“No more climbing through ruins for old books!” Samina tried to scowl and failed, and so avoided Djola’s eyes. Outside a distant wind wailed. She blamed him for sandstorms and high-spirited children. Unreasonable. She indulged the children as much as he did—so they could belong to themselves. Bal sang an ancient Anawanama song to the crossroads gods.

Crossroads tricksters crack you apart

Truth upside down and inside out

Right side wrong and backside front

“You still remember that?” Djola had taught her when she was little. Quint clapped a rhythm and Tess added harmony. Djola glanced around the table, lifted his wineglass, and leaned into Samina. Silver tattoos around her eyes were snowflakes in a midnight sky. “You all are my heart beating.”

Samina pulled away and started clearing up the last of the feast. “You’re losing the light. If you’re going, go now.”

Djola packed Quint’s blank codex with his travel cloak. Tessa gave him spells to avoid danger on the road. He clasped her neatly-written scroll to his chest. Bal offered her fighting staff. “No.” He smiled. “You’ll need it to keep everyone safe, while I’m gone.”

Rano had recovered his wits and protested when Djola sent three guards to the cliffs and three to the village to watch over his family. Only six guards would leave Djola vulnerable at Council. “It’s just for a short while.” Djola hugged the children, then eyed his wife.

“Twenty years. Why does it still have to be you?” Samina slugged him and headed out the back door, fussing over crows in the berries, fussing at Djola really. No hug or good-bye kiss, no fortification for the battles ahead. Pirates made terrible wives.

He slammed out the front, rattling bamboo wind chimes. He cursed willful witch women as he mounted his horse. “Who else?” He shouted at Rano. “If not me, who?”

4

The Griot of Griots

Green Elders in cloud-silk travel robes stood around Father. They were smooth-cheeked, eyes outlined in black kohl, ropes of hair knotted with seeds. Green and red mica glittered on their palms. They gave Father another money bag and strode into Mother’s Smokeland herb garden. Awa shook her head. They’d come from the sweet desert to take her away. Her chest tightened as they played drums, flutes, and hunter’s harps. Were they all vesons, neither man nor woman, playing every instrument, eating little flesh?

Awa’s three brothers gaped at strangers who jingle-jangled as they talked. Her brothers were headed off to apprentice in Holy City at the southernmost border of the Empire. They’d live and work a few weeks’ ride from a thief-lord fortress. With such experience, they’d be important men someday, maybe advisors to the emperor. They looked foolish, smirking and grabbing their crotches. She caught oldest brother Kenu’s eye. The smirk slid off his face.

“Don’t play the fool.” Kenu jabbed his brothers.