Hassan froze. Khepri, halfway toward the Witnesses, hand at her blade, froze too. The person who had spoken was one of the Herati soldiers.
“She’s a child,” the soldier said. “We’re not going to lock up a child.”
One of the Witnesses moved toward him swiftly. “We act under the authority of the Immaculate One himself. You think he’s wrong?”
The Herati soldier visibly hesitated. Then straightened. “I don’t care what the Hierophant says. We’re not taking a child away from her mother.”
“The Graced are abominations, no matter their age,” the Witness snarled.
“She hasn’t had time to hurt anyone! Look at her!”
The soldier’s hesitance surprised Hassan. Evidently, the Herati soldiers hadn’t all unilaterally started worshipping the Hierophant and condemning the Graced once Lethia took over.
“Are you saying you know better than the Hierophant?”
“Maybe I am,” the soldier said, advancing on the Witness. “Maybe I’m saying that your creepy masked leader doesn’t know what’s best for this city.”
Hassan held tight to Khepri’s arm. If the disagreement between the Witnesses and the soldiers escalated into a full-blown fight, they could take advantage of it.
The Witness’s face twisted in anger. “The only thing worse than an abomination is the one who protects them. Fall in line, or face the consequences of disobeying the Hierophant.”
“You can’t do this.” He glanced at his two fellow soldiers, who were restraining the girl’s mother. Even from Hassan’s position he could tell the soldier would find no help from his comrades.
Hassan squeezed Khepri’s arm and gave a short nod.
They sped over the road and toward the girl. Khepri leapt at the Witness who held her, laying him out with a single blow to the back of his head. Hassan suddenly had an opening to grab the girl.
But the four other Witnesses closed in on them, holding Godfire chains.
“It’s our lucky day,” one of them said. “Three heretics instead of just one. The Immaculate One will be very pleased.”
“Hassan, go!” Khepri shouted, and Hassan hesitated only a half second before he tugged at the girl’s arm, drawing her away from the fray as Khepri unsheathed her sword and struck at the Witnesses.
The Herati soldier who had tried to stand up to the Witnesses blocked Hassan’s path. Hassan stopped short, heart in his throat as he eyed the soldier’s hand, which rested on the hilt of his blade.
There was a moment’s hesitation, and then the Herati soldier stepped to the side, leaving an opening to pass through.
Hassan cast a glance over his shoulder where Khepri was holding the other Witnesses at bay, and then steered the girl down the road. He ducked behind a house to unwrap the Godfire chains from her wrists.
“You need to run,” he said.
The girl shook her head, sniffling and holding back tears. “I’m not leaving my mom.”
Hassan sucked in a breath. He had once been in a situation just like this girl—the Witnesses and the Hierophant at his doorstep. His mother and father at their mercy. Then, he had run.
But he wasn’t running now.
“All right,” he decided. He squeezed her hand—he didn’t know if it was for her comfort or his own. “Stay here. If you see anyone, yell as loud as you can. I’ll be back with your mom.”
He darted into the street. In front of the girl’s house, Khepri knelt on the ground, her wrists bound by Godfire chains. Three of the Witnesses were incapacitated around her, but the other two stood over her.
White-hot rage filled Hassan’s mind as he charged forward, tackling one of the Witnesses to the ground.
Khepri took advantage of the distraction to swing her bound wrists into the other Witness’s face. He stumbled back, and Khepri kicked him between the legs. He crumpled. Khepri climbed to her feet and then reached down to yank Hassan up. He scrabbled furiously at the chains until they dropped from her wrists.
Together, they rushed toward the girl’s mother, wrenching the two soldiers away from her. Hassan slid a protective arm around her shoulders. A glance behind him showed three of the Witnesses rising.
“Get her out of here,” Khepri said fiercely, and Hassan obeyed.
Mother and daughter were reunited a few moments later. At the sight of her daughter unharmed, the woman let out a little sob and they embraced.
“I don’t mean to be callous,” Hassan said, “but you need to get out of here right now. There could be more Witnesses on the way. Do you have anywhere safe to go?”
The woman hesitated and then nodded. “My brother has a ship—”
“Good,” Hassan said briskly. “Go. Get her out of this city.”
The woman nodded, and Hassan could see how she steeled herself for her daughter.
“We’re going to go on a little trip, all right?” she said, soothing. “We’ll just get some of our things—”
Hassan shook his head. “No time.”
The woman looked like she wanted to disagree, but she closed her mouth. “We never thought they would come for her,” she said, her voice shaking. “Her Grace only manifested a few months ago. My husband wasn’t Graced, and neither am I. How could they even—?”
“I don’t know,” Hassan lied. The likeliest explanation was that one of this woman’s neighbors had reported them. “But it’s no use wondering. The safest thing for you is to get your daughter out of the city. Don’t look back.”
The woman nodded. “Thank you.”
“Thank me by getting to safety.”
She took her daughter’s hand, and they disappeared into the night.
Hassan raced back to the street and saw Khepri, scuffed up but barely injured. The Witnesses and the soldiers were gone.
Hassan paused for a moment just to take in the sight of her. The pale moonlight made her bronze skin glow. She had that fierce, unyielding look in her eyes, the one that had carried her across the sea to find Hassan and back again to save their home.
He couldn’t help but reach for her, clasping her shoulder. “What happened to the Witnesses?”
“They took off. The soldiers, too,” Khepri said, but she didn’t sound relieved. “We should get out of here before—” She broke off suddenly. “Someone’s here.”
“Reinforcements?”
“Let’s go,” Khepri said, running down the road. Hassan followed at her heels.
“We can’t go back to our hideout,” Hassan shouted as he chased her. “Not until we’re sure we’ve lost them.”
“This way!” Khepri yelled back, banking a sharp right turn down an alleyway.
It was then that Hassan heard the footsteps pounding behind them. Buildings crowded on either side of the narrow alley, connected by low archways. And ahead, a dead end.
Khepri skidded to a stop and launched herself between Hassan and their assailants. She unsheathed her sword.
In the dark, all Hassan could make out were two quickly moving shapes.
Khepri soared toward one of the figures. Hassan advanced on the other, striking out with a fist aimed at his throat. He hit nothing but air.
The man had moved like a bolt of lightning.
Before he could recover, Hassan’s attacker slammed into him. He hit the ground, knees first, pitching forward as his foe seized his arms and pinned them behind his back.
“Let go of him!” Khepri was yelling. “Don’t touch him, you filthy—”
“Khepri?” the other attacker said.
Hassan jerked his head up and watched as Khepri went quiet. Her arms dropped hesitantly to her sides. Though he couldn’t make out her features, he could see the confusion tightening the line of her shoulders.
Her voice whipped through the air, incredulous. “Sefu?”
She sheathed her sword and threw herself into the attacker’s arms, sagging with relief. He responded in kind, embracing her tenderly.
Hassan’s heart plummeted into his stomach as his mind whirred with awful scenarios of Khepr
i’s lost love returning, ready to supplant Hassan in her affections.
Hassan’s attacker let him go and quickly darted over to Khepri, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her into the air.
Khepri gasped and swatted at him, elbowing him sharply in the gut once he’d set her down. “Chike!”
Khepri turned to Hassan, her eyes sparkling with joy. “Hassan, these are my brothers.”
Hassan blinked and looked at the two of them. They were both broad, nearly a head taller than Hassan, the sides of their hair shorn like Khepri’s. Even in the dim moonlight, he could see the resemblance.
“Sefu, Chike, this is Prince Hassan,” Khepri said.
Hassan could not see Sefu’s expression, but he heard the shock in his voice as he replied, “You did it? You found him?”
The other one, Chike, turned to Hassan and fell to one knee. “Your Grace.” His brother followed suit. “We knew you would return to Nazirah. How long have you—”
“We can catch up later,” Khepri said, cutting a glance at Hassan. “We should get out of here.”
Her brothers exchanged a look as they rose to their feet. “We know a place. It’s safe.”
Sefu and Chike led Hassan and Khepri through the dark streets of Nazirah.
“What were you doing in that neighborhood anyway?” Chike asked.
“We heard a rumor that the Witnesses were planning to raid one of the homes there to capture someone with Grace,” Khepri replied. “We wanted to find out where they’ve been taking the Graced. But the captive turned out to be a child, so we stepped in. What were you doing there?”
“Patrol,” Chike replied. “A few of us make rounds every night to see if there are any Witnesses skulking around, causing trouble.”
“The last time I saw you two, the Witnesses were dragging you off that ship,” Khepri said, her voice tight. “What happened?”
“We escaped,” Sefu said.
Chike shoved his brother. “More like we were rescued. After the Witnesses dragged us off your ship, they took us into the city and walked right into someone’s trap. A bunch of smoke bombs went off, and in the confusion we took off. By then your ship was already long gone, and while we were searching for another way out of the city, our rescuers found us and recruited us.”
“Recruited you?” Hassan repeated.
Sefu nodded. “There’s a rebel faction operating inside the city. They—we—call ourselves the Scarab’s Wing. We’ve been taking in the Graced before the Witnesses can capture them, hiding them at our safe house.”
“The entrance is hidden,” Chike cut in. “And the safe house itself is fortified by powerful artificery. You’ll see when we get there.”
“We’re not the only ones who returned to Nazirah,” Hassan said. “We came with a group—a whole battalion of soldiers. Others who fled from Nazirah. We returned about a week ago, and the rest of our soldiers have split up to hide. Is there room for them at the Scarab’s Wing base?”
Chike smiled. “Oh, there’s room. Anyone who’s against the Witnesses is welcome there.”
“I can’t believe we found you,” Khepri marveled. “I can’t believe you’re both still alive.”
Hassan’s throat tightened. He was happy that Khepri had gotten her brothers back, but there was a small part of him that couldn’t help but envy her. His father was dead, his aunt had betrayed him, and his mother . . . he still didn’t know where his mother was.
“Has there been any word of the queen?” Hassan asked. “The real queen, I mean. My mother.”
“The Usurper”—Sefu spat the word out like a curse—“said she was killed. We don’t believe it. The Hierophant wouldn’t waste a chance to parade her death around. She’s probably in hiding somewhere. Like you were.”
The words were uttered casually enough, but Hassan felt a twinge of irritation. He had been in hiding in Pallas Athos, that was true. But hearing it spoken aloud so casually made him sound weak. Cowardly.
As the group approached a wine cellar, Hassan couldn’t help but think of his mother, at the mercy of the Hierophant or worse. But he forced himself to look ahead—he had to believe his mother was safe.
Chike led them into the cellar, and they descended into the basement, where hundreds of barrels were stacked up along the walls. Sefu approached a barrel in the corner, gripped its sides, and twisted. The barrel descended into the ground, leaving a wide opening in its stead.
“After you,” Sefu said, motioning them inside. Chike took the lead and Khepri followed, swinging her legs into the opening and dropping down into the darkness. Hassan went after her.
He landed in a pitch-dark tunnel. Hassan felt his way forward, until he bumped into someone.
“Sorry,” Hassan muttered.
“Oh, right,” Chike said. “You can’t see in the dark. One moment.”
There was a slight tapping noise, and then the soft orange glow of an incandescent light filled the space. A long row of lights winked on, one after the other, leading down a long tunnel.
“It only looks like a long walk,” Sefu assured them. “We’ll be there in no time.”
When they reached the other end of the tunnel, Hassan saw that the door was barred with what looked like several interlocked wheels with seven sides, each with a different symbol on it.
“This,” Chike said, “is the lock.”
“And the key?” Khepri asked.
Sefu tapped the side of his head. “Right in here.”
Methodically, he and his brother turned each of the wheels, working their way from the outside in. When the central wheel was in place, the door made a slight clank and Sefu pushed it open.
Hassan stepped out into a huge room, with shelves stacked floor to ceiling with books. Hanging from the ceiling were huge golden globes encircled by golden rings—armillary spheres.
“This . . . this is the Great Library,” Hassan said, breathless with the realization. “How . . . how?”
“The Scarab’s Wing has been operating out of here since the coup,” Sefu answered. “The protections already put in place by the librarians have proved to be very helpful in warding off the Witnesses.”
“Do they know you’re here?” Hassan asked.
“They probably suspect,” Chike replied. “But they haven’t managed to get inside, so there’s no way for them to be sure.”
A short girl with dark, bluntly chopped hair strode briskly toward them. “Where in the Wanderer’s name have you two been? Arash expected you back ages ago. He was this close to sending a search party.”
“We ran into some friends,” Chike replied. “Zareen, meet my sister, Khepri. Khepri, meet my pain in the ass, Zareen.”
“You mean alchemist,” Zareen replied. Her eyes lit upon Khepri. “I’ve heard so much about you. And frankly the fact that you’ve managed to put up with these two your whole life says everything.”
“Khepri brought someone else,” Sefu said. “This is Prince Hassan.”
Zareen’s eyebrows jumped up to her hairline. She bowed her head. “Your Grace. I—we didn’t know you were in Herat. We thought you’d left during the coup.”
“I did,” Hassan said. He didn’t like to admit it, that he’d run while all of them had stayed, but it had brought him here. “I came back, with Khepri and others who wanted to fight.”
Zareen glanced at Sefu. “Does Arash know about this?”
“Does Arash know about what?”
Over Zareen’s shoulder, Hassan spotted a tall young man approaching, his gaze focused intently on them.
“Arash,” Chike said, sounding suddenly much more formal than he had with Zareen. He even stood up straighter. “Sefu and I found our sister. We brought her here, as well as—”
“Prince Hassan,” Arash said smoothly, stepping toward Hassan. “I’d recognize you anywhere.”
Hassan blinked at him. He stood nearly as tall as Chike, although he was much thinner, his brocade-clad shoulders perfectly straight. A rugged dusting of hair covered his narr
ow jaw and the skin beneath his pale eyes was dark, as if he hadn’t slept in days. “Have we met?”
“Once,” Arash replied, looking unfazed by Hassan’s failure to remember him. “My father came to court a few years ago—you likely wouldn’t remember. He was a minor nobleman.”
“Was?” Hassan asked. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Arash’s eyes darkened, his shoulders drawing even more taut. “We’ve all suffered losses since the Witnesses took over.”
“Arash is the one who started the Scarab’s Wing,” Sefu said. “He recruited us. He’s kept us all safe.”
“Then maybe you can help us,” Hassan said. “We have a force of soldiers—around two hundred of us. We’re scattered around Nazirah now, hiding out wherever we can.”
Arash nodded. “Faran’s group.”
“You know Faran?”
“We’ve seen a few of your people in the city,” Zareen piped up. “Brought a few back here with us. I’d say we have a dozen or so who’ve joined us in the last week.”
“We didn’t know,” Hassan said. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank us,” Arash said. “We need people who can fight. Do you think you’d be able to get all of your soldiers here? Do you know where they all are?”
He directed the question at Khepri, Hassan noted. She hesitated before answering. “I think so. Some may have moved since we were last in contact, but—we should be able to find them.”
“Good,” Arash replied. “The sooner you can get them here, the better.”
Hassan noted Arash’s curt tone, and the intensity of his gaze on Khepri. But Sefu, Chike, and Zareen didn’t seem to register it.
“In the meantime, we welcome you,” Arash said, his tone softening. “It’s good to have more people here devoted to the cause.”
Again, his words seemed directed more at Khepri than Hassan.
“Zareen,” Arash said commandingly, “show them to their rooms. We’ll break open some of the palm wine tonight in celebration.”
With that, he swept off. Hassan watched him go, an unpleasant feeling churning in his stomach at the brief dismissal.
“Follow me, Your Grace,” Zareen said.
She led them to one of the Library apprentices’ dormitories and left them there to settle in.
As the Shadow Rises: Book Two of The Age of Darkness Page 4
