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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

“Nobody in the Gulf has seen storms like this in a hundred years.” Pezarrat stepped from a snow squall wrapped in a white bear. The head had fangs. “Wild weather every week. Fools read ominous messages from the gods in any ill wind. I see opportunity.” Djola wanted to murder Pezarrat then join his family in the death lands. Luckily for the captain, Orca had confiscated the blades hidden in Djola’s sleeves, belt, and boots.

Pezarrat dodged balls of sleet. “I tell everyone ice storms are Djola’s fault. Outlaw conjure. They feel better to hear that. Well, not better about you, but jumba jabba is better than crossroads gods laughing at you.”

Djola backed away from Pezarrat and returned to sick bay. He downed a seed and silk potion. The day passed in a haze. Orca and Vandana were busy sewing wounds that had reopened. Vandana did Djola’s work and hers. Orca brought him roasted bird stew. Somebody ate it, not Djola.

“Don’t lose hope.” Vandana sat down next to Djola. “Your family could still live.”

“Hope might keep me alive,” he replied. “It will also be torture.”

“No. Despair is torture. Do something good. That is living.”

“Everyone asks too much of me.”

“Do they?” She patted him and went back to sewing folks she insisted were well enough to fetch a good price.

He swung from hope to despair twenty times a day. He almost killed Pezarrat a dozen times and also thought to poison himself.

Orca watched him closely. “In suicide, no honor for your family. Suicide serves your enemies. Vandana is right. What if your family lives? What if you’re like the ancient heroes who faced down demons and saved their beloveds and everybody else too?”

Djola sneered at Orca but practiced pulling fire for Xhalan Xhala. He’d mastered many tricky spells: talking to rivers and trees, feeling the rhythms of dirt and water, reading the stars. Pulling fire required different talents: a storm of stillness in his mind, a sense of the heat animating everything. Many a conjurer had burned up trying to pull fire with a false gesture, an off rhythm, the wrong breath. For Djola the hardest part was the chill on his hand and at his heart.

Freak storms chased the fleet out of the Gulf. Pezarrat sold off contraband and headed to the floating cities sooner than planned. Djola rejoiced. Spies said Urzula might visit the floating cities. An audience with the queen meant word of Samina and the children. Hope was still a habit.

7

Love