Servants of the Sands, page 82
It’s not love, Eredion warned, a ghosting whisper along her inner ear. Don’t ever make that mistake.
I’m not human, Deiq said. I’m not even ha’ra’hain any longer, because of you.
You can’t blame her alone for that, Eredion said, voice stern.
Closer, more real this time, Deiq’s irritable voice dragged her out of the protective cocoon of memory: Alyea, stop channeling ghosts. They’re getting in the way, and I need your help....
Barbed whips coiled around her body, shredding skin, muscle, snagging at bone—she cried out at the shock of pain, at the failure of muscle and will to protest, to retreat, to fight back against the indignity.
Warm, thick pressure surrounded her, cocoon-like. She felt the impact of the barbs sinking into that protective shield, felt the shuddering, pained reaction of her protector, and drew in a harsh breath, relishing the momentary freedom from agony.
Then she gathered herself, focused—pushed free from the cocoon— reached, grasping the ropy tendrils, ignoring the sharp thorns piercing hands, arms, shoulders, arms—wrenched: not at the physical pain, not at the tangible whips slicing across her flesh, but at the source: a vast, solid mass without definable shape or color.
Strength doubled and doubled again as she drew the heaviness to her—a distant warning cry passed by without disturbing her focus—and struck, channeling everything into one precise, aqeyva-calm blow.
Cold air washed across her body, a chill shriek burst throughout her head, a vast wave of ice tumbled her sideways and sideways and sideways....
Enough, Deiq said, his voice scarcely audible. You’ve done enough. Rest. You can rest now. Rest....
She opened her eyes, finding only a mild, dark, peaceful silence. Enough, she agreed, and let the quiet sing her to sleep.
Chapter 109
As Idisio slid free of the cage, the structure shivered, light turning scalding for a moment—then disappeared entirely, leaving the air quivering with shock. Darkness turned grey with a blink. He stood on nothingness, turning in place without moving, searching his surroundings.
Get out, his mother said. Get out, out out, out... out.... The word echoed down his spine, tugging at him, demanding he respond with flight.
No, he said, not pushing her into silence this time, merely refusing to obey. I’m not leaving Riss behind again.
His mother sighed, amused and exasperated—and perhaps, just a bit, impressed. You do love her, then.
No, he said. I don’t. But that doesn’t matter.
Grey air acquired weight to one side. He tucked himself sideways, fading into silence, stealing his presence away from vision. His mother hummed, approving: Not quite how I learned it, she said, but very effective. Well done, son.
The heavy air swept past, searching—troubled—annoyed. Idisio felt words ripple over him. He let them slide by, not allowing them to hook him out of his hiding place. It didn’t matter what Scratha ha’rethe said at this point.
He waited until the presence turned its gaze elsewhere, then moved—slipping along the creature’s back trail, noiseless, insignificant, one more mote of grey in a monochrome world.
Color washed through the air ahead: Pale, weary streaks of reds and blues; a series of vibrant yellow and white threads, all swirling, shifting, dancing.
Ah, his mother sighed. It’s too late, son.
A leap brought him up against the bundled mass of color. He splayed his arms along it, feeling something—not flesh, not form, but weight—meeting his embrace. Riss, he said, unable to speak aloud, throat too locked with fury and horror for sound.
The light turned, tendrils coiling along his arms. He allowed it, pressing close, seeking some glimpse of the individual he’d known. “Riss,” he said aloud, his voice emerging broken and harsh. “Riss—talk to me, you’re still alive, you have to be—”
The coiling light grew spikes, driving itself deep into him, grabbing, pulling—He screamed, his mother’s cry overlapping his. They strained to free themselves, found no relief, no release, no way to pry loose the searing daggers sunk through and through and through.
A massive impact shuddered through the grey, disrupting the colorful lines into millions of particles for a fraction of a heartbeat. Idisio threw himself backward, vaguely aware that he was still screaming. The pain seemed to be doubling with each breath, hazing his vision, his perception, his interest in anything beyond the agony drilling into his bones.
Oh, shut up, Deiq said, the words locking sound to silence. He shoved Idisio upright, stopping the helpless tumble, shaking the pain into an ignorable abstraction with that simple movement. You are a complete fucking idiot, you know that? You and Alyea. Deaf and blind and stupid.
Idisio swayed, blinking, vision crossing from black to grey to black to amber-edged clarity. Deiq loomed, larger than he should have been. Sharp, sinuous cuts laced across the elder ha’ra’ha’s body from scalp to toes. Blood drifted into the air in tiny specks, and Deiq’s eyes were cloud-white.
That’s not Riss, Deiq said, implacable, harsh. That’s a sai-ch’nain: a child of blood. They exist solely to draw life from the living and funnel it to their parent. It would have killed you.
Idisio refocused, looking at the blur of color that had tried to murder him. It roiled, wrapped in thick, ropy lines of red and black and green. What’s that all around it? he asked, bewildered.
That’s my sai-ch’nain, Deiq said, voice white as his eyes.
The air thickened rapidly, turning to gel in Idisio’s throat. He gagged, thrashing, fighting for breath. Then, abruptly, something in his muscles shifted—widened—became, for lack of a better word, feathery. The gel filtered through Idisio’s mouth and nose, usable fragments descending, inert obstacles flowing—out—He put a hand to the side of his neck, discovering a series of ridged slits.
“Holy shit,” he tried to say, gagged again, and found himself floating completely upside down a moment later.
Idiot, Deiq repeated, shoving Idisio upright once more. If you weren’t under my protection, I’d let you die before you get us both killed.
A rumble overrode any answer Idisio might have given, a thunderous, bone-shaking vibration that turned the air murky yellow. You dare pit yourself against me? Scratha ha’rethe said. You dare harm my sai-ch’nain? Outrage turned the words into heavy drum-beats that threatened to shatter Idisio’s eardrums.
This is my land, my realm, my duty. You have no rights here.
I am First Born, Deiq said. I have whatever rights I claim. And I claim this place as my own, under the charge that you have betrayed your oaths and are unfit to hold this position.
The raw fury in the answering roar wrenched at the very stones of the Fortress far above. Idisio could feel the entire structure shivering, stones loosening, old mortar weakening. A heartbeat later the sound shifted to a higher, more startled pitch, focus moving upward, as though the ha’rethe sought to see something within the Fortress.
My bound lord! it said. Someone dares—someone dares!
Idisio barely heard Deiq’s muttered comment: Good girl, you didn’t lose your nerve—
As the great mass around them began uncoiling vast, boneless arms toward the Fortress, perception blurred, once more sliding into the multi-eyed overview she remembered from the Qisani. Deiq’s black, harsh determination threaded through Idisio’s bewildered desperation; they reached out as one to draw Alyea’s mind into the mix—slipped—missed—caught her, a reluctant fish on a barbed hook: her protests overridden by Deiq’s absolute command.
Oh, damnit, you didn’t kill him, Deiq said, irritable. The words dragged in their wake indistinct images of rocks, shining under a drenching downpour.
He’s been removed from Scratha lands, along with the numaina, Alyea said, not in the least remorseful. They won’t return until I tell them to.
Deiq gave the silent equivalent of a disgusted head-shake, then reached out, snake-swift, and gathered Alyea in, twisting her away from the physical and through other-space to stand cradled tightly against him.
She made no effort to resist, showed no surprise; held still, eyes shut, face turned into the elder ha’ra’ha’s chest.
It’s... very hot here, she said faintly.
Idisio blinked, surprised, lifting his glance to scan their surroundings. The air still hung patchy shades of grey and red, but as his vision adjusted this time he found himself looking up, and realizing how far underground they were. Scratha ha’rethe, for all its furious haste, hadn’t extended itself all the way to the surface yet, nor noticed the new arrival.
You won’t live long here, Deiq said, remorseless. I need to draw from you. Both of you, he added, catching at Idisio’s attention. Give me everything. All of yourselves. I’ll take it anyway, so there’s no point fighting—that’ll just make it hurt more and I won’t be able to stop before it kills you.
Alyea sighed a little, resignation threading through her acceptance: I’m going to die.
Idisio bucked, backing up, pushing his hands out before him as though that would stop anything from happening. Deiq raised his head, glazed eyes meeting Idisio’s own. Fear dissolved, refusal emptied to silence, awareness clouded, distorted, inverted.
Oh, gods... Idisio didn’t know if it was his thought or someone else’s. An impossible array of presences pressed close around him. Tank—Alyea—littlered—Idisio—Ellemoa—Deiq—Acana... and others, shapeless forms whose shadows stretched back hundreds of years, names long forgotten or never known.
A hurricane wind passed through them all, sweeping every last scrap of being into its wake, dragging every moment of pain, anger, fear, moment of madness out into a long, gleaming blade that swung with ponderous, unstoppable momentum—
—Slicing through the lower half of the distracted, reaching ha’rethe—
—Ripping apart not flesh and bone, but an essence all too similar to what Idisio had drawn from his own mother, a blackness, a denseness—he began to stretch out, gathering what focus remained, helplessly craving that incredible joy—just a touch, just a moment, just a crumb, surely he could be allowed that much—
Deiq slammed Idisio back and away with a curse: Fucking idiot, don’t you fucking learn? he snarled. I’m trying to keep you alive, but gods only know why at this point!
The shriek came a moment later, a soundless storm of pressure that seemed to rip the world into a million pieces, fluttering like shredded bits of paper, obscuring sight, spinning direction into chaos.
Enough, Deiq said, you’ve done enough. Get out—
Air turned to a wave of ice, rising hard and fast to shove Idisio through waves of green-yellow flecked air/the taste of rust/mold/a strata of odors: rot, blood, roasting meat—at one point, oddly, fennel—heat-baked rock, and other aromas Idisio had no name for.
Ice spread to surround his entire body. Moments later, movement stopped, color because monochrome, odor stabilized into the overriding rottenness of mud. Rain drenched him, hammering down as though determined to wash what sense he still possessed straight out of his head.
Rock groaned. Instinctively, Idisio put out a hand, touching only air; pushed with more than muscle, pressing out and up, holding the unsteady walls in place for several terrified, panting breaths. Then the sense of danger passed, stone settling reluctantly back into place; still uncertainly seated on crumbling mortar, but no longer in immediate danger of collapse.
He could feel other areas of the Fortress falling, and hear the cries of those trapped under the cascading rock, and feel the pain crackling through their crushed bodies. Without really thinking about it, he sought out those with no chance of recovery, gathering their energy into himself, breathing easier with each life taken.
Vision cleared, clarified: He was in one of the open courtyards, rain pouring down, pooling, streaming away along hidden pipes. Alyea lay, unconscious, not far away. Her hair was a stark white, her naked body streaked with a chaotic lattice of lines, some bleeding, others ridged and hard, as though already scabbed into permanent scars.
He staggered to his feet, lifting her into his arms, and looked around for shelter, then found the archway, and lurched forward, one foot after another, coherent thought draining like the water in the courtyard.
Chapter 110
Cafad Scratha sat on a raggedly shaped boulder, expression blank. His clothes hung lank along his lean frame, still dripping water onto the thirsty ground. The rain squall had come and gone, leaving the air hot and muggy. Eager desert growth uncoiled leaf and vine from every available crevice. A pale green stem bent over Cafad’s bare feet, heavy with water drops. Older plants, even bent under the weight of leftover raindrops, reached to Alyea’s knees and thighs. One particularly enterprising patch of flowers topped her shoulders.
“He won’t move,” Gria said, wringing water from her hair. “I didn’t want to leave him.”
“You did right,” Alyea said. She brushed a fingertip against Cafad’s shoulder, felt nothing, then tried putting her hand on his shoulder, lightly at first, then more firmly. Still no response, at any level. She reached for Cafad’s mind, found only a blank, grey haze shot through with alarming white streaks, and withdrew hastily.
“What do we do?” Gria’s voice was nearly a whine. “I can’t help carry him back!”
Alyea laughed a little. “That’s not the problem,” she said. “I can carry him.” Bruised muscles and strained joints protested. She ignored the pain as irrelevant.
Gria stared, incredulous. “But you’re—I mean, he’s larger—” She caught herself at last and shut her mouth, eyebrows drawn tight in worry.
“I’m not at all certain we should bring him back onto Scratha lands,” Alyea said. She half-expected the girl to protest that she didn’t want to go back, but Gria stayed quiet, her gaze going to the ground as though fascinated by a nearby plant. Alyea sighed. “Well, only one way to find out, I suppose.”
She knelt and gathered Cafad up into her arms, forcing exhausted muscles to obey, staggering a bit as she came to her feet. He made no protest and offered no resistance; lay limp and blank as a sleeping child, his vague stare now fastened on the clouds overhead.
She hadn’t been at all sure he’d be alive when she returned. His glazed passivity was both a relief and deeply worrisome.
After the recent whirl of activity, she found it calming to focus on one foot in front of the other, balancing Cafad’s weight—not difficult, he’d obviously not been eating properly for some time—avoiding loose rocks and pushing through newly unfurled bushes. Gria trailed behind, not speaking, which was another relief. Alyea didn’t really have much interest in answering questions at the moment. Between the ghost-echo of barbs tearing through her body and the shattering headache rapidly swelling through her temples, she felt little interest in anything.
As they neared the invisible boundary of Scratha lands, Cafad began to stir, restless. A few steps more, and he began to whimper. Three more steps brought the whimper into a full-throated scream that ripped savagely at Alyea’s headache. Alyea grimaced, blinking hard against the pain, and said, “Gria. Go on to the Fortress. Send a servant out this way to take care of Lord Scratha.”
The girl hesitated, frowning anxiously, then shrugged and obeyed.
Cafad’s restlessness turned to jerking tremors, the scream warbling out unabated between convulsions. Alyea turned and carried him away from the border. He didn’t calm until they were nearly back to where she’d originally left him.
She set him down. He stumbled to a nearby rock and sat, gaze vague once more, breath rasping through his raw throat. She sat down herself, rubbing her face with one hand, not at all sure what to do next. She hadn’t expected to survive this long. The crackling pain in her head made it hard to think. Her joints felt as though they might simply separate at any moment, leaving her a crumpled pile of limbs and blood.
Pain coalesced into distinct pulses along ears, eyebrow, lip, and groin. “Oh,” Alyea said aloud, looking up at the cloud-littered sky. “So the bond is still there. Meaning he’s still alive. Well.” She looked at Cafad. “I’m sorry, Lord Scratha,” she told him as she hauled herself to her feet once more. “I have to leave you here. Someone will be along shortly.”
His head moved a bit. She couldn’t tell if it was a response or a delayed muscle twitch.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, this time meaning it as a comprehensive apology for the destruction and disaster. He blinked, gaze still unfocused, his head bobbing. Deciding that was the best she’d likely get, she began plodding back toward Scratha lands.
Chapter 111
On the road to redemption, you’ll kill at least one of your own kin and deny your elders a life they’ve claimed.
He remembered the dust in the air that day, the intent expression on the seer’s face as he studied the pattern of bones cast upon the ground.
Nobody can ever read their own, ha’inn. Didn’t you know that?
All he’d ever seen was a path through darkness into more darkness. Redemption hadn’t ever been a goal for him. That implied a belief in the gods, a belief that he had a soul.
Amusing conceits, from his point of view, nothing more.
No dust here, and human eyes would see darkness. No air, no water. In the heat of a ha’rethe’s true lair, liquid turned to compressed steam, solid to liquid if so desired, and rock held form only so long as the resident ha’rethe wished it to do so.
Deiq slid his will into the wavering rock even as he shoved Alyea and Idisio clear, briefly tempted to let it all collapse. He could allow himself to be terribly damaged by the collapse, could break the bond between himself and Alyea, could be free. Could fall into a deep sleep, maybe not the final sleep, but close enough to remove him from human matters for many of their lifetimes. Not yet. It would be a waste of all the years of work to give up now.
He turned his attention to the weakly flailing remains of Scratha ha’rethe. Long tendrils, black and grey mingled with the yellow-orange of his sai-ch’nain, splayed out in tangled patterns in all directions, snagged across every surface like a living web. Alyea’s blow had destroyed the Scratha sai-ch’nain entirely. Idisio’s attack had torn into the ha’rethe itself, stripped away layers of protection, ripping deep into the most vulnerable areas, exposing what humans might have called brain or soul or heart. They’d never developed a word, in any of their languages, to properly describe the spot that allowed ha’reye and humans to bond, the spot in every creature where intellect and life wound together into a tightly compressed mass of energy.
