At Winter's Edge

The letter had been inked with the same pen Neza had wielded as a dagger. Broad strokes trickling into tapering descenders, splotches of oxblood ink derailing a sanctified ivory, and an abundance of threats - those were the works of Dara.

Her instructions were succinct yet convoluted, an illustration of the city of Sina that seemed to spiral to the clouds before being clipped by the well of ink that served as a stop. Neza wasn’t dreaming it up. Not when a gold-nibbed quill leached the colour from her face.

Once, she had existed in a pocket of time bathed in eternal sunshine as she chased Nahri through the congested hallways of Deroya, past a silver archway, and into a maze of hedges bursting with fattening roses that grazed their passing cheeks - a tender caress that promised to brush away tears and replace them with oud.

Once, Dara’s pen had been commanded by Neza, tasked to draw what she thought to be knights in armor and maidens sequestered in high-walled towers. Tangled limbs and spiked hair adorned with sickly flowers were what she’d managed to achieve. She later resorted to pretending it was a dagger, deeming it the more violently thrilling of the options.

“If Dara bought me more colours,” Her little self would often drawl between servings of overly-sweetened kheer made delectable by the presence of a fawning audience, “I would rival artists of the Zulfan court.”

Nevertheless, times had changed, and Neza found herself in the middle of a miserable city when the sun rose to kiss away darkness. And shadows walked the streets, biting at the heels of those who dared to venture past their thresholds with teeth of frost and moonlight. It was a wondrous time - when day was pinned beneath the claws of night.

The city of Sina had never seen a winter so dismal and cold, that was the conclusion its dwellers had mentioned dutifully in the neatly pressed and stamped letter the keeper of Deroya had received.

Dara had spent a minute skimming the dense letter before ridding Neza of her daily lessons and handing her a pack complete with dry crackers, apricot jam, and a leather skin canteen. She had been duly chastised for her general lack of competency, frowned upon in distaste as she readied her mare for the journey, and sent off with a nod.

She now smoothed a sleeve of her woollen coat. Grey, dull, and mournful. Perfect for blending into walls that sweated under blows of winter currents.

Despite the avalanche-graced corner Sina had nestled itself within - bordered by the unflinching Irtas range to the west and a sprawling route to the east - it didn’t shy away from dignifying historical records of Herah with its presence.

It appeared proud and quaint, even as alleyways often dusted in golden daylight lay bare against the chill of dawn and animals accustomed to basking in mid-winter sunshine found themselves perched by candle-lit windows.

Some lay in the slitted patches of light that escaped through doors of bustling storefronts, busying themselves with grooming or the exhausting task of wooing a bite of food from a wandering stranger.

Even the shadows steered clear of them, either afraid that feline teeth would prove sharper than their set of silver-lined ones or unwilling to partake in a duel contested by the exceptionally enthralled audience the animals found in a group of children.

It was that very group Neza was headed towards when a sudden pang of nausea made her realise that she’d crossed paths with one of the better ones.

These shadows - creatures - were known to be particularly vicious.

Rumours spoke of how they materialised before estranged children who frequented the town square in the dead of night, tossing them a golden coin marked with the sigil of Sujur and delighting in the blood-curdling scream that would tear from their throats.

Broken ribs. Bloody mouths. Missing teeth. Scarred souls.

Neza supposed that the shadows deeming her unworthy of attention ought to be a good omen. A tug at her arm, a whisper in her ear. She wondered whether they left her in disinterest or in fear. Even Nahri’s quick-witted tongue had questioned as much.

The cat entertaining the children was grey-furred. Hawkers’ shouts rent the air as they called for customers and bargained with stout women dressed in furs too thick for the winter gale. She clocked her surroundings, trying to find anything to distract her mind.

One of the children raised her head at Neza.

A scar cut across her lip and puckered the pale skin of her cheekbones. It was faint like a thread weaving through her face. Something lodged in Neza’s throat. She shoved it down until she remembered what she was here for.

Prepare the people.

Empty the city.

And wait.

The words were etched in her mind, fresh from years of rote learning. Neza also wondered why Dara bothered when she knew that there was little for the suyagis to do than what was instated.

“Where is your kul agas?” Neza softened her voice until it was a gentle breeze. The girl looked at her with glittering eyes. Neza sighed, “The big tree?” She was young, barely older than ten, but a city’s ash tree was a part of its heritage - a part of every fairytale spun around smokeless fire and carried through generations until it found itself at the tip of a writer’s finger.

The girl’s face perked into a blazing smile, “The old tree is by the lumber yard. I can take you there!” A crowd had assembled at the mouth of the alleyway. And the grey cat had disappeared, leaving behind another small crowd that was promptly eavesdropping.

“Why don’t all of you accompany me?” Fool, Neza barely bit back the word as the children swarmed her with grinning faces and sticky palms.

People filtered through the streets to catch a glimpse of her, to confirm the rumours that had sprouted wings and flown in through every narrowly cracked window in the city.

A suyagi had arrived. The threat was real. Men would soon begin shuttering their stores and mothers would sweep their children off the streets well before the sun would brush the horizon.

Neza drew her emerald hood over her head, hiding an unkempt mass of black curls underneath. The dusky skin of her hand muted the unnatural gleam of the scimitar she unsheathed and tucked across her back.

The herald of a battle was often held within dull stares and panicked whispers - in the quiet shuffling of feet and boarding of windows.

Dara had once allowed Neza along on a battle to the Drez fort, situated even further west and right in the frozen heart of the Irtas.

That battle had ended in her friend succumbing to wounds of unnatural infliction. Drawing her final breaths in a pool of her own blood while the frost injected itself into her veins and began the slow climb to her heart.

No one had believed Neza when she’d cried to Dara about her nightmares. Nightmares of Nahri in a rage so fierce she was consumed by it.

Neza herself didn’t want to believe it - not when her friend wore the expression of a stranger intent on destruction in her dreams.

~

The suyagis were protectors and gatekeepers. Women skilled with swords and books, hailing from the noblest of lineages, and daughters of cobblers.

They had to come to terms with a fact before they were welcomed to reside in Deroya - a fortress that was a relic of old Herah buried in the midland desert - a suyagi may never ask after why she was chosen to lead a predestined life, or why this life was chosen for her.

None defied the order of the suyagi, partly because it was simple, almost too simple, and often due to the fickle nature of time.

Deroya remained untouched by the callousness of time. Wrinkles marred the edges of faces and silver hair was left disheveled in the desert wind, but time was a servant here, called upon and dismissed on whim.

Suyagis needn’t fret about time. All they thought of was war.

And war tainted the air with a coppery tang as Neza tossed and turned beneath the ash tree.

She had forgone the tea suyagis were so fond of. It kept a person encased in the arms of slumber for well over half a day, and Neza didn’t bother with it because a horrendous thought had crossed her mind.

Forgoing sleep and remaining awake to greet whatever drew the suyagis to the ash trees, she was on the path to ruin.

Nahri did this, Her mind refused to let her sleep, you can do it too. Find what, who, killed her. Set her soul free.

Even though she chose to believe that Nahri was long gone, flitted away on a midsummer afternoon’s breeze into an everlasting sleep, the voice in her mind told her otherwise. And so, she had to stay awake. She had to seek vengeance.

Something stirred in the clearing behind her, a flurry of movement that set her heart alight.

Above her, kul agas was an ominous presence, sprawling over spindly trees in a dark, suffocating embrace. A beat thrummed within it, steady and palpable enough to set Neza’s head aching with fury.

Through her foggy thoughts, she caught a thread and wound it around her finger. It was a question - why was she expected to sleep through the night when her saviour was expected to arrive and cast the shadows into oblivion?

The pounding intensified until her ears began ringing. And then the shadows appeared.

Sujur was known for its lewd tricks and worse tricksters who often tipped the balance of nature precariously. Summoning that which was meant to be left to rest, harboring power greater than the body could wield, knowing more than one ought to. Their queen was the worst of them.

The hiyagi was once a part of Deroya before she fell to the lust of power. Legends spoke of her in hushed whispers, for she commanded shadows. And those who commanded shadows had little to fear when night fell.

Shadows.

A cold breeze wrapped around her ankle, and by when Neza realised it bore silver talons, a deep gash already had blood flowing from the wound, seeping through her emerald cloak and onto an exposed root of the tree.

Let me free. She spun around, dagger in hand.

Shadows surrounded the clearing, moving as one entity. When one received a cut from Neza’s scimitar, another balked in pain.

Let me free. Four sprung for her at once, and she lost her footing.

Let me free. A guttural snarl ripped through her throat, and she allowed the incessant voice in her head a chance.

Fine. Have it your way.

Neza felt a joint in her body pop before pain flooded her vision. Something writhed and exploded in a burst of white light.

And then, all she could hear were unearthly screams.

~

The girl sat frozen in fear as the body slumped against her breathed quietly.

In the darkness that preceded dawn, she had wanted to rush to the ash tree and meet the stranger again. Ask to hold her dagger and giggle over it. She counted every mistake she had made since the moment she awoke.

The figure that hurtled to save her from the claws of a shadow hadn’t been the suyagi’s - that’s what they called her. It was primordial, twisted at odd angles and positively terrifying.

It had saved her in all its horrific glory.

The suyagi burned colder than ice, her lips frosted over and skin shrivelled. Even in what appeared to be a deep sleep, her hands twitched towards her neck, and her own whispers brought it down.

“Are you alright?,” The girl managed to croak from underneath the creature’s - the suyagi’s - weight.

Stark white eyes looked into her brown ones.

“What is it, little one? Do your fairytales scare you?”