The Flames of Shadam Khoreh (The Lays of Anuskaya) (41 page)

Tohrab took one long, wheezing breath and placed the circlet upon his brow. “No matter. What’s important is that Ghayavand is not yet lost. What’s important is that there is still one. One more. The strongest among us, which is surely why Sariya did not assail this mountain first.”

“She may be weakened now.”

“And now so is Ahar. We came to this place and bound ourselves to it, as we had bound ourselves to Ghayavand. We drew strength from this valley, for such is the power of Shadam Khoreh, the valley in which the Atalayina was discovered. Through us, Ghayavand was protected, but through our shared bonds, the Tashavir protected one another as well.” Tohrab looked up toward Malidhan. “When we buried ourselves within these mountains we didn’t know whether some of us, after decades, after centuries, would die. We didn’t know if our own will and the gifts granted by the fates would be enough. So we tied ourselves to one another. If one flagged, the others would lift him up. And so, were Sariya to have gone to Malidhan first, she, or you, might never have been able to enter Ahar’s tomb, and even if you
had
entered, the others would have lent him their power.”

“How then? How could she have taken the first, and the second?”

When Nasim had kicked dirt over the fire and Tohrab had picked up his walking staff, the two of them left the copse. Tohrab placed his hand on Nasim’s shoulder for support as they walked uphill toward the path they’d picked out the day before. “She found the weakest among us. She found the weakest and she snuffed their flame, killing them in their tomb before moving on to the next, and the next. Each time she killed another, we were less able to help.”

“And now there is only you and Ahar.” Nasim shook his head. “So how? How can the walls around Ghayavand still stand with only two of the Tashavir left?”

“We may have created those walls, but they do not need our constant attention. We buttress them, that is all. It is Ghayavand itself, and this valley, Shadam Khoreh, that keep the walls strong. Still, there is no doubt the walls are weak. With so many now gone, they have given way in many places, and soon, Ahar and I will prove paltry indeed.”

“And then?” Nasim asked. “Will Sariya’s dream come true?”

“Her dream? You know her dreams, Nasim an Ashan?”

“She wishes to bring this world down that the fates may start anew.”

“She told you this?”

“
Yeh
, on Galahesh. And it has been echoed by her every move since.”

Tohrab was silent for a time. They hiked higher up the foothill, and again Nasim was struck by how much this echoed Khamal’s memories of stepping up to the heights of Sihyaan.

“I fear Sariya is fooling herself,” Tohrab said when the pine trees thinned and finally gave way altogether. They walked among a field of tall grass, and the sound of the sleet striking it was like the patter of rain on cobblestones. “I fear she has convinced herself of this because of the pain she now bears.”

“You think she would allow the world to be destroyed for the part she played in the sundering?”

“Do you know how many died when the ritual failed? Do Khamal’s memories tell you this?”

“Many in Alayazhar died, but I don’t know how many.”

“Tens of thousands.”

Those words settled over Nasim as he looked out over the valley of Shadam Khoreh. Tens of thousands. The mountains ringing the valley no longer seemed like points on a crown. They seemed like men and women standing judgment. And more stood behind, far into the distance until the haze of sleet robbed him of their sight.

“Tens of thousand,” Tohrab repeated. “In an instant. Men, women, children. All because those three had thought to take us to a higher place. I am not removed from responsibility. No one on Ghayavand save the children were. But imagine how the Al-Aqim must have felt. They did not feel as though anyone else was to blame. They carried that weight on their shoulders—each of them differently. Who are you to say that Sariya was wrong to think the fates had willed the world to end? Who are you to say she is wrong now?”

“You’re saying she’s right?”

“I’m saying that Sariya stepped up to Sihyaan to bring about indaraqiram, and she nearly destroyed the world in one, quick instant.”

Nasim’s breath was coming faster now from the climb. The sleet fell harder, enough that many of the mountains were obscured, and it seemed to him that the forms he’d seen there had stepped back into the mist, taking their judgments with them.

“She is wrong,” Nasim said.

“And Sariya believes just as fervently that she is right.”

“Should I give myself over to her then? Help her in what she strives for?”

“You should trust to yourself. Listen to the fates, and the world around you. But don’t let Khamal’s memories or his desires affect you.”

Nasim stopped at a rocky plateau, more angry than anything else. He thought surely Tohrab would help him, that he would have answers, but the truth was there were none. No one had them, except perhaps the fates themselves, and they were altogether too quiet for his liking. As his anger faded, he realized how right Tohrab was. Who
did
he have to rely upon? And who knew about the dark days after the sundering better than he did? No one. He could rely on no one else, and this in a way was freeing.

The plateau was black, not red like so many of the rocks down below, or dark grey, as it was higher on the mountain. It was black, and for this reason alone it gave Nasim pause.

“How close are we?” Nasim asked.

“I don’t know. Ahar’s tomb was built after mine. But it should be near.” He looked around the plateau, and pointed to their left. “There are stairs worked into the mountain.”

They took the stairs, climbing higher and higher, occasionally switching back and cutting along the steep slope at this midway point of the mountain. Then Nasim smelled something on the wind. A pungent smell, like garlic and ginger, but it was deeper and older, as if this particular scent had long ago been lost to the world. It was the smell of a vanahezhan.

And so it was that he knew—well before they’d reached the entrance to Ahar’s tomb—that Sariya had beaten them here.

“We must hurry,” Tohrab said before Nasim could voice his suspicions.

They moved quickly after that. It took several more minutes of climbing, but at last they reached a ledge of black rock overlooking the valley. A darkened tunnel was revealed in the rock face with a mound of broken stones at its entrance. The smell was stronger here.

Tohrab was desperate to reach Ahar. He shambled into the tunnel ahead of Nasim, but he’d gone no more than two steps when a gout of fire blasted outward from inside the mountain.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Along a dry trail in the Urdi Mountains, far to the south of Kohor, Nikandr slowed his mount until he was at the rear of their group. At the head of the line, Soroush and Ashan rode next to one another, speaking softly of Soroush’s last circuit around the world. Sukharam, as he did so often these past few days, was staring into the distance—not watching the trail, not tending to his mount, simply staring, as if dreaming of another time and another place.

The mounts had been given to them by Safwah’s allies—the Keepers of the Flame—those who believed in the cause of the Tashavir. Nikandr often wondered what happened to Safwah. Had she and others been killed for helping them? Had they been harmed? It was the day after they’d escaped from Kohor, and if what Safwah had told them was true they might reach the valley of Shadam Khoreh by sunset, but Nikandr still felt as though at any moment they’d hear the pounding of hooves behind them. Surely the Kohori would have guessed their destination by now, and if that were so they would have sent men flying southward to intercept them. Every rise they passed, every turn in the trail they followed, Nikandr felt as though red-robed warriors would lift from the very ground itself and fire arrows down upon them as they had against the janissaries.

But so far they hadn’t.

Thank the ancients for small favors.

They’d agreed to speak only when absolutely necessary, so the ride was lonely, more lonely than at any other point on their long journey. Especially without Atiana. He felt like a coward for coming here to Shadam Khoreh, but what the others said was true. There was little they could do now. Their largest hope was in preventing Sariya from doing as she wished. Then they could return and discuss the terms for Atiana’s release.

Near midday, Nikandr retrieved the stone of alabaster Ashan had given him in the Vale of Stars. He held it in the palm of one hand. He’d never tried to bond with a hezhan using stones as the qiram did—only his soulstone. That is, if what he’d done could even be considered bonding. He thought a circlet of some kind might be useful, but Ashan had assured him that simply holding it in his hand would suffice. So that’s what he did. He held it loosely and stared up toward the blue sky, allowing his ab-sair to follow the others along the trail. He listened for the wind, which was faint but present as it flowed through the scrub bushes to either side of the trail. He felt it flow over his skin, watched it play with the clouds above. He did not call to Adhiya. He did not
try
to summon the hezhan he’d known for so many years. He merely allowed the world to take him, hoping the doors to the world beyond would open.

Minutes passed. The sound of hooves plodding against dry earth filled the air. He breathed deeply, hoping that he could see some small glimpse. Feel some small sign. But there was nothing. Each and every time he’d tried in the last few days, he’d felt nothing.

Ahead, Sukharam’s mount turned and its back legs began skipping down the trail. In a few more moments, the mount would buck and try to throw its rider. Nikandr, releasing his breath in a huff, shoved the alabaster stone into the pouch at his belt and kicked his mount until he was riding alongside Sukharam. He took up the ab-sair’s reins and held them out. “Control your mount.”

Sukharam blinked and stared down at the reins. He accepted them, but shook his head vigorously, as if he sat at the very edge of exhaustion. Then he breathed deeply and stood straighter in his saddle and nodded to Nikandr with an apologetic look.

“In the Vale of Stars,” Nikandr said to Sukharam, “you were entranced.”

It took some time for Sukharam to respond. “I was.”

“You said you felt Nasim.”

“I did.”

“But there was more. I saw it in your eyes.”

“And why do you say that?”

It wasn’t a denial, but mere curiosity as to how Nikandr knew.

“I don’t know you well, Sukharam, but I know you well enough to see that you were shaken.”

Sukharam guided his ab-sair around a large granite boulder that split the trail. The two of them passed on opposite sides of it like water in a stream. “I
was
shaken, son of Iaros.”

“You can tell me of it. I won’t judge you.”

Sukharam laughed, making Ashan and Soroush turn in their saddles. “Will you not?” Sukharam asked when they’d returned to their low discussion. “It isn’t weakness that holds my tongue. It’s prudence.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“I just don’t know that it’s wise to share it until I’ve learned more.”

“It was something to do with the Atalayina, wasn’t it?”

Sukharam seemed surprised by these words. “In a way, it was.”

“In
what
way?”

“Suffice it to say that I may have more to learn from Nasim than I once thought.”

Ahead, Soroush and Ashan had reined their ab-sair to a stop. They were both staring out over the distance ahead, and a few moments later, Nikandr understood why. He reined his own mount to a stop beside theirs, staring out over the wide valley below. In some ways it was the same as the rest of the Gaji—a low, level plain surrounded by mountains—but there was more to this place. It felt old. It felt as if this were the very birthplace of the world, as if this were the place the last of men would come when the world reached its final days.

Hopefully no time soon
, Nikandr thought.

The peaks were tall here, proud, but there was a wariness to them, as if they thought ill of this intrusion into the land they protected.

“Where do we go?” Nikandr asked.

Sukharam pointed to their right, to the lone mountain that had snow upon its high peak. “There,” Sukharam said. “To Malidhan.”

No one questioned his judgment.

They rode down to the valley floor, for there was no other way to reach the mountain that Sukharam had pointed out. By common and silent assent, they pushed their ab-sair, not because they were afraid of the Kohori, but because they felt that something was wrong. This valley—the mountains, the valley, the air itself—made Nikandr feel as though something were imminent. He didn’t know what, but he could tell the others felt it too. They rode more stiffly in their saddles. They glanced to their right, up toward the mountains, and to their left toward the wide valley floor with looks of concern, of wariness.

Nikandr had tried to feel for Nasim many times since leaving Galahesh. He’d expected nothing when he’d returned home to Khalakovo, but he’d hoped for months after reaching the shores of Yrstanla and then the Gaji itself that Nasim’s presence would be known to him. It was that—despite the knowledge that Nasim had severed their bond when he’d plunged the khanjar into Nikandr’s chest—which had convinced him that Nasim was dead. But now, with the knowledge that Sukharam had seen or felt him, Nikandr had harbored a hope that something still remained.

But he felt nothing. Nothing at all.

Ashan caught Nikandr staring up toward the snow-capped peak of Malidhan, and somehow he knew. “We’ll find him,” he said.

“I know.”

As they urged their mounts higher along the dry terrain, sleet began to fall.

Sleet. Here in the mountains.

The others were as confused as he was. Sukharam held out his hand, allowing it to fall against his palm as if he’d never seen it before. Soroush looked grim.

But Ashan…

Ashan seemed worried. He stared out toward the desert, where red dust was rising. Then he arched his neck back and stared up toward the white peak high above them.