A Desert Torn Asunder

by Bradley P. Beaulieu

  One by one, then two by two, their ships began to set sail. Near sunset, the last of their fleet were finally underway, including the Amaranth. Çeda stood at the stern and surveyed the carnage: thousands of warriors lost, nearly a hundred ships, stripped of anything useful, foundered on the sand. She used a spyglass to search for Ramahd, but wasn’t able to spot him near or beyond The Gray Gull.

  “Mighty Alu protect you,” she whispered, then swung her spyglass forward.

  Along the horizon, barely discernible in the haze of amber dust, were the bric-a-brac shapes of Queen Alansal’s dunebreakers. They were sailing for Sharakhai, where they’d find safe harbor. The Mirean and Malasani fleets may be wounded, but they still boasted superior numbers, even with the Alliance and royal navy combined.

  “She’ll let us into King’s Harbor,” Çeda said to no one in particular. “She must.”

  Ihsan, standing nearby, shrugged. “Queen Alansal may not recognize the danger until it’s too late.”

  “Then force her to,” Çeda said.

  Husamettín watched their exchange with some interest. Nayyan did as well while holding her daughter tight against her chest. Emre approached while staunching a nasty cut on his right wrist with a bandage.

  “You’re assuming she’ll come anywhere near us,” Ihsan said, “but Alansal is well aware of my power. She won’t take the risk.”

  “The soldiers at the harbor then. Command them to open the gates.”

  The smile Ihsan gave was anything but encouraging. “It’s worth a try, but you must know that of late”—he sent an embarrassed glance toward Nayyan—“the power of my voice has been unreliable at best.”

  Çeda stared at him, then at Nayyan. “Please tell me this is another one of your lies.”

  Nayyan smiled sadly. “I wish it were.”

  “But why?” Çeda asked. “What happened?”

  Nayyan shrugged while rocking her daughter. “The fates did to Ihsan what they do to us all in the end.”

  “Fucked him, you mean,” said Frail Lemi.

  Husamettín sent a withering glance Frail Lemi’s way, then took in the rest of the assemblage. “Ihsan’s right. If we head for King’s Harbor and Alansal has no sudden change of heart, we’ll be trapped.”

  Just then a signal horn called out the sequence for enemy sighted. Behind them, along their starboard side, the Qaimiri fleet was sailing around the vast, mottled patch of sleeping demons.

  Emre held a spyglass to one eye. “They’re calling for parley.”

  Çeda saw he was right. Every Qaimiri ship had a white pennant raised. And the crews were free of ifins.

  “We should accept,” Çeda said when she lowered the spyglass.

  Husamettín eyed the approaching fleet warily, as if he distrusted the Qaimiri. But in the end he nodded. They ran white pennants up the mainmasts, signaling their acceptance.

  Mere moments later, Nayyan said, “Gods, no.”

  A chill passed over Çeda as she followed Nayyan’s gaze. The horde was stirring. Demons lifted back into the sky, creating a now-familiar cloud.

  “Signal the Qaimiri ships to make all haste toward Sharakhai,” Husamettín ordered.

  “We should speak with them now,” Çeda said.

  But Husamettín was adamant. “We cannot afford a delay, not when every spare moment is needed to reach King’s Harbor, enter it by any means necessary, and ready for its defense.”

  Çeda’s first instinct was to insist, but as the black cloud billowed in the distance, she realized he was right.

  “Very well,” she said, “we’ll meet them when we anchor.”

  The message was passed on, and their fleets sailed through the night, a harrowing time in which they weren’t always sure whether they were staying ahead of the horde. The winged demons could have caught up to them, but none approached. Çeda could only guess that the strange encounter with Meryam had made the god wary. Whatever the case, he seemed content to keep his horde close for the time being.

  Shifts were set up so that all crewmen could find at least a few hours’ sleep. They’d need their strength for the coming day. Çeda tried, but she was too restless, too worried. She spent hours by Nalamae’s side, hoping the goddess would awaken, but she never did. She breathed fitfully, shallowly, as if each might be her last.

  All too soon dawn arrived.

  By then they’d closed the distance on Queen Alansal’s dunebreakers. They wouldn’t catch them, though. The distance was still too great, and in only a few hours, they would reach Sharakhai.

  Near high sun, they passed through a channel in the blooming fields. Çeda stared at the adichara trees in wonder. Vibrant only months ago, they were now an ashen white. Only one that Çeda could see was green. She wondered about the asirim, how many yet lived, how close to the end they were. She tried calling to them, but none responded, and she prayed it was because they were too weak, not because they’d all perished.

  Ahead, Tauriyat loomed. Sharakhai and its mismatch of buildings and walls sprawled below it. The vault could be seen, glimmering even in the daylight, while the gateway speared upward into a deep blue sky. Queen Alansal’s fleet split, the dunebreakers heading for King’s Harbor, the Malasani ships heading for the southern harbor and the rocky channel that protected it from assault.

  As Çeda and her fleet followed the dunebreakers, the horde closed in, screeching, a sea of dark shapes and flapping wings, a god floating at its center.

  “What’s that?” Frail Lemi asked.

  Çeda turned to find him pointing toward King’s Harbor. The dunebreakers had reached the harbor’s interior, and the great gates were clanking shut. Below the gates, something burned on the sand. Two skiffs, Çeda saw through her spyglass. A pair of bodies burned as well, both reduced to charred husks, the skiffs surely set ablaze with lamp oil or the like.

  “Your envoys?” Çeda asked Ihsan.

  Ihsan nodded stiffly. “It appears Queen Alansal has given her answer.”

  Chapter 44

  Near high sun on a cloudless day, Davud blinked his eyes open. His limbs felt leaden. His joints ached from disuse. He’d just woken from another foray into the lands beyond.

  Before him, the brilliant light of the gateway stabbed upward through the stony ground. Esmeray knelt on his right, blinking herself awake. On his left, completing a triangle around the gateway, was the lifeless form of an asir. Her name was Bahar, and she’d been a seamstress once. Now she was the latest in a growing tally—seven so far—who’d died helping Davud reach the land beyond.

  He might have felt her death had meaning had he made more progress in gaining mastery over the gate, but he hadn’t, and it made the cold around the gateway feel all the more bitter. To be fair, his efforts with Esmeray hadn’t been completely fruitless—the spells they’d crafted allowed him to gain purchase on the gateway—but he lacked the raw power needed to close it. He was beginning to fear it was too monumental a task and that he’d never be able to manage it.

  As he’d done since Jorrdan’s passage to the farther fields, Sehid-Alaz had given his blood before the ritual began. The ancient king had been noticeably weaker than during their previous attempts, but Davud took his blood anyway. There was too much power in it to ignore.

  “This can’t go on,” Davud said, more to himself than Esmeray.

  Esmeray smiled wanly. “We’re making progress.”

  “Yes, but not enough.” Each performance of the ritual had claimed the life of an asir while the others weakened at a noticeably faster rate than only weeks before. Only a hundred remained in the blooming fields, supporting the adichara trees that yet lived. “How long before they all pass?”

  “I don’t know,” Esmeray said.

  Neither did Davud, but he knew this much: when the last of the asirim perished, Sharakhai’s devastation wouldn’t be far behind.

 
When at last the fields do wither,

  When the stricken fade;

  The gods shall pass beyond the veil,

  And land shall be remade.

  That was the final stanza of the poem Willem had discovered on a clay table in Nebahat’s archive. It had been made by a woman who bore witness to the bargain made between the Sharakhani Kings and the desert gods on Beht Ihman, and gave hint to the danger Sharakhai was in. Every moment of every day, Davud feared the remaking of the desert would come to pass, and that he was powerless to prevent it.

  As the cold wind blustered over the top of Tauriyat, Davud and Esmeray stood and stretched their aching joints. Staring into the gateway’s light, Davud puzzled over the strange vision he’d had of Ahya sending him to fetch Çeda. He hadn’t had a similar vision since, nor had he been able to sense the soul who’d triggered it from the gateway’s opposite side.

  “What’s that?” Esmeray asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  Far into the desert, well beyond the city, a cloud of dust was rising. Davud described a sigil in the air, one that combined distance and sight—he was exhausted but had enough power to effect the simple spell. The air wavered before him, distorting the view beyond it, and he lifted his arms, adjusting the spell of farseeing until he could see the fleet. He couldn’t tell much beyond the fact that they were Alansal’s dunebreakers, along with the Malasani dhows and ketches that had sailed with them.

  “Alansal’s fleet returns.”

  He shifted the lens and Esmeray peered through it. “Yes,” she said, “but look beyond.”

  Davud spread his arms, intensifying the spell’s effect and allowing them both to see. Several leagues beyond the Mirean fleet sailed a second line of ships comprised of galleons and smaller ships with the stylings of the desert tribes. “It’s the Alliance. They’re sailing with the royal navy.”

  Suddenly Esmeray’s eyes went wide, her mouth slack. “Fates preserve us.”

  When Davud saw it, he felt sick. Trailing the fleet was a roiling black cloud. Using the last of his power, he intensified the spell enough to see a tall, horned figure floating above the black cloud.

  “Ashael,” Esmeray said, echoing Davud’s thoughts.

  “The royal navy and the Alliance ships need shelter.” Utterly exhausted, Davud let the spell go and the air returned to normal with a soft, rising whistle. “Alansal must grant it to them.”

  A squad of four Mirean guards stood in a cluster some distance away. Esmeray glanced at them, then spoke in a low voice. “You really think the queen will let them in?” She jutted her chin toward the desert. “This is what she’s wanted all along.”

  “This is the end, Esmeray.” He began walking toward the path that led to Eventide. “The gods’ plan will come to fruition when Ashael arrives. Even Alansal must see that.”

  Esmeray stopped him, then held out her wrist. “Send me to Meiying’s. We’ll warn the Enclave.”

  Using his blooding ring, Davud pierced her skin and drank her blood. It gave him enough power to trigger a spell. A triangular portal opened in the air before them. Beyond it lay a quaint room with a rocking chair, a basket of balled yarn, and a half-finished throw blanket.

  After pulling him close and placing a warm kiss on his neck, Esmeray stepped through the slowly spinning portal. Davud allowed it to close then rushed toward the waiting guards. “I need to speak to your queen,” he said in Mirean.

  They didn’t argue. They had orders to bring Davud to Queen Alansal if he found anything of importance at the gateway. The five of them rushed down the nearby path. By the time the were nearing Eventide’s high walls, the bulk of the Malasani fleet made for the southern harbor while the dunebreakers continued through the tall doors of King’s Harbor. Sharakhai’s royal navy and the tribal ships were only a few leagues away, maybe less, but the doors were already starting to close.

  Davud had no idea what it might indicate, but as the harbor doors shut with an ominous boom, a trail of black smoke lifted from beyond the harbor walls.

  Within the palace, the guards led him to an empty dining hall. Three remained to guard him while one left to inform Queen Alansal. Time passed, and Davud pressed the guards to speak with the queen immediately, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.

  Davud had been hoping not to anger Queen Alansal by forcing the issue, but when an hour passed in that empty hall, he saw he would have to take matters into his own hands. Using the power of Esmeray’s blood, he drew a sigil for form and bird and luminesce. He had need of the amulet that had formed the portal earlier, and the bird he’d just created in Meiying’s home would deliver it to him.

  He’d no more cast the spell than Alansal’s advisor, Juvaan Xin-Lei, stepped into the room. “Queen Alansal is otherwise engaged, I’m afraid. She’s sent me to take hear news of the gateway. We both hope you’ve achieved a breakthrough.”

  “I saw the fleets approaching the city,” Davud said. “I beg you to give them shelter.”

  Juvaan’s expression became flat, unreadable, which revealed a lot more than he thought. “You told the guards you had news of the gateway.”

  “Because I needed to speak to her,” Davud said. “Please, she cannot leave them in the desert to fight the oncoming horde alone.”

  “That isn’t for you or me to decide,” Juvaan said calmly. “If you have no real news to share, then I’m afraid—”

  He turned to leave, but Davud grabbed his wrist. “I saw the horde, Juvaan. I saw Ashael approaching. We have to protect those fleeing toward the city.”

  Juvaan twisted his arm, breaking Davud’s hold. “I serve at my queen’s pleasure, not yours.”

  “And your queen wants a Sharakhai that is whole, not destroyed by the elder god bearing down on us.”

  “The day looks to be a dark one, I’ll grant you.” He waved toward the door. “All the more reason I must return to my queen’s side.”

  At this, Davud went perfectly still.

  Juvaan’s words—the very notion of standing by Queen Alansal’s side—reminded Davud of Chow-Shian’s predictions. She’d said Davud would guide Chow-Shian to the land beyond, and that he would lead Queen Alansal through the gates of ivory. He’d thought they were two separate events, but they weren’t. They were one in the same.

  How to make it happen, though? The answer came to him a moment later. The same way the water dancers had gained their visions: through the powder, zhenyang.

  A small, glowing bluebird fluttered through the nearby doorway. Pinched in its beak was a golden amulet in the shape of a triangle. Davud had planned on sending it to Alansal’s throne room. Instead, he bid the bird fly to the palace infirmary.

  Clearly worried about Davud’s purpose, Juvaan grabbed for the bird as it passed him by. He missed, and the bird flew into the hallway with a high-pitched warble. Juvaan then drew his sword and advanced on Davud. For the first time since meeting him, he seemed truly angry. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Your queen is making a grave mistake, Juvaan.”

  “You will not question her decisions!”

  Sensing the bird had reached its destination, Davud triggered a spell, and the same triangular portal Esmeray had used earlier sprang up beside him. Through it, Davud could see the bamboo pipes, beneath which Chow-Shian and the other water dancers had summoned their visions. “Tell the queen to meet me at her granddaughter’s bedside.”

  “Stop!”

  Juvaan rushed toward him, but Davud was already stepping through the portal. Juvaan pulled up just as it was closing. He stared, a shocked look on his pale face, then turned and sprinted for the door behind him.

  Standing in the hall, Davud shrunk the golden amulet and stuffed it into a pocket in his khalat. Chow-Shian lay on a bed nearby. Her sweet old physic was sitting in a chair at her bedside, massaging Chow-Shian’s legs. She looked up, startled.

  “
Your queen sent me to fetch you, grandmother,” Davud said in a calm voice while leading her toward the door. “She wishes to speak to you. Now.”

  She looked confused, but let Davud usher her from the room all the same. The two guards posted outside looked startled by his sudden presence. “Master Davud!” one said, then crooked his neck to peer inside the room.

  Before they could think of trying to stop him, Davud drew another sigil, and a glimmering shield blinked into being across the threshold. Their shouts passed through the barrier, but they were muffled, as if underwater. They drew their swords and tried to hack their way into the room. Davud might be drained, but his shield was proof against their weapons.

  Even so, time was running short. He moved to the corner of the room, where the inlaid box of zhenyang rested on a table. If it was empty, his plan would unravel before it had truly begun. But when he slid the top open, he found it blessedly full.

  He took it to Chow-Shian’s bedside and sat in the chair the physic had recently occupied. Leaning in close, he whispered in Chow-Shian’s ear, “I understand now. I know what you meant me to do.”

  He could almost hear her reply. It wasn’t what I meant for you to do, but the fates.

  “That may be so,” Davud said softly, “but I need your help all the same. I need you to concentrate, to summon the vision you and the other dancers—”

  He never finished the thought.

  A figure had appeared in the doorway. Queen Alansal stood beyond the glowing shield, her long hair flowing past her shoulders, her steel pins gripped tightly in her hands. One moment the shield was in place, and the next, one of the pins was blurring in a swift downward stroke. With a sound like dragonflies swarming, the shield burst in a shower of sparks.

  “You dare!” Queen Alansal said as she advanced on Davud. “You dare!”

  Davud thought he’d have time to reason with her, especially with Chow-Shian lying between them, but Alansal came around Chow-Shian’s sickbed so quickly he was forced to act faster than he’d wanted. Using both hands, he grabbed as much of the powder as he could and flung it into the air.