The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [148]
He had hoped to confuse the creature, to give himself and Pietr enough time to flee while it was caught in the water, but it didn’t listen.
He didn’t know what to do. He felt helpless. He wished he could control these creatures as the Aramahn did.
And then he remembered his vision of Nasim, on the ship, just before it had plummeted into the sea. He had known of their connection, their link, for some time, but it had always seemed to be at Nasim’s discretion. Why, Nikandr thought, could it not work the other way?
He closed his eyes.
He reached out.
Nasim, he called. Nasim, please hear me.
Nothing. And the vanahezhan had nearly reached the bank. Pietr turned, ready to run.
Nikandr had become accustomed to the sensations that Nasim created when they were linked. It was one of disorientation, but also of connection to the world. That was the key, he realized.
He opened his mind to the air and its loamy scent, its kiss upon his wet skin and the clouds above. To the earth, the feel of it as it pressed against the water, and the water pressed against it, the way it held the trees in its grip, its massive presence as it rose toward the peaks of the island.
And he feels him.
He is near. So near.
He wants to ask Nasim for his help, but he cannot. He feels only the world around him, the cool touch of the water, the rippling waves and the tug of the current. He can feel the stones that lie along the riverbed, the rivulets that feed this greater body and the coursing mass of fresh water that flows out for hundreds of yards into the salty sea.
On the other side, just beyond the veil, is a jalahezhan. It watches, curious. It would be so simple to draw him across, to bring his aid. This seems wrong, somehow—a violation—but he does so anyway, for his need is great.
Nikandr shook his head, the vision that was so clear a moment ago vanishing. He watched as the massive spirit of earth gained the edge of the bank. As it began climbing out, a tendril of water snaked upward along one leg and wrapped around its waist. The vanahezhan turned and pounded four fists simultaneously into the water, sending white, frothing water high into the air. It resumed its climb up the bank, and to Nikandr its movements seemed desperate now. The thick cord of water was still around it, and the tendrils, like quickly growing vines, hungrily climbed the length of its leg. The sad cries of the creature were cut off as it was pulled backward and under the water.
The water churned as Nikandr gained the opposite shore. He ran into the forest just as the tree was grabbed by two black arms and pulled beneath the surface. The gouts of water continued to fly, and the pool was now swirling violently with the detritus of the tree and the vanahezhan. The last Nikandr saw was the tree breaking the surface in a rush and then bobbing there as the water churned and roiled.
Nikandr pointed Pietr upriver. Nasim was somewhere in that direction, he was sure. He could feel him.
After about half a league, they came across a shallow ford. Nikandr crossed, and they continued uphill toward a ridge they could see through the breaks in the trees. They heard movement. Someone was running ahead, hidden among the dense foliage. The tall trees were much less prevalent here, but that only meant that the going was much slower, as grass taller than men and ferns the size of a skiff now dominated the landscape.
And suddenly, the forest stopped. Ahead, a dozen paces away, was bare rock leading to the edge of a precipice.
Nasim stood there, his back to Nikandr. He turned, somehow sensing their presence, before resuming his watch of the landscape below.
“Nasim?” Nikandr said as he took a step forward. He didn’t know why, but he had the distinct impression the boy was preparing to leap from the edge of the cliff.
Pietr crept forward, preparing to rush Nasim, until Nikandr grabbed his arm and shook his head.
“Nasim, can you hear me?”
Nasim turned to face Nikandr. His heels were touching the sharp edge of the rock. A wave