“Areyouall right?”
“Oh, who knows,” I said, which meant I probably was.
The birds lifted off the ground. At first, they circled us, circled the Ziz, until the air was full of them, a vast cyclone of birds, increasing in speed until I couldn’t pick out an individual one.
Then, moving as though with one mind, they dove toward the Ziz, sweeping under it, over it, their beating wings somehow forming both cocoon and carrier for the creature. As one, they lifted into the sky, bearing the hatchling away. We watched them go, the cloud becoming a dot on the horizon.
When I could no longer see the birds, the last remaining energy drained out of me. I collapsed, so violently Daziel barely caught me. He carefully lowered me to the ground. I was laughing and crying, exhausted, overwhelmed, but above all, I felt wildly relieved.
I didn’t know if we’d be okay. If the newborn Ziz would go wherever Great Beasts were supposed to and learn how to corralthe winds. It was only a baby, and who knew how long it would take to grow powerful. But hopefully it would, one day. We had done what we could. We would have to be happy with that.
Daziel curled up behind me, holding me. My cohort and Élodie came over, collapsing beside us, looking equally wrecked. No one said anything, but we leaned into each other, and together, we watched the dawn arrive.
Twenty-six
Boats crossed to the islethalf an hour later. Aunt Tirtzah leaped from the first, running across the slick black rocks with an agility I hadn’t expected. I wondered distractedly if she’d played knockball as well as admiring it, and if so, why she’d never said anything. She cut quite the figure, dashing across the rock, leading a pack of dignitaries as though the most important people of Talum always made their morning rounds jogging across islets in the dawn light.
“There you are.” She sank to her knees and threw her arms around me, then extended an arm to include Daziel too, a motion that made me want to cry. “What a foolish thing to do—whyever did you notwakeme—”
“We’re all right,” I said, meeting Daziel’s gaze before looking back at her. “Did you see it? The Ziz.”
“We saw the birds.” She looked wryly impressed. “They were impossiblenotto see.”
“It is an infant,” Daziel’s father said. He strolled through the chaos in a blue silk suit. Where had he come from? I didn’t think he’d been with the other adults clustering around our friends. “I hardly think it will direct the winds as efficiently as an adult. But I suspect it will get better with each year.”
“So evacuation is no longer your suggestion?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I hope not.”
“How will it know what to do?” Would it be able to learn without a parent to teach it?
“How does the Maestril know to dry the soil, or the birds to migrate south?” he returned irritably. “You ask ridiculous questions.”
I didn’t think it’d been ridiculous, but I was glad he had—he understood natural magic better than me. If he thought the Ziz would be able to make its way in the world, I was happy.
~~~
We were bundled backhome. I didn’t mind; I was in shock, and all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball with Daziel.
Luckily, everyone seemed agreeable on this front. Aunt Tirtzah chased off the Sanhedrin members who wished to hear our story, putting me and Daziel and the other four in a room at her house. She only let in Leah and Birra and Jelan and Gilli. “Did the city flood?” Élodie asked.
“Very little,” Leah said. “A few caves spouted water, but we haven’t heard of bad damage anywhere.”
Daziel curled up around me. I hadn’t realized how comforting it could be lying tangled up with another person, feeling the rise and fall of their chest, the warmth of their body. I listened to the others talk but felt no need to contribute. I didn’t want to do anything but listen to Daziel’s heartbeat, to tuck my hand beneath him and hold on tight.
For the morning and afternoon, we slept. I woke once, ravenous, and devoured the hearty bread and lemony pesto beans my aunt had sent. Then I curled back up and kept napping.
In the evening, my friends returned to their own homes, and Daziel and I went upstairs. “Come here,” I said to Daziel, crawling into bed. He slid in, and I pulled the blanket over our heads because it felt safer that way. The light through the duvet turned our world a warm yellow. “Now what?”
Daziel’s eyes found mine. Our legs were tangled together, and he took my hands, drawing them into the small space between our chests. Our faces were so close our noses almost bumped. “My father still wants me to go home,” he said, his voice a whisper against my cheek. “I still want you to come with me. I love you. I want us to be together. I want you to see my world.”
I bit my lip. I wanted to be with him too. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to be with him in the wilderness, the only human, where I didn’t belong or know how to behave.
“I’m not saying it will be easy,” he admitted. “My parents will probably be a nightmare and the court will be—difficult—but my friends will love you, and my siblings will love you, and there’s a beauty there I think you’ll love. There are mysteries even shedim don’t know, and you love a puzzle. It’ll be an adventure. A different kind of adventure than this but a good one.”
I could. I could do all that. But also…“You could stay here,” I said softly, because that was an option too. “Keep living with me. Go to class, play knockball. We could have a life here.”
“We could,” he agreed just as softly. I imagined how it would be—cozy breakfasts, laughing over coffee, studying together, exploring Talum, cheering him on at knockball. It would be a good life.
