Dream of a City of Ruin: Dreams of QaiMaj Book II

Chapter 11: Exhaustion: Maia

Maia

Dynat set Maia down on the rocky table of the cliff. The polloon was blocked from view here. Maia prayed to the Greatmothers that Stasia would be alive when they returned. Child of Ice aside, Maia cared for the pale grandmother as she would for one of the Liathua. She did not know what to do for her. Normally, a grandmother would have taken her journey over ice long before growing as old as Stasia.

There was no snow or ice in this sweltering land. Heat rose in shimmering waves off the desolate, dusty plain sloping toward the water. In the distance, buildings higher than the tallest Chief's egla towered over the plains. They were crumbling and ruined at the tops, like an iceberg calving into the Stormbirth waters.

The only structure that was intact was the tower on the point. It recalled to Maia a certain spire in the Doaltooth Mountains. Three taorn circled it, shrieking their relentless cries into the wind. The sound gripped Maia's heart and squeezed. She stood still on the rocks, feeling like a hare, praying she would not be seen.

Dynat gripped her hand in his large, hot palm. "Quick," he said. "Before they see us and give the alarm."

He tugged her toward the wall, which ran along the shore, and did not encircle the entire city. A smaller tower stood at the end of the wall. A dark figure paced its top, and below, another shadow circled its round base. Dhuciri.

Maia allowed herself to be towed along, but everything felt wrong to her. What was she thinking, fighting the Dhuciri? Maia's collaboration would only bring their wrath down upon her tribe.

But it was far too late for such thoughts. The wrath had already come down without mercy. Fifty tribes wiped out in one swipe. Were there any other Khell alive to save?

She steeled herself and pulled the metal leash out of her pouch, gripping it between her hands. Even if she were the last Khell alive, she would fight for the memory of her people. Perhaps Dynat had quickened her womb, and she would keep the Khell in the world for one more generation. That could not happen if she hesitated now.

The smaller tower came into focus as they drew near, and Maia could make out the Dhuciri clearly. Dynat pulled up the cowl on his cloak and leaned over to grab her by the ankle, whispering, "Go limp. I'll try not to hurt you."

Maia understood immediately. She fell to the ground, slackening her muscles so that he had to drag her, and thrashed her arms, pretending to struggle. At least until they were a few feet from the Dhuciri, it might look like Dynat was one of them, bringing a captive. The stones on the ground scraped Maia's calves and tore at her knees. Dynat moved with agonizing slowness, as if he were in no hurry, and minimized the roughness with his apparent casual stroll.

In this position, the Dhuciri appeared upside down, stacked on top of each other as they watched Dynat approach. Maia could smell the rancid meat smell of them and see the leers on their faces. They looked hungry—and she was the morsel. She gripped the metal leash hidden under her parka.

When he was a few feet away from the base of the tower, Dynat thrust her to the ground. She curled on her side like a dying tithe victim. She looked up and saw Dynat holding his hands out, palms up, toward the Dhuciri. The sun paled his brown skin. White light gathered in his palms, and shot from his fingertips toward both Dhuciri.

It hit their chests at the same instant, and they fell back in unison without a sound. Maia rose quickly, rubbing dust off her back, and together they hurried toward the Dhuciri on the ground.

It stank so badly that Maia was reluctant to approach, but she breathed through her mouth and staggered forward. Dynat was there already, apparently less bothered by the stench. The Dhuciri lay on its back, stiff and unmoving. Dynat was tugging at its hands. It took Maia a moment to realize that he was pulling off the slim, black hide gloves the Dhuciri wore.

With a grimace, Dynat pulled on the gloves and ripped the metal leash from the belt at the Dhuciri's waist. Maia wasted no time in pulling the feather-scaled robe off the creature. Its skin beneath was pale and ashy, like a red-eyed infant to be left on the ice. Lamenting the stench, Maia pulled the robe over her own back. It was too long for her, and too tight. It felt greasy on her bare shoulders.

"Stay here," Dynat ordered as if she were a doal, and he skimmed up the side of the tower to where the other Dhuciri had fallen. When Maia followed him with her eyes, her heart sank.

To the south, the sky was feathery black with taorn. They were moving fast toward the shore. Not as many as had descended upon Pebble Beach, maybe a tenth that, but probably too many for Dynat to fight alone.

Dynat did not seem to think so. He stood atop the tower now, the other Dhuciri dead at his feet. He had flung aside his own cloak but had not taken up the Dhuciri's, so he stood glistening in his shiny clothes with the sun illuminating his skin. His muscles bunched and the sight astonished Maia. He looked younger, more radiant than he had on frozen Khell. Here, at last, was the golden warrior that she had envisioned in the bones. He spun the metal ropes, the same way Hakua spun the ropes he used to capture boreal, and yelled at the sky.

"Come on then, pitvipers! I will kill you all!"

Something cold like ice brushed Maia's wrist, and she whirled. A Dhuciri stood grinning at her shoulder, his hands full of the chains she had been bound in on Khell.

Maia flicked the black metal rope toward its face, but it moved faster, grabbing the leash in a gloved hand and yanking her forward. Shame and terror flooded Maia as she was jerked forward into the waiting manacles.