“Are you lost, child?”
I had read about jungles but quite obviously had never seen one with my eyes. The humidity came first, like a damp caress, and then the sound of water playing over stones. Fronds arced above my head, explosively bright flowers lining the ground in such abundance I could never have counted them all.
The voice. I knew that voice. I turned toward it, away from the glory of the jungle’s palms and blossoms, and found the source of the voice and the water. There was a waterfall, an entire wall of waterfalls, and a woman walking toward me. She was the most beautiful person I had ever seen, tall and strong, with well-muscled arms and thick legs. Her skin was dark purple, so dark it was almost black. Her hair, pink and long, was coiled and pinned into a heart shape on her head, the plaits dotted with jewels. Most incredible of all were her eyes, the predominant pair wide and pink, though she had eight eyes in total, with smaller ones curving up along her cheekbones.
“Are you lost?” she asked me again. Her voice was like music, melodic and soft, a voice I had heard before when it came from my bones.
I moved toward her as if reeled in on a line. I wanted to be near her. Be her.
“My feet are on the path,” I told her. “At least . . . I thought so. Where is this?”
“You will only be staying for a little while,” she said with a warm smile. She towered over me as she approached, dressed in a simple pale dress, the color of summer peaches. “But do not worry, dear one, you will see me again.”
“I don’t want to go,” I said. Vaguely, I knew that wherever I was supposed to be was not a happy place. Was this the Dusk Lands? If so, it did not seem so bad after all. Staying there, in that paradise, sounded much, much better. “Can I not stay here with you?”
She laughed, scrunching up her many eyes playfully. “Oh, no, for this is nowhere, an in-between place, and no home for a young girl such as you.” Her ears perked up and she tilted her head to the side, sighing. “Ah. Well. It is almost time for you to go, but you must remember one thing when you awake. . . .”
“The other place is ugly. I don’t want to go.”
Again she giggled at me and shook her head. “You will make it more beautiful; that is your path. And remember this, dear one: do not forget me. See this,” and here she pressed one finger to the swollen bite on my hand. “See this and remember.”
“I . . . will try,” I said. “How do you know it is time for me to go?”
Her image began to waver as if it were only a mirage. I took in one last smile from her as she looked sadly toward the waterfall. “Because I sense his power again, and if they have done what I think they have, that means you have gained a gift and a burden. Remember, dear one, remember . . .”
“By God, it worked! You absolute genius, it worked!”
Breath flooded into me hard enough to make me choke. I sat up, coughing uncontrollably, spitting up so much pink foam that the men around me recoiled in unison. I was alive—had I died? Where had I gone? I looked around, realizing whatever I had just seen was already fading from memory. No matter how much I tried, I could not think of even a single detail.
I was lying in the grass still, gazing up at a dozen faces lit by the moon. Mr. Morningside was there to my left, hugging Chijioke with bruising enthusiasm. All of the familiar faces were there: Mrs. Haylam, Poppy, Lee, Finch, and the dark-skinned stranger. Only the shepherd and Sparrow were missing. And Father. Where was Father?
Putting a hand to my chest, I coughed one last time and studied my fingers. They came away from my apron stained with blood and pink froth. Someone had draped a jacket over me for modesty.
“I was dead,” I said weakly. “How . . .”
My eyes drifted to Mrs. Haylam, but she simply shook her head.
“Chijioke ferried your soul back into your body before it could escape,” Mr. Morningside told me with a gentle smile. His hair was even wilder now, and flecked with blood. “Although it took, well . . . How do you feel?”
“Strange,” I murmured. Very strange. I was me, certainly, but I felt different, stronger, as if just flexing my hand or moving my head was an invigorating exercise. The urge to transform everything in the near vicinity was there, too, and a sense that I was seeing more clearly, with new precision. And there was a pit in my stomach, one made of anger and regret, and deep, dark memories. The grass seemed to bend toward me, as if responding to my hovered palm.
Before I could say another word, Finch sprang to his feet. He stumbled away from us, his mouth covered with one hand as he pointed an accusing finger first at Chijioke and then at Mr. Morningside. “What have you been doing, Henry? This boy . . . he can ferry souls to other bodies? This is not your power to command! Those souls are meant to move on, to embrace death. . . .”
Mr. Morningside and Chijioke shared a look, one I could not fully read but one that did not seem optimistic, and then in a blink both men rose and gave chase. But Finch was gone, fleeing, lifting into the air and out of their reach before they could get to him.
They returned slowly, Chijioke eyeing Mr. Morningside with his lip between his teeth. “We should not let him escape with that knowledge. . . .”
“It is what it is,” Mr. Morningside said grimly. “The truth was bound to out eventually.”
I hardly knew what they meant, and could not muster the energy to untangle the knot.
“Where is Father?” I asked softly, casting around for where he might be. “Did you save him in time?”
“That’s . . . the tricky bit,” Chijioke said. He was having trouble meeting my eye. “It was the only way to bring you back, Louisa.”
Mr. Morningside took my hand before the panic really gripped me. My eyes flew to his and my mouth dropped open. No. No. They couldn’t have done it. How could they have done it?
“Where is Mary?” he asked gently.
And I knew. At once I knew. “Oh God,” I whispered, closing my eyes tightly. “She’s in the fortress. In the First City. He imprisoned her there after she returned from the Dusk Lands. It’s like I can feel parts of him in me . . . his thoughts, or memories, bits and pieces of it.” Tears bubbled up, spilling in hot torrents down my face. I squeezed his hand, willing it not to be true, willing my father’s blighted soul out of my body. “I need . . . I need to think. I must be alone.”
“That’s not a good idea right now,” Chijioke said, intervening when I tried to stand. My balance almost gave out, but then I found my feet. “You shouldn’t be alone until the shock wears off.”
“And who is responsible for that shock?” I shot back, furious. Softly, Lee cleared his throat and I half sobbed, half sighed. “Of course. Of course you would let him make the decision.”
“Louisa, it only seemed fair,” Mr. Morningside told me, placing a careful hand on my back. I shrugged away. “You must not be cross with him. This is a good thing, yes? The book is preserved, Mary is found, and the soul of your people has a new start. A second chance.”
I nodded, knowing all of that was true and right, knowing also that Lee deserved to decide my fate as I had decided his. And yet . . . And yet . . . It hurt. Maybe it would hurt less upon reflection, but I doubted it.
“I’m sorry.”
The stranger had spoken, his voice rough but not unfriendly. I turned gradually to face him, taking in his huge purple eyes and markings. More than that, I saw the still healing wound on his cheek, a slim red line, a line that might be left by a bullet grazing a cheek. But I understood him—how? Of course. I sighed. With my father’s soul had come his knowledge and his power.
The language sprang to my lips as easily as English. “I know you,” I said wearily. “You were Bennu the Runner’s companion; you guarded him from Egypt to the First City. You’re an Abediew, a moon jackal called Khent. But how did you survive this long?”
“I slept when the kingdom slept, when Father slept,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck sheepishly. “I woke not long ago to find the fortress frozen in time, everything as it was, and yet Father was gone. Tracking him took many months, many, many months, and when I at last found him it was too late. I was . . . too late to warn you.”
“That’s why you only attacked Mary in the woods,” I murmured. “Because it was him.” My hand slid into my apron pocket, closing over the bent spoon. “And you tried to return my spoon. With . . . an apology. Of a kind.”
He ducked his head, eyes as furtive and gentle as a chided dog’s. “I do not yet speak your language well, but I will learn.”
“You should rest, lass; your body and soul need to mend,” Chijioke said. There was a bird cradled in his hand, not dead but weakened. Was that where my soul had been while they found a way to entwine it with Father’s? I felt ill, and yes, as he said, exhausted. I longed for bed but dreaded utterly what my dreams had in store.