color. It seemed lifeless, and so she could only assume that he was unbonded.
The other man had a horrible scar where the lower half of his left ear should have been. The crest of his ear was festooned with a half-dozen golden earrings. This close, she realized who he must be. Everyone on the islands knew of him. He could be no other than Soroush Wahad al Gatha, the leader of the Maharraht.
The very thought made what little courage she had left drain from her. But what could she do now? To leave would be to alert them to her presence.
The older one, apparently satisfied, stood, and the two of them spoke in Mahndi to one another. Atiana knew little of the language, but it sounded harsher than the way Father’s servants spoke it. After a short discussion, they set to work digging in the rocky soil using the shovels they’d brought. The going was slow at first, but once they hit the sandy-clay soil, they went much faster. Soon they had formed what Atiana could only describe as a grave.
After tossing the shovels aside, the two hugged, then kissed, and then the one with the graying beard laid down in the pit. Atiana’s eyes widened as Soroush began pushing the mounded soil back into the hole. In little time, the moist earth had been piled upon the buried man. Soroush moved himself a few paces away, and there he crouched, closed his eyes, and began humming an ancient and arrhythmic melody.
Atiana grasped her soulstone. Matra, please, hear me.
But she sensed that the Matra would not.
She gripped the pistol, gaining some small comfort from it. She debated on whether to fire upon Soroush while he was alone. She could reload and take the other as he crawled from his grave- if he crawled from his grave. She pulled the striker to full-cock, pouring a bit of powder into the pan for good measure. She was a decent shot, but she had never fired at someone.
These men were ruthless, she told herself. They would kill her without a thought if they found her. She was merely protecting the interests of her family.
Which family? she asked. Khalakovo or Vostroma? Lately, she had felt as if she were of neither, but here, as she readied her aim, she felt as though she belonged to both.
She trained the pistol on the Maharraht. Fire now, she told herself, fire. But her arm was shaking so badly she was sure she would miss. Using two hands only seemed to make matters worse.
And then the earth shivered. A great crack rent the sound of the pounding surf. Atiana felt it in her feet and in her bones. Another crack pierced the air, and this time she felt the rock move. She leapt away, hoping she could make it far enough that she wouldn’t be spotted, but she lay there awestruck as the rock she had been standing on unfolded into a tall, stone beast. Much of it was a mottled gray color, but its front-the portions of the hezhan that had moments ago been folded within itself-was black as night and glittering, as if it had swallowed the midnight sky, stars and all. It stood on two massive legs, and it had four oddly segmented arms attached to a chest the size of a wine tun.
She raised her pistol, aimed at the thing’s face. She squeezed the trigger. The pan flashed as the gun pounded her wrist and forearm. A cloud of scree exploded from its head. For a moment everything stood still. But then the dust and rock cleared and it was obvious that her ill-advised shot had done nothing.
She thought the beast would step forward and place one foot upon her chest and press the life from her, but instead it turned and began digging at the earth where its master lay buried. Soroush helped, though while he was doing so he would every so often glance her way.
Atiana backed away, preparing to run, but before she had taken three steps the other raider stood from his grave, covered in wet earth, staring straight at her. His eyes were hard, as if he were furious that he’d been discovered even though Atiana had seen little. The vanahezhan raised its arm-
Atiana’s eyes went wide, and she scrabbled away as quickly as she could.
— and the earth flew upward in great gouts, plowing ever closer to Atiana. The sound of it was like a landslide.
She leapt, but the spraying rocks tore into her left leg. She screamed while rolling away. When she found her feet, she had trouble standing, so sharp was the pain in her knee.
The hezhan raised its palm once more, and Atiana readied herself to dodge, but before she could the water among the rocks in front of her began to hiss. Steam rose up and filled the air, and in a flash everything around her was as hot as a steam bath and the air was thick with fog.
The ground shook with the footsteps of the vanahezhan. It resolved out of the fog, mere paces away. Atiana tried to run toward the relative safety of the larger rocks, but the pain in her leg allowed her little more than a shambling gait. The beast followed, knocking aside a massive boulder with a swat of two of its trunk-thick arms. She retreated further, but the beast was catching up. Soon, she had no more rock to hide behind. There was only open land between her and the forest. The sound of the surf suddenly intensified, but Atiana could spare no time to look.
The vanahezhan picked up a huge boulder and prepared to launch it at Atiana. The rock itself began to hiss, and the front of it began to glow dully red. It cracked in half as the beast attempted to throw it. It crashed into the beach halfway to Atiana.
Footsteps crunched over the stone behind her. Atiana turned and saw a woman-an Aramahn woman-running toward her from out of the mist. “Come quickly,” the woman said as she grabbed Atiana by the wrist and led her toward the water. She was beautiful. She had long black hair cut straight across the brow. A glowing tourmaline gem rested in the center of a circlet upon her brow.
Atiana couldn’t believe her eyes. She had only a few descriptions of the woman, but she had no doubts. For reasons known only to the ancients, Nikandr’s Aramahn whore had come to save her.
CHAPTER 31
“Into the water,” Rehada said, her voice tight.
Atiana could do little but obey. The vanahezhan was already pounding its way toward them. Steam rose from the hissing rocks, covering their retreat. They had gone a dozen paces into the surf when Rehada said, “Swim.” She yanked Atiana’s arm, pulling her off balance. “Do not allow your feet to touch the seabed.”
Through gritted teeth Atiana sucked in a lungful of breath as the icy water enveloped her. She swam backward as the vanahezhan reached the edge of the water and stopped. It swayed its head back and forth like a bloodhound. Then it raised its four arms up high and brought them down together against the beach. A great plume of water and rock and mud rose up into the sky.
The fog around them was thick, and soon they lost sight of the hezhan entirely.
“It will not find us as long as we don’t touch the rock,” Rehada said.
“Grand. Then all we need do is swim to Duzol and we’ll be safe.”
“It will leave soon enough.”
“How do you know?”
“They know they have been discovered. When they do not find us, they will hide.”
“How can you be so sure they won’t find us?”
“I can’t.” Rehada leaned into the water and began to swim in a direction parallel to the shoreline.
Atiana was forced to decide whether she would follow, but there was little choice, and she soon began swimming after Rehada. The water was numbing, drawing away her energy, but she was still high with fear, and so they were able to go quite a long distance. The fog finally dissipated. As they swam beyond it, it rose up behind them white and thick while the way ahead was clear and bright under a cloudless sky. They headed for land after seeing no one on the shore, and by the time they dragged themselves out of the heavy surf, Atiana’s arms and legs were leaden. She kissed her soulstone, not particularly willing to show weakness in front of Rehada but even less willing to ignore her ancestors, who had clearly been watching over her this day.
“Come,” Rehada said, “this is no time to rest.” And then she was off toward the trees.
Atiana gritted her teeth against the pain throbbing up her left leg and limped after her. They moved as quickly as they could, Atiana often looking behind them to see if anyone was following.
“That was Soroush, wasn’t it?”
Rehada ignored her.
Atiana grabbed Rehada’s arm and turned her around. “What was the leader of the Maharraht doing
