She looked around at the three Serians. Konrad and Noon were still out there somewhere, hidden away to watch and listen for anyone or anything approaching. They had all acted with confidence and professionalism, but although she felt safe, still there was a sliver of fear. She saw Ramus's face and remembered the sickness that had once afflicted her. “You're the experts,” she said. “I'll do what you say is best.”

“I just don't like this so soon after what happened last night,” Beko said. “The voyage is young, but already it's feeling ruined.”

“It's not ruined!” Nomi said.

“But he took those pages—”

“I know where we're going, Beko, as do you. The pages were something else, and I can remember them.”

“All of them?”

“Enough.” Even though I cannot read, Nomi thought. I can remember the pictures . . . some of them . . . but that's like remembering the color of a map, but not the contours or scales. I know where we're heading, but now it feels as though we're traveling blind.

Beko nodded. “Right. We stay here for the night, because we all need rest. We won't be flustered by phantoms or wraiths. Konrad's out there to the south, and Noon will remain with the horses. Rhiana is close to the camp but in the shadows. The rest of us will sleep, watch rotation every two hours.”

“You don't sound flustered,” Nomi said lightly.

Beko glared at her, then smiled. “Just being cautious.”

SHE LAY IN her tent, listening to the night noises and wondering where Ramus was now. He was probably miles ahead already, using his rage to drive him and Lulah on, and when daylight came he would be examining those pages from Ten, searching for any advantage he could gain over her.

She tried to recall what the parchments contained. Closed her eyes, absorbed the safety of Beko and the others outside, settled her mind and cast it back to Long Marrakash. She could picture the pages in her mind, but when she tried to organize the various images, they became clouded and hazed. She concentrated some more, remembering her first meeting with Ten. The image of the Sleeping God was clear, and given a quill and paper she could reproduce it herself. But she had nothing like that with her. On this voyage, she had agreed to leave the mapping to Ramus. He had that journal of his, and he would be filling its pages with each new discovery. And each page filled would lead him one more step ahead.

Nomi slipped from the tent and stood close to the fire. Much of the wood had burned down now, and Rhiana was feeding it just enough to keep it alive. There were whole worlds in there—ash caverns, burning wooden ravines, forms in smoke and fire—and Nomi blew on the flames to see whether they gave her any shapes she could remember.