“You will find murderers in Seshar. Men with pale eyes and awful zeemirs. They slaughtered our warriors. Our families. And, to rub salt in the wound, they took us, young and helpless, to make into their work mules.
“But we will change how they perceive us. We will capture and slaughter those Jantari thieves and spike their heads on our flag. We will enter Tsuana’s waters with their killdoms in tow, soaked in their blood. And then the world will forever know our names, but not because we are fighting for our freedom.” He laughed, high and caustic. “No matter our loss, no matter the wrongs done upon us, they will always see us as filthy Sesharians, fanatical Ravani, and paganist Yumi out for blood and revenge. They will see us as villains.”
A ripple among his soldiers. A shifting of shoulders, quiet glances, soft murmurs. He let it pass and then continued.
“But we must become what we have to be. Make no mistake. We arebringing a war. A great war. One that will forever change the face of this world. Some of us may not live to see its future, its end. But…” He gripped the railing, leaning forward. “We do it in the name of our families. Our fathers. Mothers. Brothers and sisters who were so carelessly slaughtered. We do it”—he glanced at Daz—“to protect our home from invaders, and”—his gaze went to Elena—“to save the home we once lost.”
Samson unwrapped his urumi, the blade slithering against the floor.
“I will not ask you to fight for me. I will not ask you to fight for your god or against the villains who destroyed your temples. Because our fight,yourfight, is much greater than that. Your fight today is foryou.
“For the future you. The one who, in a far gentler world, gets to put your daughter and son to bed. Who enjoys a late-night drink and watches the twin moons rise among the stars. Who falls asleep in your chair and wakes up the next day to do it again. The one who gets to live a full life.
“So fight for that version of you. The non-warrior. The ordinary man or woman who would rather spend a night watching their children sleep than seeing them murdered. Go. For they have always been waiting for you.”
Samson raised his urumi, and like a beautiful melody, all forty men and women answered his call with a roar that reverberated through the ship and the sea and the sky beyond, where even the gods were compelled to listen.
CHAPTER 43
ELENA
There are no records of what resides in the pit. There are no photos, no scans, no logical explanations for the things we have seen. But it is there. Whatever it is, it waits in hunger.
—fromThe Legends and Myths of Sayon
The roar of the men had not yet faded when the lights shuddered and the sea moaned. Elena froze. The low moan quickly churned into the growl of a storm. A gale whipped across the deck, and Elena barely had time to grab for a railing when the ship suddenly heaved to the side.
Soldiers slipped, yelling. Rain slashed them with vicious white teeth, and the waves ripped forward, snapping at the railings.
“To your stations, now!” Daz shouted.
Shapes, shooting in the dark. It took her a moment to realize it was the Yumi, their hair piercing into the deck and gaining purchase. Out of the corner of her eye, Elena saw the dark mass of their second ship.Agni.They needed to summon their Agni and guide the ships—
“Incoming!” someone yelled.
She turned to see a black wave unhinge its mighty jaw before it swallowed the deck. The ship dropped like a stone. She was flung into the air, the sea and the sky spinning into one black blur—and then she slammed down.
White-hot pain razored through her shoulder. Elena groaned, trying to stand.
“Get up!” Jaya cried.
She grasped Elena’s arm, pulling her to her feet. Something hard pressed into her palm. Elena saw the glint of the metal lotus as Jaya passed it into her hand, shouting something about using the sand as a shield, when the ship heaved and Elena was thrown to the side. She twisted, clutching the lotus.
“Jaya!”
But the ship bucked wildly, and she was flung against the railing. Elena scrambled for a hold, calling out for Jaya, for Daz, when a wave pushed her overboard and she spun, flailing, the sea swelling forward to swallow her whole.
She screamed.
A hand suddenly grabbed her by the elbow, and Elena gasped, pain ripping down her side. Below, the waves frothed at her dangling feet. Samson leaned over the railing, his knuckles white around her arm, and she was struck by the delayed thought that Samson—cunning, selfish, monstrous—had saved her.
“Hold on!”
She grabbed his arm with her other hand, and Samson pulled her up and over until they both toppled back onto the deck.
She landed on top of him, shuddering. They lay still for a moment, breathing hard, the rain pelting their skin. She was overcome by a breathless sensation, the sudden exhausted euphoria of finding oneself impossibly alive when they should be dead. It was only later that she noticed the warmth of his skin. The thunderous rattle of his heart, beating against her chest. Samson looked up into her eyes with an odd, wondrous look, and he seemed about to say something, when her stomach twisted.
“I think—” she began.
