I had seen them from a distance, the smoke of their fires. What could they still have to burn, after they had swept through this land like locusts? How could there still be so many?

Osan touched my arm, and I started.

“You’ve never seen this place before,” he said gently. “Come on.”

He was right. My eyes lingered on the broken roof. There had been a red chimney there, once.

After that, Osan set a relentless pace. By midday, the mountains appeared nearer and more solid. The further we moved from Aytrium, the greener the landscape became. Copses of unfamiliar steel-grey trees sprang from the valleys, and smooth, slender grasses caressed the hillsides. For all its new lushness, Ventris remained oppressively silent. The only animals we saw were birds, specks against the blue, too distant to identify.

Memories flickered through my head, fleeting and vague. They did not frighten me, although I saw Millie and Osan exchange looks of concern more than once. Hour by hour, the truth revealed itself to me—I began to grow conscious of all the patterns underlying the world, the repetitions and echoes, the way that tree branches mirrored tree roots, the way that rivers fed the land like arteries fed the flesh. It became clear to me that each element of creation possessed a correct state of being, and that deviations from those states were both offensive and glaringly obvious.

I could also sense her. It felt like I might be able to reach her if I closed my eyes and stretched. I followed the curve of the path with my eyes till it disappeared over the rise of a slope.

It occurred to me, quite abruptly, that I was a deviation myself. That posed a problem. I frowned. Not an unsolvable problem, but certainly one that would require attention.

“El!”

I jumped. Millie shook me by the shoulders.

“Didn’t you hear me?” she asked.

“Sorry.”

“I said drink some water.” She thrust the canteen toward me. “You look sick.”

“Maybe we should take a break,” said Osan.

“No.” It came out more strident than I had intended. I tried to sound reasonable. “She wants to reach the temple.”

Millie tested my forehead against her wrist. “She? Eater, El, what are you even saying? You’ve been raving all day, and it’s scaring me. You aren’t sweating.”

“Maybe I’m not hot.”

“You’re boiling. But not sweating.” She pressed her lips together. “I hate asking, but how much flesh have you consumed?”

“I was careful.”

“Then what is this? How much flesh, El?”

“Three quarters of Verje’s heart. And I feel fine.”

“Listen to me.” She held my jaw. “You aren’t behaving like yourself.”

This wasn’t right. We should be moving, not talking. Did that mean that Millie was a deviation too? How was I supposed to set everything right when these aberrations cascaded upon one another, multiplying, gathering momentum. We were sliding, we were sliding, and I needed to do something drastic to correct matters.