Chapter 21
21
N YX HAD ONLY a moment to react. From the corner of her eye, she had seen the young man—barefooted and bare-chested—throw his spear. As it sailed overhead, she cast a single note of bridle-song at Kalder. The massive vargr, already primed and tensed, reacted to her plea.
The beast leaped from the sand, leading with his open jaws. Kalder snatched the spear from the air. As he landed, his teeth snapped its length in half. With a sharp growl, he tossed the pieces aside.
Nyx turned to the two figures in the sand. The man had a dagger in hand now, guarding over a small girl. His eyes were huge, his lips fixed in a pained grimace of determination. His gaze focused on Bashaliia, who circled above and keened his distress after the attack, perhaps sensing the tense tableau below.
Nyx pined to Bashaliia, warning him to stay high. She lifted both palms toward the two strangers. She understood the young man’s terror. The sight of a Myr bat diving out of the steaming fog had to be unnerving. She remembered her own first encounter atop the ninth tier of the Cloistery.
“Do not fear.” She flicked a glance up. “He’s a friend.”
The man did not look convinced, likely didn’t even understand her.
She rested a palm on Kalder and waved to the others, giving Graylin a hard stare to hold back. The knight had his blade drawn, ready to protect her. Shadowing his shoulder, Quartermaster Vikas carried a broadsword in both hands. To the side stood Jace and Alchymist Krysh.
She heard Jace mumble in awe, his eyes as wide as the young man’s, “There are people in the Wastes.”
Krysh reminded him, quoting from the Gjoan text, “Daungrous peple.”
Behind them all, the Sparrowhawk ’s navigator, Fenn, remained with the sailraft, looking more amused than distraught. He had been waiting for Brayl to finish her inspection of the raft for damage.
Nyx focused back on the young stranger, whose attention never left the circling shadow of the bat. She placed a palm on her chest. “I am Nyx,” she said, stressing her name, then lifted a hand to point high. “That is Bashaliia.”
The man glanced at her, then back up with a shake of his head. “Nyan, ba raash’ke.”
She frowned, remembering him using that word before. “Raash’ke?”
He shoved his dagger toward Bashaliia, clearly adamant. “Raash’ke.” Frustration dimmed his terror. He used his free hand to feign ripping his throat with his fingers. His gaze twitched to Jace and Krysh. “Daungrous.”
Nyx stiffened in surprise at his use of the old word. Does he somewhat understand us? At the same time, she realized who he thought Bashaliia must be. She pictured the shaggy-furred, blunt-eared versions that had attacked them and drove them down here.
She shook her head and pointed again at Bashaliia. “Not raash’ke. Friend.”
She knew there was only one way to convince him. She backed a distance away and sang to Bashaliia, welcoming him to land, only well away from everyone. Bashaliia swept high once more, keening in distress. She reassured him in kind.
Finally, he sailed down. As he landed, he canted his wings wide, wafting sand. He then tucked his wings and wobbled on his legs to her side. She nuzzled his head and rubbed his ears. He leaned closer, mewling for comfort. His velvety nose sniffed at her, his breath warming her skin. Her fingers discovered damp spots and came away crimson.
Blood…
She cringed, picturing him wrestling with one of the raash’ke. He had survived, but not unscathed. She sang soothing chords, calming his heart, promising him he was safe.
But is that true?
She faced the young man, who looked aghast. She didn’t know how well these people knew those bats who haunted the ice, but she ran her fingers along Bashaliia’s ears, extending them to their full height. Her other palm ran down the sleek fur of his chest.
She fixed her gaze on the man. “ Not raash’ke.”
He finally lowered his dagger, looking more confused than relieved. The small girl tried to round his hip and come forward, drawn with the bright curiosity that only the youngest possessed. The man held her back.
“Nyan, Henna.”
Nyx left Bashaliia to draw nearer again. She placed a palm on her chest once more. “I am Nyx,” she repeated.
The man licked his lips and rested a hand to his own. “Daal. I be Daal.”
Krysh stepped closer, too. “I think he comprehends some rudimentary version of our language.”
Daal scowled at the alchymist. “Mother teach us. Makes us learn. To be”—he frowned for the words, then discovered them—“proud of our blood.”
Nyx struggled to understand. How could this be?
The answer came from the girl, Henna, likely the young man’s sister. She shifted clear enough of her brother to lift the long locks of her dark hair, which had strands of green woven through them. She picked out the darkest sections and pointed at Nyx’s black hair.
“You Noor. Like me.”
Jace stiffened with a gasp.
Nyx looked at him. “What?”
“These two.” His eyes grew even wider. “They have Noor’s blood.”
She still did not understand, frowning at him.
Jace tried again. “Rega sy Noor. The knight who captained a ship out here over two centuries ago—and vanished.” He pointed to the brother and sister. “I think these are his descendants.”
N YX KEPT CLOSE to Daal as his sister crept toward Bashaliia. The young man had sought to stop her, but Henna had kicked him soundly in the shin. As the girl extended her arm, her eyes glowed with childish longing, full of curiosity and wonder.
“Car’ada,” Daal warned her, shifting closer, one hand on his sheathed dagger.
Nyx touched his arm. “She’s safe. He won’t hurt her. I promise.”
Daal kept his place but didn’t lower his palm from the dagger’s hilt.
Steps away, Bashaliia bobbled back and forth on his legs, which drew a small smile from Nyx. Back when he was no larger than a goose—before he died and was resurrected into this larger form—he would prance like that whenever excited. It was a reminder that despite his large size, he was still her little brother at heart.
Henna reached a palm up to touch his chest. “Gree ly resh!”
Nyx glanced to Daal, who looked a year or two older than her and stood half a head taller. This close, he smelled of salt and a sweaty musk. “What did she say?”
Daal glanced over to her and translated. “He very warm.”
Nyx was momentarily captured by the ice of his eyes, so blue they were nearly silver. She realized she was staring and glanced aside. “He’s still probably overheated from his battle. Making him extra warm.”
Earlier, while they had tended to Bashaliia’s wounds, using a salve that Krysh had in a healer’s satchel, Nyx had offered Daal a sliver of their tale, of their encounter with the raash’ke. She wasn’t sure how much he had followed. She had also introduced the others, though she sensed him growing overwhelmed—not that she could blame him. Jace had practically peppered him with questions, trying to understand everything at once, his history, what life was like down here, and on and on.
Finally, Nyx had drawn Daal aside to give him a moment to collect himself. It also let the others attend to the sailraft and assess what to do next.
Though Graylin seldom let his gaze drift too far from her.
Still, it had seemed to work. Daal had grown more relaxed, even curious, asking questions about Bashaliia, about where they had come from. Again, she kept it as simple as possible. Longer conversations would have to wait.
Henna giggled brightly, drawing back her attention.
Towering over the girl, Bashaliia had bent down his whiskered muzzle and snuffled the crown of her head, then both cheeks. He whistled and nickered at her, taking in her scent, inspecting her with bridle-song.
Henna squirmed all the while, wearing a huge smile. “Gree heelee!”
Daal grinned himself, for the first time, like the sun piercing storm clouds. He squinted one eye, clearly trying to think how to explain. Then he lifted his hand from his dagger and wiggled his fingers along his bare rib cage.
Nyx understood. “Tickles. He’s tickling her.”
“Yee.” Daal nodded. “Tickles.”
Graylin waved to her, indicating it was time to regroup.
Nyx held up a palm, asking for a moment more. She turned to Daal. “Would you like to meet Bashaliia yourself?”
He considered it, took a breath, then nodded. “Henna not scared. Bad for me to be.”
His sister heard him and waved insistently. “Yee! Da mist.”
Nyx went with Daal, guiding him to Bashaliia. Henna backed away, her eyes still huge with excitement and awe. Once close enough, Daal lifted an arm. Bashaliia leaned forward to sniff at his hand, then bowed his head and pushed his crown into the man’s palm. The bat’s ears folded back, flat to his skull.
Nyx’s brows pinched. She had never seen Bashaliia grace a stranger like that.
A soft warbling nicker flowed from the bat’s throat.
For a breath, Daal matched it, only more melodic, likely without realizing it. His hand glided over Bashaliia’s head, his fingers combing the fur between those ears. The man’s eyes drifted half-closed.
“Gree resh,” he murmured, confirming his sister’s appraisal of the bat’s warmth. He let his arm drop and backed a step, his melody going silent like a snuffed candle. He stared back at Bashaliia. “Gree prel…”
Nyx pressed him. “Gree prel?”
He looked at her, his eyes brighter. He struggled for a breath, then pointed at the arc of ice that glowed through the steamy mists.
“Shines,” he said, translating. “He shines.”
Nyx studied Daal as he gazed at the distant glimmering. Had he noted the aura of bridle-song that rose when the two had touched? Did he carry the gift?
She hummed deep in her chest, casting out glowing tendrils toward the mystery standing in the sand. She tried to read him as she had Jace back in the Sparrowhawk ’s hold, when she had inadvertently brushed strands through her friend, exposing his private heart. Back then, it had felt like a violation, but she could not stop herself now. There was something different about Daal, more than just some nascent bridle-song in his blood.
But what?
She sang her strands toward him—but once near, they dissipated into a misty cloud and wisped away. She shivered in shock.
Daal glanced at her, his expression unchanged. He didn’t seem to be aware of what had happened. His gaze flicked to Bashaliia. He stared a long moment. His next words were strained, edged with apprehension.
“Gree nef oshkapi, hee miss’n Oshkapeers,” he whispered, turning his attention to her. He swallowed, clearly trying to explain. “He… oshkapi… dreams… deeper than all, like the Dreamers of the undersea.”
She shook her head. “What do you mean by—”
He grabbed her hand, looking haunted. “No go there. Ever.”
She tugged herself free, struggling to understand.
Graylin noted their brief tussle and strode toward them. “Are you all right?” he called to her.
“We’re fine,” she assured him, knowing Daal was only expressing concern.
But about what?
Graylin waved to her. “We should be going.”
She wanted to argue, but from the distress in Daal’s eyes, she simply nodded, dropping this mystery for now. “Will you still take us to your village?”
“Yee,” he agreed.
Nyx knew the plan was to reach his home. Daal was not the only mystery they had to solve. Their group had waited on the beach, keeping close to the sailraft, off-loading essentials, all the while hoping that there might be some sign of the other escaping sailraft and its occupants. Not to mention the Sparrowhawk, which was last seen fleeing into the mists, drawing off the pack of raash’ke.
As she joined the others, she gazed up at the mists, shimmering under the glow of the encrusted ice.
Where are you all?