They’re the seven chieftains of the Chotgori clans, and even though they’re as dirt-caked and haggard as the rest of the mine workers, I recognize them in an instant thanks to the silver bands soldered around their necks. They’re each given one when they become chieftain, and they acquire additional bands for heroic deeds.
The oldest woman, whose entire neck is covered in silver, raises her hands and mumbles in their melodious tongue.
One of the younger chieftains interprets: “You have done us an extraordinary service. As a token of our thanks, we offer you a sled of provisions, but we must stay and rebuild—” The girl stops translating and says something to the eldest chieftain in Chotgori.
The old woman gives her head a terse shake, as if that’s the end of the discussion. My heart falls into an abyss even deeper than the ore mines.
When we first left Sagaan, I was so sure the other Protected Territories would rally to our cause. It never occurred to me that convincing people to fight for their freedom would be even more difficult than traversing the continent with the shepherds.
Yet here we are. About to be turned away. Again.
Serik shifts with discomfort, and the side of my body burns like I’m standing too close to a fire. Ziva keeps shooting me worried glances, as if I have the slightest clue how to change their minds.
I want to lie down in the street and let the snowdrifts buryme, but I tilt my head back and send an exhausted prayer up to the heavens.
Before I’ve even uttered two words, the other young chieftain steps forward, links arms with the first, and says something to the matriarch, respectful but stern. As they debate, the other chieftains join one side or the other, and the clanspeople bustle around to follow their respective leaders.
I feel like I haven’t breathed in well over a minute. Serik reaches for my hand and our fingers tangle, squeezing hard.
Finally the matriarch stands alone on one side of the street with a good third of the Chotgori surrounding her. The other chieftains stand together on the opposite side of the road, their people flooding the space behind them. The matriarch waves her gnarled hands and snaps something.
Our original supporter turns to us with a smile. “The sick and elderly, as well as their caretakers, will stay to recover and rebuild. The rest of us will happily join you on your quest to save the First Gods and free the territories. We will not sit back and be enslaved again.”
The eldest chieftain looks anything but happy, but I bow at the waist and murmur a heartfelt thanks. Because it’s the pledge we’ve been waiting to hear since the start of our journey, when we left the winter grazing lands in search of allies. Our path has been riddled with more potholes and hills than flat stretches of easy road, but we got here eventually. Surely the rest will be downhill.
Between the shepherds and the Chotgori, our group is several thousand strong. We may not be the most fearsome or battle-trained, but there are warriors from our countries on the front lines who are. Citizens from the Protected Territories that the Sky King ripped from their homes and forced into service. When they hear of the union and uprising, they’ll defect to our side. Hopefully the Kalima will lend their aid too, once they realize Kartok is trying to strip them of their powers. We all must ban together against the Zemyan generál or there might not be any continent left to fight over.
“You’re wasting your time and energy!” Temujin says as several Chotgori men dump him into the back of a sled. He’s still bound, and apparently in need of a gag, too. “You needn’t fear Kartok. He would never endanger the continent. He’s committed to justice and equality for all.”
Surprisingly, Ghoa is the first to respond. With every armload of supplies she carried from the barracks to the sleds, her spine grew a little taller, her expression a little harder, morphing from bewilderment into resolve. She leans over the side of the sled and blows wisps of icy breath in Temujin’s face. “Tell me, deserter, if Kartok is such a devoted ally, why hasn’t he come for you?”
Temujin’s tiger eyes flash with hatred. “You know it isn’t that simple. We’re at war. He’ll come for me when he can.”
“So you’re expendable?”
“No! That’s not—”
“How does it feel to know you’ve been played? Beaten at your own game?”
A smile overtakes my face as Temujin squirms and spits. I’d forgotten how utterly delightful Ghoa’s ruthless candor can be when she’s fighting with you, rather than against you.
She catches me watching her, and for an instant we’re both smiling. Almost laughing. Then we jolt and look away.
Shared hatred for Temujin hardly makes us allies. But as our growing caravan strikes out across the tundra toward the Kalima’s rendezvous point, I’m unable to shake the moment. That look. It was like falling back through time. The girls who laughed and conspired like that are long gone, I know that. But for a second I almost missed them.
Serik shoots me a stern look. Don’t fall prey to her deception.
I roll my eyes and break away to check on Orbai, who’s secured in a cage on the back of the nearest sled. “What do you think of all this?” I ask her.
She beats her golden wings and slashes at me with her talons, even though I didn’t raise a finger to the bars.
Sighing, I sidestep to give her a wider berth, though I continue walking alongside the sled. So she knows she can’t get rid of me that easily. I will never stop trying to reverse Kartok’s hold.
With nothing else to do, I observe the lumbering caravan, marveling again at the unified shepherds and Chotgori. Inevitably, my gaze slides back to Ghoa, who ambles along beside the Zemyan prince. Their presence, and the fact that they haven’t done a single thing to invite suspicion, are the most unbelievable of all. They’re even taking turns pulling the heavy sleds, and it could be the blistering wind getting to me, but I swear the snow grows firmer and harder as we walk. The sleds suddenly seem to glide faster and my boots don’t sink nearly as deep into the snow.
You’re imagining things. Ghoa would never contribute more than the bare minimum. And you’re well beyond that.
But the snowpack is undeniably thicker. When I can’t stand speculating any longer, I limp up beside Ghoa. “Are you doing this?” I wince at how snappish and accusatory I sound. It’s just been so long since I’ve spoken to Ghoa without flinging ire or blame.
“Doing what?” she says without glancing over at me. She looks so different without her sleek ponytail, gleaming armor, and rattling sabers.
“You know what,” I insist.
“No. I don’t.”
I gesture to the slick snow beneath us. “The ground is notably harder than before.”
“Probably because we’re traveling north. Where it’s colder.” Her voice is clipped, but a mischievous twinkle lights her eyes.
Or am I imagining it?
“You’re not helping us by freezing the ground?” I ask.
“Why would I do that?”
That isn’t an answer, but she expects me to interpret it as one. “Do you remember when you froze the Amereti River when we returned to Sagaan after quelling Chotgor? The entire city celebrated on the ice that day instead of the royal complex. There was skating and races and flavored ice desserts.”
Ivandar smiles. “How lovely.”
I’d almost forgotten he was there, on Ghoa’s other side.
She shoves the prince’s shoulder and looks at me through slitted eyes. “Of course I remember … but I don’t see what it has to do with anything.”
I shrug and say, “Maybe it doesn’t.” Knowing Ghoa will hear: Maybe it does. Maybe you had no reason to do something kind for the common people. But you did.
“Do you remember when I framed you for Nariin?” she says in response, blasting it at me like a cannonball. “Or when I was prepared to execute you alongside Temujin?”
She’s doing it to throw me off balance, to regain the offensive. I don’t bite. “But you didn’t.”
“Momentary weakne
ss.”
“You seem to be having a lot of ‘moments’ these days … taking pity on Zemyan princes, saving gods you don’t believe in, betraying your own warriors to free people you enslaved.”
“Why does everyone insist on reminding me of my bad choices?” Ghoa growls, and now there’s no denying the ground is harder. “Trust me, if I had other options, I’d be pursuing them.”
“Why come at all? Why bother saving the First Gods? That’s what I can’t understand,” I press.
“I told you. I have no interest in being stripped of my power.”
“Except you’ve always believed your power is born within you … so eliminating the First Gods should have no bearing on that, right?”
“I don’t know what I believe anymore. Is that what you want me to say?” she bites back, prompting the shepherds and Chotgori within hearing distance to stare.
She drags her fingers through the uneven ends of her short hair, looking more distressed than I’ve ever seen her. Like the most grueling battle of her life is waging inside her head and, somehow, she’s losing, despite commanding both sides.
“I want you to say what’s true. Not what you think I want to hear,” I say once everyone’s looked away.
“Okay, I believe I’m losing my mind. Happy?”
“Maybe a little. I’m not used to seeing you this off-kilter.”
“And I’m not used to seeing you so assured. You always did want to be a leader, though, didn’t you?” she jabs, alluding to my ambitions. When she claimed I’d tried to take her position as commander, even though it wasn’t yet hers.
I laugh—long, bitter chuckles that make my belly ache. That quarrel feels like so long ago. “I only wanted to be a leader until I discovered how exhausting and terrible it is. If I could go back, I would do so many things differently.”
Ghoa holds out her palm, catching the tiny snowflakes spiraling down from the low-hanging clouds, and stares at them indignantly. I presume it means she’s done talking to me, so I’m surprised when she says, “Me too.”
It isn’t an apology, and I don’t expect one. Nor would I accept it. Far too much has happened to mend the rift between us. But the divide doesn’t have to be filled with hatred.
“Why is your eagle in that cage?” Ghoa nods at Orbai, who’s screeching and flapping as wildly as ever. “She clearly doesn’t like it.”
Stabbing pain drills into my chest again. “It’s the only way to keep her here,” I admit.
“Trouble in paradise?” Ghoa taunts, which earns her a reproving look from Ivandar.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the fact that the Zemyan prince is here, with us. Every time he speaks, I hear Kartok in his voice. When he removes his shirt, I flinch at the jarring whiteness of his torso. Though, he’s not without his uses. His scowls and nudges do miraculously seem to penetrate Ghoa’s iron-thick skin.
“Orbai’s just going through a difficult phase,” I mutter.
“Perhaps she’s smarter than I gave her credit for.” Ghoa watches my eagle. “Even she can see the folly of your mission.”
“Heading to the Kalima’s rendezvous point is your mission,” I remind her. “And Orbai doesn’t doubt me. She doesn’t have a choice.”
“Why is that?” she asks dubiously.
I don’t owe Ghoa any sort of explanation, but the words gush from me like a geyser: “Orbai had to be healed with Loridium in Kartok’s xanav after you nearly killed her. Now she’s tainted with his magic. Bound to him—until I find a way to reverse it.”
I don’t know how I expected Ghoa to react—to scoff and scorn like always, I suppose—but her brows pinch together and her hand slowly drifts up to her throat.
It’s Ivandar who eventually speaks. “What in the name of the Goddess is Loridium?”
“Medicine. Kartok keeps it in a small cedar chest. It’s black and green and smells of steel and soil. I figured it was common Zemyan magic….”
Ivandar shakes his head. “I’ve never seen or heard of anything of the sort.”
From what I’ve heard of his standing, this is probably because he was purposely left in the dark. Before I can think of a kind way to point this out, the sled in front of us skids to a halt, causing the sled behind it to ram into its runners. A series of collisions ripple through the tail of the caravan, and shouts of outrage flare up behind us. Though, they’re quickly overwhelmed by screams coming from the head of the group.
Serik’s at my side in an instant, boosting me up onto the nearest sled to get a better view.
I immediately wish I hadn’t seen.
Silhouettes speckle the horizon—an army of imposing shadows, framed by the eerie red sunlight. The shepherds naïvely ask if it’s the Kalima, eager for our trek to be over—wouldn’t that be convenient? But even at a distance, I can tell there are far too many of them.
Which means it must be the Zemyans. Not the battalions from the war front—they couldn’t have marched so quickly. These are the Zemyans who invaded Sagaan. The ones I brought into Ashkar.
“Blazing, burning skies,” Serik whispers. “Why would they come this far north? They couldn’t have known the Kalima would be up here. Or us. Could they?”
The same panicked thoughts are whirring around my head. So loud, I can no longer hear the shepherds and Chotgori screaming.
I clench my fists, pulling the tendrils of darkness around our group, even though it’s likely too late.
“Is this your doing?” I glare down at Ivandar. “Was this your plan all along?”
He shakes his too-pale face. “No! I swear I had nothing to do with it.”
I give the night a firm tug to alert Ziva, who’s been walking with the other children. Instantly she joins her efforts with mine, thickening the walls of our defense.
“What do we do?” Serik murmurs low.
We knew we’d have to face Kartok and the Zemyans eventually, but I had hoped it would be after we warned the Kalima about the threat to the First Gods and convinced them to fight with us. After we gained the support of all three Protected Territories. This ragtag jumble was never supposed to go to battle. We could try to retreat, but we have nowhere to go. The Zemyan soldiers will easily overtake us.
“Stand your ground and prepare to meet them,” I command. “Ready any weapon you can find.”
The shepherds wail. The Chotgori exchange grim looks. And Serik gives a firm nod and raises his hands.
I don’t notice Ghoa climbing the sled until she’s suddenly there, beside me, hands poised to fight. It’s somehow fitting to have her on my right and Serik on my left. Facing our very possible end together—just as we began.
The Zemyans march closer.
My blood teems faster.
Give us strength, I beg the Lady and Father.
The Zemyans soldiers are mostly shadows, backlit by the sunset, but even still, we should be able to see the menacing white of their skin, the billowing strands of their silver-white hair. But they remain a smudge of unbroken brown no matter how I squint.
Because that’s the reality they want us to see.
“Flood the air with cold and strip them of their disguises,” I tell Ghoa.
“Gladly.” She flexes her fingers, but before the air fills with cold, a horn blares—a low, humming drone that’s unmistakable.
A kuzu horn. Used only in Verdenet—to summon soldiers to battle.
Goose bumps sweep over my entire body as it blares again.
Ziva drops the darkness. The ribbons slide through my fingers as well as she shoves through our caravan, screaming King Minoak’s name.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
GHOA
NOTHING SHOULD SURPRISE ME ANYMORE. BUT THE UNIVERSE or the First Gods or whatever force is commanding this continent saw fit to upend my world.
Again.
I stare, dumbfounded, as the kings of Verdenet and Namaag stride toward us, flanked by scores of Namagaan soldiers in vibrant orange uniforms.
“They came.” Enebish
’s voice is a warbling tremor.
“They came!” Serik whoops and flings his arms in his loud, irritating manner. After which, he kisses Enebish’s scarred cheek and lifts her into an embrace that nearly sends them both tumbling over the side of the sled.
It’s overblown and exasperating, but Enebish smiles up at him—her cheeks flushed, her gaze tender—and reaches for his hand. Their feelings for each other have been nauseatingly obvious since we were children, which is precisely why I made a point to wedge myself between them. I wasn’t about to be the odd one out. Not when I brought them together in the first place.
But there isn’t a sliver of room left between them anymore, and not because they pushed me out. I pushed them away.
I push everyone away.
“What’s happening?” Ivandar asks. “What does this mean?”
“It means we did it!” Enebish exclaims. “Before coming to Chotgor, we tried to convince the Namagaans to rise with us against the empire and Zemya, but there was an unfortunate incident with Temujin and we were cast from the marshlands.”
“It’s always Temujin’s fault,” I mutter automatically, and the others laugh. The sound is surprisingly satisfying.
“Between Chotgor, Namaag, the shepherds, and hopefully the Kalima,” Enebish continues, “we’ll easily oust the imperial governor from Verdenet. We can reclaim our independence and rally against Zemya.”
Enebish is still holding tight to Serik. I can’t look away from their interlocked hands. Can’t stop myself from wondering how it’d feel to have someone standing by you through your darkest moments. Especially if that someone wasn’t commanded to be there, but chose to be there. Chose you.
Ivandar awkwardly clears his throat. “You mean, your plan will stand a chance if Kartok doesn’t succeed in obliterating the gods….”
The jubilant mood dies like the quick slash of a saber through the neck.
“Thanks for that,” Serik spits. “You couldn’t let us enjoy this tiny moment of success?”
“We can’t lose sight of the greater threat,” Ivandar insists.
Sky Breaker (Night Spinner Duology) Page 29
