The Midnight Sea (The Fourth Element #1) (2 page)

Chapter Two

“
W
ater Dogs!”

I set aside the cookpot I’d just finished scrubbing and took another from the pile, not bothering to look up.

“Very funny,” I said. “This would go a lot faster if you’d do your share instead of teasing me.”

My brother Kian dropped to his haunches. “Not teasing. Have a look.”

I sighed and pushed the hair out of my face. A moment later, I was on my feet, shading my eyes with one hand. Two mounted figures picked their way up the grassy hillside. They wore scarlet tunics and matching
qarhas
that wound around their heads, leaving only the eyes visible.

Everywhere, people were emerging from their goatskin tents to see what was going on. Tension and excitement buzzed through the Four-Legs clan as the figures reined up.

“Are they really Water Dogs?” I whispered.

“No one else wears the red,” Kian replied.

I had never seen Water Dogs before. All I knew about them was that they belonged to the King, and they hunted Druj—wights, liches, revenants. Like the one that had killed my sister a year ago. I felt a surge of bitterness.
You’re too late
, I wanted to scream at them. You’ve come too late to do any good.

“Come on.” Kian grabbed my hand. “Let’s go see why they’re here.”

I ran down the slope with him, the familiar anger burning in my stomach. No one blamed my uncle for what he’d done, not even me. Once a wight takes possession of someone, it can’t be driven out. It will use its victim up until that person drops dead from starvation or cold or sheer exhaustion. And then it will find another. Ashraf was beyond saving. Everyone knew it.

And yet I still saw her face in my dreams. Still saw her falling into the abyss, night after night, for months after her death.

At least I prayed my sister was dead. Her body had never been recovered.

“People of the Four-Legs Clan!” The first rider unwound his
qarha
. He was young, just a few years older than me.

“He looks like a barbarian,” my brother said under his breath.

I’d never seen a barbarian, but this Water Dog had copper hair and grey eyes. It was a striking combination. He had an air of calm authority, an impression heightened by the royal seal—a roaring griffin in a circle—emblazoned on his scarlet tunic.

“We come in the name of King Artaxeros the second and Jaagos, Satrap of Tel Khalujah,” the young man said in a ringing voice that carried to the far reaches of the assembled crowd. “We come to ask who here wishes to serve the Holy Father as a Water Dog. Only those between the ages of twelve and sixteen are eligible to test.”

No one spoke. We rarely saw outsiders and had an innate suspicion of anyone whose bloodline wasn’t Four-Legs Clan for at least a dozen generations—no matter how many distant authorities they claimed to speak for.

“Your families will be well compensated.” He held up a bag of coins and shook it. A small murmur went through the onlookers. Most of us were very poor, if you measured wealth by silver or gold. My family’s only source of income was our animals. We traded milk and cheese, and my mother used the wool to weave shawls that she sold at the market in Tel Khalujah twice a year. A bag of coins that size was more money than we would earn in a decade.

“What does it mean to be a Water Dog?” His eyes roamed across the sea of faces, pausing on those who were close to my age. “It means you will champion the innocent, protect the powerless, punish the wicked. You will be the hand of the Holy Father, protecting our borders from the Druj to the north. And yes, you will use daēvas to do it.”

“Demons to hunt demons,” someone muttered.

I was very fuzzy on what exactly a daēva was. The older kids claimed they were Druj too, and that they had magic powers. I didn’t understand how the Water Dogs could control such creatures, but apparently they managed it somehow.

“Who here has the courage to step forward?” the Water Dog asked. His companion lounged in the saddle,
qarha
still wound tightly. Something in the shape of the body told me it was a woman. “We will test any who are willing. Let me be clear: We are not here to forcibly recruit anyone. This is not a burden, but an honor. There’s no place for cowards in our ranks.”

This comment provoked some grumbling in the crowd. The Water Dog held up a hand.

“I mean no offense. The Four-Legs people are known to be among the strongest and toughest in the empire. How else could you eke out a living in these hard lands? You are descendants of the great hero, Fereydun. I only hope that his blood has not run thin.”

I caught my father’s eye. He stood with his arms crossed, felt hat pushed back on his head. His expression was unreadable.

Then a boy came forward. “I wish to be tested,” he said.

The crowd buzzed. Two more boys approached the riders. They stood in a tight knot, grinning nervously.

“Anyone else?” The Water Dog’s eyes swept the crowd. They passed over me without stopping, although they lingered for moment on Kian. My brother looked down at his feet. “No? Then we’ll begin the testing.”

He started to wheel his mount up the slope.

Demons to hunt demons
.

My heart beat faster. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I suddenly saw a way to make Ashraf’s angry, restless spirit stop haunting me.

Kill Druj.

It would mean walking away from my family. My clan. If I was chosen, I might never see any of them again. And in our world, those ties were everything. If the community cast a person out, they were as good as dead. It only happened for serious crimes like rape or murder, which were almost unheard of among my people. But when it did, that person became a ghost. Their name was never spoken again.

Leaving wasn’t quite the same, although that was unheard of too. There was the Four-Legs Clan, and the soft, fat people beyond the mountains. Only the first mattered.

Please, Nazafareen, help
me…

Yet I knew in my heart that Ashraf would never give me peace. Not until I avenged her.

“Wait!” I stepped forward. “I wish to be tested.”

The Water Dog hardly looked at me. “Come along, then,” he said.

I felt the stares of the crowd as we followed the two riders to a tent they had commandeered. Kian was pale with shock, but he didn’t try to stop me. Nor did my mother, who stood wringing her shawl with weathered hands. They couldn’t. I had volunteered, and I would be tested whether my parents liked it or not.

One by one, we were summoned into the tent. I squatted on the ground outside, trying not to fidget, the other volunteers’ eyes on me, hot and disdainful. I was the last to be called. When my turn came, I walked with my head high, although I expected to fail whatever test they had planned. I knew how to use a bow and knife, but I’d never handled any other weapon before.

The Water Dog who waited inside was the one who looked like a barbarian. He wore a sword at his hip, and I wondered if I was going to have to fight him. If so, I was doomed.

“My name is Ilyas,” he said. “What’s yours?”

I told him.

“Nazafareen,” he said. “I want you to wear this and tell me what you feel.”

He placed a gold circlet around my wrist. I noticed that he wore one too.

The gold was warm against my skin, but that was all.

“Close your eyes,” Ilyas commanded gently. “Let your mind drift free.”

Easy for you to say, I thought, wiping sweat from my palms.

I closed my eyes. A minute passed. I began to grow impatient. My leg ached. A muscle cramp, I thought, flexing my bare toes with a wince.

“What is it?” Ilyas asked.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Just growing pains. That’s what my mother calls them.”

“Where?”

“Here.” I touched my calf.

Ilyas smiled. He pulled up his pant leg. There was a vicious scar, half-healed.

“I fell from my horse two weeks ago. My leg struck a rock.”

I stared at him, uncomprehending.

“That’s my injury you feel, Nazafareen,” he said.

“Oh.” I frowned, rubbing my calf. It was a strange sensation. My pain, and yet not mine, at the same time.

“You have the gift. Only one in a thousand does. These—” he pointed to the circlets—”are cuffs. When two humans wear them, there is a degree of empathy if the wearers are gifted. When a human and daēva wear them…well, it’s more intense.” He looked very pleased with himself. “You’re the first we’ve found in a long time.”

“What happens now?” I asked.

“We take you to Tel Khalujah. To the satrap’s palace. That will be your new home.” His grey eyes grew serious. “Are you certain you want this? It’s not an easy life. I won’t lie to you.”

“That’s all right,” I said. “My life now isn’t easy either.”

He laughed. “I imagine it’s not. Come, let me speak to your father.”

“Ilyas?” The name spilled awkwardly from my tongue. “What are daēvas? Are they really Druj?”

“Yes, they are Druj. But they are tame Druj. The magus will explain it to you.” He smiled. “We almost didn’t come this way. Zohra thought we should skirt the mountains. But then we saw a herd of goats and followed it. Perhaps the Holy Father wanted us to find you.”

I made the sign of the flame, the first two fingers of my left hand brushing forehead, lips and heart.

Good thoughts, good words, good deeds.

Ilyas nodded in approval. “We are the light against the darkness,” he said. “Never forget that, Nazafareen.”

Chapter Three

W
e left the next day. The scouts gave my parents a bag of silver. At first, my father refused it. He was too proud. So I gave the money to Kian and made him promise to hide it until we were gone.

My mother wrapped me in her favorite shawl, a beautiful thing sewn with tinkling copper coins, and hugged me close. Her hands were stained with dye from the weaving, her cheeks rough and wrinkled from the harsh wind. She’d never been a sentimental woman, and I could see she wasn’t about to start now.

“Keep it,” she said. “Never forget where you come from. That you are Four-Legs Clan. And try not to get yourself killed.”

“I won’t,” I said. “And the Druj will be the ones to die.”

She stared at me. “I hope so. Now go before your father does something to bring the satrap’s wrath down on all of us.”

No one ever left our clan. I was the first in memory. It was a strange feeling to ride behind Ilyas, to leave the tents and familiar faces behind. I had always hated the smell of goats. Now I missed it already.

Five days later, I had my first glimpse of Tel Khalujah. We came out of one of the high passes and the city nestled in the foothills below, the domes and spires of the satrap’s palace at its center. My mother and brother had been to the market there but I was always left behind, no matter how much I begged and sulked.

It was the grandest thing I’d ever seen, although that wasn’t saying much since my whole world up to that point had been either the mountains or the Salt Plain. I had never set foot inside a house, let alone lived in one.

“You’ll go to the magus first,” Ilyas informed me. “He’ll answer your questions. Then you can choose a bed in the novice barracks.”

I nodded, feeling suddenly afraid. What if Ilyas had been mistaken? What would they do to me when they discovered I didn’t have the gift? They’d send me back to my clan in shame. I imagined the smug faces of the volunteers I’d beat out.

And what if I
did
have the gift? I didn’t even know what it was, not really. Neither Ilyas nor the other Water Dog, Zohra, had told me anything more during the journey. I’d listened to them talking but I couldn’t understand half of what they said. They lived in a different world entirely. One I was about to be thrust into.

My stomach roiled as we rode up to the gates.

The guards made the sign of the flame and waved us through. The satrap’s palace was made of timber and marble. Even the servants hauling water in the courtyard were far better dressed than I was. Four-Legs women wore layers of brightly colored skirts and pretty scarves, but I preferred the loose pants and tunic of the boys. Since Ashraf’s death, I’d been a wild, dirty creature, and even my mother had given up hope of taming me. Now I wished that I’d at least combed my hair before we left. I took her shawl out and wrapped it around my shoulders. The smell of her—wood smoke and the sheep fat she oiled into her braid—made me feel slightly less alone.

They took me straight to the fire temple. This at least was something familiar. The Four-Legs Clan followed the teachings of the Prophet Zarathustra, although we set our fires beneath the open sky.

It was a simple stone room with a brazier burning at the center. The magus kneeled before it. His head didn’t turn when Ilyas brought me inside and left me there without another word. I stood for a moment, unsure what to do. The silence lengthened. Finally, I walked forward and joined him, lowering my head in prayer.

Grant me strength and wisdom, Father. Show me the right path
.

“What is your name, child?”

I didn’t dare look at him so I kept my face down.

“Nazafareen.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen,” I said. “Almost fourteen.”

“Why did you volunteer for the Water Dogs?”

“I…”

My mind went blank. I knew the answer, but I didn’t want to tell the magus about Ashraf. Didn’t want to tell him about the hatred in my heart. How for the five nights we travelled through the mountains, I had dreamed of killing faceless creatures. Of stabbing them with a sword while another faceless creature—my daēva?—laughed at my side.

Perhaps it was because underneath that thirst for vengeance, I was afraid. Terribly afraid. Monsters were real, and the grown-ups had failed to save us from them. Only the Water Dogs could do that. It was my secret—the only thing I had left that was truly mine—and I didn’t wish to share it with a stranger.

The silence lengthened. It was too hot in the temple and I could feel beads of sweat trickling down my ribs. The magus waited.

“To serve?” I finally managed.

“You say it like it’s a question. Why do you wish to be a Water Dog?”

“To serve,” I repeated, more firmly this time.

“To serve whom?”

“The King…the King and the Holy Father.”

“Ah.”

I could feel his eyes on me.

“Do you know what the bond is?”

“It’s…” My shoulders slumped. “No. Not really.”

“It’s a responsibility,” he said, turning my chin up. “A great responsibility.”

I have to admit, I was disappointed when I saw him. He didn’t look at all like a proper magus, or at least what my childish mind expected a proper magus to look like. He didn’t have a long white beard. He seemed far too young, about the same age as my uncle. But his brown eyes were kind.

“What do you know of daēvas?” he asked me.

“They’re wicked,” I responded immediately. This was safe ground. “Demons. They used to be loose but now they’re chained.”

“Do you understand that the bond is the chain? That you will be holding one end of it?”

“I…yes.”

I had a vague notion of this from what Ilyas said, and stories I’d heard, so it wasn’t a complete surprise.

“Where did they find you?”

“I am of the Four-Legs Clan.”

He took in my amber eyes and light brown hair. “You have the look. A nomad then. Can you adjust to life under a roof?”

“Yes, magus.”

He sighed. “Let’s go to my study. I’d prefer not to conduct this entire interview on my knees.”

I couldn’t tell if he was joking, so I said nothing. The magus led me outside the temple and through a side door into the palace. I goggled at the rich furnishings, the floors inlaid with ebony and lapis lazuli and carnelian gathered from across the breadth of the empire.

We reached a small room and the magus took a seat behind a plain wooden table.

“Sit down, Nazafareen,” he said, gesturing to a chair opposite the desk.

We looked at each for a moment.

“You’re wondering why I’m so young,” the magus said.

I shook my head and he laughed.

“Yes, you are. I can see it in your eyes. In truth, I am more than a hundred years old.”

My jaw gaped open. I couldn’t help it.

“The reason I look young is that I was bonded. A warrior magus, although there are not many of us left. Daēvas, you see, live a very long time. No one knows how long. They grow to early adulthood and stay that way. When you are bonded, the same will happen to you. If you were already older, you would stay the same.”

I tried to understand. “So I’ll be…immortal?” The thought shook me to my core. I couldn’t decide if it would be a blessing or a curse.

“Not immortal, but something very close to it. If you’re lucky.” The magus sat back. “You can still die from violence, and very likely will. Eventually. The life of a Water Dog is not a quiet one.” He smiled gently. “That’s why we need new ones.”

“Yes, magus.”

“The daēvas here were raised with the bond from birth. Like us, they follow the Way of the Flame.” He pressed his palms flat on the desk and leaned toward me. “We need their power, Nazafareen. The Druj are stirring in the north, and Eskander’s wolves are at our door to the west. If the war comes—when it comes—we’ll need daēvas to keep them both from our throats.” The magus sighed. “But that’s not for a novice to worry about. I don’t suppose you can read?”

I shook my head. I had no idea who Eskander and his wolves were, but it wasn’t news to me that the Druj were stirring.

“We’ll do it by rote then,” the magus said. “I hope you at least learned some of our history?”

His tone was friendly, but I still felt like a savage. “Yes, some.”

“Tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you how much is true,” he said, smiling.

Again, my mind went blank. “A long time ago there was a war,” I said in a rush. “Everyone was going to die but then the Prophet Zarathustra came and fixed things. The daēvas are wicked but they serve us now.”

The magus laughed. “That’s the short version, yes. Two centuries ago, the Druj swept down from the north in numbers never seen before. They served Queen Neblis and her necromancers. Daēvas fought in their ranks as well and the city states were quickly overrun. Thousands died. And then, in our darkest hour, the Prophet was sent a vision from the Holy Father. It showed him the secret to making the cuffs. Once we leashed the daēvas, forced them to fight with us instead of against us, the tide turned. The Druj were driven back. And the empire was unified under King Xeros the First.”

“What happened to Neblis?” I asked.

“She reigns in Bactria still, but over a broken, barren land. Since we leashed her cousins, she hasn’t dared to attempt another invasion.”

“Her cousins?”

The magus blinked his owlish eyes. “Neblis is daēva. I thought you knew.”

I shook my head. I hadn’t known that, but I supposed it made sense. If she was still alive, she certainly couldn’t be human.

“We may not be at war, but Druj still occasionally harry our northern border, and it is the job of the Water Dogs to hunt them down and keep their countrymen safe.” The magus clasped his hands. He had long, elegant fingers. Unlike mine, the nails were very clean.

“They should have killed her,” I said, scowling. “It was foolish to let her live.”

“You think so, child?” The magus raised an eyebrow. “These lands were already bleeding from a thousand wounds. The King did what any intelligent leader would do. He regrouped. Xeros expanded the army and installed the satraps to ensure the loyalty of the provinces. Then he set about building an empire. Roads, cities, irrigation. I suppose you would have gone haring up to Bactria with a few daēvas, leaving every other border unprotected? Why not just send the barbarians a formal invitation?”

I squirmed a bit in my seat, although his tone was mild.

“Now, listen. You were correct in one thing. The daēvas
are
wicked, but their magic is different from the magic of the other Druj,” he said. “It is what we call natural magic, while the revenants, wights and so forth use necromancy. It’s a complex subject, but in essence, daēvas draw their power from the elements—air, water and earth, but not fire. Their Druj nature rejects the holy flames. If they try to work fire, it will kill them. But they also heal from injuries that would be fatal to a human and they do it quickly. That’s why they make such good soldiers.”

I nodded, trying to memorize everything, but it was a bit overwhelming. I had no idea what
necromancy
meant, or how any of this actually worked. Not for the first time, I wondered what I’d gotten myself into. Unlike my brother Kian, who spoke slowly and had a cautious nature, I tended to leap into the first course of action that occurred to me—a habit that had gotten me into fights and worse.
Reckless
was the word my father used most often, although he said it with a hint of pride. My mother preferred the term goat-brained.

“It goes without saying that you and your daēva will become close,” the magus continued. “The bond is a very special gift. But you must never forget what they are.”

“Druj,” I whispered. That single syllable sent a thrill of fear through my belly.

“Yes, Druj. You will serve the Holy Father, then the King, then the satrap. Those are your loyalties. Nothing else matters. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good. Ilyas will take charge of your training. We usually have a dozen novices, but you’re the first with the ability the scouts have managed to find in over a year. You will have chores in the morning, followed by weapons training. In the afternoons, you will report to me. Then chores again. Do you have any questions?”

I thought. “Yes. How long will I be a novice for?”

“The usual period is four years.”

“And when will…when do I…”

“Bond your daēva? Not until I decide you’re ready.”

“Where do I go now?” I asked.

“The novice quarters are in the barracks next to the stables. There are plenty of empty beds, you can choose the one you like. Just stay away from the river. That’s where the daēva quarters are.”

“What will my chores be?”

“Kitchen duty to start, most likely. Go, child.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “Ilyas will sort you out. You can find him in the training yard.”

I could see his patience was wearing thin, but I didn’t want to wander around lost. “Where’s the training yard?”

“Between the barracks and the stables. Just take the road you came in on.”

I followed his directions to a dusty courtyard. Ilyas wasn’t there, so I wandered into the stables. I loved to ride and wondered if they would give me a mount of my own when I became a Water Dog. The warm animal smell inside reminded me of home. I walked down the stalls, admiring the satrap’s horses. I didn’t think anyone else was there, so I jumped when a young man suddenly appeared, leading a glossy chestnut mare.

He looked me over, his expression more curious than hostile, but I still felt like a trespasser. He had short golden hair that curled up at the ends and a slender but powerful build. I guessed he was about twenty. I had never seen anyone—male or female—so beautiful. It was almost ridiculous. Then he took a step toward me and I realized that his leg was twisted at an odd angle. A club foot.

“Hello,” he said. “Are you the new recruit?”

I nodded. “I’m looking for Ilyas. Do you know him?”

He seemed amused. “I know him.”

I felt my cheeks grow warm. Of course he knew Ilyas. He lived here. I looked at his sky-blue tunic, identical to Ilyas’s in every way except for the color.