Temujin coughs, and I force myself to look away. If he didn’t already suspect my intentions, he certainly does now. I was about as subtle as an avalanche. “I didn’t know it was possible to transfer power from the Goddess-touched into objects.”
Chanar scoffs but Temujin humors me. “Ranaz—an old royal scholar who was also a prophetess of the First Gods—defected when the Sky King denounced the old religion. She found a way to infuse stones from this realm with the power of the Goddess-touched, allowing others to access the gateway. Before that, I would have had to physically go on every mission, which would result in far fewer.”
Never in my life have I heard of the prophetess Ranaz or the ability to infuse stones with power from the Goddess-touched. But then, I was only eight years old when I was taken in by Ashkarians. And Verdenet had already been part of the Protected Territories for several years. Such things were not discussed.
Temujin places the portal stones in my palm. His fingertips linger for the briefest moment. “You can do this,” he says. “Remember all that’s at stake.” His amber eyes are fierce with conviction—and warning.
I blow out a breath and glance up once more at Orbai. She followed us all the way from the encampment, but every time I whistled for her, she climbed higher into the blue.
“It’s time,” Inkar says softly. “You don’t want the recruits to think you’re not coming.”
I drop one portal stone into my pocket, and the other I toss in a high arc. When it reaches the apex, it vanishes and a gateway crackles into existence, sparking yellow and white.
Serik’s desperate plea chases me through the portal, but I shrug it off and mutter one last prayer to the Lady of the Sky. Then I slip into Sagaan.
To spin the night.
And weaken the army I swore to serve.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AS SOON ASIEMERGE THROUGH THE TAVERN DOOR,THEtendrils of darkness slam me against the building like a great black wave. Pain explodes across the side of my face and panic grips my throat. The monster kneads my belly with its claws.
I want to scream, but I can’t catch my breath.
I want to run back to the realm of the Eternal Blue, but my feet are limp and boneless.
My breath comes in short, shallow gulps and the monster senses my weakness.
No.
I brace my hand against the filthy wall and close my eyes. I imagine jade columns surrounding me, the cool mosaic of jewels beneath my feet. I imagine emptiness. Quiet. Control. When I reopen my eyes, the night still rages like a whirlwind, but I swat the most persistent ribbons away, collect a handful of threads in my palm, and use them to weave a cloak of shadow around me.
At the eastern edge of the grazing lands, a small brown horse waits beneath a willow tree, as Inkar promised. I mount, throw a blanket of darkness over us both, and dig my heels into her flanks, hoping to outrun the sound of phantom hoofbeats.
I ride for two hours without stopping. The bone-chilling cold of late fall in Ashkar batters me like a snow squall, made more acute by spending so much time in the realm of the Eternal Blue. When I finally reach the boulder field at the base of the Ondor Mountains, my nose is numb and my good and bad legs are howling in unison. Subzero temperatures and saddle sores are not a pleasant combination. The poor horse is lathered in sweat, so I dismount and walk her the rest of the way. Stones the size of houses litter the grasslands this far north—a result of avalanches and rockslides—and the loamy smells of damp earth and silt remind me of a cave.
We decided this would be an ideal rendezvous point, as the boulders provide plenty of cover and no one ventures willingly into these fields. They’re nicknamed the Boneyard for good reason; many people perish in the slides each winter, and as soon as the snow melts, a wash of bones litter the ground. I step gingerly around them, trying not to look into the skulls’ gaping eyes or at the snapped and twisted limbs scattered around like kindling.
Cupping my hands to my mouth, I hoot three times like an owl, and wait for three hoots of response.
They come from a boulder thirty paces to my left, so I leave the horse and weave in that direction. When I’m within five paces, the gravel shifts and a hooded figure emerges from behind the rock. Their face is concealed beneath a deep cowl, but the person is tall and impossibly thin, like Temujin described. I loosen my grip on the night enough to reveal my form but not enough for the stranger to see my face.
“Are you Kartok?” I whisper.
“That depends who’s asking.” The voice is a hoarse rasp, like the hiss of a snake. But I relax a fraction because it’s the exact same thing the Bone Reader said to me in her hut.
“Be humble, for you are made of earth. Be noble, for you are made of stars,” I intone the old desert proverb.
Kartok nods and peels back his hood. “Welcome, Enebish.” His face is gaunt and pale and riddled with dozens of silvery pockmarks. His head is naked, like a monk’s, but where Serik’s is obviously shaved, Kartok’s is smoother than a river rock. Temujin told me he spent half his life in a Zemyan prison camp, enduring unfathomable torture, and I smile at the skeletal man because I see so much of myself in him. We may be scarred on the outside, but we’re fighters within. Whether or not we’re fighting for the same side has yet to be decided.
“It’s brave, what you do,” I say. “Risking your life out here every night when you could be safe in the realm of the Eternal Blue with the others.”
“Someone must shepherd the recruits, and with my unfortunate skin condition, I wouldn’t fare too well in a land of eternal sunshine.” Kartok smiles blandly at his joke. His voice is strange—low and susurrating—but Temujin prepared me for this, too. The Zemyans cut off a portion of his tongue during his imprisonment. They left no part of him unscathed.
“Shall we?” He waves me forward with his reed-thin arm. “The guards will be changing soon.”
As we snake through the boulders, I flutter my fingers to extend my cloak of darkness over Kartok, but the night pushes back, rolling down his brown cape like beads of water. I scowl and push harder. I’m tired from the journey and out of practice, but if I can’t conceal one man, how will I manage an entire group of deserters?
