They kept walking, soon reaching a wide, cobbled courtyard larger than the entire village of Oldforge. A single tree grew from the center, taller than any tree Maev had ever seen; it must have stood three hundred feet tall. Its trunk and branches were black, and its leaves were deep blue. Golden pollen glided from the tree like countless fireflies. Many Bar Luanites—at least a thousand—moved in circles around the tree, all clad in white robes, all praying. They reached out to touch the black trunk, and they breathed deeply, inhaling the pollen, chanting out a word again and again: "Shenhavan. Shenhavan."

The three Vir Requis walked slowly into the courtyard. The crowd swept them up, tugging them into the circular movement. The chants rose, and the people wept as they prayed to the tree.

"I think it's their god," Dorvin said.

Alina smiled wryly. "You yourself have some magical powers of insight."

One Bar Luanite turned toward them. He was an old man, his face oval, his eyes wide, so short he barely reached Maev's shoulder. He wore white robes and a silver necklace. Or was he old? No wrinkles marred his face, and Maev wondered if he was even older than her; like most Bar Luanites, he seemed ageless.

"Pray," he said; Maev was surprised to hear him speak her tongue. "Pray to Shenhavan. Shenhavan always listens. Pray in your mind."

With that, the man vanished into the crowd as quickly as a drop of water into a maelstrom. Maev moved her tongue in her mouth, feeling more teeth crumble. She looked up at the tree, and the tree seemed to stare back. Every one of its blue leaves seemed like an eye. The soul of the tree thrummed through her, ancient and all knowing, invading her like cold wind cuts through flesh, like icy water sends chills through bones. She saw the tree and it saw her.

Please, Shenhavan, she prayed. Let this be a dream. Let my teeth grow back.

She had never believed in prayer. Her grandfather had prayed to the stars; he had fallen in the escarpment. Alina prayed every day and Maev had yet to see a miracle. Yet today she prayed, for today she was afraid, far from home, and caught in a waking nightmare. The tree seemed to grow larger, towering over Bar Luan, consuming her life. The crowd, the city, the world itself seemed as meaningless as insects beneath this god of wood and leaf.

Please, Shenhavan. Let this just be a dream.

She reached into her mouth and found her teeth restored. She shook with relief. The old Bar Luanite's voice echoed in her ears: Shenhavan always listens.