The Straits of Galahesh

CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

N ikandr padded along snowy ground with the twenty or so men who remained of the battle trailing behind. Styophan moved alongside him with an awkward gait that spoke of the pain he was experiencing. He was wounded. His shoulder had been bound hastily, but he had strength in him yet to fire a musket, and that was all Nikandr could hope for at a time like this.

They had headed deeper into the forest to the north of the city and circled back in the hopes that Atiana would be held at the rear of the train marching steadily toward the Spar.

Among the chill and distant calls of the akhoz, Nikandr’s anxiety had grown worse. Normally when he felt Atiana-or anyone else with whom he’d touched stones-he could sense, however faintly, their mood. Whether they were happy or sad or angry, it shone through their shared connection like a scent upon the wind. But in Atiana he could feel nothing-only her presence-and it terrified him. It was as if she were dead, lying in a room so that he could see her, feel her, but could not communicate with her.

As they left the forest and entered the fields surrounding Vihrosh, he could tell that she was close. She might be near the center of the city now, and he was sure that if she were there, then so would be Muqallad and Sariya. They pushed, marching at the quick, and came to the edge of the city as the sound of battle on the far side of the straits rose to new heights.

As they entered a square with decorative trees, a bird winged down and landed on the cobbled street. It was the gallows crow. “She has been taken,” it said. “You must hurry. You must save her.”

The way the bird spoke those words, it reminded Nikandr of someone, but the thought seemed preposterous. “Ishkyna?”

The crow cawed over and over, a low, sad sound. “Speak not her name!”

Nikandr didn’t understand, but he knew better than to question her. “How?” he asked. “How can I save her?”

“I failed her. Sariya’s hold on her was stronger than I had guessed-much stronger-and now the Atalayina has her in its grasp. She is lost in its depths.” The crow stumbled and fell to the ground, its wings trying ineffectually to help it remain standing. He could see something clutched in one of its talons, which it dropped onto the cobbles. The thing clinked and made a shink sound as the crow hopped away. “Take it to her, Nischka. I hope it will return her to herself.”

With that the crow shivered along its whole length. It regained its feet and flew off in a rush, as if it had just then awoken to find itself among men in a place it had never been.

Nikandr reached down and found a necklace, a soulstone necklace, and he knew just by touching it that it was Atiana’s. How the crow had come by it, and how Atiana had lost it, he didn’t know, but he was glad to have it. It gave him hope.

“Hers?” Styophan asked.

“ Da.”

“What do we do now?”

Nikandr pulled Atiana’s soulstone necklace over his head. It felt good to have it resting next to his own. “What is there to do but go on?”

They resumed the chase, faster than before. Light began to fill the eastern sky. Gone were all but the brightest stars on the horizon, the weakest replaced by a swath of indigo that foreshadowed the dawn. They knew when they were coming close from the calls of the akhoz. Few had appeared at the battle at the munitions building, which made sense, for if the ritual was anything like the one on Rafsuhan, most would have been sacrificed to make the Atalayina whole.

They came to a place where six roads met at a large circle with a lawn at its center with a lone, towering larch. This was the heart of Vihrosh. The ponderous stone buildings were old remnants of the power that Vihrosh had once held as the seat of Yrstanla’s power here on Galahesh. On the far side of the larch, running down the opposite street toward the circle, was the silhouette of a woman.

“Nikandr!” Atiana called. There was a desperation in her voice that he didn’t understand.

Until he saw the creatures bounding after her.

He sprinted toward her, his men close behind. They passed the larch and reached the entrance to the street in little time. The akhoz behind her uttered sickening brays that made Nikandr’s skin crawl. They galloped along the cobblestones like dogs. In moments they’d be on her.

“Down, Atiana!” Nikandr called as he skidded to a halt and swung his musket up to his shoulder.

Atiana either didn’t listen or hadn’t heard, and the first of the akhoz leapt upon her back, driving her to the ground.

It cleared a path for him. He fired at the second akhoz. Styophan, standing to his left, fired as well, as did two Maharraht.

Two akhoz dropped, writhing on the ground as the one that had leapt on Atiana fought with her, snarling and clawing as Atiana screamed.

Nikandr charged forward, pulling his shashka.

Atiana twisted away and kicked at the akhoz. It rolled away momentarily, but it gave Atiana enough leverage to kick again, this time much harder.

The akhoz was much smaller than Atiana, and it was sent reeling backward. It struck the cobblestones while releasing a sound that was half growl, half mewl. It spun over and was back on all fours when Nikandr swept in and brought his sword down hard, aiming for its neck. The creature ducked, receiving a cut across its shoulder blade. It scrabbled away, but Nikandr lunged forward and drove his sword through its gut.

It screamed to the night sky. The sounds echoed among the buildings. It grasped at the sword blade, slicing its fingers open as it clawed for Nikandr’s hand. He jerked the sword free, and at last it collapsed to the ground.

“Atiana,” Nikandr said as he stepped close to her.

She stood, the whites of her eyes visible in the early morning light. She stared at him as if she didn’t know him.

Nyet, he thought, as if she were afraid of him.

“Atiana,” he said, softer this time. He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.

It was then that Nikandr realized that all of them-he, Styophan, the Maharraht-all of them were in a narrow stretch of street, one easily defended on both sides.

“Reload!” he shouted, while Atiana stared at him with uncaring eyes.

The men responded, but too slowly. Dark forms slid into the street from an alley ahead. They swept in behind.

One of the Maharraht brought his weapon up.

Three muskets flashes came from the men ahead, and in that brief moment, Nikandr could see that they were Hratha, their black robes merging with the deep shadows.

The Maharraht grunted and fell to the ground. As he wheezed, a gurgling sound coming from a chest wound, the Hratha called in Mahndi, “Lay down your arms.”

Nikandr had no intention of obeying. The Hratha could not be trusted, especially now with all their plans so close to fruition.

He drew upon his hezhan, pulling the wind to swirl through the narrow street. Dust and dirt stung him as he grabbed Atiana’s wrist and pulled her back toward the edge of the alley.

The Maharraht and the men of Anuskaya took this as his answer, and those that had already reloaded fired.

The Hratha returned fire, and Nikandr saw a glowing stone of jasper upon one man’s brow. Another of azurite glowed a deep shade of blue. A cracking sound rent the ground. It shook the street and the nearby buildings.

Nikandr held Atiana close as he called upon the wind to drive the Hratha back. He saw several raise their muskets, but only two shots were released.

Nikandr opened himself wider. He stepped away from Atiana and spread his arms wide. The presence of the hezhan filled him. He felt the flow of the wind through the streets of the city and called upon it to converge here. He called upon it to scour the Hratha from their path.

The wind answered, hungry for the breath of man, but just as it rose to a gale, Nikandr felt a rising fury within him. His mind went wild, memories of walking on the fields below Radiskoye coming to him, of planing curls of wood as he worked on the helm of the Gorovna, of those nervous moments before he’d touched stones with Atiana years ago when they were to be married. Those and a thousand more came unbidden. He had no control over them, and soon after he felt his muscles going slack.

He realized in a distant and disconnected way that this was no illness, that this was something being done forcibly to him.

He was being assumed, he realized, and he couldn’t at first understand who would attack him in such a way.

Stars filled the field of his vision as his knees gave way and he tipped toward the ground. As the ground rose up, he had a sudden moment of crystal clarity. He knew who had done this to him.

He knew without a doubt.

It was Atiana.

He would have felt betrayed if it hadn’t been for the stone-hearted indifference radiating from her.

He willed his arms to arrest his fall, but they refused him, and he struck the ground like a tree felled. And then the darkness, held at bay for so long, finally embraced him.