toward the Landed. Were they really doing it for the Aramahn, they would help. They would preach forgiveness. They would teach through kindness.”
“You don’t teach.”
Jahalan turned his head to regard Nikandr. “I abandoned the path to vashaqiram long ago.”
“And yet you feel angry over the Maharraht.”
“They are an affront to our history.”
“But not your future?”
“The fates lead us where they will. We are no longer the people we once were. Neither are you. Why hold on to such things? What does it gain us?” “It gains us our legacy.” “ Da, your legacy. Where would the Landed be without that?” “Be careful, Jahalan.”
Jahalan paused. “I am sorry, Nikandr. I know you put your faith in your ancestors, but even you will admit that they have helped you little these last many years.”
“They see well beyond what we can see.”
They were interrupted by Viggen’s calls for reports from the crewmen manning the rigging.
When they were done, Jahalan continued, “I have been thinking of this chase we’re on, of your dreams as well.”
“And?”
“I think we should turn back while we have the chance.”
“There’s little enough to fear now. Ashan is leading us.”
“All the more reason to abandon the chase. He’s taking us for his purposes. Or perhaps the boy’s. Either way, it’s foolish for us to go on. Ghayavand is a place the living should no longer be. Nasim-if your dreams are right-may have a place there, and Ashan may be able to keep himself alive, but the rest of us will not be so lucky. It’s a place where the worlds are torn, and believe me when I say that Adhiya will not welcome us with open arms.”
“We all go to Adhiya, do we not?”
“In our own time, and in our own ways, but we go now to a place that should be left alone until the world sees fit to heal it, not before.”
“Perhaps it has already healed.”
“If you believe that you are a fool.”
Nikandr laughed softly. “Perhaps I am. But I cannot abandon him now.”
“You don’t owe him anything.”
“It’s not him, though I do feel as though I owe him something. You must have felt it. Nasim is entangled with the future of Anuskaya, perhaps the future of the world. I cannot abandon him, not now. We are linked too closely.”
“Your father needs you, as does your Duchy. If you value them, you should return home, where you can do some good.”
Nikandr stood. “I have always valued your advice, Jahalan, but in this you are wrong. We will go to the island, and we will bring Nasim back if we are able.”
“You do so not just at your peril, Nikandr, but mine as well. And Viggen’s. And the rest of the crew.”
“Then so be it.”