Blood Passage (Dark Caravan Cycle #2) (30 page)

THE FIRE DIDN'T WANT HER TO GO.

Nalia struggled to pull herself out of the flames, but the lava held on to her like a long-lost lover, its heat so much more powerful than the oceans and lakes she had morphed into.

She wasn't sure she wanted to leave its burning embrace.

Nothing and no one could hurt her here. It felt good to give into the darkness, to the fury and rage that had been boiling within her all her life.
Yes,
the fire seemed to say,
you are home.

Nalia's body licked up the sides of the cavern and she destroyed, burned, annihilated. After a lifetime of keeping her Ifrit nature in check, she gave into the gorging delight of destruction. She was heat and flame, she was the terror in the night.

But almost as quickly as she settled into this new sensation, the wish was upon her and her body writhed, an inferno of pain,
fire lacerating every part of her until all she wanted was to get out, to grant and grant and grant.

The wish, the wish.

It didn't matter if Malek was out of his mind. She still had to grant his wish. The magic wouldn't let her get out of her obligation that easily. Nalia writhed in the wish's grasp over her
chiaan
as her body began to shift from flame to flesh. The force of the lava threw her onto a low rocky ledge then pooled below her in a shallow bed of rock, her bare skin resting in a molten puddle. The sides of the rock were just high enough to stop the lava's flow and it rushed by her, a river of fire.

Nalia glanced around in desperation for the others, but the smoke was too thick to see through. There were only the gray plumes of acrid air and the red glow of the burning lava below. Had she hurt any of them when the fire took over her body? She wondered if this was what it was like for Malek, trying to keep the siren song of the fire at bay. Nalia heard a shout, but it was lost in the din of the volcano's sporadic erruptions.

Raif.

He had to be alive, he
had
to. She reached up, pulling at the air until gusts of sulphuric wind swirled around her head like a lasso. She threw her arm across her body, tossing the wind so that it scattered the gray clouds of volcanic smoke. Not twenty feet in front her, she saw Raif standing on a ledge with the others. His hair was damp with sweat and his cheeks bright red. He was looking below him, his face full of worry.

Nalia cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. “Raif!”

He turned toward her, his face breaking out in a huge grin. Nalia closed her eyes, picturing the ledge. Her body curled into the cloud of violet, amber-scented evanescence that enveloped her. In seconds, she was standing beside him. Raif didn't say a word, just pulled her against him and hugged her so hard she thought he might break a rib.

“I'm okay,” she whispered. He gripped her tighter.

“I'd really like to know if there's anything she
can't
do,” Anso said, to no one in particular.

Nalia pulled away from Raif—she'd forgotten about the other jinn entirely. The cave offered no privacy. It was a wonder that she and Raif had found that glowworm cavern and that no one had come in search of them. It was likely the last chance they'd have for a while to be alone.

“Is everyone all right?” Nalia said.

Zanari nodded. “More or less.”

Phara sat beside her, pale. “I'll be fine,” she said, when Nalia looked at the bandage wrapped around her ankle. “With my tonics, this thing'll be good as new in a few hours.”

“What now?” Samar asked.

“I say we build another
Sun Chaser
,” Nalia said. “But this time, we'll call it the
Star Chaser.
”

Just one more star to go.
Home,
Nalia thought. She was so close.

Samar nodded, his eyes on the lake of fire below. “Seems like sailing is the only way we'll get out of this cavern.” He turned to the Ifrit beside him. “Noqril?”

With the help of the other jinn, Noqril and Samar manifested
a sailboat big enough to fit all of them and spelled to withstand the lava's heat. It somewhat resembled the gondolas of Venice, where Nalia had once vacationed with Malek. Despite how temporary it would be, the boat was elegant: narrow enough to navigate the tiny canals between the stalagmites, with ornate prows in the front and back and a large, eight-pointed star etched into the boat's floor.

In seconds, they were aboard. Only Malek and Raif remained on the ledge. Nalia manifested a ladder and Raif threw Malek over his shoulder, then began his descent. As he drew closer, she could see his muscles straining as he gripped the rungs.

“You're almost there,” she called.

At the sound of her voice, Malek's eyes fluttered open and he began to rave. His body thrashed and Raif cried out as his hand slipped on a rung. Malek fell off his shoulder and into the boat with a crash. Nalia rushed to him. A trickle of blood ran from a cut on his forehead, but he seemed otherwise uninjured.

Raif cursed as he leaped into the boat. “Godsdamn
par-djinn.
”

“I could fry an egg on my ass it's so hot in here,” Noqril said, as he took up the rower's position at the back of the boat. He held a long pole in his hands made of the same spelled material as the boat, and looked every bit the Venetian gondolier. “Let's get out of this sauna.”

Nalia and Raif settled onto one of the cushioned benches Samar had manifested on the sides of the boat. She ran her hands over the miracle of his unburned skin, dripping with sweat from the cavern's heat.

Raif rested his forehead against hers. “I can't handle you
almost dying every day. Let's get the ring and go home. Sound like a plan?”

It would be just as easy for them to die on the battlefield, but Nalia decided not to point that out.

“Sounds like a great plan.”

“Maybe I can find someone else to lead the revolution,” he said. “It'll be hard to command from the bed we're never going to leave.”

She knew he was only joking, but Nalia wished it could be true. “Is it silly to hope your story about us could happen?” she whispered.

It seemed unlikely that after the revolution, she and Raif could run off and live a quiet life in the Arjinnan countryside.

Raif opened his mouth to respond, but Malek suddenly began shouting again, his voice ragged. “The sigil,” he cried. “Take it. Just . . . don't hurt her anymore.
Please.
I'm . . . begging you.”

Nalia turned toward Malek. Would he really do that for her?

“Ignore him,
rohifsa
,” Raif said as she watched Malek writhe on the floor of the boat.

But she couldn't. Because for once he was actually doing the right thing. Even though it wasn't real,
he
thought it was. At that moment, Malek was giving up everything for her.

But she was the only one who seemed to notice.

“Lover boy,” Noqril called to Raif. “Your turn.”

Raif brushed his thumb against the tip of his nose. Noqril smirked at the rude gesture and held out the pole.

While Raif navigated the twists and turns of the cavern,
Nalia kept an eye on Malek. It hurt her to see him suffer, and the hurting made her angry. He deserved this, didn't he?
He killed his own brother,
she thought. It didn't matter how many times Malek saved her life or told her he loved her. There was nothing he could possibly do that could make up for the wrong he'd brought into the lives of every person he'd touched.

And yet Nalia's hand reached out of its own accord and brushed Malek's blood-matted hair off his forehead. Malek sighed at her touch.

“Hayati,”
he whispered.

She pulled her hand away. She'd never understand this connection to her former master. Even now, his
chiaan
pulled at her. It was confusing and a little sick-making.

“He was the first man who ever loved you. Or tried to, anyway,” Raif said softly. She hadn't realized he was watching her.

She turned, stricken. “Raif—”

He shook his head. “I understand, Nal.”

“
I
don't.”

“I know you don't love him,” Raif said. “But he saved your life more than once and that counts for something. I have
tavrai
I can't stand, but we've bled for each other and you never forget that.”

Nalia rubbed her fingers over the scars on her wrists. If Raif could forgive her for killing his best friend, maybe she could begin to forgive Malek for what he'd done to her. Maybe. Forgiveness: it was the hardest thing in all the worlds.

Nalia reached down and gripped Malek's hand. She sent her
chiaan
into his skin and he took a shuddering breath, then smiled softly before falling into a peaceful slumber.

It wasn't long before they were able to step out of the boat and onto dry land. The orange light from the lava pulsed against the cave walls.
One more star,
Nalia reminded herself. They were almost there. She scanned the rock, but there was no visible eighth star. She knew Antharoe wouldn't have made it that easy. The area was empty, save for eight tunnels leading away from the plateau where they'd docked the
Star Chaser
.

“Sometimes you just want to see a good old-fashioned street sign,” Nalia said, frowning at the dark entrances to the tunnels. “I really miss GPS.”

Raif looked at her. “What?”

“Human thing.”

Noqril and Samar manifested a stretcher and laid Malek onto it. Anso stood near Phara and Zanari. All three of them looked exhausted as they stared at the tunnels, eyes dim.

Raif turned to Nalia. “Which one strikes your fancy?”

Eight dark arteries, each connected to the heart of their search. Now that she was so close, Nalia found herself wanting time to stand still a little. She'd been so intent on finding the ring that she hadn't allowed herself to think about the vow to the gods she was breaking. How would they punish her this time? She reached inside her pocket, her thumb on Bashil's worry stone. Could she really do this? Wasn't death preferable to insulting the gods?

The wish took hold of her and Nalia gasped as needles of pain shot through her veins, stinging her blood. It seemed to know when her commitment to fulfilling the wish wavered.

Raif grabbed her before she could fall to the floor. “The wish?” he asked.

Nalia nodded and the pain subsided as she focused her intention back on retrieving the ring. “I'm about to offend the gods,” she said. “Best keep your distance.”

“That's like telling me not to breathe.” He kissed her forehead. “I don't think they care what we do. I don't think they care at all.”

Nalia placed her fingers on his lips. “Don't. Other than you . . . they're all I have.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

She pointed to the third tunnel. “This one. Three was Bashil's favorite number.” She needed him now, his sense of adventure, that curiosity that never dimmed.

Raif took her hand. “Good choice.”

Nalia could feel the peace that coursed through his
chiaan.
Now that Malek was in no state to fight him for the ring and they were nearly to its location, Raif was relaxed, hopeful. She hadn't realized how much tension he'd been holding inside him until some of it was gone.

Malek had begun to rave again and Phara hurried over to Nalia. “I don't have any more of that powder. I'm afraid we'll just have to . . . deal with him.”

“It's okay,” Nalia said. “He doesn't know what's happening, anyway.”

They left the light of the lava's fire behind and forged through the darkness. The tunnel echoed with Malek's screams. He begged an invisible Calar for mercy. He told the Nalia in his vision to stay alive. The powder seemed to finally have left his system when he recognized Raif. Nalia was careful to stay in the shadows. She had no idea how Malek would react if he saw her.

“Raif! Where the devil have you been?” Malek snapped. “Calar has Nalia. There's no time to explain. We have to help her.” He grabbed Raif's arm, shaking him. “Do you hear me? She's going to die!”

Raif pushed him off. “No she's not.”

Malek swung at him, an off-center punch. Raif easily dodged aside.

“Calar's right over there!” Malek shouted, pointing at the wall next to him. “God, she's got a whip out now . . .” Malek's eyes widened and then he screamed.

Nalia quickened her pace. Her
chiaan
had begun reflecting off of bright stones just up ahead.

“Raif. I think we're nearly there,” she said.

Raif turned to Samar and Noqril. “Keep a good hold on him.”

Nalia stepped out of the tunnel onto a wide ledge. She threw her
chiaan
in the air so that a ball of violet light hovered above her, casting its glow over the whole cavern. They were in a circular chamber that climbed to dizzying heights, a stone cathedral made entirely of amethysts. The precious stones jutted out from the rock, various shades of purple mixed with clear white crystal. The royal jewel was a calling card—there was no doubt that this was Antharoe's work. The ledge Nalia was standing on encircled the
whole cavern, a threshold for the entrances to the eight tunnels that presumably led back the way they had come.

Then Nalia looked down.

The center of the chamber was a chasm, so deep it seemed to lead to the center of the Earth. In the middle of the chasm, a single cone-shaped rock jutted up from the darkness below as though it were suspended in midair, an island with a flat top upon which a stone altar covered with markings sat. It was too far away for Nalia to make out the details, but as she cast her light further she could see that something lay on top of the altar: something small and golden. It seemed to catch and hold her
chiaan
as it hovered above it.

Solomon's sigil.

Behind her, one of the Dhoma whispered its Moroccan name,
“Khatem l-hekma.”