The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [136]
“It must be Ashan,” Jahalan said.
Nikandr furrowed his brow. “Or Nasim.”
Jahalan laughed softly. “Or Nasim.”
Nikandr studied the northern sky for any sign of the skiff, but there was none. “Is Ghayavand truly a place between worlds?”
“Who can tell? Some doubt that it exists at all. Others say it is nothing but an island where powerful qiram once lived. Others believe a doorway once existed, but that it has since closed.”
“What do you think?”
“Me?”Jahalan’s face became pensive as he too studied the horizon.“I think that something as hidden as Ghayavand is as good as a myth.”
One more cannon blast interrupted the silence, but it was soft, distant, muted by the depths of the fog.
“And what if it were real? What would you do then?”
A genuine smile lit his face. “I would learn. The day we stop listening to the lessons around us...”
“Is the day we begin to die,” Nikandr said, completing the proverb. “So you always say, but I have heard of the riches of Alayazhar.” Jahalan, like Udra and dozens of other Aramahn, had pledged themselves to Khalakovo. They had found their place, as they say, and had dedicated themselves to teaching the Landed the ways of the world as seen through the eyes of the Aramahn.
“You mean to ask would I betray my oath. I would not, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t cry for my own loss.”
“Perhaps in the next life,” Nikandr said.
“Perhaps,” Jahalan replied. “Do you still believe the city you saw in your visions was Alayazhar?”
Nikandr shrugged. “Who can say? Perhaps it was something Nasim saw somewhere when he was younger. But it felt real, as if I were the one with the memories... Nyet, as if I were living it, then and there.”
“And what if we find this place? What then?”
“We find Ashan and we bring him back.”
“What of the wasting?”
Jahalan had said the words nonchalantly, perhaps hoping to ease into the conversation, but it struck Nikandr physically. He reeled, shocked and embarrassed that Jahalan had found him out.
“Who knows?” Nikandr asked.
“Only Udra and I, but the crew suspects.”
Nikandr wanted to laugh. “They consider it another ill omen, I expect.”
“They do.”
Nikandr arched his neck back and took a deep breath. “There is time for me yet. My only hope is to bring Nasim back home, to unlock the riddle within him.”
Jahalan turned to face Nikandr. He reached out and gripped Nikandr’s shoulder affectionately. “Best you take care of yourself, then. Eat, and make sure the crew sees you doing it. Throw up if you must, but do so in your own cabin.”
Nikandr nodded, thankful for having someone who knew, thankful at not having to hide it, at least some of the time. “I will.”
The following night, Nikandr retired to the kapitan’s cabin to ride out another coughing fit. The spells were not lasting as long as they once did, but they left him feeling much more weakened when they were done. It was as if his body had had enough and his defenses were crumbling.
Viggen knocked on his door with an offer of food. He accepted, but it took him nearly an hour to force down the meager ration he’d allowed for himself and the crew. With the prevailing winds largely controlling their direction, he had chosen to stay high above the water instead of dropping to fish. It was not food, in any case, that was the issue. It was liquids. Their supply of ale was beginning to run low.
That night, he forced himself to sleep, though it was difficult with the interminable ache in his chest. When he finally did fall asleep, it was deep.
As were his dreams.
At the fluttering wings of a bird, Khamal opens his eyes. He expects a gull, but finds instead a thrush with spotted wings and a fiery red breast standing on the tower’s parapet. He sees this as an ill omen. The thrush flaps down from the parapet to the wooden roof. It hops closer to Khamal’s feet, and then it alights, scared by the creaking sound of the hinged door that opens nearby.
Muqallad is first, followed by Sariya,