“And yet you still came.”
“Because there is more,” Nikandr continued. “I mentioned the rifts, how they have until now been of no great strength, but there is another forming. On Rafsuhan.”
Nikandr watched her closely. She masked her response well, but it was there: surprise, followed immediately by the realization of his true goal here. But she held her tongue. She didn’t want Nikandr to know that Soroush was here within this very village, only a short distance below in one of the lowest rooms of the ballast tower.
Nikandr fought to hide secrets of his own, however. The Chaika was lashed to the village and would be receiving all the attention of Mirashadal, but by now the Strovya would have reached the tower, and Anahid, his best dhoshaqiram, would have begun warping the living wood that kept Soroush imprisoned. Atiana was to signal him when they were done, but so far he’d heard nothing. He needed to give them more time.
“I know he’s here, Fahroz. Give him to me. If I am to study the rift, I will need him.”
Fahroz looked at him as if he’d gone daft. “He will kill you the moment he lays eyes on you.”
“It isn’t just his land that’s at stake now. It’s his people.”
“They care nothing for the land. They will take to the winds, as they always have.”
“I don’t think so. They’re rooted to Rafsuhan and Muhraban like never before, and Soroush knows it. He will not wish to see his people die. You do not wish it, either. You can make a difference for them, Fahroz. Don’t let Erahm swallow them whole.”
“The fates will do as they will!” She practically shouted the words, but in the ensuing silence she stared into Nikandr’s eyes, chest heaving with breath, perhaps considering his words.
And then a bell began to ring, over and over. It was not from the Chaika.
Someone had discovered them.
Fahroz ran to the door. “Stay where you are,” she said to Nikandr as he stood. She put herself in the doorway as he approached.
“I must leave, Fahroz.”
Her eyes were filled with a rage that had been pent up for years, but there was something else: the realization that she had been betrayed. He had always liked Fahroz, even respected her despite her rigidness-or perhaps because of it-and it pained him that it had come to this, but he knew she would never have given up Nasim or Soroush.
“You would steal from this village? I thought you different from your fathers, Nikandr, or I never would have allowed you to step foot onto Mirashadal.”
“Soroush is not yours to keep. He is Erahm’s.” Nikandr took a step closer. “Now let me pass.”
“I will not.”
He tried to push past her. She resisted, but she was not a strong woman. Nikandr was soon past her and onto the walkway, but it made him feel small, smaller than he had felt in years.
There was nothing to do about it now. He rushed through the village and up toward the perch where the Chaika waited for him. More bells rang throughout the village.
He moved as quickly as he could, especially when the wind began to gust. Despite the cold, the air was becoming oppressively humid.
He flew up the winding stairs to the Chaika’s perch. The winds at the top of the stairs blew so fiercely that he was nearly swept off his feet.
The perch he’d left a short time ago stood before him. Frost rimed the end of it, where two qiram stood, both of them facing out toward the sea. Two other Aramahn men stood to the side of the perch where the ship had been moored, each holding a curved knife.
And the Chaika…
The Chaika was nowhere to be seen.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nikandr’s heart pounded as he searched the skies for his ship.
The two Aramahn with the knives approached him, but as they did they slid the knives into sheaths at their belts. They would not harm Nikandr-the beliefs they held most dear prevented it-but they could easily prevent him from leaving, and they would hold him if they thought it important to do so.
They had cut the mooring lines so the havaqiram could summon the winds to push the Chaika away from the village, far enough that Nikandr couldn’t reach it. The jalaqiram standing next to him had probably drenched the ship in water, particularly the cannons and muskets-the lanterns, as well, Nikandr realized, so that he stood no chance of seeing the ship-and with the wind roaring through the village, and the bells ringing, there was no way he could hear the ship, either.
Through his chalcedony stone, Nikandr could feel the wind master’s bond to his hezhan. He could feel his own as well. It called to him, begged him to draw upon it so that it could experience Erahm through Nikandr. He did so now, combating the winds that were summoned by the Aramahn.
As the wind died down, one of the Aramahn turned and addressed him. “Your ship is gone, son of Iaros. It is best you come with us.”
Nikandr didn’t know what to do. He searched the skies behind them again, but the dark beyond the siraj stones lining the perch was complete.
Where had the other ship gone? Had it been taken already?
What about Atiana? He hadn’t heard her, nor could he feel her through his stone.
The Aramahn came closer. His robes of green and gray whipped about his knees and calves. His face was both serious and sad. “Please. You’ve done enough this day.”
“What I did was necessary.”
“You wear cloth over your eyes, and yet you claim to see the stars.”
Nikandr looked to the other perches. Few of them had siraj stones, but those that did were achingly empty. He should have come with more ships. He should have come bearing weapons.
Nyet, he told himself. He couldn’t have done such a thing, not to people that bore him no ill will, who would refuse to harm him even if he killed one of their own.
He stepped forward, ready to give himself to them, to wait, perhaps, for a ransom. They would not keep him forever…
But then a flapping of wings came. At the edge of the light, far beyond the end of the perch, was a flurry of wings darker than the surrounding sea.
A harsh caw came from Vikra. “Below, Nischka! Below!”
The havaqiram turned and raised his arms. The winds responded with the howl of a gale, blowing the rook end over end and out to sea.
Nikandr ran toward the edge of the perch. The Aramahn moved to intercept him. Nikandr reached it first and stared downward, searching frantically for what Atiana had been referring to.
The Aramahn grabbed his arms, began pulling him back.
He fought desperately, trying to keep himself near the edge.
But they had him, and they dragged him away.
And then he saw it. A glimmer of light, far, far below.
He railed against the Aramahn. They were strong, and there were two of them, but they were hindered by their wish to do no harm, while he was not. After a violent surge in one direction, he sent them off balance. He rushed forward, placing his boot behind one man’s leg. The man went down as Nikandr twisted his arm sharply. He punched the other man in the throat and twisted beneath the man’s grasp, spilling him awkwardly.
Freed, he sprinted toward the end of the perch. Anything to give him extra distance from the bulk of the village below.
“Do not!” the havaqiram shouted, raising his arms.
Nikandr kept running.
And he leapt.
For a moment the blackness before him simply held, motionless.
And then he was plummeting downward, wind whipping past him, tugging at his hair and clothes. The sound of the wind gained until it was a roar.
He opened his bond to his hezhan, but nothing happened. He continued to plummet, and he wondered when he would meet the sea and his death.
But then the wind responded. It was already rushing past, but now it pressed upon him. He could feel himself slowing. He spread his arms wide, and like a gull on the cliffs below the eyrie, he rode the wind southward.
Drawing upon the hezhan to such a degree drained him, as if there were only so much the hezhan could allow before it drew upon Nikandr for sustenance. He looked up to orient himself and from the few lights and the simple black immensity of it found the bulk of Mirashadal. He searched for the Chaika, squinting against the terrible wind, but could not find it. He tried to gauge how far the ship might have been pushed by the qiram on the perch; he scanned the skies, hoping they had been able to light a lamp, but he saw nothing.