Mount Eidhou was a purple giant roaming midnight gloom in an ice-blue cap, settling down to sleep across Thunder River. A full moon rose above Eidhou’s peaks, offering itself up to greedy demons. A breeze whispered mountain gossip to oasis trees while the river gurgled mountain secrets against the shore. Djola leaned against Mango who was damp and cool from a mud bath. They stood just inside the new city wall at the silver-mesh gates to the river. Vévés on the gates were roads and spirals, shooting stars and spiderwebs, and also the full moon rising.

Tears flooded Djola’s cheeks, blurred his vision. So much to celebrate! The elephant, Vandana, and Orca/Boto had survived, had become rebels. Harsh Kyrie, proud Kyrie never betrayed Djola’s family. Awa and Bal called Djola to his right mind and loved him like a father. They saved Azizi. Soon Djola would greet Samina at Mount Eidhou, perhaps Tessa and Quint also. So why so many tears and a deep ache at the end of each breath?

Mango reached her trunk around Djola to examine the gates. In his marble eye, Djola spied tendrils of void-smoke trying to lap over the silver-mesh at the top of the wall—only a thin thread made it. Kenu, Kenu’s father, and other masons were securing final hinges, latches, and Lahesh whimsy wheels with foul-smelling concoctions. Tedious spells, but when done right, the gates would hold spirits and haints to resist a void-storm or poison desert encroaching. Kenu had even put silver-mesh around the iron citadel gates.

If Hezram conjured Nightmare Gates, Kenu and the masons would share the spirit debt. But any spell could be perverted. If Awa conjured true Dream Gates, Kyrie would extend her gates to Azizi’s citadel, which lay across the river and outside the city wall, but was surrounded by trees. Azizi would gain access to Eidhou’s resources, but only on Kyrie’s terms. And despite his father, Kenu would be a hero. Which story would it be? Mango rumbled, impatient. Djola stroked her trunk and said what he desired. “Awa will make our Dream Gates soon.”

Azizi strode from the oasis garden, brandishing Urzula’s spark torch. The trip to Jumbajabbaland with Awa had invigorated him. “Abelzowadyo,” he said to Djola. Zamanzi in the crowd echoed him. Azizi raised the torch high then low, and a hundred hundred lights in the shape of raintree blossoms lit up dark citadel windows. Floating-city conjure honored wise Samina tonight, eight years too late. When Council betrayed Nuar and Samina, Urzula had used her powers just for Azizi and their children. Tonight, the queen would dance an Anawanama moon masquerade with the rebels. Djola might forgive the queen and all the others. He might even forgive himself.