She rocketed into the hard stone floor and before she could even react, the force picked her up again and hurled her into the wall. Thrown to her knees, Barbartu tried to gain control of her body but the force tightened her neck like an unseen noose and dragged her across the temple. Her progress finally stopped mere inches away from Yas̆gah’s feet. She tried to stand up, but the force pressed down on her, flattening her into the ground. Only when she had ceased her struggles did the pressure release.

It took Barbartu a few moments to find the strength to rise to her knees, and her movements remained slow and cautious, for she fully expected the demigoddess to punish her again. But when she finally looked into Yas̆gah’s face, there was no sign of anger to be seen. If anything, the petite woman stared at Barbartu with the cruel curiosity of a child about to pry the wings off a dragonfly.

“You’re quite the strange creature, aren’t you?” Her long, raven hair tumbled to the side like an avalanche as she cocked her head. “Whatever transformation skill you possess is truly quite remarkable. Even I failed to realize you weren’t a Djinn until quite recently.”

Transformation skill? It’s an illusion skill, bitch. Barbartu bowed her head meekly, not fully trusting herself to successfully hide the tidal wave of relief that washed over her. She knows nothing of my plans then. If anything, this works in my favor; now she thinks she’s discovered my secrets, she’ll relax her guard. “I was foolish to try to hide it, my lady,” she simpered.

“Yes, now release that form, and let me see what you truly are.”

Begrudgingly, Barbartu let the illusion fall, revealing the long, tall ears, the sharp, jagged claws, and the teeth of a predator.

Yas̆gah leaned forward with a small frown. “Curious. I don’t believe I’ve ever encountered your kind before. You’re not from this world, are you?”

“No, my lady,” Barbartu agreed. “My world was Arallû.”

The demigoddess tapped her hand thoughtfully against the ruined throne. “Arallû…that name seems familiar to me, but where…”

Barbartu was suddenly yanked off her feet as the invisible noose tightened around her throat. She flailed violently in the air as thunderclouds formed on Yas̆gah’s brow. “I remember now. That whore of a Sidhe,” she spat the word out as if it was poison, “was from Arallû. Are you one of them?”

For the first time, fear took root in Barbartu’s mind. Yas̆gah didn’t seem to know of Barbartu’s plot against her, but she was psychotic enough she might just kill her by accident. “No, no,” she gasped out, and this time no acting was needed to convey her desperation. “I’m not a Sidhe.”

The woman hesitated, and the madness in her eyes slowly receded. Cocking her head to the side, she stared at Barbartu for a long minute. “No. I suppose you don’t look like a Sidhe,” she finally concluded, and dropped Barbartu to the ground. “You are not beautiful enough to be one.”

They also don’t have the ears of a doberman and the claws of a bear, but sure, call me ugly. Ignoring the insult, Barbartu did her best to quell the shaking in her limbs as she picked herself up.

“What are you, then? The Children of St. Martin were also from Arallû, but you’re clearly not one of those green freaks,” Yas̆gah continued. “And do not think of lying to me - I shall surely know.”

She nearly replied with a lie, “A lamas-” It was a habit thoroughly ingrained by centuries of hiding her identity. On Arallû, her people were feared and hated more than anything else, and she had long since learned that it was easier to claim to be a lamassu than a lamas̆tu, but she didn’t want to test the demigoddess’ ability to catch her in a lie. “-shtu.” she finished flatly.

“A lamas̆tu? Ah, yes, I’ve heard of them.”

Barbartu felt quite certain Yas̆gah was lying, but she bowed her head subserviently. “Of course, my lady.”

“Why hide your identity from me,” the woman abruptly demanded. “Do you serve another?”

This time Barbartu couldn’t hide the bitter smile that forced its lips. “My lady, I was stolen from my world - I’m sure you know as well as I that my gods are not with me. Whatever lords I might have served in Arallû, here there is only you, my lady.”

Yas̆gah’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “But you have served others. Tell me, how do I compare to your former masters.”

He would crush you beneath his heel and raise you his thrall, she immediately thought, but not wanting to test Yas̆gah’s ability to detect her lies, Barbartu picked her words carefully. “They shared neither your beauty nor your ambition, my lady.”

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A smug smile crossed the demigoddess’ face and she leaned back against the throne. “Do not lie to me again, little wolf. I shall generously overlook your deception this time, but no more will be tolerated.” Amusement rippled across her face. “I’m sure you’ve heard the tales of the dead gods that haunt this place. If the Nizirtū are to be believed, dying to them destroys the soul completely, preventing you from rejoining what lord it is you wish to hide from me. So lie to me again, and I shall feed you to them. Understood?”

Barbartu bowed her head. “Yes, my lady.”

“Then leave.”

It was a long, lonely trip out of the pit. Barbartu was not prone to flights of fancies, but in the almost complete darkness, even she had a tough time not imagining that one of the dead gods might be lurking behind just behind her shoulder. Yet, as terrifying as that image was, she had a new fear to worry about. She had underestimated Yas̆gah.

True, she was vain, petty, and cruel, not to mention being far too arrogant to see the doom that gathered around her. Yet, her arrogance wasn’t entirely undeserved.

Yas̆gah had proven far stronger than Barbartu had realized. Before her encounter with the demigoddess, she would have wagered her very soul that she could escape from any conflict, but now… I really don’t know. Clearly, the sacrifices the cultists have been offering her are working. Perhaps only a god can face her now.

In the end, Barbartu decided it didn’t really matter. She was committed to her path now and there was no looking back. She would either die or finally make her way back home.

Her foot caught on something hidden by the bitter gloom of Naḫas̆s̆innu and she bent down herself. Barbartu froze as her hand touched something soft and warm and oh-so-plump. The cultist. Flipping him over, her blood ran cold as she saw the marks on his neck. The dead gods. All pride forgotten, Barbartu ran the rest of the way, not stopping even once until she’d ascended the final staircase that returned her to the safety of Dūr-Yarḫa.

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

Their trip had been nothing short of miserable. After separating from the Seraphs, they’d cut up toward the north, racing to get back to the relative safety of the royal highway. None of them felt like talking, albeit for different reasons.

For Nēs̆u, his sole obsession was getting Tsia back. Nothing else mattered to the man, but Jasper knew better. He’d been to Naḫas̆s̆inu and knew all too well the horrors that lurked within. His mind was a tumult of guilt and fear as they drew closer and closer to a place he’d hoped to never see again. For Ihra, it was perhaps even worse, as the fear she felt was not countered by any particular concern for the lost princess. Though she’d never objected to their plans, Jasper had a feeling that the only reason she’d agreed to attempt the mission was out of loyalty to him - a loyalty that only added to his feelings of guilt.

And, as if there was some karmic connection between them and the weather, the metaphorical cloud that hung over the party became all too real. As they rode north, storms rising from Lake Yarhab buffeted them day after day, first as rain and then, once they ascended up into the northern plateau, as a chilling mix of ice and snow slowed their progress to a crawl.

The only good news - if it truly deserved to be called that - was that Jasper’s and Nēs̆u’s predictions proved to be true. Still able to sense Tsia via the bond Vāya had granted him, the warrior was able to track her journey north until it ended in the city of Dūr-Yarha.

It was night when the pale, green walls of the city finally loomed into view above the snowy banks. Halting at the crest of a mountain, the three stared down at the Moon-kissed stronghold. The spires of Dūr-Yarha were as magnificent as Jasper had remembered; glowing with a sickly light that defied the darkness, the vision the sacred fortress offered them walked a tightrope between ethereal and unsettling.

And below it…Jasper felt his stomach turn at the thought. “Are you sure she’s there,” he forced himself to ask.

Icy gusts nipped at their noses as the Sicyan closed his eyes and listened to the wind. Ihra’s lips were beginning to turn blue before he finally nodded his head. “I’m certain.”

A heavy sigh escaped Jasper’s lips. “Oh well, I guess there’s nothing to be done about it. We’ll have to enter Naḫas̆s̆innu.”

Nēs̆u turned his head to look at them. “Was it really that bad?” He asked. “Worse than the Ilābun?”

A visible shudder ran down his back, one not caused by the cold. “Far worse,” was all he said. “But there’s no point in waiting.”

Patting Dapplegrim’s shoulder, he urged the horse back toward the road but paused as Ihra finally spoke up.

“No.”

He turned back to face her. Part of him was surprised, perhaps even hurt that she was refusing to help him save Tsia, but there was another, larger part of Jasper - the part that feared they were all going to their doom - that was glad. At least one of us will survive. The warrior kept silent, leaving him to respond. “Will you at least come with us to the city,” he asked quietly.

Her mouth fell open, and a look of hurt pooled in her eyes. “No, no - that’s not what I meant at all. Selene’s grace, Jasper - did you really think I’d abandon you?”

“Well, no, but...” Jasper stared at her in confusion. “I don’t understand what you meant then.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re both so worried about your little princess that you’ve forgotten something important. Before we go charging into Naḫas̆s̆innu by ourselves, there’s someone else we should visit here - someone who could help us.”

Of course. The name rolled off his lips immediately. “Rā’imu.”

She nodded. “She’s his sister, after all. Plus, there’s the small matter of that favor his house promised us in exchange for the lyre.”

For the first time in days, a smile graced Jasper’s lips. It lasted but a second before disappearing, but the hope that fueled it lingered on. His eyes turned to Nēs̆u, who had remained silent thus far. “You okay with waiting a day.”

The warrior didn’t hesitate. “If your visions speak the truth, the cult will not attempt to kill her until you are there. Until then, she should be safe.”

“Alright then,” Jasper nudged Dapplegrim toward the western foothills that lay outside the city. “Looks like we have a new destination.”