Chapter 22 – The Blade of Heaven

He let me cry. After a moment he sat down beside me, still clasping his arm around me. Even when I finally dried my eyes on the sleeves of my tunic, he didn’t move to get up.

“Yatol,” I said at last. “How do you know the way to go?”

“I’ve made this journey more than enough times, so I know the shortest distance across the Perstaun. That’s the way we’ll go.”

“But how can you find it? It’s all desert. And so dark.”

He just smiled. “We’re almost to the dunes. The Perstaun is narrower here than toward the Gorhiem Bolstoed, so if we run, we may reach the Branhau before night.”

I glared at the sky. “It’s all night. I don’t know how you can tell what time it is.”

He got to his feet and helped me to mine. “Trust me,” he said, and broke into a run.

I sprinted after him, wondering how long we would have to run before we reached the dunes. Suddenly I felt the ground lurch up and I collapsed in a shower of sand. Well, there was my answer. Yatol kept running, balancing expertly against the shifting ground. Before I could lose sight of him I made another attempt, mimicking his method. My legs were burning by the time I finally made it to the top.

The dunes weren’t nearly as high as I’d seen in pictures of Earth’s deserts, but they were bad enough. My mouth felt like sandpaper by the time I reached the crest, and for a moment I just knelt there coughing, trying to moisten my parched throat. But Yatol didn’t slow down to wait. He slid down the opposite slope, sand rasping behind him. I gave up trying to rest and slipped down after him, squinting against the spray of sand. I hit the bottom and ran on.

“Wait,” I gasped, floundering up the next rise to join him near the top. I threw myself down beside him, breathless. “How many more dunes are there?”

“How many?” he echoed. “I don’t know. The desert is always changing. There are always dunes here, because of the winds, but the number and size always changes. Sometimes there are many small dunes, sometimes a few high ones. From these two I’d say we’ve got a number of small ones still ahead.”

“These are small?” I groaned. “Was there no easier way?”

Before he could answer he suddenly tensed. “Listen.”

I tried, but couldn’t hear anything besides the sand sifting in the breeze.

“What is it?” I whispered.

And then I felt it. Low and almost inaudible, the same dull throb that had heralded the Ungulion approach earlier.

“I thought the Ungulion already passed us!”

“That was just a dispatch.”

I flattened myself on the sand and crept the rest of the way up the dune. Yatol came quickly after me, grabbing my arm before I went over the crest. I inched forward a little more, and peered over the top.

And saw the army. They were still some distance away, skirting the next dune a little up from our position. They carried huge torches that cast pools of shuddering light over their ranks, showering sparks and acrid smoke into the starless dark. They marched slowly, and it seemed that the heavy pulse was steadily winding down. Finally it stopped, and I realized that the force had come to a halt.

“They stopped,” I whispered. “I think they’re setting up camp. Why do they need to camp?”

“I don’t know. Are you sure?”

I went a little further, heard his breath hiss out sharply. “They’re lighting fires. Three of them are coming this way…”

Yatol scrambled up beside me to see for himself, eyes gleaming. “The watchmen.”

“How far will they go?”

“If they establish their perimeter at all like we do, maybe a few hundred paces from the camp, no further.”

“How far is that?”

He narrowed his eyes, squinting out toward the camp. His gaze ran over the dunes as if mentally measuring the distance, and finally he nodded at the slope in front of us.

“Right there.”

I swallowed. The three Ungulion came steadily toward us, their tall torches scattering light between the two dunes for some distance. I thought I saw the shadows of several others coming out of the darkness to join them, but couldn’t be sure.

“They’re going to see us,” I said. “What’re we going to do?”

His gaze flitted over the dunes, experienced, calculating, then he said, “When I tell you, run twenty paces along this slope until you come to the shadow, then cut across and over the rest of the dunes. Don’t stop, don’t even slow down until you cross the last dune. Wait for me there.” He fixed me with a somber gaze. “If I don’t join you in an hour, go on toward the Branhau. Akhmar will come and carry you as far as he can. Beyond that…”

“What do you mean?” I gasped. “Don’t say that! Come with me. If they wouldn’t see me, surely they wouldn’t see us if we both went…”

“But they’ve already sensed a stranger’s presence.”

I reached to my belt to unhook the knife he had given me. He had no other weapons – if he had taken any from the camp, he had spent them all already. I knew he wouldn’t accept the knife if I offered it, so I took it off wordlessly and laid it beside his hand.

“Go!” he whispered fiercely. “Go, go! Run and don’t look back!”

I slid back a little way and scrambled to my feet, hesitating the briefest of moments. But then he turned and met my gaze, and nodded once, slowly.

I ran. I wasn’t sure how long a pace actually was, but I ran until I thought I could slip between the slopes unseen, then I breasted the dune and slid down the other side. My guess was right – I stood just a few steps beyond the perimeter of light. As soon as I hit level ground I was on my feet again, racing toward the next slope. I had nearly crossed the trough when a horrible shriek split the air. It froze me in my tracks. I swept my gaze back toward the light, watching as Yatol flew down toward the Ungulion. Seven of them. Silent now they surrounded him, and then he was lost to my sight.

I realized suddenly that I had stopped. I’d stopped and looked, just like Yatol had told me not to. Shaking with fear and rage, I wrenched myself away, forced my legs to move. I clambered over the dune and the next, hardly able to summit the last. But finally I made the top and skidded down the opposite side. I collapsed in a heap at the bottom, and waited.

The minutes crawled by.

I drew up my knees and hugged my arms to my chest, trying to stop shaking. The air seemed colder now, the breeze stiffer. Sand filtered down the slope and caught in my hair, then whipped up toward the dune and stung my cheeks. I buried my head in my arms, and waited.

An hour passed as I listened desperately for the sound of Yatol sliding down the slope to join me. All I heard was the wind sighing and howling over the waste, a bodiless voice in the blind dark. I scooped up handfuls of sand, feeling it trickle slow and sharp between my fingers. I justified waiting half of another hour, but still I sat alone.

Finally I forced myself to my feet and stumbled along the base of the dune, up and down. Maybe he was searching for me. Maybe I had gone too far, and he hadn’t been able to see me. But I couldn’t find him anywhere. After a while I stopped and stood staring toward the Branhau. And then I turned around, and climbed up the dune. He was crazy if he thought I would leave him behind.

I stayed low, creeping cautiously back the way I had come. I crossed another dune, then another. Here was the high one we had hid behind when Yatol told me to run. I could see the light of fires up at the camp, but toward the watchpost, nothing.

I hugged the slope, walking slow and wary toward the post. I couldn’t see anything at all. No one standing, no silhouettes against the bobbing lights beyond…no one lying down. I came to the place where the skirmish had happened – it was windless here and the churned sand still showed signs of the battle.

And there, buried to the hilt, was Yatol’s knife.

My eyes blurred so badly that I could barely see it. I pulled it from the sand and dusted it off, the tears streaming down my face. It was bloodied, but not on the blade. Not from any wound it had inflicted. The blood had trickled down from the hilt and pooled around the crossguard, leaving the edge and length of the blade spotless. I hugged it to my chest, sobbing. Forced myself to my feet.

Yatol. Where had they taken him? I found myself in their camp. No tents. Bonfires. Why were they all sitting around the fires? They couldn’t possibly be cold. Oh God, where did they take him?

Toward the center of the camp a cluster of Ungulion stood in a ring. They were the only ones standing. Chanting. Their arms stretched out to the center of their circle.

No.

I stumbled into a run, still holding Yatol’s knife gleaming in my hand.

The drone grew louder, lower, more intense. Rotted fingers curled rhythmically as if they were picking something apart. My hands started shaking with rage. Blood pounded in my face. I sprinted the rest of the way, shoving two of the Ungulion out of my way as I reached their circle.

“Stop!” I shouted, holding out the knife to ward them away, then murmured, “Stop,” and dropped to my knees beside Yatol.

The Ungulion drew back. The chanting broke off, dissolving into a wailing, seething voice. It seemed to come from all directions, like a single voice echoed a hundred times over.

“She bears the blade!” the voice sobbed. “The Blade of Heaven! Take it from her! Take the blade!”

They writhed and flinched away from me. I stared at them in confusion, gripping the blade more tightly. An Ungulion tried to snatch it from me, but without thinking I lashed out and struck him in the hand. I didn’t see it cut him, but a sudden pain shot through me. My scream of anguish melded with his. Clutching his hand, he turned and fled.

Feeling braver, I brandished the knife at the others. And as I did I saw the blood seeping from my fingers and palm, trickling down the hilt. I nearly dropped the blade in horror. But the shadow was pressing over me again, the circle reforming and drawing in closer. I hardened my clutch.

“Take the blade…”

“Leave him alone!” I screamed, whirling around.

I lunged at the nearest Ungulion, striking out in a blind fury. I must have hit him somewhere, because the pain renewed in my arm, shooting up toward my spine. I ignored it.

“They’ve come, they’ve come!” the voice cried, and the whole plaintive drone renewed in a chaos of hate and fury.

I drew my arm back. The Ungulion nearest me wasn’t looking at me anymore – his gaze fixed on the dunes. Through all the wailing I heard a sharp, high-pitched whine, and then there was an arrow piercing his breast. He slumped to his knees, frozen as stone.

Another fell, and another, and the whole of the Ungulion force began to mobilize. I couldn’t see anyone on the ridges. The spears and arrows seemed to materialize out of the darkness. And then somewhere I heard a voice calling, clear and deep.

“Mer, run! Run while we have them!”

“Damian?” I whispered, taking a half-step forward.

I couldn’t see him, and didn’t dare call out his name. But it didn’t matter. He was all right…for now.

I ran back to Yatol. In my panic I didn’t even look at him, didn’t bother trying to wake him or see how he was injured. I shoved the knife back into its sheath and grabbed his arms, hauling with all my might. I managed to drag him a few short inches and nearly gave up, until I realized that not all of the Ungulion were ignoring us. From the corner of my eye I saw a small group circling toward us. And there, farther away, was another – taller than the others, darker somehow. He turned toward us. I couldn’t see his face, but visceral terror seized me. I reeled with panic, tugging desperately on Yatol’s arms.

“Please, Yatol,” I whispered. “Wake up.”

But he just lay there, skin ashen, face quiet. With the strength that terror lends I dragged him a full foot and a half, but it was as far as I could go. My hands went weak, losing their grip on his sleeves. Some strange dizziness seeped over me, and my vision blurred. The group of Ungulion reached us, surrounded us. And before I knew what was happening, one had slung Yatol over his back and another swept me up effortlessly. I froze, paralyzed with shock.

“Will you not struggle?” the Ungulion hissed.

What? On a sudden impulse I writhed against his grip, trying to slither out of his arms. He held me fast while the whole group rushed toward the rear of the camp. I fought the entire time. The Ungulion wanted me to fight. But I didn’t have the energy to escape, and for some reason I didn’t think I needed to. Soon we reached the darkness, and they deposited us on the ground.

“We followed Elekeo till the end,” my captor murmured, his voice like the rasp of sand in the wind. He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder. “We would see no harm come to you. Take him swiftly. Do not let our sacrifice be in vain.”

They disappeared back into the camp, striking out ruthlessly against the other Ungulion. I wondered briefly if the taller one had lost interest in us, but didn’t stop to check. I picked myself up and grabbed Yatol’s arms again. The sand shifted stubbornly beneath my feet with every step, churning up billows of dust that choked my throat and burned my eyes. It coated Yatol’s face and arms with a film of sand that made his already pale face even ghastlier.

I managed to pull him well away from the border of the camp, but by then the strength in my arms and legs gave out entirely and I dropped onto the ground beside him. I just sat and stared at him, numb. Couldn’t think. Saw the sand on his skin tinged red, but couldn’t see any wounds. I didn’t really expect to. When I finally gathered my wits, I felt for a pulse at his wrist. If he had one, it was too faint for my unskilled fingers to find. I swallowed and tried to find the pulse in his neck.

A hand grabbed my arm. I jerked back in terror before realizing that it was his. It flexed a little, tightening unintentionally. Before I could cry out in pain his grip slackened, but he kept hold of my arm as he strained to open his eyes. He fixed his gaze on me, his lips parting, but couldn’t force a voice.

“I told you to run,” he gasped finally. “Why did you come back?”

“What is the Blade of Heaven?”

His eyes widened, startled, and he struggled to sit up.

“What did you say?” He let go of my arm, but grabbed both my hands to inspect them. “You didn’t…did you strike them? How did we get here? What happened?”

“Don’t be alarmed…” I closed my eyes. “Just rest now…just rest…”

“Merelin!”

He seized my shoulders and shook me roughly. My eyelids fluttered open, and I managed to scowl at him. He fumbled in the pouch at his belt, but I didn’t see what he pulled out of it. The dim light from the camp faded.

Vaguely I felt him catch me, then the familiar thick, acrid taste spilled over my tongue and down my throat. I coughed and waved my hand in front of my face.

“You too, Yatol. Drink some too.”

“I’m all right,” he said. “Don’t worry, Merelin. I know my strength.”

“You took some earlier, didn’t you? You’re sure you’re all right for now?”

He nodded.

“You’re not angry with me?”

There was a brief silence, then he said, “You’re strong. A little reckless, but I admire that.” He smiled gently. “I can’t be angry with you. I thank you with all my heart.”

“I only did what I could,” I said, cheeks burning. “I didn’t do anything at all, really. But the Ungulion seemed afraid of the knife, so I tried to keep them away from you. I hit one, or maybe two, because they kept trying to get it away from me. Then…”

I spun around to look at the camp. It still seethed with a chaos of activity, and I couldn’t make out what was happening. But I glimpsed a group of Ungulion pacing the perimeter, still some distance away.

“Then what?” Yatol prompted. His eyes followed the Ungulion, too, measuring their stride.

“I think Damian was there. I heard his voice – he told me to run. There must have been a few of them. They had arrows and spears, and it distracted the Ungulion. So I tried to pull you away…” I could tell the idea amused him. “I tried! And then some Ungulion came, but they saved us. They picked us up and carried us out here and then went back to fight against the others. I wouldn’t have made it this far without them.”

For a moment we sat in silence. I watched his face closely, trying to read in its steady features some whisper of his thought. But he only gazed quietly out across the sands. He seemed utterly beyond me at that moment, and I sighed unhappily. The sound stirred him, and he met my gaze with a faint smile.

“Can you run a little longer now?” He gestured behind him. “We’re nearly there!”

I took a deep breath and nodded. “Will Damian and the others be all right?”

“They’ll put up a sound fight until we’ve gotten away, then I imagine they will retreat.”

He got up and smiled down at me again, more encouragingly. His face looked so wan, pale and strained, but his eyes shone with an intense and disconcerting light. He didn’t help me up, but when I got to my feet he turned and set off at a jog. But he hadn’t run ten steps before he stumbled, and collapsed unmoving on the sand.