The Straits of Galahesh loa-2

by Bradley P. Beaulieu

  This was when he began to feel it-a subtle discomfort in his chest that began to grow the closer they came to the island. He began to cough, and soon he was forced to drop to the floor of the skiff and hold onto the thwart as his breath slowly left him in one long exhalation.

  “Nasim!” Rabiah cried.

  She helped turn him over.

  She called to him, but Nasim couldn’t hear her. He could only stare up at the blue of the sky.

  When Ashan had brought him here years ago, he had felt the island. He’d felt the mountain peaks, the forests, the grassy plains. He’d felt the shattered city, Alayazhar. He felt all these things now, but he also knew that he was tied to it like he hadn’t been before. He was part of this island, as the Al-Aqim were. He was trapped. There would be no chance of leaving.

  He wondered, as stars played in his vision and Rabiah continued to shout his name, why he hadn’t felt the same thing the last time. Surely this was Muqallad’s doing, or Sariya’s, he thought. Surely he hadn’t felt it before because the two of them had yet to reawaken from the trap Khamal had lain for them.

  But he felt a certain familiarity to this. It was as if he had done it himself…

  And then it struck him. The wards that had been in place, keeping Khamal and Sariya and Muqallad here. That was what he was feeling. Not a trap laid by the others. Why, then, hadn’t it happened the last time he’d come? The answer was obvious, though. He hadn’t been himself when he’d been here last. He’d been only half a boy. The other half had been lost in Adhiya. The wards had not sensed him, but he was healed now, and surely whatever had been done to keep Khamal here was now working against him.

  He was trapped, well and good. He knew this, but it also brought a sense of peace. He’d come here not planning to leave, but believing it was possible. He knew now that it wasn’t. He knew that he would never leave, not unless he healed the rift or he died. It was a notion that was more freeing than he ever would have guessed.

  So much so that as the pressure in his chest eased, he started to laugh, and once it started, he couldn’t stop.

  Rabiah knelt over him, a look of shock on her face, like she wanted to slap him. He wouldn’t blame her if she did. He almost wanted her to.

  “What’s happened?” she asked.

  “The wards,” he said, pulling himself up to lean against the skiff’s hull.

  “What about them?” Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at him closely, as if she wasn’t sure he was completely himself.

  “I’m trapped, Rabiah, as Khamal was. As Sariya and Muqallad are. We are together again, as we were for centuries.”

  “As Khamal was, not you.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I.” Nasim reached up and scratched his scalp vigorously. It did little to shake the feelings of confusion from his mind, but it brought him back to himself. He realized they were drifting beyond the island. “Summon the winds. Bring us in.”

  She glanced at the sail, clearly nervous.

  “You won’t have trouble now. Just be careful not to allow it too close to you.”

  She nodded. Rabiah. Beautiful Rabiah.

  She took up the reins and summoned the wind to guide the ship. They landed on a grassy plain to the north of Alayazhar. Part of him wanted to view the city, but another, the part that was terrified of this place, was simply not ready for it.

  As he swung over the gunwale of the skiff and onto solid land, Rabiah rubbed her hand along his back. “We’ll find a way.”

  Rabiah always seemed to know his mind. He looked into her eyes and in them saw compassion and hope, both of which, Nasim thought, were wholly misplaced.

  CHAPTER NINE

  N asim debated on building a shelter, but he was afraid to do so, at least until he knew more. The aether was too thin here-so thin that he dared not risk communing with a hezhan again until he and the others had become accustomed to it.

  Sukharam left to find firewood, and when he returned with a thick bundle of branches, he told them of the keening he’d heard to the south. “It was haunting,” Sukharam said, “like a lone wolf baying for its pack.”

  Nasim gathered a pile of brown needles from the wood and ran a steel across the flint he’d brought from Trevitze. Sparks flew. On the third strike, it took, and he began building the fire quickly. “It’s most likely a dhoshahezhan crossed over from Adhiya.”

  “Will it be drawn here?” Sukharam asked.

  Nasim shook his head as the fire built. “From what I remember, the hezhan are confused here. They’ll give chase if you come too close, but they don’t search for life as they do from beyond the veil. Here, they have it already, so in a way, they are content.”

  “In a way?” Rabiah asked as she squatted down on the far side of the fire.

  Nasim shrugged, struggling to find words. “They’re also conflicted. They want to return to Adhiya, even though they yearned to touch Erahm while there. I think they know this place is not natural. They know this is not the way of things. And they yearn for the freedoms they had while drifting in the currents of the world beyond.”

  They brought out the blankets from the oiled canvas sacks and laid them out around the fire.

  “Where will we go?” Sukharam asked. He was sitting on his blanket, his arms around his knees. Although he had a look of cold discomfort about him, he was staring straight into Nasim’s eyes. It was good to see. Perhaps when they’d reached the island, Sukharam had crossed some sort of threshold as well.

  Rabiah, lying on her blanket, her head propped up by her hand, stared intently at Nasim as well.

  “Tomorrow we go to Alayazhar. There is a celestia on a ridge near the bay. More than anyone’s, the celestia was Khamal’s. It was his demesne, his source of strength and the place he felt most comfortable. If there was any place he would have left me clues, it would be there.”

  Sukharam asked more about the island, the last time Nasim had been here, the memories he’d inherited from Khamal; and Nasim did the best he could to appease him, but what Sukharam was looking for wasn’t something Nasim could grant. He wanted to know what they would do and how they would do it. These were perfectly reasonable questions. Nasim just didn’t know how to answer them.

  “We’ll know more tomorrow,” Nasim finally said. “Get some rest. It will be a long hike to the city and back.”

  Sukharam eventually fell asleep, but Rabiah stayed awake. The fire played against her dark skin, giving her a ruddy glow that only served to make her look more beautiful than she already was. The flicker of the fire lent depth to her eyes. It made her appear old, like one of the fates, and the way she looked at Nasim made him feel like she could stare right into his soul.

  “Are they here?” Rabiah asked.

  She meant Sariya and Muqallad, of course. “I can’t feel them, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Did you feel them when you were here last?”

  “I did, but I wasn’t the same then. This place affected me differently.”

  “They may have traps set on the celestia.”

  Nasim nodded. “They very well might have.”

  “And what of Ashan?” she asked.

  The fire between them snapped, sending a cloud of embers floating up and into the night sky. The embers mingled with the stars like gemstones-citrine and diamond against a field of obsidian dust.

  “I’m worried that he’s been taken,” Nasim said, still staring at the sky. “I’m worried they’ll use him against us.”

  Rabiah was silent for a time as she too stared up at the stars. Almadn stood brightly overhead, her amphora overflowing with wine. “You cannot allow it,” she said at last. “You can allow nothing to distract you from what needs to be done.”

  “I know,” Nasim lied.

  Though he was not at all sure of the answer. Ashan had done much for Nasim. He had cared for Nasim, taken him from Soroush when Soroush was trying to use him. He’d brought him to U
yadensk, where he’d met Nikandr, and he’d guided him from harm when the Landed were out for his blood. He was a man he would do much for, a man he might even die for, if it came to it. So he was not at all sure he could just leave Ashan to the fates if that’s where his path led him.

  “Even if we’re taken,” Rabiah continued.

  “I know,” Nasim lied again. “Now get some sleep.”

  Rabiah turned away, her back to the fire. She was quiet for a long time. He thought she’d gone to sleep, but then, as he was starting to nod off himself, he heard her say, “I’m glad you found me, Nasim.”

  “I’m glad I found you, too.”

  When Nasim finally fell asleep, it was with a warm feeling, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

  When morning came, the three of them headed north toward Alayazhar. They spoke not at all until they approached the outskirts of the wasted city. They could not yet see the sea and the oldest sections of the city, but there was a complex of broken stone buildings divided only by the streets and avenues and the dark shadows that defined them in the early morning light. Behind them, Sihyaan, the tallest mountain on Ghayavand, stared down at them, ponderous and brooding as if it disapproved of their voyage into a place that had become little more than a grave.

  “It cannot be so easy as to go to the celestia and find Khamal’s stone,” Rabiah said as they took to the first of the streets.

  The three of them walked side by side, Rabiah on his left, Sukharam on his right. The sand-colored stones they walked upon were amazingly well preserved. The stones were cracked-making the road look more like a layer of aged skin than cobblestones-but beyond this, other than some moss and the occasional tuft of wiry grass, it looked as though the sundering had occurred a dozen years before, not three hundred.

  “I didn’t say it would be easy.”

  “Khamal’s piece of the Atalayina will be hidden and trapped,” Rabiah continued.

  “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “Then how will we retrieve it?”

  Sukharam watched Nasim carefully for his answer.

  “We will see what we will see,” Nasim replied. “My hope is that Khamal prepared for this. He must have, or how could he have expected me to finish what he began?”

  Rabiah pressed. “What if he didn’t have time to complete it?”

  “He must have.”

  “What if he didn’t?”

  “He did.”

  “You can’t be sure.”

  “I know, Rabiah. I know. The best I can do is go and hope that Khamal has prepared the way.”

  Rabiah was not pleased with the answer. Neither was he, but it was the best he could do. Nasim could tell that Sukharam was uncomfortable with this exchange. He wanted more assurance that what they were doing was the right thing. Nasim wanted it as well, but the cold truth was they had no such thing. They would have to move forward and learn as they went, trusting to the fates to protect them.

  They approached an arcing stone bridge that crossed a clear stream. Part of it had collapsed, forcing them to walk single file to cross over it. As they continued on, they reached a section of the city that was markedly older, where the buildings were more densely packed. They were also taller, more grand, and in general their state of decay was greater.

  It reminded him of his walk with Ashan and Nikandr and Pietr as he guided them through the maze of akhoz toward Sariya’s tower. He half expected Ashan to step out from behind one of the buildings, to call out to them on the road, but of course he did not. Ashan was here-he could feel it-but not close. He only hoped that something hadn’t happened to him.

  He could sense the akhoz. They were hidden among the broken buildings, wandering, stalking, living out their miserable lives in this forgotten place. The feeling was not nearly so strong as it had been. Perhaps it was another symptom of the effect Nikandr’s soulstone had had on him, or perhaps it was because he was now more distanced from Adhiya; whatever the reason, he could not tell where they were, or how close, only that they were here.

  Soon they crested a hill, and below them, spread like a grand quilt before the bright blue waters of the bay, was the old city, the original settlement that had been rebuilt to contain the grandest structures. Near the bay was the white tower, Sariya’s tower, and though the magic of its presence had largely dissipated, the tower itself seemed whole. Pristine. This was the place Sariya had focused all of her energies over the final decades of her time here on Ghayavand. It was there that Nasim might find answers, but it was not a place he would go.

  Not yet.

  He looked further up the ridge that ran along the water’s edge. There, on a hill overlooking the city, was the tall dome of the celestia, the place Khamal went most often to take breath. As he raised his arm to point toward the celestia, a long call like the baying of a mule only infinitely more disturbing came from one of the nearby streets.

  Rabiah shot nervous glances between Nasim and the city. Sukharam looked as if he were ready to turn and run back over the hill, but to his credit, he pulled himself up and waited.

  “The akhoz,” Nasim said. “They are the lost, the forgotten, and they will try to prevent us from entering the city.”

  “What are they?” Sukharam asked.

  “They’ve been here since the sundering. I saw them when I was here last, and in my dreams ever since. They are part of the riddle of this place. It may be that in the end we will have to find the answer to that question before we can leave. At the very least we need to know how to move past them, for if they find us they will surely attack.”

  “How did the arqesh move through the city?”

  “I don’t know, but I can tell you how I did it when I was here last. The best way I can put it is that I slipped deeper into Adhiya. Come, I’ll teach you.”

  He strode forward, keeping a careful eye out for the akhoz, but when he turned back he saw that Rabiah hadn’t moved. She was a brave girl-braver than she ought to be at times-but this was too much even for her.

  “We’ll be careful. We won’t go far. Not today.”

  She nodded, though not before visibly gathering her courage.

  Together, the three of them made their way deeper into the city. As they walked, Nasim felt for the veil, felt for the world beyond. It was easy to do here, as easy as sensing the direction of the sun by the warmth it left on the skin.

  “Can you sense it?” Nasim asked Sukharam. “Adhiya?”

  “ Neh.”

  Nasim touched his shoulder. He felt Sukharam jump, but then he calmed down, and his breathing slowed. “Don’t try so hard. It’s much easier than you expect, and most likely you’re looking beyond it.”

  They walked in silence for a time, and as they did Nasim pulled Adhiya closer, used it to envelop them as he had done for Ashan and Nikandr and Pietr. He could feel the akhoz now. They, like he had been, were creatures of two worlds, but their senses were largely attuned to Erahm, the physical world. By drawing the three of them deeper into the world of the spirits, he was able to skirt their perceptions.

  Or so he thought.

  The one nearest, the one that had called not long ago, moved toward them. It was already close, and now it was running.

  Nasim pointed to an open doorway. “Inside, quickly.”

  And then he felt the others. How many more, he couldn’t tell, but they were going to be on them in moments.

  As they ducked inside the ruined stone home, Nasim touched Adhiya through Rabiah, preparing to defend them against the akhoz. Rabiah stared, eyes wide, though she seemed to have found some hidden source of resolve. Sukharam, however, was petrified. He moved to the corner of the room and hid his head between his knees. He shivered there, and a sad whimper escaped him each time he released his breath.

  Rabiah turned to go to him, but Nasim held her arm and shook his head.

  Crouching down, the two of them watched over the stone lip of the windowsill. Several buildings away, a girl of ten or eleven ran out into the stree
t. She was naked, her skin ashen. She dropped to all fours, chest heaving, head swinging back and forth. The skin of her eyes had grown over, making her look like some grotesque creature made from clay, not someone who once had been a normal girl-a daughter or a sister.

  Then came another akhoz, further down the street, this one a boy, a few years older than the girl. He approached in a feral crouch, his lips pulled back, revealing blackened teeth. The area where his nose had been was now nearly flat, the nostrils more like a frog’s than a boy’s. There was an intelligence in his gait and in the way he studied the girl, as if he had returned, at least somewhat, to the thinking, reasoning boy he had once been.

  The girl backed away, clearly exhausted. The boy stalked forward, as if he had paced himself carefully in order to have reserves while his prey spent herself.

  Rabiah squeezed Nasim’s arm. She nodded to an alleyway close to their hiding spot. Another boy stepped out from the shadows, padding silently along. His left arm was bleeding from a deep, blackened wound along his shoulder. His left hand hung limp, and he favored that side as he walked. In his other hand he held a curving, rusted khanjar.

  He was close now, but the girl sensed him. She turned and screamed, releasing a blast of fire from her mouth as she did so.

  Her attackers rushed forward. The one with the knife leapt onto her. They tousled on the ground like rabid dogs. The knife was held at bay momentarily, until the other attacker reached them. Together, they pinned the girl down, and then the knife was drawn across the girl’s throat.

  Black blood oozed from the wound. Slowly, the girl lost strength and fell slack against the stones and the yellow grass that grew between the cracks.

  Nasim didn’t understand why they would be fighting. The akhoz protected the city; they worked together, or at the very least didn’t fight with one another. Why would they have attacked?

  Before any sort of answer could come, the akhoz with the khanjar used it to hew at the chest of the girl. The boy seemed to be taking great care. Nasim had difficulty watching the gruesome act, but also found it impossible to look away.