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For the rest of the day, Abarōz couldn’t keep still. Her thoughts turned to Shāhpuhr and why he’d agreed to go with her. Certainly, he had little to gain, and everything to lose. Once the S̆āh found out that a long-ago Axwaš still lived, he’d be more than happy to remedy the error. Still, Abarōz was relieved at having someone else join her: especially in Dardan’s treacherous halls.
While they waited for his mother, Abarōz asked Shāhpuhr for the names of the things around them: she learned that the brown stuff was dirt; the blue expanse overhead sky; and the channel with water was called the River Rōd. Its sides were known as banks, while the green they sat on was grass.
Shāhpuhr seemed eager to help, and for that she was grateful. She could only wish that his clothing was . . . more expansive. Despite her mother’s lectures, it was hard for her not to glance at his muscular thighs; smooth, olive skin; and even the slant of his nose. Was this what Adrina meant by temptation? Abarōz shook her head, distracting herself with the notions of grass and sky. At last, Bükrek appeared, slithering up to their side.
“My son,” she greeted Shāhpuhr, “and our welcome guest. How goes it?”
“Well, mother,” he said with excitement. “Abarōz has devised a plan to unseat the S̆āh!”
“We both—” Abarōz started, not wanting to take all the credit.
“It was mainly her,” said Shāhpuhr, then described to his mother what they intended to do.
“Bold,” Bükrek nodded, her yellow eyes gleaming. “This will require much skill and a fair amount of luck. I confess I am concerned, but will not attempt to stop you. It is high time for Al-razi to lose his hold on Dardan.”
“Thank you,” Abarōz told her, struck again by the dragon’s kindness. “You’re able to take us then?”
“Yes, at the first sign of Māh.”
Abarōz studied Shāhpuhr for the rest of the day while pretending not to. She knew she shouldn’t—after all, they weren’t betrothed. But something about his simple nature brought fresh air into her life.
At last, to her relief, Mihr dipped below sight and Bükrek found them again. She slithered across the long grass, green scales reflecting moonlight. The dragon gently lifted Abarōz in one claw, then Shāhpuhr in the other, winging across the sky—now black!—with a whoosh of wings. From her dangling position, Abarōz sensed, rather than saw, other ebrens around them. Yet they remained at a distance, clearly cowed by Bükrek. If she hadn’t been so frightened, Abarōz would have laughed. These other dragons of Sangal must be as scared as she was. She realized now why they didn’t attack when she’d first emerged from Dardan: Bükrek, soaring above, had acted as her shield.
Abarōz felt almost weightless in her dangling state. There was a freedom in flight so different from her stifling cave. She had the sensation of being one with the Bērūn; a part of its moon, sky, sands. There were even dots of light nestled against the black, and she wished she could rise and touch them.
Thankfully, it didn’t take long to reach Dardan, and, when Abarōz looked down, she spotted the gate. Māh hung over that dirt-covered mound behind the city as Bükrek landed noiselessly, a massive shape on the sand. She set down her passengers, lowering her head to speak.
“Children,” she said, “the bravery—or foolishness—of what you’re about to attempt is admirable. If you do find indeed Şahmeran, please give her my greetings. As for you two—” She looked at her son sadly, “—never let down your guard since ears are always listening. The S̆āh is even rumored to be a Zeh̬n̥ Xɑn—a reader of minds. Though this is a lie, he is still cunning and vicious. I wish you both a safe journey, but more important, is a safe return.”
Shāhpuhr did not change his expression. But Abarōz felt moisture creeping from her eyes.
What right do I have, she wondered, to wrench this poor boy from the only mother he’s had? To put him in deathly peril, and all for the sake of her father, who was, after all, gone.
Her face, even in shadow, must have reflected her thoughts, since Shāhpuhr patted her arm.
“Do not fear,” he whispered, “that you forced me into this task. There is so much at stake: the future of our zand, the truth of its past, and the remaking of the present.” He looked up at Bükrek. “Goodbye, mother,” he said. “I promise to return to you bearing only good tidings.”
The green dragon nodded, extending her thin wings before heading into the sky. As Abarōz watched, her form seemed to grow smaller, resolving into a dot.
They had to get moving. She turned to Shāhpuhr.
“Follow me,” she whispered, resisting that urge to grab his wrist.
He stood without moving before the Dardan gate.
“How do you propose,” he asked, “that we move that boulder?”
“We don’t have to,” Abarōz told him, sinking down to a crawl. The last thing she wanted was to be spotted by guards.
“Another entrance?” Shāhpuhr asked, dropping down behind her.
Abarōz nodded, leading him to the ceiling with its barely visible hatch.
“Escape route?” he asked, looking down at the etched stone.
“I would assume,” said Abarōz, “but only for Al-razi.”
Shāhpuhr gave a small laugh, the first she’d ever heard from him. Abarōz rose to her knees to grab the small rope hanging from the hatch, then wrenched it open with one determined pull.
“By Tengri!” he exclaimed.
Abarōz gave a tense smile as she eased her way in, catching hold of the rope ladder before landing on solid rock.
“Your turn,” she whispered up.
Despite his left foot, Shāhpuhr scurried down like a goat. One even greeted him with a sleepy “baa.”
“We made it!” he exulted, landing beside her.
Abarōz gave him a stern look.
“We’ve barely started,” she told him.
“I am amazed,” he said, “that our careful S̆āh does not post a guard here.”
“Well,” answered Abarōz, “who’s coming in or out? He made a pact with the enemy, who were supposed to be warriors, and no one besides me and Kavad has ever escaped. So, in the S̆āh’s mind, the first Hamwar is perfectly safe.”
“Then he’s a fool,” Shāhpuhr hissed. “So much the better for us.”
Abarōz shook her head, unwilling to discount the ruler. But knowing each moment they spent here could well mean life or death, she gestured for him to follow as she approached the first set of stairs.
So unlike her last venture here, the stairwell was plunged in darkness, no servants of the S̆āh at the ready to light his torches. Abarōz thrust out one arm, trying to find a smooth wall. Since there were no rails, this was her only means to check the steps’ position. Under these conditions, the descent from One to Two was frightening, but Shāhpuhr’s light touch on her back steadied her. She had just begun to relax when her toe scuffed a sharp step.
“Ouch!” she cried, her voice ringing against the rock.
“Shhh!” Shāhpuhr cautioned, pressing his chest against her as he wrapped a hand over her mouth.
Abarōz stiffened. Prior to her escape, her response would have been, “How dare you touch me?!” But now, she held back the words. Even though Shāhpuhr was a Dardan, he didn’t know all their customs, or why boys shouldn’t touch girls. She gently removed his hand, vowing to be more careful as they wound their way down through each Hamwar.
So many stairs and so many levels: Abarōz had lost count of which they were on. To make matters worse, there were at least three sets of stairs assigned to each Hamwar, and after awhile, Abarōz felt dizzy from having to look down.
In the sticky darkness, she found herself sweating thanks to her wool. She almost envied Shāhpuhr who must be cool as the Rōd. At such an immodest thought, a blush overtook her cheeks and she nearly stumbled again.
Down, down, down . . .was there no such thing as up? Abarōz pinched herself, trying to stay alert. You never knew when some Dardan, unable to sleep, might decide to take a stroll.
How many more Hamwar? She wasn’t fatigued since their path led downhill, but her calf muscles tightened. If only she could tell which Hamwar was home, she’d have some idea where they were. As it was, each Hamwar merged into sameness. She and Shāhpuhr continued their trek for what felt like a full sleeptime. As they came to a sharp-angled staircase, Abarōz felt heat assault her cheek.
“We’re close,” she whispered. “My father always said his time spent in the zarr was like being inside a dragon.”
Shāhpuhr grunted, wiping the sweat from his face. They came to a set of stairs much shorter than all the rest, and, once they hit level ground, Abarōz stopped so abruptly that Shāhpuhr ran into her back.
“Sorry.”
The two of them moved forward, then stared up at a looming obstacle: a door of gold so wide it spanned the entire cave.
“The zarr,” said Abarōz. “It must lie behind.”
“How do we enter?”
Abarōz started to search for a handle. She really had no idea. Maybe find an Ōšmurdan and hope he knew her father? Or, since he was an Axwaš, was his name now forbidden? She put a hand up to the gold: it was cool, despite the temperature, and felt more solid than stone. But its smoothness seemed unmarred by any lever or lock. Abarōz stamped her foot, angry in defeat. Then, she felt something veil-like settle over her mind. Unable to stop herself, she lurched at Shāhpuhr, scraping all her nails roughly across his back roughly.
“Ow!” he cried. “What are you doing?”
He turned and tried to grab her, but she was gripped by a panic like a giant’s fist.
“Don’t touch me!” she shouted. “You are the very devil who tempted Our Lord in the desert!”
“Wha—?” her companion began, but was stilled by her fist which struck him full on the nose.
A thin trail of blood made its way toward his mouth.
“Why did you do that?” he asked, putting a hand to his face.
“I HATE YOU! I wish you were dead!”
He looked amazed as she began to cackle. Hitting him had been fun—she wanted to do it again! As she swung back her arm, he grabbed it, and in his eyes she thought she saw a new light.
“A Çor,” he said. “Abarōz, I don’t know how to tell you, but I think you’ve been possessed.”
Her mad laughter rose and she found she couldn’t stop. Between bursts, she panted, “LIAR! There’s no one with me but you!”
“I am no Çor,” he told her. “They are invisible spirits who never leave one place.” In frustration, he bent down, trying to hold back her kicking. “This one must be bound to the door.”
Abarōz didn’t care—she only wanted to bite. To commence, she bared her teeth, but was stopped by an unseen voice.
“You have guessed right,” it said, emerging from the door. ”None shall enter,” it sneered, “lest they are missing a tongue.”
“I don’t have one!” Abarōz shrieked, throwing out her arms and spinning. She felt so unbearably light.
“Let her go,” said that near-naked boy, “or I’ll send you back to Çoristan.”
The door seemed to laugh. Abarōz broke into a dance, which was odd since she didn’t know any. She stuck out her tongue at that horrible boy. Who was he to spoil her fun?
“I must think,” he said. “What did my mother tell me?”
“Of what use is a mother?” she asked. “Only to torture and scold!”
“Er,” said the boy, no longer looking at her. “The Çor—what are they afraid of?”
Abarōz continued her dance.
“Mihr, the moon, and those dots in the sky!” she crowed.
“No.” The boy looked alert. “it is iron and citrons and salt.” He turned to Abarōz, gripping her firmly by the shoulders. “Abarōz,” he said, bringing his face close to hers. “Do you have any salt?”
Abarōz widened her eyes as she began to chant: “It is not really my fault/That I neglected to bring the salt.” The olive-skinned boy looked pained. Though he was a devil, he might make a decent bed partner. “Don’t look!” she screeched, gripping her pack tightly. “GET AWAY!”
The boy’s dark eyes blazed as he reached for the pack, tearing it from her back. When he started to rifle through it, she let out a wail.
“NO!” she cried, “you will be the death of me!”
He didn’t seem to mind as he brought out something in triumph. It was a leather pouch which contained that hateful substance.
“DON’T!” she pleaded, wresting herself from his grasp. But she was too late as he undid a rope knot, creating a rain of salt.
“NO!” shrieked the Çor, “now the door will have no guardian!”
Abarōz heard a hiss as the veil left her mind. She felt rather silly to find her arms outstretched.
“Abarōz?” Shāhpuhr asked. He seemed unsure.
“Shāhpuhr,” she breathed, “what–what happened?”
“The Çor has left and you are back to yourself. Though I must confess: You are an excellent dancer.”
She felt her face heat up as she turned away.
What else had she done while under the spirit’s power? She was too afraid to ask.
