Page 120 of The Ninth Element

I can’t bear to look at him. I bite my lip and turn away, fixing my gaze on Lirael. Her eyes meet mine, and there’s no plea there. Only a cold, unwavering command, a steely expectation that brooks no argument. It’s as if she’s daring me to defy her, as if she’d drag me to that Nohvan herself if I hesitate.

“Zanyar of Firelands,” Lirael’s voice rings out with a clear, resonant command that cuts through the silence like a blade, though her eyes remain on me. “Make your choice.”

Zanyar doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He stands frozen, his gaze still locked on me. He shakes his head, urging me to reconsider and understand the consequences. It is as if he only now truly grasps the extent of Lirael’s power and the reason for her intervention, the reason for Emmengar’s command.

“Zanyar of Firelands,” Lirael repeats, her voice rising. “This is your last chance.”

Zanyar finally tears his gaze away from mine, turning to face Lirael. His face is a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred. His lips are pressed into a thin, white line of defiance, as if she, personally, is responsible for this entire predicament. He doesn’t answer. But his silence, alongwith his stare, speaks volumes.

“Very well, then,” Lirael says, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Olanna of Jamshah and Faelas of Izadeon. Make your choices.”

Olanna steps forward immediately with fierce determination in her eyes, but Faelas doesn’t move. He stands rooted to the spot. As Olanna walks toward the line of waiting Nohvans, all eyes swivel to Faelas.

Lila nudges him with a sharp jab of her elbow. “She called you,” she hisses.

Faelas nods curtly, acknowledging her, but his feet remain planted. Samira and Lila exchange shocked glances. Even Olanna, halfway to the Nohvans, pauses, turning back to stare at Faelas. Roshana, however, her face lights up with a dawning relief.

Olanna resumes her approach with tentative, almost fearful steps as if she expects the magnificent creature to lash out. When she reaches the Nohvan closest to us, she stops a few feet away, her body rigid with apprehension.

The Nohvan watches her calmly with assessing eyes. Our collective breath is held as we wonder what will happen next. From a distance, I see her lips moving, but she’s too far for us to hear. The Nohvan remains motionless, and its silence amplifies the tension.

Then, suddenly, it lowers its head, its long neck curving toward her. A collective gasp escapes us. But Olanna stands firm. I find myself silently cheering her on for her courage.

The Nohvan extends its neck further, bringing its massive head close to Olanna’s, almost eye-to-eye. It’s a moment of breathtaking intimacy, and for a terrifying second, I fear the worst, imagining that sharp, powerful beak piercing her flesh.

But the moment passes. The Nohvan retracts its head, and then, with a fluid grace, it bends its hind legs, lowering itself to the ground in an unmistakable invitation.

Olanna approaches the Nohvan, her movements initially tentative but gradually growing more confident. With care, almost reverence, she climbs onto its broad back, and then, with a powerful thrust of its wings, the Nohvan launches itself into the sky.

We all stare, our mouths agape, mesmerized by the sight of their soaringsilhouette against the dawn.

“Samira of Jamshah and Bahador of Izadeon,” Lirael’s sharp, commanding voice calls, interrupting the moment. “Make your choices.”

Samira eagerly steps forward, ready to join Olanna wherever the Nohvan has taken her. Bahador remains motionless, but his usual carefree demeanor is gone. He looks… nervous. The guy who seemingly never had a worry in the world seems to be grappling with a life-altering decision.

“Can I have a moment?” he addresses Lirael with an uncharacteristic tremble in his eyes.

Lirael looks amused by Bahador’s unexpected request. She appraises him for a moment before nodding her consent. Bahador then turns to Darian. “Darian, can we have a word?”

Darian’s brow furrows and Faelas’s expression is even more troubled. They follow Bahador a few steps away, but before they get too far, Bahador turns to me. “Arien, can you come too?”

Frowning, I follow them as they move a safe distance from the others. Once we’re out of earshot, Bahador stops abruptly, and Faelas explodes.

“What in the nine hells is going on, Bahador?” His voice is harsh and laced with frustration and an underlying fear—the fear of a plan gone awry.

Bahador, however, ignores Faelas’s outburst, turning to Darian. “I swore an oath to you, Darian. My life and my sword are yours. But above my personal loyalty to you is my duty to Izadeon and our people. And they’re suffering. They’ve suffered enough.” The usual jovial light in his eyes is gone, replaced by a stark, almost painful earnestness.

“What are you saying, Bahador?” Faelas interrupts, his voice sharp with rising panic. “Enough with the cryptic pronouncements! Get to the point!”

Bahador turns to Faelas. “I’ve always trusted your judgment, Faelas, your intellect. But sometimes, even the wisest among us must admit defeat. We came here with the belief that we had a secret weapon. The earth fragment. But Martysh knew all along. And they weren’t worried. Do you know why? Because they know it’s useless in our hands. We came here to learn how to wield its power, and all we’ve discovered is that they’ve known about our ‘secret’ for over a decade. We’re chasing shadows. We’re outmatched.”

“So what?” Faelas retorts, his voice tight with anger. “You’re suggesting we just… give up? Beg Martysh for help? After centuries of betrayal and broken promises?”

“No,” Bahador says, his voice firm as he meets Faelas’s furious gaze. “Not surrender. Alliance. We need allies, Faelas. And now,” he turns to Darian, “now that we know there are more fragments, and the Daevas are actively searching for them, Martysh is our only hope. If the sorcerous Daevas gain control of even one of those fragments and learn how to unlock its power, Izadeon is doomed. We all are. We can’t afford to wait another ten years clinging to the illusion that we can do this alone.” He takes a deep breath, his voice softening slightly. “I know you fear repeating the mistakes of your kin, Darian. But you’re not your ancestors. You have honor. You have loyalty. You care deeply about Izadeon, and its people. You can negotiate with Martysh. You can forge atruealliance. A partnership based on mutual respect and a shared goal: the survival of our people. We have to try.”

I stare at Bahador, speechless. His doubts during training and his veiled comments make sense now. Darian, however, is a statue. Not shocked, not angry, not anything. Just… steel. Hard, impenetrable. He looks like a High Lord in the making.

“And what, pray tell, are we supposed to exchange in this grand alliance?” Faelas practically spits the words. “Say it, Bahador! You want us to surrender the fragment. To hand over the one thing that might give us an advantage. You want us to surrender what my father died for… " He doesn’t finish. He’s too angry to finish.

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