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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

Awa wondered: If a person learned Anawanama would she have a map of the world inside? Would she get a storm-sense and feel the wind and rain coming? “Can I learn both? And their stories?”

“Yes.”

Awa forgot throbbing feet and hugged this prospect to her heart.

“This is my mission.” Yari sat down next to her and drew a crossroads in the dirt. “To be a bridge, from the ancestors to tomorrow.”

“Is that why you had to buy so many Sprites?”

Yari stiffened. Anger or terror flitted across vie’s face. Perhaps both. Awa wanted to take her stupid question back. Yari leaned close and spoke with a scratchy voice. “You all will conjure a new world.” Vie patted her hand, as sad as Father staring at sick fruit trees and dead goat kids, as fierce as Mother planting Smokeland herbs that resisted poison sand. “Men like high priest Hezram want to steal the future. We can’t have that now, can we?”

Awa puzzled vie’s words and shook her head. “I guess not.” A Smokeland bee clung to a tight ringlet and buzzed.

“You’re a bridge also.” Yari sounded excited. “Perhaps you can teach me bee-talk.”

Bees liked Awa and she liked them. How could she teach that?

7

The Emperor’s Council

Djola pulled off the blindfold and shrugged free of the scrappy guard. The vast Council chamber with its high ceilings and sky windows was tucked in the middle of the citadel. Djola counted twenty doors, each wide enough for two elephants walking side by side, and leading to who knows where. Only Emperor Azizi, his guards, and Lilot, the chief cook, knew the safe ways in and out. Treachery here meant a difficult escape. Stone walls were thick to hold secrets and traitor screams. Enemy blood was easy to mop up—the floor was polished marble, quarried up the coast by northlanders, which people no one would say. Lahesh tinkerers? Lahesh animal masks hung on the walls: a menagerie of fire-breathers about to pounce. Djola chuckled.

The Lahesh say: Steel is sharper than any claw and only people spit fire. Nobody thought so-called savages had much to offer the Empire. But Djola knew better. If he mastered Xhalan Xhala, ancient Lahesh conjure, he’d wield the power of Smokeland in the everyday. He’d touch a withered tree and feel what caused void-winds to blow across the land. He’d clasp a man’s hand, taste his breath, and know his dreams. Djola would be able to see what might be, even call it forth.