Sky Stitcher, page 9
Not to mention the inevitable likelihood that she’d immediately pass out at the sight of the oversized, overly arrogant winged ruffian I’d ripped straight from the In Between before I could explain his presence. Venom and hell. I cringed, suddenly doubting my decision to bring him back as I imagined the impending storm of Mother’s hysteria. What will she think of my prisoner? Will she let me explain? How much should I explain?
That was a problem to solve later.
Chapter 11
Night Mare
“Fine,” he agreed with a hint of annoyance buried beneath an airy tone. Looking over the dunes into the black night, he lifted his wings. “It will be fastest if we fly. As I said before.” His gaze settled on mine.
“Oh no. No. Not happening,” I replied far too quickly, stumbling over my feet as I retreated a few steps back. “As I said before,” I added. For continuity’s sake.
He grumbled and broke our gaze, turning it to the heavens. A slow exhale released the tension in his body. “Fine. We will ride.”
“Ride what?” Did he expect me to summon crawlers from the sky to carry us across the hills? No horses remained in the dunes—they had all fled when he eviscerated their Riders with shadows. And for very good reason.
He smiled and dissolved the threads I’d wound around his wrists, swallowing the light with the shadows he summoned. “Sorry—can’t do this while restrained,” he explained.
Good to know there was no way to bind him effectively.
A rustle of energy bent the air around him when he brought his hands together, wrapping the fingers of one hand around his clenched fist. He drew in the night, pulling the very essence of it around himself in a shroud of blackness. It warped and coiled like writhing snakes, concealing him from view, then rushed forth in a display of reckless abandon. The shadows dove into the sand and wound into a stormy funnel that scattered the grains into the air. A shimmering, obsidian form rose from the spiral, fragments of solidified shadows clicking into place, sculpting a towering mare out of nothing. No—not a mare. A night mare. Venom and hell.
Instinctually, I stepped backward. The mare nearly doubled my height, looming in the darkness like something from my worst dreams—a beast of the In Between. When it whinnied, it evoked the haunting screech of scavenger birds. And when its gaze settled on me, its calculating stare excavated secrets buried deep within me.
“Up you go.” Firm hands gripped my waist and hoisted me onto the creature before I could utter any of my numerous protests. But once I was firmly seated, I marveled at the creature’s body—the magic of solidified shadows, still malleable and fluid but holding the shape it had been commanded to form. Swirling ribbons of darkness that ebbed and flowed like a river, holding fast like steel when I placed my palm against it. Magical. Terrifying. Incomprehensible.
“Hold her,” he commanded, breaking my dazed astonishment. He passed the sleeping Stitcher to me, and I turned her over in my lap to face the stars, frowning at the milky hue of her face. The strings of beads around her neck clinked together, rustling gently as the mare shifted its weight. The silk of her skirt cooled my skin as I ran my hands over it. I smoothed it incessantly, as though the very act of ironing out the wrinkles in the fabric could somehow clear away the ripples of my stress. It worked, however slightly.
She looked so frail. Don’t die yet, Ahma. Hang on. Did her shoulder pain her? Did she sleep to avoid the reality of recent events, or had her duties as Stitcher finally drained her beyond recovery? Did poison hold her submerged beneath the waves of consciousness? Would the Daughters be able to heal her and wake her? Would this nightmare ever cease? And if I ever learned to tame my magic enough to help instead of wreaking more havoc, how long would I last as her successor before I tired beyond saving like her?
If Prisha’s war was on the brink of a final battle…did it even matter?
The monster swung onto the horse, taking up the space behind me. I nearly jumped out of my seat, wholly unprepared for his closeness to my body. “What are you doing?” I snapped over my shoulder.
“Do you want me to help you make it back to the Daughters before Prisha unleashes her wrath, or would you like to take your chances without me?”
“Conjure your own horse,” I hissed.
He rolled his eyes, then reached past me, fabricating reins from the very essence of darkness before wrapping his fingers around the snakelike shadows. I stiffened at the brush of his arms against my waist, the warmth of his chest pressing against my back and the subtle breath on my neck that sent an unexpected shiver along my spine. Sitting up tall, I pitched my torso forward to eliminate any form of physical contact.
“It’s going to be an uncomfortable ride if you sit like you’re tied to a wooden board the whole time.”
Yes, well, this is significantly more comfortable than the alternative of cozying up to one of Prisha’s beasts, thank you.
A weary sigh brushed against the nape of my neck. “Fine, have it your way.” But he reached his arms around me and bared his wrists before me. “Now, would you like to retie your prisoner’s bindings? We had a deal, after all.”
My expression softened with a laugh I did not expect. What was the point? “It seems we’ve moved beyond their necessity.”
“Very well. Just thought I’d offer.” A quick snap of the reins set the ghastly mare into motion. A gasp of surprise surfaced in my throat, but I swallowed it down, marveling at how fluidly it moved. It did not jostle like a real horse, but rather glided, rolling like the dark clouds preceding the storms of Prisha’s greatest tempests.
A playful tug on my braid pulled me back to attention. “Just so you know, Starlight, I would have followed you anyway. Prisoner or not. Can’t explain it, but I feel I’m meant to.”
I tossed a glance at him over my shoulder.
His expression remained flat and untelling, but something about it spoke of a depth I didn’t quite understand. An intensity lingering just beneath the surface. A truth that did not want to be revealed.
“Good to know.” I rolled my eyes. If this was his attempt to endear himself to me, I had no intention of falling for it. Besides, even if I could look past the minor inconvenience of his origin—which I certainly couldn’t—I was to marry Rali in a few days’ time. Something tightened in my stomach. Why was I even thinking about any of this? And what would Rali think of my—my curse? What if I couldn’t find a way to return the monster to the In Between or free myself from him?
Don’t be ridiculous, Zara. You’ll find a way. I nodded, making a silent vow to myself.
His arm moved against my ribcage as he lifted his index finger to the shredded skies.
“See how the stars shine? See how they persist? Glowing fiercely through Prisha’s choking hold?” He allowed the horse to glide forward a few more paces before he finished his thought. “I think they’re shining for you.”
Despite my instincts to dismiss anything he said, I could not dismiss the awe that slackened my mouth when I marveled at the canopy of stars. The ancestors smiled at me with each twinkle of light, holding on despite the obsidian streaks of poison staining the mesh of sky. Glittering like diamonds, boasting of wealth and power and wonder. Acknowledging me. A part of me—in my heritage, in my present, and in my future.
“The stars favor you,” he whispered.
I turned back toward him, lifting a quizzical brow at the sincerity etched into his calm composure. Something fluttered in my stomach, but I immediately slammed walls around my heart and let my expression harden. What kind of a maniac says that to someone they’ve just met? “If they hold me in such high regard as you say, then I hope they do me a favor.” I let my words drift heavily, filling the empty space between us before I elaborated, “I hope they swallow you whole so I can be rid of you forever.” Just like Ahma had done with Prisha’s snake.
Unease wedged between us, and the smirk on his face dulled, dampened by the flicker of something haunted in his eyes as he urged the mare forward.
Chapter 12
Rali
It took until daybreak to make it back to the guryas, but as we moved closer to my home, I grew increasingly uneasy. Something was wrong. It was too quiet. Too still. The harder I tried to reach for the call of my Sisters, the more it slipped beyond the grasp of my consciousness. My throat clogged with the viscous poison of worry.
Plumes of black smoke rose from the dunes ahead. I thought they had been a mere trick of the light—perhaps the dispersing shadows of dawn or even a figment of my own imagination, but as we climbed uphill, my nerves tingled with dread. The featherlike columns of tar waved in stark contrast against the first inkling of daybreak, and my heart pounded in warning. The poison tumbling upward to the sky did not come from Prisha’s curse—this darkness came from our world. A nightmare in reverse. The signal of destruction. It came in great waves of smoke and carried the acrid stench of scorched wood.
The mare glided forward, coming to a stop at the height of a particularly imperious dune. The valley opened up before us, and the catastrophe at the end of the steep slope came into focus.
The guryas burned.
My home burned.
Destroy the Daughters. Kill the Stitcher. The invasive voice rattled inside of my head, its tone triumphant and so far removed from the actual sensation of horror that clutched my brain between its shriveled fingers and long, piercing nails. I scrunched my eyes closed for a moment, as though squeezing them shut could somehow force its presence out of my mind. I wished it would leave me alone.
When I opened my eyes, the wall of flames still curled before me, devouring the painted hides of the guryas in a weaving dance between the wooden beams. The scent of charred wood mingled with the crackle of fire as it climbed up the dwelling. Heat accosted my face as I stared numbly at the way the flames reached up toward the rising sun, as though trying to return to its distant brethren. I vaguely registered the flooding wetness that coated my cheeks, though I hadn’t realized I’d started crying.
What…what happened?
The monster shifted behind me, tugging the reins to direct the whinnying horse away from the wreckage.
Whirling, I turned in my seat to face the creature from the In Between. The signature hint of amusement he normally adopted was absent. In its place, he wore a grave expression that creased the space between his brows. “We should go,” he murmured urgently, eyes darting toward the skies.
Anger consumed me, a mirror to the flames licking away the remnants of my home.
“Did you do this?” I lashed out. “Did you send Prisha after them? Did you tell her where to find them? Is this your doing?” I yelled, my voice cracking with strain. But in my soul, doubts stirred. Of course it hadn’t been him—he’d been with me. But still…If he could hear Prisha like I could…if he could communicate with her…
I didn’t know who Prisha chose to communicate with, or how, so he could never be trusted.
He attempted to place a tender hand on my shoulder, but I shoved him away. “Don’t touch me.” His eyes widened and his whole body tensed. He locked his jaw, as if to hold back whatever words he rehearsed in his mind but dared not say.
I slid from the horse, retrieving the Eldress from where I’d left her slumped across the mare’s shoulders. Perspiration dripped from my brow to the tip of my nose. I wiped my nose against my shoulder, stumbling toward the flaming guryas with as much haste as the shifting sand could afford me, carrying the Eldress away from the wretched creature.
I shouldn’t have trusted him. Not even for a second.
Sparks of fire popped, branching from the body of devouring flames, and I fell in an ungraceful heap in the sand. I dropped the Eldress before me and leaned over her, shaking her uninjured shoulder and begging her to wake. To help. To do anything. But her tongue simply lolled to the side of her lax mouth, and beads of sweat smattered her pallid complexion.
“Ahma, please. Wake up!” The roar of flames blasted a threatening wave of heat across my face, and I squinted, but Ahma did not even flinch. Tears clouded my vision, though the fire’s blaze quickly siphoned them from my cheeks. “Please, Ahma. Help.”
My eyes swept over the incineration, dreading what I might see if I permitted myself to look too closely. Had the Daughters fled in time? Or were they still in there…enshrouded by flames? My mouth ran so dry my tongue chafed against the roof of my palate, and my throat shriveled, collapsing in on itself so I could not swallow the shape of my fear.
The Daughters must die. Kill the Stitcher. A vision of the Eldress tied to a stone slab rammed into my mind, her ancient body withered and broken, with blood pooling around the knife in her abdomen.
Surprise choked me. I squeezed the tears away, but they slipped through my lashes and rolled down my cheeks until the heat banished them. The smoke stung, but I could not bear to pull my gaze aside.
The blaze consumed the remnants of our belongings. Most had already crumbled into ash, but some stood fast, rebelling with unwavering resilience. The tea kettle, still hooked on the side of the failing support beam, shelves on the precipice of a collapse, heaps of debris and fallen ash across the cook surface. Defiant until the end.
Yet no hint of the Daughters surfaced in the rubble. “Please, Ahma, wake and call the Daughters to us. Please.” Had they fled to the city without me? Did the Dune Riders find them? Venom and hell. We should have been quicker to heed Lurah’s warning. A sharp pain twisted between my ribs—the knifelike stab of guilt. How could I get the Eldress to one of our healers if I’d been detached from the web that connected all Daughters? If I could no longer trace their magic?
I lowered my head to her chest, letting my tears fall as little crystal additions to the rows of beads swathing her neck. Her heart beat so slowly, her lungs shuddering with too-shallow breaths. Still, she didn’t stir. Without the Eldress to reunite the Daughters, the call of their weaving no longer reached me. They were beyond my grasp, and I—I was lost.
A crackling sounded above me, and I snapped my neck back to look up. Flames enveloped the tallest mast at the center of the gurya, splitting the weakening wood.
Kill the Stitcher, Prisha hissed. A shadowy wave of darkness spilled from the rifted sky, materializing into a hand of destruction. The tendrils lengthened into fingers, swooping toward the creaking beam. With an artistic flick of its wrist, the black mass shoved the mast off balance.
Seconds spanned for an eternity as the mast teetered. I gaped, following its slow descent as it cast a menacing shadow over our heads, holding me frozen beneath it. A wave of fiery purpose coursed through my veins, freeing me from the state of paralysis that gripped me. My muscles ignited with a burst of desperation but—too late.
Seizing Ahma beneath her shoulders, I heaved to drag her from the path of the falling beam and snapped my eyes shut, cursing the moment of hesitation that would now cost us our lives.
I gasped, pulling air sharply into my lungs as the mast collapsed in a spray of sand at our side. Threads of shadow wrapped around it, wrenched aside by dark magic so the beam missed us by only a few measures. The monster appeared behind me, his wings snapping over us to form a canopy, shielding us from the sputtering sparks of flame that leaped from the scorched wood.
None of us moved—hearts hammering, breaths jagged, every muscle of my body rigid with tension. Had Prisha…had Prisha just attempted to murder Ahma from her prison in the sky? Could she do that?
I rolled my head toward her creature. And had her monster just…saved us? My eyebrows cinched with confusion when he met my gaze. Behind him, his wings dissipated like smoke, carried away on nonexistent winds.
“I—”
“Halt! Who goes there?” A voice sliced through the remains of my half-formed thought, barking with an authority that jarred me. Or perhaps it was the sound of approaching hooves and the too-recent memory of my encounter with the Dune Riders that reignited my already frayed nerves.
The monster’s spine stiffened behind me. He pulled away, slamming a hand over his ear as the swish of an arrow grazed him. A tributary of shadowy blood gushed down the side of his face, sprawling into narrowing forks. His lips curled into a sneer of rage.
“Unhand her, or the next one goes through your eye socket!”
My attention darted toward the speaker, adorned in a leather breastplate and red-plumed helmet. A guard from Rashii—his arrow cocked and aimed with the confidence of a man who never missed by accident. Any other day, it would have been shocking to see an outsider approach the guryas, for the Stitcher’s magic made them impenetrable to strangers. But now—there was nothing left to hide behind…no Eldress to weave her protective canopy above us. And no capacity left inside of me to feel anything but a vast, rapidly expanding emptiness that left me entirely exposed.
A growl rumbled in the monster’s chest, and in a fluster of movement, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me behind him, shielding both me and the Eldress from the newcomer’s view.
“Wait!” I gasped, squeezing the corded muscle above the crook of his arm. Stepping around him, I met his gaze and pleaded with him to understand the words written across my face. To keep his magic hidden. To tread carefully. “He’s a guard from Rashii. He can help us.” Let me handle this. He can’t know what you are. Don’t overreact. The vein in his temple ticked with obvious disapproval, but he did not stop me when I stepped around him to approach the rider.
The soldier’s horse slowed to a trot and came to a stop in front of me—a guard with unruly black hair, tousled by his ride through the desert. He peered down at me with sharp eyes and an even sharper nose before lancing back toward my captive with murderous intent. Sliding from the mare’s back, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword.
“Did you do this?” he gritted through a sneer, cheeks reddening as he brushed past me and stalked toward the monster who’d saved me. “Where are the rest of the Daughters, Khazdruki scum?” He waved toward the soldiers behind him, communicating some secret signal with a swish of his hand. They tightened their formation around us, arrows aimed at Prisha’s creature.
