of cardamom.
“Do you know,” she asked, taking the stone from Atiana’s palm, “what Muqallad hopes to do with this?”
Her words implied that she was not part of Muqallad’s plans. Atiana still worried that this was simply not true, but she had felt Sariya’s mind. She had, for however short a time, become a part of Sariya-just as Sariya had been a part of her-and there was no denying that her fears were unfounded.
“He wishes to create more akhoz,” Atiana replied.
“The akhoz had nothing to do with the stone,” Sariya said. “They acted as sacrifices only, providing him with a way to heal the stone. Neh, he wishes to bring about indaraqiram. Do you know what this is?”
“It’s the end of the world.”
Sariya could not seem to prevent herself from giving Atiana a patronizing smile. “In one sense it is the end of the world, but in another it is the beginning. We hope, through our efforts on this mortal plane, to learn, to attain higher wisdom, to become as perfect as we can be so that one day we might achieve vashaqiram-a perfect state of enlightenment. And if we can do this, we can teach others, so that they might do the same. And if enough can do so, we can bring the world to its next stage.”
“You sound as though you pray for his success.”
Sariya did not seem perturbed by this comment, but rather, thoughtful. “Any brightness in my eyes, daughter of Radia, stems from the hope that we can one day achieve indaraqiram. I do not, however, believe that Muqallad can deliver us to this goal. He hopes to force it, as if this world and the next can be bent to his will. It cannot, but there is a desperation that comes from standing face to face with your greatest failure for three hundred years.”
“And what of you?” Atiana asked. “You were in the same position as Muqallad and Khamal. What would you hope to do?”
“I?” Sariya stepped to the window and beckoned Atiana closer. “I merely hope to set the world right, so that I can leave it in some semblance of peace. I yearn for the other world. I desire it deeply. So deeply I dream of it. Some days I feel as though Adhiya touches my skin. I smell it on the wind and sense it in the skies. There are days where I swear I can taste it.”
Atiana approached the window. “Then why not go?”
To suggest suicide to an Aramahn was a grave insult-they believed that even in the lowest circumstances there are things to be learned, knowledge to be gained-but she needed to know this woman better if she were to have any hope of judging her.
Sariya’s face turned cross. “I stay because Erahm has need of me, and I would give her those things I have to offer, regardless of the pains I may suffer.”
Atiana reached the window. Outside stood the straits and the massive white arches of the Spar. The sun shone brightly upon much of it, but the far side and the city of Vihrosh were caught in a light fog that glowed brightly, as if the ancients themselves were shining down upon them. The scene was beatific, until Atiana noticed the wagons moving across the span of the bridge. They were supply wagons, she realized. Dozens of them. Those nearing the southern edge of the Spar bore munitions, and behind them were teams and teams of ponies pulling canons.
As a mixture of confusion and anger and-strangely-betrayal welled up inside her, Atiana shook her head. “You’re sending them to Vostroma.”
“You asked what I hoped to do. After the tearing of the aether on Ghayavand, the wards that were put into place held for some time. But over the years they weakened. Rifts were formed elsewhere. They were small at first, but over time they grew and spread until the worlds themselves became threatened. Muqallad hopes to use that to his advantage.” Sariya held the stone out to Atiana. “And all he needs is this.”
Atiana accepted the Atalayina, and when she did, it felt ten times heavier than it had moments ago.
Sariya seemed to sense this, for she nodded to the stone. “If he can fuse this, the third piece, to the other two, he will be able to rip the aether asunder, a thing from which neither world would, I fear, ever recover. Eons would pass before we could begin anew.”
“What does this have to do with bringing war to the islands?”
“Not war, Atiana. I do no more than I need to.”
“If not war, then what?”
“I have come to learn what happened on Khalakovo five years ago. You and Nikandr healed the boy-he who was Khamal. When you did this, it also healed the rift, did it not?”
Atiana merely stared, fearing to speak.
“It was one of many rifts that were open at the time, which were but a few of the ones that have opened and closed since. If Muqallad is to succeed, he needs to find a place where using the Atalayina will cause the rest to open wide.”
“That could only be Ghayavand,” Atiana said.
“ Neh, the wards around the island are weakened, but they are still very much in place.”
The answer, of course, was standing right before her.
She stared out the window.
At the Spar.
She thought of the confluence of aether centered here at the straits. It was a place of concentrated power, so strong that for centuries neither the Matri nor the Grand Duchy’s windships had ever been able to cross it.
“This may be the place he seeks,” Atiana said, “but that doesn’t answer the question. Why wage war against us?”
“Because the pressure that has built up here at the straits must be relieved. It is not war, but a means to an end. Hakan watches for him-he will prevent Muqallad’s arrival if he can-but Muqallad needs but little. With only a few of his servants he can perform his ritual anywhere on the island. The only way to stop him is to relieve the pressure, as Nasim did on Oshtoyets.”
“But how?”
“The spires, Atiana Radieva. The spires of the Grand Duchy. They must fall.”
Atiana swallowed, felt the world around her recede. “What?”
“It has already begun. Three spires have been destroyed, and more will follow.”
“But if more of them fall… The storms will worsen. It will cost more lives.”
“It has, and it will, but it is worth it.”
“We depend on those spires.”
“That may be true, but it is just as true that they cannot be allowed to remain standing. If you would save lives, I would ask you to take the dark, speak with your Matri. Tell them to agree to destroy the spires before we are forced to do it ourselves.”
“I cannot do that.”
“You are a daughter of the islands.” Sariya spoke these words like an accusation. “If you care for them at all, you will do this.”
Before Atiana could react, Sariya snatched the Atalayina from her hand. Atiana tried to take it back, but Sariya drew her hand away, her eyes fierce. Atiana grabbed her wrist, but cried out and pulled away immediately. Sariya’s wrist had become as hot as a glowing brand.
“Go, Atiana,” Sariya said. “Think on this carefully. Return to me if you change your mind, but make no mistake, one way or another, I will see them fall. Better that it be orderly, don’t you think, than to see so many die?”
Atiana turned at the sound of the bootsteps upon the nearby stairs. Two guardsmen stood there, ready to lead her from the room. Before she left, Atiana looked back and saw Sariya staring out the window at the wagons moving steadily southward.
As the guards led her down the tower stairs, Atiana’s emotions began to cool, and she found herself surprised not at what had happened but that she was seriously considering Sariya’s offer. By the time she had gone three levels down, she’d made up her mind.
She stopped. The guards did not seem surprised. In fact, they parted easily as she took one hesitant step after another back up toward the top of the tower. It felt like a betrayal, walking back up those stairs, but she knew Sariya wasn’t lying-she’d felt it when they’d shared one mind-and she forced herself to continue, step after confusing step.
