against the other, Muqallad, who was far stronger than they.”
“Even together they could not overpower him?”
“He was more ruthless than they. They would not, as he would, ravage the land nor their followers who still lived a half-life existence, caught as they were between Erahm and Adhiya.”
“If this is so, then how could Sariya still live? How could there still be a struggle for this island?”
Ashan turned his gaze on Nasim, who walked ahead of them. “That is something we may find out before too long. I hoped that by bringing Nasim here he will understand the bond that lies between you, that he will be able, once and for all, to find his way fully into this world.”
“Erahm.”
Ashan nodded. “It is through you, his touchstone, that he has been able to make such progress. Believe me when I say he would not have been able to speak so lucidly were it not for the day you met him on the eyrie.”
“That tells me little of why you came here.”
“Then see for yourself.” Ashan pointed up to the sky. They had reached the ridge. The wind was stronger here. It played along the prairie in the narrow plateau on which they found themselves. Nasim was sitting among the grass, half-hidden, staring up at the sky. Nikandr looked to where Ashan had pointed and saw a swirl of cloudstuff pull away from the larger body above it. Something in his chest began to ache as the havahezhan darted to and fro like a hummingbird, but then-as if it had just spied the humans below-it shot downward. Its form, swirling tightly as it plummeted, could only be seen because it still held the mist from the clouds.
The blood drained from Nikandr’s face and he took a step forward, but he stopped when Ashan gripped his arm.
“He will not be harmed.”
The havahezhan continued to plummet.
The feeling within him, bordering on pain, began to feel more and more familiar. “Tell me,” he said, the thoughts still forming in his mind, “the hezhan that attacked me on Uyadensk, the one summoned by the Maharraht, could it be here, now, right before us?”
Ashan stared up at the havahezhan as it swirled and twisted, breaking away from its course toward Nasim. “Impossible.”
“I can feel it”-he pressed the tips of his fingers to his soulstone- “here.”
Ashan was silent as he studied the hezhan. “Do you feel as you did on the mountainside?”
He meant when Nikandr had summoned the wind to save them from the snow. “I do.”
The havahezhan dropped again. A swirl of dirt was drawn upward around Nasim. Nasim dashed forward, trying to touch the wall of air, but it moved fluidly, staying just ahead. And then Nikandr realized that he had been feeling something ever since he’d seen the spirit-even before he’d seen it. His soulstone… He looked down and found that there was the barest iridescent quality held deep within it. His chest still hurt, and it felt nothing like what it did when he was searching for his mother, or when he touched stones with someone for the first time. Those felt like a simple warmth that suffused his chest like the remembrance of a long, warm bath while lying in bed. This felt like an absence, a loneliness, as if something he had held precious within his heart had suddenly been taken away.
“How can it be, Ashan?”
“Perhaps it became attuned to you. Perhaps your proximity to Ghayavand has drawn its attention. Who can know such things?”
Nikandr watched as the havahezhan rose into the sky and vanished. In only moments, the feeling in his chest faded and was gone.
“How could it have found me?”
“Perhaps from the qualities of this place, its similarity to Uyadensk.”
Nikandr turned to regard Ashan who was staring at him calmly, with that small smile on his lips he always seemed to possess.
Ashan guessed his next question. “The rift over Uyadensk is not so different than here on Ghayavand. What began here centuries ago is now spreading.”
Nikandr shook his head, confused. “The blight?”
“Can there be any doubt? I don’t know how the rift that formed here remained in check for so many years. I don’t know what caused it to change. But I know that it has. A chain of events has begun, and we must learn the way to reverse it, before it is too late.”
Despite the warmth of this place, Nikandr shivered. “And if we do not?”
“Then I fear the entire world will become like this island. Inhospitable. Wild. The only reason Ghayavand hasn’t devolved into utter madness is because of the will of Muqallad, and to a certain degree Sariya.”
“What will happen when one of them dies?”
Ashan was silent as they reached the edge of the plateau they walked upon. Nikandr stopped and looked. And his mouth fell open.
The land descended quickly and reached out into the dark sea with two long and verdant arms. Nestled in the deep valley where the two arms met was a city-a city every bit as large as Volgorod. Rounded towers vaulted into the sky, and dozens-hundreds-of smaller buildings hugged the form of the mountain, creating a crescent of pale brown stone against the bright green landscape.
The size of the city was a shock, but it was the state of it that was more alarming. The towers, the buildings, even from this distance, looked like broken and empty husks, as if each had been systematically dismantled from within. It was not unlike a wasp nest would look after carrion beetles had finished devouring the interior, wasps and all.
“What happened?”
“Hubris, son of Iaros. Hubris.”
CHAPTER 46
When Rehada and Atiana reached the Valley of Iramanshah, the crack of a cannon cast itself over the valley walls, echoing faintly after that first startling report. In the sky above, two ships were gliding toward an Aramahn skiff. The skiff surely could have outmaneuvered the ships, could have outraced them as well, but they would not risk the guns of the Landed ships-neither the ones on the ships chasing them nor the ones that would harry Iramanshah were they to escape.
The soldiers aboard the schooner lashed the skiff to the larger ship as they turned northward to return to the long line of ships further out to sea.
“Why do they take them?” Rehada asked Atiana, who rode nearby on a dun pony.
“As a warning to Khalakovo: no one will be allowed to land, nor to leave.”
“As if a handful of Aramahn could change the balance.”
“They could be spies or messengers, bringing word to Khalakovo’s allies.”
“Your mother would bring word to them, would she not?”
“It might be too dangerous. The other Matri could interfere with or listen to their communication. Or worse, they might attack. I have a feeling all of the Matri are taking great care while treading the dark.”
“Even the Duchess Khalakovo? She is the strongest, is she not?”
“She is, but that doesn’t mean she could fend off a concerted attack from the others. She runs herself ragged in peacetime.” Atiana glanced up at the ships, which were small against the background of the high gray clouds. “It will be worse now.”
They continued to the village in silence, and they were met by two unarmed men at the gates. As she had been instructed, Rehada asked to speak with Muwas, at which point one went to fetch him. They were led to the courtyard outside the tall doors. They waited for some time, but at last Muwas stepped through the doors and guided Rehada away from Atiana to speak quietly by the fountain. Atiana watched them warily, with no little amount of anxiety in her eyes.
“What has happened?” Rehada asked as she motioned to the water within the fountain, which-normally a sign of life and vibrancy-lay still.
