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Chapters (102)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Map
  5. DRAMATIS PERSONAE
  6. BOOKI
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. BOOKII
  30. 1
  31. 2
  32. 3
  33. 4
  34. 5
  35. 6
  36. 7
  37. 8
  38. 9
  39. 10
  40. 11
  41. 12
  42. 13
  43. 14
  44. 15
  45. 16
  46. 17
  47. 18
  48. 19
  49. BOOKIII
  50. 1
  51. 2
  52. 3
  53. 4
  54. 5
  55. 6
  56. 7
  57. 8
  58. 9
  59. 10
  60. 11
  61. 12
  62. 13
  63. 14
  64. 15
  65. 16
  66. 17
  67. BOOKIV
  68. 1
  69. 2
  70. 3
  71. 4
  72. 5
  73. 6
  74. 7
  75. 8
  76. 9
  77. 10
  78. 11
  79. BOOKV
  80. 1
  81. 2
  82. 3
  83. 4
  84. 5
  85. 6
  86. 7
  87. 8
  88. 9
  89. 10
  90. 11
  91. 12
  92. 13
  93. 14
  94. 15
  95. 16
  96. 17
  97. 18
  98. Glossary
  99. Acknowledgments
  100. Also by Andrea Hairston
  101. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  102. Newsletter Sign-up

“Bal is alive?” Djola hugged a quaking chest. “Impossible.”

“I don’t want to be anybody’s messenger,” Awa said. “Tell Bal yourself.”

“I must pay a spirit debt.” Yari snatched the viper’s head. “I’m dead in the everyday, but you’ve saved me, saved the other Elders too. Our family.” Yari tapped and squeezed the drum, playing ancestor words, a Lahesh call to death and new life.

Djola relaxed, chest tremors subsiding. “A crossover rhythm.” The beats were a tonic for him, yet the fiends shrieked.

“I went to Holy City, thinking to seduce a demon,” Yari said, “and I failed. Hezram captured me with a kiss. I was arrogant. Bal didn’t want me to go. Even the dog tried to stop me.” Yari turned to the fiend tower, playing furiously. “We make the void and we can unmake it.” Vie could drum a child into the world or a body into the death lands. “Sing my songs, tell my stories. Basawili!”

Djola grabbed Awa as Yari dropped low, just above the tower. Fiends snapped, snarled, and flailed yet could not reach vie. “Let me be one of your good stories. Promise me.”

Awa should have said yes—but her tongue refused.

“We will,” Djola spoke for them both. “I promise. Basawili! Not your last breath.”

“Hezram will come for you, in the everyday, in dreams.” Yari contemplated the tower of fiends. “They’ll all come, a stampede. Take good measure of yourselves. Fly in your own rhythm and outwit them. Xhalan Xhala—see the future you want.”

“How?” Awa said as her heart cracked.

“Abelzowadyo.” Yari tossed the drum to her. She caught it as vie descended into the tower singing harmony with many, many selves. Tree carcasses exploded and fiends howled and hissed. Djola clutched Awa’s waist so tightly she could barely breathe. The fiends mobbed Yari, clawing, biting, and sucking. Awa almost looked away, yet here was the hero she had longed for, saving her and Djola. Yari stabbed ember hearts with the viper’s fangs. Color blossomed across the smooth faces of Green Elders from Awa’s enclave. Free the heart, free the spirit.

The Elders joined Yari’s song-conjure before plunging into the screaming fiends. The tower collapsed on itself. Yari let go of the spent viper’s head and disappeared.

Awa clutched the talking drum and trembled. A blast of indigo sparks ripped from the ground to the stars and blew Awa and Djola far across the sky. Their ears rang with Yari’s last words: Abelzowadyo. Death is a doorway.

3

Star Bridge

The air was clear of void-smoke. Under bright blue sky, grassy savannas stretched to ice-capped mountains. Awa and Djola flew easily toward the peaks.

“We’ve left the void behind.” Djola shuddered. “This is the Smokeland I remember.”

“How will we return to the everyday?” Bleary, her good arm throbbing, Awa glanced back the way they came. “Hezram’s fiends patrol the borderlands and—”