It rolled across the dunes, flat against the ground, moving so gracefully that it looked at first like the shadow of a passing cloud. But the sky was clear. Amun turned to look at Mehr sharply. His eyes were wide.

“Daiva!” cried out Edhir.

“Don’t panic,” Bahren barked out in return.

But the daiva was no small, weak spirit. The one that had flown into Arwa’s room a bare handful of weeks ago had been a soft, benign creature, carved out into the shadowy form of an animal, as the weakest of the daiva were. This vast darkness unfolding beneath the sand was no young spirit, but something old and clever and simply different. As it approached, Mehr couldn’t help but think of Sara’s fear of ancient spirits, the panic in her eyes. A shiver ran down Mehr’s spine.

As the daiva passed beneath the mystics, it seemed to flinch. Its edges fractured. It coiled away from them, warded off by the power of their presence.

“Come here, Mehr,” Kalini said. She held out her hand. “We’ll keep you safe.”

Mehr hesitated. She saw Amun shake his head, saying something furiously. She saw him take a step forward—and suddenly the dark being shot through the air, forming a barrier between them.

The daiva’s formless darkness surrounded her on all sides. It rose up above her in a high arc, blotting out all but the thinnest blade of sunlight. The sand whirled beneath Mehr’s feet. She drew the cloth tighter around her face and held her ground. She could hear the mystics shouting beyond the barrier. From words snatched through the howling darkness, she knew they couldn’t reach her, but they were trying.

Mehr gathered her courage and gave the daiva a small bow. She flattened her palms together, in a sigil for respect and greeting. In response, the howling quieted, the darkness shifting silently now around her, loping and curious.

“Mehr!” Kalini shouted. “Answer us! Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Mehr responded.

The darkness shuddered, pausing in its motion like an animal that had scented prey. The dark drew closer. Its surface rippled, peeling back to reveal the hard silvered contours of a jaw, a mouth. A golden eye.

Once the daiva had been strong enough to walk the world like men. Mehr knew that. This daiva wore no mortal face, but its features were constantly re-forming, from animal to some faint semblance of human and back again. It was looking at her. It had responded to the sound of her voice.

“Do you understand me?” Mehr said quietly. Far too quietly for the mystics to hear her.

The daiva gave a slow blink. Yes. Yes it had.