As the Shadow Rises: Book Two of The Age of Darkness

by Katy Rose Pool

  “They aren’t my comrades,” Hassan said. “We want different things for this city.”

  “As do we,” the Hierophant replied.

  “You know,” Hassan said, choosing his words carefully. “I still don’t understand why you chose us. Nazirah. There are five other Prophetic Cities you could have taken. What do you want with this one?”

  “Why have you walked into the belly of your enemy?” the Hierophant replied, deflecting Hassan’s question.

  “You know why,” Hassan said. “Because I will do anything to ensure the safety of my people.”

  “Do you think it matters to me, whether it’s you or your aunt sitting on that throne?” the Hierophant asked.

  Lethia and the Hierophant had seemed closely aligned when he first returned to Nazirah. But maybe that was an illusion. Hassan had begun to suspect their alliance was fraying. The tension between the soldiers and the Witnesses the night he and Khepri had found the Scarab’s Wing had hinted at it. And here was another hint. Hassan could find a way to use that to his advantage.

  Careful not to give his hunch away, he replied, “She’s loyal to you, so yes, I’m guessing you do.”

  “I let her take the throne because she gave me something I wanted.”

  Hassan remembered his aunt’s words during his capture. “You wanted the Prophet. The real one.” He swallowed, his breath coming more rapidly. “Because you want to start the Age of Darkness.”

  “You call it an Age of Darkness,” the Hierophant replied. “We call it the Reckoning. A reckoning of light and dark that will bring us into a new era. But you see, I need help. Yours, in fact.”

  Because Hassan was the Deceiver. Because this darkness—this reckoning—was his destiny. “If I help you, you’ll cause even more suffering than you already have.”

  “If you help me, you’ll have what you want most when it’s over. Nazirah.”

  Nazirah. He could protect his city. He could restore it to order. “What about my aunt?”

  “I will deal with her,” the Hierophant replied, and there was a note of something almost like anger in his tone. “I can see you are tempted by my offer.”

  Hassan didn’t deny it. “Why don’t you tell me what you need from me?”

  “My people have been trying to get inside the Great Library for weeks,” the Hierophant said. “But it seems it’s under layers and layers of protection.”

  “I won’t help you attack the rebels,” Hassan said. Even if he had split with them, he wouldn’t hurt them.

  “I couldn’t care less about the rebels. I thought that was clear. The matter of who rules this city is of little importance to me. I’m after something bigger.”

  “Bigger how?” Hassan asked. He knew he was treading a fine line here, trying to understand what the Hierophant was up to without arousing his suspicion. But if he played it right, he might be able to take his throne from Lethia, stop Arash, and drive out the Witnesses in one fell swoop.

  “I’m afraid I have to keep that to myself for now,” the Hierophant replied.

  “Not sure I can help you if I don’t know what you want,” Hassan said. “Why are you trying to get inside the Great Library?”

  “For the same reason we came to Nazirah,” the Hierophant answered. “There is information in the Library . . . information that, in the right hands, can change the course of the world.”

  Hassan didn’t have to ask if the Hierophant meant his own hands.

  “So you want me to get inside the Library and get this information for you,” Hassan said slowly.

  “Yes,” the Hierophant replied.

  “I’ll need a little more to work with,” Hassan said. “What kind of information is this? A book? A map?”

  “Are you agreeing?” the Hierophant asked.

  “I didn’t say that,” Hassan replied. But he was thinking it. He could give the Hierophant a fake copy of whatever it was he wanted, and in return the Hierophant would make him king. He could reclaim his throne without spilling a single drop of blood. “You’ll give me the crown if I get this for you? How can I trust you won’t go back on your word? Or that your Witnesses won’t just take it back from me?”

  “Once I get what I want, I’ll no longer have any reason to be in Nazirah,” the Hierophant replied. “And I will take your dear aunt with me. Nazirah will be yours.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not quite good enough,” Hassan said.

  “I’ve summoned a ship to take me and my most loyal followers away from Nazirah,” the Hierophant said. “I can provide proof of this. I will make a public declaration that their calling is no longer in Nazirah.”

  In other words, he would set them on another city. Hassan didn’t like that idea, but he would find a way to stop it from happening once the Hierophant was gone.

  “All right,” Hassan said slowly. “Just one problem. The rebels hate me now.”

  “Then I suggest, Your Grace, that you do what you do best,” the Hierophant replied. “Lie.”

  36

  BERU

  BERU’S STRENGTH IMPROVED OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS. THOUGH SHE COULD tell Hector was not pleased, he didn’t raise the subject of leaving again. Beru did her best to keep busy, helping Azar with chores and exploring the oasis.

  One morning, Hector intercepted her on the way back from breakfast.

  “I want to show you something,” he said. He took her down a path through the palms and up the side of a hill to the foot of a cave. The cavern was dark, but breaks in the ceiling gave way to shafts of sunlight that lanced down toward them. Beru spotted a bright triangle of light ahead. Hector led her toward it and they stepped out onto a rock ledge overlooking a pool of pure blue water, completely surrounded by rock. A hidden grotto within the oasis.

  “It’s beautiful.” The air was so cool and crisp Beru could almost taste it.

  “I found this place the other day,” Hector told her. “I thought you’d like it.”

  Her heart seized in her chest, overwhelming her with the knowledge that Hector had come to this stunning place and thought of her.

  She recalled another day when Hector, then only twelve, had taken her down to see the tidal pools near their fishing village on Charis. They’d both been so innocent then. She was overcome with the weight of all that had happened between them since, and in the soft pleasure of this moment she ached with grief.

  “What’s wrong?” Hector asked, turning to her and brushing his fingers on the back of her hand.

  Beru shivered, shaking her head. “Nothing.”

  She knew he wasn’t fooled, that he could feel every emotion coming off her, but he didn’t press her.

  That night, she dreamed of Medea. She dreamed of her dead village, of every neighbor and friend Ephyra had killed. She walked through the village square, along the path that took her home. And when she entered her house, and went out to the back, she saw him. Hector, dead beneath the acacia. She dropped to her knees.

  She opened her eyes and she was back in her room in the oasis. “It’s all right,” a voice soothed. Hector. “It was just a dream.” He was sitting at the edge of her bed, rubbing a hand lightly over her shoulder. Still half asleep, Beru reached out to trace the side of his face. He let her.

  “Did you see it, too?” she asked.

  He nodded. She could feel the movement under her hand.

  She was afraid if she opened her mouth to speak, she would cry—or worse, that she would tell him how she felt, that despite everything he was still the best person she knew, the most honest, the truest. It wouldn’t matter, though, because the connection between them meant he already knew the truth in her heart.

  “I don’t know how you can look at me like that,” she said, her voice shaking. She felt his surprise. “After all that I’ve done. All the pain I caused you.”

  Hector’s jaw tightened. Beru suddenly felt a wave of emotion from him, something soft and fragile and warm.

  It took her breath away.

  “I forgive you,” he
said. “I—I don’t want you to die.”

  Her eyes jolted up to meet his, and there she saw everything he did not say. That he’d grown to care for her, though he’d tried to fight it. That despite everything she was, he didn’t want to let her go.

  It didn’t seem possible, that he could feel that way toward her. It wasn’t possible. She was mistaken.

  “I’ve lost everything,” Hector replied. “My family. My place with the Order. Even my life. I can’t lose you, too.”

  But since when had she been his to lose?

  “It’s you or me, Hector,” Beru said softly. “It can’t be both. You know that.”

  “Beru,” he said, his voice taut with emotion. She hadn’t known, until now, what her name sounded like on his lips.

  He drew closer. Another wave of affection hit her, until she felt like she couldn’t breathe. His hand cupped her elbow.

  “You were willing to let me die once,” Beru told him through uneven breaths.

  “I know,” he replied. “That was before.”

  “Before?”

  He nodded. “My feelings changed.”

  His face was close to hers, his eyes fluttering shut. Beru longed to lean in and close the distance between them.

  And then his words hit her and she pushed him back. His feelings had changed. Guilt turned her stomach. People didn’t just go from loathing to love like that. Something had happened to Hector, something had made him feel this way.

  “Beru, what—”

  “I can’t do this,” she said in a rush, throwing off her covers and scrambling out of bed. “I can’t—I just—I’m sorry.”

  She bolted through the door, leaving him in the room, alone.

  Beru spent the night wandering the oasis, and in the morning she went to Azar’s abode and found him puttering around the gardens.

  “Good morning,” he said without looking up.

  “I need to ask you something,” Beru said hesitantly.

  “How wonderful,” he said absently. “I love inquisitive minds.”

  “Well,” Beru began. “Hector and I. The . . . connection between us. It’s . . . more than just our esha. It seems like our emotions sometimes spill over.”

  And once, Beru had purposely let her emotions seep into Hector, letting him feel her pain and sadness to persuade him to come with her to Behezda. If she was capable of that, she was capable of worse.

  Azar hummed. “When we die, our esha unbinds itself from us. Esha itself is just energy. It is only when it is bound to physical form that it becomes unique to the form it occupies. Nevertheless, if bound esha was taken from one form and put into another, it might still contain echoes of its first form, ties to the residual esha left behind. Those ties could manifest as a seepage between those forms.”

  Beru nodded. After leaving Charis, she and Ephyra had spent several months studying esha in whatever texts they could get their hands on in Tarsepolis. She understood the basic principles well enough, but this was something far outside of anyone’s experience.

  Beru hesitated. “Is it possible . . . could there be, uh, other . . . side effects from such a connection?”

  “Side effects?” Azar asked, his brow wrinkling.

  “Could it change the way those people felt? About each other?”

  Azar seemed to think for a moment. “I suppose so, yes. If one had particularly strong feelings . . . feelings of hatred, or of love, those could bleed through to the other. It might become quite difficult to determine the origin of those feelings.”

  Beru looked down, feeling sick. It was all the confirmation she needed. Hector’s feelings weren’t real. They had been forced on him, his true feelings twisted beyond recognition because . . .

  Because of Beru’s feelings. She had forced this on him.

  He didn’t really want to save her. He only thought he did.

  She had to tell him, she knew that much.

  “I . . . I need to find him,” Beru said, getting to her feet unsteadily.

  Azar rose, too, and reached a hand to her wrist. “Are you all right?”

  She wasn’t. Beru’s vision blotted out, her limbs weak. And then suddenly she was stumbling, falling against Azar’s chest, clutching on to him as he lowered her to the floor.

  Beru lay back and closed her eyes. A shadow fell over her.

  “What did you do to her?” Hector’s voice demanded.

  Beru blinked her eyes open to find Hector’s dark eyes staring into hers. “It’s not—” she began weakly. She drew in a breath. “It’s not his fault.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Her esha,” Azar said. “It’s starting to fade again. I don’t know how much longer she has.”

  “Then do something!” Hector demanded. “Heal her like you did last time. You can use my esha to do it.”

  Beru turned her head and saw Azar shaking his head slowly. “I’m afraid . . . that isn’t an option this time. It would kill you.”

  Hector’s whole body tensed. “There must be some other way.”

  “There is,” Azar said. “The Chalice. If we knew where it was—”

  “I’ll find it,” Hector said abruptly. “Whatever it takes, I’ll find it. I’ll go back to the Daughters, I’ll make them tell me where it is. Just—don’t let her die, all right? Keep her alive until I get back.”

  Beru tried to reach for him, but her arm felt heavy. Hector’s attention refocused on her.

  “It’s not going to end like this,” Hector said fiercely. “I won’t let it.”

  “Hector,” she said, trying to pull him down toward her. “I need to tell you something.”

  “What is it?” he asked, kneeling beside her, patient and warm in a way that made Beru’s chest ache.

  “It’s not real,” she said. “It’s not . . .”

  “You’re not making any sense,” Hector said. “It’s all right. Just hold on. I promise I’ll be back soon.”

  She felt so weak, as though she would black out at any moment. “No, Hector, listen. Listen to me, you . . . you can’t . . .”

  He stood, his eyes blazing at Azar. “Keep her safe until I get back, all right? I’m not losing another person I love.”

  Beru closed her eyes, wanting to cry. Hector thought he loved her. He was going to risk everything for her.

  And it was a lie. But she had no strength left to explain the truth to him.

  She could only watch as he walked away from her.

  37

  EPHYRA

  IN THE HEIGHT OF SUMMER, BEHEZDA STANK.

  The city sat on either side of a river that cut through a gorge of red rock. The water was shallow in the dry months, murky with silt and waste, perfuming the whole city with its stench. Ephyra had heard so many stories about Behezda, the City of Mercy, but the reality was a pale shadow of what she’d imagined.

  Illya had set them up in a dark, creaky room inside one of the slouching buildings that lined the river. Ephyra didn’t even remember how they’d gotten there or if Illya had paid for the room. None of it mattered.

  She just remembered Illya steering her inside, telling her to sleep.

  “I don’t want to sleep,” she’d said. “Come here.”

  When he’d hesitated, she’d sauntered toward him. “What? Are you scared of me?”

  He hadn’t moved as she stepped up to him, curling her hand around the back of his neck.

  “Tell me this isn’t what you want.” She hadn’t waited for his permission to seal their lips together.

  “You don’t,” he’d said, breathing hard when they broke away. “You don’t really want this.”

  She’d just kissed him harder, drowning her guilt and her grief in him. He took it all. She didn’t want to feel anything but his hands on her, the heat and taste of him. The rest of the world had turned to ashes, and he was a fire she wanted to burn in.

  “Right now, this is the only thing I want,” she’d said, and then she’d pulled him down onto the bed with her.

 
In the morning, she woke to find him sitting on a stool beside the bed, staring out the door and toying with the metal cuff on his wrist, twisting it idly. Ephyra was suddenly, incomprehensibly furious.

  “Go, then.”

  He glanced up at her. “What?”

  She stalked toward him, standing over him so he had no choice but to look up at her.

  “Leave,” she said, clawing at the cuff on her wrist. She unlatched it and shoved it at his chest before walking away. “If you don’t want to be here, then just go.”

  She looked at him, his expression confused, holding the cuff unsurely in his hand. Then he got up, and wordlessly walked through the door.

  Ephyra watched him go, some broken piece of her shattering into dust. She still hated Illya, whatever had just happened between them didn’t change that, but even a snake was better than having no one at all. The thought that she would miss him made her head go white with anger. It made something twist inside her gut to know that she had so little left in her life that to see Illya Aliyev walk away was a loss.

  She stood there in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do, before she collapsed onto the bed and fell back asleep.

  When she woke this time, it was to the smell of warm bread and grilled meat. Blearily, she rolled out of bed and stopped short. It took her a moment to process what she was seeing. Illya sat at the low table tucked into the far corner of the room, eating.

  Ephyra took two steps toward him and then stopped.

  “I got this from a street vendor around the corner,” he said. “It’s pretty good.”

  Hesitantly, Ephyra sat down at the table across from him.

  “Here,” he said, passing a jar of some sort of sauce to her. “You’ll want that.”

  Ephyra watched him for a few more moments, uncomprehending, and then tore off a piece of warm flatbread and dipped it in the sauce. She ate it and Illya smiled up at her, like this was something normal, sharing a meal in a dingy little room. And it was normal. It was what normal people did, every single day. But not her.