IT TOOK US NEARLY HALF A MOON TO MAKE THE journey to Orzai, even with the help of a few hitched wagon rides. The sensation of being watched haunted me whether we were alone or with others. Perhaps the shadow god had left the spirits of Amalska behind to keep vigil until I rescued them from the past. The Fatestone was the only way.
As we traveled, I got used to the pressure in my chest, constant headache, and nausea that came from not sleeping well. Even my tinctures of lavender and valerian did nothing to help. Every night when we stopped, I swore I’d sleep as though I were dead, and every night I ended up lying awake with thoughts racing through my mind as swiftly as the wind lashed through grass and trees.
Many of our fellow travelers warned us of bandits, and we were grateful to lend them a helping hand with their animals or goods in exchange for the protection of numbers. Small towns and farming communities lined the road north, most of them little more than clusters of houses and fields waiting to be tilled. Hal’s way with words meant we always managed to find a place to rest—he made friends no matter where we landed.
Sometimes we heard rumors that made me think Ina had passed through these areas before us. One farmer had found a pair of his sheep torn to pieces at the back of his pasture, deep gouges in the earth around them. A merchant’s young son talked our ears off for an entire half day’s ride, telling stories of all he’d seen, insisting that just last week he’d seen a white bird big as a house. The stories made my skin crawl and my stomach turn. Where was she? How close was she to mastering her manifest and attempting regicide?
I wished she could know that, even now, I was still trying to save her and those she’d loved.
The hills became greener by the day as spring grass pushed up through last year’s dead and flattened growth. Hal grew facial hair that accentuated his high cheekbones, and the strength in my legs increased until I wasn’t nearly so sore after our long days of walking. Storms passed through, and we found ourselves running for cover, only to realize that surrounded by nothingness, we had nowhere to take shelter. So we walked on, even as ditches rushed with water and the road turned to muck that sucked at our shoes.
When the downpours became intolerable, Hal created a bubble of air around us that kept the rain at bay. Every time my mind started to storm with thoughts and memories of Ina, he told me silly stories or sang his favorite tavern songs to make me laugh. I never forgot my reasons for hurting, but they always hurt a little less because of him.
When we made camp at night, I took up singing vespers again. Hal listened with closed eyes as I let the wordless songs of prayer temporarily wash away the soul-deep ache of Ina’s betrayal—and her absence. My only moments of peace came then, as the music sank into my bones and Hal’s attention warmed me, gentle and comforting as spring sunlight.
Eventually the road curved east along the Vhala River, which tumbled with the muddy water of spring snowmelt. The river cut deeper into the land as we traveled, until the road climbed so high up on the cliffs that the rush of the water could no longer be heard. Every night mist curled into the canyon like a sleeping animal, dissipating only when the sun hit the top of the sky, growing thicker and more lingering the farther north we traveled.
“We should arrive in Orzai tomorrow,” Hal told me one night as we sat picking the last of the meat from the bones of our dinner. He’d been quieter than usual that day, which worried me. Perhaps asking him to bring me to his sister had been too much to demand. He hadn’t even made much conversation with the farmer who had given us a ride out of the last town.
Granted, the farmer had held up both ends of the conversation just fine. His chatter had even eased my fears about Ina being too close—apparently his cousin’s town many leagues to the west was all stirred up about the appearance of a dragon. The people there had never seen one and thought she was some new kind of god. The offerings of livestock, honey, and other foodstuffs must have made Ina very happy. Perhaps she’d settle there for now, leaving me free to get the Fatestone and correct the past. Then I could decide what I wanted—if the life I had thought was enough still would be.
The next morning, I saw nothing along the road to indicate that we were approaching a settled area, much less a large city. From Hal’s descriptions, I had expected Orzai to be visible from some distance away. He’d told me it was almost entirely built of stone—a city of towers so tall the tops couldn’t be seen from the bottoms. All I saw were mountains looming on the horizon in the northeast, and the cliff dropping off sharply on the northwest side of the main road.
“Shouldn’t we be getting close?” I asked him. The sun was nearly to the midpoint of its journey now, though the mist below us still showed no signs of dissipating.
“Orzai is a city you won’t see coming,” he said.
Soon enough, I discovered what he meant. As we crested a steep incline, the peaks of watchtowers appeared along the side of the cliff, jutting into the sky like the uneven teeth of a predatory animal. The spires went on almost farther than I could see. Some smaller buildings clustered on either side of the road near the towers ahead, businesses set up to house those who needed a waypoint outside the city. Though the road continued to hug the cliff side, ostensibly heading northeast to Corovja, before the first tower we reached a fork that seemed to drop right off the edge of the cliff.
Hal stepped to the edge alongside the path. He teetered there with his toes hanging off, his arms spread to the wind. The sight made my heart rise into my throat, though I knew with his gifts, he wasn’t likely to fall.
“It feels good to be home,” Hal announced when he turned back to me.
“I thought you said you lived in Corovja, not Orzai,” I said, confused.
“Home is where my sister is. Home for me has always been family, not place,” he replied, his expression serious.
“You don’t miss Corovja at all?” I asked. It seemed strange he could leave the city he’d grown up in with such ease.
“I don’t belong there anymore.” He turned away from me and walked on. “I don’t ever want to go back.”
Home felt so distant to me now. For a moment I let myself sink into the past, remembering the familiar walls of my cave, imagining sitting down at my table to a spring meal of warm bread rubbed with garlic, salty cheese, and fresh greens on the side. And to my surprise it was Hal I pictured there sharing it with me, smiling at me over the table and telling me about his latest adventure. A coil of nervousness tightened in my stomach. That scene would never come to be. I couldn’t let myself want it.
We continued along the main thoroughfare toward the watchtowers. Turrets of varying sizes peeked over the edge, each one manned by guards who stood still as statues, their expressions unreadable beneath solid metal helmets with ornamental plumes. Behind them, arched doorways led into the narrow towers.
He stopped at the fourth turret, one of the narrower ones built into a stone building that looked as though it was held together with little more than spit, hope, and cracking mortar. A heavy wooden door covered in peeling black paint stood closed behind a man who had both the stature and evident personality of a boulder. He scowled at us—at least until Hal made eye contact.
“Nice to see you again,” Hal said. “We’re special members. You can let us in without a token. We know the boss, and she won’t mind.”
I sensed Hal’s magic enveloping the guard, surrounding him in a soft haze.
The man’s gaze grew glassy, and he nodded, opening the door to let us pass.
“You aren’t supposed to do that. You might hurt yourself like last time!” I whispered to Hal as I slipped into the room behind him. He’d barely used his gift since we’d left Valenko, but if he overextended his abilities and left me to deal with him being unconscious again, I couldn’t count on being able to bargain with other people the way I had with the Tamers.
Predictably, Hal ignored my scolding. “Welcome to Death’s Door!” he said, gesturing expansively with a wide grin.
“It better not be,” I muttered, smiling at Hal in spite of my nerves. We entered a large room, its windows darkened with grime. Lanterns cast dim light over heavy tables of unfinished wood, polished smooth by the passage of many drinks over their surfaces. The booths were separated by thick partitions that gave each one a sense of privacy, and the hum of conversation was quieter than I would have expected given the ill-reputed look of the place. Only the minstrel in the corner looked up when we walked in, giving us a cursory glance as she tuned the strings on her instrument.
My heart started to beat more quickly, even though I didn’t know what was coming next. Hal led me to the back of the pub down a hallway lined with dark wood. At the far end, a lantern hung, casting a dim pool that barely seemed to penetrate the darkness. The moment we crossed the threshold into the hallway, it felt like a vise had closed around my lungs. Had I been human, I might have chosen to align with the wind god and manifest as a bird. I couldn’t live without the open sky.
As if he sensed my discomfort and the cold sweat about to break out on my neck, Hal subtly flicked his fingers and sent a breeze circling around my head. Then he took my hand. I closed my eyes and let him lead me blindly down the hall, imagining wide skies above me and remembering all the distance I’d covered since home. It was enough to get me to the end, even though anxiety about meeting Nismae was quickly rising.
My discomfort with the enclosed place was about to reach a fever pitch when Hal plunged his hand through the stone wall at the end of the hallway as if it weren’t even there. My eyebrows shot up. Somehow I hadn’t expected to encounter this kind of magic in Orzai, so casually used, so much a part of daily life. It hadn’t been like that in Amalska. Magic was for my tinctures, or for mortal manifests. Not for invisible walls, human convenience, or secret entrances to a city. I’d spent my life so sheltered, and it made me angry and ashamed to learn that now.
“Sometimes it’s easiest to do this backward the first time,” Hal said.
“Do what?” I asked.
“Jump.” He tugged me through the stone wall. Magic tingled over my skin as we passed through, raising goose bumps on my arms. Someone must have enchanted the wall, perhaps one of the earth god’s children. The king wouldn’t waste his time installing secret doors in alehouses.
We stood at the edge of a tiny platform barely wide enough for the two of us. Below us, darkness gaped like an open mouth. I couldn’t see the bottom of the shaft.
Hal tugged a bell cord hanging beside the platform, and a chime rang through the tower. A few moments later, the sound echoed from below.
“The way is clear,” he said, and gestured for us to move forward. “There’s a net below. I recommend pulling your knees to your chest. It’s most comfortable to land on your back.”
Even though my hands still trembled a little, it wasn’t the height that frightened me, but the closed-in space. The whole room smelled musty and dank. I needed some fresh air.
“There’s a way out at the bottom?” I asked.
Hal nodded. “A short ladder and a tunnel into the alley. Do you want me to go first?”
“I’m not afraid of heights,” I said, then pulled my cloak tightly around myself and stepped off the edge.