Without her charms, Xinai would have died a dozen times on the mountain. As it was, her spells were all but exhausted when she reached the foothills near the Kurun Tam. Her muscles screamed, pushed to their limits, and falling rock and ash left her bruised and burned; her lungs felt scoured raw despite the scarf over her face.
The pillar of smoke blotted out the sky, hid the coming dawn. Lava writhed down the slope like red-gold worms, consuming everything in its path. It would be on them soon.
People moved among the trees, gawking like her. She didn’t know if they were Tigers or Dai Tranh or Khas, didn’t have it in her to care anymore. They’d all be just as dead if they didn’t run.
She might have stood and stared until the fire took her, but the earth shook again and Haroun belched another gout of smoke and sparks. A moment later the rain of stones resumed. A black rock the size of her head landed a yard away, shaking Xinai out of her daze.
A hand closed on her arm, yanking her toward the cover of the trees before another could crush her. Phailin’s face was streaked with soot and blood and her mouth worked soundlessly. An instant later Xinai realized that the girl was shouting, and she was the one deaf.
The road, already softened by rain, was murderous now. Mud slid away in sheets from the steeper slopes, and branches and sometimes whole trees blocked their path. A horse passed them, only to founder and fall, crushing its rider as it rolled. Xinai was glad she couldn’t hear man or animal scream.
The ash thickened, worse than rain; a stone struck Xinai’s shoulder, wringing a gasp from her burning throat. She stumbled, slid, scrambled up again. Just a little farther, she told herself—they were almost to the ferry. Her sweat-drenched scarf smothered her and she clawed it away from her mouth. Her lungs hurt so much already she didn’t care about the ash.
The slope eased, trees thinning. Almost there—Another tremor and she hunched, arms around her head to ward off falling stones. Phailin slipped and crashed into her and they both went down in a tangle of limbs and mud. Xinai tugged at the girl’s arm, but she didn’t move. She pulled her a few feet, then paused as she saw the black blood glistening across Phailin’s face. Xinai touched the wound, and jerked her hand away when shattered bone shifted under her fingers.
Hands on her shoulders, pulling her up, turning her. She could barely stand, or focus on Riuh’s face. He was shouting, voice sharp with fear, but she could only shake her head and gesture angrily at her useless ears. He flinched when he saw Phailin, jaw working as he swallowed. He took Xinai’s arm, dragging her toward the dock. Her knees shook and she wondered if he’d have to carry her to the boat.
Then a familiar chill settled into her flesh, driving back the pain and filling her with unnatural strength. She knew she should protest, but it was too much relief to let someone else move for her.
Even through half-numb limbs, she felt instead of heard a roar building behind them. They turned just in time to see a wall of mud and trees sweep down on them.
The Sajet Dam curved across the river like gray veils, two tiers of stone where the Green Maiden Falls had once cascaded. Zhirin had seen the waterfall only in pictures, or in her dreams. Towers rose on either side of the water, their western faces carved into colossal statues of women—the ancient Assari queens Sajet and Anuket, though she had always thought of them as the River Mother and one of her reed-maiden daughters. The towers were home to guards and engineers and the mages who siphoned energy from the surging water. Walkways fringed the walls like lace, arching over the rushing spillways.
The earthquakes had already weakened the foundations. A hairline fissure spread down the lower face of the dam, slowly leaking threads of water. As they drew closer, she could make out people moving on the walkways and tower balconies.
When they were within range of normal eyes, a man ran from the northern tower. He looked around, probably for horses—Zhirin wondered what he would have thought if he’d seen them land. “Lord al Seth, what’s happened?”
“The mountain has woken. Take your men and get out of here. Symir isn’t safe—keep to the Southern Bank