Dog in the Dark

Chapter Fourteen

Leesil couldn’t help enjoying the stay in Chathburh’s guild annex. The comparative luxury was too enticing. The bed was so soft that he and Magiere slept late the following day and were reluctant to get up. After lunch, they took Leanâlhâm shopping, mainly to help her adjust to her new world. The girl was still timid among so many humans, but that improved so long as one of them stayed close to her. She had fewer moments of panic out in the busy streets.

While visiting a shop, she was delighted when Magiere bought her a new soft-bristled hairbrush. Apparently the girl had been using an old wooden comb scavenged somewhere along the way. Her pleasure at something so simple embarrassed Leesil slightly, or perhaps it only made him more aware that Leanâlhâm was unaccustomed to small kindnesses. But in being out and about, he also noticed a few taverns calling out to old longings he’d thought buried and forgotten.

When they returned to the annex near dusk, Domin Tamira greeted them with a smile.

“Supper is about ready,” she declared. “You should call your other companions.”

“Yes, of course,” Magiere replied.

On the upper floor, they found Chap sitting vigil between the stairs and Brot’an’s closed door. Even Leanâlhâm sighed in exasperation.

“Oh, majay-hì, you should have come with us.”

Leesil wasn’t so sure and stepped to the door to knock once.

“Brot’an ... dinner.”

The door opened, and Brot’an looked out, his gaze coming to rest on the girl. She held up the small object in her hand.

“Look, Greimasg’äh, Magiere bought me a brush. I will go and put it with my things.”

Any response Brot’an had was left hanging as she rushed off to her own room.

“That was ... kind of you,” he said, though it sounded forced. “May I reimburse you for the cost?”

It had never occurred to Leesil that Brot’an carried any coin. Of course he would, since he’d been staying at inns with Osha and Leanâlhâm while the three were in Calm Seatt. How he’d acquired local currency was the question, and Leesil wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“It’s all right,” Magiere returned almost coldly.

“A message came from the ship while you were out,” Brot’an said, changing the subject. “The cargo exchange is nearly complete. We set sail in the morning.”

Leesil slumped in disappointment, and already his stomach felt queasy again. Dinner this night might be his last easy meal for a while.

“Let’s go eat,” he grumbled.

Then Leanâlhâm hurried out of her room. “I am ready.”

Magiere half smiled and shooed the girl along as all five of them descended the stairs. Upon reaching the dining area’s open archway, Leesil stopped in his tracks at the sight of the table. Only one aspect of their stay at the annex had been less than pleasing to him: the food.

Last night’s supper had been vegetable stew and rough grain bread. They’d had watery herbed lentils and more rough grain bread for lunch. Of course he’d eaten much worse in their travels, but in a port city there would be delicacies available, shipped up and down a populated coast. And what were they having for dinner again?

As one of the robed sages set a large crock on the table and lifted the heavy lid, Leesil saw ... lentil and vegetable stew. Big hunks of turnips floated among the carrot slices.

Five sages in different-colored robes bustled about the table, setting out bowls and mugs. He had no wish to appear ungrateful, but it was like living with five Wynns all at once. He was completely outnumbered when it came to whatever went into the cooking pot.

Brot’an ushered Leanâlhâm in, but Leesil grabbed Magiere’s arm before she followed.

“Let’s go out and find an eatery,” he said quietly. “I want something good for my last meal ... before I lose it by noon tomorrow on that ship.”

Magiere blinked. “Leesil, this is perfectly good food. Besides, we shouldn’t spend unnecessary coins.”

“Don’t be a miser,” he whispered back.

Her brows lifted.

“We’ll find a tavern,” he rushed on. “Maybe I can fix the money problem as well.”

This last comment was a mistake.

“Don’t you even think about that!” she hissed.

They were both distracted by a fit of sniffing, and Leesil peered around behind Magiere.

Barely sticking his head through the archway, Chap stood on her far side. He sniffed again and then snorted, as if clearing his nose of something unpleasant. Chap let out a grumbling whine, and an image rose in Leesil’s head.

There was an old vendor’s cart in Bela, the capital of their homeland. Sausages dangled on wooden bars above a grill-covered coal pot, where the vendor was searing yet more. Leesil could almost smell them as they sizzled.

“Chap wants sausages,” he whispered.

“What?” Magiere turned on the dog. “No, you don’t. You two stop goading each other on!”

By this point everyone in the dining chamber was glancing their way.

“Will you join us?” Brot’an asked pointedly.

“Nope,” Leesil answered. “We’re going out.”

He pulled on Magiere’s arm, but she planted her feet. Chap took one back step and then froze, eyeing Brot’an.

“I would like to stay,” Leanâlhâm said, “and go to the library again.” She looked to Brot’an. “If that is all right.”

“Yes,” he answered. “I am staying, too.”

At that, Chap’s right upper jowl rose slightly.

—If Brot’an—stays—I should—stay—

Leesil knew this must be a disappointment to the dog, who had clearly been looking forward to eating out.

“The majay-hì is welcome to join you,” Brot’an said, as if he’d guessed what Chap just related. “I do not think he will learn much sitting outside my door.”

Something like a cat’s hiss slipped out between Chap’s teeth.

“Enough, all of you!” Magiere cut in, and then looked once at Leanâlhâm before fixing on Brot’an. “You swear to stay put and watch over her?”

Leesil didn’t like the hint of a smile on Brot’an’s face.

“I do so swear,” he announced and settled in a chair beside the girl’s.

Leanâlhâm frowned at Magiere.

“Good enough!” Leesil declared, and before Magiere started in again, he snatched the back of her belt and pulled.

“Wait, not yet—”

At least in backpedaling, she’d either follow or end up on her butt. But when Leesil reached the front door, Magiere whirled on him and almost raised her fist. Chap still lingered near the archway.

“Are you coming or not?” Leesil asked.

Chap growled once and turned to follow. Before Magiere could make any more fuss, Leesil slipped out the front door.

Exhilarated by the glowing streetlamps and the sounds of the city, he remembered one nearby place he’d seen earlier that day. He wandered happily along the cobbled ways and looked around until he pulled up short, as if stumbling upon a likely place by pure chance.

A painted sign in Numanese hung over the door; Leesil translated the words as “The Red Fox.” He stayed back from the front window he had peered through during the day, as its shutters were still half open, and he turned to Magiere.

“What about this? I can smell some kind of meat being served in there.”

Magiere went to the window just the same. Looking in, she probably spotted at least two tables full of patrons playing cards.

“You picked this place for the food?” she asked dryly.

Leesil feigned innocence. “What else?”

“Don’t you even think of touching a single card, die, or tile.”

At least this was the Magiere that Leesil remembered and back to normal for the moment. He smiled and stepped up, and grabbing the tavern door’s handle, he was inside before she could catch him.

The tavern was a bit more upscale than he’d realized. A long, polished oak bar was lined with rows of actual pewter goblets and tankards. Several buxom girls weaved among packed tables with overburdened wooden trays.

But in the back of his mind, he was thinking that whatever coins they had might be multiplied a little bit—especially since he’d been the last one to have their coin pouch, and he still did.

By the time Magiere followed him, wrestling her way through the crowded room, he’d already ordered up grilled chicken, spiced potatoes, tea, and ale—and two sausages—from one of the passing girls. When he plopped into a chair, it was too late for Magiere to say anything. Only Chap still grumbled as he circled around, momentarily frightening a few patrons at a nearby table before he settled beside Leesil’s chair.

A few years ago, Leesil had had to drink himself into a stupor just to sleep. Those nights were gone, and he no longer craved deep red wine. A game of cards was something else. That old itch still tickled him, and it had been too long since he’d scratched it.

Four men across the room at a table near the bar’s far end appeared to be playing a card game much like Two Kings, and the dealer was a middle-aged red-haired woman. Leesil took no more than a glance before looking idly about the rest of the tavern. Soon the food arrived, along with a tankard for Magiere.

She watched him throughout the meal, but with her mouth full, at least she couldn’t keep questioning him. Leesil shared his food with Chap, and every few bites he’d hack off a lump of sausage or chicken and toss it off to his right.

A clack of teeth answered, along with wet smacking and gnashing, followed by a gulp below the table. At one point there was a deep belch.

Magiere scowled in disgust, leaning back to peer under the table. When she did, Leesil arched up to look in her tankard.

More than half was gone, as fortunately the food was a bit salty—a typical trick by proprietors to sell more drink. While Magiere still scowled down at Chap, Leesil waved over one of the girls to refill the tankard. The girl was gone before Magiere looked up and Leesil quickly averted his eyes.

“What are you up to?” she asked.

He wiped his hands and stood up. “I’m going to earn our dinner back.”

“Oh, no, you aren’t!” She lunged, making a grab for him.

The table bucked up as Magiere’s legs half straightened, and as it rocked back into her legs, Chap snarled somewhere below. Magiere tumbled back down into her chair, and so did her tankard of ale.

Leesil almost stalled. Whether she drank the ale or wore it was good enough for him to slip off through the crowd. He’d pay for that later, but right now he was eager to get in on a game.

He’d barely squirmed through the crowded room when he almost stalled again, glancing down at himself. With his hauberk of battered iron rings and both punching blades strapped on, he must look like some half-blood mercenary to the locals.

At the squeak of some serving girl when her tray of plates rattled and at least one hit the floor, he knew Magiere was coming for him. Two of the cardplayers looked up, one leaning back to glance around him at the commotion.

Leesil unstrapped both blades as he settled in a vacant chair. The instant he heard Magiere behind him, he held the sheathed blades up without even looking.

“Hang on to these for me.”

“Leesil—”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Before Magiere got out another word, Chap growled, followed by ...

—If you—cheat—do not—get caught—

“I don’t need to cheat in a place like this,” he whispered in Belaskian, and when several players looked at him, he switched to Numanese. “Room for one?”

All at the table looked him over, and some exchanged annoyed glances, but he smiled at the redheaded dealer with a deck on the table before her. She studied his face, hair, and eyes for a moment.

“Do you know how to play Vëttes?” she asked.

Leesil’s thoughts stumbled over the last word. It was somewhat similar to the Numanese word for “gate”—or maybe “gates.”

“This isn’t faro or Two Kings, you idiot!” Magiere warned in Belaskian. “You don’t even know what you’re playing.”

As the dealer looked up, likely at Magiere, she smiled. She wouldn’t know what Magiere had said, but the tone of an incensed spouse was plain enough. Leesil rolled his eyes, cocked one eyebrow, and winked at the dealer.

“I learn quick,” he replied. “Maybe I watch first.”

A few players scowled, but the dealer raised a hand to brush them off. Indeed, Leesil was left to watch as the next hand played out. He noticed a number of empty tankards that hadn’t been cleared away. One young man on his right, dressed somewhat finely, glanced sidelong at him.

“I’ve never seen a Lhoin’na in armor before,” he commented.

Leesil grinned at him and shrugged, gesturing to the hauberk. “For show.”

The young man snorted with a half laugh and turned back to the game.

Leesil hoped this would lull the others into thinking he wasn’t dangerous and only preferred to look that way. The fact that his wife hovered behind him in fury would add to that illusion.

He kept his eyes on the cards. They were different from the typical deck used in the Farlands. In addition to the suits’ being foreign, the deck contained only what he would call “kings” and “queens,” but no “princes,” “knaves,” or “priests.” A Farlands deck had five suits, but here there were only four, which made the odds tighter and easier to calculate. Besides, even if he lost a hand or two, he could see by the coins on the table that the stakes were low.

The men made small talk as the next hand was dealt. Two bleary-eyed players ordered more ale. Leesil ignored them as he caught one twist to the game.

“Breach!” the young man on his right declared.

Leesil scanned the man’s cards. After an opening bet in Two Kings, a further bet could be placed after the first two cards had been dealt, one up and one down. Winning meant coming as close to twenty points without going over. Two “kings” was the best possible hand on a first deal. But in this game of “Gates,” the dealer had two cards, one up and one down. It appeared that a player had to beat the dealer’s hand as well.

The young man had a nine of one suit and a seven of another; on a call for his last draw, he’d been dealt a one from a third suit. The dealer flipped her hidden card, giving her a king and a queen—and so her hand should’ve won. But the redheaded woman doubled the young man’s bet and took away all of the other bets.

It seemed that a “one” in any suit breached the toughest “gate” the dealer could come up with. It was a long-shot play, but the game was closer to Two Kings than Leesil first thought, and he opened his pouch. To his advantage, the cards were a bit smaller than the ones he used in the Sea Lion tavern, though he’d never cheated there.

Leesil bet one silver Numanese penny, a bit much for a first hand, and the cards were dealt. His face-up card was an eight from a suit with floral leaves. Hoping for something low, he peeked at his hidden card and found a two of crossed iron bars. Calling for more cards, he kept on until the fifth took him over twenty, and he lost.

Magiere hissed behind him.

—What—are you—doing?—

Leesil ignored Chap as well as Magiere. What he needed most was a king or a queen. A nine would do almost as well, but not a one, for apparently that card won even if the dealer had twenty. He didn’t want to win just yet.

He lost again on a hand of five cards, but therein was a nine of waves. Gathering up his cards facedown, he purposefully placed the nine on top. Before he slid them back to the dealer, he palmed the top card and kept his hands down on the table.

Yes, he’d said he wouldn’t cheat, but he never said he wouldn’t lie ... about cheating.

On the next hand, he was dealt a face-up queen of clouds. He flattened the hand with the nine over his face-down card and bent its corner up for a peek: a two of floral leaves.

Leesil drew the card fully up before his face and intentionally scowled. When he put it back down, he kept his thumb over its face. Hanging onto it as he drew his hand back in plain sight, he slipped the nine, facedown in place of the two, from under his fingers.

The dealer had a seven of iron up.

Leesil placed five silver pennies atop his opening bet and passed on taking more cards. This was a fairly large bet for what the others had been wagering, and it drew more than one glance.

The dealer never blinked as she flipped her down card—a nine of clouds to go with her seven of iron.

The other men lost, two of them drawing out over twenty. Leesil flipped his hidden card for a total of nineteen. At the sight of that, Leesil felt Magiere’s hand drop onto his shoulder and clench. From behind him, she couldn’t have missed seeing his initial cards. But he had just doubled his wager.

—You said—you would—not cheat—

Leesil ignored Chap as the good-natured young man shrugged and looked to the redheaded dealer.

“Sorry, Merina,” he said, and cocked his head toward Leesil. “He must have beginner’s luck.”

Leesil stored that phrase away for future use, but he was suspicious. The other men hadn’t minded losing to the dealer, yet they appeared to resent that he’d won. On the next hand, the young man’s first two cards totaled fifteen. He upped his initial bet of one penny with something smaller, probably equal to a groat in the Farlands. Merina was showing a six of waves, and the young man shook his head at the offer of another card.

Leesil ended up over count and lost. He hadn’t drawn anything worth palming, and as he gathered his cards, he secretly discarded the floral two that he held. He won a fair amount on the third round, and his stack of coins grew. The young man won as well, but not the two drunkards.

Both cast baleful glances at him, as did Merina.

No one appeared to mind that the young man had won. Perhaps he was local, and the others only resented outsiders. From then on, Leesil made the minimum bets and lost three hands. The other players each won a hand along the way, and the mood at the table improved. It was time for one last good win.

Leesil was dealt a king of clouds faceup—and a queen of iron as his down card. Merina dealt herself a faceup nine of waves. When the others finished their draws and bets, she turned over a queen to match the nine. Leesil still won and doubled his coins again as he feigned astonishment.

“Beginner’s luck,” he echoed.

Merina slid over a small stack of coins, and she wasn’t smiling. Only then did Leesil think about where he was ... playing cards with a red-haired dealer in a place called The Red Fox.

It was time to get out of this.

“Enough for me,” he said, sweeping coins into the pouch and glancing sidelong at Magiere. “She is waiting.”

He turned away, avoiding Magiere’s glare, as Chap scurried out in front, making patrons stumble into each other as they gave him room.

“We need to go,” Leesil whispered, taking his blades from Magiere. “I think the dealer is the owner ... and it appears she is well liked.”

“You idiot,” Magiere growled behind him.

Chap huffed in agreement as he reached the door.

They were outside and halfway down the street before Leesil slowed. He looked back, found the way clear, and started to strap on his blades. Magiere didn’t say a word and stood ahead with her arms folded.

“Well?” he goaded. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“What?”

“How much I won,” he said.

“Probably more than you should have!”

In truth, Leesil hadn’t done a final count, but he’d turned a few silver pennies into more. Better, tonight left him feeling as if the past year had never happened—even with Magiere being grumpy with him. Or maybe because she was grumpy with him.

In the old days he’d been reckless and carefree, while she’d been cautious and conservative. He missed those days, and for a moment he’d gotten lost in the vision of how things used to be. After all, Magiere had improved some since that slip when she’d almost cut down the first mate. In part, that had been because of Leanâlhâm. Maybe he and Chap didn’t have to be so vigilant about Magiere.

Following her, Leesil headed down the street, while Chap strolled at her side and made a good deal of noise licking and smacking his jowls.

“What have you done to yourself?” Magiere asked, stepping away from the dog. “You’re a greasy mess.... I’m taking a wet towel to your face when we get back.”

Still trying to clean sausage grease from all over his muzzle, Chap shook himself. Instead of growling or licking his nose by way of a retort, he suddenly stopped and looked back. His ears stiffened upright.

“What?” Leesil said, instantly on guard, and then he heard ...

Quick footfalls—more than one set—carried from the first side street behind them.

“Move on,” he said quickly.

Magiere kept pace, and as she was about to look back, someone shouted.

“There he is!”

Leesil groaned. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to scurry away from a card table.

“You! Stop!” a man yelled.

Leesil was torn between bolting and facing an ugly confrontation, but Magiere made the decision for them. She halted, turned, and set herself. When her hand dropped to the falchion’s hilt, Leesil’s tension increased. He and Chap could hold off a few locals with no harm done, but he didn’t want this going that far, not with Magiere in the middle of a public street.

With little choice, Leesil turned to face what was coming. Three men from the card table led four others, and none of them looked fully sober. A few carried cudgels, and the one in front gripped a poorly made shortsword.

“You!” the lead man shouted. “You cheated Merina!”

Words rose in Leesil’s mind.

—Do not—get—us—arrested—

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he whispered through gritted teeth.

But inside Leesil wrestled for a way out of this without a fight. Magiere hadn’t seemed to even hear him and focused only on the leader.

“He cheated no one,” she said, lowly and breathily, as the lead one stopped just beyond sword’s reach.

Leesil didn’t like the edge in her voice. The leader, broad shouldered and a few days unshaven, was probably used to relying on weight and size in place of any skill.

“He cheated on the last hand!” the man bellowed, inching in as the others spread out. “I’m taking Merina’s money back. Hand over the pouch now!”

Leesil didn’t move. The fat drunkard reached out and grabbed him by his hauberk’s collar. Leesil should’ve known what else that might cause, but he just shifted one foot back at the ready. A snarl broke his focus, and then Magiere lashed out.

“Don’t touch him!” she shouted.

Hardened fingernails raked the fat man’s face.

Leesil didn’t turn in time, and Magiere slammed the man with both hands. Two other men scrambled out of the way as the bulky one flopped backward and rolled across the cobble. One spindly youth cried out in fright as the leader stopping rolling and lay prone. Half the man’s right cheek was shredded.

In the dark, Leesil thought he saw exposed bone amid the blood. When Magiere snarled and hissed, he went cold as he saw her.

The whites of her eyes were almost gone under her expanding irises, and she rushed at the next closest man.

—Stop—her!—

Leesil was already in motion. He threw his arms around Magiere from behind and twisted with all of his weight. They both went spinning down onto the cobblestones. As he tried to pin Magiere, he heard Chap harrying the mob. That wasn’t going to work for long.

Magiere tried to pitch Leesil off, and he almost lost his hold.

“Stop! It’s me!” he shouted at her.

Several men pulled away in horror, but one stayed his ground, dropping into a half crouch and raising a cudgel. If Chap couldn’t break them up, Leesil feared he’d have to release Magiere to defend both of them.

—Roll—to—your—right—

Leesil did, and when he came up atop Magiere again, he slammed his knees down on her shoulders.

“Enough!” he ordered.

Then he felt Chap’s muzzle rooting around under the back of his hauberk toward his belt. Before he looked back again, he heard the clink of coins.

Chap stood beyond Magiere’s feet and faced the gang of men; the pouch was in his teeth. Swinging his head, he tossed the pouch, and it landed on the cobble before the small mob.

“Take it! Go!” Leesil yelled at them. “Or pay in more blood.”

After an instant of being startled by what a mere dog had done, one man snatched up the pouch as others grabbed the leader and had to drag him. They went scrambling toward the side street.

Magiere bucked again, but not with all her strength. When Leesil looked down at her, he grew sick inside. She stared up at him with fully black eyes.

She wasn’t getting any better.

The only reason she hadn’t given way to that other self in recent days was because nothing had threatened them ... threatened him or Chap. And now she’d maimed a man over a few coins that he’d cheated to gain.

Leesil bent down and pressed his forehead against hers until she started to calm, and then he slid his face in until they were cheek to cheek.

“Quiet ... Be still.”

When she finally did, panting and shaking, he looked up to find Chap watching them both. She wasn’t ready.... He wasn’t ready to take her anywhere near the annex. Chap spun, hurrying off across the way.

—Over here—

Chap stood waiting before a cutway’s mouth between two darkened shops. They needed time, and he could do little more than scout a close place out of sight.

“Come on,” Leesil whispered, half pulling, half dragging Magiere.

Chap shifted aside as Leesil steered Magiere into the deeper darkness and pinned her up against the sidewall. He held her there as Chap lingered near the cutway’s mouth, watching for any returning pursuit.

“It’s all right,” Leesil whispered.

It was not, and all Chap could do was what he always did. He turned only his head, looking to Magiere, and tried to calm her mind with the quietest memories he could find in her.

This was a slow-burning catastrophe in the making. He and Leesil had been dealing with it for more than half a year. It kept erupting more quickly each time without warning.

On their journey into the Wastes, Chap had let himself believe that Magiere’s slaughter of Qahhar had been an aberration. Something that had to be done, brought on by close proximity to an ancient undead. Even then it was obvious that the more undead that she faced and the more potent they were, the more that inner side of her swelled to match them.

Chap had thought that was all there was to it, for in earlier times she had always come back to herself. He had been so very wrong, and his thoughts slipped back ... back to the aftermath....

Wounded, Chap lay curled against an unconscious Leesil in the sled. After the first lurch, he’d wondered how Magiere could pull it. The more he thought on this, the more often he wriggled his head out from under the tarp to watch, and the more what he saw disturbed him.

It overwhelmed any fragile hope that they might survive.

In the wind-whipped snow beyond the sled, Magiere was partially obscured from sight. She half ran, half stumbled, lunging against the sled’s weight, but she never stopped as she hauled it blindly over the white plain. There was only one way she could be doing this out there alone—willfully calling upon her dhampir half.

Or was she even Magiere anymore?

He had never seen her so utterly changed, nor had he seen her maintain the change for so long. He was too broken to try to stop her, and even if he could, that would leave them all to die out here.

Chap couldn’t watch anymore and ducked back under the tarp against Leesil. He must have fallen unconscious, for the next time he came aware, it was dark and cold, though he felt no wind now. Something moved nearby, as if on all fours.

He found himself on a pile of furs and covered in even more of them, and realized he was inside the shelter they’d used along the journey. Leesil breathed behind him under the furs, but that movement, that crawling scrape, came from the other direction. It stopped, and he caught the sound of ragged breaths.

All he could think was that somehow Magiere had managed to erect the shelter and then drag all of them inside. At least she had to have come back to herself for that, but it was fully dark. The oil lantern was not lit.

Chap huffed once to get Magiere’s attention. No answer came, and so he huffed again.

A long, guttural hiss, as if grating out of an animal’s throat, answered him. Then silence.

It was a long, cold night as he listened for any hint of Magiere’s movements. He heard nothing more. Sometime before dawn, fatigue must have driven him down into a fearful sleep. He awoke to dim light leaking into the shelter.

“Where ... where’s Magiere?” Leesil asked weakly.

Chap did not see her inside the shelter. There were slates of dried fish laid out beside the furs. The oiled cloth on which the fish lay looked as if it had been ripped wide instead of unrolled properly. He snapped a piece of fish in his teeth and squirmed over to drop it beside Leesil’s head.

Leesil grimaced, weakly turning his face from the smell.

At that Chap took a deep breath of relief. If Leesil could be that picky, he would live.

Chap found he was still wearing the fur that Leesil had rigged for him, and he wanted to find Magiere. First he ate a piece of smoke-cured fish. It crackled as he chewed, and its cold made his teeth ache. When Leesil still refused to eat or sit up, Chap snapped up another piece. With a snarl, he dropped it on Leesil’s face.

Leesil grunted at him but grabbed the piece.

They needed water as well, but without the oil lamp’s minimal heat, any water skin would be frozen solid. Still, Chap rooted around trying to find one, if Magiere had even brought one in.

“Here,” Leesil groaned, and Chap looked up.

Leesil, still in his coat and clothes, dug weakly under the furs. He pulled out a water skin, though he could not have put it there himself. With his good hand, he pulled its stopper with his teeth and drank a little. When it came time for Chap, there was nothing in which to pour the water. Chap tilted his head back and opened his jaws, and Leesil splashed water into his mouth.

Chap finally raised a memory for Leesil of the sled laden down with all their belongings. Leesil nodded, and with labored effort they crawled outside. The sky was calm but gray, and the first thing Chap spotted was the sled.

It was a ways off, and someone had dug it out of the night’s drifts, though it was still caked in crystallized snow crust. Chap looked out along the sled’s ice-coated lines of frozen, empty dog harnesses.

Magiere stood with her back to them with the end of those lines perhaps gripped in her mittened hands. She didn’t move when Leesil weakly called out to her. When he tried to stumble toward her, Chap cut him off. Leesil looked down in confusion, and Chap barked once for no.

He turned, slowly approaching Magiere, and made it halfway along the sled lines before he heard her hiss. Even then she didn’t turn her hooded head to show her face.

Chap backed away, not taking his eyes off her until he reached the sled.

“What’s happened ... to her?” Leesil whispered.

Chap did not want to guess. Instead he raised Leesil’s memories of watching Ti’kwäg dismantle the shelter. Weak as Leesil was—and with only one usable arm—it took him a while to complete this task, and he was shaking by the time he helped Chap aboard the sled and then climbed in himself. They never had a chance to call out that they were ready before the sled lurched forward.

All that day, as Leesil slept again, Chap pondered the worst of what had taken place. He could not understand what was happening to Magiere. He kept remembering the sight of her clutching Qahhar’s head, her face half-covered in gore as black as her eyes. The leaking of the ancient undead’s fluid from her mouth begged the worst worry. She had vomited some of it up, and that meant she had swallowed it ... drunk it.

Could that be what affected her now?

Before, whenever she let her dhampir half rise, the aftermath when it receded left her exhausted, sometimes collapsing. Chap couldn’t see how she still maintained her dhampir state for this long. But she was out there pulling the sled at half the speed of a dog team.

When they stopped at dusk, she stayed out in front and would not come nearer nor look back, no matter how Leesil shouted at her. When he tried to go to her, Chap stopped him.

Chap dragged whatever he could of the shelter’s fixtures off the sled as Leesil worked with one arm to assemble them. It was not well-done, and when they crawled inside, the shelter was dark and the temperature unbearable. Leesil fumbled one-handed to light the oil lamp, as Chap watched the shelter’s entrance.

Magiere couldn’t stay out there, not even as she was. He finally howled, making Leesil jump and twist about. Long moments passed before they heard snow crunching outside under footfalls, and Chap backed up.

The canvas flap pulled aside a little under the grip of a fur-mittened hand. Dim light within the shelter exposed a white face looking in and partially dusted with frost. Some of the black stain over Magiere’s mouth and jaw remained, with spidering cracks from its having dried on her face in the frigid air.

“Get in here,” Leesil whispered.

She stared at him with her fully black eyes.

“Now, Magiere.”

She crawled inside.

“Why are you doing this?” Leesil whispered. “Let it go ... and come back.”

A sliver of white appeared on either side of Magiere’s irises. Chap thought her irises might finally be contracting, and then Magiere shuddered. She toppled where she knelt, catching herself at the last instant with both hands flattened on a fur hide on the floor. Her whole body shook as if she might collapse completely.

Leesil grabbed her shoulders.

Magiere shrieked so loudly that Chap went deaf for an instant, and she lurched, shoving Leesil off.

Leesil fell back with a yelp of pain. Before Chap could lunge in, Magiere scrambled to the shelter’s wall, turning around, and pressed up against it until the canvas bowed across her back.

Her eyes had flooded fully black again.

At the sight of Chap watching her, she ducked her head. Even as she cowered from him, wrapping her arms over her head and face, a growl shook her whole body.

Leesil struggled up to his knees and tried to go to her, and Chap cut him off again. When Leesil would not stop, Chap had to snap at his face. Leesil finally gave up and dropped where he knelt and hung his head.

Chap was at a loss. He lay down upon the shelter’s fur-covered floor and soon felt the cold from the packed snow beneath seeping into him. But he would not move, would not leave Magiere unwatched ... would not leave her to suffer alone.

The worst of it was that although he did not know how she did this, he understood why. So long as she held on to that other half of herself, she might keep going. She was the only chance they had to get the orbs—or themselves—out of the Wastes.

But when she finally let go, what would it cost her?

Worse, what would it cost if she did not—and soon? What might be the lasting effects of her having swallowed Qahhar’s black fluids?

It was another long, cold night for Chap, even after Leesil dragged over hides to cover them both and tried to push two such toward Magiere. She would not look at them.

The next morning she was gone.

Chap rose in a panic, having fallen asleep sometime in the night. He quickly roused Leesil and then bolted out of the shelter. There was Magiere, waiting with her back turned at the end of the sled’s empty dog lines.

Two more days and nights came and went, and Chap and Leesil took to struggling along on their own, decreasing the weight that Magiere had to pull. On the third day, Chap made Leesil harness him to the sled, and they both pulled as well. On the sixth night, Chap collapsed in the shelter and lay watching Magiere again.

Her breath came in ragged, grating hisses. He couldn’t tell whether they were from exhaustion or from holding on to the barest control over her dhampir half.

Chap forgot about the need to hide the orbs. He no longer tried to raise calming memories for Magiere. That was now as much of a danger to her as anything else. She’d been in this state for far too long. If—when—she finally let go, he now worried that it would kill her.

He saw no way to stop her, and if he did, he had no way to save her.

The next dawn, Chap was too exhausted to help pull the sled. Leesil was no better, and Chap bullied him onto the sled before turning to trot beside it. There was nothing but endless white all around them.

Then the sled suddenly stopped.

Chap staggered three more steps before he saw the sled lines lying limp in the snow. He quickly looked ahead, terrified that Magiere had finally let go. But she stood there, perfectly still except for the rising wind pulling at her coat’s fur. Another storm was coming. Chap lunged toward her but halted before getting far enough to see her face.

Out beyond Magiere was a cluster of small domed ice dwellings. A group of dogs were curled up in the snow beside the largest dome. It was a camp of Wastelanders, likely on their way to the coast.

One dog raised its head and looked out at them. It began to growl and then snarl. Another looked up, and then another.

Leesil called out, “Why have we stopped?”

Magiere bolted over the snow.

Chap froze an instant too long in indecision, and Magiere charged at full speed without the weight of the sled holding her back.

Leesil shouted this time. “Magiere!”

Chap had no time to warn Leesil and took off running. He should have known what could happen.

Magiere knew him, knew Leesil, and that was all that kept her in check. With that other half of her dominant for so long, the real half of her had weakened, grown exhausted. The dhampir within her could feel this.

She dove straight for the nearest dog.

Leesil got out one hoarse, cracked shout as the world in front of Chap exploded into yelps and snarls. Magiere went rolling in a tangle with a dog amid screeching yelps and the sound of breaking bones. All the other dogs leaped up in fear, thrashing against their leashes.

Magiere came up atop the first one, slammed its head down, and bit into its throat.

Another dog attacked her from behind.

She lashed back at the second dog, snapped upright on her knees, and took it head-on as the first one lay limp and twitching in the snow. The second tried to snap at her face, and she grabbed its snout. A muffled crackle of bone was smothered in a squeal of pain. When she wrenched its head aside to get at its throat, its neck broke, and it went silent.

She hesitated, staring at the lifeless corpse in her grip no longer able to feed her. With a jerk of her head and her blood-smeared face, her fully black eyes fixed on another dog trying to get out of reach. She dropped the corpse and scrambled on all fours.

“No!” Leesil screamed from somewhere close.

Chap charged in and threw himself at Magiere. It was not the dogs he feared for but something—someone—else that would be called by their noise.

Even as he tried to get his teeth into the back of Magiere’s coat, she fell atop the third dog, pinning it amid snarls. It yelped and growled, thrashing beneath her. Chap latched his jaws on Magiere’s shoulder and bit as hard and deep as he could.

Something struck his side, and she bucked him off. He flopped across the snow, and when he struggled up in renewed pain ...

People stood outside the main dome.

Magiere whipped around and focused on them.

Short and covered in bulky fur clothing, they looked at her twisted white features, spattered and smeared in their dogs’ blood. Magiere shot to her feet, and as she lunged, Chap scrambled in behind her.

He’d barely gotten a grip on her ankle when Leesil cut around in front of her and struck out with his fist, catching her across the jaw. That would not have done anything if Chap had not wrenched her leg as well.

Magiere toppled over Chap and crushed him down as she fell. He thrashed out from under her legs.

Leesil stood there panting and shuddering in the icy wind. He already had one winged blade gripped in his good hand as Chap wheeled to face Magiere.

She rolled to her hands and knees among the corpses of the dogs. All of the other animals had run off. Drops of blood fell from her hanging head to spatter the snow-crusted ice between her mittened hands. Chap could not tell whether the blood was hers or that of her prey, even when she lifted her head and ... there was white around her large black irises.

She swallowed hard in confusion and then gagged. Chap stiffened when he thought he saw the whites of her eyes vanish. She looked aside at the bloodied, twisted body of a dog, and she screamed, heaving out gasps as she tried to scuttle away only to encounter another corpse.

Her eyes rolled up, and she collapsed.

Leesil rushed in as Chap looked all around. There was no sign of the inhabitants of this place. He spotted only dim forms in the distance that vanished amid snow whipped up by the wind. He had no time for self-loathing at what he’d let happen to them.

Chap barked loudly at Leesil, lunged toward the ice dome’s entrance, and returned to help Leesil drag Magiere. There was an oil lamp still lit inside. A half-eaten meal lay out on wood planks, and the floor was covered in furs and bedding. Using his one good arm, Leesil managed to get Magiere’s prone form laid out and covered with furs.

She was barely breathing.

Leesil tried to wipe the blood off her face. All Chap could do was watch, not knowing which half of her would be there when—if—she opened her eyes again. He glanced once toward the shelter’s entrance.

Somewhere out there, families fled in terror amid a rising wind and falling darkness. They would only run all the more if he went after them. A monster, like those shadows in the blizzards spoken of by their ancestors, had come for them. And he had let it happen, acting too late.

By dawn the dogs would not be the only victims of his failure.

Chap laid his head upon his forepaws and watched Magiere as Leesil tried to rouse her. It did not—would not—work. Chap could not be certain, but he feared that swallowing the ancient’s fluids had done something to Magiere. How else could she have remained changed for so long?

But the instant she had reverted to herself, horror at what she had done struck her. And the worst of it was that after remaining in such a state for so long, feeding on the dogs was the only reason she still lived ... for now.

Chap would never tell her about the villagers, and neither would Leesil. This would not stop her from knowing, if she ever awakened and saw where they were. It wasn’t her fault, and yet it was. Was she even two halves anymore, or now the whole of something else?

“Where’s Chap?”

His head snapped up at that weak, faltering whisper. Leesil quickly leaned in where he knelt next to Magiere.

“He’s here,” he said. “We’re both right here.”

Without rising, Chap scrambled closer and shoved his muzzle in against Magiere’s cheek. No matter Leesil’s attempt to clean her—he still smelled blood on her breath.

“Why did you do this?” Leesil whispered in anguish. “Why didn’t you let it go and come back sooner?”

Chap felt Magiere’s fingers trying to tangle in his fur.

Her voice grew even weaker as she answered, “I couldn’t lose you ... either of you.”

Chap buried his head in the crook of Magiere’s neck. He heard only Leesil’s shaking breaths as he laid his head on his wife’s chest. Any relief was short-lived, for Chap couldn’t stop thinking of all that had changed.

Dawn came late.

Still weakened, Magiere rose with Leesil’s aid, but this only confirmed Chap’s decision. For all he could think of was a delusion left behind in Magiere’s homeland.

He had seen an image of her in that sorcery-induced state, as she stood in black-scaled armor before a horde of undead and other creatures in the dark. She had led them into a forest where everything died in their—her—wake.

He knew of her birth and how it had been accomplished through sacrificing one member of each of the five races, along with her undead father. He knew her birth had been intended to create the impossible, a being of both life and death who could match even the most potent undead. And the Ancient Enemy of many names had wormed into her dreams to lead her to the first orb.

Hiding the orb from their enemies was no longer Chap’s only concern.

Magiere could never know where the orbs were hidden, and that meant that Leesil couldn’t know either.

The next two moons blurred by, as they lived on stores taken from a village left empty, until the endless white broke upon the edge of the western ocean. For the most part, all Chap remembered was cold and pressing Magiere and Leesil onward. The sun rose for shorter and shorter times, and the world had seemed harried by night, as though a creeping darkness ate away the light a little more each day.

Then somehow, ahead down the shore, lay White Hut, the trading post where they had hired Ti’kwäg. Nothing seemed to matter after that but rest, at least for Leesil and Magiere. They set up a shelter and never spoke, especially not Chap, about tomorrow or what lay ahead. One afternoon, while Magiere slept, Chap dug in Leesil’s pack.

“What are you doing?”

Chap withdrew his head with the “talking hide” gripped in his jaws, and found Leesil sitting up and watching him. Leesil had made the hide with Belaskian letters and short common words to replace the one Wynn had written up in the Old Elvish of the an’Cróan.

Chap cast Leesil a huff, muffled by the hide in his mouth, and pushed out under the shelter’s flap. He waited outside until Leesil followed, now frowning in puzzlement. Chap dropped the hide, pawed it out flat, and then nosed and pawed its letters and symbols.

Hire me a guide with a dog team.

Leesil looked physically better, but his mental state was less certain.

“A guide?” he whispered, crouching beside Chap. “I’m not taking Magiere back out there.”

Chap pawed again. I will hide the orbs. Do it now while she sleeps.

Realization flooded Leesil’s face, though he frowned in worry as he glanced back at the shelter.

Chap didn’t need to explain; Leesil was no fool. Magiere was somehow connected to the orbs. Even in their current situation, she might not let Chap go if she knew what he was about to do. Leesil had always wanted the orb—now orbs—out of their lives.

“Even if we had enough money or trade goods,” he whispered, “how could you possibly do this on your own? What are you going to do, dig a big hole and bury them like a bone?”

Chap growled at him.

“You can’t carry them ... and any outsider will know where you hide them.”

Chap would not tell Leesil how he would address this problem, and he pawed at the hide for much longer this time.

Hire someone to go inland, not north. Trade Ti’kwäg’s travel gear. No one knows it is not ours. No one will know what was lost in the journey when we turn over what remains.

Chap sighed in frustration at having to paw out so much.

Leesil sighed right back, shaking his head, but he stood up and walked off. Chap peeked back into the shelter to find Magiere still asleep.

It took longer than expected for Leesil to come back, and Chap worried that no guide might be willing, now that they had returned without Ti’kwäg. But Leesil returned in success.

Later that night, after Magiere went back to bed, Leesil called Chap outside. He shared the arrangements that he had made. Leesil could be quite cunning when properly motivated.

The next morning, Leesil suggested Magiere go with him for a walk along the shore. It was the first time he had asked anything of her since leaving the icy crags. So she agreed quickly and went off with him.

Chap remained behind on the pretense of giving them privacy. He would not be there when they returned. Magiere would have no chance to argue—or worse.

A stocky man arrived with a sled and looked none too happy at being instructed to follow the lead of a wolf bigger than any of his dogs. Grunting and straining, he took up the chest with the first orb, and then the second, hidden in wrapped furs by Leesil.

Once all was secured, Chap turned away, heading inland.

When Leesil returned and Magiere learned what had been done, it would drive a further wedge between them ... and between her and Chap. This could not be helped. Hiding the orbs from their enemies—and her—mattered more. Leesil would face even worse once he told Magiere the rest.

All that he would have to show her was Qahhar’s thôrhk. That could not be left with the orbs, in case by some slim chance they were found. And he and she were to head south along the shore to get clear of all eyes in White Hut. This way Chap could find them again later, far from any who might see him return ... alone.

Chap loped ahead of the dog team and the sled but already dreaded what would come. The next three days proved less difficult than expected. The new local guide was chattier than Ti’kwäg—only this one talked to his dogs. He talked to Chap as well, and he had a strange habit of referring to himself in the third person.

“Nawyat get you supper,” he would say.

Chap could not help liking the man, which only made what was coming, what would be necessary, worse to contemplate. With the journey under way, he did not know for how long Nawyat would follow him, and in the end he would need complete control.

On the fifth morning, he searched the landscape and saw that much had changed the farther they went inland. Snow and ice broke where the land underneath was rugged and exposed. When he spotted a large patch of dark gray rising well above the snowpack, he purposefully veered away. Nawyat could not have any clear memory of this place, if he remembered anything at all.

Chap led the dogs and guide onward for another quarter day before he stopped. At first, hearing the sled halt, he couldn’t bring himself to look at Nawyat.

“You lost now, big wolf?” the guide called out. “No lead Nawyat more?”

Chap’s every instinct wailed that what he was about to do was wrong. If this act was what he suspected, having never done so before, it was a ... sin.

When he turned, Nawyat was already walking toward him.

“What you do?” the guide asked, peering down at him with a frown that scrunched the brows of his dark-skinned face.

Drawing upon the element of Spirit within him, Chap closed his eyes. His body felt suddenly warm amid the cold. From Earth beneath his paws, and Air all around him, and Water from the snow, and Fire from the heat of his flesh, he bonded with the elements of Existence. These mingled with that of the Spirit within him—and he began to burn.

The guide would not see the blue-white vapors rising around his form like flame. Normal eyes could not see what was happening to him—only eyes like Wynn’s, with her mantic sight that separated the presence of the elements in all things.

Chap opened his eyes to look into Nawyat’s puzzled dark ones. He felt for any rising memories in the guide as something to snatch hold of. When he found them, the whole world suddenly swam like warped oil upon water.

It had been so—too—easy.

Nawyat would not know until too late—no one would.

The world appeared to double in Chap’s sight, as if he saw it from two different places. He saw through his own eyes ... and then also Nawyat’s ... and then through the guide’s eyes only.

Chap watched his own majay-hì body collapse upon the snow.

He began shaking, feeling hands, feet, arms, and only two legs, all wrapped in heavy fur and hide clothing. He dropped his eyes to look down at ... Nawyat’s hands ... his hands now.

Chap raised his gaze again, staring at his own limp form upon the snow. He tried to find any lingering memory not his own—and could not. There were only his thoughts inside the guide’s body. The world blurred before his eyes, and it took moments before he understood why.

He was crying.

Stumbling out, he worked hard to control this human body. He fought to drag his own and heave it aboard the sled. Then he watched the breath, so shallow and weak, slowly escaping his body’s muzzle.

How long could he remain inside the guide’s flesh before it was too long?

Not knowing how to use hands, Chap had to wrestle at gripping the sled’s lines. Even if he had ever felt what it was like to speak with a mouth, he did not know the guide’s language to command the dogs. It took longer to return to the spot he’d chosen than it had to leave it behind. When he found the gray rise, a dome of granite with one side sheared off, he took out the shovel and pickax that Leesil had instructed the guide to bring.

Chap began to dig, fumbling, stumbling, and falling so many times in losing his balance on two legs instead of four.

This place was not as far as he would have preferred, but in the past two days he’d seen no signs of anyone coming or going this way. He had at least five days to survive in his return to the coast, and more to find Leesil and Magiere. Inside the guide’s body, he kept hacking and shoveling snow, and then ice, and then frozen ground at the base of the dome’s sheered side.

He kept going deeper. The day was almost gone by the time the hole was deep and wide enough for both orbs.

Chap returned to the sled and uncovered the second orb. It was so heavy that he fell twice, jarring his left knee the second time. When he finally dropped the orb in the hole, he limped back for the first one—the one in the chest.

He could not get the chest open and had to strip off his mittens. His fingers grew numb in the cold. When the latch was finally undone, he lifted the lid and brushed aside the covering to grab the orb with both hands.

A shriek echoed everywhere.

Chap didn’t realize it came from him, for it was Nawyat’s voice that tore out of him. He found himself sprawled on the snow beside the sled, shuddering from ... that one touch. It had been like ... when he touched someone’s rising memories, when he touched a part of that being.

Something had touched him.

His thoughts went numb for an instant, and he scuttled in retreat across the snow. When reason returned, he tried to deny what he had felt. In all the time since the first orb had been found, he’d never touched it. He couldn’t handle it in his own body, so there had never been reason to do so. But if he had felt ...

It was impossible. Leesil had helped rig the sling and poles by which Magiere and he carried the first orb from the six-towered castle. Leesil had touched the orb and would have instantly mentioned feeling anything—but he had not.

Chap crawled to the sled, pulled himself up, and stared into the chest. The orb lay there as moments before, dark and rough surfaced and inert. Even its spike was flush with its exterior, as if all of it were one piece. No thôrhk had lifted the spike free. Chap reached down, his—Nawyat’s—shivering fingertips hovering for an instant, and then he touched it.

Memories carried the presence of the one from whom they came—and the presence flushed through Chap.

Something was alive inside the orb.

That was the only way he could define it, and, at a loss for what it meant, he jerked his hand away. He looked back toward the base of the granite dome’s sheer side.

Chap staggered to the hole’s edge, dropped on his knees, and flattened on the snow to reach down into the hole. He hesitated again before touching the second orb, but with his bare hand this time.

And there it was again ... a presence.

Magiere had felt something, but only when she opened an orb with a thôrhk. So why did he feel something now? And the thought of her thôrhk, or the other one he had left behind with Leesil, lingered in Chap’s mind.

If he had kept it with him instead ...

Chap pushed up, away from the hole. There was no more time to linger, though he was now plagued with more burdens.

Although he got both orbs into the ground by nightfall, he’d barely finished filling in the hole when it became too dark to see. Assembling a shelter was easy in theory, for he’d seen it done many times. Doing so in this body in the dark was another matter. He managed it and threw food out for the dogs before dragging his true body into the shelter.

In the morning, he shoveled snow and ice across the filled-in hole and hoped for foul weather to soon obscure any evidence that someone had been digging there. Well after midday, he took down the shelter, returned to the dogs and sled, and then drove them back to the place where he’d taken Nawyat’s body.

When—if—the guide awoke, he would see no more than in the last moment he remembered.

Chap hesitated. He could already feel that something was wrong.

He was shaking and not from fatigue. There were moments when the world appeared hazy and dim. What if his return to his own flesh was worse than possessing that of another? He took time to assemble the shelter again and dragged his own body into it.

The breath from his muzzle was even weaker now as he watched.

Chap stripped off Nawyat’s gloves. Taking his own head in Nawyat’s hands, he pushed up the lids of those majay-hì eyes. The pupils were no more than black pinheads at the center of crystal-blue irises, but he looked into those eyes, trying to find Spirit again ... not his individual spirit but the elemental Spirit of flesh itself.

Everything went black before his—Nawyat’s—eyes.

Chap felt his head hit the hardened ground as he collapsed, and then he was struggling to breathe.

His chest burned. Cold air stung his dry throat. Every muscle ached as if he’d lain in illness too long without moving. He had to fight to open his eyes, and even then everything was so dark. It was more than a dozen breaths before he made out a mute form before him.

Everything in the shelter appeared turned sideways where Chap lay with his head against the ground. Beyond his nose was a dark-skinned hand ... and beyond that was Nawyat’s face.

The guide lay on his side, eyes half-open and unblinking in his slack-featured face.

Chap tried to get up—in his own body—and could not even lift his head. He tried to bark, to paw, to do anything to rouse some reaction from Nawyat. In desperation he reached for the guide’s memories, searching for anything that rose there now that he’d vacated the man’s body.

There was nothing.

He had gone too far, lingered too long in that man’s flesh.

Chap lay there through the night. By dawn he was able to roll onto his belly, though at first he couldn’t bring himself to look upon his victim. When he did so, the light outside was bright enough to filter through the shelter’s canvas.

Nawyat’s eyes were still half-open and empty. Though he breathed, it was no more than Chap had seen in his own body through the guide’s eyes. Was there anything left of the individual spirit Chap had pushed down so completely that he had taken the man’s flesh as well?

He tried again to find any memory in Nawyat, but the darkness in the guide’s mind was so complete ... and then something flickered in Chap’s awareness.

It was only one image, and it did not move like the memory of a past event. Chap—Nawyat—saw himself in the moment when he had fixed upon the guide and taken the man’s will so completely that he took his flesh as well.

The image of himself in Nawyat’s memory did not move. It lingered, frozen, capturing the moment of Chap’s sin.

When Chap had been born into flesh, he’d not known how much of his memory of being with his kin, the Fay, had been torn out of him by them. He had not even remembered that they had done this to him. Only later had he suspected, and even then he had difficulty fully fathoming any fragments of memories left inside him.

Among those had been—was—a notion of sin, the first sin. Until now he had only suspected what it was, but the hint of possibility must have been retained out of all that had been lost in being one with the Fay.

Somehow he knew their sin, though not why they called it such.

Their—his—first sin had been domination, a slavery so utter and complete, but he could remember no more than this from his time as part of them.

Was the one memory, that last image of his own sin, all that was left of Nawyat?

Perhaps it was a sign that the guide was still there and would return to his own flesh. Perhaps that was just a pathetic wish spawned in guilt and self-loathing he could have never imagined.

Chap slipped from the tent and hobbled at first until he regained control of his own body.

He began running for the coast.

Each dusk he burrowed into the snow with only the fur hide Leesil had fashioned around his body. He was left to fitful sleep, plagued by what he had done to a man as Fay and what he had felt from the orbs.

Each dawn he hunted for any wild game until the day fully came. Whether he had eaten or not, he ran onward. When he finally saw the ocean in the distance, he turned southward along the shore. On the seventh day, in the late afternoon, he spotted a canvas shelter upon a small knoll above the rocky beach. Down near the water, someone stood looking out over the ocean.

Chap saw white-blond hair blowing in the wind—and he howled.

Leesil twisted around and, as Chap bolted onward, Leesil shouted. “Magiere!”

Chap stopped ten paces off when Magiere thrashed out of the shelter. She went running toward Leesil until she saw Chap. He’d known they would wait for him, though he was uncertain how Magiere would react now. She only studied him through unreadable eyes.

“Is it done?” she asked.

He huffed once for yes.

“I want to go back to Calm Seatt,” she said. “I want to talk to Wynn.”

Chap huffed once, again. Then Leesil was on him, wrapping both arms around his neck as Magiere joined them.

In the mouth of the cutway off a street in Chathburh, Chap looked back and locked eyes with Leesil. As before, as on the ship, perhaps they remembered some of the same things ... but not everything.

Leaning against Leesil’s chest, Magiere breathed heavily and raised her right hand. There was still blood on her fingers, like there had been the moment in the Wastelanders’ camp among the corpses of the dogs.

“What did I—?”

“It’s all right,” Leesil interrupted, stroking her hair.

Nothing was all right. All three of them knew this, though Chap knew two things that were far worse. He looked away from Magiere and then hung his head.

She was not the only one who had changed for the worse.

The first sin of the Fay was not his only burden, though he did not yet understand why and how they had come to name it so. It was one thing no one else could ever know until he understood what it meant.

Leesil had felt nothing from touching the orbs. Magiere had felt something only when she opened one or touched a thôrhk to it. The only difference between them and Chap was that he was a Fay born into flesh.

And he did know exactly what he had felt.

A Fay had been imprisoned inside each of those two orbs.

All the hate that Chap bore them for what they had done him and those he cherished did nothing to smother his second guilt. What he had done, he would not even wish upon Brot’an.

Chap had buried alive two of his forsaken kin in a frozen grave to be forgotten.