Awa observed Bal, as if she’d have to write her down in signs and ciphers, as if she’d have to mold her from cloud-silk and drum beats. “The green in your eyes is from far away, northland mountains or the floating cities. Long limbs belong to cloud forest folk. You sweat little, always cool, a child of the desert too. So, one parent from high, one from low, and whether Zamanzi, Anawanama, or barbarian, they risked all to shield you from pirate assassins or Empire thugs. Your parents sacrificed your memories of them to save you. Kurakao! They are to be praised, for if their daughter knew her true identity, conjurers would find her in dreams and betray her spirit to enemies.

“Powerful people feared you might grow into yourself, into your power, and come for them. Your parents wanted you to have your own life, your own story, not perish in theirs. Assassins hunted you and would have killed you when you were a child. It’s too late now. You’re a shadow warrior, well protected, even in dreams. Your parents gave you to Yari. Their wise plan triumphed. They loved you, saved you, and even if they’ve gone on to the death lands, their wisdom watches over you still.”

Bal’s eyes shone with moonlight. “You really believe that might be true?”

Awa nodded. “Why not?”

“Kurakao!” Too heavy to stand, Bal dropped to the mats, dragging Awa with her. Bal cried fat tears. After a moment Awa cried too and they leaned together. Their hearts beat slowly and breath was minimal. The moon vanished from the sky, and stars emerged, challenging the dark. Dew prickled skin, ants nibbled at knees, and the dog fell asleep, head and paws in their laps. When birds hopped close and sang morning rites, Bal stood up carefully. After such a long meditation, muscles might forget themselves. She pulled Awa up. The dog had disappeared.

“A past to guide my future,” Bal declared. “I shall live in this story.”

“Good.” Awa liked Bal’s story better than her own. “We shall live in it together.”

So many spirit slaves wandering Smokeland was a bad sign—high priests perverting Lahesh conjure—but Yari was thrilled that Bal and Awa had returned to the everyday with ancestor songs, a new rock dance, and plans for the future. They never mentioned the golden wheel and marble eye from the iron horse, or the past Awa conjured for Bal. These secrets were theirs alone.