And as it had twelve years ago, darkness waited for her. Not the shallow red-lined black of exhaustion, but a deep and icy pit that fell forever.
“Leave her alone!”
She flinched at the shout and opened her eyes. A mottled gray-green face hovered close to hers, white hair tangling in an invisible wind. A gangshi. She might have known-spirits that feed on suffering would love the site of a massacre. What a feast she must be. Xinai flinched again, stronger, jerking awkwardly away from the gangshi’s gaping hungry mouth and empty eyes. A charm bag pulsed and throbbed around her neck.
A woman lunged between her and the spirit, a blur of black hair and shining kris-blade. Xinai scrambled back on all fours, fetching up against a twist of banyan trunks. Her dagger trembled in her hand and she coughed as she drew a deep breath. A few more heartbeats and the gangshi would have drunk down all her pain and fear, and her life with it.
Her vision grayed and she leaned against the tree for strength. Her face was slick with salt and snot and her back burned with phantom wounds.
“It’s gone now,” the woman whispered, turning back to Xinai. And then, even softer, “You’re back. I knew you would come home.” Her voice was wind in leaves, water through river-reeds; the sound sliced through Xinai, deeper than Assari whips could ever reach.
The woman stood over her, watching with lightless eyes. Her hair hung in snarls around her narrow face, her clothes in tatters. Her skin was ashen, paler than the earth beneath her feet. Xinai’s charm bag hummed against her chest.
“I knew you’d come.” The ghost stepped forward and passed through a hanging root. Xinai couldn’t speak as the dead woman knelt before her. Her throat was slashed; the wound gaped when she moved, flashing bone white as pearls amid ruined flesh and crusted blood.
“Don’t you recognize me, child?”
Xinai’s dagger dropped to the dust. Her vision blurred again, glazed with fresh tears.
“Mother-” The word broke on a wet hiccup.
Shaiyung Lin smiled a sad, terrible smile and stretched out a cold gray hand to stroke her daughter’s cheek.
“They showed me-They made me see-” She choked on snot. The gangshi’s trap had undone all her defenses and she could only sob, helpless as she’d been twelve years ago.
“Don’t worry,” Shaiyung whispered, wrapping her icy insubstantial arms around Xinai. “You’re home, and we’re together, and it will be all right. We’ll put things right.”
The sun dipped into afternoon by the time they reached the last landing. Isyllt slumped against the carven cliff-face, trying not to double over from the sharp stitch in her side and the burn in her thighs. Stone benches circled the small platform, but she feared if she sat she’d never stand again. Wind keened around the crags, threatening her hat and tugging at her sweaty clothes.
More wards ringed the upper slopes, different from those along the road. “What do these do?” she asked, moving closer to the nearest post.
“If too much pressure builds inside the mountain, it will erupt,” Asheris said. “These shunt the energy aside, bleed it off into the air.”
“Or let you channel it into the stones.”
“Exactly.”
She reached out, not quite touching the ward-stone. Its magic shivered warm through her fingers. The edges shimmered, like the air around a flame. An intricate spell, cunningly wrought. It would be the envy of half the Arcanost-they prided themselves on being at the forefront of magecraft.
“Ingenious.”
“Thank you,” Asheris said, lips curving. “We are rather proud of the technique. No one has ever done this before, to the best of our knowledge.”
“Be careful, Lady Iskaldur,” the Vicereine called, securing the veil pinned over her hair. “Once he starts talking about his mountain, you’ll be hard-pressed to silence him.”
Asheris chuckled. “Her Excellency has no ear for the music of the mountain. But come, my lady, we aren’t at the top yet. You must see the cauldron.” He gestured toward another narrower stair leading up.
Isyllt sighed and promised herself a long bath when they returned to the city. “Of course I must.”
“And me,” Murai said, springing up from her bench. Isyllt felt even wearier just watching her.
“Of course, little bird. Your Excellency?”
“I’ve seen your mountain often enough,” Shamina said. “Be careful up there, Murai.”
“I always am, Mama.”
“I won’t let her come to harm,” Asheris promised.
He took the lead as they ascended the final stair, Murai walking in the middle, sedate until they were out of sight of her mother. Then she hurried ahead, following on Asheris’s heels.
Sivahra stretched below them, forests and rivers and hills, patchwork fields in the south and buildings like grains of salt scattered on a tablecloth. Isyllt took off her hat, letting the wind unravel her braid and dry her sweaty hair. The air was cooler here, without the jungle’s heat and the river’s damp. Then the wind shifted and she tasted hot stone and ash, the breath of the mountain.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Asheris called over his shoulder.
“Yes.” She returned his smile, and the honesty of it surprised her.
He offered her a hand and helped her up the last uneven step. The wind buffeted her and she leaned on his arm as she found her feet.
Then she looked down, into the mountain, and her breath left on a wondering gasp.
A cauldron of char-black stone-the smell of it reached her even against the wind, burnt and bitter. And deep within the well a pool of molten rock bubbled gold and orange, leaking smoke.
“Can you feel it?” he asked. “The strength of it? I thought I’d never love anything as much as the desert winds, until I came here. I’d stay up here forever, if they would let me.”
“Would you really? Or would you miss it, before too long?”
He didn’t need to ask what she meant. “I don’t know. It’s not an option I can explore.” He turned his head, but not before Isyllt saw the longing and bitterness naked on his face. She looked down in turn.
She took a few careful steps away, thinking to circle the cauldron’s rim, but Asheris raised a warning hand.
“Please, don’t. We know the rock here is stable, but I can’t vouch for the other side. And if you fell there, it’s a very long drop with no one to catch you. I’d much rather not spend the night searching for your body.”
Isyllt glanced down the steep face and nodded. As she looked up, she found Murai watching her. The girl ducked her head.
“I’m sorry, I know it’s rude to stare. But I’ve never seen anyone so pale before. Are you from Hallach?”
“No, I was born in Vallorn, which is farther still north. But I haven’t lived there for a long time.”
“Are they pirates there too?”
Isyllt smiled. “No. Vallorn has no sea, only mountains. All the pirates have to go to Hallach or Selafai.”
“I was born at sea, while my parents were coming back from Assar. My mother’s time came early. That’s how I got my name.”
“Murai?”
The girl nodded. “In Sivahran it means bird’s nest”-she wrinkled her nose-“but it’s really from Ninayan. Mariah. It means the sea. It was the captain’s idea.” She ducked her head again. “I talk too much. Asheris, will you show Lady Iskaldur the birds?”
“Of course, meliket.” Asheris looked toward the cauldron, where magma cooled in ash-gray veins only to crack and melt again. He raised one hand, letting the wind billow his sleeve theatrically. A red-orange bubble swelled and burst, spitting fire that flared into golden wings. Birds wrought of flame soared from the pit, spiraling up until they hovered in front of Isyllt and Murai. Tiny beaks opened soundlessly and sparks rained from their wings. The girl laughed in delight, and Isyllt echoed her.
After a final swoop the birds flew higher, till they vanished against the sun. Murai applauded, bouncing on her toes. Isyllt grinned at Asheris and he smiled back, and for a moment there was only the wind and the fire and the taste of magic like spiced wine on her tongue.
