Page 47 of The Final Strife

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Sylah wished her hands were free so she could push the heel of her palm into her eyes. The girl was crazy.

“Where are all my joba seeds?”

“Oh, I threw them out the window.”

Sylah’s mouth clamped shut.

“What were you doing here?” Anoor continued.

“You threw my joba seeds out of the window?”

“Yes, I said that already.” She cocked her head at Sylah.

The growl started deep in Sylah’s throat and worked its way into her limbs. She buckled and thrashed her way toward Anoor, who suddenly scuttled away, faster than anyone would have thought she could.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it.” Her screech was wild, but not as wild as Sylah. “They will kill you, don’t you understand?”

Slowly Sylah began to quieten. Her knees turned to jelly, and her muscles wouldn’t move when she commanded them. The water, the fucking water. The girl had put something in it.

“Whachyagivmeh?” Her spittle showered the carpet, followed by her head, then darkness.


Where was she? She felt dark and small. She reached for Papa. No, he was dead. Dead and gone.


He was coming for her. Loot. He was chasing her down with his bare hands. She didn’t mean to win. Yes, she did. She needed to win, to save them. His yellow suit morphed into manicured nails, filed to a point. No, not nails. Spider legs with razor-blade feet. He scuttled up her skin, slashing her down to the bone. Blood poured out of her into wine goblets that the wardens drank. She tried to scream but instead vomit bubbled out of her mouth into the bucket beside her. The bucket was already half full. Her whole body convulsed with each retch, as if her organs were trying to claw their way out.


She was a baby. She recognized the shapes around her, but she knew it couldn’t be a memory.

Mama and Papa stood in the shadow of the Keep, but she wasn’t in Lio’s arms. Instead they held an empty bundle of cloth. The hole where the baby’s face should have been leaked blue blood. It oozed and trickled onto the ground, the ground where Sylah lay. She felt the absence from the cloth so keenly, she wailed and cried and flung her fatty limbs. But they couldn’t hear her.

Azim and Lio’s gaze never moved from the building above.


She was scattered across the land, little bits of her. She hurt and ached and waited. Then as the moon rose, she rose. Ferocious and beautiful, she pirouetted through the city of Nar-Ruta. Devouring and cleansing all she touched. Because she was the tidewind, and she was here to destroy.


A girl stood above her. She remembered her name. Anoor. She held a wet cloth to Sylah’s face, concern dampening her pretty eyes. Sylah tried to be scared. Tried to be angry. But instead, she let her poisoner tend to her and went back to sleep.


There was something different, something missing. Sylah felt it in the way the air moved around her.

“You’re awake.” Anoor sat on a stool next to the bucket, which had been thankfully empty for some time.

“What did you poison me with?” Sylah asked.

Anoor looked hurt.

“Poison you? I gave you a drug to aid your withdrawal. With the amount of joba seeds you had in your pocket, I knew it’d be bad.” She dragged her perch closer. “Kwame, he’s a friend of mine from the kitchens, he had a cousin who went through the same thing, so he helped me make the draft. Two parts milk honey, one part verd leaf, a dash of vinegar, and a lot of water to flush it through.”

Sylah lost interest halfway through the story. Thankfully, she was no longer bound, so she was able to throw in a yawn.


Tags: Saara El-Arifi Fantasy