“So I’ve heard.” Azizi walked Djola toward the table.

“I see wonders now.” Djola tapped the red orb. “The eye is a Smokeland treasure.”

Azizi set Djola down in his old Council chair with Anawanama ancestor spells carved on the arms and back. He found a stool for Djola’s mangled foot and stroked the Lahesh crystal poking out of Lilot’s furry bandages, unafraid. He tucked Djola in scratchy blankets stolen from a desert people. Turquoise beads dangled in the fringe. “Sky rocks heal. What happened to your foot?”

“One of Hezram’s fiends fed on me in Smokeland.” Djola hesitated, not ready to tell Yari’s story again. He removed the mesh glove from his right hand but left the lethal one covered. “Lahesh crystal stops me from leaking into the void.”

“What’s to stop me leaking away?” Azizi turned to the guards. “Leave us to each other.” He whistled over their complaints. “Djola is my old, old friend. Watch out for the other masters.”

The bolder guard eyed Djola. “Inside the Council chamber we keep you—”

“Go,” Azizi shouted. “I’m safe with Djola, an Empire hero.”

Mumble-grumbling, the warriors headed for the massive doors opposite the fireplace.

“I’m not a hero.” Cold filled Djola’s lungs and his lethal hand burned, as if he danced Xhalan Xhala. “Wait, I see—”

Azizi and the guards looked around. “What?”

An ambush. The void swallowed Arkhys City. Crows turned to soot; exploding behemoths spewed amber foam. An acid wind ravished cathedral trees, toppled stage towers, and the carnival oasis was sludge. Awa, Bal, Boto, Kyrie, and Vandana also, shapeshifted into bone masquerades with Hezram’s face. They muttered his lies:

Who dances with fire?

The foolish go up in flames, but not the brave or the wise.

I am the new world.

You are the old. I have only to wait for your demise.

Djola refused these visions and released his spirit body. If not hope, better to see nothing and slip away to Jumbajabbaland. He flew out the sky windows easily. The border void was thin—so much smoke had leaked into the everyday—he passed through in a gasp. The light bridge was a blink. Djola raced toward Samina’s cold arms and cruel breath. Bright and bold as in life, she stood on a glacier. When he could almost smell the raintree blossom, she turned her back and faded into an avalanche.

“No,” Djola yelled. “I’m almost there. Wait.”

10

Lies

“Wait for what?” Gruff warriors said as Djola slammed back into the everyday.

Azizi shook his shoulders and whispered, “You were just shadows and breath.”

“Are you listening, poison master?” The guards detailed a slow, horrible death if any harm came to their emperor. Djola scowled at empty threats. He tortured himself worse than anybody else could.

“He’s too feeble to do any harm,” Azizi assured them.