“People,” he said, turning back to Iseult. “Hundreds are coming this way.”
She showed no surprise. In fact, she was the one to nod now. “It’s the Red Sails from the river. They want Owl back, which is why we must find her first.”
It was then—at that moment—that it hit Aeduan square in the chest. Iseult was here. Not hunting after the Truthwitch but here, standing tall in a land of smoking embers. Before he could speak, before he could ask her how she knew of the Red Sails, an inhuman shriek filled the air. Louder than the receding rain, louder than the cannons’ roar.
It was the mountain bat, returned and plunging right for them.
Aeduan barely yanked Iseult sideways before its talons crashed into the stones.
*
Merik could not reach Vivia.
Kullen’s cyclone fought him on all sides, even as Merik tried to send winds to grab Vivia. Even as he tried to send himself breaking free.
It was as if Kullen sensed what Merik would do next. It was if he sensed the tiny, pitiful heart of Merik’s true power.
He and Kullen were bound. Their souls, their magics, which meant … No magic. Merik could not use his Windwitchery here.
It left his chest aching and his body limp, but Merik did it. He released the wind. He released the magic. He released the fury.
Then Merik fell, a nosedive straight down the storm’s heart. A free fall toward the water-bridge. He felt Kullen’s scream blast in his skull. The magic lanced through Merik’s belly, through his limbs. Use me, use me, use me.
Merik did not use it. He hurtled on, no self, only black seafire zooming in fast.
Then he was passing the water-bridge. Heat consumed him. Shadows raged. But below—below, green valley awaited.
Through the smoky, wind-raised tears, Merik saw his sister. With her hands and legs outstretched, water writhed to her in vast webs. Over and over they shattered as she plummeted through. Not strong enough to save her from the valley’s floor, but enough to slow her descent. Enough for Merik to catch up.
He squeezed his arms to his sides, pointed his toes.
Water sprayed his face; droplets lost from Vivia’s control.
Faster, faster. No magic to push him, only the power of Noden. The power of the fall. Move like the wind, move like the stream.
Merik reached her. Water crashed into him, a thousand cuts that sliced him apart. His arms tore around her. He held tight.
They spun. Around, around, no sight. No sound. Only water and wind and the feel of death rushing in fast.
But now—now Merik could fly. Now he could use the power that bound him to Kullen.
An eruption of wind. It snapped beneath their bodies, flipped them hard into a new spiral. More, more. Merik summoned more in a roar of heat that Kullen could not contain. Enough air to stop them. Enough wind to send the grass flattening outward. A vast circle above which Merik and Vivia slowed. Finally stopped.
They landed on their feet, legs crumpling beneath them. Merik’s hands sank into wet grass and soil. Such a bright, living smell after all the smoke and storm.
“Merry,” Vivia tried to say. Her shoulder was bleeding.
“Your arm,” Merik replied. He stood, shaky. Had there always been so much grass? Already it sprang back to its full height, as if Merik’s winds had never come.
“I’m fine.” Vivia stood beside him. “I can’t feel it. Merry, I need to tell you—”
A loud crack echoed through the valley. As if a mountain had fallen. As if the earth itself had split in two.
The dam was breaking.
*
Safi versus Kahina.
They fought on the cutter’s deck while the crews watched from the dock. No weapons, no shoes, and no one else on board. Just the two women and gulls circling overhead.
The rest of the world fell away. No more distant roar from the arena. Nor even the nearer creak of the ship’s planks. The world fell away because Safi made it fall away, just as Habim had taught her almost a decade ago. Her gaze hung chest level at Kahina, the better to see all of Kahina’s body. All of her twitches and twists. Then Safi planted her soles on the rough wood—the better to feel how the ship might pitch and yaw.
Kahina was shorter than Safi, but Safi wasn’t fool enough to think this was to her advantage. She could already tell Kahina was an experienced, comfortable fighter. It was in the way she bounced foot to foot, arms up and fists loose.
It was also in her ears: lumpy and swollen from decades of being pummeled—and from getting back up again.
What made Kahina especially formidable, though, was her freshness. She hadn’t spent her morning on the run from flames or Baedyeds or an arena gone mad. In fact, Safi’s greatest challenge would be in staying alert. Focused—