It takes less than a heartbeat. When the darkwalker lifts its head, the man’s body disintegrates on a puff of wind. My heart breaks clean down the center. I fear his soul may never know peace.
People attempt to retreat in the opposite direction, but the roads are crammed so completely there is little room to maneuver, much less breathe. It will not take long before they, too, are soulless.
“This way!” I bark. A few citizens dart into the souk, where the footpaths are threads, too narrow for darkwalkers to squeeze through. I spin, dart down a less crowded side street, fighting my every instinct to flee in the opposite direction. As I round a bend, a soft whimper draws my attention to two children huddling against the wall. They peer at me with tear-streaked faces coated in grime. Brothers, I assume, and crouch before them. “Where’s your mother?” I ask.
The youngest sobs into his hands. The older brother holds his sibling close. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “We were separated.”
A whirlwind of dust plows through the alley ahead, hurling a large shape against the nearest structure with a forcefulcrack.
Over the cacophony of the city, there is an unmistakable growl.
“Stay here,” I tell the boys. Moving quietly, I slip around the corner to investigate.
Amidst a large pile of debris, a darkwalker rises to its spindly legs, whip-like tail thrashing. Tipping back its head, it releases a bone-shattering roar.
At the opposite end of the street, the South Wind appears, sword in hand. His robe whips around his legs. His black eyes, chipped into a face carved by the hands of some wretched divine, glitter with unbridled rage.
I crouch low near one of the faded doorways, fighting for breath. Suddenly, Notus is in a different position entirely, weapon ablur. Air spirals toward the darkwalker, hits it square in the chest. It launches backward and crashes onto the roof of a nearby building. The structure collapses beneath its weight.
The darkwalker is struggling to rise when a second beast appears, larger and more grotesque than the first, with a mouthful of broken teeth. It charges at the South Wind with its head bent low.
Only I am witness to the battle that ensues. God and beast. Shadow and sun. A bright force driving back the dark.
Ducking beneath the beast’s legs, he shoves the sword into its underbelly. Fluid spits from the opening. The creature howls, swiping at the South Wind with one enormous paw, and Notus spins, but is unable to dodge the attack. I gasp as the beast’s claws tear into his lower back. He twists away with a guttural cry, narrowly missing another swing. The darkwalker lunges. I scream.
A flash of silver, and the blade shears the darkwalker’s head from its body. It folds in a pile of severed parts, blood pooling beneath stinking innards.
“Behind you!” I scream.
His head whips around. Dark eyes catch mine and hold. Even from this distance, the clench of his jaw is unmistakable.
As the first darkwalker returns from the collapsed building to take its fallen brethren’s place, the South Wind blasts it across the street. Then, using his wind as ropes, he binds its limbs long enough to thrust his sword into the beast’s heart. It twitches once, then falls still.
He turns to me then. The roiling emotion blackening his gaze gives me hesitation, but I point to the two boys huddling near a partially collapsed doorway. He follows me to where they cower, scooping them up easily with a curt, “Follow me.”
We make our way to a less-traveled road. It is here the South Wind sets down the brothers, who race toward a woman in the distance. She drops to her knees, sobbing, and takes her sons into her arms.
Then I remember. “Your back,” I gasp. “Let me see.”
The South Wind brushes my hands aside. “It’s fine.” But the terseness of his reply exposes what is likely an immense amount of pain. Too much blood. It has soaked the back of his robe.
“Are you sure—”
“I’mimmortal,” he reminds me.
I glare at him. “As if I could have forgotten.”
“I’m not even going to waste my breath listing all the ways this decision was foolish,” he growls, his voice so low it is reduced to mere vibration. “You need to return to the palace.”
“And I’m not going to waste my breath explaining myself. I’ll return to the palace when I’m through here.”
“This is not a discussion.” His eyes flash with the might of a thousand beating suns. “Every moment in the city is a risk to your life.”
He is afraid. The South Wind is never afraid. It softens what is hard within me.
Reaching out, I grasp his hand in reassurance. Its wide, roughened shape swallows mine. “The storyteller,” I say, pitching my voice over the uproar. “I need to make sure she’s safe.”
“I don’t care about the storyteller,” he snarls. “I care aboutyou.”
