DARKNESS WAITS LIKE A DEVIL OUTSIDE MY WINDOW—curling its shadowy fingertips beneath the shutters, drawing its inky claws across the latch, raising every hair on my body as temptation trickles down my spine.
Enebish, it whispers. Not with words that anyone else can hear; the ghostly plea lives inside my mind, inside my entire being, coursing through my veins like blood and filling my lungs with breath.
I grit my teeth and nestle deeper into my bedroll, one hand clenched around my prayer doll, the other fingering the small circular stone embedded at the base of my throat. The harder I press, the quicker its calming tingles flow into my bloodstream, filling me with warmth and steadiness and light.
The perfect antidote to darkness.
Tonight, I will not listen. Tonight, I am in control.
The night slams against my window in protest, lashing the glass like rain.
Enebishhhhh, it cries.
It feels like thousands of tiny fire ants are burrowing beneath my skin. I toss and turn and sweat for as long as I can stand it. Then I bolt upright and turn to the window.
Just a peek. One tiny glimpse and I’ll be satisfied. There’s no danger in simply looking at the darkness….
Lies! my conscience screams. A glimpse is never enough. Remember what you did. Remember why you’re imprisoned.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to picture the rolling fields of Nariin drenched in vicious orange flames. I press my fists to my stomach, trying to evoke the shredding pain I felt when the monster inside me ripped through my bones and seized control of my Kalima power. But thanks to the glorious, gleaming moonstone in the center of my collarbone, there’s nothing. No monster. No memories. Just a swirling, amorphous darkness and a crushing weight upon my chest. Making the incident feel less real, less horrific.
Hardly dangerous, the night coaxes.
With a pathetic squeal, I kick out of my blankets like a fly escaping a spider’s web, and limp across my chamber to the window.
Even though I know what I’ll find, I gasp when I fling the shutters wide. Millions of ebony tendrils crash against the glass. To anyone else, the midnight sky would look empty and quiet. Peaceful, even. But to me, it looks like a tangled mass of coal-black snakes: frenzied and teeming and alive. Each ribbon of darkness is roughly the length of my forearm, and together they form the undulating tapestry of night.
I lift a finger to the frosted pane and trace a slow, looping spiral. The whorls mimic me, so close that I can feel their heat through the glass. Begging me to flatten my hand. To press my entire body against the window. Needing more, More, MORE.
I stagger back and stab my nails into my palms.
There. You’ve seen them. Now close the shutters, bury your head beneath your pillow, and pray to the skies for forgiveness.
But the night won’t let me go so easily. Not when it’s lured me this far.
Come, it beckons.
My throat tingles.
I won’t give in.
Sweat beads along my hairline.
I can’t. The moonstone severs my ability to wield the darkness.
Precisely, it hums. There’s no risk, no reason to resist….
My resolve snaps like a bowstring, and I snatch my crumpled cloak off the floor and steal into the dormitory hall.
The narrow corridor is twice as long as the throne room at the Sky Palace, and I limp past door after door with careful, measured strides. Unfortunately, no matter how softly I tread, the thump-slide of my injured leg echoes off the unforgiving tiles and high, frescoed ceiling. I tighten every muscle and will my body to cooperate. One wrong step will bring every monk at Ikh Zuree running. They all watch me like hungry, circling hawks. Eager to earn their salvation, and more important, the king’s favor and a seat on his Council of Elders, by “saving” sinners like me. Which isn’t done through selfless service and finding harmony with one’s family, one’s enemies, and one’s self, as the First Gods taught. No, followers of the New Order attain exaltation by reporting the mistakes of others. The more grievous the infraction, the closer they come to rapture. And I, the most notorious criminal in the empire, am imprisoned in the heart of their den. Constantly bombarded by hundreds of predatory eyes and salivating mouths.
Thankfully, the rushes I laid this morning help to muffle my uneven gait. The rushes aren’t technically my duty, but the old ones always smell of rat piss, so I’ve taken to changing them out of