To be dead without the proper rites, without descending into Ersetu, was worse a fate than even plunging into the river of fire. 

Ilati’s stomach knotted as bile rose in her throat, watching every cruelty she had seen in the temple replayed beyond it. No one who dwelt in Shadi was safe from the fire, the knives, the cruelties of the Nadaren soldiers. Nysra had tasked them to destroy the city so thoroughly that no other Kullan city would dare resist or raise an army against him. Knowing that, Ilati could not blame anyone who had simply opened their gates in fear of reprisals. 

Yet no amount of death was enough for Nysra or his gods, no amount of submission sufficient to escape some version of Shadi’s fate. In the face of the reality, Ilati felt her tears building in her eyes unshed. 

But grief could not, would not, pin her in place like a doll: Ilati refused to allow it. She had to find Roshanak in this place and retrieve her, or the second-soul in the girl would move on and Shir Del would lose her daughter. 

Ilati hurried forward through the streets of Shadi, feet catching in the mud as she moved towards the voices she could hear calling, beckoning. Join us. You know you do not belong in the world of the living. Join us. She picked up her pace as she reached the temple steps, racing up them with an ease beyond purely physical. As much as she dreaded returning to the scene of her own personal horrors, she knew in the pit of her stomach Roshanak would be at the heart of the city by now. 

She pushed the door to the antechamber open and gagged on the smell of burnt flesh, that of those who had once burned offerings in Zu’s name. The priestess saw them in the fire, twisting forms of shade and blackening flesh, trapped in their own moment of death. Skeletal hands reached out in supplication as she passed, begging, pleading. Sister, save us! Ilati, save us!

In life, she had heard their screams from the next room. Seeing what had become of them truly was even more agonizing. Ilati ripped her eyes away and kept her head down as she ran, even when she felt them tug at the hem of the dress she wore. You cannot save them. You can only save Roshanak, she reminded herself, pushing open door after door as she sprinted to the sanctum, taking stairs two at a time. The statues of Zu seemed larger than she remembered here, looming, the goddess’s serene smile transmuted into a twisted parody of rapturous joy, as if every death here was a sacrifice to her as well. 

Scorching smoke hung thick in this highest of sanctums, even as Ilati passed the temple guards in their bronze, drowning in their own blood from cut throats. The perpetrators were not truly here, but their evil acts had so scarred the spirit world that Ilati could feel their presence still. Her bare feet splashed in puddles of half-congealed gore as she stepped into the scene of her own worst nightmares, the holy house’s sacred innermost room. 

Roshanak’s spirit stood ahead, much brighter than Ilati had seen by the river without flesh in the way, taller and older than the girl it inhabited. It shone a brilliant violet with shimmering hues of blue, eight perfectly formed arms curled close as it suffered the visions of this place. Roshanak looked back and forth uncertainly, three glowing eyes seeking something in the suffocating darkness filled with groans and screams. Ilati recognized her own voice here in the smaller chorus, tortured into something worthy of a beast. 

“Roshanak, come back to me!” Ilati called as she slid to a stop just short of the girl. “Believe nothing here! It is not your time!” 

The girl’s spirit turned. “Ilati?”

Before Ilati could feel any relief at all, she saw a hand settle on Roshanak’s shoulder, slick with blood. This shade, of all the dead in Shadi, was far more solid and real than the others. Ilati’s heart lodged in her throat as she looked past Roshanak to the face of her own mother, composed in a pale death-mask of an expression. Queen Eresh was every bit as regal in death as she was in life, every bit as stern. 

Do not take my daughter away from me, Eresh said, voice hard and stinging. 

Ilati hit the ground on her knees as she tripped over an arm, eyes wide and desperate as she looked to the hate-filled shade. “She is not your daughter, Ama, I am!” The poet pulled in a deep breath. “Roshanak, come here. Run to me. We have to leave this place.” 

You? You think you can run from your fate and call yourself my daughter? Coward!

Grief and a terrible rage smashed upward into Ilati’s frantic worry, shattering her heart all over again. “I ran?” Ilati shouted bitterly. “I ran? You couldn’t bear the thought of the tortures I endured. You drove your own blade into your heart and you call me the coward? I bore the unbearable alone!” 

The shade’s grip seemed to tighten on Roshanak. You should crawl from this place on your belly for that insult.

“Like you let Eigou when he spoke the truth of what would become of our family?” Ilati demanded. “If you want a daughter to comfort you in death, Ama, come claim her. But do not debase yourself into a thief out of selfish desires!” 

The shade released Roshanak in an instant and the girl disappeared, leaving Ilati alone with her mother. You fled. You fled the city. You fled your name. You are nothing any longer and I will accept no part of you!

Ilati pushed herself up onto her feet. “Are you so poisoned by your own loss that you cannot see mine, Ama?” she said as the grief transmuted to an inescapable hurt. “I lost you. I lost Abba. I lost the twins. Everything I was, everything I held and loved, was taken from me by them. Yes, I left Shadi. Yes, I ran. And yes, I will have our revenge on the one who was responsible for this, even if it destroys me!” 

The shade seemed to waver. For a moment, the shadows receded and the death mask expression softened. Ilati saw tears in her mother’s glassy, dead eyes. I am alone here, Ilati. I cannot reach my husband, my sons, or you. All I do is suffer the torment of listening to your screams, of knowing nothing of what has become of any of those I loved. I have no comfort, no solace, no peace. It will go on for eternity. 

Ilati moved forward, wrapping her arms around the shade. All she could smell was blood and the faintest trace hints of her mother’s perfume buried beneath the smoke. “It will not. I promise you it will not.” She ran her fingers over her mother’s hair and felt a shudder of tears pass through the shade. “I will bury Shadi and all its dead beneath the sands. I will send you to your husband and sons, and one day, once Nysra suffers as you have suffered, we will see each other again, in Ersetu.”

Eresh wept into her daughter’s shoulder, shadowy arms winding around Ilati. Forgive me my rage, Ilati. Forgive me for abandoning you. I cannot lose you again. You must stay. 

Ilati rocked her mother back and forth, even as her own heart ripped itself in two all over again. “I forgive you, Ama,” she whispered. “All I ever wanted was your love and pride.” 

Forgive me, Ilati. Forgive me. Without you, I am becoming a monster. 

“Shh. You will see Abba soon. I promise,” Ilati soothed, stroking her mother’s hair. “I forgive you. I forgive you. I know you are not a monster. I love you, Ama.” 

The vision all around them started to shift, and the figure in Ilati’s arm evaporated like smoke. The priestess hit the ground on her knees, back in the baths in Ulmanna. Everyone was staring at her with wide eyes, including an awakened Roshanak. The only smell was rose petals, fresh water, and incense, most potent the myrrh that Eigou had produced. Ilati felt a hand settle on her shoulder, weathered and heavy. She knew it was Eigou, knew that her pain showed on her face, knew she had an audience. 

“Hedu, what happened?” Menes asked, barely catching himself in time to use the fake name they agreed on. 

Ilati rocked forward, slamming her fists down on the stone hard enough to bruise the heels of her hands. An animal cry of grief and anger tore out of her throat, sending the servants of King Tudhaliya scattering. She sobbed, tears burning in her eyes but refusing to fall. 

Shir Del still had her arms wrapped around Roshanak, keeping her daughter from sprinting over to offer Ilati comfort. “You are newly returned, my treasure,” the warrior woman said to the girl, recognizing the pain for what it was. “You are too weak to move and she may yet strike those who get too close. Such agonies are blind.” 

The priestess didn’t hear it. She heard nothing but the frantic agony in her mother’s voice. Forgive me, Ilati…

Gods, how she wished she could unspeak the words she had said in anger to get Roshanak away. 

Eigou put his hand again on her shoulder, kneeling beside Ilati to speak close to her ear. “There is nothing you could have done, Ilati. There were too many to bury and the Nadaren would have killed you in the attempt. You did the right thing.” 

“I abandoned them!” Ilati screamed. “I left them to rot and look at what they have become! What daughter is so cruel that she can do such a thing to her own mother?” 

“Ilati, you must stop. If Sarhad hears of this, he will know too much.” Her mentor’s voice was gentle and barely more than a whisper, but still warning. “The baths are too public.” 

“I will kill him!  I will strip the flesh from his bones with red-hot bronze and scatter the pieces so none may ever bury him! May he suffer the eternity he sought to inflict upon all my people!” Ilati pressed her hands against the floor and closed her eyes, envisioning Shadi in the distance. She managed to collect herself enough to lower her voice, something dark and hateful in her voice. “Mother of Tempests, hear my prayer. Mother of the Night Winds, know what is in my heart.” 

“Ilati, stop,” Eigou said urgently, a note in his voice that Ilati had never heard before: fear. “You cannot invoke any power across so great a distance. The effort will kill you.” 

“Howler in the Desert, I beseech you, end their suffering and I will inflict it a thousand-fold on Nysra and his dark gods.” She was not going to stop, whether it killed her or not. The smoke of myrrh and cedar in the room started to swirl around her, moving without a natural wind stirring it. “I will go to their armies and I will devastate them in sacrifice to you. Mother of Demons, claim the city of Zu beneath your sands.” 

“Ilati!” 

A brilliant flash lit the room like a bolt of lightning and the deafening boom of thunder echoed through the stone room. The smell of a close strike filled the air, overpowering every hint of perfume and pleasant luxury. Energy crackled across Ilati’s skin unseen as she felt something inside her flower open. For a moment, she felt the legs of the scorpion brush against her neck. 

The vision struck all of them like the wind of a sandstorm, bowling everyone away from Ilati. In their minds, the devouring walls of sand and flashes of thunder surged across a great plain towards the ruins of Kullah’s greatest city. Just as the devastation of a flood could sweep away even a great ziggurat, so the sands scoured the stones, consuming them like a ravenous maw. In moments, the greatest city of men was only sand and storm, the River Esharra itself reshaped. 

Ilati dropped to the stone gasping, her heart still torn into shreds. The clawmarks on her face stung in her senses like they were fresh and her right hand shuddered and twitched uncontrollably, fresh red welts burned into her flesh in the fractal patterns left by a lightning strike. When she managed to turn over her hand, she saw her own words seared into the flesh of her forearm.

I will kill him. I will strip the flesh from his bones with red-hot bronze and scatter the pieces so none may ever bury him. I will inflict it a thousand-fold on Nysra and his dark gods. I will go to their armies and I will devastate them in sacrifice to you.

K’adau had done as she had begged, but there was always a price with the Mother of Demons. It was not one the goddess would let Ilati forget. 

When Ilati managed to recollect her senses and look around again, she saw her friends and the crown prince of Sarru as pale as ghosts. Even Shir Del, war-hardened, looked shaken.

“They are buried now,” Eigou muttered, staring at his pupil with his sole remaining eye wide and worried. “Are you well, foolish girl?” 

Ilati covered the burns on her arm with one hand and struggled up to her feet with what little strength she had left. Even with the Mother of Demons doing the task, she had taken most of her own vitality just to force the connection between them open here in a city of men. No doubt the god of Ulmanna would have an opinion on that display of power. “I am not now,” she said bitterly, “but I will be.”

Menes and Eigou approached, moving to support her. The charioteer took most of her weight, since Eigou’s muscle had largely faded in his age. “King Tudhaliya provided us with rooms,” Menes said quietly. “Perhaps it would be best if you rested and let Eigou tend those burns.” 

Eigou looked down at Ilati’s arm. “I can cover them and keep away infection, but they will pain you until you have completed your oath.”

“Did Hattusa see them?” Ilati was certain the entire palace had probably heard that boom and the prince had been standing close enough to catch a glimpse of her arm.

“He does not have the scholar’s knack to know their meaning. Prince Zidanta, however, is a man of letters. Given he knows Sarhad well, better that he not see them,” Eigou muttered. “I thought we were retrieving Roshanak, Ilati, not creating a scene.”

“If you had seen what I saw, you would not have been able to withstand it idly either.” 

Menes cleared his throat slightly. “And what of Shadi?” 

“Buried, with all its beloved dead,” Ilati said quietly. “At least Ama and Abba will be at peace now.” 

Eigou’s arm, wrapped around her midsection, squeezed gently. “You saw them?” the sorcerer said more gently. “They were suffering greatly, then.” 

Ilati felt the burn of tears returning to her eyes as they walked. “I do not wish to speak of it,” she said harshly. “I have done what I have done.” 

The two men exchanged a worried look over the top of her bowed head, but nodded their agreement. “Let us get you to your rest,” Menes said comfortingly. “Shir Del and Roshanak will join us when they are ready.” 

Eigou grunted in agreement before expounding on his own thoughts. “The great King will hear of this from the servants and his son. I doubt we will be able to conceal your power from him, though we can still hide its source as best we are able. Perhaps it will help, perhaps it will be dangerous knowledge, but he will have questions that even I cannot answer.” 

“And if I do not answer to his satisfaction?” Ilati asked quietly. 

The old man nodded to the servant who opened the door to the visitor’s quarters for them. “He is shrewd and cunning, but if you are clever, perhaps we can keep him from learning too much without angering him. My advice, presuming you are willing to take advice from me still, is to rest. I will intercede and obscure if I can wherever and whenever needed.” 

Ilati sighed. “I had no intention of ignoring your advice in this matter, Eigou.” 

Eigou and Menes helped Ilati over to a bed and eased her into a sitting position. The old man unslung his small satchel to start pulling out healing herbs and bandages. “You remind me so much of him sometimes,” the old man said. “As proud, wrathful, and impetuous.” He smiled ruefully. “A pity the greatest of the kings of men never saw his granddaughter become the greatest star of his house.”

“Hardly,” Ilati said. “Ilishu conquered all four corners of the world. I cannot compare.” 

“Yet I think you will eclipse him before these deeds are done,” Eigou said, tapping gently on the words seared into her flesh. 

Ilati didn’t flinch at the pain. If there was one thing she was becoming mightily accustomed to, it was physical discomfort. “I doubt that very much. My words are stronger than my sword arm.” 

The ghost of Eigou’s missing eye seemed to focus on her even more intently than his living one. “In this, o lioness, I think my vision is clearer than your own.” He looked down abruptly, getting to work on her arm. “Rest now. Those words of yours have a great deal to do before we are finished in Ulmanna. Sharpen them well.”