The Hour of the Crow

Chapter 39: To Die with Honor

In the end, everyone had a choice. A choice of who they wanted to be. Good or bad. Noble or selfish. Alive or dead.

Primsharah, the only home Arran had ever known, was on fire. People he had known his entire life were dying or already dead. Even the Shah's short display of strength after the sphere had broken wasn't enough to make the cultists take to their heels. As soon as Rabyatt regained his composure, Shah Musajah Adelhari the Third would be a king with barely a kingdom to rule over anymore.

His daughter stood with her back straight and her jaw set amidst it all, a true commander of her people. But then Rabyatt reduced Inna's formidable powers to a wisp of harmless smoke with a single snap of his fingers. It was at that moment that Arran realized what was happening. And he realized that this was his moment to choose.

He held the power of a thousand lives and deaths in his hands. He could end this with one wish.

The magical bond with Inna faltered, then righted itself as she gritted her teeth and kept pouring more of herself into him. It was borrowed time; life had given up on him already, but she hadn't. And he could see how it weakened her, at a time when she needed her strength the most. Although he loathed to agree with Rabyatt, the prince was right about this at least: Inna was a leader of many, so she couldn't risk betting every last drop of her magic on just one man.

Biting his lip, Arran dipped his chin to study the Amulet. So many possibilities hidden into one simple object. Was his life really worth the cost of letting the Cult get away with their crimes yet again? Even if Inna refused to see the truth, he did now. No matter how many times he shut his eyes, it kept staring at him with its blazing eyes, unpalatable and undeniable.

He clutched the Amulet in his right hand and released the breath that had been building up in his lungs. Rabyatt's and the Shah's voices faded to an indistinct hum. On the inside of his closed eyelids, where darkness should have been, two crimson eyes blinked at him.

What is it that you want, master?

Onshra's voice was softer now, a hesitant breeze against his mind. Arran's heart fluttered, though not in a pleasant way. I want to make my last wish.

And what wish will that be?

Yes, what would it be? It wasn't too late yet; he could still save himself. Wouldn't it be a noble deed to free a god who had been trapped for three centuries? Would it be nobler than saving a city?

He scowled. The answer was simple: no. Because if Arran released Onshra now, he would do it for all the wrong reasons, out of selfish motives and without any guarantee that the god would actually help him once he was free from his shackles. Arran had never cared the slightest bit about the gods and this last month's events hadn't changed that. He was fairly sure Onshra knew it too.

I can save your home, the djinn said. Or I can kill Prince Rabyatt for you. Say the word, and I will leave none of them whole.

Arran shuddered. The curse took advantage of his momentary slip, for his head spun and a burst of pain wrenched his tendons. For an agonizing moment, he felt as though he would fall apart like a broken toy. Thick fluid frothed on his lips as his stomach roiled, yet nothing came up when he retched. More than a day had passed since he'd last eaten. Still, the taste of iron in his mouth made him even more nauseous.

I'm going to die.

He hadn't meant for the god to hear that thought, but now that the connection between their minds had been opened, it seemed that it was impossible to hide anything from him.

Yes, you are, Onshra confirmed. His tone reflected no compassion, no emotion at all. Still, Arran felt oddly comforted by the statement, as if he had been stalling to hear the truth for too long.

He gathered the last scraps of his courage to ask the dreaded question that had lain on the tip of his tongue for a while. If I die now, will the Judges of Souls deem me worthy of entrance to your realm?

Amusement filled the silence, as clear as the cold wind that stroked his face. You will have to ask them. I only guard the dead and make sure no one tries to drag them away from their peace.

He swallowed. Perhaps this was the price of the djinn's last wish: uncertainty about his fate. Opening his eyes to a slit, he peered at Inna. She was eyeing Rabyatt, her fists clenching and unclenching in anticipation of another attack. If the Hound of Cinders, the terrible beast chained in the earth's core, was to devour Arran's undeserving soul, he would have to make it a worthwhile sacrifice. Inna still believed in Primsharah, believed she could make it better than the shitty place it had been for Arran all of his life. And he believed in her.

In that case, I'll give the Hound a good stomachache.

A strange sensation scraped his brain, tickled his thoughts. Intrigued and a tad worried, Arran realized it was laughter.

You are brave, Arran Dir Aktha, Onshra said. But are you brave enough?

Arran nodded to himself. Although a part of him recoiled, clinging to each breath and heartbeat with longing, the unspoiled side of him that made him a son, a brother and a friend felt more certain with every passing second that this was how it was supposed to go. After all, hadn't Zohra predicted countless deaths for him, and only one fate where he lived? Maybe that one fate had never been meant to pass at all.

He lowered his gaze. According to Zohra's visions, Inna had been his only chance of survival. But what Zohra hadn't known was that the princess had done so much more for him: with her fierce heart, she had shown him what it was like to have a purpose, to mean something more to other people. She had shown him love and the various forms it could take on. She had given him hope. In the end, that hope had been what truly saved his soul.

He pressed the Amulet to his lips and started murmuring. "My last wish is for Onshra, God of Death, Destroyer of Worlds, to become Primsharah's real patron deity for eternity. Imprisoned or free, in whatever shape or condition he appears, Onshra will bind himself to Primsharah's royal house and protect its members as well as their citizens from any kind of danger, threat, person or power that intends to harm them as a people. That includes threats within the borders."

He paused, mentally going over every word to see if he hadn't forgotten anything. No loopholes could be permitted with a wish of such large-scale impact. Closing his eyes, he sighed.

"Forgive me," he muttered.

When he opened his eyes again, Inna was staring at him, her mouth slightly open. A boy with dark hair who was probably her brother, given their resemblance, whispered something to her. Her pupils widened.

Arran smiled, slowly, letting every conflicted, wonderful thought he'd ever had about her shimmer through on his face. She would understand, if not now, then one day. With his tongue tied but his gaze open, he told her that. He told her everything.

He saw the panic hit her like a slap in the face. With a wild look in her eyes, she launched herself at the cultists who stood in her way. Her magic slammed against his aura, branching out until it enveloped him wholly. Their hearts beat in time; the pump of Inna's blood resonated within his own veins. They shared a long breath. In that moment, they were not two beings but one, who lived in perfect synchrony.

Onshra's patience had reached its limits. What price will you pay for that wish, Arran?

Inna reached out to him, sinews taut and rolling across the back of her hand as she spread her fingers.

"The price ..." Arran began, holding her gaze.

"Arran, no!"

"... is my life."

His bond with Inna snapped.