“I’m here,” he said simply, giving her an indication that he was once more in command of his surroundings.
“Khamal?” she asked.
“Who else?”
“What did you see?”
He shook his head against the floor, feeling powerless. He pulled himself upright and shuffled along the floor until his back was against the wall of the small house the three of them shared. They’d found it on their long walk back from the celestia. It felt strange, sleeping in a home as ancient as this one, but they had needed something besides the skiff, so they’d taken it for their own.
He could make out Sukharam’s outline, and could tell he wasn’t breathing heavily, so he assumed he was awake. A part of him wished Sukharam wasn’t here-he wished he was alone with Rabiah-but he knew that such thoughts were foolish, selfish. He needed help, and what’s more, he needed to spread the knowledge that he gained to those he could trust. There was a strong likelihood that he wouldn’t make it out of this alive, and he couldn’t risk passing beyond the veil again without unlocking the riddles of the rift running through Ghayavand.
“Nasim?”
His gaze shot to Rabiah. He’d nearly forgotten she was there. He’d nearly forgotten where he was. Again. It was such an easy thing to do. Especially when he was afraid.
“Nasim, what did you see?” Rabiah asked, more forcefully this time.
“Khamal,” he said, swallowing to clear his throat. “Muqallad came to him in the celestia and confronted him. He’d stolen Sariya’s stone.”
“The one we found?”
Nasim shrugged. “Perhaps. It might be why I’m not able to feel it and Sukharam is.”
“Is that what has you upset?”
“ Neh.” He paused, simply breathing, trying to put words to his thoughts. “It’s their nature. At one time they were thought to be akin to the fates. But that’s not how they were. They squabbled. They plotted. In the end, they murdered. What could have made them do such things?”
Rabiah took up the hem of her robe and picked at it. “I’m disappointed as well. If it could happen to them…”
“It can happen to anyone. Exactly. And if they could fall to such madness, because of the island, the Atalayina-”
“Then it could happen to us.”
Nasim shrugged. “I guess that’s how I feel. That, and I…”
“What?”
“I feel responsible.”
“For what Khamal did?”
“For what he did… For what he didn’t do…”
“He couldn’t stop them by himself.”
“I don’t know, Rabiah, but maybe he didn’t want to.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ghayavand had become a prison for them. Every hour of every day they were faced with their grandest failure. It ate at Khamal, as I’m sure it did the others. As he was planning to escape, he felt eager.”
“He wanted to return so he could heal the rift.”
“Maybe, but there was also a sense that he would be free. Free of the shackles that bound him here. In his heart of hearts, he wanted to leave it all behind.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
Nasim stared at the floor. “I don’t know.”
“It was three hundred years, Nasim. Anyone would grow weary of this place in that amount of time. But you’re not him. You’re not Khamal. You didn’t make those decisions. He did. Live up to your own promise, and your own promises.”
From a pocket sewn into his inner robe he retrieved the piece of the Atalayina they’d liberated from the celestia two days before. He spun it between his thumb and index finger. He could feel its power, but it was distant, unreachable, as it had been since he’d found it. He’d taken breath while holding it in his hands. He’d stared into its depths. He’d sat with the others with the stone between them, hoping to unlock its secrets, to no avail.
Rabiah reached out and touched his arm. “We don’t have to go to Shirvozeh today, Nasim. We can wait. We can prepare.”
“It’s time for us to go. Ashan is there. Somewhere.”
“We can take breath. We can-”
“We will go!”
Sukharam shifted. For no good reason, it infuriated him, though he had no one to blame but himself.
“Come,” he said, noting that the sky was beginning to lighten. “We’d best get ready.”
“As you say.” Rabiah nodded, holding the gesture in the manner of an Aramahn disciple. This, too, angered him, though he wasn’t sure why.
He handed the Atalayina to Sukharam and began his preparations for their journey to Shirvozeh, the Aramahn village in the hills to the east of Alayazhar. As he and Rabiah were leaving, Sukharam stepped out from their home and called to him.
“I wish to go, kuadim,” Sukharam said.
“We spoke of this,” Nasim replied. “Stay. Take breath.”
“I should be with you.”
“I cannot allow it, Sukharam. This is too dangerous.”
“I knew it was dangerous when I agreed to come.”
“That may be true, but you do not yet know how to protect yourself, or us. Not against Muqallad.”
“And you do?”
Sukharam’s entire frame had tightened. He was embarrassed by this, but Nasim would not relent. He calmed himself and took two steps toward Sukharam until they were face-to-face. “Are you my disciple or are you not?”
“I’m not useless,” Sukharam said.
“I know you’re not.”
“I’m no wilting flower.”
“I know this as well. We go only to search for clues. If we find them, we will return. I promise you this.” After a deep breath, Nasim took Sukharam’s hand that held the Atalayina. “You are the only one of us who has a connection to it. Do as we agreed. Take breath with the stone. Learn from it.”
As the wind tugged at his dark hair, Sukharam’s eyes widened. He tightened his grip on the stone, and then he regarded Nasim with a look of calm purpose. “I will,” he said, bowing his head. “I will try…”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
T he village of Shirvozeh lay east of Alayazhar. The road leading up to it was paved in stone, crafted by dozens of vanaqiram masons centuries ago. It was cracked and decayed, but much of it was still intact, including the designs, which were made to look like the flow of water over a riverbed. Well before reaching the bridge near the village’s entrance, Nasim guided Rabiah off the path and headed through the swaying grass and copses of short, twisted acacias, steadily making their way toward a cliff. Soon they could no longer see Alayazhar; they could no longer see the road they’d taken, either, making Nasim feel as if they were alone on an island untouched by the hand of man.
As their footsteps shushed over the wiry grass, Rabiah stared at the hills ahead with a nervous expression. “We should have brought Sukharam.”
Nasim motioned to their left, to the ridge that stood between them and Alayazhar. The celestia was barely visible in the distance. “You saw how he was at the celestia. He’s too unsure of himself, Rabiah. Too tentative.”
“He was only trying to prove himself to you.”
“That may be, but where we go is dangerous. Too dangerous for him.”
“We need his help,” Rabiah said.
“We need him safe. This isn’t why he was brought here.”
“Things have changed, Nasim. We must change with them.”
For a time, they walked in silence.
When Nasim had finally found it in himself to leave Mirashadal and the care of Fahroz, he’d been terribly lonely. He’d nearly gone to Khalakovo to find news of Nikandr, but he knew that such a thing would be foolish. No matter what Nikandr might think, the Landed had not changed their ways. This resolve, the resolve to choose his own path, had taught him something. Trust. Trust in himself-for that, in the end, was all he could do. He could not trust Nikandr. He could not trust Sukharam. He could not even place his full faith in Rabiah, whom he trusted most aside from Ashan.
Trust was a luxury he couldn’t afford. It was simply too dangerous. He needed to be sure that their path was the right one, and the only way to do that was to choose it himself.
“Perhaps we do need to change,” Nasim said to her. “But not now. Sukharam must learn more.”