A Song of Wraiths and Ruin (A Song of Wraiths and Ruin #1)(11)
“Nadia, let’s go,” commanded Leila, who was already beginning to turn away when Nadia blurted out, “I want to go to Ziran!”
The griot’s lips curled into a smile that showed too many teeth. “Then you shall have your wish!”
Nyeni looked Malik straight in the eye. So quickly he might have imagined it, her eyes turned a vibrant bright blue, the color of a too-hot flame.
Then a roar thundered through the air.
The chipekwe that had been sleeping so peacefully just seconds before reared back, pulling its lead out of the hands of its shocked handler. Several soldiers rushed forward to placate the beast, but it simply crushed them underfoot, no more bothered than a human stepping on an ant.
The chipekwe lowered its plated head, and with another roar, it barreled straight into the Western Gate. A spiderweb of cracks splintered the dark wood, sending the people below ducking for cover. On second impact, a massive hole tore through the center of the gate, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop the chipekwe from charging into the newly open path to Ziran.
For several tense seconds, nobody moved.
And then the stampede began.
The refugees and travelers and all the others who had been turned away from the city burst through its walls with the intensity of a typhoon. The crowd was too massive for the size of the street the gate opened into, and the onslaught quickly devolved into trampling and shoving as everyone fought to make it inside.
With no time to think, Malik picked up Nadia and ran alongside the frantic flow of the crowd. A man beside them fell to the ground and grabbed for Malik’s ankle, nearly pulling Malik and Nadia down with him. Malik kicked at the man’s face, nausea rising in his stomach at the blood that welled up beneath his foot, but still he ran.
“Leila!” Malik yelled, but there were no signs of his older sister within the crush of people. “Leila!”
Urgent drumbeats pealed out, summoning more soldiers to the area, and the frenzy pumped energy into Malik’s travel-fatigued muscles. Moving away from the fury of the drums, he swung a hard right and burst into Jehiza Square.
At least, Malik assumed it was Jehiza Square. Of all the stories Nana had told him about Ziran, only one place in the city was as chaotic as the area they had now entered.
An enormous cloth lion puppet manned by a troupe of performers roared in Malik’s face, and he careened backward, nearly crashing into a stand frying fragrant balls of nutmeg dough. From somewhere to his left, a donkey brayed, and a team of fire dancers tossed their torches into the air, the embers bright against the purpling sky.
In the center of the square, a massive pile composed of all sorts of everyday items—bits of broken chairs, wagon wheels, cracked stones, rusted jewelry, dented buckets, and so much more—gazed over the festivities like a watchful sentry. The one-winged gryphon of Ksar Alahari flew from every surface, its beak open in a triumphant scream.
“Where are you going, little brother?” called a man with a dancing monkey on a chain as Malik raced by. “Stay and play with us!”
Malik turned on his heel, nearly crashing into a sheep pen and earning a string of curses from its furious shepherd. They flew from the pen only to get pulled into a large dance circle, at the center of which a performer sporting a stone mask sang a throaty prayer to the ancestors and the Great Mother thanking them for the festival about to occur.
Drums boomed and flutes trilled. Sweat and smoke and roasting meat and sweet saffron and overripe fruit filled the air, muddling all of Malik’s senses. The light from the lanterns bathed every face in shadows until he could hardly tell one figure from the next as they pushed and pulled him and Nadia along with the frantic flow of the celebration.
It was just like Nana had described.
It was a nightmare.
Someone grabbed Malik’s shoulder, and he almost screamed, but Leila’s face popped into view, disheveled but very much alive.
“There you are! Come on!”
The three of them turned into a small street free of commotion and passed by a slanted establishment with a picture of a seal in mid-dance painted on the door. Malik didn’t see the girl who walked into his path until they’d already collided.
They crashed to the ground, Malik angling himself so that Nadia slammed against him instead of the hard stone. The force of the collision sent the world tilting to the side, but there was no time to waste. After checking that Nadia was unharmed, he picked himself up and pulled his sister to her feet.
“Sorry!” yelled Malik.
The girl’s hands flew to her brown headscarf, pulling it tighter around her chin. The simple cut of her djellaba suggested she was only a servant, but her amber eyes held a ferocity that made Malik flinch. Eyes like a lion, he thought. Dark brown skin, like warm earth after the first spring rain, broad nose, full lips. Another girl stood beside her, and behind them both was a Sentinel. The warrior leveled her dark gaze on him, and Malik froze. Luckily, Leila tugged him behind the restaurant, and they dove down a small path partially hidden by a thick bolt of fabric. He gave a silent apology to the girl he’d knocked over for leaving her with a Sentinel; her fate was in the hands of the Great Mother now.
Malik had no idea where they were or how far they had run. The roads had narrowed into a labyrinth of barely human-width paths with thousands of twists and turns, and wraiths crawled in every corner, their eyes two dots of moonlight in shadow dark faces. The ground beneath Malik’s feet tilted, and Nadia yelled as they swayed to the side.