“Fire arrows bounce back or turn to ash in a blink. Cathedral trees refuse to burn and axes fly off the handle. Amber pitch oozes from tree trunks, paralyzing anyone who climbs.” Bal cheered. “A blue-robed conjurer stumbles around in circles. One eye is covered by a blue patch.”

“Hezram.” Awa’s heart raced. “If you see him, he might see you. Come down.”

“Don’t worry. They see only shadows.”

Awa slowed her heartbeat. Djola insisted that nobody in the Empire, not even he, could breach Kyrie’s gates. Maybe they were safe. “Worry is a bad habit.”

“Since when?”

Awa sneered at Bal’s ridiculous question. “I wish I could see what they’re doing.”

A stiff wind blew aside vines and brambles to reveal a chaos of smoking drums and burning bodies on the mountain road. Awa froze. Nobody from the other side looked her way—too busy surviving Kyrie’s conjure. Warrior acolytes had been pierced by their own fiery bolts. Many lay dead because of Hezram’s arrogance. Others howled and limped as rain turned to hail and battered them. Cooks smothered flames with heavy cloths. Drummers gathered their fallen weapons. Hezram had recaptured many transgressors and the warhorses they rode. Jod, in a bandage and splint, hobbled about smacking prisoner cages. He stumbled to the ground, clutched his leg, and groaned. Awa felt no pity. Jod wanted to be Hezram.

She squinted at a captive rattling the locks and chains that bound her to a cage. The woman’s clothes were shreds, her golden hair singed, her face blotchy with bruises. She wore an anklet made from moth cocoons and beetle carapaces. Awa swallowed a shriek. Meera, still alive! A warhorse was tied to Meera’s cage—Bibi! She stomped and snorted, chasing off a burning acolyte.

Rokiat circled the wagon-cages, riding Bibi’s yearling. He winced at hail pounding his blood-crusted face. Bibi had followed Fannie here and the other horses followed Bibi. Awa whistled an alert to the herd. Bibi, and Meera too, jerked up at the piercing melody. Rokiat snapped his head around as horses whinnied and reared against restraints. Did they see Awa? Fannie dashed past her through the narrow opening to the other side.

“Fannie! Stop!” Vines and roots snagged Awa’s leg and held tight. “Come back.”

“An Iyalawo with gold tattoos joins Hezram’s dance,” Bal shouted.

“Zst! Tembe.” Awa clawed at vines holding her prisoner. “The wise woman of Ice Mountain. She worships Hezram.”

“Then Tembe isn’t a wise woman, but a fool.”

Awa whistled a come-home call to Fannie who kicked at ropes and stakes hobbling the horses. “Tembe has roots beyond the Empire in the floating cities.”

“So?” Bal said. “Fools blow themselves up there too.”

“Tembe might know conjure to break through Kyrie’s gates.”

Bal had no cheeky reply for that.

10

A Good Story

A deep voice echoed around the cliffs. “My gates will hold against Tembe.”