“They dwell in darkness, in the shadow of the mountain,

In fire and blood and the promise of life.

They hunger and thirst for the Kell Sea’s harvest

And wear the faces of the dead and the cursed…”

from The Song of the Naharasii

Akahan slumbered and the devil took his rest.

The j’thirrin had failed him. Soulless, they wandered, hunting. He sensed their growing resolve, bound them ever to his purpose, tasted hunger that would never be satisfied. Blood spilled was blood gained. Sacrifice for the reward of Northern lives soon molded by the fire of his need.

Far away, in strange skies above a stranger land, Laracae answered his call, their thoughts passing one to the other through the aether.

I hear you, my uncle, my cousin. The mountain of fire has awoken the children of hate, but we have made the skies our own. Tycho—

—has betrayed our kinship, lonn Tirehl told him. The fish has eaten of his soul. Let his death feed your shirrasah even as Night’s Children sing their songs of woe. Let them remember the Horror.

They hunger for life, dRiish. They feast on the flesh of the living…

Leave them to their purpose—but do not let them keep you from yours.

As the shadows grew, so too did his hunger. A tray fashioned from the skull of a great beast from the distant sea held the desert’s fruit, succulent meat beneath thorns. He ran the edge of his knife along the melon’s spine, smoothly separating the rind from the red interior. He offered a piece to the boy kneeling before him, then slid a wedge past his own teeth.

“What did she call you?”

“Lakari,” the child told him, blowing softly across the rim of the incense bowl held in his small hands.

“After the Second Son of Vidah the Wise. Am I to expect greatness of you, arjha?”

“If it pleases you,” Lakari told him, ducking his head.

The boy wore his mother’s visage, her round face, skin the color of honey, eyes like mountain frost. Not unpleasant. That much he remembered of her. He had sought long and chosen well among the lesser daughters of forgotten Houses with even less reputation than his own. Houses ancient and penniless and in dire need of his influence, and his wealth to elevate them above their equally disreputable peers. They were a breed apart in that region, given to all sorts of distasteful customs. Holdovers from a time in history scholars sought to rewrite. They would gladly have added him to their House, but such was not his desire. She… had hated him but done the bidding of her mother. A daughter, she added to her own House. A son, to his.

“Few things please me more than obedience. Do you understand obedience, Lakari?”

The boy bowed his head. “My blood, your will.”

Lonn Tirehl smiled. This one would do nicely. So much more compliant than the sons of his brothers. The Matriarch of Lakari’s House had taken pity on the girl and sought to end their transaction, offering secrets and riches and a coveted position as a physician in exchange for the boy, but it was a cup from which he no longer wished to drink. Endru Kynsei had robbed him of that desire long before.

“And will you love me?”

Lakari placed the incense on the floor, pressed his palms together, and touched them to his forehead. “I will worship you, my father.”

He tapped the boy’s chin, fingers spreading across the small face. “And will you die to increase my shirrasah?”

The boy answered more slowly that time. “Let it not be an easy death.”

At that, lonn Tirehl smiled. That which slumbered within him smiled too.