Chapter Five
It was mid-morning by the time Ohrl and Lena reached the base of Nuhma’an’s palace. The market streets thrived with activity, the sound of hammers against anvils ricocheting from every corner of Ki’irdash. To the east, beyond where the twin waterfalls plummeted through the fissures in the Khari Zhar, Ohrl saw the enormous, wooden towers that would carry the Kjatmi’ir over the wall clinging to the cliffs, the great winches lifting piles of cut wood as each new level was built.
“There must be a way through, somewhere near the surface,” Lena said, following his gaze, but Ohrl knew that whatever path Nuhma’an had chosen for the Kjatmi’ir was not ready yet. With his attention drawn instead to the palace’s highest peak glistening under the morning sun, a hollow voice whispered upon the wind.
Aqtalh kill her
Muta’akhir jidana it’s too late
Laqad matat bialfiel she’s already dead.
Ohrl stumbled. The invasive voice struck hard, forcing Lena to wrap her arms around him to prevent him from falling.
“Ohrl? Are you alright?”
Hard of breath, Ohrl slowly rose, his mind aching. The echoing whispers trailed away, the words lingering just out of reach.
“You said there was a chamber… leading directly from Nuhma’an’s quarters to a river cut through the Khari Zhar,” he said, forcing himself to stand without help. Lena nodded. Letting him go, she pointed to a smaller waterfall bursting through just to the east of the great palace.
“Taeol controlled our boat. He manipulated rock, taking us through a labyrinth of tunnels. Had we not landed safely in the upper chambers, our boat would simply have plummeted off that fall. But the current was strong. There’s no way we could fight it.”
Ohrl stared to the upper reaches of the palace, where he knew Nuhma’an would be. Wondering if the voice came from Ankh’tet’s broken mind, he refocused, sensing the path ahead.
“You said a boat carrying a dozen soldiers came to collect you,” Ohrl countered, scanning the top of the Khari Zhar. “Nuhma’an undoubtedly has another way through.”
Turning from the wall, he cast his eye south, searching for the great river that brought him here from the port district of Qu’umdera, yet it was impossible to see through the rise of minarets and sandstone-coloured domes. Ohrl led them east, until they came at last to the banks of the port. Ahead, toward the wall, he saw the main jetties clinging to the city, and the dark avenues leading up into the heart of Ki’irdash.
“Stay close,” he urged Lena, making sure both their faces were veiled. “We may have been ignored in the outskirts, but in there, few will have forgotten who we are.”
As Lena was concealed beneath the garb of a simple temple assistant, Ohrl used the notion that he was a soldier bringing her to Ankh’tet. It took little to fool the guards at the lower levels. Ohrl’s stoic confidence and Lena’s veiled beauty mixed with the guards’ desire to have honoured the Head of the Pale Order. It was a connection Ohrl manipulated with ease. As they rose higher toward the palace, more scrupulous eyes glanced over them. It was only when they came across the white temple with the six minarets rising on a precipice over the city that Ohrl began to relax. It was here that Raghib had taken Ohrl and Assah, hoping to sell the information Ohrl carried regarding the demise of Yaffa and the Watcher’s Tears.
“Beneath this temple lies an entrance to the palace,” he said quietly to Lena, pulling her to one side. “We’ll have to sneak in. If it comes to a fight, stay behind me.”
Behind Lena’s veil, he saw her eyes crease with mirth.
“All you know of me is from one night in Brúnn,” she said, laughter in her voice. “My life hasn’t been grand banquets and dances in lavish halls. I’m no stranger to hidden paths, and you’ll find I’m not entirely useless in a fight.”
Ohrl lowered his head in apology, trusting that Lena could take care of herself. Pushing away from the wall, they emerged from the shadows and entered the white temple through the large, ornately carved wooden doors. Inside, it was cool, the heat of the desert not yet penetrating the holy site of the Pale. Ohrl scanned the hall. It was empty. Prayer mats lined the floor, and the single firelight remained glowing at the peak of the dome despite the slim rays of dusty sunlight streaming in.
In the far corner to their right, he saw the door he and Assah had been ushered into when taken to the upper levels to stand before Ankh’tet.
“This way,” he whispered, but they’d barely made it halfway across the room when a humble voice betrayed the temple’s reverent silence.
“This temple is not open to common prayer.”
Ohrl turned. Coming toward them from a small alcove leading to another room was the same priest that had taken them to Ankh’tet. He looked tired, and Ohrl wondered if, in Ankh’tet’s absence, he had taken control over the Pale.
The priest looked inquisitively at them once he arrived.
“Remove your veils. None with the right to be here should be dressed as such.”
Ohrl turned his back toward the priest and nodded for Lena to remove her veil. She unclipped it, just enough for the material and silverwork to fall to one side. From the corner of his eye, Ohrl saw the priest’s curiosity deepen, but his eyes widened once Ohrl unclipped his veil and turned, his face now completely exposed.
“You?! You were the one taken… but Ankh’tet. He returned –.”
“Broken,” Ohrl interrupted. “I broke him. I claimed his mind, as he no doubt thought he would do to me.”
There was a spark of fear mixed with the cleric’s disbelief, and the moment Ohrl felt it, he latched on and let in grow in the cleric’s mind.
Another whisper drifted upon the wind.
‘ana ‘antazir I am waiting.
“You will take me to Nuhma’an,” Ohrl demanded, forcing the whisper aside. He doubled his effort. The cleric winced, clearly trying to resist, but found he was unable. Coerced by Ohrl’s will, the cleric escorted them through the tunnels leading into the inner chambers of Nuhma’an’s palace. They passed several female Elite, but so far from Nuhma’an’s personal chambers, their presence remained unquestioned while they remained with the cleric. Ohrl had no doubt the cleric had risen in rank since Ankh’tet’s return, for he saw reverence in the eyes of those that bowed, while others quickly stepped aside so as not to block their way. Upward they rose, rising upon steep stairwells and ascending tunnels. Ohrl did not recognise the path, and he burrowed his desire deeper into the cleric’s mind until, at the end of a long, chiselled tunnel of stone, they were confronted by two leather-bound female guards. They thrust their spears forward the moment Ohrl, Lena and the cleric loomed out of the darkness.
“You cannot enter,” said one of the muscular women. It was a decree, not a decision, as though it did not matter who stood before her.
“I must be allowed before Nuhma’an,” the cleric said, bending to Ohrl’s will. It took all Ohrl’s concentration to eradicate the fear in the cleric’s mind, to prevent his voice from shaking. “I come with news of Ankh’tet, and the destruction of the White Lake.”
At the mention of the White Lake, Ohrl saw the second guard flick a glance his way.
“You cannot enter. You have no right,” she proclaimed, but Ohrl thrust the cleric to his knees.
“Please,” the cleric cried out, not of his own mind. “Nuhma’an must hear what I’ve come to say.”
At the suddenness of the cleric’s prostration, the two Elite guards stepped back and aimed their spears downward toward the kneeling cleric, but the moment their defences lowered, Ohrl jumped them both, slipping two throwing knives into their throats before they had a chance to react.
“Search their armour,” he commanded Lena as the two women fought to stem the flow of blood. “Find a key to that door.”
Yet before either guard fell dead to the floor, the door clicked open of its own accord, casting a shaft of pale light across the two guards sprawled out on the floor.
“On your feet,” Ohrl demanded. In shock, the cleric rose. Sweat dripped down his cheek, and Ohrl could almost smell his fear. Shoving him ahead, Ohrl forced the cleric to step first into the chamber. He entered, wide-eyed, clearly never having entered Nuhma’an’s personal quarters before.
There was no sign of anyone having opened the door. A breeze wafted through the large, open room, weaving its way through silks and linens that replaced hard walls, hanging from the ceiling. Ohrl caught glimpses of a man standing at the far end of the chamber where the city fell away, with nothing but the open sky and desert expanse beyond.
“I had expected you sooner. Your presence upon the Weave reverberates like the Horn of Saoud.”
The rich voice drifted toward them upon a breeze that parted the hanging silks. The moment Nuhma’an was revealed, the cleric cast himself to the ground, and lay prostrate before his Qhabir. His eyes fixed on Nuhma’an, Ohrl gave Lena the two bloodied blades, then released his grip over the cleric’s mind.
“Remind him of his place if he starts to move,” Ohrl said quietly to Lena, then stepped around the cleric and walked cautiously toward Nuhma’an. The Kjatian leader remained gazing toward the far-off desert with his back turned, dressed in pure white robes adorned only with seams of red upon the trim. Ohrl noted the intricate jewellery upon Nuhma’an’s neckline and fingers, the taloned rings and sculpted gold headpiece resembling a bird of prey.
“I should kill you right now, for what you’ve done.”
At the threat, Nuhma’an turned, but it was not concern on his face. Ohrl felt curious eyes roam over him, examining every inch of his soul.
“If that is your desire, then I doubt I could stop you,” Nuhma’an said, with absolute calm. “Your anger rose upon my people’s prayer, and I am not deaf to their call.”
“Then you know the reason why I came to defeat you.”
Nuhma’an smiled.
“Love. Betrayal. Confusion. All such common afflictions.”
Ohrl felt his anger rise.
“Common? You took the soul of the woman I love, sent her to be Sama’ad’s wife, whom you hope will aid you in claiming Johsala as you free your people from this wall.”
“And in your anger you seek revenge, with no true understanding of the real power at stake.”
Nuhma’an took a small step toward him.
“You are aware of her heritage, that your beloved Na’ilah is one of the Kjatmi’ir.”
“Yet you cast her aside,” Ohrl spat, reaching for his sword. “You abandoned her to something beyond death.”
Nuhma’an took another step forward, this time bolder than the first.
“And what would you know of death?”
“I know you fear it,” Ohrl said. “I know you use the White Lake’s power to cheat it, to mimic immortality, but it was I who claimed your wife. Her death was payment for what you did to Na’ilah. A reminder that you are as mortal as any man. For I have claimed the power within the White Lake.”
Pulling the hood from his head, Ohrl let the inscriptions flowing beneath his skin course over his body.
“I am Seif al-Din. I am what Husam could never be.”
Nuhma’an scoffed.
“You are a child, with no knowledge of the power you’ve consumed.”
Nuhma’an glanced over Ohrl’s shoulder. With his hand still clasping the hilt of his sword, Ohrl slowly turned. Lena straddled the cleric, who remained sprawled upon the floor, but she stood with her mouth agape, staring at something within Nuhma’an’s chambers. A shadow passed behind one of the hanging silks, and as Lena reverently lowered her head, the silks parted, and Safiya strode outside, dressed as regally as Nuhma’an, her bronzed skin radiant beneath white sheer silks and intricate threads of gold.