When Zamanzi raided the crossover ceremony, Awa should have chosen warrior, like Bal, no matter the risk. Soldiers ignored the mysteries and trained to survive destruction and death. They experienced glory and love. But no matter her bad choice, Awa had puzzled impossible questions, collected life and death stories as a griot might, and smoke-walked to a seventh region of snow and ice. Drunk on Rokiat’s coconut wine, she and Meera had sworn never to leave the other alone. Even if Awa had faltered recently, she’d meant every word. That was glory and love, no matter what Meera did in return.

“You there! Help us!” Southerners shouted in the staccato tongue of barbarians. “Please, have mercy.”

Nothing to do even if Awa wanted to. Fannie was paralyzed. Heartbeats raced out of time. Tree trunks with thirty-foot diameters snapped like twigs. A servant jumped from an open balcony and got smashed by debris.

“Run!” The poison master smacked the mare’s haunches. “Run or die!”

Fannie leapt forward. Awa clung to her mane. Her heart quickened to an impossible pulse as fear flooded her despite Sprite discipline. Solid ground and stout tree trunks shimmered like a mirage. The opposite shore was too far, even at a gallop. The tower rushed for the bridge. They would need wings to escape the collision alive.

“No! Please! No!” Awa screamed with the blood-sucking southerners. “Mercy!”

The tower rammed the bridge.

14

The Amethyst River Speaks

Mercy? You have stood on my banks, oblivious. Who are any of you to ask for mercy?

I am your sweat and spit, and tears of joy, but you do not know water.

For a thousand thousand years and more, winding through rocks, slipping downhill to the Salty Sea, I cut gorges and pounded out waterfalls. I hewed these green lands from barren rock and brought mountain riches to meagre soil. This valley was my garden grove. I nourished roots, called up clouds.

The wind whispered its secrets to me. The sky rode my back, blue, green, and white froth. Falling stars cooled in my mud. The moon tugged me toward its cold bosom. I hosted rainbow spirits, brought the dead back to life, again and again.

What do you know of mercy? Do you mourn waterfalls or gorges become barren cliffs? I have drowned hopes and swallowed despair. For a thousand thousand eons, I ferried life more leagues than you can count. You say, we are all water; water is life. Empty talk.

I am three thousand leagues all at once, ocean too, reaching the floating cities and beyond. I am glaciers and steam and clouds and blood. You are fools, come and gone in a blink, stuck in one small splat of time, running in circles, ruining wherever you touch down. Your poison in my water has killed many with no return from death.

A hairy mammalian weed, why should I offer mercy to you?