The Bees swarm together, full of power food and comforted by the queen-scent. They revel in this moment, glowing. The end of the bridge is near. Awa and Djola will find the hive soon—just a few more light beams to navigate. The Bees keel over, clutching each other’s legs, asleep. They dream of pools of nectar, clouds of pollen, and evening dew heavy with flower scent. Why dream of anything else?

5

Spells

Darkness crept under Awa’s skin and itched from the inside. Her bowels twisted around nothing; her bladder was empty. The back of each breath hurt. Toes, fingers, and the tip of her nose were numb. She and Djola huddled with the bees under his cape as they flew along the light bridge past a smear of faint stars. The cape’s outlaw conjure shielded a bit against the deep chill. Furious wings and volcano hearts kept everybody from freezing. Spirit slaves with faint hearts would have faded away. That was strange comfort as Awa tried not to worry about Djola or weep over Yari or imagine revenge on Hezram. Sprite discipline held her together just barely.

“How many more leagues?” she asked for the tenth time.

“The bridge is a circle, a spiral. The end is a beginning.”

Awa groaned. “You don’t know—just say that.”

“You repeat yourself too.” Djola chortled like a fool at carnival. “The order of things.”

“Will you teach me Hezram’s Gate conjure or not?”

“Not Hezram’s conjure. He perverted wisdom from the floating cities, from Lahesh and Anawanama ancestors actually.” Vévés on Djola’s skull glowed in the dark, an eerie light under the cape. “You need good smoke sense, which you already possess, and silver lattice craft.”

“Like the bandages and your mesh gloves?”

“And blindfold. Insulation to keep rogue forces in or out.” That was the first thing he’d taught her. Tricky, yet not impossible. “Snare a smoke-walker in his own despair and poison his breath body in the everyday. Channel his despair into the gate—a simple void-spell. The first captive ensnares other smoke-walkers.”

“Yari tried to warn me…” Awa never got to tell Yari how much vie meant to her.

“Stolen hearts burn out quickly.” Djola stroked his chest. “If fed blood and tree oil, spirit slaves linger and power the gate, channeling void-smoke into the everyday.”

Awa flinched at the memory of blades cutting skin and slicing cathedral tree roots. “We call them Nightmare Gates. How do you stop such conjure?”

“Good question. Smart girl.”

“I’m a woman now.”

“You starve Dream Gates.”

“Of course. Without blood and oil, Nightmare Gates crumble. No other way?”

“Bring the void to the gates.” He balled his lethal hand. “It all adds to the poison desert.”

Awa frowned. “So this is how witch-woman Kyrie crafts Mountain Gates?”

“No.” He quivered. “All gates require sacrifice, but sacrifice need not be unwilling.”