“The thing is, Dariel,” Skylene said, “the Lothan Aklun did not want to trade in ore or spices or oils. Even the mist was important only because the Known World wanted it so. For some reason, they wanted to base their trade of slaves on quota, on souls. They created the soul catcher. It’s not a thing. Not a device or tool, exactly. It’s the place where the life force is taken from one and given to another. We don’t know how it works, or why. There are words written on the floor, they say. Perhaps the spells are written there, or perhaps in some way it focuses the Lothan Aklun’s power. With it, they can take the life force from one body and place it into another, on reserve for when it’s needed. This is the reason why Devoth didn’t die when that arrow burst his heart. He has many lives within his skin. Killing one is anguish, but goes away.”

Dariel said, “This is making my head spin. For weeks you tell me nothing. Now, suddenly—”

“Yes, well, your respite is over. Don’t faint on me just yet, though. The result of all this is the Ushen Brae of today. The Lothan Aklun traded mist for quota children, and they took them and sold them to the Auldek, who paid great sums for them. The Auldek, in turn, used the slaves to run their world, to build their grand cities and produce a greater flow of wealth than they and the Lothan Aklun could ever have produced themselves. See how it all works?”

“Not really. I mean, I do, but what kind of men would think up such a system?”

And you thought your people were devious, Mór thought. You’re children by comparison.

“Everybody in it is exploited,” Dariel continued, “except the Lothan Aklun themselves.”

“Ah, yes,” Skylene cut in. “And now, with them dead, we have a host of new problems to face. Perhaps you should have a drink of water. I have a few more things to say that may make you dizzy.”

C HAPTER
T HIRTY-SEVEN

Make her fly higher!” Aaden called.

“As high as she can go!” his friend Devlyn added.

“I don’t make her,” Mena said. “I just ask. She chooses on her own.”

“I know, but she should go higher. If I were her, Id go up and up and up. I wonder how high she could go?”

As high as she wants, Aaden. As high as she wants.” Mena smiled, watching her nephew’s upturned, enraptured face. His mouth hung open with the unanswered question. For a moment, Mena was tempted to snatch up one of the grapes left over from their lunch and drop it on his tongue. Instead, she formed the image of rising in her mind and wished it toward the creature.