Chapter One
The immense sun of a red dawn lipped over the barren Kjatian horizon. As Ki’irdash woke, the deep, rumbling Horn of Sa’oud echoed across the sprawling city, permeating every heart within home and temple. The swell of people knelt to pray, knowing the Kjatmi’ir would soon rise, their army gathering like the warm wind rushing over the Khari Zhar, ready to scour their mark upon Johsala and spread across the desert east.
In a poorer section of the city, far to the west of Nuhma’an’s towering palace, Ohrl placed his forehead gently upon the ground, seeking solitude among those praying for deliverance upon one of the Qhabir’s great ships. As the sound of the horn faded, a thousand voices rose to take its place as each temple priest encouraged those in their care to purge their innermost fears. Connected, Ohrl felt each fear rise upon the wind, but he knew the people of Kjat were being delivered to war on the wings of false hope.
Aitlaq sarahna Set us free.
His fists clenched, the whispers faded as he fought to keep his frustration at bay. Amid the mutterings of those around him, he heard young men begging for their right to fight for their family’s survival. He heard old women praying that their grandchildren would never know the fear of annihilation from the Khari Zhar. Nuhma’an, with his ageless wisdom, had finally delivered their chance to escape the collapse of the immense wall. Imbued in each prayer, their adoration rose toward the peak of the red stone palace, but all Ohrl felt was anger. Rage burned beneath his skin, fuelling his desire to crush every single voice giving Nuhma’an victory over their hearts. While the masses within Ki’irdash prayed for safe deliverance, Ohrl vowed to make Nuhma’an pay for what he’d done to Na’ilah, even if she was still alive. Ohrl’s anger grew, and the gentle rumbling of hopes whispered into the wind soon became the thundering heartbeat of a desperate city lost in morning prayer.
Hoping his voice would carry all the way into Nuhma’an’s chambers, he willed the people of Ki’irdash to rise in frustration, forcing their concerns to no longer remain subdued. In the modest temple where Ohrl prayed, the voice of the priest soon became drowned out as each man, woman and child of fighting age cried out in desperation, anger and fear. They gave credence to each other, and soon they rose, demanding answers of when they would be saved as though Nuhma’an himself stood before them. Whispers became demands, questions became accusations. As their frustration grew, Ohrl rose to his feet, standing tall among those begging for help.
“Ohrl. What are you doing?”
Ohrl ignored Lena, who clung weakly at his feet feigning prayer. Leaving her side, Ohrl weaved through the tormented crowd toward the small, closed wooden gate and thrust it open, exposing the inner temple to the rest of the city. Dawn’s red light burst through, puncturing the grim mood with other angered voices erupting from each temple within the city. Ohrl felt his power flow through them, so he sent his message to Nuhma’an, vowing that from now on, no morning prayer would ever be subdued. They would never again be the whispers of a red dawn.
“You have not risen yet,” he rasped, then returned to the interior and took Lena by the arm, lifting her to her feet and escorting her into the courtyard beyond.
“We cannot wait until your brother sends his fleet,” Ohrl said once they were free of the temple gates. Lena followed his gaze beyond the empty streets, over stone parapets and minarets to Nuhma’an’s palace rising in the dawn haze.
“Then you cannot kill him,” she whispered, placing her palm gently upon Ohrl’s chest. “I've seen the path we must take to escape to the Inner Sea. Towers of stone manipulated by will alone. Sama’ad has similar control. I fear we’ll not leave unless Nuhma’an, Ankh’tet or Taeol allow.”
A sharp pain stabbed Ohrl’s mind. He could feel Ankh’tet, his unravelled memories whispering within the Weave. With some effort, Ohrl knew he could control what he’d taken from the former Head Priest. Though he’d returned to Nuhma’an, Ankh’tet’s body was but a shell. Ohrl had dominion over Ankh’tet’s living soul.
“I claimed Safiya’s life,” Ohrl said. “Nuhma’an knows he is not immortal. He’ll fear my blade enough to let us go.”
Turning to Lena, he saw she remained shocked by the news of Safiya’s demise.
“You need not fear me,” he said gently. “I don’t need Nuhma’an or this man, Taeol, to escape Ki’irdash.”
“Then we must find a boat,” Lena said. “Something small I can sail alone. I’m guessing you've had little experience upon the sea?”
“Enough to know we can’t outrun your brother’s fleet. If Baelin has been turned –.”
“They’ll have no hold over him once he knows I’ve escaped,” she cut in. “If we can claim a ship, House Sdra’fhol will find us once we’re safe upon the Inner Sea.”
“What about Elsa?” he asked. “She fights for you and Na’ilah on Nazh-rndu’ul?”
The courage he saw in Lena suddenly began to fade.
“Let’s just get up there and find a way out,” Lena said. Ohrl immediately cast Elsa from his mind, for the morning prayer had ended, and the throng of people had begun pouring onto the street. Ohrl pulled his hood over his head and clasped the desert veil shut, then they started upon the winding stone path leading back toward the city.
“I only know one way in,” Lena said.
“Leave that to me,” he whispered, looking at the towering palace glimpsed between narrow lanes. With five stones of al-Din coursing through his soul, none could prevent him from entering Nuhma’an’s private rooms. He would soon find a way from Kjat’s shores and set sail for Nazh-rndu’ul to save Na’ilah from Sama’ad.
High above, the enraged voices of the city floated to the upper reaches of Nuhma’an’s palace, each hoping to be heard by their valiant leader. Yet all voices drifted by, lost to the wind as Nuhma’an stood with his back to the city at the edge of his chambers. Safiya stood beside him, as she had done for countless generations, but for the first time she saw careworn lines crease her husband’s brow as they both looked upon Ankh’tet’s hollow form.
Though it was not uncommon for Ankh’tet to arrive before the dawn prayer, his thoughts resting on Nuhma’an’s wellbeing and the souls of the White Flower Priests, that morning the Head of the Pale had wandered unbidden into their chambers, his mind seemingly adrift. Ever since Na’ilah drained the life force of all White Flower Priests, Safiya had sensed Ankh’tet’s uncertainty in knowing Na’ilah’s soul was the last to be cleansed. They had addressed his fears that their immortality was now tied to the fate of the Kjatmi’ir’s rise, but the moment he’d arrived that dawn, Safiya knew something was amiss. Dressed in formal robes, Ankh’tet’s feet were bare and bloodied as though he’d walked without rest the entire night.
“There’s barely anything left,” Safiya said with great remorse, gently reaching out to feel Ankh’tet. She dared not penetrate too deep, sensing that what remained of his sanity balanced on a delicate thread, so she stepped away and returned to Nuhma’an.
“There’s no energy in his soul.”
Ankh’tet had barely registered the examination. He faced them, his vision lost somewhere beyond the hazy sky.
“He must remember,” Nuhma’an growled. “Find out who did this. I don’t care what’s left of him once you’re done.”
Safiya bowed low, acknowledging her husband’s demand. It meant the end of Ankh’tet, there would be no recovering from this. The Head of the Pale had been a faithful servant, both to them and the people of Ki’irdash, but as she stared into his unblinking eyes, Safiya knew that Ankh’tet’s time had come. Lamenting the loss, she set aside her remorse, and stripped Ankh’tet bare.
Instantly, she was met by fear and anger. His mind was a hollow void, the darkness filled with rage and vengeance. She heard echoes of his screams, yet they were consumed by another presence, a will so strong, she felt crushed as she tried to oppose it. Trying to make sense of Ankh’tet’s last moments, she allowed her thoughts to drift alongside his. She did not challenge the power that had torn Ankh’tet apart, so she hid in the shadows and waited until something recognizable drifted by.
A familiar face flashed into view. It caught her by surprise, he was someone she’d once seen, but could not place her own memory of that time. Yet with that image came a raw sense of power, and when she recognised the writhing inscriptions, the man's name suddenly burned across her skin.
It was him, she realised. Knowing now whom she faced, Safiya drifted with utmost care. Extracting all she could, she scraped clean every shred of memory, then released Ankh’tet and set his mind adrift. Ankh’tet was a vacant shell, even more hollow than all those claimed by the White Flower and bound for Nazh-rndu’ul.
Saddened by the loss, Safiya turned to her husband.
“It was the one who tried to kill me. Seif al-Din. He claimed Ankh’tet, within the Temple of Ma’atoumh.”
For the first time, she saw Nuhma’an’s controlled demeanour crack.
“Your whispers brought him to us,” he rasped. “You gave him the inscriptions of Seif al-Din, but we did not count on him claiming Ankh’tet’s power over stone.”
“Patience, my love,” she said, placing a soothing palm against his chest. “Just as the Weave binds us together, it has connected Na’ilah to Sama’ad’s soul. Now, the strings that once pulled upon Ankh’tet attach themselves to Seif al-Din. Perhaps it is a sign that Sama’ad should be replaced.”
The thought caused Nuhma’an to frown. He turned from her, lost in thought as he slowly wandered to the edge of the parapet overlooking the city.
“The Pale are no more. The White Priests of Nazh-rndu’ul have gone,” he said quietly. “Save myself, Ankh’tet was the last to have control over stone. Without Sama’ad, we have no chance of returning to Nazh-rndu’ul. If we are to claim the island as planned, Na’ilah must be turned, for I have no intention of leaving Kjat until the last of al-Din’s priests have been found.”
Safiya joined her husband and cast her gaze over Ki’irdash. It was everything she knew, yet she sensed it would soon be obliterated as the Khari Zhar collapsed.
“I have the power to whisper across the Weave,” she said with intent. “This entire city has been mobilised with the subtlest thought. Seif al-Din desires to save Na’ilah, but to truly save her, he must destroy himself. It is time their paths entwined once more.”
Safiya took her husband’s hand and turned him from the city.
“Lure him in,” she commanded, certain she had his full attention. “Allow Seif al-Din to stand before you. Alone. Leave the rest to me.”