“It wasn’t my place to speak, to claim to know what was best. I tried that before. You see? My sisters and I, we knew that if the Craftsmen won, they’d destroy the world—next century, if not this one. The power they wield’s too great, and human minds are weak, and hungry. Sensible decisions lead to sensible decisions and before long the land lies barren. So we did what we thought was right, and we died for it, and we dragged our children along to die with us. A generation sacrificed in a single battle. That was our legacy. Mine. Can you blame me for thinking the island deserved a new path?”

She didn’t answer.

“I tried to help, much as I could. To point you in the right direction. To nurture art, and care for artists, and tell the truth to those that hear.”

“Does Eve know?”

“She understands.”

“You left us. And while you were gone, we did horrible things.”

“You’re talking about the Penitents.”

“Yes.”

“You think there was a time where we didn’t do horrible things?” He shook his head. “It’s always happened. And not everyone inside those statues is innocent.”

“People are poor or sick or angry or desperate and they do things we don’t like, and then we hurt them for it until they agree with us, with all our bad choices.”

“What would you have had me do?”

“I don’t know. Fix it.”

“Fix what?”

“Everything.”

“Even gods can’t fix everything. And I’m not a god anymore. A ghost stuck in dying flesh, that’s all.”

“You could have helped us.”

“I did. I saved you. And I helped you save Kavekana. Guiding it through a difficult future—that’s not my place anymore.”

“You abandoned us.”

A weight settled on her: the pressure of his mind, or his sorrow. “I let you grow,” he said. “In the end, that’s all a father can do.”

She stood. “I need to think.”

“I’ve always been proud of you, Kai,” he said as she retreated to the hole in the floor, to the light. “More proud than of myself.”

“I’ll see you later,” was all she could say in response, and “I’m sorry.”

She descended the ladder, and stood in the empty bar, blinking something sharp out of her eyes and telling herself it was only sunlight.

She walked home, alone.

*   *   *

Mara waited on Kai’s front porch swing. She wore a dress the color of sunrise before a storm. She’d picked one of the sunflowers that grew outside the fence, and stared into its black core the way Kai’d seen actors stare into skulls’ faces onstage. She looked up as Kai approached, and smiled.

“Hi.” The gate hinge creaked, and the latch didn’t shut at first attempt. Kai had to turn back and force it closed.

“Hi.”