In the Shadow of Swords (29 page)

The hag’s dark eyes fixed upon Marin with penetrating force. They carried the same magical charge that Marin had ignored when she first entered the tunnels.

“Strong, too, I see.” Marin heard envy and admiration in the words.

“Yes,” she agreed, and meant it.

The
sha’ir
smiled, baring puffy gums and blackened teeth filed needle-sharp. A shiver of fear raced down Marin’s spine. Yes, she was strong, but fear was essential, too—it had kept her alive many times.

“Relics, you call them. And you can’t read them, and want to know what they mean. Why should I share such secrets with you?”

“It is important to me,” Marin said, which was the truth.

“And what will you give me in return?”

“You may feast upon the bones of a ruthless killer,” Marin said in ringing tones.

The witch’s horrid smile widened even more. “Ah, yes. Yes, I would love that. But I need more.”

Of course she would. Marin knew that anyone who proposes a bargain is at a disadvantage.

“What’s that?” she asked neutrally.

“I will tell you the secrets of those books. But after you kill the assassin, his soul becomes mine.”

“As you wish.” Marin bit back a smile. She cared nothing for the soul of Ciris Sarn, and if this meant further torture for him after she took his life, so much the better.

“And,” rasped the witch, “the books themselves become payment as well. All four of them.”

Marin’s mind raced. Despite her personal mission to kill Sarn, she understood that, to many, the Books of Promise held far more value than the life of one miserable assassin. Who was she to trade the fate of the world for her own revenge?

“Well?” The hag’s grating voice became even more unpleasant. “The Four Books. Yes.”

The witch was her only choice. Maybe gaining the knowledge of what was written in the books would make the books themselves unnecessary. Cencova could find a solution to the problem. He must—because she had to take this chance. “Agreed,” Marin said at last. “They are yours once he is dead.”

The
sha’ir
made a chilling sound that was perhaps a sigh of pleasure.

“But now you will translate them,” said Marin. “You agreed.”

“Yes, yes. Come to me.”

Marin hesitated. Words might shield her, but physical contact with this loathsome creature would be far more dangerous.

“Do not fear,” the
sha’ir
said, her smile turning the words into a mockery. “I have no… desire for you… just yet.” She beckoned with a bony claw.

Marin moved closer, Cencova’s dire words flitting through her mind once more.

“Your left hand.” The
sha’ir
gestured again. “To seal the bargain.”

Marin reached across the flickering blue pit, ready to lash out with her sword if she sensed the slightest threat. The hag enfolded her hand in fingers that felt like those of a desiccated corpse, but pulsing with unnatural life. They clamped shut with an explosion of pain. Marin cried out and jerked her hand back, eyes flicking to the cut that ran across her palm from thumb to smallest finger. The hag grinned, her long nail tinged red. Marin took a step back, unmindful of the blood running from the wound.

The
sha’ir
made arcane gestures above the pit and uttered words in a language Marin didn’t recognize. The air between them shifted and almost took form.

It was a dark presence, shapeless yet threatening.

“Our bargain is sealed,” the
sha’ir
said. “The Evil Eye is on you, always watching. If you fail to deliver those four books as agreed, a curse will fall upon you. The mark on your palm will disappear when I’ve been paid in full.”

What have I done?
Marin thought.

The
sha’ir
held out both hands, her bony fingers twitching with impatience. “Now, give them to me.”

Trembling, Marin handed the books to the witch.

14

MARIN COULD not understand the words the
sha’ir
uttered, but the sense of ill magic grew stronger.

Brilliant red light flashed behind the witch. Marin threw up her hands to protect her eyes, but the sight of her bleeding palm reminded her that she needed to watch everything. Flames roiled behind the throne, and Marin lowered her hands in time to see—something—emerge from the fiery pall. She forced herself to stand her ground and breathe.

A shape of infernal fire loomed behind the
sha’ir
, the flames from the top of its head blackening the ceiling. Marin shrankaway from the molten giant. Its blazing eyes were impossible to meet. They swept across the cavern, passing over the
sha’ir
and settling briefly on Marin.

She knew what this thing was. An efreet. A hellish spirit, known for its brazenness and evil. Efreeti—born of flame. Marin had heard that they were cunning, malevolent, with a burning hatred for mortals. Was the
sha’ir
actually strong enough? Would she be able to control what she’d called up? If not for the books now in the hag’s shriveled hands, Marin would have fled.

“What do you wish of me?” the efreet asked. Its voice was deep, melodious, compelling—yet still inhuman. And certainly not to be trusted. Marin felt a chill despite the intense heat.

“To glean the knowledge contained in these ancient texts of wisdom.” The witch held up the Books of Promise.

“I will do your bidding,” rumbled the efreet, “with the promise of more essence of the dead.”

“I know what sustains you.” The
sha’ir
smiled as she flicked a sidelong glance at Marin. “It shall be done.”

What?
Marin stepped back as a spike of fear stabbed through her stomach.

The hag actually laughed. “Do not fear, my pretty thing,” she said. “The efreet gains its strength through
Azza
, not through you.”

What followed might have lasted only a few moments or half the night. It was a dream or hallucination outside the flow of time. Throwing foul-smelling objects into the blue fire and chanting in a voice like the death cries of tortured animals, the
sha’ir
performed a ritual that invited the efreet to possess her—yet when the Jnoun tried to enter, a pillar of flame reaching out to consume the witch, she fought it as if fighting for her life.

It was horrific. Marin fought her own body’s compulsion to run from the stinking cavern.

She stayed. She would not leave this place without the Books of Promise.

Thrashing in what could have been a dance or a death spasm, the
sha’ir
flung herself at the walls of the cave, knocking statues from the ledges, flapping her black
abaya
against the floor when a falling candle set it alight. The efreet was her partner in the dance, bright as a sun, insubstantial as smoke, laughing madly as it tried again and again to merge with her body. Suddenly it pulled back, threw her against the cavern wall, took a running leap and effortlessly plunged into her, its immense fiery bulk simply disappearing.

For a moment all was still.

The
sha’ir
sat propped against the curving wall. Her eyes were open, staring blankly at Marin.

Then she spoke.

The voice was not her own; it was the efreet.

“The books… give them to me.”

There was irresistible command in that voice. Marin felt her feet move; they brought her to the throne where the hag had left the books. She picked them up. The ancient magic she felt when she touched their covers seemed more alive than ever. She was amazed, but the amazement belonged to someone else. The efreet’s mystical essence was transforming her into a puppet. Would she ever be herself again?

Marin thought about killing Ciris Sarn, and the hatred was satisfyingly familiar. Yes, she was still her own creature.

While she was lost in reflection, she had walked to the
sha’ir
and placed the books in those bony claws.

She pulled back. The dry old skin was burning hot.

The
sha’ir
lifted the first manuscript and paged through it, running swift fingers over the black calligraphy. Marin expected the palm boards to singe and curl, but nothing happened. The witch sat hunched on the floor of the cave, skimming her way through one book, then setting it down and picking up another. She flipped through the pages and reached for the third.

With the efreet’s attention turned away from her, Marincame back to herself. It was quiet in the cavern. The stench was hideous, and her body ached as if she’d been standing for hours, tensed for flight.

The
sha’ir
set down the third book and picked up the fourth. She went through this one more slowly, whether paying closer attention or fighting off sleep, Marin could not tell. At long last, the hag finished the final book, made a neat stack of all four, and held out the
Waed an-Citab
, her dark, empty eyes staring through Marin.

She took them, careful not to touch the hands again.

Then the efreet spoke.

15

IT WAS GONE.

Impossible words were still ringing in her mind.

Marin had braced herself for the efreet’s huge fiery shape to burst out of the
sha’ir
once it had told her what the Books of Promise held. But there was no fire to be seen, other than the guttering candles that lined the cavern’s walls. A wisp of the efreet’s essence undulated from the hag’s body with a flash of light in colors Marin had never seen before. It faded as if retreating into the distance, crossing back into the unseen realm of the Jnoun. The
sha’ir
jerked once and slumped forward like a dead thing.

Marin stood watching, as she had for hours—disgusted, exhausted, and realizing that she could now flee. The books were still in her hands. She hid them once again in the folds of her cloak and turned to leave.

“Well?”

The witch struggled to her feet, looking careworn and irritable. “Now you’ve learned the secrets,” she said, her raspy voice sullen. “Are you satisfied?”

“Yes,” Marin said.

“When Ciris Sarn is dead, I will know.” The
sha’ir
wagged afinger at her. “Whether he is slain in Qatana or Miranes’ or anywhere else, I will see. And I will command his soul.” Her smile was all pointed teeth and puffy gums. “Then you will deliver the
Waed an-Citab
back to me. And I will keep them.”

“Yes,” Marin said. “That is our bargain.”

“Wait,” the
sha’ir
told her, turning abruptly. “A trace of the efreet’s flame lingers within me.” She reached into a wooden box on a nearby ledge and produced what looked like a glass eye. “This will tell us if it said all there was to say.” Holding the round object in her right hand, she slammed it with surprising strength into the palm of her left, pressing and grinding until the smooth glass was embedded in her flesh. Revolted, Marin looked on.

The orb pulsed with the same impossible colors the efreet had flashed when it vanished moments before.

The
sha’ir
raised her eyes and fixed Marin with an menacing stare. “There is a fifth book,” she rasped. “I shall have this one too.”

“A fifth book?” Marin shook her head. “I know of only four.”

“There is a fifth,” the
sha’ir
repeated. “The efreet knows to be true. Bring it when you return.”

Marin stood a little straighter. “May I remind you of your own words?” she said coldly. “Four books, or nothing. Was it not our bargain?”

The witch clenched her bony claws, nails clicking on the glass orb embedded in her palm. “Do as I say, pretty bitch,” she spat.

“I am not bound to this!”

The
sha’ir
thrust her face toward Marin, her features contorted into a mad grimace. Her breath stank of carrion. “You will bring me the fifth book!”

“Never!” Marin shouted and ran for the mouth of the cavern.

The
sha’ir’s
feet slapped on the stone, closing in fast.

Too fast.

16

MARIN BURST out of the cave into the glare of sunlight.

Both suns were already well above the eastern horizon, and their reflection off the white limestone ridge was blinding after a flight underground.

She sat gasping on the nearest boulder, clutching at the stitch in her side. If the
sha’ir
emerged from that black opening in the rocks, Marin would be defenseless.

But the hag did not appear. Indeed, Marin had run so fast and hard through the fetid darkness, lantern thrust in front of her to keep from crashing into the tunnel walls, that she had no idea when the witch had stopped chasing her. Maybe the
sha’ir
had thought to slow her down with the onslaught of malevolent whispers and nightmare images that haunted the caverns, but the assault on her mind had only made Marin run faster.

She looked around as the painful heaving of her breath slowed. This white finger of rock, jutting into the sea from a desolate coastline, was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, especially under a blue morning sky with gulls screaming and wheeling above the surf. It was good to be alive, to see where she was, to breathe clean air again.

Marin patted the deep fold within her cloak where she had hidden the books. Yes, they were still there. She laughed in relief at not having to go back into those caves and look for them.

Her lantern was still burning brightly in the daylight. She extinguished it and set it on the ground. Her saif was still at her side, too, and she gripped the comforting shape of its handle.

Taking inventory of her possessions, enjoying the sunny morning, calming her pounding heart and heaving chest—the simple pleasures of here and now were so much better than the images that would haunt her mind if she let them. The efreet, itsfrighteningly beautiful voice coming from the hag’s vile mouth, had told her things that mortal minds were not meant to comprehend. To recall it now would be too close to the terror she was trying to escape.

Escape
. Yes, she must get away from here.