Chapter 20
“There you are.”
She found Chaghan over the north wall. He stood with his arms crossed, watching as civilians poured out of Khurdalain’s dense streets like ants fleeing a collapsed hill.
They straggled through the city gates with their worldly possessions packed onto wagons, strapped to the sides of oxen or horses, slung across their shoulders on poles meant for carrying water, or simply dragged along in sacks.
They had chosen to take their chances in the open country rather than to stay another day in the doomed city.
The Militia was remaining in Khurdalain—it was still a strategic base that needed to be held—but they would be protecting nothing but empty buildings from here on out.
“Khurdalain’s done for,” Chaghan said, leaning against the wall. “Militia included. There’ll be no supplies after this. No hospital. No food. Soldiers fight battles, but civilians keep armies alive. Lose the resource well, and you’ve lost the war.”
“I need to talk to you,” she said.
He turned to face her, and she suppressed a shudder at the sight of those eyes without pupils. His gaze seemed to rest on the scarlet palm print on her cheek. His lips pressed together in a thin line, as if he knew exactly how the mark had gotten there.
“Lovers’ spat?” he drawled.
“Difference of opinion.”
“Shouldn’t have harped on about that boy,” he tutted. “Altan doesn’t tolerate shit like that. He’s not very patient.”
“He’s not human,” she said, recalling the horrible anger behind Altan’s power.
She’d thought she understood Altan. She’d thought she had reached the man behind the command title.
But she realized now that she didn’t know him at all.
The Altan she’d known—at least, the Altan in her mind—would have done anything for his troops.
He wouldn’t have left someone in the gas to die. “He—I don’t know what he is.”
“But Altan was never allowed to be human,” Chaghan said, and his voice was uncharacteristically gentle.
“Since childhood, he’s been regarded as a Militia asset.
Your masters at the Academy fed him opium for attacking his classmates and trained him like a dog for this war.
Now he’s been shouldered with the most difficult command position that exists in the Militia, and you wonder why he’s not going to trouble himself with your little boy toy? ”
Rin almost hit Chaghan for that, but she restrained herself with a twitch and set her jaw. “I’m not here to talk about Altan.”
“Then why, pray tell, are you here?”
“I need you to show me what you can do,” she said.
“I do a lot of things, sweetheart.”
She bristled. “I need you to take me to the gods.”
Chaghan looked smug. “I thought you didn’t have a problem calling the gods.”
“I can’t do it as easily as Altan can.”
“But you can do it.”
Her fingers curled into fists by her sides. “I want to do what Altan can do.”
Chaghan raised an eyebrow.
She took a deep breath. Chaghan didn’t need to know what had happened in the office. “I’ve been trying for months now. I think I’ve got it, I’m not sure, but there’s something . . . someone that’s blocking me.”
Chaghan assumed a mildly curious expression, tilting his head in a manner painfully reminiscent of Jiang. “You’re being haunted?”
“It’s a woman.”
“Really.”
“Come with me,” she said. “I’ll show you.”
“Why now?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What happened?”
She didn’t answer his question. “I need to do what he can do,” she said flatly. “I need to call the same power that he can.”
“And you didn’t bother with me before because . . .”
“You weren’t fucking here!”
“And when I returned?”
“I was obeying the warnings of my master.”
Chaghan sounded like he was gloating. “Those warnings no longer apply?”
She set her jaw. “I’ve realized that masters inevitably let you down.”
He nodded slowly, though his expression gave nothing away. “And if I can’t get rid of this . . . ghost?”
“Then at least you’ll understand.” She held out her hands. “Please.”
That supplication was enough. Chaghan gave a slight nod, and then beckoned her to sit down beside him. While she watched, he unpacked his knapsack and spread it out on the stone floor. An impressive supply of psychedelics was packed inside, tucked neatly into more than twenty little pockets.
“This is not derived from the poppy plant,” he said as he mixed powders into a glass vial. “This drug is something far more potent. A small overdose will cause blindness. More than that and you will be dead in minutes. Do you trust me?”
“No. But that’s irrelevant.”
Chuckling softly, Chaghan gave the vial a shake. He dumped the mixture into his palm, licked his index finger, and dipped it lightly in the drug so that the tip of his finger was covered by a light smattering of fine blue dust.
“Open your mouth,” he said.
She pushed down a swell of hesitation and obliged.
Chaghan pressed the tip of his finger against her tongue.
She closed her eyes. Felt the psychedelics seep into her saliva.
The onset was immediate and crushing, like a dark wave of ocean water had suddenly slammed on top of her. Her nervous system broke down completely; she lost the ability to sit up and crumpled at Chaghan’s feet.
She was at his mercy now, completely and utterly vulnerable before him. He could kill me right now, she thought dully. She didn’t know why it was the first thought that sprang to her mind. He could get rid of me now, if he wanted to.
But Chaghan only knelt down beside her, grasped her face by her cheeks, and pressed his forehead against hers. His eyes were open very, very wide. She stared into them, fascinated; they were a pale expanse, a window into a snowy landscape, and she was traversing through them . . .
And then they were hurtling upward.
She hadn’t known what she had expected. Not once in two years of training had Jiang guided her into the spirit realm. It had always been her mind alone, her soul alone in the void, journeying up toward the gods.
With Chaghan, she felt as if a piece of her had been ripped away, was clutched in the palm of his hand, being taken somewhere of his choosing.
She was immaterial, without body or form, but Chaghan was not; Chaghan remained as solid and real as before, perhaps even more so.
In the material world, he was gaunt and emaciated, but in the realm of spirit he was solid and present . . .
She understood, now, why Chaghan and Qara had to be two halves of a whole. Qara was grounded, material, fully made of earth. To call them anchor twins was a misnomer—she alone was the anchor to her ethereal brother, who belonged more in the realm of spirit than he did in a world of flesh and blood.
The route to the Pantheon was familiar by now, and so was the gate.
Once again the Woman materialized in front of her.
But something was different this time; this time the Woman was less like a ghost and more like a corpse; half her face was torn away, revealing bone underneath, and her warrior’s garb had burned away from her body.
The Woman stretched a hand out toward Rin in supplication.
“It’ll eat you alive,” she said. “The fire will consume you. To find our god is to find hell on earth, little warrior. You will burn and burn and never find peace.”
“How curious,” said Chaghan. “Who are you?”
The Woman whirled on him.
“You know who I am,” she said. “I am the guardian. I am the Traitor and the Damned. I am redemption. I am the girl’s last chance for salvation.”
“I see,” Chaghan murmured. “So this is where you’ve been hiding.”
“What are you talking about?” Rin demanded. “Who is she?”
But Chaghan spoke past her, directly to the woman. “You should have been immured in the Chuluu Korikh.”
“The Chuluu Korikh can’t hold me,” hissed the Woman. “I am a Speerly. My ashes are free.” She reached out and stroked Rin’s damaged cheek like a mother caressing her child. “You don’t want me gone. You need me.”
Rin shuddered at her touch. “I need my god. I need power, and I need fire.”
“If you call it now, you will bring down hell on earth,” the Woman warned.
“Khurdalain is hell on earth,” said Rin. She saw Nezha screaming in the fog, and her voice wavered.
“You don’t know what true suffering is,” the Woman insisted angrily.
Rin curled her fingers into fists at her sides, suddenly pissed off.
True suffering? She had seen her friends stabbed with halberds, shot full of arrows, cut down with swords, burned to death in poisonous fog.
She had seen Sinegard go up in flames. She had seen Khurdalain occupied by Federation invaders almost overnight.
“I have seen more than my fair share of suffering,” she hissed.
“I’m trying to save you, little one. Why can’t you see that?”
“What about Altan?” Rin challenged. “Why haven’t you ever tried to stop him?”
The Woman tilted her head. “Is that what this is about? Are you jealous of what he can do?”
Rin opened her mouth, but nothing came out. No. Yes. Did it matter? If she had been as strong as Altan, he wouldn’t have been able to restrain her.
If she were as strong as Altan, she could have saved Nezha.
“That boy is beyond redemption,” said the Woman. “That boy is broken like the rest. But you, you are still pure. You can still be saved.”
“I don’t want to be saved!” Rin shrieked. “I want power! I want Altan’s power! I want to be the most powerful shaman there ever was, so that there is no one I can’t save!”
“That power can burn down the world,” the Woman said sadly. “That power will destroy everything you’ve ever loved. You will defeat your enemy, and the victory will turn to ashes in your mouth.”
Chaghan had finally regained his composure.
“You have no right to remain here,” he said. His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, but he raised one thin hand toward the Woman in a banishing gesture. “You belong to the realm of the dead. Return to the dead.”
“Do not try,” sneered the Woman. “You cannot banish me. In my time I have bested shamans far more powerful than you.”