find it in himself to turn his head.
Sounds of soft scraping came, as of someone climbing the rock, and soon he saw a form standing above him.
It was not Muqallad, nor Sariya.
He could not at first understand who it was.
But then he realized.
And he nearly cried.
By the fates who shine above, it was Rabiah.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
N asim looked up into the beautiful face of Rabiah. She’d come to take him. Of this he was sure.
She kneeled, and the moment she did, the numbness that had been spreading through him stopped. Then it receded, and the pain began to return.
She touched the knife, and pain seared through him-white hot at the center of his being, like embers hidden deep beneath the ash.
“I can’t! Let me go!”
He couldn’t go back. He was ready to leave this world, one way or another.
She leaned close to his ear. “You cannot go,” she whispered. “Not yet.”
He could do little more than draw breath, though each one fluttered in his throat and caused so much pain he felt as though he were merely holding his breath. He had been prepared to leave, but staring into her eyes, the eyes of a girl he had come to cherish, he realized he couldn’t do it. What a poor man he would be if he gave up now-on himself and Rabiah and the world itself-simply because of pain.
He swallowed, staring into Rabiah’s beautiful eyes. He swallowed again, not sure if he could go on.
She nodded to him with a smile on her lips, a smile as wide and deep as the sky.
With that one simple gesture, his nerves began to calm. He could not go, he told himself. He could not.
There was still much to do.
Rabiah waited for him to nod in return, and then in one sharp motion pulled the knife free.
His body rigored. His muscles tightened like catgut. His head convulsed, heedless of stone beneath him.
And he screamed for the first time. He screamed to the sky above, to the seas below, to the mountains beyond and the fires beneath. He screamed, unable to understand who he was, what he was, until he felt cool hands touch his forehead, urging him to stillness.
He thought it impossible, but the more her palms pressed downward, the more he was able to control the pain. It did not fade, but he found that with that one simple touch of skin against skin he was able to master it, and himself.
“How did you find me?” Nasim asked.
Rabiah did not respond. She merely helped him to sit up.
When he did, he realized the pain was not so great as it had been only moments ago. He looked down and saw that the flow of blood was merely a trickle. The wound was beginning to close as if drawn by purse strings.
She helped him to stand. Her hands were warm. They were wonderful. It was so glorious to have her near.
If she noticed his rush of emotions she didn’t mention it. She held his hand as they stepped down from the rock-as Muqallad and Sariya had done only a short while ago-and together they trekked along the sand back toward Alayazhar. They went beyond the beach, and by the time they’d climbed the path up to the city proper, his wound had closed entirely. It felt strange, though. Tender. But more than this, it felt as though it would never heal. Not completely.
Rabiah led him toward the tower until Nasim stopped and pulled his hand away.
“We can’t,” he said.
She turned and regarded him. “There’s no other way.”
Nasim shook his head. “We cannot place ourselves in her power again.”
“We will not,” Rabiah said.
As she said these words, he felt souls about the city, the souls of the akhoz that still remained. He knew that these were those that had remained to keep the rifts stable. They were also those that Khamal himself had sacrificed. Though Nasim himself had had nothing to do with them, he also knew that they were attuned to him-yet another effect, intended or not, of the circumstances surrounding Khamal’s death.
Through the broken streets and alleys of Alayazhar, the akhoz approached. Their presence made him aware of the aether and of Adhiya beyond. By the fates, they felt closer than any time since the ritual on Oshtoyets, a time when he’d barely been aware of himself or the worlds around him. His mind had been only a shadow of what he would become, and yet he had lost so much since then. Had it been because of Khamal, or had it simply been because he’d tried too hard? Had it all been self-imposed?
He longed to reach beyond, to commune with the hezhan. He longed for their touch. He wanted to give of himself so they could learn from him. But he knew that such a thing would be foolish here. Now was not the time.
The akhoz were near. They approached the tower, not with rage or hunger, but with reverence. They shambled, their arms to their sides, their faces slightly uplifted, as if they were basking in some unseen glow.
“Come, my children,” he said to the crisp air. “Come, and we will go where we are needed.”
They moved more quickly now, but with no lesser sense of awe and deference. There were dozens, all of them ready to do what Nasim asked of them. He was saddened-their lives had been cut short so long ago, and they’d been forced into an existence infinitely worse than beasts of burden-but at least their lives might have some meaning in the end.
Rabiah tugged Nasim’s hand. She nodded toward the tower. “Time grows short.”
He did not want to enter the tower, but he would trust her. He would trust her, he thought, as he had not trusted her in life.
As they walked toward the iron fence, the smell of the air changed. The wind calmed. The clouds in the sky paused.
“What’s happened?” Nasim asked.
“What do you mean?”
“The sky,” he said. “The wind.”
“Nothing is different…”
Nasim looked to her, wondering how she couldn’t have known, but her gaze was fixed on the tower ahead, as if that and that alone was what mattered.
Nasim felt it, though, and it was growing worse, this feeling of pregnant intent. It felt like the time before a great storm, but this one, thought Nasim, was going to be worse than any other.
They walked through the open gate, the akhoz following. Rabiah stopped at the door to the tower. Nasim didn’t understand at first, but it soon became clear she was waiting for him to open it. Why she refused to touch it he didn’t know, but it seemed important that he not ask of it, so he took the handle and opened it himself.
Inside it was dark and foreboding, but beyond this he could not sense Sariya’s presence. He stepped within, and immediately the akhoz swept into the room behind him. They moved like a pack of animals. Nasim didn’t know what had changed, but they seemed hungry-hungry for blood. Some climbed the stairs as if their hunger drove them to hunt, to move, even knowing there was nothing to find in the upper levels of the tower, but most of them remained in the room, crouching, their eyeless faces trained on him and the door.
It felt strangely comforting to have these forgotten souls join him, but the one he most dearly wished would join him-Rabiah-remained just outside.
“Will you not come?” Nasim asked her.
She did not respond.
He nodded, not wanting to close the door, for he knew that when he did, she would be gone forever.
