Against the Wind

23.2 || Raya

The city came quicker than Raya wanted it to, fiercely dominating all that lay before them. Bathed in a veil of golden light, slashed to hard lines and shapes by long-fingered shadows, it faced them with an impassive lack of emotion, a stoicness that weighed on the shoulders. After time cast into the sky and yet more time wandering stretching, boundless plains, it unnerved her. Sandbrick seemed to lunge out from either side, scouring the skin on her arms until it was raw, and she found herself caught perpetually stealing glances at Corvin. There was a hardness to his face and a twitch in his jaw that betrayed similar feelings, likely amplified tenfold—he had far more right to them than she did.

Glitter sparked dully amongst the sand. Dust, Raya assumed; it was something she'd grown so accustomed to that it startled her to see anew. The path crunched under her feet.

Her fingers wandered the air, toying with the tautness of it, the strings binding her to that carelessly scattered magic, but her attention was swiftly stolen by a sound that sang like a blade. A clear, piercing scream.

Another step, and the noise clattered in as one great howl, as if releasing pent-up breath all at once. Shouts flung from alleyways and grappled with one another, barely cutting through the crash and snap and sputter of descending chaos. Feet pounded and the walls creaked as if the city itself were caught in a rumbling shudder. Something hard and clinging slammed into Raya's chest, siphoning the air until a faint numbness teased at her fingertips, dizzily cold. Tehazihbith stood just as it always had—stale, stiff, lined and straightened to perfection—but this wrongness snaked out from within and touched her skin, peeling away that easy stability. She could hardly balance on her own two feet.

A snarl lunged out from the next corner. She tripped into a turn, heels too heavy and catching on one another, and felt herself pitch backwards without the breath to gasp. Corvin caught her arm and hooked her upright before she could fall. They exchanged a fleeting glance; the concern in his eyes settled like a drop in a pool, rippling the waters of his hard-edged wariness. His fingers dug in more firmly than usual.

Amina skidded in front of them, arm outspread, the last of Raya's tonic vials flicking into her palm. The lines of her form seemed to blur with hazy panic. Her chest heaved in and out as the seconds ticked, the tension surrounding her thick enough to cast a cloud, but nothing emerged from the shadow.

When she spun to face them, her eyes were like wildfire. She looked strange here without her circlet, backlit by Tehazihbith's gilded gold with her own shine lacking, but the sheen of sweat that slicked her nose gave it a faint honey-white sparkle. Whatever panic Raya was feeling, it must have possessed Amina entirely: a crazed, sputtering spirit wrestling beneath her skin.

"So?" she demanded, her shrill teenage voice almost unnerving in its contrast. "We're too late to stop it if they're here already. What now?"

"It cannot be too late." Corvin's hand left Raya's arm as he stepped forward, his brow creasing in furious, desperate focus. They looked like heroes, each of them: bright and righteous, fierce with hope, children with the lights of stars in their eyes. It was difficult not to diminish herself in their overlapping shadows.

He turned his head, antlers curving like a strange, otherworldly crown. "We stay to our goal." His gaze flicked to her. It pinned her when it shone like this, wide with something a mote wiser than innocence, coiled like a dirty sketch of a storm's eye. "I can trust you?"

Her frayed senses claimed it was foolish to smile, but her lips settled into an instinctive soft curve. She gave him a nod, confidence swelling within her, shaken but sure.

Amina shouldered into view, a frown twisting her round features. She tossed her head back, snatching Corvin's gaze like it was hers to hold by right. "Only if we can trust you."

He didn't rise to her voice's thorns this time, nor did he flinch. He only nodded, that preoccupied air still about him, granting him a casual honesty that indicated he was barely aware of the probing distrust she spoke with. "I know I can find Kyril." A wince pulled his gaze downwards. "I do not know if he will listen, fully, but..." The morning sky reflected red in his eyes as he met her eyes again, this time with purpose, a concentration that seemed to still even Amina. "I know he is not a monster."

Amina stared back. Raya could feel her wither slightly, noting the slight shift in her step, but her voice came out smooth. "I'll believe that when you show me."

A rebuke may have swelled in Corvin's throat, scrabbling at the back of his mouth, but it showed as little more than a twitch in his jaw. His eyes caught Raya's one last time, clear as glass. He had faith in Kyril, like only a boy with his heart could. He had faith in her, too, and that was reason enough to believe he could be right.

He ran into the depths of the chaos, his cloak whipping around him like a fresh spray of blood. The sand had been kicked up to a frenzy, hanging in the air as a faint, yellowish mist, choking in Raya's throat. A stark surge of fear climbed up and pricked behind her eyes as she watched him disappear.

Amina's elbow in her ribs brought her back. Fear had to have a grasp on them both, thick as its fingers were as they stirred the city's dense air, but as ever she seemed intent on not letting the emotion sit. Her chin jerked to the left. "I lead the way?"

Pride would have driven Raya to argue if she'd cared for it, but it was easy to agree. There was a jitter to the younger girl's step, a scamper and pause to its rhythm that betrayed her nerves even if her fierce expression sealed them away. At the corner, she peered left, rubbing at her chest's centre like she was searching for something that wasn't there—her missing cloak's clasp, maybe. The dirty white garment had been lost somewhere in the cavern. Raya came in beside her and looked the other way, heart drumming. Every new and louder cry scratched like claws, sharp with fear, yet they pressed on.

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