“He is using me to lure you to the Alcalah,” I said. “You have to run.”
Efra stared at me. “The Nizahl Heir knows you are a Jasadi?” And then, with blistering accusation, “And you agreed to help the silver serpent lure us to our deaths?”
“Will someone grab her? We need to move!” cried a bowman on the opposite side.
Efra’s disgust filled me with shame, and shame was an old friend. My heart slowed.
The Meridian Pass vibrated. New shouts alerted the Urabi. Some lifted their bows; others, their hands. Rotating through the finite supply of magic at their disposal.
Like a black cloud rolling over the horizon, hundreds of Nizahl soldiers marched onto the Meridian Pass. An object with three sharp spearheads landed next to my foot. The rope on the other end tightened, dragging the three-headed hook to the edge of the cliff and catching.
My lips parted. Arin had not led us into a vulnerable position by choosing the Meridian Pass. This was a calculated trap. A moving piece on his game board. He knew an attack at the Meridian Pass would be impossible for an enemy to resist.
“They’re climbing!”
We had seconds before they were upon us. These Jasadis would be slaughtered. They had committed crimes against other Jasadis, yes, but they were not for Nizahl to punish. My magic brimmed against my cuffs, eager to assist.
Clouds of dust still swirled around the canyon, granting me the perfect cover. I raised my hands, twisting them in the air as one might squeeze a wet rag. My magic pulled taut. Waiting for my command.
“It’s a trap!” I shouted. I shot a desperate glance at Efra. “They will kill you!”
Knowing Arin intended to capture these Jasadis did not mitigate my horror at seeing it before my eyes. The first soldier’s head appeared over the cliff. The Urabi were out of time.
I couldn’t watch a Jasadi die again. I hadn’t felt responsible for Adel, but the Urabi were here for me. Because of me.
You said our lands. Our villages. Not “the Jasadis’.”
I threw my arms open. A high-pitched whine reverberated in my ears. Magic poured from me in waves, each stronger than the last. The ground beneath us quaked. Dust exploded as rocks cascaded down the shaking slope.
Through the haze, I spotted Efra. Shock had frozen him in place, and the Urabi yanking at his arm seemed unable to dislodge him.
The ground shifted. With a roar of detritus and dust, each side of the Meridian Pass moved apart. I touched my cuffs. They singed my fingers. My magic… it was splitting the canyon wider.
When I glanced back, Efra was gone. The Nizahl soldiers in the canyon were tripping over the bodies of their fallen fellows, stumbling in the force of the shaking earth.
Relief poured through me. The Urabi had escaped.
I scanned the fallen bodies, heart in my throat. I did not see a head of bright blond hair or black curls.
The Meridian Pass finally stopped moving. I grabbed the rope the soldier had thrown and fixed the sharp end to the earth. My feet glided down the side of the canyon.
“Sylvia!” came Sefa’s shout. She and Marek were far ahead, barely visible at the other end of the canyon. Jeru waved from Marek’s right. He must have whisked them to safety.
Oh, thank the tombs. I exhaled, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead. They were alive.
I found Arin immediately. Instead of being surrounded by his soldiers, he was utterly alone on his horse. Bowed forward in the same position of agony I had left him in. How? The Urabi had departed and taken their magic with them.
It must be another force. Magic in the crags itself, undetectable to all but Arin. He had mentioned his father. What if it was remnant magic from the massacre? Remnant magic was rare, but the violence of the deaths here might have been enough to leave a trace.
Wes rode right past Arin, neck craned in search. “Where is the Commander?” he boomed.
He couldn’t see him. Kapastra’s crooked horns, I told my magic to shield him, and it rendered him invisible.
A whisper of alarm snaked through me. I had expended more magic than all the Urabi attackers combined. I should have felt exhausted. Half-dead.
I sprinted toward Arin without a hint of fatigue. I grabbed his coat and pulled myself onto the horse. Wresting the reins from his slackened grip, I snapped the horse into a trot. Arin didn’t react, trapped in his torment.
“Leave him alone,” I growled to the nothingness. My magic pulsed. I did not know how to repel the crags, but I had an acceptable grasp on how to block their influence. My cuffs burned as my magic cut off the insidious power assailing Arin.
His muscles loosened fractionally. I hadn’t blocked everything.
I slid one arm over Arin’s midsection. The other went across his chest, crooked so I could clasp my hands together at his shoulder. A diagonal, backward embrace. His heart raced beneath my wrist. “One, two,” I counted. “You’re alive.” I tightened my hold as his shallow breaths came faster. “Three, four. You’re safe.”
I didn’t know if he could hear me. Would a distraction help? The tools at my disposal were few, so I employed the quickest. “I was a mean child and an eternal nuisance to my caregivers. In Jasad, our fig and date trees sometimes grew into one. The gardeners would weave these hybrid trees into creations you cannot even imagine. A labyrinth of branches almost as tall as the obelisk in Vaida’s palace. I used to find the highest spot in those trees and draw for hours. I’d enchant the cicadas to swarm groups of children or create leaf monsters to skulk behind the fruit merchants and scare their customers. A boy once told me the black spots on strawberries are dead spider eggs, and I have not eaten a strawberry since.”
The rise and fall of his chest started to even. Encouraged, I continued, “The woman who raised me after Jasad fell is why I cannot tolerate touch.” The words stuck in my throat, unwilling to budge. Ashamed. “I miss her, sometimes. I hear her voice, scolding or taunting me, guiding me in danger. I hear her more than my own mother. Five years of terror and pain, and I have the nerve to miss her.”
A gloved hand slid over mine. I startled, rushing to withdraw my arms. Arin’s grip tightened. “Don’t.”
After a few minutes, I relaxed. I rested my cheek against his coat. It carried his scent, a wonderful amalgam of ink and rain. My eyelids dropped.
Ah, the exhaustion. I was not immune to it, after all. It pleased me, sharing such a small but universal Jasadi experience.
I must have dozed against Arin’s back. When I opened my eyes, we had cleared the canyon, and dozens of soldiers surrounded us. Arin’s expression was carefully blank. Dread turned my stomach. Nothing good ever accompanied Arin’s detachment.
He flicked his wrist without turning away from me. The soldiers rode away, fanning out like ants in the desert. We dismounted.