Two days before the War

----------------------------------------

“Look,” the tallest boy said. His eyes and hair shared the same pitch black color. “it’s the ‘city’s most hopeful.’ Lucky us.”

Zalyn clenched his fists, his shoulders raising and falling with every breath. “I wouldn’t call that luck.”

Ayla felt his magic swelter around his body.

“No.” Ashor grabbed Zalyn’s shoulder. “No.”

He glanced back at Ashor. His eyes were on fire. She recognized the look—determination, pride. There was no way he would back down at this point.

“Don’t want to stick around to play?” The boy stepped forward, a dark smile on his lips. “I guess it’d probably be better for you to run home to Mommy and Daddy.”

The boys all laughed. The sound echoed down the street.

“I don’t have a father,” Zalyn said.

Another boy let out a sharp chortle. “Pity! Did he trip and fall?” His copper eyes rolled up to the darkening sky.

Zalyn took a step forward. “No.”

A collective smirk moved across all of their faces.

“Oh, that’s right!” A short boy laughed. “He died in the Gutian War, killed by a filthy therian!”

Zalyn’s magic slammed into Ayla as he punched the wall.

“Zalyn, calm down,” Ashor whispered. “There’s twelve of them and three of us…”

“Don’t care,” he growled back. “I can kill them all myself.”

“Hear that, boys?”

The air suddenly became thin. Ashor swore behind her. His woodsy smell amplified, consuming the street. Zalyn dashed forward with a battle cry, the boy with black hair meeting him half-way with an impressive, solid block. Ayla watched the two boys who’d been flanking him dash forward and she rushed to cover her training partner.

Ayla’s fist smashed into the short boy’s face, with as much magic as she could possibly will into her muscles. He flew backward with a loud groan. Ashor kicked the other boy against the wall and followed with a punch, but the boy rolled away. Ayla watched the black-eyed boy’s punch grind into Zalyn’s temple. He grunted before pounding his fist into the boy’s stomach.

A foot drilled into her ribs. Ayla doubled over and gripped her side, jerking her head toward the boy grinning down at her as he moved forward. His hand slid into her hair as he brought his knee up to her face. She gasped, willing her magic to protect her.

Her brain reeled from the impact for a moment. Her vision swam, but she reached out and grabbed his dirty, loose shirt and pulled him close as she brought her fist up. She gritted her teeth together, putting magic into the muscles in her arm, and decked him in the nose. Blood spurted after the crack, arching in the air and splattering onto the ground.

Ayla gasped as he wilted forward. She caught him in her arms, her heart hammering into her chest. Did she kill him? Her hands shook as she slid her hand to his neck. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling for his pulse. A faint and slow rhythm thumped against her fingertips. She let out a tight breath and lowered him to the ground.

A hand grabbed the front of her shirt and pulled her up before slamming her against the wall. She looked into red eyes, magic swirling like pools of blood.

“What’d you do to him?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. He’s alive.”

He slammed her back again. She bit her lip, a mineral taste leaking into her mouth.

“Check for yourself,” she said.

He released her and kneeled by the other boy. Ayla looked from his hunched back to Zalyn as he crushed the black-eyed boy’s head into the unforgiving sandstone. He picked him up by the hair and threw him to the wall before wiping his face. Zalyn turned, his body tense and his eyes searching. They landed on her and then he looked down at the boy checking over his friend.

The boy stood, looking at her over his shoulder. His forehead wrinkled into a deep frown, his eyes mellowed into a bright mahogany. A friend called his name and Ayla looked back, catching two more boys tackling Zalyn. Her eyes darted around for Ashor and found him pinned to the ground, using his magic to shield the blows of the four boys beating into him.

“We haven’t done anything to you,” Ayla whispered to the boy.

The boy’s eyes narrowed. “You exist.”

“Ayla.” Her dad’s voice drew her attention. “Run, sweety.” He powered through two boys as they raced toward him, hitting one with the back of his fist and then punching the other in the face.

They went down with soft thuds. A rumble of thunder rolled overhead. Ayla swallowed, easing away from the boy step-by-step and headed for Ashor. Her father pulled two of the boys off of him, throwing one into the nearest wall and the other to the ground by the other two boys he’d knocked unconscious.

As her dad dealt with the other two boys, Ayla pulled Ashor to his feet. Zalyn took out another boy, but blood dripped down his left arm. He took one look at the cloaked man before following them down the street, away from the city and toward the desert.

Zalyn sprinted with her, Ashor racing at their heels, until they had lost themselves in the desert. Ayla’s muscles ached and her magic protested against running any further. She sucked in a gasp and stopped, leaning over with her hands on her knees.

Ashor rubbed her back as she panted. “We ran too far,” he said, a biting edge to his voice.

Zalyn stopped, kicking the sand. “Who was that? That man in the cloak…”

Ayla tried to swallow. She felt hot—on fire—and not because of Zalyn. She’d used all her magic. She felt like a normal human with a normal lung capacity. The muscles in her legs screamed at her. Blood surged between her ears as her chest tightened around her hammering heart.

All she could think about was her dad. Had he followed her? Was he going to be fine? He hadn’t fought with magic in ten years, let alone with Ishkur’s magic. Would it destroy him?

Ashor ignored Zalyn’s question. “Who cares? Thank the gods he came. I knew we should’ve taken guards with us.”

Ayla shook her head at his words. His anger felt foreign to what she knew about him.

Zalyn snorted, his voice searing back at Ashor. “As if I knew there’d be a bunch of poor kids waiting to test out their magic against us.”

She opened her mouth tell them to quit arguing, but her voice struggled against her need to fill her lungs. Her eyes squeezed shut, wishing her magic would hurry up.

“Against you,” Ashor corrected. His breath was heavy. “They recognized you and you dragged us into it.”

She glanced at Zalyn as he growled and shoved his hand over his face to wipe the sweat off his forehead. His magic boiled around them.

“But what’s new?” Ashor continued. “And now we’re stuck out here.”

Zalyn frowned. “We can go back.”

“Tonight?” Ashor asked. “Don’t be stupid. If we go back tonight, we’ll be caught. They won’t let you train together anymore. They won’t even let us see each other.” He raked his hands through his hair. “Is that what you want, Zalyn?”

Ayla straightened and crossed her arms, feeling her magic starting to tingle back into her eyes and snake over her skin. She welcomed the wintry chill as it enveloped her.

“No, it’s not.”

“Well, looks like that’s what’s going to happen. Good job.”

Zalyn turned to Ashor and slammed a hand into his chest. Ashor stumbled back.

“What was that for?” Ashor’s hands tightened into fists. The smell of the forest crept into the air. “It’s not my fault we’re stuck in the middle of the desert, Zalyn. It’s yours.”

Zalyn started forward, but Ayla grabbed his wrist, pushing her magic onto his skin. He winced and backed away. Ashor’s eyes fell to her, questioning.

“Stop provoking him,” she told him, “you’re not helping the situation. We’re lost.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Ashor’s tight expression fell. Zalyn let out a short, forceful breath from his nose.

She sighed and rubbed her cheek. “And it’s my fault—”

“No, it’s not your—”

“It’s my fault—”

Ashor narrowed his eyes at Zalyn. “He admitted it. It’s his fault, A—”

“—I bumped into the tall one in the market. He probably followed us because of me, not Zalyn.”

Ashor’s eyebrows knitted together and he pursed his lips as if he had more to say, but chose to bite his tongue. “But, Ayla…”

“No.” Ayla took a seat, her body molding into the sand like an expensive mattress. She crossed her legs and wrapped her hands around her ankles, rubbing her hand against the scratches her sandal straps had left on her skin.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Ashor turned away from her, looking to the deep blue sky.

Zalyn took a seat next to her, resting an elbow on his knee. “Don’t be sorry. I’m supposed to be looking out for you, and I ruined it. I shouldn’t have tried fighting back.” He scratched his head, ducking it down.

Ayla looked up at Ashor. “If we go back now, we’ll either get more lost or we’ll get in trouble. We don’t really have an option. We are stuck.”

The woody smell of his magic waned. He turned to her with a dimple in his cheek, a defeated smile on his face. He heaved a sigh as he sat next to her.

“Maron’s going to kill me.”

The corner of Ayla’s lips threatened to quirk up into a smirk. Ashor glanced at her and frowned.

“What’s that look for? Do you think it’s funny your uncle’s going to maim me? I certainly don’t.”

“He won’t hurt you,” Ayla said, the rhythm of laughter in her voice.

Ashor groaned. “You have no idea.”

Zalyn laughed and Ayla found herself laughing with the slow lull of the sound. Ashor lay back in the sand, his arms stretched out. Her eyes roamed back to Zalyn and across his dark skin and the muscles in his arms.

Ayla reached out before she could talk herself out of it and touched the dried blood on his arm. “Are you still injured?” she asked.

“He’s hurt?” Ashor asked, shifting in the sand beside her.

“I’m fine. It’s healed already.” He put a hand on his arm and rubbed, the blood flaking off with the friction. “See?”

Ayla sighed. “Good, I’m glad.” She tipped her head back and gazed at the fat half-moon glowing among the stars that blanketed the sky.

“Have you ever stargazed?” she asked, searching the patterns in the stars.

“When I was younger…” Zalyn said.

Ayla heard his back thud against the sand. She glanced at him as he shifted his hands behind his head. He turned his attention to her and smiled.

“My dad liked to brag about our family history,” he said. His eyes returned to the sky before he lifted a finger up to the east. She caught a glimpse of the scar on his wrist. “He liked to remind me that it was our family that killed the first therian, before they had magic. He said that’s why our scar looks like the constellation of Orion.”

“The proper term for them is canis gutianis,” Ashor said, glancing past Ayla to Zalyn. “Orion isn’t out yet.”

“It’ll be out in fourteen degrees.”

Ayla pointed to the middle of the sky. “Mine’s Lyra.”

“So small,” Zalyn said, chuckling. He reached up and took her hand, pulling it down between their bodies. He held it in a loose grip. “I like it. It’s bright, like your eyes. Where’s yours, Fifty-Seven?”

Ayla’s eyes unfocused, attention consumed by the feeling of his skin touching hers. Her skin tingled, the heat of his flesh warming her palm. Her heart paused for a second.

“Not up yet,” Ashor said before sighing. “Let’s get some sleep. It’ll be a long walk back to Esagila, if we even manage to find it.”

“I want to thank that cloaked man when we get back, if we can find him,” Zalyn said. He stifled a yawn.

“He knew your name, Ayla.” Ashor turned to her, lying on his side. “Did you know him?”

Ayla glanced from Ashor to the stars. “No, don’t think so.” Her stomach curled.

Zalyn tightened his grasp on her hand. “If you get cold, you can move closer to me. I’m pretty warm.”

“Thanks, Zalyn,” Ashor said, his voice a few octaves higher than normal. “You’re so kind.”

Ayla laughed, glancing back up to the sky. Her eyes drifted south. Her mouth dried and her stomach knotted as she spotted the constellation Lupus. She sighed and closed her eyes.

“Goodnight,” she said.

The boys echoed her. She listened to their breathing slow as she traced the eleven stars that made up the constellation gracing Loran’s wrist. It peaked beneath the horizon as the moon crossed the sky. Orion’s arrow appeared at the eastern horizon.

She hoped she’d see Loran soon.

#

Ashor woke her up as the sun’s rays touched the eastern horizon. Zalyn was still holding her hand and she hesitated before she slipped it out. He frowned before his eyes fluttered opened.

“Ayla?”

She smiled. “It’s morning. Ready to head back?”

He grunted and sat up. He shuffled both of his hands through his bed-head. “Yes, let’s go.”

“I wonder how long it’ll take us,” Ashor said, looking between her and Zalyn as he stood. He began brushing himself off and then looked to the eastern colors dying the sky orange.

Zalyn hopped up and offered her a hand. She rolled her eyes but took it. He helped her up and then started dusting loose sand from his clothes. She followed suit.

Ayla looked at Ashor. “We ran for almost three degrees, right?”

“We don’t know how fast we were running,” Ashor said. “It could easily take over seven degrees to get back.” He groaned.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can only imagine the search parties they’ve sent out for Zalyn…”

Zalyn’s back cracked as he stretched his arms to the sky and twisted his torso. “That’s my mom for you. It won’t be a big deal.”

“For you, no. It never is.”

Ayla gave them each quick, sharp look. She moved her arms around her torso. “The moon rose in the south last night. We ran toward it, right?”

“Yes,” Zalyn said.

“Then we need to head north.” She turned to her right. “Which should be that way.”

“Good job,” Ashor said. He reached out and brushed some sand from the back of her shirt as they all started trudging through the sand. “I’m so proud. You know your directions.”

She scoffed. “It’s a little weird being surrounded by sand. I could tell which way was north or south at home because I had trees to recognize. There’s nothing here but sand dunes, sand dunes, and sand.” She looked at Zalyn. “Do you even know what a tree is?”

Zalyn’s eyes widened, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Excuse me?” He laughed. “I’ve seen a tree.”

“You’ve…” She stared at him. “You’ve seen a tree? Are you kidding me?”

He frowned. “No. They sell books about them in the market.”

Ashor broke out laughing. Ayla snickered at Zalyn’s expense as he started sputtering, a deep frown creasing his forehead. She reached over and linked their elbows.

“Maybe there’ll be trees in Dilmun,” she said. “Then you can see one up close.”

His expression softened. “Sure,” he said, “as long as we can sneak out of the temple.”

Ayla controlled her desire to frown. She’d forgotten about that. Her dad had told her years ago that the competitors weren’t allowed outside of the castle. She remembered him telling her a few stories of how he’d sneak out to see his best friend, who’d been a therian.

“I think we can probably manage,” Ayla said.

“You’re crazy,” Ashor said, his voice rough. “Getting lost in the desert isn’t enough for you?”

“Guess not. I don’t like the idea of being stuck anywhere.” She gave him a look.

His eyes slid away. “None of us do, really.”

Zalyn stood. He took a few steps backward and raised a hand to his eyebrow, studying the horizon. Ayla looked past him to the sand dunes, shadows on their sides from the rising sun. She focused her magic into her eyes, sending it burrowing into her retina. Her vision sharpened as she squinted into the distance.

A figure rose up the side and trudged down, another appearing behind him. The bare-chested men marched through the sand toward the cemetery in a single-file line.

“The groundskeepers,” Ashor said beside her.

“Or a search party?” she asked.

He groaned. “I hope it’s the groundskeepers. I’d even be happy if they were walking dead coming back from a nightly stroll.”

Zalyn gestured them over. Ashor cast one last look at his mom and dad’s grave before he pulled her toward Zalyn. Their fingers slipped away from the other. When she reached her training partner, she sneaked a peak at the gravestone he’d been at.

Malko Yonan.

She narrowed her eyes at the lion’s face glaring up at her from between the depiction of two broken columns, just like on her father’s grave. Rubies poked out of the lion’s eyes as if magic lay within their depths.

Ayla wondered if he was in Irkalla, too. Maybe he was keeping her mom company down there.

She crossed an arm over her torso and grabbed her elbow, feeling her stomach twist. Ayla glanced up to the early morning sky as the sun rose above the horizon. The bright yellow sun melted the night from a dark blue to a rich crimson and a heady orange. Stars swept across the expanse, Orion twinkling in the south.

“I think they’ve noticed us,” Zalyn said. He placed a hand on her back and eased her closer.

She looked back to the sand. The figures raced across the sand. She could hear faint, desperate yells. One man broke from the pack, his speed overwhelming the others. As he approached, Ayla noticed his thick eyebrows and his full beard before the finer features of his face.

“Ayla?” the man asked, slightly out of breath. “Ayla Elias?” He slowed to a stop twenty paces away from them. His deep-set, grey eyes and large, defined nose stood out on his face more than his hair.

Ashor took her wrist and Zalyn took a step forward.

“Your uncle has the entire city searching for you,” the man said, his voice rough. “And you were out visiting Afrem’s grave.” He looked annoyed. “Yes, I imagine that should be expected.”

The man continued forward. Wrinkles stretched across his short forehead. He stood a hand taller than Zalyn and probably doubled his weight.

“Your father liked to disappear often as well,” the man said. His light grey eyes twinkled. His thin lips smiled within his beard. He searched her face and then sighed. “You have no idea who I am.”

Ayla knew it wasn’t a question.

The man glanced back as his coworkers invaded the area. They were smiling, looking relieved. A man with a beaked nose stepped forward next to the bearded man who must’ve known her father.

“Should we find them escorts back to the city?”

“I will go.” The man reached out and put a hand on Ayla’s shoulder, pulling her forward and away from the boys.

Both of their hands dropped from her skin. All she could feel was the coldness of the man’s magic seeping into her muscles, relaxing her.

The other man smiled. “Seeking to get your old glory days back, Yono?”

“Hardly. I am not fit enough to train even a child.”

Ayla’s breath came in sputters. Her mind clicked, a bolt of realization tingling down her spine. This giant, ancient hand belonged to the man who had trained her father, Yono Karoukian. Her dad had told her many stories about him—most of them describing the ways in which he was a complete hard-ass.

Yono motioned Zalyn and Ashor to follow them as he guided Ayla through the small crowd of groundskeepers and through the rest of the cemetery. After they passed the last gravemarkers, Yono looked over his shoulder at the boys.

“Keep your distance.”

Ashor paled and tugged Zalyn back to slow his pace. “Yes, sir.”

Apparently he recognized the man, too. Zalyn looked irritated as he rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest.

“How is your father?” Yono asked, his voice low.

She missed a step, but caught herself. “He’s… dead.”

Yono gave her shoulder a small shake. “How is he?”

“Fine…”

“I was worried,” Yono said. “I knew he would be the type to do something stupid in order to stay on earth for something as precious as his daughter. It seems I was right. Did he make a deal with Ereshkigal?”

Ayla swallowed. “As far as I know.”

Yono nodded and fell silent. Ayla looked back to the sky, the sun at twenty degrees. She wondered how well Yono knew her dad. Had he been with him during the final battle when he had to fight his best friend?

She searched the sand for the right string of words. “Were you there…?”

Yono glanced down at her, his smoky eyes bearing into her. “I will assume you are asking if I was with your father before the final battle. Yes. I was there.”

A shiver ran down her back. “He doesn’t talk about it. He’s told me all about the rest, but he’s never told me how he won. I just…” She swallowed against her dry mouth. “I know he’s not very proud.”

“The therian sacrificed himself.”

Ayla stopped in her tracks, staring at Yono’s aged face. “He what?”

“Your father’s best friend, the therian.” Yono looked away from her. His voice gained a ragged edge. “He stepped into Afrem’s scythe.”