Nikandr allows Nasim to pull him to his feet, and together they pull Ashan out through the akhoz.
By the time they have passed the circle of the akhoz, the world continues as it always has.
They ran, and with the akhoz slowed by the fall of their master, they quickly added distance between them. But Nikandr knew this was temporary at best. The akhoz were already gaining speed, and if anything, their anger rose to new heights as they howled in their pursuit.
They reached the edges of the city, where the buildings were more sparse. The road led to the trail that would take them higher toward the island’s central ridge and toward the remains of Nikandr’s crew, but before they had passed the last of the ruined stone buildings, a call came from behind-higher-pitched, more insistent.
An akhoz, the same girl as before, was frenzied in her pursuit and was now much closer than the pack further behind. She would be on them in moments.
Nikandr pulled his kindjal, not knowing what else to do. Ashan, the jasper gem upon his wrist glowing faintly, turned and raised his hands up high. The ground rose in a mound before the akhoz. They squealed as they were flung backward. A vanahezhan stood, fully formed, sidestepping to place itself in the path of the akhoz as she attempted to circumvent it to reach Nasim.
Nikandr had not expected even an arqesh like Ashan to be able to summon a hezhan-he should have only been able to use its powers on this plane- but surely it had something to do with the particulars of Ghayavand.
The akhoz’s blackened eyes widened and her lips pulled back, revealing the shattered remains of teeth, as the hezhan charged forward. The akhoz darted to one side and gripped the hezhan’s massive arm. A sizzling sound filled the air as the hezhan moaned and reared backward. Its arm dried in an instant and powdered to dust as the akhoz retreated once more.
She was not quick enough, however. The other arm of the hezhan pounded her across the head. It sounded like a hammer that butchers use to fell pigs before the slaughter. The akhoz flew through the air and landed in a heap, her head bent backward under her body.
She lay there, lifeless, as the other akhoz approached, and when Nikandr looked beyond to the city, he saw three more shamble from the streets-then another pair-all of them heading their way. They had only minutes to defeat the nearest of them and flee before they were overwhelmed.
The older akhoz leapt when it neared the vanahezhan. The beast was not ready for it, and the akhoz landed on its chest. The akhoz remained in place as it hugged the chest of the earth spirit and released a hoarse cry into the air. The hezhan moaned as the heat intensified to the point that Nikandr had to retreat.
Moments later, the hezhan’s body powdered just as its arm had, and parts of it began to ablate in a way that was eerily similar to Muqallad’s death.
Nikandr tried to advance with his kindjal, but the heat was too intense. However, when the hezhan finally fell to the ground, the heat dropped to almost normal levels. The akhoz was bent over, perhaps recovering itself after expending so much energy.
Nikandr did not hesitate. He advanced and struck, driving the knife deep into the exposed back of the akhoz.
The creature turned and knocked Nikandr away with a vicious swipe of its arm. The heat from the akhoz’s skin was not nearly as formidable as it had been moments ago, but it was still enough to burn Nikandr’s forearm. He fell away, and rolled back to his feet.
The akhoz screamed as he tried to reach the knife in his back, but each time he grabbed the hilt of the weapon, he screamed louder and pulled his hand away as if the kindjal were burning him.
Ashan was kneeling, his arms spaced wide and his hands flat against the ground. He was whispering and rocking rhythmically back and forth. There was a pool of water collecting before him, and it was starting to trickle downhill. Before it could go far, however, it rose up and took form. It looked vaguely childlike-reaching only Nikandr’s waist-but it was twice as wide as he was.
The jalahezhan rolled forward and struck the akhoz’s legs. A sizzling sound accompanied the water spirit’s efforts as it slipped higher and higher along the akhoz’s body. The akhoz screamed, still trying to rid himself of the knife while bearing down to create more heat. A white gout of steam rose as the two creatures fought for control.
The jalahezhan seemed to be holding its own-the akhoz had been forced to the ground and water was gurgling into his mouth-but then the trailing akhoz reached it, and soon they had surrounded the water spirit. Moments later, the jalahezhan lost form and the water splashed to the ground. Steam rose. Their feet sizzled as they collectively turned and began moving up the trail.
Nikandr and Ashan and Nasim fled, but they were exhausted, and Ashan had already summoned two hezhan, something that must have sapped his strength sorely.
Finally, Ashan stopped, his breath coming in great gasps. He turned and faced the akhoz, opening his arms wide and tilting his head back to the sky while whispering words of prayer or perhaps commands in Mahndi. In the air before him the telltale signs of a dhoshahezhan formed. A crackling sound rent the air, which smelled suddenly acrid. Its shape-more elusive than when they were seen playing among lightning storms-was fluid, like an air spirit, but also more angular as the faint sparks of light brought on by its energy defined its boundaries.
Nikandr kneeled next to Nasim and turned the boy to face him. “Please. You must do something.”
But Nasim didn’t seem to hear him. His eyes were clamped shut and his face held a look of supreme discomfort, as if what he were doing was already taking too much. What effect it might be having, Nikandr had no idea. Perhaps without Nasim’s efforts they would be facing a score of akhoz and not just six.
Still, six, twenty, it mattered little if the dhoshahezhan could not save them, and Nikandr didn’t see how it could.
The akhoz once again surrounded the hezhan, preferring to deal with the thing that might harm them before dispatching their true prey. This was not so easy as the last, however. Blue-white lightning arced from the hezhan, through three of them, and back to the source. Two of them spasmed and dropped to the ground, unconscious or dead; the third fell to hands and knees, its torso convulsing as it fought to regain control of its body.
The other akhoz reared backward-a posture reminiscent of what Ashan had just done-and exhaled gouts of flame from their mouths. The muscles along their necks tightened like bowstrings, and their arms flayed backward as they released every remaining bit of breath within their lungs.
The shimmering signs of the dhoshahezhan seemed to elongate as the fire pulled the air upward. More lightning shot downward, arcing between two of the akhoz, but it was noticeably weaker than the previous, and the akhoz were only momentarily fazed. Together the four remaining breathed once more, and the death throes of the hezhan were evidenced by a faint crackle and the barest winking of light.
The two wounded akhoz had just begun lifting themselves from the ground when a great boom rent the air. The skin of three of the akhoz lifted in random places about their bodies as grape shot tore into them.
Nikandr looked up and saw a ship-the Kavda — floating not a hundred paces above them in the sky, and standing at the gunwale, his face unreadable, was Grigory Stasayev Bolgravya.
The fore cannon bucked as it coughed its own shot, and another of the akhoz was taken. The gun crew worked feverishly to reload as a rope ladder snaked downward.
Nikandr guided Nasim as Ashan limped toward the ladder. The akhoz screamed and gave chase, but they seemed hesitant. They released their fiery breath up toward the ship, but it didn’t travel high enough to do damage.
One of the akhoz shook its head and sprinted forward, but its left arm was taken off by another blast from the rear cannon. It fell to the ground, moaning and reaching for the dismembered arm that now lay far out of reach.