They came to the grove more swiftly than she dared to hope thanks to her groundmite allies.

Gubba extended her arms wide as if to embrace the immense trees before them and proclaimed, “Brin ban orba!”

Grandmother, who still could not follow the groundmite’s speech, assumed she’d said something very profound.

“Morrrnnhavon brin ban orba!” Gubba exclaimed, and the groundmite warriors banged the butts of their spears and bows on the ground repeating her phrase in a shout.

One thing Grandmother had gathered was that the groundmites regarded Mornhavon as a god, thought that he’d created this world for them. It was true in a sense. For all intents, the groundmites had done very well in Blackveil, a realm of Mornhavon’s making. But Grandmother knew better—Mornhavon was not God. He may have been the greatest Arcosian to have lived, still loved and revered by his people, and the favored one of God, but no, he was not God. It only served to illustrate how much more sophisticated Grandmother and her people were than the groundmites.

Now that they had reached their destination, Grandmother was still unclear as to what she needed to do to awaken the Sleepers. She assumed it would require blood magic, but now that she saw the immensity of the grove for herself, and that the trees, though rotting, retained some strength in them, she realized she’d need a lot of blood. She gazed speculatively at the groundmites. She’d need several of them, and they’d likely turn on her if she tried to use even one of them.

She turned her attention to her own people. They had come all this way with her and had shown exceptional loyalty, even Sarat, who’d been so frightened of every little thing along the way. She’d grown very fond of them and hated the thought of having to sacrifice even one of them. Perhaps she could persuade someone to volunteer. It would certainly demonstrate ultimate loyalty to her and Second Empire.

She watched Lala clamber up a tree root and balance her way to the trunk to look at a nobby burl that resembled a face—a face dribbling sap. Could Grandmother sacrifice her own granddaughter?

She would if she must, for God had commanded her to awaken the Sleepers.

Lala took her eating knife and probed the burl, then jammed it into the spot of rot. The tree trembled, casting down branches and needles and scurrying creatures. Groundmites scattered out of the way.

Gubba clapped and laughed. “Lalala goot!”

The old groundmite would not be laughing had one of the truly enormous branches above dropped on her.

The wound Lala inflicted in the bark caused more sap to flow. It had an ocher tint to it.

Very interesting, Grandmother thought, and she called the child away fearing that another stab into the tree would indeed cause it to drop a limb on them.

She stood deep in thought, stewing over what to do, what had to be done. The groundmites were scattered but nearby, gabbling among themselves or picking beetles off the forest floor and popping them into their mouths. Her own people sat themselves on a tree root to rest after their arduous journey, and Lala took up a string game.

Gubba now squatted and looked up at Grandmother as if expecting some great show of the art. Grandmother in turn sighed, and then felt a twinge on the back of her neck. Something had changed. Gubba sensed it, too, and gazed in the direction of the castle.

Grandmother closed her eyes and centered herself. Quite a while ago, she had sensed the forest being distracted and God had told her to awaken the Sleepers before the “others.” Now she could feel that those others were here threatening everything she’d worked for.

Gubba snuffled. “Yelt,” she said, her eyes wide, showing fear.

Yelt? Did she mean the Elt? Eletians were here? It certainly explained the forest’s interest and God’s ardent command. She concentrated more deeply and sensed the bright spirits not far from the castle.

“They must be killed,” Grandmother said, but before she could plan an organized assault, Gubba shouted something and her groundmites took up their weapons. Hooting and yelling, they charged in a disorderly pack deeper into the grove.

This would not do, Grandmother fumed, but it was already done. Her men came to her side.

“What’re they after this time?” Griz asked.

“They are hunting Eletians.”

“Eletians! What are those unholy creatures doing here?”

“Perhaps the same as we.”

Griz suddenly crumpled, the shaft of a white arrow jutting from his chest. Another dropped one of the groundmites that had remained with Gubba.

“Take cover!” Grandmother cried.

How did the Eletian arrows find them through the trees like that? There could not be a straight line of sight. Deglin and Cole rushed her behind the bole of one of the huge trees with Min and Sarat. Lala calmly sat at their feet.

One thing was now for certain: Grandmother would have her blood.

LADY OF LIGHT

The castle beguiled Karigan, drew her to explore beyond the chamber they’d entered, so she tucked the feather into her braid as she’d seen Graelalea do and limped across the chamber, leaving behind the sound of groundmites pounding on the doors and Grant whimpering against the wall. He’d curled into himself, folded into a compact ball. She left behind Yates and Ard, and the Eletians who sat in vigil around Graelalea’s shrouded body. No one stopped her or asked where she was going.

Somehow she was supposed to help the Sleepers and she needed to step away to think, to retreat from the noise, and from the emotions each one of her remaining companions projected, their confusion, sorrow, fear, and anger. She felt all those things, too, and did not need them augmented by the others. At least they were safe from the groundmites, if not from their noise. Ealdaen said they’d never be able to force their way into the castle.