Rhys woke with the dawn and the knowledge that Meera was not beside him. He sat up, activated his talesm, and opened his senses.

Two powerful energies came to Rhys. One was Meera, familiar and intoxicating. The second was older. Far older. He rolled to the tent flap silently, grateful that the zipper was already undone.

Who was with Meera? Was it Vasu?

No, he’d felt Vasu before. This was an unfamiliar magic.

He moved on silent feet, tapping on the edge of Roch’s tent before he walked across the planks leading to shore.

He didn’t draw his knives.

He crossed the unsteady bridge and followed the muddy footprints to the clearing in the forest.

Meera. And a woman who could only be the ancient warrior they’d been seeking.

Her skin, from her chin to her toes, was intricately tattooed with signs and symbols he didn’t recognize. They were not in the Old Language. This was some different magic. Her hair was pulled up into a topknot, and she had looped a crown of shells around her head. She wore no clothes save for a short leather skirt.

The warrior woman watched him from her seat on a fallen log. Meera had her back to him and did not turn.

“Meera?”

She turned. “Rhys, she found us.”

Yes, she did. Why?

Meera was speaking French. The woman appeared to understand it. But then, a ruler of the Uwachi Toma would have easily spoken French to communicate with the Europeans who invaded their land.

“I can see she found us.” But he couldn’t see whether they were welcome or not. “Atawakabiche of the Uwachi Toma”—he spoke carefully in French—“I am Rhys of Glast, son of Angharad the Sage. Archivist of Istanbul—”

“Where?” she asked.

Rhys racked his brain for a name she might recognize. “I am the archivist of Byzas, the city between the seas, now called Istanbul.” Some of the old scribes in Cappadocia used that name.

“You’re from across the oceans,” she said. “Like her.”

“Yes.”

“You are her mate.”

Rhys paused. “I am her reshon.”

Atawakabiche nodded. “Yes, I can sense that. You are welcome on my land.”

“Thank you, mother.”

“For now. When I have no more use for you, then you must leave.”

“That’s fair.”

“I don’t care if it’s fair or not. That is what will be.”

Rhys nodded carefully, but the Wolf was already ignoring him and speaking to Meera again.

“All my people are gone,” she said. “I believe I am the last one living. You must take my memories so that I may join them.”

“You could be correct,” Meera said sadly. “And I am so sorry. But surely there are other people you might—”

“No.” Atawakabiche made a dismissive motion with her hands. “I have made my peace with this. It is the way of ages and peoples and war. One group rises when another falls.”

“I don’t believe it has to be that way,” Meera said. “The Creator has granted you life despite your loss. You and your brother brought five centuries of peace to this continent. Can’t you teach us how? The Irin people desperately need peace.”

“You have a beautiful spirit, Somasikara, but what you’re asking for is more than you realize. When I have given my memories to your keeping, then I will be content to fade.”

Rhys heard Roch coming down the forest path.

“Atawakabiche, there is another with us,” Meera said. “He is my friend.”

“Then he may be on my land as well.” She looked up and narrowed her eyes. “I have seen this one before. He’s a son of the Old Ones.”

Rhys looked over his shoulder. Roch was standing with hastily-pulled-on pants and a half-buttoned shirt.

“Meera, you all right?” he asked.

“She’s fine,” Atawakabiche said. “Why are you here again?”

Meera started, “His mate—”

“No.” She held up a hand. “I asked him. He visits this wilderness often. I recognize him. What do you want?”

“The woman I love…,” Roch started. “My mate is sick in her mind. You helped her once. I think you can help her again.”

“When was this?”

“Nearly two hundred years ago,” Roch said.

“In the past.” Atawakabiche frowned. “I help anyone who comes into the swamp if they are not of the Fallen.”

“Her name is Sabine,” Roch continued. “She was hurt and calling for you when you found her. Anya niyah, mashak tamak.”

The warrior closed her eyes. “Old magic. Child’s magic. There have been many.”

“Children?” Rhys asked.

“If they are lost, my foxes find them. If they mean harm, my wolves find them.”

Apparently her canines had good instincts. The Grigori had said they’d been attacked by wolves.

“And what happens if they seek knowledge?” Rhys asked.

Atawakabiche examined him. “You have a seeker’s face. And you are mated to the somasikara.” She rose and three foxes circled her legs. “You may come with me.”

Roch started. “Mother—”

“No.” She raised her hand. “I know what you want, old son, but I’ve given her everything I can. It is up to you now. Wait here and think about what your mate needs.”

Meera turned to Rhys and Roch with wide eyes. “Roch?”

Rhys turned to his brother. “If you want us to stay—”

“No,” Roch said. His jaw was tense. “Go. I knew it was probably… Just go.”

“I’ll try to get more.”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “You can try.”

Rhys frowned. “She said she’d given Sabine everything she needs.”

“Don’t make the mistake of equating age with virtue or wisdom,” Roch said in a low voice. “Just because a singer is old doesn’t mean she’s kind. Doesn’t mean she knows more than you do.”

Rhys glanced at Meera and Atawakabiche, who were huddled together. The Wolf was hanging on everything Meera said. “Okay.”

“You don’t believe me.” Roch nodded at the two women. “Watch. She wants something from Meera, otherwise she’d have stayed as hidden as she has before. You watch out for our girl, Rhys.”

“I will.”

Roch’s eyes softened. “I know you will.” He clasped Rhys’s hand. “I’ll get your packs ready and stay with the boat. You know how to mark a trail?”

“I’m not completely useless.”

“Good.”

* * *

“Do you have it?” Rhys held his hand for Meera as she jumped down from a fallen log.

“I’m good.”

He grabbed her hand before she passed him. “This isn’t how I’d planned to wake up this morning.”

Meera raised her eyebrows and started to speak, but the Wolf interrupted.

“If you get lost, those marks you’re making aren’t likely to help you find your way back,” she shouted.

“We better go,” Meera whispered.

They had walked for what felt like miles, their packs strapped to their backs, while Atawakabiche seemed to dance through the forest. She stepped lightly on fallen logs and through shallow snakelike streams. She always seemed to know where the high ground lay, because following her, nothing but Rhys’s feet got wet. She moved from mound to log to rock to log, never slowing, her fox companions following closely.

The Wolf had taken them on a circuitous route that Rhys suspected was designed to confuse and disorient.

The sun was high when the mound appeared before them. One moment they were walking along a narrow waterway, and the next they had ducked under a tilted cedar, and a massive earthen mound rose before them. The foxes ran ahead, clearly at home.

Atawakabiche turned and paused at the stone steps built into the mound. “You won’t be able to find this place again, not without my help. So don’t try to mark it in any way.”

“Thank you for welcoming us to your home, mother,” Meera said, still speaking French. “We will not intrude on your solitude.”

“Does the fire still burn in this place?” Rhys asked in the Old Language.

The traditional greeting seemed to please the Wolf. She nodded at him. “It does burn, and you are welcome to its light. You and your own.” Then she turned and walked up the steps.

Meera turned to Rhys. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Coming with me.”

“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t?”

“A mysterious woman shows up in the middle of the night and drags you away from the boat and guide we so carefully planned? You’d be more than justified to think I was crazy for following her.”

Rhys smiled. “Well, now you know. Even if I think you’re crazy, I’ll follow you.”

The edge of a smile teased her lips. “She thinks we’re mated. I tried to tell her otherwise, but—”

“We’re reshon. She senses the bond between us. Don’t you?”

Meera bit her lip, but she didn’t say anything.

“Stop fighting it.” Rhys bent down and kissed her lips. “And you’ll feel it.”

He took her hand and the path the Wolf had walked. The steps wrapped around the old earthwork, and Rhys saw bits of shell, bone, and rock sticking out of the soil. Moss and grasses grew from the sloped walls, and Rhys was surprised by how high the construction went.

How had they not seen this from their satellite maps?

When they reached the top, Rhys understood.

A dense canopy grew on all sides of the mound, which was built in a spiral pattern reminiscent of a snail’s shell. Because of the spiral and the trees growing in the space between, there was little to no sun on the mound. Only a few scattered patches were cleared so vegetable patches could grow.

Three round houses were built along the edge of the widest part. They were made of straight poles and smooth mud with Spanish moss filling the cracks in the walls and stiff palmetto leaves thatching the roof.

The Wolf pointed to the first. “This is my home. The second is a bathhouse and ritual room. The third is in the distance. You may use that one to sleep.”

“Thank you,” Meera said.

“Yes, thank you.” Rhys wondered just how long the Wolf planned for them to be there. He walked to the hut, surprised by the breeze that cooled the afternoon. Apparently even a slight elevation made a difference in the humidity and the temperature.

He brushed back the woven curtain hanging in front of the house to find a well-kept cottage with brushed earthen floors and high windows to let in the air and light. The breeze rustled the palmetto leaves covering the roof, and he set down his pack on a low bench.

There was a low wooden bed in the corner covered by a woven blanket, and grass mats covered the floor.

“This is quite nice,” Meera said.

“Yes.” An earthen water jar sat near the door with a wide metal bowl next to it for washing. “She was prepared for guests.”

“Who? Us? How could she know?”

Rhys shrugged. “Maybe us. Maybe she’s ready at all times. She said there were many. I wonder if she collects lost people in the bayou.”

“It’s possible.” Meera sat on the edge of the bed and bounced a little. “Spanish moss,” she said with a smile. “It’ll be cool at night.”

“Thank heavens, because I don’t foresee any air-conditioning. Not even the magical variety.”

“No, but look at the windows.” Meera pointed up. “At night this place will be far cooler than our tent.”

It gave Rhys a little thrill every time she said something like “our tent.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Starving.” She opened her backpack and took out a bag of peanuts. “Share?”

“Please.”

He sat next to her on the bed, and they ate the small bag of roasted peanuts while sharing a bottle of water.

“Roch has most of the water,” Meera said. “I only have this bottle and one more.”

“She has to have a fresh water source here, or she’d never have built the mound.”

“Do you think she built it on her own?” Meera shook her head. “I don’t think she did. It’s too old. I can feel the earth magic here.”

“Then she has to have a water source. There was a vegetable garden and a ritual bathhouse.”

“Hopefully it’s not too far to walk.”

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “This wasn’t what we planned, but you must have imagined this meeting for years.”

Meera’s smile was bordering on giddy. “I feel good. She found us. She invited us here. She recognized my magic. That’s more than I imagined.”

“She called you a somasikara.”

“Yes,” Meera said. “That is what I am.”

Even with everything he’d learned about her, it came as a surprise. Rhys hadn’t put the heir of Anamitra together with the ancient magic of the memory keepers. Memory keepers were something out of stories and tales of the first children.

In Irina legend, the somasikara were the first daughters of heaven to receive the wisdom of the Forgiven. They were given the ability to remember all other magics the Irina would need on the earth to tame the soul voices of humanity, heal the sick, tend the earth.

All Irina magic was given to the somasikara who then taught it to the other singers. As new magic was found and developed, the memories were given to the singers with the ability to remember it. Mother passed the memory to daughter from generation to generation until the keepers became legends and the formal system of Irina library magic took over.

“So there are memory keepers still living,” he said. “It’s not just a legend.”

“As far as I know, I am the only one left,” Meera said. “That is why Anamitra was so closely guarded and so highly respected. Why my birth was such a long-awaited event. Anamitra was beginning to suspect another child wouldn’t be born with the necessary magic. But unless others are hidden around the world, I am the last. Even before the Rending, we were rare. After it…”

“What makes your magic different?” He asked. “Why can you do what you do?”

“It’s born in me. Hereditary magic.” Meera toed off her shoes and crossed her legs on the bed. “But not entirely. It takes very intense study. The magic to keep the memories is part of me, but learning how to use it is not. When I was young, I couldn’t understand what I was seeing and hearing. I tapped into ancient memory around my aunt, but I didn’t know what it was. It took years of study to absorb what she was teaching me.”

“So you are literally a walking library.”

“No. A librarian only records the words and some of the feeling.” Meera took his hand. “I carry the true memory.”

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”

“It’s the difference between Sabine telling you a memory and you magically seeing through her eyes. You sense what she sensed. Feel what she felt.” Meera smiled. “It’s hard to describe. If we ever… Well, you might see someday. I might be able to show you.”

“If we ever what?”

Meera rose and walked to the door. “We shouldn’t disappear for too long.”

“If we ever what, Meera?”

Her smile teased him. “We don’t want to be rude.”

“Meera!”

She walked out the door.

Blasted woman. She was going to drive him mad, and he’d enjoy every minute.

* * *

They gathered around a fire where a stew of some kind bubbled, and Atawakabiche roasted long spears of meat that Rhys highly suspected came from a reptile. He didn’t ask. She didn’t say. It smelled good, and that was all he would think about.

“My people built this mound,” she said. “A long time ago. There used to be more houses. Of course, there used to be more people.”

“Our house is very comfortable, sister.”

Rhys began, “Atawakabiche—”

“Heavens.” She grimaced. “Your tongue sounds like it is tripping over itself. You can call me Ata.”

“Thank you, Ata.” Rhys smiled. “How have you remained hidden for so long? Is it all magic?”

“Look around.” The darkness was already falling. “This place—this wilderness—will turn you around. It’s bigger than most humans will admit. Once they’re inside, most lose sense of direction. The magic helps, but it’s almost unnecessary. The older ones, they came across me more often. But they were like me. They wanted to be left alone. Respected those who wanted the same.” She waved a hand. “I had no quarrel with them.”

“Modern people?”

“Magic,” she said. “Strong magic. I use earth magic to keep them away.”

“So you’re an earth singer.”

“My mother was an earth singer. She and her sisters made these mounds we’re standing on.”

“And you were a warrior,” Rhys said. “Are you of Mikael’s blood?”

Ata smiled. “You aren’t a fool. You know that most of this land is filled with Uriel’s children, even those who came from the south like me. Uriel’s children are special. We can have many gifts.”

Rhys desperately wanted to ask what hers were. Which blood made Irina warriors? Which lines should be trained in martial magic if not for Mikael’s blood? Uriel’s children were known in Irina tradition to be flexible in their gifts, often changing roles throughout their lives. Were Uriel’s children the key?

“What was your first gift?” Meera asked. “Mine was memory. Were you always a warrior?”

“No,” Ata said. “I wasn’t.” She turned the meat. “You are mated, but it is a new mating. I don’t see deep ties of magic between you. Only the beginnings of them.”

“We are not mated,” Rhys said. “Though we are reshon.”

“Rhys is correct,” Meera said.

Ata waved her hand. “You are mates, whether you’ve sung the magic or not. I can see the soul-tie. It is one of my gifts, seeing ties that way. It was why my brother and I were such successful warriors. I could always tell who were the most influential soldiers in a group. I could see where loyalties lay and target those whose loss would affect our enemy most.”

That was utterly fascinating and Rhys was dying to know more, but he didn’t want to guide the conversation. Ata wanted to speak to Meera. Meera wanted to speak to Ata. He’d have to approach the martial magic in that context.

“Mother, you know I am a somasikara. I am hoping to record your language before you decide to fade. You may be the last speaker.”

Ata sat up straight. “Why?”

Rhys blinked. “Why?”

“Yes, why? If the people are dead, the language isn’t needed anymore, is it? What does it matter?”

Meera said, “To preserve a language is to preserve not only the memory of a people but a way of life. A way of thinking. A vision of the world. To lose all those things means your people would die twice.”

Ata set the meat skewers down in a long basket and unhooked the cooking pot from over the fire. “I’ll think about it.” Then she left the food in front of them and walked away.

“But—”

“Don’t.” Rhys put a hand on her arm. “I think that’s all you’re getting tonight. Give her time, Meera. You have to be patient.”

She huffed out a breath, and he could tell she was still considering chasing after the recalcitrant Irina.

“Does badgering work on your mother?” he asked.

“Badgering?”

“Pestering. Bothering. Asking for the same thing over and over again.”

Meera laughed a little. “No. That doesn’t work on Patiala.”

“And it won’t work on her. She’s not part of your retinue. You have to build trust.”

She propped her chin in her hand. “Like you slowly wore me down?”

“You love my persistence,” he said, reaching for a spear of meat. “Don’t lie.”

“You do realize that’s probably alligator, don’t you?”

“I’m not thinking about that right now. I’m too hungry.” He bit into the meat, which was juicy and smelled of peppers. “For now, princess, just eat.”