He allows the stone to drop to the palm of his hand, and then he closes his fist around it if only to remove it from his sight, but the feeling that he is making a grand mistake does not fade, nor does the sense that he can no longer turn back.
He calms himself. He smiles for the girl, but she is fearful of him. Fearful of the stone.
He does nothing to comfort her. This is as much a test for her as it is for him.
Beyond the world of man, beyond the world of sky and earth, he can feel a spirit of fire, a suurahezhan. He does not beckon it. It comes of its own accord, hungering for life through the girl that lies before him.
He takes the stone and sets it upon the girl’s forehead.
Her body goes rigid.
And her screams echo through the night.
“Nasim, wake up.”
Nasim opened his eyes, blinking in the early light of dawn. These dreams-dreams that had been with him since a year after he’d been healed-were not so easily shaken. He’d seen this one many times before, but he’d never once seen what followed her screams. Despite this-or perhaps because of it-the girl haunted his waking hours. Who was she? What had Khamal done to her?
He knew it was part of the riddle he had to solve once he reached Ghayavand. He wished he knew more, but he suspected that more would be revealed to him once he reached the island. It must be so. The dreams were clearly a way for Khamal to pass Nasim his memories, and his desire for Nasim to return and complete his plans. Surely, when he came to the place where Khamal had died, he would learn more.
“Nasim!” Rabiah stood over him, her hand on the gunwales to steady herself. “Ushai is still following us.”
Nasim sat up, the dream fading only with reluctance. With Rabiah’s help, he stood and grabbed onto the skiff’s lone mast for support. Sukharam held the reins of the skiff’s lone sail, guiding them eastward. In the distance, near the horizon where the dark sea met the slate blue sky, he saw the sail of a skiff, golden in the early morning light. It was still leagues away, but there was no doubt as to who was harnessing the winds in order to follow them.
They had left the mountains four days ago, passing well beyond the Empire’s land and over the Sea of Tabriz. Rabiah and Sukharam watched him, waiting for his word, waiting for him to protect them.
Nasim motioned Sukharam toward the bedding and blanket he’d just vacated. “Get some rest. We’ll need you again soon.”
Nasim took the reins of the sail from him. Through Rabiah, he touched Adhiya. He felt the wind as it slipped over the smooth windwood hull of the skiff. He felt the gathering storm to the west. He felt the currents as they played over the dark blue sea. He called to a havahezhan, not the one that was nearest, but the strongest. It came to him, tentative as Nasim offered himself, offered a glimpse of Erahm. It seemed like such a simple thing at times, but this bond wore at him, as it did any qiram, as the hezhan drank from the world around him. As it did, it drained, sipping not only on the world, but Nasim as well.
But he was rested. He was ready, and he called upon the havahezhan to guide them eastward.
As the skiff bucked under the newfound wind, Nasim glanced down at Rabiah. She clutched her stomach. She swallowed and licked her lips. She always felt discomfort when he did this, but Nasim was more gifted than she once he’d managed to bond with a spirit. For the time being-at least until they lost Ushai in the storm to come-it was necessary.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her.
“Do not be,” she replied.
Throughout the morning, they added distance. Ushai’s ship was little more than a speck hovering just above the horizon. They lost sight of Ushai well before the storm caught up with them, and then, shortly after midday, it swept over them like an avalanche. Rain lashed down as they pulled on oiled coats. Nasim was less worried about Ushai as he was staying on course. He guided them as well as he was able, knowing he could adjust once he found the stars again, but not wanting to waste precious time and energy if he could avoid it.
The storm continued through the night and into the next day, and Nasim was growing exhausted. At last, when he thought he could take no more, the storm finally broke, and he allowed himself a rest.
Nasim had hoped they had lost Ushai in the storm, but Rabiah said she could feel her coming, and near dusk, they saw signs of her once again, close and coming closer.
Nasim took the reins again, this time using Sukharam to bond with a hezhan, but he had not yet recovered. He pushed hard once more, and again they added distance, but he found himself flagging much sooner than he’d hoped. Sukharam took a turn, but still Ushai gained on them.
“How can she do this?” Rabiah asked.
Nasim, sweat dripping from his brow as he glanced over his shoulder, shook his head. He cursed himself for a fool. “It’s the mule that wins the race up the mountain,” he muttered to himself, “not the dancing pony.
Sukharam looked at him, confused, but Rabiah answered with a look on her face like a scolded child. “We’ve pushed too hard. Ushai is calling upon her hezhan steadily, while we burn through ours in too little time. It’s easier on the hezhan, easier on her, and in the meantime we exhaust ourselves trying to break away.”
They adjusted their approach after that, moving only enough to stay ahead of Ushai, but it was clear it wasn’t going to work. They were already exhausted, and the simple act of staying ahead taxed them heavily.
On the morning of their sixth day on the winds, it became too much. The morning was bright, the sky clear. The winds were mild, a welcome thing after the way the skies had tossed them about the last few days. Nasim, exhausted, released his hezhan, allowing Ushai’s skiff to approach.
Rabiah’s eyes went wide. “Don’t give up.” She stood and held out her hands. “Let me take over. She’ll fail soon. She must.” She was young and headstrong and brave, but also unaware of her own limitations.
“ Neh,” Nasim said, more weary than he’d been in years. “I would speak with her.”
As the skiff approached, Nasim watched it carefully. He thought there might be others, spelling Ushai from time to time, but there was no one else. When her skiff came even with theirs, Ushai dropped the reins, allowing the sail to billow and flap and the skiff to float freely on the wind. She was a handsome woman with arresting eyes and strong cheeks. The wind blew the sleeves of her dusty yellow robes, and Nasim saw the bracelets there-one with a stone of opal, the other of tourmaline.
For a moment, Ushai and Nasim could only stare at one another. Rabiah watched, her hands flexing. Sukharam looked on, his eyes darting between Nasim, Ushai, and Rabiah.
“You look well,” Ushai said, breaking the silence at last.
There was an awkward pause that followed in which they would normally have traded full names, but Nasim did not know his parents. He had no proper name.
“You may call me Nasim an Ashan, daughter of Shahda.” It was not something Nasim granted lightly; he had effectively named Ashan his father, but he reasoned that if anyone deserved such a title, it was Ashan.
Ushai nodded, bowing slightly, her face remaining serious. The wind played with her hair and her yellow, travel-worn robes. Her gaze moved over their large skiff. “Where are you going, son of Ashan?”
“I go where I will.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“That’s the only answer you’ll receive. I’ll not return to Mirashadal.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is that why you think I’ve come?”
Nasim paused. “Isn’t it?”
She shook her head. “You are old enough now. You may go where the fates take you. Fahroz will not prevent it, but she hopes you will one day return.”