“They’re machines,” Kosar said. “They must have been brought here. It’s a rubbish yard, not a graveyard. They’re machines, they were brought here . . . they can’t have come on their own.”

“Why not?” Trey asked. “It was ancient magic that made them, not people. Can we say what they could and couldn’t do?”

“They came here to die,” Hope said again. “Lost, knowing the Cataclysmic War was its end, magic brought them here to die.”

“However they got here,” Kosar said, “why has Rafe brought us here?”

“Maybe we can hide,” Trey said. “That huge one down there, it must have a whole network inside, plenty of places to crawl into and hide.”

“He said magic was going to make us believe,” Hope said. “There’s something else here, not just a hiding place. And the Monks would never give in. It may take them days, but they’d find us.”

“He also said that he might take us away,” Kosar said.

Hope turned in her saddle and nudged Rafe, almost smiling at how she was treating the carrier of new magic. “Wake up!” she said. “Rafe . . . farm boy . . . wake up!” He was not asleep. His breath was too fast for that, his eyes half-open, his hands clasped tight in his lap, so tight that a dribble of blood ran from his fist.

“We should get below the skyline,” Kosar said.

“Down there?” Trey asked.

“It’s where Rafe brought us,” Hope said. “And as you said, we can hide away in there while we’re waiting for . . . whatever.”

“But . . .” the miner began.

“It’s either down there, or back toward the forest,” Kosar said.

Hope glanced past the thief at the gray canopy. Farther back in the forest the gray changed to green, but from here the colorless blight looked huge, stretching as far as she could see from left to right, humps of gray trees retreating back into the woods. “A’Meer must be in there,” she muttered, wondering what might be occurring beneath those trees right now.

“She’ll find us,” Kosar said.

Hope looked at him and saw that he knew his lie.

They urged the horses down toward the graveyard of dead machines. Behind her Rafe mumbled something, but Hope could not make out the words. She nudged back sharply to try to wake him, but he merely held tighter and became looser, head lolling against her back, hands reaching around her waist.

Soon, she thought. He’ll show us soon. Soon we’ll know just what it is he has, and it’ll be our choice to have faith in it or not. She looked out over the scattering of dead machines, relics from the last age of magic.

I want it so much, I’ve always had faith.