The Midnight Sea (The Fourth Element #1) (6 page)

“No!” I screamed, running for the crevice, knowing I wouldn’t make it in time.

The Undead raised its sword high, the point poised down for a killing stroke.

Tommas’s head was bowed, but I could see he was smiling. Why was he smiling?

And then Ilyas stepped neatly inside its guard and, with a single two-handed sweep, cleaved its head from its shoulders. There was no hesitation. He’d known exactly what his daēva intended. A second slower and Tommas would have died.

Tommas had to have known that too. But he took the chance. He trusted Ilyas with his life.

Even decapitated, the Revenant was a foot or so taller than the Water Dogs. It swayed for a moment, that terrible sword still clutched in one mailed hand. When it finally toppled over, the sound was like an oak tree falling. Darius started to laugh, then winced in pain. He’d cracked a rib throwing the wall.

“An old trick,” Ilyas called to us. He was panting, his hands braced on his knees. “Give them a taste of blood and they forget what they’re facing. Not two Water Dogs, but one.”

I glanced at Darius and my cheeks flushed. We’d come within seconds of dying today because I’d pushed him away. In my lust for revenge, I’d forgotten he was even there.

He pressed his right hand to his side, the same place I’d felt a stab of pain when he threw the wall. One of his ribs had cracked. The price of sympathetic magic. I hadn’t realized it was so high, and that he alone would pay it. It seemed unfair somehow. But I understood now why Tommas hadn’t simply dropped a building on the Revenant. It would have broken every bone in his own body.

Tommas got to his feet and limped down the street. That’s when I saw that his horse was badly injured. It lay in the dust, sides heaving. Tommas crouched down and stroked its muzzle. I thought he was weeping. I knew how much Tommas cared for that horse. He had named it Abraxas.

Ilyas sighed and pulled a knife from his belt. He walked over and whispered something to Tommas. The daēva shook his head. Ilyas laid a hand on his shoulder. Abraxas’s hind legs kicked weakly. It emitted a low groan. Finally, Tommas nodded. I turned away as Ilyas put the horse out of its misery.

For once, Darius and I both felt the same things. Pity and sorrow, mingled with a deep, simmering anger.

Then Tijah and Myrri came around the corner. Tijah was carrying a head by the hair. Another Revenant. She was grinning until she saw Abraxos.

“They laid a trap,” Ilyas said, walking over to us. “Neblis took the people and left the Druj, knowing we’d turn up sooner or later.”

“What does she want them for?” I asked, fearing the answer.

“Slaves. And when they break, she gives them to the necromancers.”

I thought of the toys on the floor of that room and felt sick.

“Any chance we can catch up to them?” Tijah asked.

Ilyas shook his head. “The raid came at least a week ago. They’ll be over the mountains by now.”

Tijah swore in her native language, something filthy by the sound of it.

We stood silent as Tommas approached. His tunic was soaked in blood. I couldn’t tell how much was his and how much was the horse’s.

“Let me see your wound,” Ilyas said gently. It was the first time I had ever heard him speak to Tommas in a tone that wasn’t cool or distant.

“It’s nothing,” Tommas said.

“You’ll take my mount,” Ilyas said. “I’ll run back to Tel Khalujah.”

Tommas looked at him. He seemed in a daze. “No, I can walk.”

“That’s an order,” Ilyas said, grey eyes hardening. He lifted the edge of Tommas’s tunic up and I stifled a gasp. His entire back was an angry red that would soon turn into a spectacular bruise. That wasn’t from the Revenant. That was from working with earth.

“I’ll ride with you, Tommas,” I said quickly. “I’m the smallest. The captain’s horse can take us both.”

They stared at me.

“No one needs to walk,” I said. “Ilyas can ride in the double saddle with Darius.”

“Fine,” Ilyas muttered, stalking away.

Tijah tossed the head into the crevice and shared a look with Myrri. Her daēva was mute, cursed with a missing tongue, but the two of them were so close, they didn’t seem to need words. When they did, they used a complex system of hand gestures. I’d learned some of them, but most remained a mystery.

Myrri made a fist and waggled her pinky. Tijah nodded in agreement.

“We ride hard,” Ilyas said, swinging into the saddle behind Darius as the rest of us followed suit. “But we stop at the villages along the way and warn them to get out. Move south.” A muscle feathered in his jaw. “This border is no longer secure.”

Chapter Seven

D
ark had fallen by the time we arrived in Tel Khalujah. Ilyas went straight to the satrap to report what had happened to the village of Ash Shiyda. Tijah and I headed to the bathhouse together. I couldn’t wait to get the stink of the wight’s blood off me.

Water was one of the holiest elements, so even Tijah was required to kneel and give thanks to the Holy Father before entering. The hour was late and we had the place to ourselves. In the four years we’d known each other, I’d noticed that she always made sure to come here alone. I assumed Tijah was modest, although it didn’t really fit with the rest of her personality. But women were treated harshly in Al Miraj, the magus said. Not like the rest of the empire, where they could own land, enter into contracts and hold fairly high positions. Rich women, like the satrap’s wife, veiled themselves, but it was by choice, and more a sign of their status than anything else.

Tijah quickly peeled her tunic off and slid into the bath, but not before I caught a glimpse of her back. The smooth brown skin was covered with a welter of old scars.

She knew from my expression that I’d seen it. She had
let
me see it. We were quiet for a moment.

“What is your father like, Nazafareen?” she asked in a soft voice.

I thought about it. “He taught me to ride and shoot a bow. Not a soft man, but no one in the Four-Legs clan is soft. In truth, I think he was closer to his horse than he was to his children. But he kept us alive.” I smiled and sank deeper into the water. “He has a very fierce mustache. It always tickled my face when I kissed him.”

Tijah smiled, but there was something sad in it. “I grew up in my father’s palace, the youngest of five girls. We had every luxury, but it was an empty life. As children, my sisters and I were treated like pretty little ornaments for my father to show off when he had guests. I realized later that he viewed us in the same way as his carpets and spices. Objects to be bartered for more wealth and power. One by one, he married my sisters off. When I turned thirteen, he betrothed me to a business partner.” She scowled.

“Fat and ugly?” I guessed.

“No. He was handsome enough. Tall and broad in the shoulder, with the eyelashes of a girl. But my sister Saalima had also married him, several years before. I rarely saw her afterwards, but when I did, I could tell she was a broken thing. The light had died from her eyes.” Tijah splashed water under her armpits, gold bracelets jangling. “This man had two faces, you see. The one he showed to the world, and the one he showed to his wives. My mother saw it too. She begged my father to wait two more years before the wedding took place. He reluctantly agreed.”

I dragged a comb through my hair. “He sounds like a monster. What happened?”

“The two years flew by. My dread grew so intense I stopped eating. But my father would not be budged. He was terrified of offending this man, for he was the son of the satrap.”

I shook my head in disgust. “Many marriages are arranged in the Four-Legs Clan as well, but care is taken to choose someone suitable. And the girl has the right to refuse.”

“Then you nomads are far more civilized than my people,” Tijah said wryly. “If I hadn’t had Myrri, I might have taken my own life. I saw no other way out.”

“How did you come to be bonded, if girls are valued so little?”

“My father had no choice. The satrap rewarded him with a daēva for a service he performed, and I was the only one he trusted that had the gift. I imagine he expected to take her from me once a male heir capable of wearing the cuff was born. But my daēva made me even more valuable to my future husband.”

“He did that to you?” I asked, looking at her back.

“My father did that to me,” Tijah said flatly. “Or rather, he ordered the servants to do it, the coward. He didn’t want me looking emaciated on my wedding day. When I refused to eat, he had me beaten. And when I still resisted, he made them whip Myrri. He knew I felt her pain as my own. Greater, in some ways, since she had done nothing to deserve it.”

I thought of Tijah’s daēva, mute, unable even to scream. “What a bastard. He didn’t fear her power?”

“She was afraid I would be harmed if she fought back. But after that, we’d both had enough. She told me we would both end up dead if we stayed, and I knew she was right.”

“So you ran away.”

“Yes. The night before the wedding, I stole a horse from his stable. Myrri laid a false trail leading south. Then I chose the most remote satrapy I could find. One where they would never think to look.”

“Why the Water Dogs?”

She shrugged. “I spoke the truth when I said I wanted to kill Druj, although I had never seen one before coming here. A Water Dog is…it is the opposite of everything about my old life.”

“And your scimitar?”

She gave that wicked grin. “My father’s. It was purely ceremonial. I thought it should be put to good use.”

“You know they won’t give up, don’t you?” I said. “They will hunt you to the ends of the earth. Men like that…to be humiliated by a girl. It is the worst shame imaginable.”

Her lovely face hardened. “I know. Which is another reason I joined the Water Dogs. By the time they come, they will find not a frightened girl, but a warrior with blood on her sword. Let them try to take me back.”

I leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “You won’t fight them alone, if it comes to that,” I said.

“Thank you. I wanted to tell you before, but…”

“I know. My mother used to say that secrets begin as pebbles and grow into boulders. Yet still we would rather carry them around than give them to another for safekeeping.”

Tijah yawned. “Your mother was a clever woman.”

We dried ourselves off and put on fresh tunics.

“I suppose your name isn’t really Tijah,” I said as we walked to the barracks.

She turned to me, brown eyes blazing with a kind of crazy determination, and I thought if those men valued their manhoods, they would stay far away from this girl.

“It is now,” Tijah said.

I was bone-tired, but I couldn’t shake the shame of my failure at the village. It touched a raw nerve in me, something that had festered for years. After Tijah’s confession, I felt a powerful need to apologize to Darius, to explain myself. We’d been bonded for more than two years now but I hardly knew him. Yes, I could tell what he was feeling, but not
why
he was feeling it. Not always. I couldn’t read his mind and he couldn’t read mine. Thank the Holy Father for that.

We saw each other only at practice. In every other way, the daēvas lived separately from us. They slept apart, ate apart. I prayed at the fire temple, but Darius couldn’t enter it so he prayed by the river—as I knew all too well.

Rain pounded the roof as I lay there, unable to sleep. I knew I’d have no chance to speak to him privately tomorrow. We were never alone. Finally, I threw off my bedclothes and slipped outside.

I’d never been to the daēva barracks but I knew where they were. I ran down the hill and through the gardens. It was late summer and the rain had brought out the sweet, heady scent of jasmine. When I neared the river, I saw a sagging three-story wooden building on the bank. I touched the bond lightly, felt for him. A moment later I frowned.

I’d expected him to be sleeping, but he was on the roof.

And his mood was not happy.

I stood for a moment, dripping. I almost went back. I should have. But instead, I found my feet leading me to a rickety ladder that leaned against the eastern wall of the barracks.

“Go away, Nazafareen,” Darius said the instant I reached the top.

He lay on his back, staring up at the storm. For a crazy second, I wondered if he had made it. But even Darius couldn’t be that strong.

“I’m sorry,” I said, climbing out onto the roof. The tiles were slick with rain and I chose each step with care.

“For what?”

His careless tone irritated me.

“For holding you back. I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh, that.”

“Really,” I said. “It won’t happen again.”

“You could have killed us both,” Darius said mildly.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You still don’t trust me, do you?”

“It’s not that.”

I wanted to tell him about Ashraf but I couldn’t. I’d kept it in too long, and the words stuck in my throat like sharp stones. Or boulders.

Darius turned to look at me for the first time. “It’s because I’m Druj.” He clutched the gold eagle-winged faravahar he wore around his neck with his good hand. An unconscious gesture I had seen many times. It was the symbol of the Prophet. The symbol of the empire.

“No! I mean, I suppose you are. But you walk in the light like the rest of us.”

He laughed then, a bitter sound. Since that first flood of emotion at the bonding ceremony, Darius had kept a tight rein on himself. He rarely smiled and seemed indifferent to pain. Sometimes, I suspected, he sought it out.

“Yes, the magi taught me well,” he said, and something dark and feral in him seemed to stir.

I squinted through the sheets of rain. “Why are you up here anyway? Was it another nightmare?”

Darius didn’t respond. I should have let it go, but I suddenly wanted to crack that emotionless shell. It was a stupid impulse, like dangling a dead rabbit in front of a hungry wolf.

“They wake me up sometimes,” I said. “What do you dream about, Darius?”

“I don’t remember.”

“That’s a lie,” I said.

His walls went up, hard and fast.

“Do you dream of fire?”

It was just a guess, but on those times when I woke up with dread oozing through the bond, there was also a sensation of heat, of a wild, untamable power that would consume me if I let it.

“What do you want, Nazafareen?” Darius demanded hoarsely.

“Just the truth.”

He stared at me, dark hair dripping, and the look in his eyes made me want to run.

“All right. Sometimes I hate this.” He held up the cuff around his wrist. “If you really want to know, sometimes I hate
you
.”

I wasn’t ready for the anger that burst through the bond then. It staggered me. I put a hand to my head, dizzy, and tried to keep my balance. But my feet slipped on the rain-slick tiles and a moment later I was sliding toward the edge.

Darius cursed and lunged forward, grabbing my arm. My legs kicked over empty air. And just like that I was back to the icy ledge, a terrified child of twelve, except that this time, it was me who was about to plunge into the abyss.

He grunted with effort, hauling me up. The spell broke and I realized I’d just done it again. He could have lifted me with air as easily as a kitten, but I was gripping his power tight.

Darius shook his head. He laughed again, although this time it was more darkly amused than angry. I put my head in my hands.

“A fine pair we—” he started to say.

And the edge of the roof just gave way. The wood must have been old and rotten. I suppose the satrap had decided that they were only daēvas and didn’t need decent housing.

I didn’t fall, but Darius did. Three stories to the stone courtyard. The pain of the impact took my breath away.

I scrambled down the ladder as fast as I could and ran to him. I knew without even looking that he was terribly hurt.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whispered. Blood ran in a thin trickle from the corner of his mouth. His blue eyes were clouded. I took his hand. It was the first time I had ever touched his bare skin. It was warm. But such a strange sensation. I could feel the contact through him as well, like looking at my own reflection in a hall of mirrors.

“Nazafareen,” he whispered. “You don’t…”

He never finished what he was going to say because shock set in. Darius’s head rolled to the side and his eyes slipped shut.

Holy Father, please don’t let him die…

I screamed for help and Tommas came limping out the door of the barracks, golden hair tousled from sleep, wearing only a pair of pants. Normally, I would have enjoyed the sight of him half-naked, Druj or not. But the only thing filling my mind at that moment was Darius.

“Run and get the magus as fast as you can,” I said. “I think his back is broken.”