by David Estes
Horse men screamed from somewhere through the mist, and they whirled around, searching the rocky landscape. “They’re coming,” Shae said. “I can’t hide you forever.”
Grey still didn’t understand exactly how his little sister had done what she had done, but he didn’t need to. Not anymore. “We have to swim,” he said.
A glowing white figure emerged from the mist, then another. Dozens more followed, screaming, brandishing stone swords.
They turned back toward the ocean, and Grey grabbed his sister’s hand. There was no other choice; the overhanging cliff would have to be far enough over the water, else they were dead. “Ready?”
She nodded, her jaw set. Grey knew his sister was scared of heights and water. But that was a different girl. This version of Shae had been through so much more terror that a leap from a cliff into the ocean was nothing.
They leapt, their arms and legs wind-milling.
Wind and rain pelted their faces.
Waves roared, rushing up to meet them.
And then the sea swallowed them whole.
In the depths of the sea under the cloud-gray sky, Grey immediately lost all sense of direction. He also lost Shae’s hand when they plunged underwater, and now he frantically searched, flailing his arms from side to side.
He thought he felt his fingers brush up against her, but then she was gone again.
On and on he searched, reaching into murk and gloom, his desperation growing as his lungs began to burn. He couldn’t lose her now, not after everything they’d both been through.
For the first time in his life, he prayed. Not to Wrath—the vengeful god of the furia—but to whatever power created the sun and the moons and the stars. And the ocean. Please. Release her. Give her back to me. Spit her out.
He couldn’t hold his breath any longer, and he kicked hard in the direction he thought looked slightly lighter, a muted shade of gray. Water threatened to tear open his mouth and pour inside. But still he kicked, even when he felt a dark shadow loom to the side and he was thrown against a rock. He clawed at the stone, pulling himself up, up, up, finally breaching the surface, his pale hand clutching the jagged stone like the edge of a lifeboat.
His lips murmured his prayer, even as the waves pounded him, crashing on his head, knocking him to and fro like a shattered piece of driftwood. Please. Release her. And then he spoke the two words he’d been thinking from the moment his sister was taken.
“Take me instead,” he whispered to the wind. Louder: “Take me, not her!” Shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice rising over the pounding waves and howling wind and rainfall. “TAKE ME!”
Arms grabbed him from behind, clinging to his waist. He looked back and there she was. Shae. Wearing that same determined expression. “Don’t go,” she said. “Don’t let them take you.”
He wasn’t ashamed to cry. Not now, not ever again. The tears poured from his eyes, mixing with the rain and seawater. “Never,” he said. “You’re all I’ve got.”
And then he shoved off from the jagged rock, kicking as hard as he could against the current, which threatened to sweep them back toward the island. Shae clutched his waist, and he swam with one arm, fighting past the breakers, looking back only once the powerful current had released them.
High on the cliffs, the dead stood, watching. Waiting. There were dozens of horse men, and instinctively Grey knew they were unsatisfied, despite having feasted on the souls of the furia, who, according to the Fury’s story, would rise again to haunt the isles. They were hungry, ravenous, because they had lost two souls from their shores.
Grey turned away and didn’t look back again.
All Grey knew was that he needed to follow the sun. He wasn’t sure exactly how far the Dead Isles were from the coastline, but thus far he’d seen nothing but endless ocean ever since the misty islands vanished from view. The sun had reached its peak long ago, and was now drifting toward the horizon.
Grey was chasing it, but he was swiftly falling behind.
At some point, Shae fell asleep, leaving Grey to drag her body through the choppy water. At some point, Grey became too weary to kick, to swim, letting their bodies drift with the current, which was moving swiftly south. He had seen maps of the Four Kingdoms, and he was fairly certain the Phanecian peninsula eventually jutted out, which could mean they would run directly into it. But that was almost certainly days away, if not weeks. They would die of thirst or starvation long before that.
So he conserved his energy for a while, and then swam again, pushing eastward. In her sleep, Shae’s body was as heavy as a corpse, a thought that made Grey want to wake her up, just to be certain she was alive. But he didn’t, letting her sleep. Anyway, he could feel her warm exhalations on his cheeks.
The sun stole the daylight, and night descended like a scythe. The moons appeared, first the one southerners worshipped as Luahi, a green fully-formed orb, and then Ruaho, the fierce red god, naught but a red sliver on this particular night. Regardless, neither moon was willing to do more than cast a shaky pathway of light in the wrong direction. Grey tried to keep his bearings, but soon became disoriented as exhaustion and fatigue set in. He stopped swimming, uncertain as to whether he was moving west, east, north, south, or, more likely, in circles.
His vision began to blur, and the thought of sleep was a powerful rope, gripping him, pulling him. Tempting him. Can’t sleep, he thought. Sleep was death. I’ll just close my eyes for a few moments. Rest them. He did, and it felt so good. The ocean was gentle now, rocking him, caressing his ears with a sweet lullaby.
When he opened his eyes he could see a face, distant at first, and then moving closer. It was familiar, her smile like a golden sunrise, her eyes like the bottoms of blue-crystal decanters.
Princess Rhea smiled at him, and he wanted to smile back, but his lips were too weary. He pulled back in horror as her lips turned to snakes, her teeth to fangs, her eyes to red beads ringed with fire.
He screamed, but his cry was lost in the water, which was all around his face, stinging his eyes, infiltrating his nose, his mouth.
His head burst from the water and he coughed, choking for a while until the ocean was dispelled from his lungs. I fell asleep, he realized. His vision of Rhea was a nightmare and he’d sunk under the water and—
Shae.
For a moment, he felt sheer panic, but it quickly subsided when he saw her. His sister, somehow, someway, was lying on her back, floating nearby. She was still asleep, her face as peaceful as a moonbeam.
Shaking the cobwebs away, Grey kicked over to her. She stirred when he tucked his hand under her knees and his stump behind her head, using his legs to tread water. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking several times before focusing on him. A smile creased her lips. “Grey,” she said. Her eyes closed and she slept once more.
Grey stayed like that for a long time, watching his sister sleep. Though they were miles away from shore and might not even survive the night, he wasn’t sad or scared or lonely. No, they were together again, and that was all that mattered.
He kept his sister afloat for as long as he could bear, until weariness took him and his eyelids refused to obey any longer, until his mind and the world spun in tandem, until an enormous shadow descended o’er him and he knew death had found them both, until he felt himself sinking, sinking, sinking, the water closing over his chin, his lips, his nose, his eyes, his head, until the angels of mercy murmured from the heavens and reached down their strong arms and scooped his soul up, lifting him higher, higher, higher to the sky above.
And, in the end, he smiled.
Thirty-Six
The Southern Empire, the Scarra Desert
Raven Sandes
Guta was still apologizing profusely as they departed Kesh. “She was with me for nigh on two years,” he said. “She gave no indication of violence.”
Raven whirled around and squeezed the man’s arm. “We know. It’s not your fault. You bear no blame.”
His quick-to-smile l
ips were pulled into a tight line, his eyes fierce. “I have heard of those who cried tears of joy when they spotted Kesh in the distance, only to find it was a trick of the light, a desert mirage. Those men and women died wishing they’d found this place. Then there are others who could see our oasis, but fell before they made it. But thousands of others have eaten with us, slept in our huts, cooled themselves under our palms. We are a single candle of hope in an infinite sea of sand. Our reputation is everything, and we have failed the most important women in the Four Kingdoms.”
“You couldn’t have known what that woman would do.”
When questioned, Guta had been forthcoming. The would-be assassin’s name, at least according to her, was Baj, and she’d been nothing but an excellent employee of Guta’s ever since she’d arrived almost two years earlier, requesting a job.
And yet, she’d tried to stab Fire through the eye in the dead of night.
Guta said, “I will release my entire household and begin anew. Each new employee will be screened by my most trusted advisors in Calyp. I will earn back the trust I have lost.”
“That’s really not nec—”
Fire appeared just then, leading her guanik, and Raven stopped at the look in her sister’s eyes. Stalwart. Weary, but alive. Fearless, despite what she’d told Raven only a day earlier.
I feel as if an arach is nipping at my heels and if I don’t keep moving it will eat me alive.
Raven had made a joke in response, not taking her sister’s words seriously enough. She knew, Raven thought. Somehow, she knew.
A roiling stew of guilt churned in Raven’s gut. She was the one who’d convinced Fire to stay another night, despite her sister’s instincts. She was the one who’d almost gotten her killed.
“Guta,” Fire said now. “Thank you for your hospitality. It is unmatched in all of the south.”
Guta offered a short bow. “A full investigation will be conducted. I am sorry for—”
“Enough,” Fire said. “Your apologies are as unnecessary as they are sincere. I trust whatever actions you decide to take, but know that I believe Kesh will continue to be a torch of safety and hope in the Scarra.” Guta opened his mouth to speak again, but Fire raised a hand. “Say no more. You have my blessing as we depart rested and replenished.”
Finally, a thin smile found its way back onto the small man’s lips, though it didn’t carry the genuineness it had when they first arrived.
The guanero gathered in a protective circle around Fire and Raven as they mounted up and rode back out into the desert.
“I should have trusted you,” Raven said.
“You have. You are here, by my side.”
“But I advised you to linger when you believed riding on was the better option.”
“Just because my paranoia was validated by the assassin doesn’t mean it wasn’t paranoia. That woman could’ve attempted to take my life the first night, had she wanted to.”
“If not for Goggin refusing to leave her side, she might’ve.”
Goggin overheard his name. “I should’ve throttled her rather than spun her,” he said, shaking his head.
“Stop. Both of you. You’re as bad as Guta,” Fire said. “Like him, you couldn’t have known what she would do.”
“But you did,” Raven insisted.
“I didn’t. I only had a sinking feeling in my stomach. But I’ve had it since I made the decision to ride to war.”
Raven recalled what her sister had said about feeling like she was born to be a weapon, and nothing more. Those words, even if they were wrong, made Raven want to protect her younger sister the same way she’d always protected Whisper.
The sun goddess stretched above them and they rode on, due west, carried on an endless tide of sand. The wind, thankfully, was at their backs.
“You saved my life,” Fire said a while later.
“I’m a light sleeper.”
“So am I, but I didn’t awaken.”
Raven shrugged. “You’re my baby sister, so I’m obligated to protect you. And you happen to be the empress, so as an honorary member of the guanero, I am sworn by oath to save your life if I have the opportunity.”
Fire’s lip twitched. “Oh really? So it was just duty that drove your valor?”
“And Whisper would never forgive me if I let you die on my watch.”
Fire’s smile faded. “Gods, what are we going to do with her?”
“Survive,” Raven said. “Protect her from this world. Defeat Faata and defend our borders.”
“And what of the east and west and north? Long have they coveted the south. Eventually, they will come, whether it’s the Ironclads crossing Dragon Bay or the Lorens from the Burning Sea or the Gärics sailing down the Spear. The Scarra can only protect us for so long.”
“By then, our dragons will be full size. Our enemies will flee from us in fear. And if they don’t, they will burn.”
Fire nodded at that. Burning was one thing she understood all too well.
They rode on for a while longer without speaking, though it was a comfortable silence, as only one can be between sisters. Fire finally said, “I fear the assassin was one of our own.”
Raven flinched at the notion. “You mean a Calypsian?”
Fire nodded. “There are those who long to sit on the Southron throne, to usurp the power our family has held for many generations. They could have assassins in various places where we’d least expect it, lying in wait. That woman was in Kesh for nearly two years biding her time on the slim chance that I might eventually pass through the desert. Our enemies are as patient as spiders.”
Raven said, “She had the Calypsian look, but she could’ve been paid by anyone.”
“Even Faata?”
“No,” Raven replied quickly. “He wouldn’t. Not like that. He will protect his lands, his way of life, but he won’t murder his own daughter in cold blood.” Raven hated the doubt in her own voice, hated that the man she’d grown up with had become a monster in her eyes.
For the next three nights, they marched until both moons were high overhead, casting dueling swords of light across the desert. They slept briefly, rising before Surai rose from the west.
No one grumbled or complained, not even Goggin. Nor Raven, though she could see the weariness creeping along the ragged line of soldiers behind them. When they did stop, everyone went straight to sleep, having filled their bellies during the march. As the heat wore them down and sand coated their tongues and lips, few words were spoken, save from Goggin, who seemed so steadfastly upbeat that Raven began to wonder whether he’d snuck some simpre into his waterskin.
On the fourth day, Goggin looked up and said, “The Spear.”
Raven followed his gaze past the hundreds of dunes to a distinct line of silver in the distance. She thought it could be a trick of the desert light. “Are you certain?”
“Twice I have seen this sight,” he said. “I’m as certain as anyone can be of visions in the desert.”
Still, Raven dared not hope, not until they were closer. Fire said nothing, but from that point her eyes were trained forward, fixed on that shimmering line.
Goggin was right. The dunes became smaller and thinner, until they fell away completely, giving way to hard-packed dirt and then tufts of brittle, brown grass. And then, abruptly, there was green grass and small three-leafed plants. The sound of burbling water arose as the river fully came into view.
The Spear was aptly named, its slow-moving water a straight, narrow shaft of blue that shot northward, toward Hyro Lake, and southward, where its tip would eventually pierce the heart of the Burning Sea.
The guanik didn’t need further urging as they sped up, pushing for the promise of water. When they arrived at the riverbank, the guanero dismounted and stripped down to their underclothes, bathing and laughing in the water, while their coarse-skinned mounts drank voraciously. Goggin entertained his men and women by launching himself off the land, landing in the water with a thunderclap that left a red m
ark on his chest.
For the first time since they’d left Kesh, Raven felt a swell of joy in her heart, though it was short-lived when she saw Fire standing on the riverbank, looking past the water to a barren land of red rocks and cracked earth. At the edge of the land something rose up like a mountain, running east to west, blocks of stone so large that it was beyond Raven’s comprehension as to how they’d been stacked atop one another. It was a marvel akin to the pyramids of Calypso.
Despite the bounty of clean, blue water running before her feet, Fire was already looking ahead, to the Southron Gates.
Although Raven could see the impatience in Fire’s eyes, an ever-burning flame not unlike the Burning Tree within their palace in Calypso, her sister was wise enough to allow her army a full day’s rest and leisure on the flanks of the Spear.
Men and women lounged on the banks of the river, cleaning the sand from their leather armor and skin, sharpening their weapons, massaging their sore muscles. Slowly, grim expressions turned to smiles, especially when Goggin stomped through the sea of soldiers slapping backs and shouting words of encouragement. They’d conquered the Scarra, and he was determined to give them their moment of victory.
In truth, Raven knew they’d been lucky, their journey blessed by the desert god, whose name they did not speak. He had held back the great sandstorms to let them pass. His scorpions and pyzons had mostly stayed away.
All told, only eight had perished on the windswept dunes, and four of those were their reptilian mounts. Four soldiers out of three thousand, Raven mused. It was an enormous victory indeed, one worth celebrating.
When Goggin approached her, Raven said, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For encouraging the soldiers. For being a spark of light in the dark.”
