T
he Stratagrams that Zeryth had laid out were staggered throughout Threll, intended to give him a
network of touch points that he could leap between for quick and flexible travel. Still, “quick” was relative. We jumped to so many that my head was spinning by the fifth leap.
“When you’re unfamiliar with the land,” Max explained, between stops, “you can lay out Stratagrams to use as hooks to grab onto between jumps. But they can’t be very far apart, a few miles at most.” Even he, at this point, was starting to look a bit pale.
The first jump took us through the port city. The second, through the rocky ravines. The third, into a lush, looming forest.
But I didn’t think it would hit me so hard, so deeply, when we made what must have been close to our tenth leap and we were greeted by rolling grasslands. Land that once, long ago, would have been Nyzerene.
The sight of those grass-covered hills, golden with brushes of autumn’s mortality, dusted with distant hints of wildflower color, stole the words from my head and the breath from my lungs. If I squinted enough, I could see my family in the distance. Little silhouettes of a village
brushing the horizon, a waving figure calling me home from miles away.
My home, I thought, the words lonely and mournful.
How could I have forgotten?
The rest of the group shuffled away, moaning about their headaches or preparing for the next leap. But I just stood there, staring.
I felt the familiar presence of Max halt beside me.
“Welcome to Threll,” I murmured. “Welcome to Nyzerene.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Pride and sadness melded in my chest.
“I’m glad you got to see what I see when I remember my home. Before we go witness all of the terrible things that it has become.”
“Me too,” Max said, and we stood there for just a moment longer, letting the ghosts wrap around us, sinking into the beauty of my sad lost world.
Just for a moment, before we turned around and made another stomach-churning leap.
 |
Three more leaps.
By this time, my head spun every time we landed. To make things worse, Reshaye was growing more and more agitated.
{Now?} It asked, impatiently, with every landing.
Not yet, I would reply, with as soothing a tone as I could manage. But I was beginning to wonder if I had made a mistake by rousing it the night before. It did a tenuously good job of listening to me… so far. But I dreaded what would happen if it got fed up with my rejection before I was ready.
When we landed this time, it took me a moment to clear my spinning vision, to push Reshaye back, to put the rest of my head in order.
When I did, I blinked and found that we were standing on a long, dirt road. The path led up to a rising hill, upon which sat a building. Not enormous, but certainly imposing
— constructed of golden brick that seemed to rise directly from the amber grass surrounding it, spires topped with rounded points that came to a curled tip like the dollop of frosting on a pastry. Perhaps it had once been beautiful, but now it crumbled and peeled with superficial neglect.
Activity surrounded it, people and horses bustling around its base. At the other side of the hill, I could see lines of figures making their way to its entrance.
My chest guttered as I realized what I was looking at.
“This was abandoned last time I was here,” Zeryth said, frowning.
“This building is Nyzrenese,” I murmured.
The architecture was very similar to that of the Threllian Lords, but the little differences were easy to spot if you knew where to look — the narrower windows, brighter shades of paint, square doors instead of rounded. One of our old governmental buildings, left to rot. Now used to cage and torture the people it once served.
I looked again to the lines of people traveling the paths and furrowed my brow. Walls and walls of terror hit me, shaking my knees. I had forgotten how powerful the emotions of large groups of unshielded minds were. And these? These slid between my ribs and clawed at my insides.
“Hey!” Two men on white horses trotted towards us, shouting in sharp Thereni. One raised a scimitar above his head, a clumsy threat. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Two men on white horses.
Two men wearing wide-brimmed, black hats.
My blood turned to ice. “Slavers.” Of course. They did this — took up abandoned buildings to use as trading and transport hubs. I had been in many myself.
As if fueled by the shock that ran through me, Reshaye banged at my thoughts, eager.
{Now, we end them.} Not yet.
The men rode closer, approaching us down the dirt road. “If we Stratagram out, we do it now,” Ariadnea said.
Zeryth gave me a curious look, unfazed, one eyebrow tweaked. “We don’t have to go, if Tisaanah would rather intervene.”
“There are maybe fifty men up there,” Nura said. “Plus the slaves.”
“For us? Easy,” Zeryth purred. “What a wonderfully noble way to see what Reshaye can do.”
The string of furious Thereni curses grew louder, coupled with hoof beats.
I looked up at the building, landing on a small figure in the approaching line. A child, with her wrists bound in front of her.
{Yes, yes, now!} Not yet, not yet.
“It’s up to you, Tisaanah,” Max said, quietly. “One word and the place goes up.”
We were so close to Serel. So close. And the odds here were not in our favor. Fifty men, compared to the seven of us.
But—
I watched that child, her head tilted back as she squinted up at the imposing building before her. I could feel her fear as if it were my own, a deep ache that resonated in my bones. Her blood coursed through my veins, just as mine did through hers.
Then my eyes locked onto one of the many black-clad figures—a tall, thin man who turned to glance over his shoulder at us. My breath caught. Even from this distance, I recognized that silhouette.
*You ever buy unripened fruit at the market?* he had once asked, his gaze hungry, as if I were something to be consumed. Those words haunted me, echoing in eight years’ worth of nightmares.
“One of the men who took me as a child is here.”
When I met Max’s gaze, fury darkened his features, cold and still as a brewing storm. He drew his staff from his back, the warmth of its designs pulsing faintly under his fingers, coiling, waiting. “This is your call. I only move when you tell me to.”
The hoof beats were nearly upon us.
I reached behind my back and wrapped my fingers around Il’Sahaj’s hilt.
I saw those hats, their assessing gazes, the bodies of my slaughtered kin. And I was angry.
{Now? Now?}
“One word, Tisaanah.”
My blade was out, the edge as sharp as the terror of the girl I was and the rage of the woman I became.
My eyes snapped to that one slaver and stayed there. “Yes,” I breathed.
Reshaye let out a triumphant laugh.
“Are you fucking deaf—” The approaching Thereni voice rose to annoyance, then sliced to sudden silence. Max’s staff seared through flesh as if it were paper, a wicked, eager satisfaction settling into his face as we all flung ourselves into hell.
