She knew the tale. She could chant the words or tell it through gesture, as every child could.

Long ago, in the time of chaos, a bitter series of wars, feuds, and reprisals denuded the countryside and impoverished the lords and guildsmen and farmers and artisans of the Hundred. In the worst of days, an orphaned girl knelt at the shore of the lake sacred to the gods and prayed that peace might return to her land.

A blinding light split the air, and out of the holy island rising in the center of the lake appeared the seven gods in their own presence. The waters boiled, and the sky wept fire, as the gods crossed over the water to the shore where the girl had fallen.

And they spoke to her.

Our children have been given mind, hand, and heart to guide their actions, but they have turned their power against themselves. Why should we help you?

For the sake of justice, she said.

And they heard her.

Let Guardians walk the lands, in order to establish justice if they can.

Who can be trusted with this burden? she asked them. Those with power grasp tightly.

Only the dead can be trusted, they said. Let the ones who have died fighting for justice be given a second chance to restore peace. We will give them gifts to aid them with this burden.

Taru the Witherer wove nine cloaks out of the fabric of the land and the water and the sky, and out of all living things, which granted the wearer protection against the second death although not against weariness of soul;

Ilu the Opener of Ways built the altars, so that they might speak across the vast distances each to the other;

Atiratu the Lady of Beasts formed the winged horses out of the elements so that they could travel swiftly and across the rivers and mountains without obstacle;

Sapanasu the Lantern gave them light to banish the shadows;

Kotaru the Thunderer gave them the staff of judgment as their symbol of authority;

Ushara the Merciless One gave them a third eye and a second heart with which to see into and understand the hearts of all;

Hasibal gave an offering bowl.

All she lacked was a staff of judgment, whatever that was.

Really, a reeve who tallied up the evidence might suggest, against all likelihood, that these added up to an obvious conclusion:

Here sits a Guardian.

WAS SHE MERELY spinning and drifting on sweet-smoke, unmoored from the world around her? All she knew for sure was that she was being hunted by forces she did not comprehend, ones her gut—and Hari the out-lander, if that was really his name—warned her never to trust.

She didn’t know what precisely she was now, but she had been a reeve once. She could investigate. And it would help to figure out where the hells she was, where her enemies were, and what they wanted.

“YOU MIGHT WANT to turn back,” said the old woman as she scooped nai porridge into Marit’s bowl. They stood under the triple-gated entrance to a temple of Ilu, where Marit had come to beg for food. “Once you ford the river and cross through West Riding, you’ll have left Sohayil.”