Epilogue

She sat on a stone ledge that had been the dais of a grand temple, overlooking the silent ruins of a once majestic city. The vast web of streets all leading to this hill were desolate as dried tributaries, cut off from their source long ago. The gentle hues of the setting sun cast a veil of lingering dignity over the ancient kingdom, and she remembered again the breathtaking splendor of this place as she had seen it in a brief, borrowed memory. The weight in her heart only grew heavier with the irrefutable knowledge that this was all that was left. The pure light of this city had long since gone out, and she was too late.

The sun was setting on the fifteenth day, the end of another race against death, the second impossible challenge she had desperately taken upon her shoulders. She had lost this time, and others would have to pay the price.

She curled up in the shadow of a towering column that had once held up a sacred temple of healing. The faded symbol of a sun was carved into the stone above her head, a forlorn reminder of the power that had once flowed in abundance to save those in the grasp of death. Somehow her eyes were as dry as the outlying desert when she lay down and locked herself within the husk of sleep.

...

Not all was destroyed on the Day of Shadows. Seek the light that escaped the darkness…

She stood alone before the crumbled walls of Helinth, the entrance to a city she had only seen in small, wondrous glimpses. The foundations lay in piles of rubble as far as she could see; the battle over the divine power at the inner sanctuary of the temple had left nothing intact, tearing stone from mortar and sealing the city as a mass grave.

The kingdom was larger than Agrabah, and for a moment she faltered at the daunting task before her. She had two weeks to wander debris-strewn streets with no guide and no clues other than the latest vague riddle the seer had left her with. She did not even know if anyone still lived here or cared to pass by.

But she had to try nonetheless. Fashir had enough faith in her to entrust her with this task and grant her his protection. Mirage would not be able to detect her presence while she worked to mend the wrong she had unwittingly caused. Fifteen hundred lives hung in the balance, and she could not fail.

She picked her way through abandoned streets with urgency and purpose. The temple stood on a hill in the distance, the centerpiece of the once famed kingdom. Whatever Fashir had told her to look for would most likely be there. Perhaps there was still some remnant of power that Destane had not taken, hidden somehow by the sultana. Or perhaps there were people there who held answers, who could help in stopping the black sand from devouring more innocent souls. She moved faster at the thought that maybe this was how Mozenrath could be changed, if he returned to the ruins of his city and saw that not all had been lost, that the light still lived and there was still time to take the path his mother had prophesied at his birth.

At the end of the first day she managed to reach the foot of the hill, and had to rest. She drew her cloak around herself as night fell, and wondered if she were truly the only living being in the entire city.

...

The suspicious sound of rustling cloth woke her in the middle of the night. Keeping still, she opened her eyes a crack and saw the vague outline of someone crouched over her discarded cloak. She must have cast it aside in her sleep.

The stranger was small and thin, by all appearances a child. He was rummaging through the pockets of her cloak, and soon found there was nothing there. Shoulders slumped in disappointment, he stepped back and began to slink away.

She sat up then and grabbed one scrawny wrist, holding firm when he immediately began to struggle.

"Stop," she ordered, and winced when nails scratched at her forearm in desperation. The stranger did not respond, staying silent as he fought to break free. She swept one foot against his ankle and tripped him easily. In a second she stood over him and held both of his hands together.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said. "I just want you to tell me what you know about this place."

He ceased struggling and stared up at her blankly. Something in her heart twisted as she saw how young he was, scraggly hair framing a gaunt face, ribs clearly visible under a thin ragged shirt.

"I'll give you some food if you just sit here with me for a while," she said, and drew out some of the provisions the seer had given her. She had kept them separate from her cloak, and apparently the boy hadn't seen them. "Do you have family here?"

He shook his head and squirmed, trying to loosen her hold. She released him and he scrambled back hastily, bare feet scraping against rubble. Not breaking eye contact, she offered him a piece of bread. Wide eyes darted from her face to her hand and in another second he snatched it, shot to his feet and vanished into the darkness.

She sat still for a long moment before drawing her cloak around herself again. Lying down, she stared at the ground where the starving boy had just been.

...

She searched the massive ruins of the temple for two days, moving as fast as she dared when some of the structures looked like they might collapse if she so much as touched them. She climbed carefully into the hidden recesses of the ancient building, using the little sunlight that filtered down through the cracks to explore. The walls were covered in old carvings and embellishments scoured to obscurity by the elements. She direly wished she had some sense of magic to be able to tell if she was anywhere close to her elusive goal, and more than once she called on the seer for guidance. Each time she felt foolish standing in the utter silence following her pleas. He would not answer her. She moved on nonetheless, determined that the task he had given her was indeed possible to accomplish. She just had to look harder, think harder, keep her focus and remember what was at stake.

At the end of the second day, she sat on the main stairs leading up to the temple entrance, unable to walk any further without risk of falling from weariness. She massaged her sore legs methodically, looking over the empty city. There had to be something here, but Fashir was never obvious in his directions. Perhaps the secret did not lie in the temple after all.

The palace was an hour's walk away. From her vantage point on the hill, the wide towers appeared somewhat intact, though the gates lay in a smashed heap. She thought of the boy she had seen two nights before and wondered if she would find more people there.

Her tired legs protested when she tried to stand. She sat back down heavily and brushed her hair back from her face. She would make the trek in the morning. There was still time. She needed to rest.

She lay awake for a long while, wondering how often Mozenrath returned here, if he ever did at all.

...

There were people living in the ruins of the palace.

The chambers and halls that had not collapsed had become makeshift homes for silent, sullen-eyed youths who watched her warily when she approached. She tried to smile, a foreign act after days of solitude. Their eyes automatically went to the pouch she carried, and she tightened her grip on it. Her food supply was running low, though she had rationed it carefully. But she fought against the instinct of self-preservation, knowing what she had to do.

She sat down near them, and over the course of a meager meal she gradually discovered where they were from, why they had ventured to this desolate place, and who else was here.

They had brought their parents and aging relatives and friends, loved ones who were in dire need of help that the physicians they had sought out could not provide. Some had merely been unable to afford any care, and in their desperation they had journeyed here, knowing the reputation the city had once had for its divine healing magic. Though all of them were well-acquainted with the dark rumors that the kingdom was haunted with the ghosts of the slain and even with the ravenous spirit of the black sand itself, they had come here anyway in the hope that some remnant of Helios' magic still existed. For there were other rumors as well, rumors that Destane had not managed to take all of the god's power, that some of it still remained after the royal family or the high priest had hidden it somewhere safe.

Her heartbeat quickened when she heard this, realizing they were after the same thing. But it was obvious from their defeated countenance that they had not found it, and likely doubted that it was real.

She asked them why they stayed, and they were quiet, looking away with a mix of veiled anger and grief. The unspoken answer sank in. They had nowhere else to go.

One replied in soft cynicism. It was better than nothing, he said, because there were visitors who passed by sometimes and used magic to make death less painful, though they could not actually break its hold on their loved ones.

She asked who these visitors were. The youths looked at each other and shrugged.

They never gave their names, the same boy answered.

...

After she had gained their trust, one of them allowed her to see his dying sister. She followed him into a small chamber that had probably been part of the servants' quarters. Her heart crumbled at the sight of the tiny girl, skin shriveled and pale, eyes unseeing. She held her hand, as fragile as a young bird's, and sat there in numb silence. An unvoiced whisper for the seer's presence passed repeatedly through her lungs, yet he still did not reveal himself. She shut her eyes and clamped down on the despair that threatened to take hold of her. She was beginning to feel as abandoned as the people here, helpless at the creeping hands of death.

She managed a smile before she left the girl's side, trying to impart hope that she did not have. The girl stared at her blankly in response.

"When will the healers come again?" she asked the boy once they were outside the room.

He didn't know.

...

It was already the second week of her search when she ran across the starving child who had tried to steal from her the first night. Her listless journey through each street and house had led her to his home, a mansion that had presumably belonged to a noble family before it had been emptied of life. An old man squinted at her from behind the door after the boy had darted inside out of fear. She held out her last bit of food as a peace offering before he opened the door wide enough for her to enter.

...

"We are waiting for the healers. One of them, a woman, cared for my grandson when he wandered too far into the temple ruins and took a nasty fall. He still has a scar, here. Show her, Iliom.

"This time I will ask them to help me. I am old and weak, and now I am sick. There is no medicine or magic where we come from. I do not know where the healers go when they leave. They do not tell anyone, and no one can find them. So I wait here, trusting they will return soon.

"Then I will take Iliom out of this dead city. He is strong and growing, but has nothing to eat.

"Thank you for sharing your food with us. The healers would look with favor on you."

...

Her heart was leaden when she returned to the palace. There was little time left and she had not found anything. The mysterious healers had not yet come to the city, and she could do nothing but wait.

She had nothing to give her silent companions this time, and they sat together in weariness and hunger. At some point she began to talk, to tell them the reason she had come here. They looked at her with mild skepticism as she spoke of the black sand and sacrifice. Some of them rose to their feet in alarm, but she reassured them that the city was not likely in danger, as few knew there was anyone still living here.

The time of payment drew nearer as a blade suspended over the neck of the condemned. She could almost feel the slice of metal through skin and bone, and spent her nights outside, beseeching the empty air for the answers she so desperately needed. She slumped down in defeat in the end, still alone and without the counsel of the old seer who had sent her here. Helplessness crippled her anger, and she could only sit with arms curled tightly around her knees, waiting for the inevitable, a miraculous deliverance or the whistling fall of the blade.

...

The sun rose in passive brilliance, and she stared at the glint of gold and orange over the great fallen monuments across the city.

She closed her eyes and tried to block out the imagined screams and stains of red. With practice, she reduced her vision to a single shade of black.

She stood and began the long trek down from the ruined temple, not thinking of where she could go now, hardly seeing at all.

It was almost expected when she stumbled on weakened legs and blurring vision, the slope seeming to tilt as she pitched forward. There was a sharp pain in her skull where it met stone, and the black returned.

...

"…any later and…"

"…matters is, we found…"

"…not lost…never thought…alive…"

"…have to wait. First we have to—"

"She's coming to. Give me water."

She tried to open her eyes and the throbbing pain in her head intensified. A warm hand touched the side of her forehead and the pain dulled somewhat.

"Easy," a woman's voice said gently above her. "It's alright."

"Healer?" she managed to whisper.

There was a pause. "Yes. And you are—"

"Give her some time, Elana," a male voice said.

Jasmine opened her eyes and looked up into the hopeful face of a woman several years older than her, short black hair barely touching her shoulders. Her dark eyes were full of concern as she passed her hand over Jasmine's forehead again.

"You need water," she said simply, and tilted a flask to her lips. "Drink."

Her surroundings filtered in slowly as she obeyed. It seemed she was inside another room in the palace, one that was in better shape than any she had seen thus far. The ceiling was fully intact and there was a thin mattress beneath her. She made an effort to sit up, wanting to see who else was in the room.

The man who had spoken stepped forward and supported her with a hand on her back. She looked at him in brief confusion, trying to place the light-colored hair and scholarly face.

"Mother, will she be okay?" a child's voice said.

She turned and saw a boy who could not be older than ten standing behind the woman.

"Yes, Lukas, she'll be fine," the woman replied, not taking her eyes off Jasmine. A tentative smile touched her worried features. "It is truly a miracle."

"A miracle indeed," the man echoed, looking curiously into Jasmine's eyes. "I don't expect you know who we are?"

Jasmine shook her head, trying to sort out what was happening beyond the obvious fact these people were the healers she had heard about. Hope surged in her heart as she realized there might still be time for them to help, to fight against the black sand somehow.

"I've been waiting for you," she said, her voice hoarse from dehydration. "I need your help."

The smile on the woman's face grew warm, some elusive joy held in reserve. "We will do whatever we can to help you. But first, I must know your name."

She hesitated for a second. "Jasmine."

The woman nodded. "My name is Elana. He is Elin, and this is my son, Lukas."

Again the man's face struck her as vaguely familiar, but she could not remember where she had seen him. Her eyes returned to the woman and she realized that Elana was somehow familiar as well.

"Thank you for healing me," Jasmine said. "Have we…met before?"

"We have not," Elana said. "But it must have been fated that we would, a blessing beyond what I have ever imagined. There is much we may learn from each other."

Jasmine stared at her in confusion as Elana took her hands with reverence. Her dark eyes shone.

"My brother, Morathai. Is he well?"

She could not breathe for a moment.

Not all was destroyed on the Day of Shadows. Seek the light that escaped the darkness…

The true meaning of the seer's parting message struck her as a current of lightning. The survivors of Helinth…the familiarity in Elana's long-lashed eyes, the delicate frame of her face…

"Mor…Morathai," she repeated shakily. She was trembling, unable to control the pounding of her own heart. "How did you know…?"

Elana's voice drew lower in a joyful whisper.

"You are carrying his child. The heir to the throne of Helinth."

The world faded to nothingness for a brief eternity as she absorbed those words. Her heart seemed to fail her in sudden weakness, crippled by disbelief, wonder, and utter terror. They had…she had…

"Don't be afraid," Elana said soothingly, seeing the fear so starkly written on her face. "You have brought joyous news to me and all those who survived the destruction of our city. My brother lives. The prophecy is true."

"Prophecy?" she asked faintly.

."He was not lost to death and darkness," Elana said, voice gaining strength with each word. "Our mother's dream was not a lie. He lives, and the power of Helios lives on in him."