Djola nodded at Bal’s Aido cloth tunic. “To see new patterns, you need new eyes.” He tried to open his cape. “I wear the same pattern. Lahesh invented this in Smokeland.”

“I didn’t know that,” Bal said mildly, “and Yari was my teacher.”

Kyrie rolled her eyes and muttered a curse about tinkerers and wim-wom.

Djola sagged. “We’re all fools, acting as if what we know is all there is to know.” He stroked Bal’s face and looked ready to weep. He dropped his hand. “Ignorance won’t save us from the Master of Illusion.” More words tangled on his tongue.

Muffled screeches from Hezram’s side made Awa flinch.

Kyrie gripped Djola’s chin. “Here’s the news: Good citizens think the gods are cruel old witchdoctors living on mountaintops. They believe I power demon gates with stolen phalluses, eat my enemies’ hearts, and even call up bad weather.”

Luckily Awa hadn’t commented on Kyrie conjuring storms. “The Anawanama say: We are the weather,” Awa declared.

“Indeed.” Kyrie spat on smoldering ashes and strode to her Mountain Gates. She stroked the vines and brambles that had opened for Fannie. Hidden under leaves and in the elbows of branches were a hundred hundred knife-like thorns. Kyrie took a breath and fell. Thorns pierced her face, neck, chest, belly, thighs, and ankles.

Awa lurched toward her. “What are you doing?”

Djola lunged at of Awa. “Let her be.” That move took all his strength. He dropped down on a cathedral root arching over a boulder. Bal and Awa exchanged worried glances as he spoke through gritted teeth. “Kyrie joins the mountain.”

“Whatever that means.” Awa worried for Kyrie and Djola. Bal stood behind Djola, letting him lean into vie’s knees.

Kyrie pulled away from the thorns. “Most people believe rivers, dirt, trees, and bees have no spirit or destiny.” Blood and silvery fluid oozed from many wounds, yet her voice was strong. “Even in the floating cities, the world is a dead thing. Nothing but greed and power are sacred. That’s why I left.”

Djola snorted. “You conjured peace with Zizi and the Empire. Floating-city Babalawos called you traitor and sent your husband to poison you. That’s why you left.” This wasn’t the story Awa had heard.

“Yes, my one true love betrayed me.” Kyrie sounded wistful. She tramped below the mirage cave and splattered silvery blood. Vines retreated and rocks dissolved. “Don’t worry, Awa, we aren’t people who betray the ones we love.”

“You’re a mountain, Kyrie. I don’t know who I am,” Djola and Bal said in unison and then gaped at each other.

“Griots tell wild tales about the witch of Mount Eidhou,” Awa stuttered.

“Griots are the best liars.” Kyrie stomped along the cliff face, dripping blood. Bushes, roots, and rocks dissolved. She was carving out a path.

“What about commandeering Samina to power your Mountain Gates?” Djola said. “Your sister, your own blood?”