Vessel

Fueled by the gods’ magic, Liyana propelled the sky serpents across the mountains and then beyond, a hundred miles west over empty desert. She let the wind die, and she flew her soul back to the clans and the army, leaving the sky serpents far behind her.

They will return to their mountains, Bayla said. It is how we made them. They must guard the lake.

When they return, they will find no one to kill, Liyana said. She spun the wind again, and this time she aimed it down at the army and the clans. She ripped through the sands, splitting the clans from the army.

She added more whirlwinds. It felt like stirring a soup with her finger. She guided each one carefully, using the wind to gently separate the combatants. She plucked a soldier up midbattle and blew him north to his encampment, and she removed a desert man from the encampment and returned him to the clan tents. She scooped up a clump of desert children and delivered them safely away from an advancing soldier, and then she delivered the soldier to his army. Jarlath helped direct her, pointing out his people and steering her toward them. After nearly an hour of intense concentration, she had corralled the empire’s army with their tents and the clans with theirs.

She then broadened the wind and blew the entire army eastward, across the desert and into the hills, over the border, and into the Crescent Empire. She left them on a golden plain—soldiers, horses, tents, and all.

Done, she returned to the clans. She narrowed her focus to locate the Horse Clan god. She found him, a spiky soul mounted on a bleeding horse. She sent words toward him, wrapping her thoughts in magic as if they were a summoning chant. Sendar, tell the clans that it is over. Tell them to leave the mountains before the sky serpents come back. Tell them to return to their oases and their lives.

You? His voice was as loud as a horse’s bray. You eliminated the sky serpents?

I am not alone, she said simply. She sank back toward the valley where her body waited. She felt herself lying in the grasses, sun on her skin and the smell of flowers around her. The voices within her faded. She reached for them. . . . The magic felt like a tiny pool inside her. What’s happening?

You have done well, vessel, Bayla said.

Wait! I do not understand—

Jarlath, listen for your voice. It chants for you. Follow it, Bayla said. To Liyana she said, Do not be angry with Korbyn. Or yourself.

She lost the feel of the wind inside of her. She no longer touched the valley or the mountains or the desert. She had her own human arms and legs again. Bayla—

The feel of the deities was faint, like a whisper on skin. It has been an honor, Bayla said. An uncomfortable honor, perhaps, but still . . . You were worthy of me.

And then they were gone.

* * *

Liyana woke to silence. She felt the earth on her back, and she stared up at the sky. It was day, and the bleached blue sky was empty. The sky serpents were gone. Bayla? Jarlath? Anyone?

Only quiet, inside and out.

She inhaled and felt her ribs expand. She ached in every muscle. Stretching, she tested her arms and legs. She clenched and unclenched her hands. She was whole and alive. But she felt as empty as the sky.

“Liyana.” Jarlath’s voice. Close. Outside her.

She turned her head. He lay beside her in the grass. He reached out his hand, and his fingers twined around hers. “You’re alive,” she said.

“As are you.”

Cheek against the ground, she smelled the dirt and the grass. She also smelled flowers, sweet as honey. She watched Jarlath as he pushed himself up to sitting. She saw his eyes widen and his lips part. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then shut it, wordless.

Gingerly she also pushed herself up to sitting. “Oh, sweet goddess,” she said.

The lake was dry.

All that remained was a perfect oval of jewel-like pebbles. On its edge, Mulaf’s body lay facedown where he had fallen into the water. Liyana rose and walked, her legs shaking like a newborn calf, to the shore. She didn’t look at Mulaf.

“Liyana, don’t—”

Kneeling, she laid her hands palms down on the pebbles. She felt only dry stones.

She heard Jarlath walk over the pebbles and halt behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders. Picking up the pebbles, she held them in her palm. She rolled them so that they sparkled in the sun, and then she let them drop onto the lake bed. They pinged as they hit, and then rolled until they settled. She stood and walked across the pebbles to what was once the center of the lake.

“It’s gone,” she said. She heard her voice, and it sounded as empty as she felt. Breathing deeply, she tried to concentrate, to drop herself into the familiar trance and picture the lake to draw its magic—but she saw only a memory and felt nothing.

She tried again. And again.

“The magic is gone,” she said. She wondered if the gods had known this would happen. If she had realized that—oh no, she thought. “The gods . . .” She saw a shape in the grass, lying still. She ran toward it. She barely heard Jarlath follow her.

She collapsed in the grass next to Korbyn’s body. Hand shaking, she touched his face. He felt cold. Like touching the pebbles. She drew her hand back. She stared at his chest as if she could will it to rise and breathe! But he did not move.

She sat there for a long time. Silent, Jarlath sat beside her.

At last she and Jarlath carried Korbyn to the lake. They laid him in the center and piled pebbles on him to bury him. Without tools it was the best they could do. Liyana cried silently as she piled the pebbles higher and higher.

After, they buried Mulaf in the same way.

When they finished, the sky was gray. Liyana stood between the two mounds of rocks in the dry lake bed, and she looked across the green expanse of the valley, shadowed by the cliffs. Birds were calling to one another from the trees. She wondered if they had eggs in their nests. She’d seen plants with berries and a few of the trees looked as though they had fresh dates. Others had nuts, and others she recognized had edible bark. She could fashion new waterskins out of snakeskins—this valley had to have snakes. And they could find water within the succulent plants and cacti.

Quietly Jarlath asked, “What are you thinking?”

“He wanted us to live,” Liyana said.

She took his hand, and they walked out of the lake.

Epilogue Three years later . . .

The sky serpents circled above the mountains. Glass scales split the sun into a thousand shards of colors, and their wings reflected the blueness of the morning sky. Liyana kept an eye on them as she urged Gray Luck up the slope.

Behind her she heard the clan warriors and the imperial soldiers jostle for position. She didn’t have to look back to know that the more sure-footed desert horses had taken the lead.

She crested the top of the ridge and reined in Gray Luck. She looked down into the valley. Green cascaded from the rock slopes and stopped where the pebbles began. The lake was still an oval of pebbles.

“I thought that the valley would have died without the lake,” Jarlath said beside her.

She didn’t answer. Instead she coaxed Gray Luck to descend. The horse trampled flowers and bushes as she