The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [71]
“It lasted until that night when we reached Iramanshah. He went to sleep next to me, and when I woke, he was missing. He has done so before, though I usually found him nearby. This time he was simply gone. I spent the following days tracking him through the forests around Verodnaya, coming close but never quite finding him. It was only hours ago—” He glanced around the room. “It was only hours wasn’t it?”
Nikandr nodded. “Why didn’t you seek help from Iramanshah?”
“I thought he would be close. And by the time I found his trail, it seemed foolish to leave it and return for help. I did eventually find him, but unfortunately Soroush had found him first, so I allowed myself to be taken rather than let Nasim go alone.”
“As simple as that?”
Ashan nodded—not innocently, but as a matter of fact—and Nikandr found himself wanting to believe him even though there was another, altogether real possibility.
“You are wondering, perhaps, whether I’m in league with Soroush.”
“Of course I am.”
“It is a difficult position to be in.”
“Me or you?”
Ashan smiled, showing his crooked, yellow teeth. “Both. I wonder, son of Iaros, if you might humor me with a question or two. It may help you in your decision on whether or not to believe me.”
Nikandr waved his hand, bidding Ashan to continue.
“I wonder if you know what happened when you and Nasim met on the eyrie. A bond was created, was it not?”
Seeing no reason to deny it, Nikandr nodded.
“Will you share with me your suspicions as to how it was formed?”
Nikandr paused. There were two possibilities, and one he was not ready to discuss with Ashan. He had discussed his cracked soulstone with several, Jahalan and Udra included, but so far they had come to no real conclusions, so he pulled it out from beneath his shirt and showed it to Ashan, hoping if nothing else Ashan might be able to find the answer to this riddle. He told Ashan of the attack, of the havahezhan and the way it had honed in on him. “The moment my soulstone cracked, it was gone.”
“May I see it?”
Nikandr slipped the chain over his neck and handed it over.
“In the past”—Ashan examined the stone closely, running his thumb over its surface—“Nasim has become interested in certain people, certain places, though it has never been for long. I wonder if his connection to you is stronger, more permanent.”
He looked up, his eyes piercing, as he handed the soulstone back. “Nasim was raised by the Maharraht, primarily by a man named Soroush. You saw him on the mountain, the one with the scarred ear. He and his followers had great difficulty communicating with Nasim. They tried for years, and may have gained some small insights into his nature, but not his mind. They could no more relate to him than they could a dog or a horse. But they understood that in Nasim lay a treasure the likes of which this world has not seen in centuries.”
“What do you mean?”
“I believe that Nasim walks between worlds. He touches Adhiya and Erahm, both, but because he was raised with no knowledge of this, he cannot tell the two apart. It is beyond confusing for him. It tears at his soul. He doesn’t understand the nature of this world, though he wants more than anything to do so. When the two of you met on the eyrie, he found something in you—perhaps your stone, perhaps your very soul—but it grounded him. It gave him a way to tell the two worlds apart, and in turn gave him some small amount of solace.”
“Nasim came to the site of the havahezhan’s crossing two nights before the attack.” Nikandr told him of how they had met after Atiana returned to the palotza, of the pain and euphoria he had felt. “Jahalan said something similar. He said that I was sharing what Nasim was feeling.”
Ashan nodded. “Jahalan has long been a wise man.”