High priest Ernold reminds people that tree oil is sacred and bans clear cutting for the glory of the forest and mountain gods. Kyrie and other mountain Iyalawos join Council and organize tree planting ceremonies under Ernold’s guidance. Trees hold the mountains and the rivers. Tree song soothes us all.

The Master of Money works with weavers, planting basket trees and fields of sweetgrass. Revenue from sweetgrass baskets, rugs, boats, and bridges will fill the Empire’s war chests.

Emperor Azizi asks every library from the Golden Gulf to the floating cities for wisdom. The Master of Books and Bones hosts griot gatherings on the steps of the Arkhys City library to recall old traditions and collect new ideas. Crossroads festivals are held during the scar moon. Griot storytellers and carnival players spread the word that change is coming and earn good fees. With fewer empty bellies, riots and rebel uprisings decline, and the People write their own spells for change.

12

Treason

“And Djola, what will you do?” Azizi asked.

Djola had resolved to master Xhalan Xhala and find the cause and a cure for poison sandstorms. If Yari still refused to teach him the Lahesh spell of spells, there were other Elders. When Azizi’s great grandfather conquered the northlands, he outlawed what he didn’t understand, what he feared. Conjurers who defied his edict were put to death.

Green Elders wrote down the old ways before everyone forgot what they knew. Elders hid books in libraries across the world, where nobody would notice. Djola knew what to look for—Lahesh metal-mesh covers, impervious to most spells or poison. Yari had taught him that at least. While Council implemented his map to tomorrow, Djola would search for Xhalan Xhala. He’d told Azizi this, but only Azizi. The other masters would know soon enough.

“I’ll help where I’m needed,” Djola declared.

The Master of Arms leaned over the stone-wood table, breath caught in his throat. He ran a finger over Djola’s calculations, delighted. Arms was easy to please. The burly idealist stuffed a honey cake in his mouth. He and Grain grinned at each other, while Water and Money just looked uncertain. Djola’s plan would make them richer men, but—

“Ten years living like…” Hope and fear warred on Azizi’s face. “Which tribe does mud and silt masquerade? Lahesh?”

“Haven’t the Lahesh died out?” Money slitted silver eyes.

“Lahesh live on among us,” Djola said. “Anawanama do mud and silt masquerade.”

“That’s worse.” Ernold rubbed his priestly skull. “Too much jumba jabba.”

“Consult every library and all the storytellers.” Azizi sighed. “Kyrie said as much.”

Djola’s words should weigh more than an old woman’s. “All wisdom isn’t written.”

Azizi poked the scroll. “Is this a cure?”

“Precautions,” Djola replied. “Until we understand what’s happening to green lands.” Money, Water, and Ernold smirked at green lands. Djola cursed softly.