“One night won’t kill us,” Shen’ti said from the window. The setting sun limned his lean face, lighting the eye facing into it with red fire. “Surely the howlers will have lost interest by morning.”
“And as long as nothing else catches our scent, we’ll be safe? Is that your plan?”
“What else is there? This city’s deserted.”
“We thought that before we met the sand howlers, too.”
“They probably came in after the dune shifted off it, same as us. Saw there was nothing in here worth eating, until they sniffed us out.”
Avra thrust an arm toward him. “Give me some of that water, then.”
Shen’ti shrugged off the bladder and handed it over. It wasn’t as heavy as Avra had hoped. “Go easy,” Shen’ti said.
Avra took a swig, swishing the stale water around in his mouth a few times before swallowing, as if he might fool himself that he’d had more than he did. Then he carried the bladder to Curran. “Water, Curran. Open up.”
Curran looked at him with deep, haunted eyes. “N-no,” he said. “Don’t w-waste any on m-me.”
“It’s no waste. We just need to get through tonight, and—”
“And then c-cross the desert on foot … searching for N-n-nibenay? I won’t m-make it, man. Th-this is where I d-die.”
“No more dying,” Avra said. “Shen’ti, tell him.”
But Shen’ti simply looked out the window, watching for howlers.
Curran was dead by morning.
The moons had been bright that night. When it was Avra’s turn to stand watch, he looked out over the once-buried city, dual shadows shifting as the moons cut their paths across the sky. He tried to picture the streets clogged with activity, the aromas of cooking fires and exotic perfumes wafting on a breeze, but he couldn’t. The place was dead, and might always have been so if not for the skeletons they had found.
When he slept, his dreams were dark and disturbed, full of faceless, nameless terrors. He could not remember details when he woke up, only the overwhelming sense of dread that had engulfed him, and that stayed with him into the day.
When sunlight struck his face in the morning, his eyes snapped open and he came to instant wakefulness. He looked over at Shen’ti, snoring softly where he leaned against the window, and then at Curran, arms out to his side, a pool of thick, dried blood around him.
“Shen’ti,” Avra said quietly.
Shen’ti jerked his head up, snorted, and blinked at him. “Akrankhot,” he mumbled.
“What?” Even as he asked, Avra realized he knew the word too, as if it had entered his mind through those confused dreams.
“It’s the name of this city. Akrankhot.”
“It’s a damnable place, whatever it’s called,” Avra said. “I think you’re right, though. That name is in my head, too.” He shook his head as if to loosen something stuck there. “I don’t know why, but it is.”
“Do you recall ever hearing anything about it?”
“Not a thing. As far as I know it hasn’t been thought of once since the desert swallowed it.” Avra tilted his head toward Curran. “He’s dead.”
“I see that. Never believed he would make it through the night.” Shen’ti’s words struck Avra as harsh, even though Avra had shared the sentiment.
“You think we can get out of here now? I don’t believe there’s any treasure to be had—certainly nothing worth the cost of our lives, in addition to the four already lost.”
Shen’ti gazed out the window for a long moment. “I think per—”
Avra shushed him. He pointed toward the open doorway. “Someone’s on the stairs.”
“Howlers?” Shen’ti asked.
“I don’t know.” He had heard the scuff of a foot. Just the one, but unmistakable. In a city so quiet, every sound stood out. As the two soldiers listened, they heard another one.
“The window,” Shen’ti said.
“We’re three floors up.”
Shen’ti was already stepping over the windowsill. “What if it’s a pack of howlers? Or something worse?”
Avra didn’t have to think it over. Whatever was out there might be sniffing them out, but without knowing for certain who was up here, or how many. When it, or they, found Curran, that might be distraction enough. Anyone looking at the window would have the same first reaction Avra had—only a fool would jump down three stories.
And it was true. But he and Shen’ti had never claimed not to be fools, in Avra’s memory.
Shen’ti lowered himself until he was dangling from his fingertips, then dropped to the street below. He hit with a thump, falling backward onto some rubble, and let out a tight cry. Avra followed suit. When he landed, his left ankle twisted beneath him and he flopped forward against the rough stone wall of the building. Dropping this way meant leaving Hagkun’s lotulis behind, but he still had his own sword.
“You hurt?” Shen’ti asked.
“I’ll live,” Avra said. “Let’s get out of here!” He started running, favoring his hurt ankle. When he glanced back to make sure Shen’ti followed, he saw a shadow in the window they had just left. One of the sand howlers, its eyes glittering in the sunlight.
Several blocks later, they still had not reached the wide avenue that marked the city’s boundary. The pain in Avra’s ankle had reached an agonizing level, and it was already beginning to swell. “I can’t run anymore,” he said, leaning on a nearby wall for support. “Are they chasing us?”
“I don’t know,” Shen’ti said.
“I can’t run anymore,” Avra said. “I’m sorry, Shen’ti. Perhaps you should escape. I need to let my ankle rest.”
“Neither of us will make it alone,” Shen’ti said. “If rest we must, let’s find another hiding place. A better one, this time, where they can’t sniff us out.”
Avra knew he couldn’t run more than a few steps without collapsing. If he went slow, kept his weight off his left leg, he could get around, but barely. Healing might take days.
He kept his mouth shut, though. He had offered Shen’ti a way out. If the man chose not to take it, Avra couldn’t force him.
“Through here!” Shen’ti shouted. He pushed on a wooden door, held closed only by the sheer weight of debris piled on the floor behind it. The stuff scraped back as Shen’ti forced the door open. Avra searched for any indication of what the building’s function had once been, but the walls were empty. Akrankhot, he remembered. At least we know that much about it.
Shen’ti shoved the door closed. They waded through detritus, mostly plaster from the walls and collapsed ceiling, and through an arched doorway on the far side of the room.
Here they found another staircase, spiraling up and down. Not much light filtered through the closed door, although there might have been windows on an upper floor. Shen’ti started up.
“No more jumping!” Avra insisted. “Let’s go down.”
“But.… we’ll be trapped down there, if anything follows us in.”
“I’ll be just as trapped above,” Avra said. “I can’t risk landing on this ankle again, so either way I’ll have to fight.”
Shen’ti shrugged. “Down it is, then.” He started to descend, and Avra followed, pressing against the walls to help.
He had not known Shen’ti well, but the man had always struck him as opinionated, never shy about sharing his beliefs. If Shen’ti thought they should go up, he would have made that argument. Avra was glad not to be deserted, but there was something strange about how agreeable the man had become. Shen’ti would bear close watching.
The stairs wound down and down, into what seemed like the depths of Athas itself. They should have been pitch black after the first curves, but somehow the walls seemed to glow with just enough luminosity to keep the short, smooth stone steps visible. Avra kept expecting a landing, a subterranean floor—some sort of destination for this staircase. But instead of finding it, he kept limping, around and around. Shen’ti was moving faster, so far ahead that Avra could no longer hear the huff of his companion’s breath, only the rasp of his feet on the steps. The air was blessedly cool, but held a sharp tang reminiscent of blood, giving him the unpleasant sensation that he was descending into some gigantic creature’s veins.