The Final Strife

“Yes, but I’m all right. They shouldn’t last much longer. The drug’s out of my system now, it’s just that my brain needs to stabilize.”

“Stabilize?”

“It’s the word Anoor used. Apparently, it needs to adapt to cope without the drug…” Sylah trailed off. “I’m going to go.”

“Are you sure you’re all right, though?” His voice was tender, and for some reason it made Sylah crave a joba seed more.

“Yes. Bye, Jond.”

Sylah jumped down from the water tower to the barn roof, and onto the cobbled street of the Ember Quarter.

It didn’t take Sylah long to realize she was being watched.

She felt it from the way the wind blew. Chilly and suspicious.

“Jond?” She asked the shadows caused by the midday sun. But she knew it wasn’t him.

Nothing. Even the kori birds kept their beaks shut as they watched from the branches of the joba trees above.

For a second she thought she saw a smudge in the treetops. Too big to be a bird. Too small to be a person. There were desert lions in the Farsai, but few ever ventured into the city. Either way she broke into a run.

Whoever it was didn’t follow her into the Keep. The morning runs had helped Sylah’s stamina.

After her blood scour at the gate, Sylah walked through the courtyard, circling the gigantic joba tree that webbed out in the middle. Today a young girl sat bowed in front of it, her white robes indicating she was an Abosom, a priest who followed and preached the teachings of Anyme.

Sylah drifted toward her melodic prayers.

“We thank thee for what you give us, Anyme, we praise thee for where you lead us. Anyme, we serve thee for how you punish us. The blood, the power, the life—”

The Abosom stopped, startled by Sylah’s presence. “Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you.” Sylah remembered where she was and added, “I’m new here, I’ve never met an Abosom before.” She painted a grin on her face and tried to make her eyes rounder like Anoor’s.

“Do not worry, child.” The woman, because she was much older than Sylah originally thought, stood. A deep cut on her hand dripped crimson onto the cobblestones, her sacrifice to Anyme, the God of the Sky. Silvered scars lined her arm and hand. The Abosom dedicated their life to pursuing Anyme’s attention in the hope of protecting the empire from their wrath. Those who believed in Anyme thought that sacrifice would signal Anyme’s blessed attention to manifest their prayers. That was the currency of the God of the empire, blood, and sacrifice.

Sylah preferred to put her faith into the Sandstorm. Into Jond.

The Abosom continued, “The tidewind claimed another last night. I do not know why Anyme is punishing us so.” She wrapped herself in her white cowl, not noticing or caring that her hand streaked it red. Her feet were bare and made very little sound as she slipped away.

Sylah lingered, watching the stain of blood drip down the bone-white bark.

—

Hassa watched Sylah jump down from the water tower from her perch in the tree. The Ghosting elders had instructed her to source more charcoal to make black paint, but she’d been waylaid when she’d spotted Sylah in a side street. The market could wait.

A few minutes later the boy, Jond, appeared. He wore a loose-fitting black tunic and tight pantaloons that carved out his calves. Hassa appreciated them from her viewpoint above. Her gaze followed him across the street toward the Tongue.

He must be one of the Stolen. He knew Sylah before her time in Nar-Ruta. And if he was, then that meant the Sandstorm were back. But what was he doing with Sylah? And what was Sylah really doing at the Keep?

Hassa had the separate threads of their story but couldn’t see the tapestry whole.

She didn’t believe the elders when they told her Sylah had traded a favor with the Warden of Crime. She even sought out the Ghosting who served the tea to Sylah in the Belly. Hassa waited in the Intestines until she saw the Ghosting she was looking for, who confirmed what the elders said.

Hassa couldn’t believe Sylah would be so reckless—so utterly stupid. A contract with Loot would get her killed.

She checked the street before making her way, lithely and quickly, down the joba tree. Hassa set aside her concern for Sylah for a later time. She had things to do.

—

Before dinner, Sylah arranged to meet Anoor in the training grounds, which had a familiar smell. Sweat, iron, and egos. It was like being back at the Sanctuary.