“Look,” said Hari as they pulled up where the land dropped away. From this vista at least a dozen villages surrounded by fields and woodland could be seen, three on the western shore of the river in Farhal and the others in Haldia to the east. What transpired in those villages she could not tell; they were too far away. A dark stain oozed along the road.

“Eiya!” Her heart contracted and her will ebbed.

The army swarmed south, boiling along the road. So huge a force would surely prove impossible to defeat.

“There’s an altar near here.” Rudely, he pointed with a finger across the river. “On a promontory that overlooks this view. Best we take a drink, for strength.”

Warning chafed at the bit, smelling the presence of an altar.

“All right, then. I’ll follow you.”

They approached a rocky hill whose lower reaches were blanketed with flowering thorn and evergreen ghost pine. An abutment of boulders rimmed the crown, and as they dipped to the flat ground, Hari shouted a warning. The horses clattered down to greet another mare, who nipped, forcing them to back off.

“The hells!” Hari swung out of the saddle and ducked away as his horse nipped back.

Warning trotted away from the altercation, and Marit reined her up hard. She dismounted and ran to Hari.

A person was walking the labyrinth. A ghost flickered into view on the straight stretches, vanished where the path took its twists, and shimmered again into existence. A demon’s body might seem substantial walking in the world, but within the labyrinth its true nature was revealed.

Hari grabbed her wrist to stop her. “I don’t recognize her.”

Marit tugged away and stepped into the entrance. She strode, pushing as through water, each angle compressing as the landscapes flashed past: the quiet sea, the ruined tower, the pillar, the dunes, the marsh, and more places she’d had no time to mark and learn. Winded, she staggered into the center.

As she’d thought, she did recognize her.

A girl drank from cupped hands at the spring. Rising, she turned with liquid dripping off her chin. A polished bronze mirror hung from her belt, and she first grasped the mirror but then released it and with practiced skill slid a strung bow from its quiver, nocked an arrow, and drew the string just as Hari bumped into Marit.

“You can’t kill us,” said Hari, with a lopsided smile, “although I admit you can inflict a lot of pain. And I must say, I am cursed sick of the pain.”

She seemed comfortable looking down the arrow at Marit, gaze fixed on target. “He said you were a traitor. He was right about that, at least.”

“No,” said Marit. “You do not know what you are seeing. How can you? My heart is veiled to your sight, as yours is veiled to mine.”

“I want to meet others like me.” She dipped the point so it menaced the ground instead of Marit. “You two are like me. Did you lie to him, about what you mean to do?”