I’m here, she said. We’re here. All of us. Nick and Ivy and Jet and the Blue Lady and the Squid and the Wind Woman and so many more. And Kai. You don’t know Kai yet. You’ll like her.

I don’t remember, Sophie said. I don’t remember me.

That’s okay. She tried to smile. We’ll remember for you.

And she did, they did: Sophie tall and dark, with freckle dots, Sophie lady of the seashore, who told the best stories and laughed the fullest and could run faster than anyone save Izza. Sophie, who took Nick in when he stumbled off the ship where he’d stowed away; who taught Izza the back roads of East Claw, and showed her its secrets. Sophie who told the gods’ first tales.

There was, in the Penitent’s core, a small squirming slug of a thing, not quite alive and not quite dead, that shouted into Sophie’s mind. It was conviction, and fear, and a certain sick duty that had more to do with stone than people.

Green threads caught and strangled it.

She opened her eyes and stepped back, shuddering.

“That’s it?” Kai said.

“A year’s hurt takes a long time to fix,” she said. “All the Penitent’s done to wind her we must unwind. Bring her back. And once it’s done, we can move on to the others. Step by step.”

“How do we know it works?”

The sound of grinding rock was her answer.

The Penitent turned from the waves. Its eyes shone green. Slowly, ponderously, it settled once more to attention, facing in, facing the light that shone on the summit of Kavekana’ai.

Izza took the statue’s hand, felt the stored sun-warmth within. Kai hesitated, then took Izza’s hand in turn. They turned their back on the darkness, and together watched, and waited, for the world to come.

Acknowledgments

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Every book’s a journey—sometimes you go to Hawaii, sometimes you go to Mordor. For this book I did a bit of both. My heartfelt thanks to everyone who read the manuscript in its myriad stages, among them the old awesome crew, in alphabetical order: Alana Abbott, Vlad Barash, John Chu, Anne Cross, Nat Drake, Amy Eastment, Miguel Garcia, Siana LaForest, Lauren Marino, Emmy Miller, Margaret Ronald, Marshall Weir. Both blood- and law-parents—Tom and Burki Gladstone, and Bob and Sally Neely—displayed great patience when I spent long stretches of visits hiding in a back room crouched over my keyboard. Alex Temple offered important reading suggestions and advice early in the process. And so on, and so on.