Chapter Two
Baelin stood upon the edge of the frightful chasm connecting the Kjeeri lands to the severed, white fortress of Qhabir Sama’ad. Below him were the weave of bridges made of the Dead, the limbs and vines straining against broken cliffs like vast ropes securing boats during a storm. As wind howled from below, Baelin was certain he could hear the torment of his dying men echo beneath the crashing waves.
Beside him stood Valnoor Laess, Valleon’s son. Valnoor had been sworn in as Head of House Laess after his father was consumed by Sama’ad during Elsa’s escape. For that, Baelin was eternally grateful. The boy was young, several years younger than his sister, but his mind was sharp and he was eager to please. With them stood Raenol Farasha’i, a man he’d come to trust and respect, as well as Taevo’l A’ansari, heir apparent to Tjornen A’ansari, the aged head of House A’ansari whose frail body now meant he would leave his home no more. They were four men, charged with the survival of the Great Houses and continuation of Nazh-rndu’ul, yet all were agitated by the thought of crossing the tortured bridges; the limbs of those claimed, anchoring the ropes at each end a reminder of the destruction Sama’ad caused when last they tried to confront him.
“His priests have gone,” Taevo’l A’ansari said, trying to bolster their courage. “Taeol and his kind are no more. We have no reason to fear him.”
“My father never returned,” Valnoor said, unconvinced. “He’s been consumed by the island, like so many of our men.”
“And so now you stand in his stead,” Raenol reminded him. “It is your duty to avenge your father’s death.”
“There’s rumour the stone still moves,” Baelin said, looking from the bridges to the vast walls of white stone. “Despite this… mishap, Sama’ad’s power still resides.”
“But what of his mind?” Raenol asked. “He was deceitful, yes, but if what your sister’s hand maiden said was true, if she connected with him when he tried to claim her, then there is torment within. It may have claimed what sanity he had left.”
Baelin’s skin crawled at the thought of Na’ilah. The Daughter of al-Din. Sister to the Kjatmi’ir. If she was not so important to Elsa and Lena, he’d have her cast into the waters and drowned just to be rid of the connection to the Kjatmi’ir.
“There’s a chance we can save this island,” he quietly said. “Until we uncover what happened to House Kjeeri, our four Houses alone must keep the island intact. We must confront him. Let us see for ourselves the state of Sama’ad’s mind.”
Raenol gripped his arm.
“And get killed for our trouble? I want to rid this island of Sama’ad, not become trapped in stone for the effort.”
“House Laess stands with you, Lord Baelin,” Valnoor said, gallantly. “It will not change my intent. The ship your sister’s friend mentioned, the one that sent this power west. H’irahdis scoured our earliest records. There’s no mention of where it went, but he found single mention of a large vessel being constructed. No voyages, trade deals or envoys were ever noted as being made, which makes me believe that its purpose remained secret. It was not long after that H’irahdis found record of the great bridges of the island being made.”
“Created by the souls who built the great ship,” Raenol surmised. “Surely that’s enough? We know Sama’ad is false. We have Elsa’s account, and what her handmaiden revealed. The Qhabir of Kjat told you himself. The Kjatmi’ir come to attack. They will devour our island, leaving only scraps for us, if we survive. What more proof of Sama’ad’s deception do you need?”
But Baelin could not take his eyes off the fortress, where his sister remained captive for so long.
“I must confront him,” he said, suppressing his anger. “Let’s face Sama’ad and understand what damage has been done.”
“He is beyond us, even in this weakened state,” Tjornen A’ansari said, yet despite his anger, Baelin felt his confidence grow.
“Then let’s hope that’s what Sama’ad also believes,” he replied. “His arrogance may give us our chance to set Nazh-rndu’ul free,” yet the moment Baelin stepped onto the thin main bridge, the call of the Dead rose from below, turning his legs to lead.
They entered the great hall. Once filled with Pale, where Taeol and his ilk would jealously guard the entrance to Sama’ad’s halls, they found the fortress empty and open. To their surprise, they came upon Sama’ad sitting on his great white throne, waiting as though seeking an audience with the Pale. A thin beam of light wrought his face in shadow, his great white hood pulled heavily over his hunched frame. But the moment Baelin and the others entered the throne room, Sama’ad stood, pulled back his hood, and the power of his youth was plain for all to see.
“You come to beg forgiveness?” came Sama’ad’s rasping voice.
“I come seeking answers,” Baelin said. “Too long have you hidden within these halls. You set out to claim my sister, yet she escaped. You annihilated House Kjeeri, killed the Pale to consume the Daughter of al-Din’s soul, yet she lives. You have failed, Sama’ad. You have failed your people. You have failed Nuhma’an. Surrender your throne. Release your grip over Nazh-rndu’ul, and you will be taken to Kjat where you can suffer the same fate as the Kjatmi’ir.”
Baelin saw Sama’ad turn ever so slightly in his direction, then he heard the rumble of Sama’ad’s laughter slowly gather from the depths of his halls.
“The Pale are no more, for their task is done. You cannot stop what is coming.”
Baelin found himself unable to move, yet he felt it was more than fear that held him in place. In his stead, Raenol Farasha’i stepped forward.
“And what of Nazh-rndu’ul when the Kjatmi’ir come? What of its people? If what Baelin says is true, if the Kjatmi’ir simply seek a home beyond their walls, what is to become of our people if they decide to stay.”
Baelin saw Sama’ad’s attention shift, yet his gaze seemed to go beyond the four men standing before his throne.
“Only the strong survive.”
It was all Sama’ad said, and Baelin knew the people of Nazh-rndu’ul were not prepared for war. He felt for the hilt of his sword and pulled his blade.
“Then let the weak die.”
He rushed Sama’ad upon his throne. The Qhabir stood defenceless. No guard, no sword. This was Baelin’s only chance. He had to know what the effort of claiming Na’ilah had taken, if Sama’ad’s hold over the island had been severed, but Baelin had barely taken a half dozen steps when he felt hands rise through the stone and clutch his ankles and legs. Stumbling to his knees, he was forced to kneel before Sama’ad, powerless as the day he last confronted the Qhabir when the bridges were destroyed and hundreds of his men lost their lives. Feeling the stone move beneath him, he knew this cause was lost.
“Your sister survives,” Sama’ad hissed, “but all those you ever loved are always within reach.”
Two skeletal hands broke through the surface of the stone and grasped Baelin’s wrists. Unable to move, his legs still clamped tight, Baelin was forced to look down in horror as the tortured face of Valleon Laess rose from the ground. His flesh was half rotten, half made of stone. His eyes, unseeing, stared wide open, yet Baelin could sense Valleon’s suffering, his scream silent and unending as he was dragged from the stone and raised before Baelin.
“Father?”
Baelin fought against Valleon’s grip as he heard Valnoor’s weak cry.
“He’s your father no more,” Baelin called out, slowly being drawn closer to Valleon’s agonized face. “Do not be fooled, Valnoor.”
Yet Valnoor rushed to his father’s side, and Valleon turned to his son as though pleading for his suffering to end.
“The Kjatmi’ir will come,” Sama’ad rasped. “Once they have won, I will let the Dead die.”
Baelin looked at Valnoor. Tears streamed down the young man’s face. He was not ready to lead, not ready to face what was yet to come.
“Then be done with your war and leave,” Baelin said. He lifted his gaze to look Sama’ad in the eye. “Nuhma’an has my word. House Sdra’fhol, and all I protect, will aid the Kjatmi’ir.”
A sigh of relief passed over Valleon’s anguished face. His grip on Baelin’s wrists released, and Baelin heard his friend’s final breath as Valleon was consumed once more beneath the stone. Free to stand, Baelin slowly rose before Sama’ad, aided by Raenol Farasha’i.
“Remember those in Nuhma’an’s keeping,” Sama’ad said in reference to Lena as he turned his back on the four remaining leaders of Nazh-rndu’ul. Baelin saw Sama’ad’s gaze shift slightly toward the stone floor. “Or she may suffer yet.”
Sama’ad slowly stepped from his throne and left the chamber, the wall of stone closing around him as though a great wound was suddenly sutured shut.
“He has lost no strength,” Tjornen A’ansari said. “What chance do we have?”
But Baelin had already turned his back on Sama’ad and was urging the others to follow. There was one hope left, one chance to destroy Sama’ad and stop the Kjatian scourge from spreading. Leading the others through the fortress, they burst into the bright light. Shielding his eyes from the blistering sun, Baelin longed to return to his sister, where his faith would be given to a woman he barely knew.
In the highest reaches of House Sdra’fhol, safe within Elsa’s quarters, Na’ilah released herself from the Weave. Though Sama’ad tried to resist, his soul and all those buried within the island were undeniably hers to control. Yet the screams and desperate cries for release did not abate once she’d disconnected. Na’ilah could hear them even in her waking hours, the island’s shadowy spectres of death becoming visible in the light of day.
“You see them, more than before,” Loviisa noted, resting an arm around Na’ilah’s shoulder. Na’ilah sat on the edge of her bed, sweat dripping down her chest.
“There’s nothing between them and I,” she whispered. “Not even stone veils them anymore. The Dead lay before me. As plain as I see you.”
Yet there was more she could sense. The Dead knew Sama’ad had gone. Though they desired release, there was a sense of unknown purpose, for now they had a new master, and in her mind confusion ran wild. Gone were her certainties about allowing Johsala to be taken in the name of al-Din. She’d been used, her entire line since Maymunah manipulated by Nuhma’an and Safiya to claim Johsala’s throne. Her own kin had betrayed her, and she struggled to envisage where her desires would lead once the final Stone of al-Din was found. She looked at the women waiting with her in the room. Elsa had slowly recovered from being claimed by Sama’ad, her bruises still visible each night as she went to bed. Mihja had fled the Kjeeri lands, having lost Tohmal to the Pale. Terttu remained loyal to H’irahdis and House Laess, for her insight into the interactions with Kjat had proved invaluable in uncovering Sama’ad’s deceit. Yet it was to Loviisa that Na’ilah feared telling the most of her doubts about her claim to Johsala’s throne, for Loviisa fed off her undeniable right to rule as a Daughter of al-Din, and Na’ilah did not know what Loviisa would do if she revealed that both Maymunah and Husam were little more than glorified slaves.
That night, as they rested after dinner on the balcony of Elsa’s private quarters, Baelin entered their room, quiet and unannounced. Elsa caught sight of him first, and Na’ilah noted her concern as she embraced her brother. Baelin looked tired, but the moment he and Na’ilah locked eyes, his stature stiffened. It appeared Baelin had finally come to terms with his proposal.
“When you escaped Sama’ad,” he began, gathering them close as though distrustful of those within his own walls. “You mentioned a power cast to the west. You said it would destroy Sama’ad.”
Na’ilah solemnly nodded, pretending to fear the idea.
“Elsa said you met with him. The last I remember of Sama’ad is the destruction he caused before he exiled Lena and I to Kjat. I don’t know what happened in the exchange between us when I returned, but you have stood before him. The Pale are no more, but has it weakened Sama’ad’s resolve?”
Though he tried to hide it, Baelin’s eyes revealed the same fear he felt the moment she’d dragged Valleon Laess’ soul through the floor. It was a necessary torment to convince Baelin of his path, one she should have enjoyed, but once again she felt hollow at her desire to instil fear within her enemies. She had to remind herself that it would be effort enough to find all six stones and stay the madness of al-Din, for no doubt she would have Ohrl to contend with once the deed was done.
“Sama’ad’s mind is lost,” Baelin said. “He sees no path but the destruction of the east. I cannot tell what claim Nuhma’an has over him, but when the Kjatmi’ir come, Sama’ad will not protect the people of Nazh-rndu’ul. He is a slave to Nuhma’an’s will.”
They all fell silent at the thought of the island being overrun. Na’ilah let that silence linger, for she required Baelin to voice his decision. He glanced wistfully beyond the balcony, then his gaze fell heavily upon Na’ilah.
“If you were to leave Nazh-rndu’ul, where would you go? And who would you take?”
One by one, Na’ilah looked to the women gathered around her.
“All in this room have already vowed to aid me.”
Shocked, Baelin glanced quickly at Elsa.
“Is this true? You would leave your home when you’ve only just returned?”
Kneeling before Baelin, Elsa took his hands in hers.
“Sweet brother. If we don’t succeed in finding a weapon against Sama’ad, this won’t be anyone’s home anymore.”
Baelin took a moment to understand, then kissed Elsa’s forehead. He turned to each of the women in turn, facing Na’ilah last.
“I have a boat waiting. Tomorrow, it will take you west. If you survive The Breach, you will sail beyond anything we’ve ever known. I’m sorry, but I cannot account for what you’ll find.”
Na’ilah politely bowed, placing her hand to her heart to acknowledge the sacrifice Baelin had made. Had Sama’ad truly been alive, she was sure he would have torn Baelin limb from limb as a threat against any who would defy him, but Na’ilah knew Baelin planned this pretence of succumbing to Sama’ad’s will, of acknowledging the Kjatmi’ir’s right to overrun their home. For Baelin believed if Sama’ad did not suspect a thing, he would never conceive the level of betrayal the Great Houses of Nazh-rndu’ul would enact in order to protect their families and homes.