Anton’s gaze found Jude’s. He knew what the swordsman was thinking—they were taking an even bigger gamble than they’d thought. They weren’t just trusting that the Prophets could help them—they were trusting that they’d even make it there at all.

Jude slipped Anton’s hand in his, reassuring. Then he looked at the others.

“We’ll keep an eye on her at all times,” he said decisively. “Trade off watch shifts, just like we do for the Witnesses.”

“We should bind her hands, too,” Illya added.

“And what exactly is rope going to do against a god?” Hassan asked.

“Illya’s right,” Beru spoke suddenly. She uncurled her body, drawing herself back to her feet. “It might hinder the god for only a second, but that’s better than nothing.”

“I don’t like the idea of you tied up again,” Ephyra said.

Beru shook her head. “It’s the only way. I don’t…” She looked around at all of them, and Anton could almost see the struggle in her dark eyes. She looked exhausted, thin and pallid. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to fight it off again. I don’t want to hurt any of you. Please.”

She thrust out her hands. They were shaking.

Illya approached cautiously with some of the extra rope from their tent rigging. He wrapped it around Beru’s wrists, tying it tightly.

“You all realize that none of this is going to matter, right?” Hassan asked. “If the god really does take control, what are we supposed to do?”

It was Beru who answered. “Run.”

They trekked west. The barren mountains gave way to verdant, steep, sweeping cliffs cut away by great tongues of the sea.

The echoing pulse of the Prophets that Anton had found scrying in the Circle of Stones grew louder and more pronounced the closer they drew to them. But so too did the esha of Lazaros and the other Witnesses, following on their heels. Anton dutifully scried for them every night, and every night they were nearer than the night before.

They each took turns watching Beru a few hours of the day at a time. For the most part, she kept to herself, quiet. When it was Anton’s turn, he couldn’t help thinking of the promise he’d made to her after they escaped the citadel. To kill the god, no matter what it took.

On the sixth day, they finally saw it.

“Is that…” Hassan began.

“A temple?” Illya said, completing the thought.

It looked like one, or the ruins of one in any case. Perched high on a thin spine of rock that jutted out over a vast caldera, a hundred crumbling arches led to a circular rotunda surrounded by the remains of five monoliths.

“Is that where they are?” Khepri asked.