Asrael III

He was on the rooftop again as a little boy, and the house he had lived in his entire life was on flames - magefire that could consume man and beast alike in a matter of minutes, even seconds - but the manor which his great grandfather had built with his own hands and enchanted with his own qhin refused to go down so easily or allow the flames to reach his hiding place.

Ten days it had been, since his parents had had him ascend to the rooftop and closed the door behind him. He never saw them again, or his aunts and cousins. But their screams still rang loud in Asrael's ears, as if they were being burned anew even though they had been dead for quite some time now. He was the only one left.

He looked down on the fearsome mob surrounding his home with their pitchforks and home-made spears hoisted in the air, baying for blood. His blood. He'd cried at first, pleaded and begged for them to save him. They'd cursed at him in turn. He was hungry and thirsty and he wanted his mai back. What had he done for them to hate him like this?

"Thinking about jumping, boy?" A voice said behind him, dark and ominous, heavy in its omnipotence. He never saw the speaker, but they were always there, a presence that was just right behind him day and night since his family's slaughter.

"Yes," he answered timidly, weakly. He'd survived by eating whatever little food that his mother had left on the roof to dry for the Day of Lights, but there wasn't any more left and the festival had already come and gone, celebrated with the witch-hunt that had him trapped here.

"Why haven't you?" The voice asked.

He was silent for a long time. "I'm afraid."

"Of heights?"

"The people down there…"

"Would you rather starve to death? It's the worse way to go, boy."

"Help me, please."

The voice laughed, as if Asrael had made the greatest jape imaginable. He started crying again.

The voice stopped laughing and said, "Tell me my name, boy."

"I don't know!" Asrael said through thick tears, wailing anew. "I told you, I don't know!"

"I have already helped you, Asrael. Tis not for naught that you still live. Now, you must help me. Say my name. You know where to find it. Say my name, boy, and we will both be free…"

A hand shook his shoulder and Asrael jerked awake from the all too familiar nightmarish memory, tasting ashes on his tongue. Soren zo Ghorak loomed above him, his handsome face set into a frown. The large man said nothing and handed him a waterskin, which Asrael wordlessly accepted.

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“Come,” said zo Ghorak after he had finished quenching his thirst, “The day is nigh over.”

“In a moment.” Asrael replied, feeling an unexplained ache assaulting his bones. His companion nodded and exited the tent, leaving him to his thoughts.

His fingers found the amulet clasped on his left wrist and caressed the sapphires set into the metal. It had been Eshkil’s. It had been two sennights since their abrupt departure from Diyehu. The journey had been long, and Gora was still far from sight. He was weary and his spirit was broken, he had to admit.

We walk the path of Shadow and Flame, the mantra came to him unbidden. He would not be weak, not now. There was no use hanging over what had already transpired. Eshkil was dead, and he was not coming back. He set himself to rights and came out of his tent.

The sun had already dipped beneath the horizon, and his men were gathered around the campfire. He joined them, taking a bowl of food that had been left for him. The Tayta was nowhere to be seen - sequestered in her own tent wit her maid. She barely came out when they made camp, and he was relieved for that.

“Now that you are awake,” Jorya commented, taking twigs from their already diminishing supply of firewood. “Mayhaps we should discuss our plan of action? We would officially be upon the Bariyat tomorrow.”

“What is there to discuss?” Ishraq zo Tenya muttered grouchily, his false ruby eye gleaming in the firelight.

"It's still dangerous." Jorya argued, brow furrowed. "There are only seven of us, and the Lord of Tears' fiendish rogues are still at large. You know what happens to the waylaid souls travelling through his lands."

Johab - the youngest of them all - puffed up his chest. "We are mages. Hoshnu's will guides our path. The Lord of Tears can do naught. He lives under His Name's banner-"

“Do you always intentionally think like this or is today a mistake?” Jorya cut him off before he finished, scowling something fierce. "Mages we might be, but we are not invincible. Under His Divine Majesty's banner or not, the Bariyāt and the man astride it care not beyond the most basic of laws that have been imposed on this hellhole; not even He can tame the sands. This is no man's land, fool, and our identities must not be known until we are safe in Gora. We have a lady to protect and deliver in one piece "

It was not their lives that the Seven feared for, or else they would've confronted the assassin hounding their steps into the dunes. They knew they were being followed. By a Mandi or someone else with an axe to grind against his unwilling charge, he did not know. He was a Chosen. He did not flee. But for some Tayta girl, he had no choice. Safe and sound, Asrael thought, Yisril's voice echoing in his ears. He couldn't wait to be rid of her.

“All I’m saying-” Johab started,

“That’s enough,” Asrael said. “All of you. We will keep our heads low as we have done these last two weeks. Three more days if we press hard, and we shall be done with this deception.”

"But mind you," said Soren, turning his gaze west where the sun had disappeared, "it has been quite some time now and neither Brothers Nezram nor Nezreen have returned."

There was a beat of silence.

"Maybe the Lord of Tears has them." Ishraq grumbled sarcastically and Jorya snorted in response, just as the men in question walked into camp, dressed in the garb of simple shepherds.

"Say, what news have you brought?" Asrael queried when they had sat themselves down by the fire.

The identical twins looked at each other, their faces cheerless.

“Distressing news, Will-maker. Jhomar of the Shadow has taken the Two Sisters.”

Asrael wanted to scream. So much for avoiding the Lord of Tears.