War of storms, p.30
War of Storms, page 30
“Like you let me know you were on your way back from the katsujo?” Before I can retort, he nudges me away, his eyes never leaving the ships anchoring close to shore. “Keep your garakyu out. I’ll tell you if I see anything useful.”
“Okay. How much time do you think we have?”
“An hour. Maybe.” His gaze flicks to meet mine, and despite how unshakably calm he’s seemed, there’s an unsettling amount of worry in his eyes. “Be careful, Khya.”
“You too.” I don’t want to turn away from him, but I can’t stay. The first step is hard, but momentum carries me forward until I’m sprinting down the stairs and through the empty streets.
These are paths I’ve traveled so many times, but I’ve always had to dodge people or carts. Not today. Most people are already in position, and the few still moving are heading toward the western wall.
Sanii is waiting in the center of the courtyard, nervously shifting as ey watches Chirida and several tyatsu work on one of the cannons. When I stop next to em, Sanii asks, “Are you sure you can hide everything?”
“Yes.” I can feel the buzz of the wardstones Yorri and Wehli spread through the city. It’s like they’re waiting for me to bring the power simmering inside them to life. I reach out and activate them. The cannons and everyone working on them disappear. “Can you sense the wardstones?”
Ey closes eir eyes to concentrate. Overhead, the storm rages. Flashes of lightning from different points of the sky cast conflicting shadows on eir sharp face. Then eir eyes open, expression radiating grim satisfaction. “They won’t sense a thing.”
The garakyu I slipped into my pocket vibrates against my waist. I draw it out and Tessen is there, quickly proclaiming, “He’s here. Varan and two other bobasu are at the center of the line. I think I see two others, but it’s hard to get a look at faces.”
Relief sucks the tension out of my body. I let my chin drop to my chest and revel in the feeling before giving a signal that ripples through the city—final positions. Then, before I sever the connection, I give one last order. “Hurry up, Tessen. You know where to find me.”
I use the garakyu and reach out to Yorri and the others. Everything is as ready as we can make it, according to them. There’s only one more problem left, and less than half an hour to solve it. My wardstones give me access to power, but I don’t know how to separate them in my mind. Yorri and Wehli placed some stones in rings encircling the bikyo-ko, others are surrounding cannons, and more line roofs around the courtyard. When I send my power out, it slides into all of them. I’ve taught myself how to do a lot with wardstones in the past year, but I haven’t yet learned how to simultaneously do different things with different groups. There has to be a way. I figured out how to attune the crystals to specific people, so I can figure out how—oh.
I learned soon after I made my first wardstone that a person’s energy has a tone to it that makes me think of colors. If I code each of the stones to shine like a color in my mind, I might be able to direct my power with the accuracy I need.
So long as I have enough time to get to them all.
I run for the bikyo-ko, sprinting up the stairs and then climbing up to the roof. There, in a perfect line, are twelve wardstones sunk into the stone. I place my hand on two and twist the energy running through the row until the sense of it shifts. Somehow, it feels red.
I paint the crystals on each roof red. I choose yellow for the smallest of the rings surrounding the courtyard, the same shade as the desert sun. The second one becomes the deep green of leaves on a Ryogan tree. Last and largest of the three? Pale blue, the color the sky used to be. When I’m done, Itagami glows like a mural, but only in my mind.
I race up the bikyo-ko steps, through the double doors, up to the third floor, and over to a window overlooking the courtyard. Settling in to wait, I pull my second garakyu out. As soon as I activate it, colors swirl inside, and multiple voices rise from the globe. Sanii, Soanashalo’a, Miari, Etaro, and several of the ahdo will send me information through garakyus of their own, like we did in Atokoredo. It’s nearly funny; the lessons I learned in Ryogo are what will—Kaisubeh willing—help me defeat Varan. By taking my brother, Varan ultimately armed me with everything I need to destroy him.
“They’re less than half a mile northwest, Khya.” The report comes in from Otsyni, one of the ahdo stationed on the wall, an uniku known for her sharp vision.
“We are in position, Khya,” Soanashalo’a assures me.
I run my thumb along the curve of the glass. Varan will have riuku mages looking for anything out of the ordinary. Looking for us. Itagami, however, has never been breached. Varan thinks he’s safe inside these walls. Today, I’m going to prove him wrong.
“I count ten squads,” comes the report from Rai. “At least two hundred twenty.”
“They don’t seem suspicious yet,” Otsyni says through the garakyu.
And no one in those squads seems to have figured out how to use a ward to stop the wind, so their progress is so much slower than I expected. The constant updates from Otsyni almost make it worse. A third of a mile out. A quarter. An eighth. Every time a voice rings through the garakyu, my heart clenches. I hold my breath. I’m waiting for the first sign of things going wrong, listening for the moment the plan falls to pieces around me.
Then Otsyni says, “They’re at the bottom of the path, Khya.”
Relief and fear clash in my chest, the collision sending sparks of energy down my arms until it feels like there’s lightning in my fingertips.
“You in place, little brother?” I ask through the open connection.
“We’re watching your back, don’t worry.” He, Sanii, and squads of Denhitrans are one floor below, guarding me. “Just don’t start anything I can’t get you out of. Even I have limits.”
I laugh, mostly because I know that’s what he wants, but my mind is anxiously churning. I led everyone home, and now we have to make it ours for the first time. So much could go wrong, but oh what might be possible if we somehow get this right.
On my signal, drummers raise their mallets and begin to play. The sound echoes through the city. Each percussive thud bleeds into the next until it’s like one constant peal of thunder. This is the beat played during the bigger, yearly celebrations, specifically during the ceremony recognizing the leaders and celebrating all they’ve done for Itagami. To Varan, this rhythm should seem like a sign of his citizens’ joy at his safe return.
To us, it’s a message—the next phase of the plan is about to begin.
“They’re halfway up the path.” Otsyni speaks so quietly I barely hear her. “Get ready.”
“‘Get ready,’” Tessen mutters as he joins me. “How much more ready can we be?”
“Let’s hope that answer doesn’t matter.” I reach for his hand. He twines his fingers through mine, but his smile is strained. I don’t think my smile is any more believable.
“We’ve made it this far.” He seems to force resolution into his voice. “What’s facing Varan next to everything else?”
Literally the end of everything we ever believed in our whole lives, and the start of something unknown. I keep the thought in my head. Closing my eyes and hoping the Kaisubeh are listening, I beg for one more thing: Please don’t let me make things any worse than they are, than they were, or than they ever should be.
There’s a clang, and then the familiar grinding crank of Itagami’s massive iron gates. Otsyni warns us they’re closing in, but I don’t need it. I can see them.
A cheer rises from the wall. I smile. I’d told the ahdo to act as if this truly was a triumphant return. Cheer, I instructed. Take their bags, gear, and weapons. They clearly took me at my word.
The iron gates close. The lock falls into place with a thunk. It’s the next signal. I find the crystals that shine sky blue, raising the ward and locking them in with us. My ward is strong. To anyone who can sense the desosa, it should be loud and bright—like drums or a bonfire on a clear night.
Come on, I silently urge. You know I’m here now. Find me. Hunt me down. I dare you.
Varan bellows an order. His force races toward the bikyo-ko. Maybe he’s aiming for the weapons hidden in the armory here. Maybe he’s hoping to escape through the saishigi core under the building. Maybe he knows this is where I’m hiding. I hold my breath, barely able to restrain myself from reacting. Too soon. I need to wait for the signal.
The drumbeat shifts. I raise the green ward, and then I lean out the window to watch as the front line slams into the second ward. The impact vibrates under my skin. Behind them, the others skid, barely stopping themselves in time.
All of them are trapped. There’s a barrier at their backs, reinforcing Itagami’s wall, and another separating them from the bikyo-ko. Like cornered teegras, they lash out. Jets of flame, bolts of lightning, and blocks of stone all slam into my wards. Each attack makes me flinch, the impacts like tiny embers landing on my skin. I endure it gladly, especially when several nyshin try to smash through the buildings on either side of the street, as though I hadn’t thought of that already. Not even the ishiji can do more than dent the stone.
In the middle of the thrashing crowd is a spot of stillness. Varan looks through the ward, staring up at the bikyo-ko. I wish I had Tessen’s sight—I want to see the look on Varan’s face.
I reach for the lines of red crystals on the roofs, but I don’t create a ward, I create the illusion of force—dozens of Itagamins with weapons drawn. Most of the figures are impossible to identify, their faces covered by an atakafu, but the illusion on the bikyo-ko is different. When Varan points at those figures, I smile—he believes that’s me. I can physically feel his fury crackling and flaring like it’s affecting the very desosa. I know Varan would rend me to pieces if he could, tear my body and soul into a million parts, put me back together, and then do it all again just for the pleasure of watching me suffer.
Is this what Tessen senses when he’s reading emotions? I don’t like it. It burns.
I focus on the green ring of wardstones, the ones keeping Varan out, and shove more desosa in just as Varan’s shouted orders launch a new barrage of strikes. Faster and faster the onslaught comes until sparks and ripples fill the air.
My barrier falls. The courtyard is overrun. On the roofs, the fighters retreat. It looks like a defeat in every single way. Until I activate my last ward.
The protective dome grows from the yellow crystals, encasing the bikyo-ko and reaching deep into the mesa. This will not be another Jushoyen. Varan will not destroy Sagen sy Itagami.
I shift the illusions on the roofs. More fighters. It’s the illusion of an army to keep him from noticing the actual fighters approaching from every direction, blocking the exits and ready to destroy him. Then, I raise my garakyu and give one last order.
Varan bellows again.
Tessen screams a warning.
Too late. All my wards shatter. It’s like someone reached into my chest and tore my magic out of my soul. I feel shattered, and the pieces I have left slice when I try to hold them.
An arrow pierces my arm. A blast of fire smashes into the bikyo-ko, so close the heat singes my skin through the window. I barely feel either. The loss of my magic overwhelms everything else. Tears stream down my face. I gasp for breath around the cry of agony I can’t stop. I’m screaming. Tessen bellows so loud his voice cracks. Dozens, maybe hundreds of voices fill the city, ringing with fear and pain. That is what death sounds like.
Run, I want to order everyone, but I dropped the garakyu. The tips of my fingers brush the glass, and it rolls away. I’m sobbing. Tears course down my face.
Get up! I order my failing, pain-wracked body. You have to make this work. Get up, get up, get up!
Desosa rushes into my body, but whatever Varan did has left a hole at the center of me no amount of power seems to fill or heal. Every motion sends icy agony shooting through me. I manage to rise a few inches before my elbows buckle and I crash. I try and fail again. And again. Tessen is a few feet away, curled into a tight, trembling ball. The sight of him in such agony sends a fresh flood of tears down my cheeks, and anger adds a small measure of strength into my arms.
“People are coming, Tessen. We’ve got to go.” My voice is harsh and hoarse. Tessen doesn’t move. The voices are louder, and outside people are screaming. People I was supposed to protect are dying. I made them believe in me, and I doomed the mortals to death and the andofume to endless pain because I thought immortality was all I needed to win against Varan. I’m not any better or smarter than I was a year ago. All I am is harder to kill.
A hand grabs my throat, gripping with enough force and strength to lift me off the ground. My lungs burn. My vision goes white on the edges except for the black sparks that ring the only thing in focus—Varan, his dark eyes gleaming with rage.
“You are a speck. You should be nothing, and yet you’ve caused me so many problems.” His grip tightens. I want to kick and scratch at his wrists until he lets me go, but even blinking is hard. My eyes are stuck open, my attention locked on Varan’s face. “Die knowing I’m going to make your brother suffer for everything you’ve done.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can barely see. But I start laughing. Wheezing and shaking, I sound like I’m dying and feel like knives are slicing the inside of my lungs. Still, I laugh, and I can’t stop.
I hadn’t been sure until now, but there it is. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t realize that we didn’t just find Kaisuama, we recreated the susuji and used it. He doesn’t know, and I can’t tell him, and none of this is funny. I can picture too clearly what will happen once he realizes he doesn’t just have Yorri to take his rage out on; for as long as he chooses not to use the weaponized Imaku stone to slit my throat he has me and everyone I love. Even as I wonder how long I’ll last under Varan’s control, I cannot stop laughing.
Varan’s grip tightens. Darkness engulfs my vision. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t feel my hands to fight him off. A loud, terrified voice in my mind screams, You’re dying! But I’m not. I hang on the cusp of death, surrounded by shadows spotted with dancing colors.
Until something slams into me. I fall, but my airways open. Sparks burst in my peripheral vision as I finally suck in air. Varan screams curses, his normally resonant voice cracking.
“Run!” Tessen orders.
I cough, breathing too fast and shallow as arms close around me, lifting me up. Yorri. Air rushes past as he runs. I force another breath through my bruised and battered throat, and my vision clears a little. Just as Yorri bursts out the front of the bikyo-ko and straight into a battle.
My allies are blocking the exits my shattered ward left open, keeping the enemies in place. We’re moving so fast it’s hard to see more than flashes. The gleam of an iron blade lit by a jet of powerful fire. The spray of dark blood mixing with the crystalline drops of rain. Shouts in three languages overlap, all carrying the same taint of fear. Denhitrans, Itagamins, and Ryogans work alongside one another, facing off against Varan’s warrior mages. My army is larger, yet the nyshin outmatch and overpower so many of my soldiers. My people are dying. Fast.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Battle was a last recourse only if everything else went wrong. That’s not why we’re in this position. This is happening because our plan relied on me, and Varan found a way to take me out of the fight.
But if he thinks I’m the only threat here, he still hasn’t learned what he’s up against.
“Gara—” I cough. My voice is barely more than rasp and breath. “Garakyu.”
“Bellows. You can barely talk and you still give orders.” But even as he says it, Yorri turns for a narrow alley, punching a nyshin so hard they fly back and land several feet away.
My first try to activate the globe is so garbled it fails. I try again. Again. The fourth time, colors swirl inside the glass.
Rai’s face appears, lax with relief. “Oh, you’re not dead!”
“Fire, Rai!” My voice is harsh—it’s been several minutes, but I still can’t take a breath that doesn’t feel like trying to swallow the spines of a kicta plant.
“Blood and rot, I’m working on it, Khya.” Somehow, she looks concerned despite the frustration clearly laced through her words. “Something happened, and almost everyone just dropped. Most of the other kasaiji are busy, and—”
“Give me that!” The image jerks. Soanashalo’a appears, Sanii’s face barely visible over her shoulder. “We need two minutes. Sanii and I are working on a spell. And some of our friends are in the courtyard.”
Our friends, she says. Everyone who was with me when I first met her. All of them, except Rai, are as vulnerable as Varan to the shards of Imaku stone about to blast down on them. Can I really bring myself to order the final blow knowing it will kill my own, too?
The ground trembles. My stomach drops. “I don’t think we have two minutes.”
“Do your wardstones still have power?” Yorri asks.
“I—” Blood and rot, I haven’t checked. I do now, and there they are—the pure white of the uncolored crystals, and the red, green, blue, and yellow rings mix like the strangest of sunrises. The wardstones’ power feels nearly as far away as a sunrise, but it’s there. Waiting.
The shaking under my feet gets worse. Cracks form in the walls. One climbs up the building I’m bracing against. Time is running out.
Reaching for the rings of color, I touch the katsujo-fueled power at their cores and send it deep into Itagami, binding the layers of power into the city. Though the desosa jumps to obey, the effort of giving the order sends burning sparks of agony through my chest. Varan’s attack scraped me raw, and this is like falling into the salty ocean with thousands of open wounds, but the tremors shaking Itagami weaken.
My teeth are clenched so tight they creak. Pain sparks and flares through my muscles, but I clutch the desosa harder. I shove the garakyu into Yorri’s hand. Forcing words out, I pray he understands. “Warn them. Find a way. They have one minute to get out. Then, fire.”
