She had to be unconscious. Or in a coma from her stupid, thoughtless stunt.
“I’m what you remember him to be. The best parts of him.” He held out his hand to help her up. “Your brother’s spirit is in a better place.”
“Are you sure? How do
you
know? Have you been there?” she grumbled, accepting his help before wiping the sand off her pajama bottoms.
He shrugged and looked around. “No one really knows, not even the Niyr, though they enjoy pretending they do. But I’m sure it’s better than this place.”
She glanced at the endless dunes and the worn pillars seeming to gasp for air as the sand tried to swallow them. “I’ve seen worse neighborhoods.”
Tarik shook his head. “But you can feel it, can’t you? Part of this darkness is inside you now. It calls to you. We’re close to where it all began.”
Darkness? “You mean the sand? Is this where it comes from? What’s here?”
His voice was hushed. Hesitant. “Where the Fireborne line was born. But before that, it was the site of something that shook the fabric of all three worlds and the dimensions beyond. A power that only your blood can reveal.”
“Is this where the—what did they call it—Zhaman is? The keeper of the sand that people are always talking about?” If so she wanted to ask him a few questions. Like why he hadn’t sent a set of instructions along with her package.
The dream version of her brother shook his head. “The Zhaman is hidden by the sand he wears, not in his blood, but in spells written beneath his skin. It tells him in visions when and where it must go. In return, his line and those they love who are marked dwell safely in shadows. Free from harm.”
Spells written beneath the skin? Like a tattoo? “His predecessor obviously picked the cushier job than ours.”
“Aziza, pay attention.” Her brother’s voice was stern. Impatient. She knew
that
voice. “Your life is not the only one at stake.”
“I know it. And isn’t
that
the greatest karmic joke in recorded history? How am I supposed to save Penn from all this? Do my talents include a trick to wipe her memory? To send me back so I never break that damn vial?”
“I thought you’d found acceptance.” He sounded disappointed.
“I have.” She rubbed her aching lower back, avoiding his gaze. “For the most part. That doesn’t mean I’m not still pissed about it. I mean, it
is
the reason everyone else is dead, remember? The reason you’re dead?”
“Don’t let the grief from your loss swallow you, Aziza Jane. Your pain won’t last forever.”
“Says who?” She took a deep breath, her vision blurring with tears at the compassion in his voice.
“Ignoring the truth just gives the darkness room to grow. Accept the gifts you’ve been given. There will be more death unless you accept it all.”
Hadn’t Joseph said that the last time she’d dreamt of this place? She looked around the barren landscape. “The truth is buried in the sand, right?”
“Yes,” he assured her somberly. “And what the sand conceals it can reveal. But only to you.”
“I suppose part of what I have to accept is that I will never get a straight answer from anyone, even my subconscious.”
The wind began to howl across the desert, the sound lifting up the golden grains of sand to form small tornadoes around them, hiding the tops of the ruins from view. Tarik raised his voice. “Come with me, Aziza Jane. There’s something you need to see.”
He held out his hand and she took it, allowing him to lead her up one particularly steep dune. The wind was powerful around them, and in it she heard an unexpected melody. A melody she couldn’t quite make out, sounding tinny like it was being played on a scratchy cylinder through an old phonograph.
What was that song?
Aziza shivered, despite the oppressive heat of the air around her. “Where are we going? And if this is my dream, why can’t we have this conversation someplace less creepy? Like a prison. Maybe a haunted house.”
“This place is haunted by its own prisoners, little sister.” Tarik tugged her closer until she stood beside him on top of the dune. “Look.”
She could feel it before she saw it. Death. Bodies everywhere she looked. A sea of bodies, still as stone on the now-black sand, their eyes all sightlessly turned her way as if in blame. She fell to her knees and her mouth filled with bile, forcing her to release the contents of her stomach onto the sand.
“It’s not just Penn’s death—my death—you will have to mourn, Aziza Jane,” Tarik murmured as he knelt beside her, rubbing her back gently. “A Fireborne is a flaming sword of justice. Justice for them all. Humanity. Jinn. Niyr. You think you don’t care. Think you can’t. But you’re wrong. You’ll feel it to your bones. With your abilities, you’ll hear the truth of it in your mind, all their suffering. Suffering you could save them from. Each life that is ended because of your inaction will boil in your blood. Burn up your soul. You have no choice. You have to stop this from happening. You might be the only one who can.”
“How?” she gasped, wiping her mouth with a grimace. She looked up and saw the sky burning. How could the sky be burning? The world was on fire. “What is doing this? What exactly do I have to stop?”
“You’ve taken more than your share, Aziza. It will guide you. When you have Adam’s and Joseph’s vials as well—the sand will tell you all you need to know.”
“Wait.” She tore her gaze away from the corpses and looked up into her brother’s familiar eyes. “Are you saying that I was
supposed
to do that? But Te said—”
Tarik took her hands in his, silencing her with his touch. “It is the most dangerous path, but the only one that will ensure they’ll all be safe—if you walk it correctly. If you remember who you are. If you’re strong. The world you know would never stand a chance if they succeed in their plans.” His voice grew louder over the new burst of wind that was once again beating them with stinging grains of sand. “You have to care, Aziza. You have to care about
all
of them. You have to fight.”
“I do, damn it. But I’m not you. I’m not—”
Tarik stood and pulled her up with him. “It’s time for you to go. Your blood will hold the answers. Your gifts. In time you’ll know.”
A sandstorm was covering the bodies and the black sand beneath them. She looked over her shoulder, back where they’d come from, and saw the sand ripple like water as the tops of old stone ruins began to rise. What the hell?
“I don’t
have
time.” It was almost over. Collapsing around her. She could see it, sense it along with the screaming wind, the melody growing louder in her ears. Maniacally cheerful. Grating.
Up, up, a little bit higher. Oh my, the moon is on fire.
“You’re right,” he shouted. “It’s too dangerous for you to stay. Your ride is here.” He pointed toward the sky, forcing her to turn.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The hot air balloon from her memory, only the hoop the woman had been swinging on was dangling empty. The balloon was swaying dangerously in the furious wind.
This
was her ride? “Can’t I just wake up?”
Tarik laughed. “When did you ever take the easy road, AJ? This is who you are. Become her. The woman you always wanted to be. Find your balance.”
She choked on a sob and turned to him again.
AJ.
No one had called her that since she was a child. Since Tarik. “I’m not ready yet. I still have things to say.”
The balloon dropped lower, the circular seat almost within reach.
“Say them.” The screams of the wind and the haunting melody nearly drowned out his words.
“I forgive you,” she shouted. “For moving out and not taking us with you. I know you would have if you could. I know that’s why you wanted us to come to England. For a new start. A second chance. But it’s okay. I forgive you. And—and I miss you, Tarik.”
His smile was gentle. “I know, little sister.”
She pushed her hair out of her eyes as it whipped across her face, stinging her skin. She knew this wasn’t really her brother. It was just a dream. But it didn’t matter. It felt real. “I don’t want to go. I still have questions. I need to know about what killed you. How to stop it. I don’t have time to wait for the answer because it’s coming after us
now
.”
A screeching howl of suffering and rage followed the wind, so loud Aziza had to cover her ears. Tarik’s smile disappeared. “Fly away, Aziza.” His shout was muffled. “The answers will find you.”
She wrapped her forearms around the ring and felt it lift her feet off the ground. Away from the bodies. Away from Tarik. She used her upper body to raise herself up into a sitting position, clinging tightly to the slender metal as it wavered with every shift of her weight. This wasn’t as easy as it looked.
What if she fell? Falling had been what had sent her into her dream in the first place, so maybe it would bring her back out again.
She thought about the bodies below her and clung tighter, shaking her head. No. She wasn’t willingly falling into
that
nightmare.
“Anybody up there?” She lifted her head and shouted at the wicker basket above her head. “Can you steer us out of here, please?”
There was no response, but the balloon suddenly shot upwards at impossible speeds. Up past the cloud of sand. Up into the burning sky that scorched her skin. The music was still ringing in her ears as the hoop started to spin. Around and around, faster and faster. Aziza groaned and shut her eyes tightly. How could she find her balance like this? “Please stop playing that damn song!”
In the air she goes, there she goes…
Her body jerked as she woke, disoriented. Was this real? Was she really awake now? Safely on
terra firma
and not hurtling into outer space? She almost didn’t want to open her eyes, in case she was back in that carnival ride from hell. So much for balloons making her feel peaceful.
But she’d seen Tarik. Spoken to him. She’d even flown. Sort of.
She wiggled her body experimentally. The damp grass was soaking through her pajama bottoms, so she
was
on the ground, but nothing seemed broken.
Hadn’t Tarik mentioned something about Ram catching her? She supposed she was going to have to thank him for that, damn it. She’d really wanted to maintain the upper hand for a while, but it was her own fault for taking the phrase “leap of faith” a little too literally. If anyone asked her, she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to give an actual reason for doing it. Apart from the insanity plea, she had nothing.
“Aziza,” Shev whispered. “Aziza, you must wake up. Now.”
The urgency in her voice prompted Aziza into action. She opened her eyes and lifted her head and shoulders off the ground, leaning on her elbows to look around warily. It was still night, but she wasn’t at the house. She was near the pond where she’d found Greg and Te.
The pond that was now glowing with an eerie iridescent light.
“Shev? Where are you? How did I get here?” She sat up, her attention riveted to the water that was now bubbling and roiling as if it were alive.
A male voice that she didn’t recognize oozed over her skin and made her shiver. “I brought you along, precious one. As I always have.”
The glowing light behind her cast her shadow on the ground, but she didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want to look. This was it. The killer was here. Every cell in her body told her so.
Invisible hands gripped her body and lifted her up, turning her around to face him against her will. Her mouth parted on a gasp of surprise. This wasn’t one of Ram’s party tricks. And the murderer looked nothing like she’d imagined.
She’d been expecting fangs, possibly boils. A lecherous wretch with oily hair and a disfigured body. Wasn’t that what all villains in scary bedtime stories looked like? She’d been expecting to be horrified at the sight or stench of him.
Her illusions had been shattered. He was no stereotypical villain. Nothing like the monster she’d created in her head.
But looks could be deceiving
.
He
presented
himself as a stunning older man who appeared to be in his midfifties. As tall and broad-shouldered as Greg, but bald, with dark tribal tattoos along the side of his head and down his neck. He was a warrior. A survivor. A rebel. The type she’d usually admire.
He doesn’t look like a killer. He looks like an aging punk rocker.
The pale skin and dark, bottomless eyes reminded her of Te, but she’d never dreamed a Niyr would choose this kind of form. Not that she’d met any, other than her Qarin. But still, a Niyr in tight leather pants, combat boots and a heavy metal T-shirt? It didn’t make sense. “Who are you?”
“There you are.” The man smiled delightedly, sounding more like he was ready for high tea instead of a mosh pit. That was better. Discordant. Eerie. More what she’d expected from an evil villain. “I was wondering when you’d wake up. You gave us quite a scare when you threw yourself off the roof without warning. Your new Qarin, as well, was beside himself.”
His expression showed genuine concern. “I knew you’d been sad, dear, but do you truly believe things are so hopeless? Suicide is never the answer. Life—particularly yours—is simply too…precious.”
She could hear the water churning behind her, a strange vibrating roar that sounded frightening. She’d forgotten about that. How could she have forgotten? She ignored his question and repeated hers. “Who are you? And what the hell is making that noise?”
He looked around in the darkness as if performing for an audience, holding out his hands with an expression of surprise. “Have I forgotten introductions? It’s just that I know you so well. And have for quite a bit longer than the others.”
He brought his hands back to his heart, folding them as if in prayer and she saw the light again, forming around him and spreading out like rays of the sun. Like wings.
“Let’s start with me. I’ve been known by several names through the centuries, but most recently I have chosen to be called Razia. I am your guardian angel, Aziza,” he intoned. “I quite literally made you the woman you are today.”