The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [137]
They stand before him.
“Your last chance,” Muqallad says.
Khamal ignores him, giving all his attention to Sariya. She stares back, and though she acts strong, he can tell that she regrets what she has done—not enough to change her mind, but there is regret, and that is a start.
“Small consolation,” he says softly.
“What?” Muqallad replies.
“You have lived centuries longer than you’d ever imagined, and you still believe that you can force upon the world its destiny.”
“The fates knew well that they were ceding the world to us. They should not be surprised when a plan of their own devising bears fruit at last.”
Khamal views the horizon, feeling in his heart the tear in the world that runs through the islands. “Only when this is healed can the world move on.”
“Enough,” Sariya says. The word is short, clipped. She is shamed at being here, and she wishes to be done with it.
Muqallad turns to her.
“He will not change his mind, and we still have much to do.”
Muqallad nods, beckons her closer.
She hesitates, glancing to Khamal, but then complies.
Together, they hold the khanjar. Each reaches out to touch one of Khamal’s shoulders, and for a moment, it is as it was when they worked together on this same tower, centuries ago, trying to take the world to a higher place, a higher plane.
Khamal can feel the world around him, feel the power building within the two of them. They were surprised at how easily he gave in—with barely a fight. What they didn’t realize was how right it felt. They didn’t realize how freeing their betrayal might be. They were all trapped on this island from the moment the rift had formed, and though he had tried to find a way to repair it, he came to learn that he would not be able to do so while here. He also knew that he could never leave.
Unless he dies.
To do so means giving himself to the fates. He has come to terms with this. It feels right.
But he cannot allow the two of them free reign while he’s gone. He will die, but he will be reborn, and he will see to it that he remembers, that he returns to finish what he started.
The tip of the khanjar presses against his stomach, pierces his skin. He looks down, smiling.
“Why do you smile?” Sariya asks.
He stares into her blue eyes. “Someday I’ll tell you.”
“Neh,” Muqallad says, “you will not.”
Together, they thrust the khanjar home.
Khamal tips his head to the sky and screams. He feels the warmth of his own blood, already trailing down his stomach. He feels the touch of Adhiya even now. And it is in this moment that he is free.
He binds the island, binds this tower, so that neither Sariya nor Muqallad will be allowed to leave. They will be trapped. They will wait for his return, and if the fates are kind, he will return a wiser man than he is now.
Muqallad stares into Khamal’s eyes. He knows. He knows, and he works to prevent what is happening.
“Help me!” through gritted teeth he shouts.
But it is too late. Khamal slips free of his mortal frame, and in doing so, cements the spell around the tower.
Nikandr woke, sweating, his chest so constricted he could hardly breathe. He could not find it in himself to cough. He was too weak, and he felt as though once he started, he would not stop until he was dead. And so he lay there holding his soulstone tightly in one hand, breathing shallowly, feeling the gentle tug of the wind upon their ship until slowly, slowly, the feeling of tightness faded.
He swallowed and took in a deeper breath. To be so caught by this spell made him feel powerless. It was something he resented. But he also felt grateful. He was alive, and so there was hope that he would weather this storm.
He kissed his soulstone and stood, testing his breath for a moment before unlatching one of the landward windows and peering into the night. Nasim’s ship lay in this direction. He was sure of it. He didn’t need the stars to feel where Nasim was now, some many leagues ahead of them.
Unable to sleep, he left his cabin