“Battle? What battle?”

Her gaze was empty. “They started coming a day after you entered. Undead children—Redemptors. Hundreds of them . . . and they haven’t stopped coming. The attack came from that new portal to the Underworld north of Ebujo City, instead of the Oruku Breach in the temple. The Army of Twelve Realms lay mobilized in wait for them, but . . .” She shook her head, looking haunted, and placed my hand against her forehead.

I am standing on the walls of Ebujo City, watching chaos unfold below. Though I inhabit the memory as Ye Eun, my heart is moved as Tarisai, and tears of pride spring to my eyes: Warriors from all twelve realms of Aritsar fight side by side. They advance, united to defend the city from the armed, deathless killers pouring from the ochre breach.

Sanjeet, Dayo, and Captain Bunmi lead the fray atop armored war buffalo, beating back the undead creatures with a cohort of Imperial Guard warriors.

In truth, it is not an Army of Twelve Realms, but thirteen, for Songland has arrived. From atop a turret, Min Ja directs a unit of fire-speaking sowanhada warriors, her long jet hair streaming like a pennant. The warriors punch the air in unison, sending up a spray of flame, which Min Ja directs in a lethal wind toward the invaders.

The battleground is a patchwork of realms. Quetzalan war machines ignite cannons, sending frozen balls of holy water into the Breach, while Moreyaoese archers shower the enemy with arrows. Biraslovians in horned helmets ride packs of snow-white battle wolves, providing cover for Swanian and Nyamban warriors, who hurl spears with deadly accuracy. Warriors of the new Djbanti commonwealth fight shoulder to shoulder with Spartian soldiers, and Mewish berserkers, fierce in bright blue war paint and capes of tartan, share mounts with Dhyrmish charioteers. Blessid and Nontish healers retrieve the fallen, tending to wounds with grim efficiency.

Yet for all its colorful glory, dispatching hordes back into the breach like a well-oiled machine, the Army of Twelve Realms was flagging. How could it do otherwise? Their enemy could not die. For every cursed Redemptor set aflame or corralled into cages or hurled back into the Underworld . . . there were ten more behind it. And they’d only continue coming.

I pulled out of Ye Eun’s mind, heart racing. Sanjeet. The vassal rulers. Hundreds of thousands of Arit warriors all doomed. Am’s Story, even the cursed Redemptors were victims in all this, souls trapped, forced to desecrate their bodies with blood and murder.

“Well?” Ye Eun breathed. “What did you do? Why are those Redemptors doing this?”

I swallowed hard. “It didn’t start when I came here. The abiku have been planning this for a long time.”

“And you, Wuraola,” hissed a triad of rasping voices, “have the power to stop it.”

Ye Eun and I whirled. Amidst a noxious cloud, a gaggle of ashen abiku had appeared in the clearing, baring their sharp smiles.