She rose from where she was crouched beside them. “I am sorry this is happening to you, Pleysia. But I am worried for Oriantha.”

“I will watch over her,” Pleysia said at once.

“And I will watch over my mother,” Oriantha added quickly. She hesitated. “Mistress, I am much stronger and better trained than you know. I can take care of myself and will not be a burden on anyone.”

Pleysia nodded quickly. “I have witnessed this. She speaks the truth.”

The determination she heard in their voices was convincing. It was too late to send the girl back anyway. They were too far out in the wilderness, and it would be too disruptive at this point to try to separate them.

“Oriantha can stay,” she said.

Pleysia’s smile in response was both bitter and sweet. “Thank you, Mistress. Thank you so much.”

Oriantha murmured her thanks as well, leaning over to give her mother a kiss on her cheek.

Khyber nodded without saying anything further and walked away.

The day wore on and the Walker Boh continued its flight west. The weather was a strange mix of contradictions. Twice, sandstorms blew up from out of nowhere, huge windswept monsters that engulfed the airship in grit and dust and forced all aboard to hunker down with their eyes shielded, trusting that the vessel would find her way through. Three times it rained, each time hard and fierce, drenching everyone in spite of weatherproof gear, passing in minutes and moving on. Periods of haze enveloped the travelers and left them virtually blind as they flew with only a compass to point them in the right direction. Frequently, the Speakman had them change directions because of what he saw of the landscape below, and each time Khyber nodded her agreement, trusting that he would know what none of the others could.

It was nearing midday when they found the fissure shown in the Elfstone vision.

To say it was massive didn’t begin to describe it. It was as if the entire earth had split apart, forming a chasm that stretched for miles in both directions. The fissure was black and filled with mist, and it emitted a haunting wail that reached the passengers and crew of the airship even as high up as they were, working through them like a nightmare’s memory. The sides of the chasm were jagged, and there was no visible bottom. Where it began and ended was anyone’s guess.

“Fifty miles long,” the Speakman whispered.

“I believe it,” said Farshaun. “What’s making that sound?”

“The spirits of the dead.”

Farshaun looked at him. “How would you know that? Have you been to the bottom and seen them?”

The Speakman gave him a look. “I have seen them in my dreams.”