Eight #3
from the valley, he met my gaze and seemed to hesitate, as if struggling to say something.
“What do you remember of Irrikah, Sparrow?” he finally asked in a quiet voice.
The question, and the fact that he had said my name instead of just calling me Fateless, caught me off guard. I blinked, then
realized what he was really asking.
“Everything,” I whispered, and saw a flash of relief cross his face. “The city, the queen, our mission . . . I remember it
all.”
“Good.” Raithe’s voice was nearly a whisper as well.
“I’m glad I won’t have to tell you everything and see .
. . that look, all over again.” Looking up at the sky, he narrowed his eyes.
“There are still a few hours till suns set,” he said.
“We can get deep into the Dead Lands before nightfall, but I don’t know what we’ll find farther in.
There are rumors of settlements, the remnants of old towns, scattered throughout the valley.
Remember, the land is full of statues—we’re certain to stumble upon a few.
And if you hear anything strange—voices, people calling for you—don’t answer them.
The less attention we draw to ourselves, the better. ”
An eerie quiet hung over the Dead Lands as we descended into the valley. There was no rustle of branches, no hissing of leaves,
no scurry of anything small and fast over the ground. The petrified trees stood unnaturally still as we passed beneath the
stony branches. Our rock beetles and Raithe’s sand dragon left shallow footprints in the dust, three-toed prints, and a long
dragging tail next to a line of circular holes from insect legs.
Despite the emptiness, I could feel eyes on me. Maybe it was just my paranoid imagination, but every so often, I’d catch a
strange silhouette from the corner of my eye, an outline of a body or a face in the trees. Of course, it would be gone when
I turned, making me wonder if I had seen anything at all.
The shadows grew long as Namaia began to descend over the distant mountains. As the light faded, a chill crept into the air.
I shivered and pulled further into my hood, grateful for the warmth of the Fatechaser against my back.
“Hey,” Halek said, his voice unnaturally loud in the stillness. His hand rose over my shoulder, pointing to something in the
distance. “Are those lights?”
I blinked. Through a scattering of skeletal trees, something flickered in the gloom. It looked like a torch, or a campfire,
a warm orange glow that beckoned enticingly.
“Ignore it,” Raithe said, glancing back at us. “It’s only a spirit trying to lure you that way.”
“Are you sure?” Halek wondered. “It looks like someone’s camp to me. What if we’re not the only ones out here?”
“We are.” Raithe’s voice was firm. “No others venture into the Dead Lands, and even if they did, we can’t risk it. Don’t follow
any lights, and don’t respond to any voices you hear. It’s getting on toward night, so the spirits will be roaming.”
“Perhaps we should set up camp ourselves,” Kysa suggested. “Since we are trying not to attract their attention.”
“I’ve been looking for a good spot,” Raithe said, and nodded toward a stony rise, silhouetted black against the sky. “I think
near the base of that rock will provide enough shelter to stop for the night.”
We found a nook sheltered on three sides by boulders and the looming rock face. While Kysa and I took care of the rock beetles,
Halek and Raithe somehow got a fire started, though there was no wood and no grass anywhere. The fire crackled valiantly and
warded off a bit of the chill, but even the flames looked sick and weak against the darkness.
Raithe kept his distance from the rest of us, hovering at the edge of the camp, gazing into the darkness of the forest. When
the moon rose above the lifeless valley, he announced that he would take first watch and disappeared into the shadows of the
trees.
Anything to keep from talking to me, I supposed.
“Sparrow.”
I opened my eyes, shivering. The fire in the camp had burned low, embers glowing sullenly against the gloom.
Across the firepit, Halek lay curled up in his blanket like a caterpillar, and Kysa leaned against a rock with her own blanket drawn over her shoulders.
For once, the insect rider seemed deeply asleep and didn’t stir when I sat up.
Raithe’s spot was empty, though his blanket was gone.
I figured the kahjai was still on watch somewhere nearby. At least, I hoped he was.
“Sparrow.”
Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes. That was Vahn’s voice; I recognized it instantly. The tenor, the cadence, even the way
he said my name was familiar. Which meant there was a spirit nearby, playing with me, because Vahn was dead.
“Sparrow. Come over here.”
The voice echoed from the lurking gloom just outside the circle of firelight. A chill ran down my spine, raising the hair
on my arms. I pulled my hood up and stared into the dying embers, not letting my gaze stray anywhere else.
It’s not him. You’re not really him, so leave me alone.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” The voice took on an almost pleading tone. “I’ve missed you, Sparrow. Come over here, please.”
I bowed my head, curling my fists into the blanket. Vahn would never say that. Not even when he was trying to manipulate me.
He never begged, never bartered. He laid out terms clearly, and you either accepted or you didn’t. The times he said please to anyone could be counted on one hand.
So why did my chest feel so tight? Why did I feel tears stinging the corners of my eyes? This wasn’t Vahn. This was just a
spirit, pretending to be Vahn. So what if it was parroting the very things I’d longed to hear Vahn say?
“Sparrow. Don’t you miss me?”
“Go away,” I whispered, drawing further into my hood. Pulling the blanket over my head, I squeezed my eyes shut. “You’re not
Vahn. Vahn isn’t here anymore. And even if he was, I don’t want to see him again. Leave me alone.”
“Sparrow?”
This time, the voice didn’t come from the shadows, but from right in front of me. But it wasn’t Vahn’s voice, either. Strong
fingers gripped my arms, firm but gentle, and I opened my eyes. Peeking out from the covers, I looked up into Raithe’s concerned
gaze.
He released me as soon as our eyes met and drew back a pace. Behind him, Halek snorted, still asleep, and turned over on his
side. Kysa’s breathing faltered, then continued, slow and deep. I bit my lip and glanced back at Raithe, who continued to
watch me with concern.
“What happened?” he asked softly.
I ducked my head, my eyes stinging. “I think I caught the attention of a spirit,” I whispered. “Something is out there calling
to me. It . . . it sounded like Vahn.”
His gaze turned sympathetic. “Try to ignore it,” he murmured. “I know it’s hard. But if you don’t respond, eventually they’ll
get bored or distracted and leave.” He moved beside me and sat down, leaning against the rock wall. “I’ll stay up with you,
so you don’t have to face it alone.”
I nodded at him gratefully. The night was silent now; either the spirit had given up or it didn’t want to call out when there was more than one person to hear. “How does it know about Vahn?” I asked the kahjai beside me. “I haven’t talked about him since we left Irrikah.”
“It doesn’t,” Raithe answered. “The historians say it’s part of the curse of these lands. The spirits call out to you, but
you hear the voices of the people you miss the most. The ones you’ve lost. It’s your own memories, your own longing and guilt,
that cause you to hear them as you do. There’s a reason my people never returned to this place.”
I shivered. “Whoever did this,” I said, “whichever king it was, he must’ve been a real bastard.”
“He hated the queen,” Raithe answered, surprising me. “The war affected everyone, but according to the most ancient stories,
there was a personal grudge between Sahmessyia and one of the other Deathless, though his name has been lost to time. He didn’t
just want to destroy her, he wanted to corrupt everything she had built, everything she had created. Including us.
“The day of the cataclysm,” Raithe went on, his eyes distant, “the iylvahn were nearly wiped out. The accounts say it happened
quickly—a blink, a flash, and everything was gone. Turned to stone in an instant. But the king didn’t want to erase us. He
wanted an eternal reminder to the queen that there was a land here, once, full of life and people. So the statues remained, to twist the knife in as deep as it could go.
“But he didn’t get us all. A few remained—a handful, but enough to rebuild, repopulate, and start over from nothing. The queen
was able to hide us for the rest of the war, until the other Deathless eventually destroyed themselves.”