As I shrink back, Kartok takes off across the field. We hustle to keep up, stomping through the tall grass. Yellow and orange globeflowers bob around us like pollen in the springtime, but instead of the delicious lemony aroma they usually give off, their perfume is acrid and sweet. Almost like rot. And the plants themselves look sick. The buds droop toward the ground as if melting, too heavy for their stalks.
Frowning, I lean over, but upon closer inspection, there’s nothing to see. The flowers stand as straight as a regiment of soldiers. The delicate petals ripple in the slight breeze. The lemony tang is so intense, the sourness stings my cheeks.
“Stop dawdling!” Chanar digs his toe into the dirt and it sprays the back of my calves.
Get a grip, Enebish.
Summoning so much darkness and starfire has clearly taken its toll. I’m seeing things. Imagining things.
I shake my head and hurry on, but I only make it a few steps before I stumble and crash to my knees. In my frenzy to save Temujin and reach the realm of the Eternal Blue, I’d all but forgotten my wounds, but they refuse to be ignored any longer. Pain corkscrews down my thigh. My foot drags like a plow.
Get up,I tell myself.For Inkar and Temujin.
I blow out a breath and focus on taking one step at a time. Heel, toe. Steady on. But I falter again. And again, and neither my leg nor my guilt is to blame. The ground ismoving.Tremors roll across the field in waves, like a constant, rumbling earthquake.
Somehow it doesn’t disturb the others. While I blunder and trip, their strides remain unnervingly steady, their faces impassive.
“Don’t you feel that?” I point to the grass as it ripples past, like a pond disturbed by a pebble.
“The Lady of the Sky is speaking to us.” Kartok’s tone is clipped, as if I’m a fool for not knowing this. “The time has come to mobilize our army.”
I stare at the bucking ground. I have worshiped the Lady of the Sky all my days, and I have never felt Her presence likethis.But if She can ride the wind and command the rain in Ashkar, why wouldn’t She be able to rattle the earth to call Her warriors to arms here, where Her power is greatest?
“Just keep walking, Enebish,” Oyunna says. “And try to focus on the injured.”
Shame drives its fist into my gut. I stitch my lips together, lower my head, and try to keep my balance as the swells increase in frequency and magnitude. By the time we reach the Shoniin encampment, the ground is a constant rumble. The towering tents wobble, and the hoopoes fly in frightened circles overhead. I expect Orbai to be among them, but there’s no sign of her golden wings. Warriors spill into the clearing and return from the training fields in droves. They congregate around the azure bonfire—hundreds, maybe thousands, of them. Nearly as many as were gathered in the Grand Courtyard for Temujin’s execution. Twice as many as I believed to be among our ranks.
I ferried a good many recruits here, but notthismany. Or perhaps I just never saw them all assembled in one place. I was always away on missions, desperate to outrun my grief.
Apparently, I accomplished far more than I realized.
They are a vast sea of shimmering gray. A formidable army. Large enough to make a difference against the Zemyans. And hopefully large enough for Ghoa and the Sky King to accept an alliance and agree to our conditions.
They follow us up the hill toward the Temple of Serenity, a huddled mass of whispers and gasps. A few come forward and offer to help us carry Inkar and Temujin, but it still isn’t enough. Before we’re halfway up the hill, Inkar lets out a choking cry. Her eyes roll back and her limbs begin to thrash. Kartok lays her gently in the grass. “Loridium!Now!” he booms.
Several Shoniin sprint up the hill to retrieve the medicine. The rest press closer, wiping tears or staring, stone-faced. Beside me, Oyunna’s shoulders silently tremble.
The need to strengthen Inkar and protect her, as she’s always done for me, plagues me like an insatiable itch. When I can’t stand it any longer, I stagger forward. But a ferocious look from Chanar sends me slinking back.
He lays Temujin beside Inkar, who has finally stopped shaking. Now she lies still. Too still. The difference between her and Temujin makes my breath catch. Neither of them looks well, but a tiny bit of color has returned to Temujin’s cheeks and his breath is shallow but steady. Other than the terrible rope burns ringing his neck, he looks nowhere near death. Inkar, on the other hand, is as pale as a Zemyan and she’s seized by another fit.
Chanar crawls to her side and waits for her to still. “Don’t you dare leave me here alone.” He takes Inkar’s hand and holds it to his face. His tears rush over their interlaced fingers. “Everything we’ve worked for is finally happening.”
“Haven’t … much of a … choice,” she chokes out.
“We always have a choice. Fight! Live! If you die, who will boss me around?”
“You’ve always wanted to be head of the family. You can finally lead yourself.” Her voice is a puff of smoke, a whisper on the wind.
“Not like this.” Chanar’s voice cracks. “I’ll have no family to lead.”
“Help the children.” Inkar smiles up at the sky. “I’ll tell Taimar you say hello.” Another spasm grips her, and as she thrashes and moans, the eternal sunlight seems to dim. The vibrant colors of the tents fade to muted pastels.
My body feels heavy. So heavy.
Inkar was the best of us, the brightest and kindest. And she’s dead because of me. Vomit rises in my throat, and I have to look away from her glassy eyes.
“The Loridium will heal you. They’ll be here any second!” Chanar folds himself over his sister. “I can’t do this alone.”
