by Kat Ross
In desperation, Nazafareen opened herself to air magic. She wasn’t strong, but she managed to guide a random gust so that it filled the deflating sack, somewhat slowing the ship’s headlong plunge. Around and around they spun. Nazafareen held her lifeline with a white-knuckled grip. She screamed for Javid and got no answer. The wind howled in her ears, the earth rushed up to meet her, and she felt sure it was the end of them both.
The ship fell for an eternity. Something slammed hard into the side and then she was rolling on the ground, breathless and battered, her mouth full of sandy dirt. Nazafareen lay dazed. Finally, she rolled over and spat blood. She hurt in many places, but nothing seemed broken. She crawled to her feet.
The ship had continued to drag along the ground after she was ejected and lay some distance away. The prow had broken clean off. It lay in two splintered pieces, with the silken air sack spread out like a shimmering pool of dark water against the flat, barren landscape.
There was no sign of Javid. Sick with fear, Nazafareen seized the edge of the sack and began frantically reeling it in. It was very difficult with only one hand and the wind and rain, but to her intense relief, she finally found him sprawled on his back underneath. A trickle of blood ran down his face from a nasty cut above his eyebrow. She quickly felt his limbs. The worst injury she could see was the cut, which she stanched with a scrap of torn silk.
The ship was beyond repair, but its broken hull could still serve as a shelter. There was nothing else in sight. Just rocks and coarse, mineralized soil that seemed too poor to support even the hardiest lichen. It was the loneliest place she had ever seen, worse even than the Dominion, which at least had trees and streams.
Nazafareen pulled the great mass of the air sack over them both and curled up against the deck, waiting for the storm to pass.
12
They Tried to Break the World
Culach was afraid to fall asleep.
Blindness was no refuge. The dreams came relentlessly now, even when he was awake—or was he? It was difficult to tell sometimes. He felt the furs against his skin, smelled the ancient wind-blasted stone of the keep, and yet his awareness drifted elsewhere.
Unlike his earlier nightmares, the latest had begun innocuously enough. He stood in a lush garden with brightly colored flowers and strange limbless trees. A grand building of rose-hued glass enclosed three sides. The fourth ended at a tawny desert, the edge between grass and sand as sharp and straight as if drawn by a stylus. He strolled over to a fountain near an open archway and glimpsed his reflection. A narrow face with close-set eyes and spiky hair. His mouth had a cruel set to it. He wore loose robes of soft white linen.
Floating along inside this stranger’s body, Culach flinched at the rows of flaring torches set in brackets along the palace walls, but they didn’t seem to disturb the man. He walked with fluid grace down a pathway where a second man sat on a bench, head in his hands. It was the same who had worn the gold circlet.
“She’s refused me again,” he said.
“The girl is willful.”
The man raised his head and Culach saw madness in his eyes. The volatile rage of a child used to getting his way in all things, who has just been refused his heart’s greatest desire.
“She led me on. She made me believe she loved me.”
“I know, my lord. It is the Danai nature to be treacherous.”
The king crumpled a message in his fist. “She accuses me of murder. Some Danai from House Granet who vanished at the gathering.”
“An outrageous insult. Doubtless the man ran off in a fit of jealousy. I hear he sought her favor as well.” The advisor sneered. “She clearly encouraged the attentions of many suitors for her own amusement.”
“What shall I do?”
“I think punishment might be in order, my lord.”
The man considered this, his pale eyes growing distant. Yes, he was mad, but he was also cunning and ruthless and very, very powerful. It radiated from him like heat from the distant dunes.
“What sort of punishment?” he asked at last.
“That depends. What does she love best?”
The man thought on this. “Her precious forests.”
“Then that is what she shall lose. To start with.”
He nodded, as if it were a small matter.
“See that it’s done.”
Culach felt the man’s satisfaction as he walked back to the white building. He stood in thought for a while. Then he held out a hand. Culach’s heart nearly stopped as the flames from one of the torches leapt high, reaching for the man’s outstretched fingers. Harsh laughter rang in his ears as his eyes jerked open. But it wasn’t true wakefulness.
He found himself in some strange in-between place, surrounded by thick, roiling fog. A pinpoint of light drew him forward. He gripped a flat disc in his hand and knew from the power coursing through the metal that it was some kind of talisman. Other red-haired daēvas in flowing white robes followed behind. The glow intensified and he emerged from a pond in the midst of a thick wood. A Talisman of Folding. It linked two places, so one could travel a thousand leagues in a heartbeat. Culach had heard stories about them from Gerda, though she said they’d been lost for hundreds of years.
It was Culach’s last moment of separate awareness. Then his mind blended fully with the body he inhabited, and he saw through the man’s eyes, heard his thoughts as if they were his own.
“We are near House Kaland,” he said, holding up a fist to signal the others to wait. “Let them come to us.”
Sure enough, within a few minutes, six sentries clad in close-fitting green tunics and trousers appeared, bows on their backs. Their faces were wary but they hadn’t nocked any arrows. The fools.
“Councilor,” their leader said in a respectful, if cool, tone. “We weren’t expecting you.”
Culach smiled, a tightening of the lips across the teeth. “Are you not glad to see your cousins?”
“I know what errand you come on,” one of the younger Danai called out angrily. “It is fruitless. She will not return with you.”
The leader rounded on him. “Be silent. Let me handle this.” He turned back and surveyed the Vatras. “You bring a large party to our lands. May I ask why?”
Sunlight trickled through the ancient trees, dappling the forest floor. Culach found the Nexus and let it fill him. So much life. Every square inch teeming with things that crept and crawled, flew and wriggled. All feeding off each other in a repulsive cycle of death and birth. And the trees! He shuddered as he felt their roots plunging like monstrous tentacles into the earth. Only the Danai could love such a place.
Give me the blazing, lifeless desert. Clean and pure.
“Councilor?” the Danai scout asked. “Your king’s petition has been made and answered. More than once. Caecilia is not even here. She’s gone and I will not tell you where she went.”
Culach nodded, as if considering his words. His smile widened to a rictus. The scout gripped his bow and shared a hard look with the others.
“You mistake my intentions,” Culach replied. “We are not here for her. We are here for you.”
He held out a hand. Yellow flames flowed along the skin like water.
“Draw!” the leader screamed.
The earth trembled. Bows came up. But it was too late.
The Danai scouts went up like a row of torches. Culach watched their hair wither, their flesh melt from their bones. A bird flew shrieking from a branch. He set it alight in midair, watched the small body plummet to the ground. All around, trees a hundred paces tall erupted into flames. A wind rose, whipping the blaze into an inferno. Sap hit the boiling point and exploded, sending showers of red sparks over his head.
He turned to his companions with savage joy.
“Burn it all.”
The Vatras formed a line and started walking toward House Kaland. And so began the harrowing of the Avas Danai forests. Wildfire on a scale never imagined. Daēvas screaming and running from their homes,
only to be caught by walls of flame that moved faster than a river in spring flood. People and animals alike turned to torches. He could feel the heat of it on his skin though he remained untouched. Smoke and ashes choked the air.
It was all perfectly realistic except for the fact that he glimpsed a sun in the sky. It was dark red, with a flaring corona from the polluted atmosphere, but he knew it wasn’t Selene. It was Solis.
Culach sat up, gasping for breath. His stomach gave a queasy roll and he threw the furs aside, wishing he could leap on Ragnhildur’s back and go for a long ride over the mountains. He longed for the icy wind on his face, the stars rushing by overhead.
He must be losing his mind. He’d heard of it happening, even if such disorders were rare among his people. Daēvas who had undergone a deeply traumatic experience unable to get past it. Flinching at shadows for the rest of their long lives. Fleeing from terrors in their own minds.
Culach pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He had never been prone to imaginative fancy. Quite the opposite. He was pragmatic and physical, not the sort to have visions.
Visions.
Why had he used that word? Visions implied something real, and this was all utterly bizarre. The Avas Danai forests were intact. Nocturne had no sun. No fire. And red-haired daēvas didn’t exist.
He stood and padded over to the air shield. It felt hard and chill beneath his palm. He remembered the view beyond. Once, the whole world spread out before him. He listened to the wind, took comfort in its familiar wild music. Child of air. Am I still that, even if I can no longer touch it? Will I age and die now, like the mortals?
Do I even wish to live for hundreds more years, imprisoned in darkness and nightmares?
He no longer stayed in bed all day. That was one thing Mina had done for him. He couldn’t stand lying there like a slug while she sat in her chair, so he’d begun fetching things he wanted for himself, as long as they were inside his chamber. He knew every inch of it now and no longer bumped into furniture. Mina was careful to keep everything in precisely the same place.
He hadn’t yet ventured into other parts of the keep, but he could begin to imagine doing so, when before it seemed unthinkable.
If only the dreams would leave him alone.
Culach suppressed a yawn. It was bad enough remembering them when he was awake. But when he slept, they seemed real. He’d be swept away by the raw emotions of terror and horror, heart pounding in his chest, mouth dry as a tomb.
Despite her vow, Katrin had come to see him thrice more, making sure to arrive when Mina was here so she could torment the Danai woman. The last time, he had thrown her out and told her not to return. Rather than getting angry, she’d been condescending.
“You can’t forbid me, Culach. And I don’t care if you’re scarred, you’re still pretty enough.”
He’d cursed her and she laughed. Mina refrained from commenting after Katrin left, but Culach sensed her private amusement, whether at his predicament or the fact that he had stood up for her, he didn’t know.
Culach had come to anticipate the exact time Mina arrived every day. When the door opened the next day, he’d dressed himself and was sitting on the edge of the bed.
“What’s for lunch?” he asked.
“Soup.”
He made a grumbling noise. “Again? Tell them I’m a man, not an invalid. I need real food.”
“The cook hates me.”
“Has that ever stopped you from complaining?”
He heard a smile in her voice. “No.”
Culach felt her eyes on him. He couldn’t say how he knew, but he did. He could tell when she was looking out the window or reading, or studying him.
“You aren’t sleeping,” she said.
“The pain—”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care.”
Her voice drew closer. “Why do you hold it inside?”
“Are you actually asking?”
She sounded a little surprised. “I suppose I am.”
“Bad dreams,” he replied shortly.
“About what?”
“I don’t wish to talk about it.”
“I thought we were already doing that.”
Culach sighed and went over to the table. He sniffed the bowl. “Honestly, I can’t take any more beet soup.”
“Don’t change the subject.” Her skirts whispered as she sat down.
“Fine.” He suddenly wanted to tell her. He didn’t have to worry about her gossiping because Mina didn’t talk to anyone. She already thought he was a fool, or worse. What could it hurt?
“It started with a man,” he said.
Culach began to relate his dreams, remembering details as he spoke that he’d forgotten. Mina listened quietly, occasionally prompting him with a question. He found himself opening up, pacing about the room in agitation as he described the total destruction of the great forest.
“Do you think something’s…wrong with me?” he asked at last.
“You mean, are you going crazy?”
“To be blunt, yes.”
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “But I’ve heard this story before, or a version of it anyway.”
Culach froze. “What do you mean?”
“My mother used to tell us fairytales. One of them, my favorite, was about a fourth clan of daēvas.”
Culach groped for the wall to steady himself. His knees felt weak.
“Did these daēvas…did they…?”
“Work fire? Yes. It was their gift.”
He let out a slow breath.
“We never thought it was true, of course. They were an archetype. A myth. The wicked fire workers and their insane king. They tried to break the world and were beaten back by the other clans.”
“Could there be a kernel of truth to it?”
“I’ve no idea. No one else ever spoke of it. My mother gave the impression it was all very, very long ago.”
Culach felt a surge of excitement. He’d been convinced it was all incipient madness. If there was some explanation, he’d grab it like a lifeline.
“I need to learn more.” He scrubbed a hand across the silver-gold stubble roughening his jaw. “Who would remember?” Culach snapped his fingers. “Gerda. My great-great-grandmother. You must fetch her.”
“Me? Oh no. That woman is nasty.”
Culach laughed. It sounded wild and desperate. “Yes, she is. But she’s the oldest of us.”
“She hasn’t left her rooms in decades.”
“Then you’ll have to convince her.”
“And why should I do that?”
“Because if you do, I’ll promise to force my father to leave you alone. You won’t have to come here anymore.”
There was a long silence.
“All right, I’ll do it.”
Part of him had hoped she’d protest that it wasn’t so bad keeping him company. Their enmity had settled into mutual tolerance in recent days. He’d even made her laugh a few times. He thought perhaps she didn’t hate him quite so much as she used to. And he had to admit she eased his loneliness. The times Mina came were the best of his day.
But she obviously didn’t feel the same way. That was fine. If she could coax his cantankerous grandmother to come for a visit, he would free her from her obligation to him.
“I do have one condition,” Mina said.
“Yes?”
“You must let me try to heal you. Only once. Then can say truthfully that I made the attempt.” Her voice lowered. “I am not completely without honor, whatever you may think.”
Culach was taken aback. Did she care for him after all? Or was it simply her stubborn Danai pride?
“Can you stand to be touched?” Mina asked.
Somehow she had always known, although he’d never told her. His heart beat hard.
“If you can’t, we’ll wait. There’s no rush—”
“Yes,” he heard himself say. “Please try.”
Her footsteps
came closer.
“Lie down on the bed,” Mina ordered. Her voice was brisk, but he thought he heard a faint tremor in it.
Culach sank back onto the furs. He both craved her touch and was terrified of it. She drew up his tunic, exposing his skin to the chill air. His breath caught as her fingertips settled on his chest, barely touching but enough to send little flares of pain through the tender nerves. She waited, doing nothing more, and his tense muscles relaxed a little.
“I’m going to use all three elements, but mostly water. It’s the most important in healing and I’ve always been uncommonly strong in water for a Danai.” She laughed softly. “One of my ancestors probably had an illicit affair with a Marakai.”
Culach nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. She pressed her palm flat against his chest. A warm, tingling sensation spread across his scars. He bit his lip, holding perfectly still.
“Is that all right?”
“Yes.” His voice came out hoarse.
“I’m just taking the lay of the land. I won’t do anything yet.”
The tingling ran down his spine. It was like sinking into a warm bath. He closed his eyes. The heat slowly built and he suddenly wanted to feel more of her against him. To reach out and touch her, taste her mouth. The smell of her was maddening. Katrin’s caresses had repulsed him and now he understood why. Culach balled his hands into fists. He tried to think of anything else, but all he could see was Mina’s dark eyes, the soft fall of her hair as he unbound her braid….
She gave a soft cry of alarm and jerked back and Culach flushed, thinking she’d noticed his apparently all too obvious desire. But then her hand cupped his face.
“You’re severed from elements!” she exclaimed.
Shame and humiliation made him jerk away. That, and the shock in her voice.
“Leave me,” he growled.
“I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”
As usual, Mina had understood immediately what he feared the most.
