Chapters (70)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Map
- Epigraph
- BEGINNINGS
- PART I
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- PART II
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- TRICKSTER
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Also by Susan Dennard
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
The weasel squeaked and tried to avoid acid; Owl huddled inside her cloak; and Iseult scooped a lone oar off the boat’s bottom. She rowed and rowed and rowed. Acid sprayed with each swinging of the oar, but she could not slow. Could not worry if she hit Owl or the weasel or herself. Acid billowed against her face. Her eyes streamed, and she feared she’d lost the Nomatsi road. That she’d be stuck rowing this canoe forever.
Then the canoe scraped bottom, and it was time to run again. With no concern for Owl’s injury, Iseult hefted the girl into her arms and staggered out of the canoe. She could see nothing in the fog, and her eyes scorched so badly she could hardly keep them open.
Owl began to cry.
But then the image of another branch in the earth filled Iseult’s mind. She snapped her eyes wide, ignoring the pain, ignoring the fog—and there it was. Right beside her foot. A kinked piece of wood that pointed to another clear trail through the Solfatarra.
She set down Owl and pushed the child forward. This time, though, she did not run. This part of the trail required patience and respect. One wrong move, and they would spring claw-toothed bear traps. Or perhaps hidden crossbows.
Behind her, Threads closed in. Aeduan had found the other boat, and now he rowed with Bloodwitch-fueled speed.
The beach ended at a wall of yellow-and-white stone. Owl cried out, dismay swallowing her Threads.
“No,” Iseult said, pushing the girl forward. “Now we climb.” The ladder was almost invisible in the fog, its white-and-yellow rungs blending into the stone.
Iseult dropped to a crouch beside the child. “Get on my back,” she ordered, stoutly ignoring how close Aeduan was. He had reached the shore. Thwang! A crossbow released, mere paces to Iseult’s left. Pain flowered up Aeduan’s Threads; he slowed but did not stop. Even as more traps fired, he still shambled on.
Owl wrapped her arms around Iseult’s neck and her legs around Iseult’s waist. Then the weasel crawled straight up Iseult’s body and coiled onto Owl’s shoulder. For once, thank the goddess, Owl did not protest.
And like that—with so much life to weigh her down—Iseult climbed the ladder. She lost all sense of location, all sense of height. Rough wood bit into her scalded hands. Her eyes streamed and raged. And her breath, already muffled by salamander and acid, was constricted even more by Owl’s desperate grip around her neck.