Aliens: Phalanx
Author: Scott Sigler
Date: 2020-02-25 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Science Fiction; Aliens; Fiction; Fantasy; Adult; Media Tie In; Action; Science Fiction Fantasy
Description: The #1 New York Times best-selling author of Infected delivers medieval carnage as a pre-industrial society fights extinction at the hands of a massive infestation of Xenomorphs. Ataegina was an isolated world of medieval castles, varied cultures, and conquests, vibrant until the demons rose and spread relentless destruction. Swarms of lethal creatures with black husks, murderous claws, barbed tails and dreaded “tooth-tongues” raged through the lowlands, killing ninety percent of the planet’s population. Terrified survivors fled to hidden mountain keeps where they eke out a meager existence. W
Publisher: Titan Books
Rights: TM & &#169; 2020 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation

CONTENTS

Cover

The Complete Alien™ Library from Titan Books

Title Page

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Copyright

A Plea from Me, The Author, to you, The Reader — No Spoilers

Dedication

Map

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Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

THE COMPLETE ALIENTM LIBRARY FROM TITAN BOOKS
THE OFFICIAL MOVIE NOVELIZATIONS by Alan Dean Foster:

ALIEN

ALIENS™

ALIEN 3

ALIEN: COVENANT ALIEN: COVENANT ORIGINS

ALIEN: RESURRECTION BY A.C. CRISPIN

ALIEN: OUT OF THE SHADOWS BY TIM LEBBON

ALIEN: SEA OF SORROWS BY JAMES A. MOORE

ALIEN: RIVER OF PAIN BY CHRISTOPHER GOLDEN

ALIEN: THE COLD FORGE BY ALEX WHITE

ALIEN: ISOLATION BY KEITH R.A. DECANDIDO

ALIEN: PROTOTYPE BY TIM WAGGONER

ALIEN: INFILTRATOR BY WESTON OCHSE (FORTHCOMING IN 2020)

ALIEN: INTO CHARYBDIS BY ALEX WHITE (FORTHCOMING IN 2021)

THE RAGE WAR SERIES BY TIM LEBBON:

PREDATOR™: INCURSION

ALIEN: INVASION

ALIEN VS. PREDATOR™: ARMAGEDDON

ALIENS: BUG HUNT EDITED BY JONATHAN MABERRY

ALIENS: PHALANX BY SCOTT SIGLER

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 1
BY STEVE AND STEPHANI PERRY

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 2
BY DAVID BISCHOFF AND ROBERT SHECKLEY

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 3
BY SANDY SCHOFIELD AND S.D. PERRY

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 4
BY YVONNE NAVARRO AND S.D. PERRY

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 5
BY MICHAEL JAN FRIEDMAN AND DIANE CAREY

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 6
BY DIANE CAREY AND JOHN SHIRLEY

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 7
BY S.D. PERRY AND B.K.EVENSON

THE COMPLETE ALIENS VS. PREDATOR OMNIBUS, VOLUME 1
BY STEVE PERRY AND S.D. PERRY

ALIEN: THE ARCHIVE

ALIEN: THE BLUEPRINTS BY GRAHAM LANGRIDGE

ALIEN: THE ILLUSTRATED STORY
BY ARCHIE GOODWIN AND WALTER SIMONSON

ALIEN: THE SET PHOTOGRAPHY BY SIMON WARD

THE ART OF ALIEN: ISOLATION BY ANDY MCVITTIE

THE ART AND MAKING OF ALIEN: COVENANT BY SIMON WARD

ALIEN COVENANT: THE OFFICIAL COLLECTOR’S EDITION

ALIEN COVENANT: DAVID’S DRAWINGS
BY DANE HALLETT AND MATT HATTON

THE MAKING OF ALIEN BY J.W. RINZLER

ALIEN NEXT DOOR BY JOEY SPIOTTO

JONESY: NINE LIVES ON THE NOSTROMO BY RORY LUCEY

ALIEN: THE COLORING BOOK

A NOVEL BY SCOTT SIGLER

TITAN BOOKS

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ALIENS™ : PHALANX

Print edition ISBN: 9781789094015

E-book edition ISBN: 9781789094022

Published by Titan Books

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144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

First edition: February 2020

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

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A PLEA FROM ME, THE AUTHOR, TO YOU, THE READER — NO SPOILERS

We live in an interconnected world. Everything you put online—from a blog post, to reviews on Amazon and Goodreads, to a YouTube comment, to a simple Tweet—is instantly visible to other readers interested in the same kind of books you are. I have worked hard to craft a compelling story with what I hope are some unexpected twists. If you choose to discuss ALIENS: PHALANX online, please be courteous to your fellow readers and avoid mentioning these surprises.

Those of us who love reading know there is only one chance to enjoy a book for the first time. Those of us who adore the ALIENS franchise get precious few moments to discover new elements of this enduring universe. Whether you love or hate this book, I encourage you to tell people how you feel about it, but please consider the enjoyment of others. Avoid posting spoilers, and let people experience this story for themselves.

Thank you.

Scott

@scottsigler

To Myke Cole, whose book LEGION VS. PHALANX was instrumental in the writing of this story. Thank you for answering my constant barrage of questions about ranks, spears and shields, thank you for your friendship, and thank you for your service to the United States of America.

1

Stillness is strength.

The black demon came closer.

Ahiliyah stayed strong.

She breathed slow, steady, deep. The way Aiko had taught her.

Ahiliyah moved nothing, save for eyelids; she even blinked slowly, making no motion that might draw the beast’s attention.

Her gloved hand gripped the handle of her knife, the kind called little friend. Not a loose grip, where the knife might fall and make noise. Not a tight grip, either, where her hand might tire, start to shake, make her breathe faster.

The demon’s rigid belly stayed low to the ground, its four backsticks reaching up to the noonday sun. Its tail—a black spine as long as its body, ending in a vicious blade of bone—twitched behind it. A long, thin arm reached out, spindly hand silently resting on a rock. The big body moved forward, a silent shadow.

The demon stopped, still as the mountain itself.

Black lips curled back. Sunlight gleamed off metallic teeth. The jaws slowly opened; the toothtongue extended. It, too, opened—the demon let out a low, barely audible hiss. It angled its long black head left, then right.

It was hunting. If it found her, she would die.

Had it seen her? Had it seen Brandun or Creen? Ahiliyah didn’t know where her crewmates had hidden. She dared not move her head, even a inch. If the demon spotted big Brandun or little Creen, there was nothing she could do for the boys.

If the demon saw them, they had their own little friends.

She’d observed the black beasts dozens of times, usually from a great distance. This was only the fourth time she’d been this close, close enough to count teeth.

The first time, she’d been lucky—her crewmates had survived.

The second time, Heyran Bouchard had died.

The third time, Admar Polous had been carried off.

The demon started moving again, stop-starting its way across the fallen, bleached trunks of alkan trees, through the thick, crimson leaves of the caminus bushes, over the rain-streaked, moss-spotted grey boulders and jagged piles of broken stone.

She silently wished for the beast to move faster, to rise up on two legs the way they sometimes had when she saw them from far away, in the night when there were no clouds to block the glow of the Three Sisters. But this one, moving in daylight… so rare.

That was how it almost got them. They hadn’t been expecting it. She couldn’t say that Brandun and Creen had grown careless, but she could say they hadn’t been as careful as they should have been. Brandun had stepped on a stick, broken it, a noise so loud it echoed lightly off the mountainside. He and Creen had kept walking. They’d stopped only because Ahiliyah ordered them to follow Aiko’s rules: hide, listen, wait.

Brandun and Creen had both groaned. Creen complained that he’d been walking for days, he didn’t want to wait. It was daytime, and the demons rarely came out during the day. Brandun complained too, which he only did when Creen was around.

As the crew leader, Ahiiyah had pulled rank, threatened them with punishment if they disobeyed. They’d listened. Because of that, hopefully, they might survive.

Of the three, one had to make it back.

The demon crawled, stopped, crawled some more. Death, silent and sure. Not coming directly at her, but moving in her direction. They looked different in daylight. It wasn’t shiny, like getum bugs were, but sunlight did gleam from various areas. At night, the demons merged with the dark, were nearly invisible against a rock face or in the trees and bushes. In the day, though, they were far easier to spot.

For three years, with her first run coming at dawn on her sixteenth birthday, Ahiliyah Cooper had done her duty, making the long walks between the holds, always in daylight. While those hikes frightened her—frightened everyone with even an ounce of smarts—it was the long hours between sunset and sunrise that brought true terror.

Because the demons mostly came at night.

The black beast stopped again, sinuous left arm paused in mid-reach. The long head slowly turned her way. No eyes on that curved surface, but… was it looking at her?

A light breeze blew in, carrying its scent to her, strangely similar to the richness of damp moss peeled back from a wet rock. She could smell it—could it smell her? Two days since she’d last bathed, hiking and sweating during every minute of sunlight, sleeping in her unwashed clothes. She stank.

If the breeze changed, if it smelled her, would she die?

Ahiliyah realized she was clutching the knife handle too hard. She forced herself to relax, settling into that perfect balance between too strong and too loose. In that moment, the knife truly was her little friend.

If the demon came for her, would she have the will to use the blade?

In Heyran’s moment of truth, he’d done what Aiko had trained him to do. When the demon had come for him, Heyran drove the point of his little friend deep into the right side of his own neck, just below his jaw. He’d sliced outward, away from his body, worsening the cut.

Then, as now, Ahiliyah had been hiding. Hiding and watching. She’d seen Heyran’s blood spray across the demon’s horrid black head. In death, Heyran had helped his people by depriving the demons of one more crawling black spot of evil.

Heyran Bouchard had been strong—Admar Polous had not.

Admar ignored his training. Instead of using his little friend, he’d drawn his spearhead from its back-scabbard and tried to fight. She didn’t know if Admar had landed a blow or not. If he had, the spearhead hadn’t slowed the beast in the slightest. Black talons sliced through hidey suit, clothing and skin. Admar had screamed, just once, then the demon had carried him away, never to be seen again.

Would it soon be Ahiliyah’s moment of truth? If this demon came for her, would she be strong like Heyran, or weak like Admar?

It was only ten steps away now.

Moving, looking, hunting.

Eight steps.

Her breath came slightly faster, perceptibly shallower—fear, taking control.

Silence is strength.

Ahiliyah forced herself still. All the training she had endured to learn how to control her breathing—Aiko screaming at her, beating her, drilling the mantras into her head—preparing her for a moment just like this.

Her breathing slowed, deepened, even as the demon crawled closer.

Six steps.

The beast hesitated, lowered the hand to the ground. Its head angled left, then right.

Had it heard her breathing? Was that what it had been homing in on?

Aiko wasn’t her only teacher—there was also Sinesh.

Sinesh Bishor never hit her, but his lessons were just as exhausting.

When death comes, see the beauty in life.

How many times had Sinesh told her that? How many times had he told her stories of his days in the shield line, of standing face to face with men who were trying to kill him, so close they could touch, so close they could kiss?

See the beauty. Ahiliyah did as Sinesh had taught. She widened her vision, took in all before her. The tans and grays of the mountain’s endless stone. The bleached tans of old logs. The deep crimson of the caminus bushes. The brownish-yellow moss. The pale green-white pokey plants that had managed to find a patch of soil. The blue sky. The mountain’s rich fragrance.

She felt… calm. Death was a few steps away, one sniff or one cough or one whimper away, and she felt at peace. It took another step toward her—her time had come.

In her mind, she walked through her training: lift her little friend, turn the blade, stab hard, not at her neck, but through it, then pull the blade out while pushing it forward. There would be pain—pain that would not last long.

Another step. The mouth opened again…

The rustle of distant trees. A breeze pushed her hidey suit netting up against her face.

The demon’s head slowly turned. The beast stayed motionless for a long moment, then scurried away, faster than the shadow of a flying bird.

The breeze blew harder. Ahiliyah closed her eyes, listened to that glorious sound. Had the sound of blowing trees and bushes and grass saved her?

She counted as Aiko had trained her to do, breathing steadily, concentrating on the numbers. When her count reached two thousand, she finally allowed herself to move. Little friend held in her gloved hand, Ahiliyah stepped out from the bush.

Wind caressed the mountain, rustling through the bushes, making the pokey plants bend. A rattlewing launched from a tree, fluttered noisily through the air and flapped off into the distance.

As if that flight had been a signal to the world, the sounds of the mountain animals returned. The high-pitched chirps of getum bugs. The piercing vin-DEEE, vin-DEEE of a vindeedee, hidden somewhere in a clump of pokey plants. The deep goon-goongaaaahn of a nearby humped gish that was probably hunting the vindeedee. The throaty voot-voot-VERT of a vootervert, once again happily digging away at a burrow.

The creatures always knew when a demon was about—their silence was as deafening as any alarm. When they again let loose with their music, the demon was almost assuredly gone.

Almost assuredly.

Relief flooded through Ahiliyah—she might live to see another day. Glancing up, she saw that the sun had moved farther in the sky. How long had she stayed hidden? Two hours? Perhaps a little bit more. Ahiliyah slowly turned her head, searching the mountain face, the bushes, the trees… she couldn’t see Brandun or Creen.

She made the sound of a vootervert. From higher up the slope came an answering voot-voot-VERT, as did one from a bush a few yards away.

“Come out,” she said.

Brandun stood first. He’d been higher up the slope, his hidey suit thick with fresh moss and threaded with dead sticks that helped break up his outline. He was only fifteen. He should have had another year in the hold, but he was so big the council had started him early. Already six feet tall, weighing over a hundred bricks, if his growth spurt continued his size would soon make him a liability on runs.

The bigger you are, the easier it is for the demons to see you.

“I thought you were dead,” he said softly. “I almost peed myself.”

This was his second run. He’d made his first with her as well; on that run they’d seen a demon, but only from a great distance.

He came closer to her, until his wide shoulders blocked out the sun. Ahiliyah didn’t know if he stood so near because he was afraid, and took comfort by her, or because he just didn’t understand the concept of personal space. So big, and only fifteen—someday, he might be the biggest person in Lemeth Hold.

“The world went quiet,” he said. “Does that always happen when a demon comes?”

“Yes, but don’t count on it. Sometimes they hide. They can stay still for a long time, long enough that the animals forget they are there and start making noise again. That’s why you have to use everything—your ears, your eyes, even your nose. Did you smell it? A smell like rock when you peel moss away?”

Brandun shook his head. “No, I didn’t smell it.”

“I can sure smell you, you giant stinky fuck.” Creen Dinashin stepped out from the bush. He was a head shorter than Ahiliyah, just as Ahiliyah was a head shorter than Brandun. Creen’s hidey suit was so stuffed with caminus leaves he couldn’t put his arms all the way down. So many leaves threaded into his gloves she couldn’t make out his fingers. He looked like a walking crimson teddy bear. He flipped his face netting up on top of his head, revealing his ever-present sneer and his blazing orange-yellow eyes.

Creen’s nose wrinkled with a theatrical sniff. “I smell shit. You shit yourself, Brandun?”

“I did not,” Brandun said. “But I wish the demon had taken you, so I wouldn’t have to listen to your mouth anymore.”

“Fuck off.” Creen glanced to the sky. “We lost time. I don’t want to sleep outside for another fucking night. I want to be home with a big, hot mug of tea. The wind’s getting stronger, Liyah—can we double-time it? We can use our torches, we might make it back before nightfall.”

This was his third run, yet still he hadn’t learned. As smart as Creen was—smarter than anyone Ahiliyah had ever met—he liked to cut corners, try to take shortcuts.

“Wind is a double-edged blade,” she said. “They can’t hear us, but we can’t hear them. And torches? Do you want the demons to find us?”

Creen patted the sides of his hidey suit. “We’re required to carry three torches on every run, plus matches—why do we have them if we never use them?”

“They’re for emergencies, you know that,” Ahiliyah said. “We’re not making it back tonight. With the wind blowing, be sure you’re looking all around you, not just straight ahead, got it?”

Both boys nodded.

“Good,” she said. “Now, come look at this.” She moved to where the demon had been, knelt next to a half-footprint left in the dirt. “I’ve been learning how to track them.”

Creen blinked, shook his head. “You’ve been working on what?”

“How to track them,” Liyah said.

Creen reached into his hidey suit, drew his little friend, held the blade point near his throat.

“I should just kill myself now and save time, because my crew leader is fucking insane. We want to stay the hell away from them. Why would we want to track them?”

Sometimes, she hated Creen Dinashin with all that she was.

“So we can know our enemy,” Ahiliyah said. “That’s why.”

Brandun knelt, touched the footprint. “Because, someday, we’ll hunt them instead of them hunting us.”

Creen slowly pretended to slice his own throat. “We all know I’m smarter than both of you, but you don’t need to find ways to make it so glaringly obvious. Can we go now?”

Ahiliyah walked back to the bush that had hidden her from the demon. She retrieved her heavy, overstuffed backpack. That was part of the training—once you find a place to hide, drop your pack. That way, if a demon took a runner, one of the runner’s crewmates could make sure that the letters, medicine, and other precious cargo might still make it home.

“Get your packs,” she said. “Let’s get as far as we can before dark.”

2

Never the same route twice.

One of the running mantras. Ahiliyah followed it religiously. She’d learned it from Aiko, who’d learned it from Colson Yinnish, who’d learned it from Olliana Ming.

Demons tended to avoid dense underbrush, loose stones, anything that might make noise to alert their prey. But no one knew if they could identify foot-worn trails through those same areas. No one knew if they could track people. No one knew if they might quietly follow a runner, hoping to discover a hold. Because of these things, runners needed to reconnoiter a new route every single time they traveled from hold to hold, including the trips home.

Home. After a grueling, nine-day run, with the sun nearing the horizon, Ahiliyah and her crew finally saw the familiar slopes of Lemeth Mountain. They’d be safely inside before daylight vanished, but they couldn’t rush things now, because, here, demons weren’t the only danger.

Traps of all kinds lined the winding climb to the ridge, to the entrance of Lemeth Hold. Traps that would kill demons, raiders, war parties and—unfortunately—runners. Subtle markers showed the only safe route up: dead trees with intentionally broken branches pointing inward toward the path; bushes with crimson leaves partially stripped on one side; broken rocks with the less-weathered, lighter part facing in.

The winding approach was thirty feet wide in most places, offering enough space that runners didn’t have to follow the same path every time. Ahiliyah, Brandun and Creen worked their way up, choosing the firm, print-less surface of rocks or boulders whenever possible.

Long ago—well before the Rising, even—Lemeth Hold had been part of King Paul’s Crown of War, a series of fortresses carved into the mountains themselves. In those fortresses, so the story went, King Paul the Unifier had garrisoned troops, troops ready to march down the mountainsides and attack any lowland cities that might rebel against his rule. When King Paul died, the fortresses had been largely abandoned. They’d lain unused for a century.

Without maintenance, Lemeth’s outer wall had become little more than a ruin. Huge stones had come loose and tumbled down the slope, leaving gaps that made the wall look like the rotted brown teeth of someone suffering from weakling disease.

There were places where the wall still stood, secretly maintained in a way that ensured it didn’t look maintained. Vertical slots lined the stone every five yards. Long ago, those slots allowed archers to launch death down upon advancing troops. Now, though, the slits were useless—demons were so fast they were hard to hit, and a single bolt barely slowed them down.

Above the old wall ran a thick stone lid, once meant as protection against showers of rain, or of arrows. Much of that lid had long-since collapsed, either because of natural forces or through the efforts of the hold’s stone-masons, to help make the place look even more abandoned.

“About fucking time,” Creen said. “This pack is killing me.”

Ahiliyah could sympathize. Beneath her hidey suit, her shoulders were rubbed raw; nine days with the heavy pack had taken their toll.

“I’m glad to be home,” Brandun said. “So glad.”

His pack was much larger and heavier than Ahiliyah’s or Creen’s, yet the big boy didn’t complain, didn’t lose focus. He remained cautious and alert; Ahiliyah could see it in his actions, hear it in his voice. That was good. This close to the end of a run, some people got careless. If Brandun kept up his discipline, he might survive long enough to become a slash.

If he reached that mark, his running days would end. For most boys, five runs completed their obligation. That was how it would work for Brandun, certainly; as big as he was, the warriors couldn’t wait to get their hands on him. There was even a rumor he was already being considered for the Hold Guard, the protectors and enforcers of Margrave Aulus Darby.

Five and done for most boys—but girls had to do ten.

From the age of sixteen to the age of thirty, women were obligated to serve the hold as runners. There were only three ways to get out of that duty: death, complete ten runs and become a double-slash, or get knocked up.

Those with child, or those who had given birth in the last six months, were exempt from runs. Because of that, most of the girls who got pregnant stayed pregnant, as often as they could, until they reached their thirtieth birthday.

“I don’t feel so good,” Creen said.

Ahiliyah shook her head. “I told you to go easy.”

“But we never get berries below,” he said, groaning in discomfort. “I can’t wait to get inside and squat on a real toilet. I’m so fucking sick of wiping my ass with bush leaves.”

Ahiliyah heard Creen’s anger and frustration. The constant fear of a run caused some runners to become quiet, trembling things, scared of every shadow. With other people—people like Creen—that fear manifested in a slow-burning rage.

Admar had been like that. Admar died on his third run.

Halfway up the approach, they reached the signaling point. Ahiliyah stopped there, stared up at the steep incline. Dozens of traps lined the ruined wall. Boulders, blocks and piles of rocks were precariously held in place by linchpin stones; kick the wrong branch, step on the wrong stone, use the wrong root to pull yourself up, and death would tumble down far faster than you—or even a demon—could move out of the way.

If the demons finally came calling to Lemeth Hold, many of them would be smashed flat.

“Creen,” Ahiliyah said, “call up.”

Creen made the vindeedee’s high-pitched call. Brandun’s voice was already too deep to make the sound. Ahiliyah could make it, but Creen was better. It was impossible to tell the difference between his call and the real thing.

Moments later, an answering, higher-pitched vindeedee call, followed by the low croak of a humped gish—goon-goon-GAAAAAN. Ahiliyah reached through her hidey suit netting into her thigh pocket, felt for and found the preserved gish throat-box with its tanned air-bladder. She blew into the throat-box. The bladder filled with air. She slowly squeezed it, matching the rhythm—goon-goon-GAAAAAN.

Up on the ridge, a tiny, hidey-suited head peeked over the old wall. The voice of a little girl called out, a practiced whisper-shout that would not carry, would not echo across the mountain.

“Ahiliyah?”

The lovely sound of a familiar voice—the sound of home.

“It’s me, Susannah,” Ahiliyah said. “Brandun and Creen are with me.”

“Okay! Come up!”

A wall watcher’s job was boring, yet critically important.

Always alone, watchers often stayed on the stone deck for days at a time, waiting for runners to return. Only the wall watcher on duty could call for the hold’s heavy door to be opened. In theory, that prevented raiders from capturing runners, then using the runners to gain access to the hold.

Ahiliyah and her crew ascended the final thirty feet, where the incline grew so steep they had to climb on all fours. Going up that slope, her backpack somehow felt lighter. It wasn’t light, not at all—it was more than half her weight—but soon she would be free of it. At least until the next run.

She was almost home—almost safe.

A snorfling sound, followed by the rattle of dirt skittering across rock. Ahiliyah held up a fist; the boys stopped instantly. Probably just a vootervert, but this close to home she wasn’t taking any chances.

The snorfle again—she turned her head, trying to locate the source of the sound. There, at the base of the wall, a white paw flinging dirt out of a hole.

“Dammit,” she said. “We have to kill it.”

Creen shot her a dirty look. “It’s just a vootervert. It’s not hurting anything.”

Did he have to fight her on everything?

“Where there’s one vootervert, there will be a dozen,” Ahiliyah said. “They can set off traps that take months to make. This is part of our job.”

“Fuck our job,” Creen said. “Nobody asked me if I wanted this job.”

Brandun reached to his back, gripped the handle of his spearhead, thinking.

“I’ll do it,” he said. He sounded sad.

Ahiliyah nodded. “Go ahead. Use your spear—vooterverts are strong, and they kick.”

It didn’t matter if he was upset about it, as long as he did it. This kill would protect the hold, and would provide around twenty bricks’ worth of meat—a rare thing indeed.

Like all runners, Brandun wore his spearhead scabbard on his back. If a runner needed to move fast, one could drop the pack to shed weight, yet not lose one’s weapon. He shrugged off his pack, set it down quietly. From the bulky leather holster lashed to it, he drew both of his tapered, yard-long halfstaffs, along with the the metal coupler, and set them all at his feet. He then removed the heavy butt-spike and stuck the metal point in the ground. He jammed one end of a halfstaff into the butt-spike’s socket, twisted the wood hard to make sure he had a tight fit. He then put the coupler onto the halfstaff’s open end, twisted it, put the other halfstaff into the coupler, twisted that as well.

Finally, Brandun reached to his back and drew his two-footlong spearhead free with the soft whisper of bronze against leather. He slid the halfstaff’s tapered end into the spearhead’s hollow handle, twisted until his gloved hands shook.

He spun the assembled, six-foot-long weapon once, gave it a hard shake, then stalked toward the vootervert hole.

“Figures he’d kill it,” Creen said under his breath. “The wannabe warrior.”

Brandun moved so smoothly, so silently, that he reminded Ahiliyah of a demon. She shivered, imagining Brandun sneaking up on her, to bury that spear in her back. As attuned as she was to the sounds of the surface, she doubted she would hear him coming.

The vootervert kept kicking dirt out of its hole, unaware of the threat.

Brandun reached the hole. He raised the spear, crouched low. He waited.

After a few minutes of kicking dirt, the vootervert finally turned around and poked its long, narrow head out of the hole, perhaps to look for threats, perhaps to sniff for more of its kind.

Brandun drove the spearhead through the animal’s neck. One strike, one kill—the vootervert didn’t even have time to let out a squeal of pain.

“Sometimes,” Creen said quietly, “Brandun scares the living fuck out of me.”

Brandun hauled the limp animal out of its hole. The vootervert was almost as big as Creen. Filthy yellow fur, thick with dark dirt. Long nose with a pinkish snout, which was the most delicious part of the animal. Big paws with four long, brown claws that fit together like the scoop of a single shovel. Someone would make scrapers or jewelry out of those.

Liyah reached into an inner pocket of her hidey suit, pulled out a coil of twine. Brandun set the dead animal on his backpack.

“I’ll tie it down,” Ahiliyah said.

Brandun started disassembling his spear and putting the parts back in the holster.

Creen waved his hand in front of his nose. “Wow, that animal stinks.”

Ahiliyah sniffed. “Um… I think that’s mostly us, Creen.”

He sniffed his armpit. “Ugh. Too many days away from the river, eh, Brandun?”

When the bigger boy didn’t answer, Creen leaned closer. Ahiliyah saw Creen’s smile, a smile that always seemed to precede an insult or a snotty comment.

“Hey, Dumbdun,” Creen said, “are you crying?”

Ahiliyah glanced at Brandun. Sure enough, tear trails lined the big teen’s cheeks.

Creen laughed. “You’re so sensitive, Dumbdun! Crying over a stinky chunk of meat? What a big, tough warrior you’ll make.”

Ahiliyah stood, stepped close to Creen.

“You wouldn’t go near that animal,” she said, her voice low and cold. “Say one more thing to Brandun, and next reservist training you get to spar with me.”

Creen’s smile vanished. “I’ll shut up.”

Ahiliyah patted him on the shoulder. “See? I knew you were smart.”

Everyone in the hold between the ages of ten and fifty had to train as a reservist every month. Those who could hold a shield and spear practiced phalanx tactics, those who could not trained with longbow, crossbow, or sling. As a senior runner, Ahiliyah could make junior runners put in additional work—which included hand-to-hand combat training.

Creen did not enjoy hand-to-hand combat training.

Brandun shrugged on his heavy pack. The vootervert’s stubby tail flopped back and forth with his every movement.

“Let’s get inside,” Ahiliyah said.

They each fastened a rope to their backpacks. Tying the other end around their waists, they carefully scaled the wall, using the edges of the old stone blocks as foot- and handholds. As far as overall strength went, Creen was by far the weakest of the three, but when it came to climbing he moved with the speed and grace of a hookarm closing in on trapped prey—he was up and over before Ahiliyah and Brandun had reached halfway.

Ahiliyah was slightly faster than Brandun. Exhausted, breathing hard, she slid over the top, under the overhanging lip, and dropped down lightly to the flat stone deck on the other side. Creen was already pulling hard on his rope, hauling his heavy backpack up the wall. Ahiliyah did the same—the sooner this was done, the sooner she’d be safe inside.

“I knew you’d make it,” Susannah said. “I knew it!”

Aliyah smiled at the gangly fifteen-year-old girl. Susannah had yet to fill out. All knees and elbows, she beamed with unabashed hero worship.

Susannah laughed and pinched her nose. “Oh, my goodness, you guys need a bath. Everyone will be so happy to see you back—the flu outbreak got worse while you were gone.”

Worse? Ahiliyah’s heart sank. The powder she and the others had brought from Keflan Hold would save lives, but with more people infected, would it be enough?

“Let me help,” Susannah said. She grabbed Ahiliyah’s rope and pulled.

Creen hauled his pack over the wall. He glared at Susannah.

“Why didn’t you help me?”

“Because no one likes you,” Susannah said.

Brandun dropped down to the deck. Without a word, he started hauling up his pack. His reached the top at the same time as Ahiliyah’s did.

“I’m in runner training now,” Susannah said as she set the pack at Ahiliyah’s feet. “Someday I’m going to be just like you. And I’m fast! Faster than most of the boys, even.”

When Ahiliyah had been that young, she’d said almost the same words to Danielle Sanyan. Ahiliyah had been the wall watcher when Danielle went out for her slash-plus-two run. Ahiliyah had been the wall watcher when Danielle had returned, had hauled Danielle’s pack up the wall just as Susannah had done. Ahiliyah had also been the wall watcher when Danielle had left for her slash-plus-three run.

Danielle had never returned.

Ahiliyah chased the thought away. She reached into a side pocket of her hidey suit, pulled out a stick of millasis wrapped in a grass leaf—she offered it to Susannah.

The girl’s eyes lit up. “Thank you, Liyah! Thank you!” Susannah unwrapped the grass. The translucent brown candy had snapped in half.

“Sorry it’s broken,” Ahiliyah said.

“Don’t care!” Susannah shoved a piece into her mouth, smiled wide. “It’s so good!”

“If you’re done stuffing your little mouth,” Creen said, “can you signal for them to open the fucking door? Do you think I want to stand here and watch you eat?”

Susannah’s smile faded. She looked down, spoke around the candy.

“I already signaled them.”

Ahiliyah turned to Creen. “Do you always have to be such a jerk?”

He glared back. “I don’t have time for children’s games.”

Creen was sixteen—only a year older than Susannah.

Ahiliyah heard the telltale grinding of heavy stone. To her left, the deck ended at a wall of blocks, each bigger than a man. The center block slowly slid backward. Most of the time the big block opened or closed without a problem. Sometimes, though, the men moving the tons of rock would lose control.

Sometimes people got hurt. Sometimes people died. That was the price of an entrance that could not be opened from the outside.

To the right, spaced out along the abandoned deck, were two ancient, traditional doors, the kind that, once upon a time, had swung inward.The first was only partially visible, forever sealed when the thick roof lip above it had collapsed. The second door not only went nowhere, it was rigged as a trap—whoever opened it would be instantly crushed beneath a ton of falling rock.

The big block stopped sliding backward into the thick wall, started sliding sideways. In that dark space, the pinkish light of a glowjar, then the face of Cadence Barrow. The older woman blinked against the light of early evening, even though the stone roof kept the deck in permanent shadow. Her hair and her skin were the pale white of those who never saw the sun.

“Brandun.” Her smile seemed to split her face with deep lines that ran from the corners of her eyes to the bony point of her jaw. “I was so worried.”

“Hi, Mom,” Brandun said. He stepped to Cadence, hugged her. He was already much taller than she was, and outweighed her by five or six bricks.

“For fuck’s sake,” Creen said. “Can we please fucking get inside and deliver this shit?”

Brandun turned and glared. In that instant, Ahiliyah saw the man he was becoming—he would be a giant, one not constrained by the fears and anxieties of an inexperienced teenage boy.

“Just because your parents are dead doesn’t mean you can be mean to mine,” Brandun said.

Creen fumed. He’d been very small when his parents had died of forgetter’s syndrome. He didn’t like to be reminded that he was an orphan.

“Leave Creen be, Brandun,” Cadence said. “He’s obviously tired.”

Being kind to Creen only made things worse. “I’m nicer underground. You know, that place where demons can’t get us? And I know Ahiliyah wants to steal off to the armory with Tolio and touch uglies, so why are we still up here jabbering?”

Ahiliyah flushed with embarrassment. “Fine. Let’s go. Susannah, want to come with?”

“I can’t,” she said. “Aiko was due back yesterday from Vinden. Gotta wait for her.”

Vinden was a safer run than the Dakatera/Keflan/Lemeth route Ahiliyah and the boys had just run, but it still had its share of danger. Aiko was the most experienced runner in Lemeth, having continued serving long after her obligation had been fulfilled. One day overdue wasn’t great, but where Aiko was concerned, it was probably nothing to worry about.

“Liyah, come on,” Brandun said. “The Margrave will be expecting us.”

Ahiliyah stepped into the opening. She waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light of the glowpipes—she’d escaped injury for nine days on the surface and wasn’t about to slip and fall on the stone steps—then started down. As she did, she heard Brandun, Cadence and Creen following her, and the grinding of stone as men slid the stone block back into place.

3

It was a hero’s welcome.

Lemethians packed into the stone corridor, all trying to get near her, Brandun and Creen, trying to see the trio for themselves, as if the word that they had survived might somehow be a lie. People cheered. They hugged her, kissed her, threw so many pink flowers at her the petals caught in her hidey suit, hung in her hair, stuck to the filthy sweat coating her face. The sweet-smelling flowers were always part of the coming-home ritual, helping to mask the stench of people who had spent days hiking hundreds of miles, never changing their clothes or even taking them off—on a run, constant camouflage was of the utmost importance.

The flowers weren’t really pink, they just looked that way in the reddish light of the glowpipes that ran along the corridor’s arched ceiling. The glass tubes channeled the river’s luminous water all through the hold. In pure sunlight, the imbid flowers blazed white as snow.

Bodies and faces pushed in all around her. The women dressed simply, in plain shifts of different colors, because Lemeth Hold was too hot to wear much else. They used jewelry to create their individual style, with vootervert-claw hair pins and combs, necklaces of copper, bronze and iron, copper nose-rings, the occasional gleaming bit of bloodglass shining from a leather bracelet or a metal necklace. The men wore pants, but no shoes. Most didn’t wear shirts. A gleam of sweat always seemed to glisten from arms tattooed with heavy black lines.

Hands patted her shoulder, tousled her hair, pulled her in for hugs. People she had known all her life smiled and laughed and praised her. They shouted questions, asking about loved ones, about life in the other holds. Ahiliyah answered what questions she could.

“You brave dear,” said old lady Yuzuki, her wrinkled face split by a smile. She kissed the dirty, smelly, unwashed skin of Ahiliyah’s forehead. “Do you have a message from Cireno?”

“He told me to make sure I tell you he loves you,” Ahiliyah said. “And that the gloves you made will help him with the iron powder harvest.”

Instant tears in Yuzuki’s eyes. Those words were more powerful than food, than medicine, than drugs. The old woman hadn’t heard from her son in months. The last set of runners sent to Dakatera hadn’t made it. All three had been lost. This time, though, with lives on the line, the Council had sent Ahiliyah.

People hugged her, kissed her, threw so many imbid flowers at her that they coated the stone floor. So many questions, shouted by people desperate for information.

“Did you see Usko?”

“Did Fabinin get my letter?”

“Is gramma Danise still alive?”

After the endless quiet of the surface, the shouts and laughter and questions and screams of joy felt overwhelming. Ahiliyah knew her people meant no harm, but she didn’t like how they packed so close, and she couldn’t help but feel anxious at how loud they were.

People, everywhere. Adults, teenagers like her, but also the elderly, and children and babies. So many children. Some standing by themselves, with wet noses and wide eyes. Some weaving between the legs of the adults, chasing each other in a game of demon gonna get ya. Some carried in the arms of mothers who were three, four, even five years younger than Ahiliyah. Some holding the hands of women Ahiliyah’s age or older.

The adults were loud; the children were deafening. Their excited shouts bounced off the walls. Their laughter filled the air. Their playful shrieks sounded far too close to the hunting noises demons made in the night.

Ahiliyah pushed her way through the crowd, trying to be nice, trying to understand that everyone was excited by her return. Still they shouted questions at her—so many questions.

“Did those Keflanian bastards give us the medicine?”

“How much do they have? Are they really hoarding it?”

“I hope you kids steered clear of those Dakaterans and their messed-up religion.”

Sounded like her people’s distrust of other holds hadn’t ebbed during her run. Maybe the medicine she brought would help that. Maybe not. Ahiliyah couldn’t control that.

The crowd quieted, parted. What had seemed like an impenetrable mass made way for three men—three large men—dressed in the sleeveless white shirts of the Margrave’s personal guard. Rinik Brennus, with his droopy eye and big nose, blond-haired Shalim Aniketos, who thought he was god’s gift to women, and—worst of the three—Drasko Lamech. Brennus and Shalim wore spearhead scabbards at their hips, not on their backs like runners did.

Drasko didn’t carry a blade. He didn’t need one—the often-used wooden billy club sticking out of his leather belt was threat enough.

“Welcome home, runners.” Drasko had a voice like a tumbling boulder.

“Thank you,” Ahiliyah said. “It was a close thing.”

Dark-haired Drasko wasn’t tall—he was the same height as Ahiliyah—but he was wide, easily more than twice her weight. Scars lined his exposed arms, scars earned fighting the Southerners, Islanders and various raiders.

Without taking his eyes off Ahiliyah, Drasko held his hand back to the younger and taller Shalim, who gave him a cloth sack. Drasko opened the sack, held it out.

“If you brought back capertine powder, let’s have it.”

Ahiliyah glanced back at Brandun, but the boy had already slid off his pack and opened it—he was so eager to impress these men.

“We usually take capertine powder to the hospital,” Ahiliyah said. “We’d be happy to drop it off there. No need to bother yourself with it.”

Drasko smiled, showing the missing teeth he’d lost in one of his many fights.

“Margrave’s orders, my girl. People might try to bribe you with a gift of this or that. After another successful run, we wouldn’t want you beset with temptation, would we?”

Susannah had said more people were ill. An understatement, apparently—things were so bad that Drasko had come to make sure people didn’t try to take the capertine powder out of turn.

Brandun dumped several tied-off cloth bags into Drasko’s sack. Drasko smiled at Brandon—Ahiliyah could almost feel the pride radiating off the boy.

“Well done, young man,” Drasko said. “Little Liyah here says your return was a close thing, but I know you would have protected her, right?”

“More like she protected me.” Brandun held his arms shoulder-width apart, palms facing each other. “She was this close to one, and she didn’t flinch!”

A murmur rolled through the packed corridor.

Drasko gave the bag a little shake. “Creen, Liyah, hurry it up. I’ve got better things to do.”

Ahiliyah shrugged off her backpack and opened it up. She dumped her six bags into the sack. Creen did the same.

Drasko looked into the bag, then at Ahiliyah. “That’s it?”

She nodded.

“You’re sure?”

As insulting as that was, she nodded again. Drasko wasn’t known for a sense of humor, or an ability to put up with backtalk. Not even Creen said something smart.

“Excellent job, young Brandun,” Drasko said. “I’ll be on the sand tomorrow morning at first sounding. Will you join me?”

Brandun’s eyes went wide. “Yes sir! I’ll be there!”

Drasko slung the bag over his shoulder. He and his two goons walked back up the corridor, the crowd again parting for them, closing in behind them as if to block Ahiliyah’s way.

Creen looked at Brandun, and smiled.

“Sir,” Creen said in a high-pitched voice. “I’ll be there to lick the sweat off your balls, sir!”

Brandun’s smile vanished. He said nothing, just walked down the corridor. He barely had to push to make room—people got out of his way almost as fast as they had for Drasko.

Creen cupped a hand to his mouth. “Your ball sweat is so tasty, SIR!” Ahiliyah cuffed the smaller boy in the ear.

He flinched, held his ear, sneered at her. “Don’t be such a jerk, Liyah!”

“Better I hit you than he does,” she said. “I swear, Creen, someday soon that mouth of yours is going to get your ass kicked.”

He glanced around, saw people staring at him, or making a point of not staring at him.

“Right,” he said in a low voice. “Like I haven’t got my ass kicked before.”

His words brought instant guilt; was she bullying him like so many others had? Maybe, but getting hit by people her size was one thing—Brandun was already big enough that his punches could cause real damage. There was a difference between getting hurt, and getting hurt.

Creen smiled wide and turned away from her.

“My lovely Lemethians,” he said, playing to the crowd, “kindly let us through. The Margrave desires an audience with us!”

Just like that, the awkward moment passed. The crowd parted just enough to let him through. Liyah followed him. On the surface, she always took the lead. In the safety of the hold, she didn’t mind bringing up the rear.

A flower hit her in the eye; she winced reactively, but it didn’t hurt. She laughed, wiping at the eye and continuing on after Creen. She found it ironic that her people used imbid flowers for celebrations like this. She and Brandun and Creen had carried half their body weight in those flowers to trade with the people of Dakatera and Keflan.

Those holds had tried for decades to cultivate their own imbid flowers, but had failed. Just as the capertine mold—which when dried and ground up produced the life-saving capertine powder—grew only in Keflan, imbid mushroom grew nowhere but Lemeth. Imbid soup countered weakling disease. In Dakatera and Keflan, imbid flowers were priceless; in Lemeth, they were so common they could be wasted at will, trampled underfoot and forgotten until someone swept them up and dumped them in the river.

Ahead of her, Ahiliyah heard Brandun laughing. He had forgotten about Creen’s mocking insult and was enjoying the attention, reveling in the moment. The people of Lemeth lavished him with praise and affection. More, she noticed, then she got, and she’d been the senior runner. But Brandun was a boy, and a tall, strong boy at that—people reacted to him differently than they reacted to her.

Such was the way of things.

Even Creen laughed a little, a rare sound if she’d ever heard one.

He deserved to be happy. So did she, and Brandun as well. They had returned, packs stuffed to breaking not only with the capertine powder and candy from Keflan, but also with sizzle spice, paper and iron powder from Dakatera, along with correspondence from both holds. After months with no contact, grandfathers and grandmothers, fathers and mothers, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters and friends could finally see the words of their loved ones. The celebration would go long into the night.

She and Creen endured the back-pats and well wishes. They caught up to Brandun just as he entered the Community Chamber. The Lemethians who hadn’t mobbed them in the corridors were waiting there, cheering loudly for their successful run. Some people were at the wooden tables spread across the stone floor. Others were seated on the four rows of stone steps that ran the circumference of the round room.

Ahiliyah followed Brandun and Creen out of the Community Chamber and onto the walkway that ran along the training pit. The wooden bleachers on either side of the pit were empty, but the pit itself was not. Down in the the wide, oblong, sand-filled space, she saw warriors practicing at the combat stations.

Will Pankour and Grian Yinnish stood in the archery range, practicing with the crossbows that fired heavy bolts the size of Ahiliyah’s forearm. Kadri Nemensalter and his brother Farid were working as a team, Kadri holding a spearman’s round shield, Farid behind him with a warrior spear, which was three yards long instead of the two-yard-long runner’s version. Kadri moved and turned, Farid staying behind him, jabbing the spear at an imaginary demon.

When men had fought other men, the shield had been an important part of war. Men didn’t fight men anymore. Not that often, anyway. Shields were a holdover from the past. They were big, bulky, awkward, and—against a demon—all but useless. Ahiliyah would rather put her faith in a hidey suit any day.

The warriors, though, did not share her opinion. Old ways died hard.

Brandun stopped suddenly—Creen bumped into him, Ahiliyah bumped into Creen.

“Brandun, you clod,” Creen said. “What the shit?”

Brandun stared toward the back of the pit—Ahiliyah saw what he was looking at and understood why he’d stopped short.

Near the far wall, a demon stalked three warriors.

Leonitos Lamech and Masozi Dafydd each had a shield and a three-pronged spear known as a demon fork. They were crouched, shields just below their eyes, demon forks held in their right hands, points and shaft above the shield, both aimed at a man dressed in the stiff shell of a dead demon, complete with the long, gleaming head. Behind Leonitos and Masozi stood Andan Gisilfred, aiming a crossbow between their shields.

“It’s not real, you dolt,” Creen said.

Of course it wasn’t. They’d all seen the suit a hundred times, a thousand times. It was part of their runner training. Until this run, however, Brandun had only seen real demons from a great distance. Seeing one up close had affected him, impacted his reaction to something as simple as a man in a costume. Ahiliyah couldn’t blame Brandun—an encounter like they’d had the day before changed a person.

“Probably Benji Johnson in the demon suit,” Brandun said. “He’s the only one that tall. Sometimes they put me in it, when I’m not out running.”

Ahiliyah bit back instant jealousy. Brandun was only fifteen, four years younger than her. He got to train with the warriors—she did not. Because warriors didn’t take women.

“You’d look good in that demon’s suit,” Creen said.

Brandun grinned. “Thanks!”

“I mean,” Creen said, “anything that covers up your ugly face is good, right?”

One look at Brandun—face red, head hung—and Ahiliyah’s jealousy vanished. He was just a kid. He didn’t make the decisions in the hold.

“Don’t let Creen bother you,” she said to him. “You’re better-looking than that midget.”

Creen huffed. “Yeah, right.”

In the pit, the “demon” rushed at Leonitos, who extended his shield to meet the charge. The demon crashed into it, stumbled back. Leonitos stabbed with his demon fork—the point jabbed into the demon’s chest. The demon toppled backward, big hands and feet flailing about.

“The point is blunted,” Brandun said. “But that still hurts.”

Andan raised his crossbow and fired. Even from up on the deck, Ahiliyah could see the bolt’s padded end—which struck the demon right between the legs. The demon cried out, rolled to his side and tucked into the fetal position, long black hands clutching at its crotch. The narrow black head tumbled away, revealing Benji’s curly red hair and tightly squinted eyes.

Creen laughed so hard he hung over the rail.

“Ouch,” Brandun said. “Got him where it counts.”

The warriors were also laughing. They lowered their shields, gathered around Benji.

“If only the demons had balls,” Andan said, leaning on his crossbow, “we’d be fine.”

“Andan, you marksman,” Leonitos said. “Only a gifted sharpshooter could hit such a tiny target!”

Renewed laughter. Benji lifted one hand—a hand in a gnarled demon-skin glove—and extended his middle, talon-tipped finger.

Creen couldn’t stop laughing. He leaned over the wooden rail, slapping the flat surface with his palm. That drew the warriors’ attention. They looked up at the runners and cheered, thrusting their weapons into the air or clacking them loudly against their shields. Ahiliyah felt a rush of pride. Next to the Margrave, warriors were the most revered people in Lemeth.

“Hail, Brandun,” Farid said. “Did you kill a demon?”

Ahiliyah’s jealousy burned hot again.

“No, warrior.” Brandun shook his head. “I did not.”

“Because he killed two,” Grian said. “Isn’t that right, Brandun?” Brandun’s face turned red. He laughed, uncomfortable with the attention—but also pleased by it. And why shouldn’t he be?

Because he wasn’t the crew leader. Because he did nothing but manage not to piss himself. Ahiliyah shook off the thought. Brandun had done nothing wrong. He wasn’t bragging, or making up stories about his run. Her problem was not with him.

“We didn’t kill any,” Creen called down, “but we stood strong while one hunted us.”

The warriors nodded politely. They paid little attention to Creen—he was small and weak. He would never become a warrior. He was smarter than all of them combined, she knew, but these men respected strength, not intelligence.

“Come on,” Ahiliyah said to Brandun and Creen. “We have to see the Margrave.”

The mention wiped the smile from Brandun’s face.

Ahiliyah continued on past the training pit, and down the corridor that led to the hold’s administration section. Even before she could bathe, before she could remove the stinking hidey suit, she had to report to the men who ruled Lemeth.

4

Outside the Margrave’s Chamber, Ahiliyah, Brandun, and Creen sat on a bench below a map of Ataegina painted on the stone wall. They’d taken off their hidey suits, rolled them up into tight bundles that they’d strapped to their backpacks. It felt good to be out of the cumbersome collection of netting and vegetation. They still wore the same shirts and pants they’d worn underneath, though—the fabric had absorbed eight days’ worth of sweat, dirt and body odor.

Sitting there in the still air, waiting to be called in, Ahiliyah was acutely aware of how much they all stank.

“I really wish they’d let you two bathe first,” she said.

Creen huffed. “As if you smell like flowers and cake.”

The door to the Margrave’s Chamber opened. Thesil Akana, the Margrave’s assistant, stepped out, carrying a tray with three steaming mugs of caminus tea.

“Thesil,” Creen said, taking a mug, “I could kiss you.”

Brandun and Ahiliyah took a mug.

“Thank you, Thesil,” she said.

He said nothing, just tucked the tray, went back into the chamber and shut the door.

Thesil had been in the same grade as Ahiliyah. He’d been such a funny kid, always laughing and smiling. On his fifth and final run, demons had taken both of his crewmates. He didn’t smile anymore.

“I miss tea more than I miss bathing,” Creen said. “Even this crappy stuff. People don’t know how to filter out the bitterness like I do. Drives me crazy to have to smell caminus leaves the whole time we’re running and not be able to start one little fucking fire, you know?”

Ahiliyah did know. On runs, Creen complained about the lack of tea.

They sat in silence, sipping the hot tea. In moments, she started to feel the little kick that caminus tea always brought.

Brandun cleared his throat. He often did that when he was looking for the right words.

“For God’s sake, Dumbdun,” Creen said, “just spit it out.”

Brandun thought for a moment, then turned to Ahiliyah.

“That demon,” he said, his voice low, “do you think it was Vanessa?”

Ahiliyah didn’t want to think about that demon at all, but it was a good question. Vanessa had been in Mari Jolla’s crew. On a run two weeks ago, a demon had caught Vanessa and carried her off.

“I don’t know,” Ahiliyah said. “I hope not. And if you see Mari, Brandun, do not mention that to her, all right? Mari took her loss really hard.”

Creen rubbed his face. “You idiots—people do not turn into demons.”

Brandun leaned away from Creen, as if Creen had suddenly become toxic.

“Don’t blaspheme,” Brandun said. “Everyone knows that magic—”

“There is no such thing as magic,” Creen said. “That’s bullshit the preachers tell us because they don’t know what happens and they won’t admit they don’t know. It’s impossible for a person to become a demon. Isn’t that right, Liyah?”

Ahiliyah leaned away from Creen, realized she was doing it, stopped herself.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I mean… that’s what the legends say.”

Creen crossed his arms. “Right. The Demon Mother uses magic spiders, whatever the hell a spider is, to turn people into demons. It makes no sense. No one’s ever even seen a spider.”

Brandun’s mouth hung open. He was very religious, which Creen knew full well.

“No more talk of spiders,” Ahiliyah said. “Or Vanessa. That’s an order.”

Creen made a farting sound with his lips, leaned against the wall. He sipped his tea, tried to look like the boredest boy in all the land.

“That demon,” Brandun said. “It was right on top of you. How did you stay so calm?”

The encounter had really got to him, more than she’d thought.

“I stayed calm because I want to live,” Ahiliyah said. “Silence is strength.”

She expected Creen to say something else dismissive, or demeaning, or insulting, as he usually did when she cited the training mantras, but for once he did not.

“Silence is strength,” he said.

“Which means,” Brandun said, “that Creen is the weakest person alive.”

Ahiliyah laughed. Eyebrows raised, Creen sat up and looked up at Brandun, who was trying to hold back a laugh of his own.

“The walking boulder can get in a dig once in a while,” Creen said. He leaned back against the wall. “I couldn’t have stayed still like you did, Liyah. I’d have run.”

“Then you’d have been taken,” Ahiliyah said. “Aiko says they can sense vibrations in the ground when they’re close. Running actually brings them to you, so your best bet is to stay still.”

Creen stared into his mug. “I don’t want to run again. Fuck, I wish I could get knocked up.”

She wondered if he’d feel that way if he actually had a uterus.

Ahiliyah stood and stretched, trying to loosen muscles tight and sore from eight days on the run. She looked up at the painted map. The island of Ataegina, surrounded by the blue of an ocean that she’d never seen. Further in, bumpy dark green lines with blue rivers that represented the coast and the plains, the green turning lighter and mingling with brown as the inland hills grew higher in elevation. Those hills led to the many mountain peaks that surrounded Lake Lanee and Lake Mip.

Those lakes had been volcanoes once, like Black Smoke Mountain. That’s what Creen said, anyway. He was an endless source of useless information. The map showed the names of old towns and cities. The one called Hellan had supposedly held fifteen thousand people. Swarmore, twenty thousand.

And Tinsella, so big she could still make out the tree-covered ruins when she visited her friend Panda at the signaling station atop Lemeth Mountain, had held fifty thousand people.

Unimaginable.

Colorful marks signified the mountain holds that had once been King Paul’s Crown of War. Keflan, Dakatera and Lemeth around Lake Lanee. Takanta, southeast of Lake Mip. Vinden, near the southeast coast. Jantal on the west coast, and south of it, the lost holds of Hibernia and Pendaran. On the southern coast, the place of nightmares—Black Smoke Mountain, home of the Demon Mother.

Somewhere off the map lay the lands of the Northerners. No one on Ataegina had ever seen those lands. No one living, anyway. It had been a long time since the Northerners had landed an invading army. Not that long ago, they’d been a constant threat to the coast and the plains, but there wasn’t anything left there worth fighting for, at least nothing that was worth the risk of facing demons.

That didn’t stop the raiders from Manroon Island, though—they still came, one or two boats at a time, roaming the countryside looking for people to kill. As far as Ahiliyah knew, they mostly left with nothing but fruit. Was fruit worth crossing the ocean and risking your life? Maybe. God knew that she had risked her life five times now just to bring goods back to Lemeth.

The chamber door opened. Thesil stepped out. “Ahiliyah, the Council will see you now.”

He took Ahiliyah’s mug. She entered the chamber. Brandun and Creen would wait on the bench in case of the rare chance the Margrave or a councilman wanted to hear from someone other than the crew leader.

The Margrave’s Chamber wasn’t the biggest room in the hold, but it was the most brightly lit. Glowpipes ran in parallel lines across the arched stone ceiling, and along the walls as well. The builders had wanted to make sure there was ample light for the room’s main feature: the table model of Ataegina.

The table sat in the center of the room. Nine feet square, the table’s edges were the blue of the ocean, made from an old material—no one even knew what it was anymore, let alone how to manufacture it. Metal markers stuck up from the raised peaks, marking the still-active holds. The most prominent marker was reserved for Lemeth, of course. Not surprising considering how proud her people were of their home.

Around the table sat the Council, the five men who controlled every aspect of life in Lemeth Hold. At least in theory. In practice, the man at the head of the table, Aulus Darby, the Margrave of Lemeth, ran everything.

He wore his robes of office, purple with white trim at the cuffs and collars. He was in his sixties, but his back was still straight and he was taller than almost everyone in Lemeth Hold. Glowlight made his white beard and thinning white hair gleam a light pink.

Aulus had been the Margrave since before Ahiliyah was born. He was a good man, a fair man, but a man not to be trifled with.

Ahiliyah hadn’t spent much time in the Margrave’s Chamber. She came only before a run—to receive orders and plot out her course on the table model—and after a run, to report to the Council. In those limited times, though, she’d learned that while the four council members occasionally offered suggestions, their primary duty was to agree with the Margrave.

“An excellent run,” Councilman Tinat said. “We are grateful for your service.”

Not much more than thirty, Tinat was the youngest council member. He was also the most famous warrior in Lemeth—he’d killed two demons, as evidenced by the pair of toothtongues hanging from his copper chain necklace. Tinat liked to fill the hollow toothtongues with river water each morning, making them glow from the inside, making the clear teeth sparkle with the colors of gemstones. The glow faded as the day went on, but at that moment it remained bright enough to reflect off his graying beard. A mug of tea sat on the table’s edge in front of him.

“A full trade with Dakatera and Keflan,” he said. “You delivered correspondence, returned with the same, you obtained everything you were instructed to obtain, and all three runners made it home.” He smiled at her, put his left fist against his sternum. “Ahiliyah Cooper, I salute you.”

She flushed. Tinat was a hero, a legend. He still trained with the warriors when he could, and had the thick frame to show for it. Five misshapen scars dotted the left side of his face, marks left from the burning blood of one of his demon kills. Most of the girls thought it made him look hideous, but not Ahiliyah. To her, the scars showed Tinat’s bravery—in Lemeth, only three people still alive had survived an encounter with a demon.

Only two had killed one.

“The girl obtained almost everything,” Councilman Balden said, his attention fixed on the letters Ahiliyah had brought back. “You were told to get one hundred doses of capertine powder from Keflan. You brought back eighty. Our people need that medicine. Don’t you know this?”

He had a mug in front of him, too, but Ahiliyah could smell the rivergrass booze in it. With Balden’s head angled down to read, she couldn’t see his eyes past his bushy gray eyebrows. Thin and frail, he was the type of man Creen would grow to be if Creen survived more runs.

“That was all they would give me, Councilman,” Ahiliyah said. “Glynnis flu has broken out there, as well. The Margrave of Keflan assured me his people are working hard to increase production. They will have more for us soon.”

“The liars,” Balden said. “They have plenty to spare. They want us to suffer, to die.”

As if he had any idea of what it was like to do a run nowadays, what it was like to stand face to face with the Margrave of Keflan or the Dakateran Margravine. Balden hadn’t run in forty years. How easy it was for him to sit here, safe in the hold, and think he could do better.

“It’s that evil religion of theirs,” he said. “It’s corrupted them beyond belief.”

To Balden, all religions—save for the right and proper faith practiced in Lemeth, as defined by Preacher Ramirus—were “evil.”

“I believe they traded all they could spare,” Ahiliyah said.

Councilman Poller sighed. “Sometimes I think we need to stop sending mere children to trade.” He was so fat his neck jiggled when he spoke. “I think the people of Keflan might be more honest about their capertine stockpile if our warriors were to show up on their doorstep.”

A grumble of agreement from Balden.

Councilman Jung nodded, the lines of the glowpipes reflecting from his lumpy bald head.

“Without our flowers, the people of Keflan would all waste away from weakling disease,” he said. “You would think they’d realize that and stop pretending they can’t pay.”

These men hadn’t seen the people of Keflan, how sickly and malnourished they’d looked.

“They have their own outbreak of Glynnis flu, as I told you,” Ahiliyah said. “They are suffering. And a lot of their people are coming down with forgetter’s syndrome.”

That sparked interested from the Council. Interest, and a pathetic, instant eagerness.

“Surely the Margrave of Keflan didn’t tell you that,” Jung said. “That would make him seem weak. What makes you think they’re suffering from forgetter’s?”

Ahiliyah suddenly regretted saying anything. How naïve of her to think the councilmen might feel bad for the Keflanians.

“I saw people lying in the corridors,” Ahiliyah said. “People here have had forgetter’s—I know what it looks like. And people were quietly asking me if we had any plinton fruit to trade.”

Without plinton fruit, forgetter’s syndrome progressed unchecked. Simple confusion was the initial symptom, victims wondering where they left this or that, being unable to remember names and details. As it got worse, people became lazy. They often just lay in a bed, on a floor, wherever they could find. Forgetter’s victims didn’t look sick, but they didn’t work—after murder and rape, there was no worse sin in the world than not contributing.

“Dakatera exports plinton,” Jung said. “Are they not trading it with Keflan for capertine?”

The people of Dakatera had seemed healthy enough.

“I don’t think they’re suffering from the flu,” Ahiliyah said. “At least not much.”

Tinat rapped his knuckles on the table. “Which means the Dakaterans have stockpiled plenty of capertine powder. The bastards are trying to drive up the price of plinton fruit.”

Ahiliyah stood quietly. Sometimes her council reports devolved into these kinds of discussions, what the councilmen called economics. Balden tossed the letter onto the table. It landed half on the blue of the ocean, half on the green of the flatlands.

“Speaking of Dakatera, this letter is from one of their councilmen. Correction—” he waved a hand dismissively “—councilwoman. Such a thing exists there, it seems. She seems to think we’re charging too much for imbid flowers. If this complaining continues, something must be done. Really, Ahiliyah, you could have done better in managing this nonsense.”

The Margrave stood; the councilmen stilled.

“Councilmen, you are focusing on the wrong things,” he said.

“Before us stands Ahiliyah Cooper, who just completed her fifth run, and did so with no deaths or injuries under her leadership. You all seem to forget that we can sit here safe and warm in the hold, while it is she and her fellow young runners who face danger up on the surface.”

Ahiliyah could barely breathe. The Margrave not only complimented her, he was echoing her own thoughts.

“Only Tinat has it right,” the Margrave said. “We all need to follow his fine example and salute our new slash, not chastise her or blame her for decisions made by the leaders of Dakatera and Lemeth. Ahiliyah Cooper—” he smiled, placed his fist on his sternum “—I salute you.”

Was this really happening? The Margrave was saluting her?

His smile faded. “I said, we need to salute her.”

Balden was first on his feet. He put his left fist on his sternum. “The Margrave is right, of course. Ahiliyah, I salute you for your service.”

Poller and Jung stood, put their fists on their chests.

“We salute you,” they said in unison.

Aulus smiled. “That’s better. Ahiliyah, I thank you for your brave work and your report. Well done. Oh… how did Brandun do?”

Brandun was a good person, Ahiliyah liked him, but his as-yet unearned prominence bothered her. He hadn’t led the run… she had. He wouldn’t have to do ten runs… she would.

“Brandun Barrow did well,” she said. It was the truth, after all.

The Margrave nodded. “Thank you, Ahiliyah. Anything else you would like to add?”

That question always marked the end of her report. She was supposed to say no, Margrave, then the council would move on to discussing when her crew would run again.

She hesitated. For this brief moment, she had their attention. She had to say something.

“The demons are moving in the daylight,” she said. “I think they might be trying to figure out how to catch us on runs.”

Balden rolled his eyes, whatever respect he’d just given her instantly and visibly gone.

“This nonsense again?” He shook his head. “This girl makes five runs and suddenly she knows all there is to know about the demons.”

“It’s different now,” Ahiliyah said.

The Margrave dismissed her comment with a wave. “Demons have been seen in daylight before, Ahiliyah. You are not the first runner to experience this.”

As if he knew anything about running. The rumor was that the Margrave had never done a run—not a real one, anyway—because his father, the Margrave before him, had made sure his son wasn’t exposed to danger. Even if Aulus had done a run, it had been forty years ago, maybe even fifty. What did he know of the dangers up on the surface?

She had to explain the significance. The Margrave had much to do down here, she knew. How could he understand the problem if she didn’t explain it to him? She was a slash now, after all, among the most experienced runners in the hold.

“Margrave, on my first two runs I didn’t see any demons in the daylight. My third, I saw one. On each of my last two runs, I saw demons twice in the daylight. I think that—”

“Enough,” the Margrave said. “You have told me your concern.”

“But Margrave, I—”

“Enough,” he said. He put his hands on the table’s edge, leaned forward like a giant towering over the miniature mountain range. “Were you talking back to me, Ahiliyah? To me?”

The council stared at her with a mixture of scowls and disbelief. She had overstepped her bounds and she knew it.

The Margrave sat. “Do not think that we are not proud of your service, but decisions are made at the top, not the bottom. You young runners always think you’ve discovered something that the rest of us are too old and blind to see. Is that what you think, Ahiliyah?”

That was exactly what she thought. “No, Margrave.”

He smiled at her. Even though he’d just put her in her place, his smile made her feel good. He’d snapped at her, yes, but he believed in her, which was more than she could say of the other councilmen. Save for Tinat, of course.

“Superb,” the Margrave said. “Councilman Balden, the correspondence from Dakatera—what does it say they are in need of, trade-wise?”

Balden looked at the letter. “The usual. They always need more of our rope, and they want more imbid flowers—at a lower price, which I mentioned earlier.”

The Margrave frowned. “Do you think I need to be told things twice?”

A chill fell over the room.

Balden stared at the table, his head down, his bushy brows hiding his eyes.

“No, Margrave,” he said quietly. “My mistake.”

Aulus nodded. “Now, if you’re finished calling me stupid, what else does Dakatera need?”

The paper in Balden’s shaking hand rattled audibly.

“Hotspice from Takanta,” he said. “Red fabric from Vinden, and salt from Biseth.”

Councilman Poller raised a finger. “Leith Malmsteen’s crew came back from Biseth yesterday, carrying a full load of salt.”

The Margrave stood again, put his hands on the table, leaned over the table’s mountain range. His eyes traced the peaks and valleys. He pointed at the peak labeled Dakatera.

“They need salt,” he said. “We run half of ours there, trade it for plinton fruit. We’ll demand a high exchange rate, and we’ll get it.” He pointed from Dakatera to Keflan. “Our runners continue on, trade the plinton fruit for capertine powder. If the Keflanians are as desperate as Ahiliyah says, we’ll again get a favorable exchange rate. All three holds benefit.”

The Margrave looked around the table, seeing if anyone opposed. He found only nods.

“A sound strategy,” Councilman Tinat said. “Who do we send on the run?”

His words brought a tightness to Ahiliyah’s belly. They wouldn’t send her crew out again, not this soon. Would they?

“Tinat,” the Margrave said, “what is the status of the available crews?”

As the newest councilman, Tinat was responsible for the runners.

“Aiko Laster’s crew is on a run to Takanta and Vinden,” Tinat said. “Jeanna Bouchard’s crew is doing the dangerous run through the valley to Jantal.” He lowered his head. “Brenda Dafydd’s crew left for Jantal two weeks ago. All three are presumed lost.”

Aulus placed his fist against his sternum, bowed his head. “We will continue to pray for their safe return.” He looked up again. “What about Fabian Acosta?”

“Julie Hammal and Britt Denisander were in his crew,” Tinat said. “Julie is six months along, Britt announced her pregnancy just last week. Fabian is waiting for Bruce Pindall and Susannah Albrecht to finish training.”

Susannah, the girl on the deck who had welcomed them home. She was too young, too skinny, too… too sweet. No way was Susannah ready. Ahiliyah’s hands curled into fists—they were going to make her and Brandun and Creen run again, she could feel it.

“Mari Jolla’s crew is still here,” Ahiliyah said. “Right? I know she lost Vanessa, but Tobias Penn is a good replacement. And she still has Lucas Kim, he’s solid.”

The room fell silent. Had she said something wrong?

Tinat cleared his throat. “I’m afraid Lucas and Tobias also need a new crew leader.”

Had Mari come down with Glynnis flu? While Ahiliyah felt bad for her—no one liked to spend days feverish and vomiting—she still had to do her duty.

“We brought back eighty doses of capertine powder,” she said. “Runners always get priority. Mari should be fine in a day or two.”

More uncomfortable silence.

Tinat sighed. “Mari’s crew was ordered to make the long run to Vinden. She refused.”

Ahiliyah felt like she’d been punched in the gut. “She must have had a good reason.”

“She’s not hurt, or sick,” Tinat said. “Mari told me that she will run no more.”

Goosebumps washed over Ahiliyah’s skin. The silence of the room told her Mari had already been sentenced for her crime.

“Let me talk to her,” Ahiliyah said. “I can make her change her mind.”

All eyes turned to the Margrave.

“Several people have,” he said. “Still she refuses. You know what this means.”

Everyone in Lemeth knew.

“Margrave, please,” Ahiliyah said. “Mari only has two more runs to go. Let me try.”

Aulus tugged absently at his beard. “You may speak with her tonight, in her cell. If she runs, she’s forgiven, but she must complete two additional runs beyond her current obligation.”

A sinking feeling. Mari had completed eight runs. Now to fulfill her obligation, instead of two more, she would have to complete four. Ahiliyah wanted to argue, but everyone knew the cost of refusing a run—a penalty of only two additional runs was more than generous.

“Thank you, Margrave,” Ahiliyah said.

He sighed, spread his hands. “Even if Lucas agrees, I will not trust him on such an important run. Do you understand how badly we need this medicine from Keflan?”

She understood just fine—the warriors would not go, the other crews were either already on the surface or were waiting for inexperienced trainees. With Aiko gone, Ahiliyah was the best runner in Lemeth. Everyone knew it. Without the powder, dozens would die. Maybe hundreds.

The burden fell on her. On her, Creen and Brandun.

“Yes, Margrave. I understand.”

“I’m sorry to do this so soon after your return,” he said. “Ahiliyah, you and your crew will leave tomorrow at first light.”

She closed her eyes. There hadn’t even been a chance to bathe, and he was already asking her to risk her life again. She held back a scream of frustration.

“My team needs rest,” Ahiliyah said. “A few days, at least.”

Poller shook his head, made a disgusted, clucking sound.

“Rest.” Balden spat the word like a curse. “People are sick, and you want to take a nap?”

Tinat slapped the table. “You make it sound so easy, Balden. Why don’t you volunteer?”

Balden huffed. “I have more important duties here, Tinat. You should mind your words.”

“If I don’t,” Tinat said, smiling, “will you be the one to teach me a lesson?”

Balden huffed again, but refused to meet the younger, bigger man’s gleaming eyes.

“Enough,” the Margrave said. “Ahiliyah, I either send you and your team, or I send Acosta and his trainees. We cannot wait. We’ve already lost two Lemethians to the flu.”

Ahiliyah thought of skinny Susannah making the two-day trek to Dakatera, then another two-day trek to Keflan, then back again. Eight days round-trip, if there was no demon sighting. Susannah wouldn’t last eight days—she wouldn’t last eight hours.

All the adults in the Lemeth, the warriors, the councilmen, the tradesmyn… none of them would go. Why? Because they had already fulfilled their “obligation.” Because of tradition. Even with lives at risk, the Council sent only the young to the surface, to run, to hide… to die.

How had their culture wound up like this?

“I can give you one day of rest,” the Margrave said. “You leave the day after tomorrow. But I won’t order you, Ahiliyah. It is your choice—will it be your crew, or must I send Acosta?

On the mountainside, Acosta made more noise than two mating vindeedees. He had only made the safer run to Biseth. A run to Dakatera and Keflan, with demons hunting in the daylight? He would die. His team would die. And many of the people sick with the flu would die when his crew didn’t return with the medicine.

If Ahiliyah had been in charge, she would have ordered some of the men in this very room to make the run. Maybe Balden. Especially Balden.

But she wasn’t in charge.

For the good of her people, there was only one choice to make. Creen and Brandun were under her leadership—they had no choice at all. If she went, they went with her.

How would they take the news?

“We’ll do it,” she said. “Day after tomorrow, we will go.”

The Margrave nodded, solemnly, his half-smile communicating so much: pride at her bravery, sadness at what she had to endure. He knew. He understood. That helped. Not much, perhaps, but it did help.

“We will move your return ceremony to tomorrow,” the Margrave said. “Tomorrow is also phalanx reserve training. Your crew may skip that training, to get additional rest.”

Miss her chance with shield and spear? Her chance to prove to the warriors that she belonged in their ranks? No way.

“I’ll still train, if that’s all right,” Ahiliyah said. “I’m sure Brandun will as well.”

Creen would not, which went without saying.

The Margrave smiled the smile that made Ahiliyah think of her father, made her miss him even more than she already did.

“Of course you want to train, Liyah,” the Margrave said. “By all means, do so. I will see you tomorrow at your return ceremony. You are dismissed.”

* * *

The two boys sitting on the bench stared at her, one with shock, the other with rage.

“The day after tomorrow?” Brandun leaned back against the wall. “So soon?”

“This is bullshit,” Creen said. “I’m going to give the Margrave a good talking-to.”

Creen stepped to the chamber door. Ahiliyah reached for him—too late. He grabbed the door handle, then Brandun wrapped his arms around Creen’s chest, effortlessly lifted him.

Creen’s little feet kicked uselessly. “You big stupid fuck, let me go!”

Ahiliyah pressed her hand hard over Creen’s mouth, got a kick in the thigh for her troubles.

“Creen, shut up,” she said, leaning close. “You barge in there and they’ll send you to lockup. Is that what you want?”

The boy stiffened. Glaring at her with all the hate in the world, he shook his head.

Ahiliyah let him go. Brandun gently set Creen back on his feet.

Creen crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not going on this run.”

His words scared her. He was probably just venting, but what if he turned out like Mari?

“You’re going,” Ahiliyah said. “We need more medicine.”

Brandun nodded slowly. “Liyah’s right, Creen, we gotta. My mom has the cough. I heard all the medicine we brought back will be used on people who are way more sick than she is.”

“I’m sorry about your mom,” Creen said. “But me being dead isn’t going to keep her alive. I’m serious—I’m not going on this run.”

With that, the boy grabbed his pack and stormed down the hallway.

Brandun and Ahiliyah watched him go.

“You gotta talk to him,” Brandun said. “I don’t want to see him get in trouble.”

Get in trouble. Well, that was one way to put it.

“Creen will be all right,” she said, although she wasn’t sure if she believed that. “I’ll stop by and see your mother later, okay?”

Brandun smiled a tired but sweet smile. “Wanna come see her now? I’ll carry your pack.”

She was fairly sure he was developing a crush on her. That happened a lot between younger crew members and older crew leaders.

“No, thanks, I want to stop by the hospital and see how bad things really are. Then I’m going to see General Bishor and I have plans with Tolio tonight.”

Brandun’s smile faded slightly, most likely from the subtle reminder that Liyah had a boyfriend, then it was back.

“Oh,” he said. He perked up. “Wargames with the spider? Could I play sometime?”

“Not if you call him that name you can’t.”

She hadn’t meant the words to sound like a sharp rebuke, but that was how they came out.

Brandun sagged. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

She knew he hadn’t. He just repeated the mean things other people said. Which, in its own way, was even worse.

Ahiliyah put her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll see you at the return ceremony tomorrow, all right?” Her tone of voice told him he was forgiven.

Brandun smiled again. “Yeah, all right. Thanks, Liyah. Don’t forget about mom, okay?”

He grabbed his pack and ran down the hall, somehow finding a new source of energy when he should have none left at all. Despite his size, he rarely got tired. Another reason he would be a warrior and she would not.

Ahiliyah picked up her own backpack, then stared at the map on the wall. Five more runs, then she would be free of her obligation—but did she want to be free of it?

She didn’t know. She didn’t know a lot of things.

Ahiliyah shouldered the pack, took a moment to find a spot where the skin of her shoulders wasn’t rubbed raw, then left the Margrave’s Chamber behind.

5

The people who’d come to welcome her crew home were mostly gone from the stone corridors, all probably back at work, toiling away to keep the hold alive. The few people she passed by smiled at her, thanked her for her service, but no one stopped her.

If she hadn’t known the hospital’s location by heart, she could have just followed the sound of the vomiting. She set her backpack down outside the hospital’s arched entrance, then stepped inside. Twenty-two beds—all full. The outbreak had, indeed, gotten worse. Everyone here would probably soon recover, thanks to the capertine powder that she, Brandun, and Creen had brought back.

One of the hospital’s pipes had a leak. Glowing water trickled down the dark stone wall, casting odd shadows across the room. All glowpipes steadily filled with gunk. If they weren’t cleaned out every few weeks, increasing water pressure could crack the glass. Judging by the ridges of that same gunk building up on the wall, this leak had sprung days ago. Someone should have fixed it already, which probably meant that many in the maintenance crew were sick.

Ahiliyah knew most of these patients by sight. Steffan Andersson, the first boy she’d kissed, coughing wetly, his thick body laid low. Her friend Lola Yinnish lay on her side, violently throwing up into a wooden bucket. Old Man Sarkozy was on his back, moaning, his wrinkled face sheened with sweat. All three of the Baines boys—Jermaine, Bharat and Andrey—laid up, covered in sweat, their skin red from fever. Their mother, Tameika, was pulling double-shifts in one of the mushroom farms, trying to make up for her sons’ lack of productivity.

Doctor Talbot and Doctor Fran moved from bed to bed. They both looked like they hadn’t slept since Ahiliyah had left on her run eight days earlier.

Talbot’s assistant—Chloe Jakobsen—trailed him, carrying a wooden tray that held a pitcher of water and a stack of small ceramic cups. Talbot stopped at a bed. Ahiliyah couldn’t make out the woman tucked beneath the covers, shivering madly. Talbot poured water into one of the brown cups on Chloe’s tray, then gently lifted the patient up enough so that she could drink. Ahiliyah saw who it was—old Rose Porter, one of the weavers. Talbot helped Rose drink the entire cup, then he laid her back down on the bed.

The look on Talbot’s face told Ahiliyah all she needed to know; Rose would live. The medicine had arrived in time. Ahiliyah felt a rush of pride in a job well done. The run had been hard and terrifying, but it had saved lives—probably everyone in this room, and many more. Maybe Ahiliyah couldn’t be a warrior like she’d always dreamed of being, but she was good at running, and her runs mattered.

Was that enough?

No, but it was definitely something good. If it was all she could get out of this life, she would keep doing it until she could run no more, or until the demons finally brought her down.

Time to see Sinesh, then get some sleep. Ahiliyah started to turn away when Talbot saw her. The doctor put the cup back on the tray, then hurried over.

“Liyah,” Talbot said, then pulled her in for a hug. “You are an angel, my girl. An angel.”

She hugged him back. He was a good man, a hard worker who contributed to the hold every single day.

He held her at arm’s length, smiling. He was so wrinkled he reminded Ahiliyah of bark stripped from a tree and left to dry in bleached-out, bone-hard strips. Dark circles under his eyes, a nose red from sneezing and wiping, skin paler than normal.

“Doc, you look like hell.”

“I feel like hell. Or at least I did until the capertine powder arrived.”

Ahiliyah glanced past him into the hospital. “Are they all going to make it?”

“I don’t know,” Talbot said. “The powder you brought will save most of them, but they aren’t the only ones. We don’t have enough beds. We’ve ordered some people to stay in their rooms. To be honest, we need an additional delivery of powder, and we need it soon. Otherwise, we could lose more than the two we already lost.”

Ahiliyah’s heart sank. “What is our population now?”

“Three thousand, four hundred and twelve,” Talbot said. “And no births while you were gone. The number is accurate.”

When she’d been younger, Lemeth had held over five thousand people. The hold was dying. All of Ataegina was dying.

“Who passed?”

“Letar Haines,” Talbot said. “And Olliana Ming.”

Ahiliyah closed her eyes, felt the rush of sadness that came with the news. Some thirty or forty years ago, Olliana had been Lemeth’s senior runner—the most experienced runner in the hold, the person responsible for training all new runners. Olliana had made sixteen runs before she’d stopped. She’d then joined the sewage crew, where she’d worked her fingers to the bone every day, looking forward to when she could put that burden down and join the hold’s other old ladies as a weaver. Olliana would have spent her remaining years chatting and chewing on Lisa’s root while she made rope, twine, and wove netting.

Glynnis flu had ended that dream.

Ahiliyah would always remember Olliana’s snake pies, the way she liked to roast kittle bugs with sweetspice and hand them out, still warm, to the children of the hold.

“It was her time,” Talbot said. “She was sixty-two, you know.”

Older than most people in the hold.

“Letar seemed so strong,” Ahiliyah said. “What was he, thirty?”

“Twenty-nine. If he’d said something sooner, he might have survived. He waited too long.” Talbot leaned closer to Ahiliyah, his eyes searching her up and down. “You don’t look so great yourself. You look a little red.”

He put his hand against her forehead.

“Hey,” Ahiliyah said, “you need to ask permission to touch me.”

“Oh, do shut up. Any aches and pains?”

“Just the usual. I’ve been on a run for eight days.”

He pressed his fingers against her neck. She winced as pain radiated from somewhere inside her throat.

“You’re sick,” Talbot said. “You need a dose of what you brought back for everyone else.”

“I’m fine. I just need some sleep.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what Letar told me. Three days later, a blood clot hit his heart. Now he’s dead. Chloe, get over here.”

Chloe rushed over, tray in hand. “Hi, Liyah. Sorry I wasn’t there to welcome you back.”

Ahiliyah reached out, touched her shoulder. “I don’t mind. I can see you’ve been busy.”

The capertine powder was already in the cup. Talbot poured in some water; the powder dissolved, turning the water blue. He held the cup in front of her.

Ahiliyah glanced at the hospital beds. “They need it more than I do. You just told me there isn’t enough to go around.”

“Which means someone has to make a run,” Talbot said. “Considering what’s on the line, I assume the Council will send our best.”

He already knew. No one could have told him—she’d come here straight from the Margrave’s Chamber. Maybe no one had to tell him. Talbot was good at figuring things out.

She took the cup, drank. Capertine powder tasted like farts.

“Ugh,” she said, setting the cup on the tray. “What’s that stuff do, anyway?”

“It kills the bacteria that make you sick. And it dissolves the blood clots formed by the bacteria wastes.”

“You mean… I have tiny bug poop in me?”

He laughed as he lifted her left eyelid, leaned in close to look.

Ahiliyah stood there, letting him prod and poke her. She worked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, trying to scrape away the horrid taste.

“Doctor Talbot, what’s a blood clot?”

He grabbed her wrist—gently but firmly—and raised it up so they could both see a long, scabbed-over scratch on her forearm.

“When you got this, it bled, right?”

Ahiliyah nodded. “A little bit, yeah.”

“When the bleeding slowed, tell me what that blood looked like.”

“It kind of got… thicker, I guess.” She shrugged. “It just stopped.”

“Thicker is a good word for it. That was your blood clotting. That’s one of the symptoms of Glynnis flu, except the clots”—he made a fist—“form inside your body. They get stuck in your veins, which is what causes the aches. If a clot reaches your heart”—he opened the fist quickly, fingers splayed—“pow, there goes your heart, and you’re one dead runner. Now, are you happy I made you take your medicine?”

Ahiliyah frowned at him. She didn’t like the idea of anyone “making” her do anything. But still, an exploding heart?

“Thank you, Doctor Talbot.”

Talbot tousled her hair, just as he’d done to her when she’d been a child.

“Get some rest,” he said, then walked back to his patients. Chloe followed close behind.

Rest. She was bone-tired. Looking at the sick people made her more so. If she and her crew didn’t complete the next run to Dakatera, then Keflan, and back, the death toll would quickly rise higher. She would not let that happen. She’d find a way to return safely, to keep Creen and Brandun alive, to save as many of her people as possible.

There was still much to do. She wanted to see him. He could make her forget all about the demons, the surface, the running, the danger… for a little while, at least.

But before she saw Tolio, before her slash ceremony, before she tried to talk some sense into Mari Jolla, Ahiliyah needed to deliver her present to the General.

6

Finally bathed, dressed in sandals and a clean, white, short-sleeved nawton-fiber shift, Ahiliyah descended the long, narrow stairway. Her footsteps echoed off the stone walls until the river’s growing roar drowned them out.

She loved this walk. No matter how much water pumped through the glowpipes, the pale reddish light couldn’t compare to the blazing glory of sunshine up on the surface. The river, though, came close.

Two little girls—Miriam and Debbany—trailed behind her, begging for candy.

Miriam tugged on her sleeve. “Please, Ahiliyah! Just one more! I’ll eat slow, I promise!”

“That’s what you promised the last time,” Ahiliyah said. “I’m sorry, girls, but I only have a little bit of candy left, and it’s for the netmakers.”

The girls groaned as if the world were ending and their lives were so, so unfair. Ahiliyah laughed—she had acted the same way when she’d been their age and a runner had come back from Keflan.

“Wait,” Debbany said, “the netmakers? Does that mean you’re visiting the spider?”

Such a horrible nickname. Ahiliyah felt her anger rise, but she held it in check—these were just little kids, they didn’t understand.

“That’s mean,” she said. “You shouldn’t call people that.”

Miriam sneered. “We don’t call people that, just him. He’s all ugly and scary.”

Ahiliyah stopped walking. She turned; the girls froze in place, looked up at her.

“General Bishor isn’t scary,” she said. “He’s a good person. Have you ever talked to him?”

Miriam reached out, held Debbany’s hand.

“We haven’t talked to him but we’ve seen him,” Miriam said. “I… sometimes I have dreams that he’s coming to get me. He’s awful, Liyah. You shouldn’t be friends with him.”

Such horrible little girls. Who did they think they were? Sinesh was a hero. The girls were afraid of him? Maybe they needed a real scare.

Ahiliyah knelt down so she was eye to eye with them.

“A spider,” she said in a sweet voice. “Do you girls know what a spider really is?”

Miriam and Debbany exchanged a glance.

“Yeah,” Miriam said. “In Black Smoke Mountain, the Demon Mother uses spiders to magic you into a demon.”

Debbany nodded. “Then you’re damned. Preacher Ramirus told us. Everyone knows.”

Ahiliyah smiled an evil smile. She couldn’t help it. She raised her right hand, palm toward the girls. She curled her fingers in like claws, then wiggled them, trying to make them look like the legendary creature.

“You’re almost right, girls. What Preacher Ramirus didn’t tell you was the spiders aren’t only in Black Smoke Mountain.”

Ahiliyah wiggled her fingers faster. The girls’ eyes widened. They clung to each other, watched her hand.

“Where… where…” Debbany licked her dry lips. “Where else are they?”

“They’re everywhere,” Ahiliyah said. “They hide in the shadows, listening for little kids who say mean things, who call people mean names. When the spiders hear that? They wait until those kids go to sleep. Then in the night, the spiders come and wrap themselves around your face, and they magic the bad kids away to Black Smoke Mountain. So unless you want to turn into a demon, unless you want to be damned, maybe don’t talk about people behind their backs.”

Ahiliyah’s hand shot out—her fingers wrapped around Debbany’s face.

Miriam and Debbany screamed so loud it made Ahiliyah wince. Debbany slapped Ahiliyah’s hand away, and the two girls sprinted up the stone stairs.

Ahiliyah watched them go, satisfied they’d got the scare they deserved.

That satisfaction quickly faded, replaced by guilt. Had she just terrified two little girls who didn’t know any better?

“Wow, Liyah,” she said to herself. “You’re a real example to others, huh?”

Well, maybe next time they’d think twice before they called people names.

Would the girls grow up someday and learn to look past Sinesh’s disfigurement, to see the person inside? Maybe. Ahiliyah had. But she was one of the few. Most people didn’t want to go anywhere near “the spider.”

Ahiliyah continued down the stairway, loving how the narrow walls amplified the river’s roar. She reached the bottom and stepped out onto the walkway, stared out at the Bitigan River—her favorite part of Lemeth Hold.

The wide, rushing river filled the long cavern with white light. Very little pink tint here: that only happened with the small quantities flowing through the glowpipes. Ahiliyah took in a deep, slow breath, felt her body relax as she watched water rage across jutting boulders.

Two wood-and-rope footbridges stretched above the water to the far shore. One led to the fishing platform, where people threw out weighted nets. Divers also worked from that platform, tightly fastening ropes around their waists so they could enter the glowing water and not be swept away and lost forever. Below the surface, they searched for limpets, harvested rivergrass that had grown long enough for the toxins to leech out of it, or collected fibrous nawton plants.

The other footbridge led to a cliff face that had long ago been leveled and turned into a broad, tiled plaza. On that plaza, old women spent their days tearing nawton roots into long strands, braiding those strands into twine, then weaving that twine into netting. Like everyone in Lemeth, these women worked constantly, but it was an honored job reserved for those who had managed to reach old age. For every hundred girls born to the hold, perhaps ten lived long enough to earn their spot on that plaza.

Long, thick, fluffy streaks of white lined the cavern walls—imbid flowers, which grew from thin creepers that branched off a thick, winding central stem. Nothing summed up the dismal state of Ataegina like these life-saving flowers. Here, they grew all year round, so plentiful most of them went to waste, yet in other holds, people died from weakling disease because it was so dangerous to carry the flowers—to carry anything—from one place to another.

Ahiliyah walked across the second bridge, river mist wetting her hair and skin. She stopped in the middle to take in the view. So much power rushing past far, beneath her feet. The current steadily turned the tall water wheel mounted on the river wall. The wheel pumped the water into the glowpipes that ran through the corridors, rooms, and tunnels, illuminating Lemeth Hold. Without that wheel, without that water, life would be dark indeed.

Stalactites hung down from the cavern ceiling above, their dim yellow glow lighting up the ever-present river mist. Furgles crawled on and among the stalactites. Furgles were easy to catch, and easy to cook—just boil them until their shells split. She’d eaten more of those animals than she could count, and was glad she’d brought back spice from Dakatera. Furgles had no taste—without spice, eating them was like chewing water.

Ahiliyah saw a great bat flying upstream, toward her. Its four long wings seemed to flap in slow motion. The creature skimmed the river’s glowing surface, probably looking for a crelfish. Suddenly, it flapped hard and shot straight up toward the ceiling. Wings spread, it came to a hovering stop between two long stalactites. The bat’s legs reached out—long talons sank into a furgle. The furgle let out a croak of distress, barely audible over the river’s steady roar, but it was already too late. The great bat dropped like a rock and flew fast upstream, skimming the water. As it flew, it pushed the furgle beneath the surface. If talon punctures hadn’t already killed the animal, it would quickly drown.

A hundred yards downstream, cavern and river banked to the right, out of sight. The great bat followed that bend, and was gone.

Ahiliyah didn’t feel bad for the furgle. The animal was destined to die, either by bat, by person, or when it grew too old and weak to cling to the stalactites. On Ataegina, death was never far away.

Such a beautiful place, this chamber. She loved it here almost as much as she loved it up on the surface. The river glowed like a living, moving jewel, and yet it was nothing compared to the spectacle of a sunrise.

Sometimes she and Tolio would sit together on this bridge, their feet dangling over the side. He would bring fresh-baked bread and they would sit in silence, the river’s roar the only conversation they needed. Thinking of him brought back the fact that she only had a day before she had to leave again—in the little time she had, sitting in silence wasn’t what she wanted to do with him, and she knew that wasn’t what he wanted to do with her.

Ahiliyah continued across the bridge to the plaza. There, two dozen old women sat in a steaming hot spring, working with the long, wet nawton fibers that soaked along with them. They smiled at her. So much joy on those wrinkled faces—probably because they were constantly high from chewing on Lisa’s root all day. The root helped them forget the pain of their ancient bodies.

“Hello, everyone,” Ahiliyah said as she passed out her last sticks of candy. The women smiled their toothless smiles, their eyes beamed with love. Most runners brought them nothing. Ahiliyah always tried to find some treat for her elders.

She wondered what the women talked about all day as they braided rope and twine, wove fishing nets and made hidey suits. If she survived her next five runs, maybe she would live long enough to find out.

But she didn’t want to give up running. When she became a double-slash, maybe she would just keep going. Sometimes people did that. Tristan Garza, from Dakatera Hold, had supposedly made thirty runs. What were the odds of surviving that many trips across the surface? Ahiliyah had made only five, yet on those runs she had seen four people die or be carried away to Black Smoke Mountain.

Every time she went to the surface, she knew it might be her last.

She said goodbye to the ladies and walked across the damp stone to see Sinesh. He was alone. He was always alone.

“Hello, General.”

With his one good eye, the scarred old man looked up at her.

“General,” he said, his tone mocking. “Why don’t you call me spider like the others do? I am no longer a general.”

“You are to me. You had great victories.”

The old man laughed, a harsh rasp gurgled out by what was left of his throat.

“I won a few skirmishes, then lost the greatest battle the world has ever seen. Sit and be still while I finish this net.”

In a way, Sinesh’s skinny, scarred body did resemble a three-limbed version of the skeletal, eight-limbed spiders. The ones in the ancient drawings, anyway—no one alive had ever seen a real spider. That didn’t mean Ahiliyah doubted their existence. Spiders turned people into demons, and she’d seen plenty of demons.

Still, it was a horrible thing to call someone so brave, so important.

Ahiliyah sat and watched him work. With his withered, three-fingered right hand, Sinesh wrapped twine around his left foot, pinning the leading edge between his big toe and index toe. Ragged, parallel scars ran down that leg from when the demon had raked him.

His right leg was the least-damaged part of his body, carrying only a few scars. His chest and the right side of his face were nothing but scars. He had only patches of hair left, the rest his scalp twisted into gnarled flesh.

He had no right eye, just a hollow socket hooded with wrinkled, drooping skin. Demon blood had eaten away half of his upper lip. His teeth—the few that were left—were visible through that hole. So much damage, yet still Sinesh still did his part for the hold.

He’d learned to use his right foot like another hand. The leg bent sharply at the knee, his foot up by his chest. Right foot and right hand combined to weave twine, to tie permanent knots, to craft nets, hammocks, hidey suits, anything that required skill and finesse.

His skinny arm and leg pulled, looped, tied, wrapped. Before her eyes, the webbing took shape. He performed these actions automatically, without thinking, as repetitive and easy to him as breathing was to her.

“I made it back,” Ahiliyah said.

He nodded. “Obviously.”

“You promised that if I did, you’d tell me the story again.”

Sinesh paused in mid-weave. “The horrors that happened to me could happen to you, child. Why do you wish to hear the same story over and over again?”

Ahiliyah wondered what it would be like to see the world with only one eye.

“Because it helps keep me sharp.”

Sinesh paused, then continued weaving. “As you wish.”

Ahiliyah closed her eyes and listened to his scratchy voice tell a story she already knew so well that she could picture every moment in her mind as if she had lived it herself.

* * *

Sinesh and his three surviving men had almost made it home.

They were only half a kilometer away when the demon surprised them. It drove its tailspike through Christuno’s shoulder, a blow that cracked bone and splattered blood across the rocks. Terrified, the other two men forgot their training. They dropped their heavy crossbows and ran. Sinesh did not run—he fought to save Christuno from being carried away.

Sinesh thrust his demon fork, impaling the beast. Had the two men stayed, one could have also used his fork, helping to pin the demon, while the other hit it with crossbow bolts.

Sinesh fought on, alone.

The black beast was too powerful for him. It swung an arm down, snapping the demon fork’s staff, then reached out, long black fingers grabbing Sinesh’s right hand. The demon yanked, trying to pull Sinesh in, but the pull was so strong it ripped off two of the man’s fingers.

Broken shaft still in his left hand, Sinesh stumbled back, blood spilling down.

The demon screeched. It dropped to all fours, gathered, and sprang.

Sinesh fell to his back, planted the shaft’s butt against the rock. The falling demon impaled itself on the broken end. Sinesh used the beast’s momentum to carry it over him, planted his boot soles on the gnarled body to help it along. Sinesh rolled backward and kicked out hard—the demon sailed five yards, crashed into a boulder so hard two of its backsticks broke off.

The beast righted itself. Burning blood poured from its wounds, sizzling against rock, melting dirt into tiny, smoking puddles. The demon clawed at the smoking, broken spear shaft still embedded in its chest.

Sinesh saw his only chance—a dropped crossbow, still cocked, long shaft waiting to fly. He ran for the weapon. The demon rushed him. Sinesh dove, grabbed the big crossbow, and rolled to his back. Before he could shoot the beast landed on him, pinning him to the ground.

Claws raked down the man’s leg.

The demon’s head came close, so close Sinesh smelled its putrid breath, so close the creature’s hateful hiss was the only sound in the world. Thick saliva dripped in wiggling strands. Black lips wrinkled back, the jaws opened, and inside that mouth Sinesh saw the toothtongue sliding forward, opening to strike.

One-handed, Sinesh hauled the crossbow butt to his shoulder, angled it up and pulled the trigger.

The long bolt drove through the extended toothtongue and into the demon’s long black head. The bolt’s point punched the other side, an eruption of black chitin, thick yellow flesh, and splashing green blood. The beast shuddered, then collapsed, trapping Sinesh beneath. Burning blood flowed onto his left arm, his chest, his face.

As his nose filled with the acrid scent of his own bubbling flesh, Sinesh began to scream.

Horribly wounded, Christuno stumbled over, pushed the dead beast off. Sinesh’s left arm smoldered and sizzled, a mess of wet-pink and yellow-red, the acid eating through skin and muscle, scoring bone.

His own blood draining away, Christuno fought to save Sinesh just as Sinesh had fought to save him. Christuno dug his fingers into Sinesh’s eye socket, scooped out acid and melted eye, flung the mess away.

Christuno drew his little friend, used the small blade to cut away the bubbling spots of Sinesh’s skin and muscle. There wasn’t time for precision or care, only time to slice and throw. Christuno’s blood flowed, as did Sinesh’s, puddles of wet red mingling on the stone and dirt.

When the last smoking patches of Sinesh had been carved away, Christuno bandaged himself as best he could, trying to stem his bleeding long enough to haul Sinesh back to the hold. Sinesh had risked everything to save Christuno who, in turn, risked everything to save Sinesh.

Against the odds, both men survived.

Sinesh was never the same, of course. Crippled, a withered husk of a man, he recovered as much as one can recover from such catastrophic injuries.

Christuno fared slightly better. His wounds healed, although his arm never worked properly again. Eventually, he married. His wife bore him a son. That son grew up, married, and had a daughter.

A daughter named Ahiliyah.

Sinesh had sacrificed his future to save Christuno Cooper. If he had not, Ahiliyah would have never been born.

* * *

“Ahiliyah?”

She twitched, realized that Sinesh was talking to her.

“Yes?”

“You have something for me,” Sinesh said. “I hope you do.”

“Oh, yes.” She’d almost forgotten.

She looked behind her, to make sure the old women weren’t watching, then across the river, to make sure no one else was, either. From her pocket, she pulled out the last of her gifts—a small pouch of crushed red moss.

“Set it in the twine coil,” Sinesh said.

Ahiliyah did, glad no one could see the bag inside the coil.

Red moss was forbidden. Too much of it, even a few grains too much, could kill. Almost any amount left people nearly comatose for hours at a time. In tiny doses, though, it could mask pain.

Pain, the only thing Sinesh possessed in abundance.

“Tell me of the run,” he said, and began weaving again.

She told him, taking care to review every detail. Even with that focus, though, Sinesh asked questions that revealed to her things she’d glossed over or forgotten. He seemed to be able to crawl inside her mind, to experience the run as she had. When she finished, he paused his work, a strand of twine running from his foot to his hand.

“You’ve seen them in daylight,” he said. “Three times now.”

Ahiliyah nodded. “I think it is a pattern. I think they are changing.”

Sinesh stared off. “Then we will all die.” He started weaving again.

His response surprised her. “What do you mean? We can fight.”

“You told the Margrave, and he ignored you. Correct?”

Ahiliyah said nothing.

“As long as that man is in charge, nothing will happen,” Sinesh said. “If the demons change and we do not, we are finished. They killed thousands. There are no people left in the lowlands. The demons have no choice but to hunt us in the mountains. The holds can’t stay hidden forever, Ahiliyah. It is only a matter of time before Lemeth falls.”

Sinesh was the smartest, wisest person she knew. How could he think there was no hope?

He paused. His stare made her wonder if she’d done something wrong.

“If we are to survive, someone must lead,” he said. “The Margrave will not. I have tried to convince him otherwise. So have many others—people who are now dead. If we are to survive, someone must take over.”

“We can vote him out.”

The old man laughed his raspy laugh. “Vote him out? After five runs, can you still be that naïve? The next vote isn’t for another year, and no matter how many votes are cast for his opposition, he will win. He controls the warriors, Ahiliyah. He who controls the warriors counts the votes. You are old enough to figure out the rest.”

Had the Margrave cheated? That seemed impossible, and yet…

The elections were held every four years. Aulus Darby had won every election he’d entered. Just as his father had before him.

Their family had ruled Lemeth for thirty-six years.

“We have to do something,” Ahiliyah said.

“We?” Sinesh shook his head. “I am too old and too weak to play such games. If the demons come or if they do not, I will die anyway. And if you, my little fool, try to do anything, then you will die sooner than I.”

He stopped weaving. There was enough there now that Ahiliyah recognized what he was making—a hidey suit for a young runner, one even smaller than Creen.

Sinesh reached into the coil of twine, opened the bag of red moss. He licked his fingertip, stuck it in the bag, then touched the clinging red powder to his tongue.

“Enough talk about doom and gloom,” he said. “You would like to hear one of my stories, perhaps, from when I was not the crippled man you see before you? Shall I tell you again of how I led Lemeth to victory over the Bisethians in the Battle of Bigsby’s Pass?”

She loved his war stories, loved the way he told them. So much detail, from arms and armor to tactics, weather conditions, terrain, right down to the food the soldiers ate, the conditions they endured before the battle. Sinesh remembered all of it.

Simply listening to him, though, wouldn’t chase the dark thoughts from her mind. She needed to be active. She needed to learn from him.

“I’d rather play out the Battle of Hollow Hill, if that’s all right.”

Hollow Hill was where Sinesh had led his two hectons—two hundred soldiers—to victory against a force more than twice as large. The battle had turned the tide against the Northerners, resulted in them fleeing to the ocean and abandoning their invasion of Ataegina.

Sinesh nodded. “Get the pieces.”

Ahiliyah stood and walked to a large coil of rope. Inside, out of sight, was a wooden box. She set the box down next to Sinesh. She opened the box, and started setting out the pieces—limpet shells, each with a thin, pointed stick glued to it. Each shell represented ten warriors. Some shells were painted yellow, some blue.

She pushed fifty yellow shells toward Sinesh. The old man smiled.

“You wish for me to be the Northerners? To have the superior force?”

“Superior numbers,” Ahiliyah said. “There is no equal to a Lemethian spearman.”

Sinesh nodded. “True. But are you sure you want to play the Lemethians in this scenario? I won’t make the same mistakes my opponents made that day.”

Ahiliyah counted out twenty blue shells, arranged them on the flat stones in front of her.

“I’m sure,” she said. “I like the challenge… but no cheating this time, all right?”

Sinesh lined up some of his pieces into a block consisting of three rows of ten. The glued sticks pointed forward—a representation of the spears of a phalanx.

“Girl, how many times must I tell you? In war, if—

“If you aren’t trying to cheat, you don’t really want to win,” Ahiliyah said. “I know, I know. Just set up the pieces, old man.”

7

Tolio arched his back. Ahiliyah gripped his shoulders, fingertips digging into his muscles. In the fading light of the glowjar, she watched his face, watched his eyes scrunch tight.

Pleasure washed over her, shook her, owned her, wiped out all other thoughts. For one instant, there was nothing but her and him. For one sweet moment, she was whole.

Tolio fell to her side, his chest heaving.

“My god, you’re good at that,” he said. He wiped sweat from his forehead.

He was good at it, too. He wasn’t her first lover, but he was the best she’d had by far. Tolio didn’t need to be told what to do, yet when she did ask for something in particular, he listened. Those two things combined drove her insane with lust. Add his handsome face to that mix, and perhaps it was a good thing she had to do runs after all, or she would want to spend all of her time getting sweaty with him.

He took in a big breath, held it, let it out slow. “I love you, Liyah.”

Tolio said that a lot. She never said it back. She liked him, liked being with him, but she wasn’t sure if that was love or not.

Like many young Lemethians, Ahiliyah and Tolio had stolen away to the armory to be together. They were a little old for the armory, truth be told—it was a place for teenagers discovering themselves, mostly—but she preferred it.

Tolio’s room was too close to his parents’ room. She preferred to meet him in the armory because she could leave when she wanted to. She’d had him over to her room twice—the second time, he’d insisted on talking about their “future” together, and when she’d asked him to leave, he refused. She’d had to leave her own room to get away from the conversation.

She sighed, reveling in how her body felt. So relaxed. So at peace.

Weapons and armor packed the expansive, dark chamber. Rows upon rows of old spears, demon forks, shelves filled with bronze chestplates, shields and helmets … the place seemed to go on and on. All part of King Paul’s once-great army, all part of his constant threat to anyone who dared rise up against him.

“Hungry?” Tolio propped himself on one elbow, picked up a cupcake from a wooden tray next to the bed roll, held it toward her.

The cupcake smelled so good. She took it; it was still warm. Tolio had made them for her, even put icing on them—white, topped with four black lines crossed by a slash. She bit into it, reveling in the sweetness. Sex made everything better, even food.

At least for a little while.

“I said I love you, Liyah. Do you love me?”

The scent of the cupcake hit her again, but this time it smelled… sour. It made her queasy. Maybe Brandun killing the vootervert bothered her more than she thought. Or, more likely, Tolio’s constant pressure made her sick to her stomach.

She handed him the cupcake; she didn’t want anymore. Maybe later. She chewed, swallowed, annoyed that she couldn’t even have five minutes to herself to enjoy the treat.

“I don’t have time in my life for that now,” she said. “I have to focus on my runs.”

She hoped he would leave it alone. He did not.

“Life is short,” Tolio said. “And damn shorter for runners. You shouldn’t go out anymore.”

“I have five more runs to make.”

He stroked her hair. “Not if you’re pregnant.”

This again?

“You know how I feel about that,” she said. “I asked you not to mention it. Didn’t I?”

“I’m a grown man. I don’t answer to you.”

Which was why she never wanted to get pregnant by him. He didn’t understand how things should be. In Lemeth, women answered to men, but when love was real, both partners answered to each other. A few people in Lemeth understood that. Brandun’s parents—Cadence and Aaron, before Aaron died—had understood it, treated each other like equals, but that was rare with men and women.

Not for the first time, Ahiliyah wished she was attracted to girls. Britt Malmsteen and Theora Denisander had been together for years. They didn’t treat each other poorly. One didn’t rule over the other.

But Ahiliyah wasn’t attracted to girls. She liked boys. Boys like Tolio.

“You don’t answer to me and I don’t answer to you, either,” she said. “Understand?”

She stared into his eyes, stared hard, thinking he might look away, like Creen or Brandun did when she lectured them. Tolio didn’t look away, though. The four lines and a slash tattooed on his right shoulder were evidence to his five runs—after staring down demons, maybe it was hard to be intimidated by anyone, especially a woman so much smaller than he was.

“I understand,” he said. “But I just… I mean… don’t you ever think about your mother?”

He sounded open and honest. He wasn’t trying to control her anymore, wasn’t trying to lead her—he was asking a genuine question. He wanted to know how she felt. When he spoke to her like this, she could talk to him for hours and hours.

And yet, his question roiled up long-suppressed pain. “I think about her all the time.”

Which wasn’t true anymore, hadn’t been true for a while. Lately, she thought about her mother—and her father—less and less. Which made her feel guilty as hell.

“If she’d had another baby, she might still be alive,” Tolio said. “She died running. Do you want to end up like her?”

“You’re an idiot. Of course I don’t.”

“You’re running the same route that got her killed. Lemeth to Dakatera to Keflan.”

Ahiliyah had been the firstborn. After her, a brother who had died as an infant. The death had hit Ahiliyah’s mother hard. She couldn’t bring herself to have another child. She’d returned to running. Ahiliyah had been six when her mother had gone out on a run and never come back.

“It’s because she could have stopped and she didn’t that I want to keep going,” Ahiliyah said. “I need to finish my obligation. For her. For my father.”

Her father had been a warrior. He’d died when she was ten, in a raid against Biseth. Both of her parents had given everything in service of Lemeth Hold. If she died in service, just as they had, that was the will of God.

Ahiliyah rolled out her neck, tried to let her annoyance go.

“Look,” she said, “I appreciate that you want a family, but I don’t want a baby.”

He smiled. “You will. All the mothers say that about you, that someday you’ll change.”

And just like that, Ahiliyah’s annoyance returned, stronger than it had been before.

“Aiko didn’t change,” she said. “She doesn’t have a baby. She doesn’t want one.”

Tolio laughed. “You want to be like that dried-up old bitch?”

“Aiko Laster is on her twenty-third run,” Ahiliyah said. “Twenty-third. She’s a hero.”

Tolio fell back on the bed roll. “Hero? Maybe she’s survived a long time, sure, but she’s going to die out there. It’s inevitable. Same for you, Liyah—if you don’t stop running, sooner or later the demons are going to get you.”

How could he so casually dismiss Aiko’s accomplishments, disrespect her choices?

Maybe it was time to find someone else to fuck.

“So say you get me pregs,” she said. “I pop out a baby like almost every other woman in this damn place, then six months after I give birth I’m back on the surface. I still have to do my ten runs, you know.”

His fingertips caressed her hip. “Not if you get pregnant again.”

And again. And again. Until she turned thirty. That was how most women did it in Lemeth—have a baby, get another in their belly as soon as possible. Repeat often enough, survive until thirty, and your obligation is fulfilled.

She was more than a breeding machine. She didn’t know what she was yet, not really, but her life had to be more than just making babies and taking care of them. The women who wanted that life? Good for them. The hold needed mothers, needed babies.

That life was not for her. Why couldn’t she become a warrior? She knew danger. She was willing to fight. She was as good with a spear as any man.

Ahiliyah shifted to the side, started to slide off the bed roll.

Tolio grabbed her wrist. “Stay.” He grinned. “I’m ready again.”

He meant it playfully, enticingly. It came across like neither.

“Let me go.” She heard the coldness in her own words.

Tolio’s grin faded. He didn’t release her. “Think about your future. I won’t wait forever.”

She hadn’t even been back for a full day and night, and already he was putting this pressure on her. Had he completely forgotten what it was like to survive a run?

“Tolio, if you don’t let me go, I will break your thumb.”

Tolio laughed; it sounded forced. He was bigger than her, and stronger, but there was a vast difference between the monthly phalanx training required of everyone in Lemeth and an active runner’s grueling regimen. Add in that he’d spent the last three years in the bakery with his family—all the sweets a boy could eat—and he wasn’t as skinny as he’d once been.

On the other hand, Ahiliyah’s body was lean. Lean and hard. Could she beat Tolio in a fight? Maybe not. But win or lose, they both knew she could hurt him.

He eased his grip, making it soft, sensual.

“Sorry I grabbed you,” he said. “I didn’t mean it like you took it.”

Unlike the tough-guy laugh, his apology was genuine. She felt bad for threatening him.

“I’m sorry, too,” she said.

Ahiliyah slid off the bed roll. This time, he let her go. As he watched, she slid her shift back on. She tilted her head toward the cupcakes. There were five left.

“Can I still take these?”

“Of course,” he said. “Bring the tray back to me later, all right?”

There was longing in those words, and trepidation. He knew he’d made a mistake.

Her mood shifted yet again. She felt bad for Tolio. He’d made it clear he wanted to be with her, for good. Tolio was acting the way boys in love were supposed to act.

She was the one who wasn’t following the unwritten rules.

Ahiliyah knelt on the bed roll, leaned in and kissed him.

“Of course I’ll bring it back,” she said.

He smiled, relieved. “Good,” He caressed her cheek. “Hey, my dad said he would like to cook us dinner. He wants to make seagrass casserole.”

William Minsala was one of the nicest people in the hold. Considering that he’d lost two children on runs, his optimism was legendary.

“I love seagrass casserole,” she said.

“That’s why he wants to make it. Tomorrow night?”

“I can’t tomorrow,” Ahiliyah said. “I have to make another run the next morning.”

“Already? But you just got back!”

“More people are sick. The Margrave wants medicine right away.”

Tolio scowled, glanced away. “The Margrave should send someone else. It’s not fair. You just did a run.” He rubbed at his face. “No wonder you were in such a hurry to get me into bed.”

His sadness… it was sweet. His hurt dug at her.

“We’ll do dinner with your dad as soon as I get back.”

Tolio looked at her, his eyes like ice. “If you get back.”

She couldn’t seem to win with him. Didn’t he understand this run would save lives? The Margrave wanted her because she was the best at the Lemeth/Dakatera/Keflan route. The best.

Tolio fell to his back, stared up at the stone ceiling. “Good luck.”

Ahiliyah took the cupcakes and left. She walked past racks of shields, armor and weapons. From the shadows and dark areas came the sounds of young people in love—soft conversations, quiet laughs, and, occasionally, the stifled sounds of passion.

She had to set the cupcakes down to open the heavy wooden armory door. Hinges creaked as she did, and the sounds of lovers fell silent—most of them, probably, worried about a parent or an angry brother storming in, looking for a son, a daughter, a sister.

Cupcakes in hand, Ahiliyah turned right and continued down the corridor. The armory door swung shut on its own, closed with a rattle of wood and metal.

She didn’t have to walk far. The lockup was only forty yards further down the corridor. Not much else on this side of the hold. Past the lockup there were only a few small rooms. The Windens lived in that area, as did Mags Yinnish and her family, and the Baines family as well.

The lockup’s arched entrance was almost identical to that of the hospital’s, save for the lockup’s floor-to-ceiling iron bars and the heavy iron gate. That gate, as usual, was open.

Ahiliyah walked through. Only one guard on duty: Galen Yates. He smiled wide.

“Liyah, welcome back. I would have been there to greet you, but—” he spread his hands to show the two desks of the entrance area “—duty calls.”

Galen was a good man. He’d completed six runs, volunteering for a critical extra run to fetch medicine from Biseth a few years back. Taller than Brandun, even skinnier than Creen, Galen was stronger than he looked—in phalanx training, the shield never seemed to tire him.

“Too bad for you,” she said. “I smelled wonderful.”

Galen laughed. “I’m sure you did.” His eyes flicked to the tray of cupcakes. “Speaking of things that smell wonderful…”

She gave him a cupcake.

“You are a goddess,” he said. “Did Tolio make these?”

Ahiliyah nodded, even though she suspected Tolio’s father had done the actual work.

Galen bit down, chewed, closed his eyes in pleasure. “I was told to expect you. You didn’t have to bribe me.”

“I notice you didn’t tell me that before I gave you the cupcake.”

He laughed, not caring that his mouth was full of half-chewed confection. Galen was like that—he was himself, and didn’t give a damn about what other people thought of him.

“Go on in,” he said. “Don’t expect much from her, though.”

“Anyone else in the cells?”

“Just your cousin Jane,” Galen said. “Same-old, same-old.”

Ahiliyah thought of asking what Jane had done, but there was no point—by mushroom wine, by red moss or by something else, Jane Xi had been intoxicated in public. Again.

“Thanks,” Ahiliyah said.

Galen eyed the cupcake tray. “Any chance I can have another?”

“They’re for Mari.”

The tall man sighed. “Fair enough. Good luck. And remember—this is her choice, it’s got nothing to do with you. Okay?”

Galen’s one extra run meant his opinion carried more weight than those of most men.

Ahiliyah walked past the desks into the corridor that held the hold’s ten iron-barred cells.

Eight cells were empty. Halfway down on the right lay Jane Xi. Ahiliyah’s second cousin on her mother’s side, the woman was only a few years older than Ahiliyah. Ahiliyah remembered playing with her when they were children. Jane had completed her five runs, but three of those runs had involved close calls with demons. On two of those runs, Jane’s crewmates had died horribly. The losses had affected her. Sometimes, with runners, that happened. There was nothing to be done for it but hope the person eventually got over the trauma.

Ahiliyah paused at Jane’s cell, thought about saying something, but Jane was passed out on the wooden cot, face hidden by her red hair. From the smell, Ahiliyah knew her cousin had shit herself. Jane was in lockup more often than not. A wasted life—it was all just so sad.

Ahiliyah reached through the bars and set one cupcake on the floor. Maybe Jane would have it when she woke up.

In the last cell on the left, Mari was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring into nothing.

“Hi,” Ahiliyah said. “I brought you a treat.”

Mari slowly turned her head. Dark circles under her eyes, magnified by her pale skin.

“Don’t bother,” she said. “I’m not going out there again.”

Those eyes—haunted eyes, eyes that had seen too much. Part of Ahiliyah felt for her, because Ahiliyah had seen the living nightmares up close, and part of her hated Mari for trying to get out of her duty to the hold.

“That’s stupid,” Ahiliyah said. “You only have two… I mean, four runs to go.”

Mari smiled a hopeless smile. “I was only punished two additional runs? How nice.”

“Cupcakes,” Ahiliysah said, holding up the tray. “They’re amazing. Want one?”

Mari stared blankly at the treats. She shook her head. “Not hungry.”

Ahiliyah set the tray down. She put a cupcake on the floor through the cell bars, then stood.

“Mari, they’re going to kill you.”

Mari shrugged. “Yeah.”

Ahiliyah had known this woman all her life. While not die-hard friends, they’d grown up together, shared in the joys and sadness of hold life. Mari had talked about raising a family, following in her parents’ footsteps and becoming a diver.

“You always wanted a kid,” Ahiliyah said. “Isn’t that worth keeping on?”

Mari stared at the floor. “I won’t bring a new life into this world of death.”

Ahiliyah thought of a hundred things to say, a dozen reasons why Mari should make those last four runs, but knew none of them would have an impact—there was nothing to be done.

“I’m so sorry.” Ahiliyah knelt, put the last two cupcakes on the floor inside the cell, then left. Jane was still passed out—now her cell smelled like she’d pissed herself as well.

Best to put both women out of her mind. It seemed the demons could take lives even from a distance. Mari and Jane had both given up. Ahiliyah would not.

She would never give up.

8

Ahiliyah stepped onto the training pit sand. Many people hated phalanx reserve exercises. Not her. She loved all of it. And she’d been trying to get stronger—perhaps today would be the day she could finally show she belonged in the warriors.

She milled around with the other forty-seven Lemethians who had reported for this training session. Takwan and Tameika Baines had come, despite their three sons still lying in hospital beds. Mags Yinnish and Cruden Poller had put their wine-making and glassblowing duties, respectively, on hold, or perhaps apprentices were doing the never-ending work. Master fisherman Callow Winden and all of his junior workers were there; there would be no fish tonight. Ahiliyah saw Lucas Kim and Tobias Penn, the runners from Mari’s crew. Would one of them become a crew leader, or would Aiko and Tinat give the promotion to someone else?

Everyone wore spearhead scabbards on their hips, had shaft holsters slung across their backs—they’d use the longer warrior spears, which were heavier and more awkward than the runner spear she favored. Ahiliyah eyed the big stack of heavy shields. In her quest to join the warriors, the shield was her nemesis.

In Lemeth, if you could walk, you trained. That included even those who would be basically worthless in a fight. If war came with another hold, the Margrave—as had his father before him—wanted to make sure Lemeth could field as many reservists as possible. While Ahiliyah had never been in a battle, she’d studied enough to know that war often came down to superior training and superior numbers. The phalanx had not worked against the demons, but if Takanta or Vinden should ever march on Lemeth, the Lemethians would be ready.

Phalanx training happened in two-hour shifts. There wasn’t enough room in the pit sands for everyone to show up at once. Ahiliyah was in the fourth session of the day. There would be three sessions more before the day was out.

Will Pankour stood at attention, waiting to call the training session to order. Ahiliyah hoped it was his first session of the day—the warrior got mean when he got tired.

“Liyah! Liyah!”

Ahiliyah turned to see her friend Panda running toward her. Waddling might have been a better word for his labored movement. In a place where no one knew for sure when the next meal might come, he somehow weighed almost twice as much as any other person his same height.

“Hi, Panda.” She gave him a big hug. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

He pointed upward. “A signalmyn apprentice’s job is never done.”

Panda was the apprentice to Daneton Sander, Lemeth’s master signalmyn. The two spent weeks at a time in a small room near the top of Lemeth Mountain.

“The last two times I’ve visited you he’s been asleep,” Ahiliyah said. “You’re going to be the master soon.”

His face flushed red, but he smiled. “Someday, I hope.”

Panda was nineteen, the same age she was. He’d probably be named master signalmyn in a year or so, the youngest in the history of Lemeth.

There was something different about Panda. When he’d trained to be a runner, when Aiko had practically starved him in an effort to get him in shape, the best they managed was to make him stop gaining—but the boy had never really lost weight. Even without a pack that weighed ten bricks or more, Panda could barely climb a foothill, let alone manage fifty-mile hikes or scale a mountainside. Any run he went on would not only end in his death, but also, most likely, the death of his crewmates. On Aiko’s recommendation, the Council excused Panda from his obligation.

Fortunately for Panda, he was as smart as he was fat. Maybe not as smart as Creen, but intelligent enough to understand the math, maps and code needed to be a signalmyn.

Not as smart as Creen…

A thought struck her—if Panda became the master, he would need an apprentice.

“Has Creen Dinashin ever come up to the signaling station?”

Panda’s nose wrinkled. “He’s an asshole, Liyah. No one likes him.”

Creen was an asshole, true, but he was in her crew—it was her duty to look out for him. When he finished his mandatory five runs, if he didn’t have a job that was critical to the hold, the Council might make him do more.

“I think he’d love to see what you do,” she said. “Can I bring him up to visit?”

Panda shook his head. “No way. He always calls me fat.”

“You are fat.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean people have to be mean about it.” He glanced at Will, then back. “If you’ll help me get through the training today, though, you can bring him up.”

“Done,” she said.

Panda’s chubby face broke into a wide smile. “Thank you. You know I’m no good at this.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “I know. I’ll help. We’ll get through it together.”

“Ranks of twelve,” Will called out in his booming voice. “Assemble your weapon.”

Before Panda could protest, Ahiliyah pulled him into the front rank. The reservists lined up in four lines of twelve. People unslung their holsters and got to work. Panda drew his spearhead from its scabbard. Ahiliyah slapped his leg to get his attention.

“Put your blade away,” she said quietly. “Shaft first, remember?”

Panda nodded, slid the spearhead back into his scabbard, clumsily unslung his holster.

Ahiliyah assembled her own weapon. Butt-spike, then halfstaff, then coupler, then halfstaff. She took a knee, angled the assembled shaft over her thigh, drew her spearhead from its scabbard. She slid the spearhead’s hollow handle over the halfstaff’s tapered end, grunted as she twisted it tight.

She stood, butt-spike in the sand, spear tip pointed straight up. Ahiliyah was pleased to see she was the first one finished.

“You’re all taking too long,” Will called out. “The enemy is marching on us. Move it!”

Panda hadn’t even put the coupler on yet. Ahiliyah handed him her spear, finished assembling his weapon, then switched back just as the rest of the trainees were standing, their spears at their sides.

“Thanks,” Panda said. “I need to work on that.”

“Yeah, you do,” Ahiliyah said. “It’s not an optional skill.”

Will slowly walked in front of the first rank.

“What you do here today, you will do when the fighting is real,” he said. “You are not an invidual, you are a unit. If you fail, the man on your left or right will die. If he fails, you will die. Remember our motto—the strength of the phalanx is the spearman.”

“And the strength of the spearman is the phalanx,” Ahiliyah yelled in unison with the others. The call and response marked the true beginning of the training.

Will positioned himself on the formation’s left side. “Front rank, lower!”

Ahiliyah held her spear shaft not at the coupling—the weapon’s mid-point—but halfway between that and the butt-spike. When she lowered her spear parallel to the ground, the heavy butt-spike balanced out the weight of the rest of the shaft and the bronze spearhead. She held the spear easily, but at almost two bricks in weight, she knew it would soon feel much heavier.

On her right, Panda lowered his spear.

Will bellowed: “Second rank, lower!”

The second rank did as ordered, their spears leveled between the people in the front rank. Whoever was behind Ahiliyah missed, brought the staff down on the back of her head.

“Hey!” Pain blossomed, but she managed to keep her spear in position.

“Sorry, Liyah,” said Martin Yates from behind her. He was in his twenties, a big man, yet still as uncoordinated as a teenager in a first growth spurt. His spear dropped down on her right.

Twenty-four spears now pointed forward, parallel and deadly. Ahiliyah pushed away the pain, reveling in the moment. Even with reservists, it made for a fearsome sight: a hedgerow of shafts, metal blades reflecting the glowpipe light.

“March and turn,” Will said. “Takwan Baines, call out the steps.”

Takwan did as he was told. The phalanx marched forward.

The spears weren’t all parallel to the ground—some angled slightly up, some slightly down. The steps weren’t in unison, either; each of Takwan’s counts was joined by a muffled thump instead of the sharp report that came when the well-trained warriors did this same drill. When the reservists reached the training pit wall, Takwan called out the turn. Ahiliyah and the others in the front two ranks raised their spears to vertical. Everyone turned to their right and faced back the way they had come, reversing the formation. The front two ranks lowered their spears—Ahiliyah and Panda were now in the rear rank, spears pointed up. Were people in the ranks ahead of them to fall in battle, or lose a spear, Ahiliyah and Panda would step up to take their place.

“March,” Takwan called out.

Panda grunted with effort. “I can’t hold this much longer.”

“We only just started,” Ahiliyah whispered. “Come on, Panda, toughen up.”

They hadn’t even got to shield practice yet. How could the boy be so weak?

Will drilled them for the next twenty minutes, marching, doing full turns, half-turns, and practicing one-handed spear thrusts. Ahiliyah’s right arm began to burn. By the time Will called for everyone to set down their spears and fetch shields, she was sweating and breathing hard. At least she was better off than Panda—the boy was already shaking and looked like he might pass out.

The shields… would she fail again?

She pulled one from the rack, instantly feeling the weight—at five bricks or so, the bronze-covered wooden shield was one-quarter her body weight. She slid her left arm through the leather strap bolted to the shield’s concave side.

So heavy. She could do it this time. She could.

She moved to her position, held her spear in her right hand.

“Reservists,” Will called out, “shields up!”

Ahiliyah lifted her shield. The lines weren’t quite as neat as before. Even though most of the women and several of the men struggled to control both sword and spear, the phalanx now looked unstoppable, a moving wall of bronze with rows of deadly blades reaching far in front.

Will drilled them. They marched. They turned. They thrust. Over and over again.

After another twenty minutes, Ahiliyah’s left arm began to shake. Her muscles burned. She struggled to keep the heavy shield up and in front of her. She fared better than Panda, who stumbled on a turn, the edge of his shield digging into the sand.

Will was there in an instant. “Panda! You miserable maggot! You just let the people on either side of you die! Pick up that shield!”

Panda did, his eyes wide with fear, his face red with shame. Will screamed at him a few moments more, until the thump of another dropped shield echoed off the stone walls. Will moved off to scream at that person, then barked more orders—the drills continued.

Ahiliyah struggled on, sweat pouring, but she knew she wouldn’t make it. Warriors had to hold shields up and in position for at least an hour—thirty-five minutes into drills, the weight became too much. Her shield drooped once, twice, then, eventually, it hung down, throwing off her balance. She fell to the sand, found herself looking at Tameika, who had taken a knee.

“Don’t know… why we gotta do this.” Tameika’s face sheened with sweat. Her chest heaving, she shook her head. “We all know… how this drill turns out.”

Will raised his fist. “Phalanx, halt!”

Some people fell to one knee, unable to keep the shield up any longer. Those that remained standing, shields still in position, were almost all men.

“Those of you who stumbled or dropped your shield, get a bow,” Will said. “We will now practice combined phalanx and missile support.”

Tameika got to her feet. “About fucking time.” She dragged her shield to the rack.

Ahiliyah felt humiliated. She’d lasted longer than the rest who had failed, but she had failed nonetheless. As she had in many previous training sessions, she came to a frustrating and inevitable conclusion—she just wasn’t big enough.

Women couldn’t join the warriors, but did her gender even matter? The shield was a quarter her weight—if she couldn’t carry it properly for an hour or more, she couldn’t be a warrior. It was that simple.

“Liyah, you did well,” Will said. “Now, go get a bow.”

Fighting back tears, her arms shaking, Liyah carried her shield to the stack.

9

From being humiliated to being honored—what a difference a few hours could make.

Bathed, dressed in a formal, sleeveless white shift, Ahiliyah sat on the Community Chamber’s stone steps, quietly watching the silent ceremony along with over a thousand people. Some two thousand more were still hard at work fixing crumbling corridors, working the mushroom farms, preparing food, repairing pipes… the labor needed to keep the hold alive went on and on and on.

Even the Margrave and the councilmen had come to the Community Chamber. No one spoke. Everyone watched the somber proceedings. That was the way of things.

Brandun and Creen lay on their backs, on cloth-draped tables positioned before the steps. Both boys were naked to their waists, wearing only nawton-fiber pants. No shoes.

Standing next to each table, a doctor and a child. Doctor Talbot for Brandun, Doctor Monique for Creen. Miriam—one of the girls who had begged for candy—assisted Doctor Talbot. Ahiliyah didn’t know the boy assisting Doctor Monique. A Nemensalter, by the looks of his big jaw. Each assistant held a ceramic pot of black ink in one hand, a tan cloth in the other.

The doctors worked slowly, methodically, each dipping a wood-handled metal stylus into the ink, placing the ink-wet stylus tip against the runner’s chest, then using a ceremonial stone dowel to tap the wooden handle.

Dip… tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

They raised their styluses. Miriam and the Nemensalter boy wiped away ink and blood.

Dip… tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Wipe.

Dip… tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Wipe.

A heavy black line steadily formed on each boy’s left breast. Brandun already had one line; this was his second. Creen was getting his third.

When the doctors finished, Brandun and Creen rose without a word. Tears in Creen’s eyes. That was understandable—the tattoos hurt, Ahiliyah knew from experience.

Even Brandun had cried a little on his first line. That had been three months ago. He wasn’t crying now. His face had a hard set to it. He’d changed so much since being assigned to Ahiliyah’s crew, just six months earlier. He’d grown two inches in that time, added ten bricks in weight—all muscle. He was closer to the man he would become than the boy he no longer was.

Without a sound, Brandun and Creen took their seats in the first row: Brandun on Ahiliyah’s right, Creen on her left. Normally, they would have been tattooed together.

But not this time.

Ahiliyah stood, walked to the table.

Monique moved to the stone seats and sat. The Nemensalter boy pulled the fabric off the table, meticulously folded it as everyone watched, then sat next to Monique.

Ahiliyah still wore her simple nawton-fiber shift. She could not expose her breast in public, like the boys could. Women were tattooed on the right shoulder. Ahiliyah already had four parallel lines there. Each one marked a terrifying trek across the surface. This one, though—this one was a true badge of honor.

She lay on the table, stared up at the arched ceiling above. She heard the clack of wood on ceramic as Doctor Talbot dipped his stylus into the pot.

The voice of Aulus Darby broke the silence: “Miriam, sit. I will assist Doctor Talbot.”

Ahiliyah’s eyes widened. She forced herself to remain still, not to sit up and see if this was really happening. The Margrave himself would be part of her ceremony?

He leaned over her, smiling yet serious.

“Your bravery means everything, Ahiliyah. The warriors are our muscle, the workers our bones, the Council our beating heart, and the runners are our blood. We recognize your commitment to the hold. I salute your first five runs, and I salute your next five.”

Her chest tingled and pulsed. The Margrave, recognizing her in front of everyone.

The cold stylus pressed against her shoulder, sending goosebumps up and down her skin. Ahiliyah closed her eyes and prepared for the now-familiar pain of the tattoo. Her fifth—her slash.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

10

Many had come to the tattoo ceremony, and many had continued to work.

Everyone came to the execution. People packed into the stands above the training pit, so much so that the wooden bleachers creaked in complaint. Children climbed support poles. Men and women alike sat on the edge of the pit, feet dangling over the side, arms and heads leaning on the lower rail.

A tattoo ceremony was a celebration of life. An execution, a reminder that death comes to all—some sooner than others. Ahiliyah should have watched the event alongside Brandun and Creen, but she wanted to be alone. She was afraid seeing Mari might make her cry; she did not want the boys to know she could be so weak.

Down in the pit, the warriors stood in ranks against the stone walls: bronze shields on their left arms, fully assembled spears in their right hands—spearheads pointed high, spear butts resting against the sand. The round shields were all the same: painted blue, with a yellow sun rising above the distinctive brown outline of Lemeth Mountain. While the paint was new, the metal beneath them was often gouged and battered.

The warriors’ armor consisted of helmets, chestplates, shin and foot guards, all made of bronze. The helmets’ riveted-on faceplates had one horizontal line to see through, and a vertical line that made it easier to breathe. The lines—both too thin for a spearpoint to slide through—formed a distinctive “T” shape. Like the shields, most of the armor was scratched and dented. Some of that damage had been incurred in the past few years, fighting off raiders, but the majority of it had come decades ago—possibly centuries ago—during the wars against the Northerners, or between the cities of Ataegina.

Everyone, warriors and spectators alike, watched the wooden doors set into the pit’s back wall. Ahiliyah watched as well, hoping—even praying—she would never have to come to an event like this for one of her own crew.

The wooden doors opened; Margrave Darby stepped out, Drasko Lamech at his side, dressed in the same armor as the warriors lining the walls. They strode to the center of the sandy pit. The Margrave tilted his head back, and spoke with the commanding tone Ahiliyah had come to know, love and trust.

“People of Lemeth Hold, this is a sad moment.”

His words caressed the stone walls and ceiling, came back even sweeter and louder. The man knew how to control his voice better than most warriors could control their spears.

“Everyone must contribute,” he said. “That is our way. We find work for all, no matter age, strength, physical deformity or mental inability. The hardest job—running—falls to our youth, for all must prove their worth to the hold if the hold is to feed them, clothe them, protect them, give them a warm, safe place to raise families, to grow old.”

The Margrave pointed to the stands, slowly sweeping his finger from left to right.

“Many of you have done your part. Those of you who are too young, someday you will bravely do your part as well. Is this not our way?”

The crowd responded in practiced unison: “It is our way.”

He lowered his arm. “When someone will not work, when someone will not contribute, we cannot sit idly by and let them do nothing. We cannot banish these freeloaders from the hold, for that was tried many times in the past. The banished always tried to get back in. They make noise. They cry, they scream, they beg… they draw the demons. Noise is the enemy.”

“Silence is strength,” the crowd chanted.

Aulus nodded, slowly turned in place as he looked up at the packed mass of people.

“Silence is strength,” he said. “To preserve the silence, to preserve our way of life, when a runner will not run, we all know the penalty.”

The crowd’s volume and intensity sent a chill over Ahiliyah’s skin.

“The penalty is death.”

Aulus turned toward the open doors. Rinik Brennus and Shalim Aniketos, in full armor, entered, each holding an arm of the gagged Mari Jolla. Her hands were lashed behind her back, her ankles tied together with a short rope. She did not fight. She didn’t even walk—Rinik and Shalim dragged her. Mari’s bare feet left two long, parallel lines in the sand.

Ahiliyah wanted to run to her, to try one more time, to say if you’re going to die, die on the surface while doing your duty! But there was no point. Mari knew the price of cowardice.

In a world plagued with demons, no one got a pass.

Rinik and Shalim dragged Mari before the Margrave. She hung between them, knees bent, completely defeated.

“You have failed in your duty to the hold,” the Margrave said. “You have failed your people. You will leech from us no more. Captain of the Guard, carry out the sentence.”

Aulus stepped aside.

Drasko dropped into a fighting position, shield in front of him, spear pointed over the top, tip aimed at Mari.

Something about the gleaming spearpoint, perhaps, made what was about to happen finally hit home. She screamed behind her gag, jerked her shoulders, tried to break free. Even if she hadn’t been tied, she couldn’t have come close to overpowering Rinik and Shalim.

“For the people of Lemeth,” Drasko said. “For our survival.”

He stepped forward and thrust the spearhead into Mari’s chest—the crack of her sternum echoed through the pit.

Mari Jolla’s scream stopped forever.

She hung there for a moment, arms held by the two guards. Drasko pulled the spear free. Rinik and Shalim let go. Mari fell to her side. Her blood spilled onto the sand.

Aulus walked to the doors, Drasko at his side, Rinik and Shalim falling in behind them. They wouldn’t move the body—Mari would lie there for a few hours, a symbol of the price of cowardice. Workers would gather her up, carry her corpse to the river and throw it in, to be unceremoniously swept downstream with the fish guts, the garbage, and the human waste that was carried away by the strong current.

The crowd dispersed.

Ahiliyah stayed. She was still watching when Mari’s small movements stopped. Still watching when her stare lost focus, when it became the endless stare of the dead.

Ahiliyah stood there, saying nothing, thinking nothing. Maybe she stood there for a few minutes, maybe for a few hours. She wasn’t sure. She stayed until workers came to gather up the corpse. Only then did she become aware that she wasn’t the only one watching…

Creen, high up in the bleachers. Sitting. Staring.

Brandun, on the edge of the pit, his feet hanging over the side, head resting on the rail.

Lucas Kim, Mari’s crewmate, sitting in the bleacher’s first row. Had he made one run with Mari, or was it two? Lucas had trained with her, bled with her, risked his life with her, and now she was gone, dead at the hands of her own people.

Fabian Acosta, sitting with his arms around the shoulders of Susannah Albrecht and Bruce Pindall, his new team members—two children. Susannah and Bruce were still in training. Had they seen an execution before? Probably. Everyone in the hold had, but Ahiliyah knew from personal experience that this one felt different for them. Now that they were close to making their own runs, the execution was something that could happen to them, it was now real.

There was no avoiding it. Everyone had to contribute. It was the way of things.

“How ridiculous.”

Ahiliyah jumped at the voice on her right, slid to her left, felt a splinter dig into her left thigh—Aiko Laster, sitting right next to her. Aiko had managed to not only sneak up on Ahiliyah, but sit down next to her without making a sound. The woman’s shaved head glistened beneath the glowpipe’s gleam.

“You scared me,” Ahiliyah said. She slid her shift up; buried in the back of her left thigh, a thick splinter. Blood oozed up around it. She saw the splinter’s dark outline beneath her skin.

“If you stop paying attention to your surroundings, you deserve to be scared,” Aiko said. “Turn toward me, I’ll pull it out.”

Oh, this was going to hurt. Ahiliyah turned her hips, letting Aiko at the splinter.

“You’re acting like a child,” Aiko said. “It’s only pain.”

It’s only pain. A mantra not just of the runners and the warriors, but everyone in Lemeth.

Aiko pinched the end of the splinter. With her other hand, she pressed down on Ahiliyah’s thigh. A fast pull, a stabbing sensation, and it was out—a shard of wood at least two inches long, a sheen of blood on one end. Aiko tossed it away.

“Sit,” she said.

Ahiliyah sat. When Aiko Laster told you to do something, you did it.

The older woman stared down into the training pit. She seemed to be looking at the blood spot where Mari’s life had spilled out onto the sand. Aiko wore a sleeveless shift—she wanted everyone to see her tattoos. Four lines and a slash, repeated four times down her left arm. Two parallel lines below the last completed group, soon to be joined by a third.

“Welcome back,” Ahiliyah said. “Did Jenna and Tomas make it?”

No emotion on Aiko’s face, only the stone-hard expression of a woman who’d just completed her twenty-third run. With her gaunt features, shaved head and taut, skinny body, Aiko sometimes reminded Ahiliyah of the demons.

“They did,” Aiko said. “I reported to the Margrave right before he had Mari murdered.”

Murdered? Ahiliyah glanced around, wondered if anyone else was close enough to hear.

“Mari refused to run,” Ahiliyah said. “I tried to talk to her, but… well, she wouldn’t run.”

Aiko’s head turned toward Ahiliyah, the gray of her eyes like chips of broken rock.

“And for that, Mari deserved to die?”

Was this a test of some kind? Aiko was always about tests, always trying to trick you, to make you think, trying to tie anything and everything to survival up on the surface. Ahiliyah felt trapped between the law of her hold and the question of her lead trainer.

“I… I don’t know,” Ahiliyah said.

Well, that was definitive. She felt like an idiot.

Aiko stared for an uncomfortable moment, then again looked out at the bloody sand.

“The Council told me about the run to Dakatera and Keflan,” she said. “They asked if my crew would go instead of yours, because this run is so important.”

Ahiliyah felt a surge of hope—maybe she wouldn’t have to go back out so soon after all.

“I told them to send you,” Aiko said.

Hope crashed to the ground, turned to guilt—why should she wish that Aiko’s crew go on no rest instead of her crew going on no rest—then to anger.

“But… you’re better,” Ahiliyah said. “Your crew is better.”

Aiko scratched at a scar atop her thigh. “You need the experience. I’m not going to run forever, Liyah. Our hold needs to know that someone beside me that can be counted on for a critical run. It’s your turn to carry the weight. Can you do it?”

Ahiliyah blinked, searched for words that were slow in coming. “I… I’ll do my best.”

“Your best?” Aiko’s eyes narrowed. “If you fail, how many do you think will die?”

Ahiliyah shook her head. “I’m not a doctor, I wouldn’t know.”

“Guess,” Aiko said, the one syllable loud enough to echo back from the arched ceiling.

Liyah realized, suddenly, that everyone else had left—she was alone with Aiko.

“Uh… well a lot of people are sick… maybe—” she felt a churning in her belly as she thought of what she knew, what she’d seen “—maybe fifty?”

Fifty people, dead if she and her crew didn’t make it back. Ahiliyah’s pulse began to race.

“Try a hundred,” Aiko said. “At least. Old people mostly. Children. Babies.” She again fixed Ahiliyah with those unforgiving slate eyes. “Get the medicine. Don’t screw this up. And remember to always be aware of your surroundings—if I can sneak up on you in the safety of the hold, you won’t know a demon is stalking you until it’s too late.”

Aiko stood and walked up the bleacher steps, somehow silent on the creaky old wood.

Ahiliyah sat there for a moment, alone, trying to control her breathing. More pressure than ever before. A hundred dead. At least. Old people. Kids. Babies. Mari’s blood was still wet on the sand. It was all too much, too soon.

Ahiliyah left the training pit behind. She set out to find Tolio and try to forget—at least for a little while—just how fucked up her life had become.

11

“I don’t know why you’re making me do this,” Creen said. “Dumbdun could carry these fucking buckets with one muscly pinky.”

Ahiliyah wondered if anything could stop Creen’s mouth from running.

“Brandun did phalanx training,” she said. “You did not. So shut up and climb.”

“All this to see that big fat lazy fuck?”

“Panda isn’t lazy. And back off, he’s my friend. You need to see how things work up there, Creen. It might be the job for you.”

He huffed. “Fuck that. I’m too smart for it.”

Ahiliyah carefully watched her steps. A glowjar hung from her neck, but its light had almost faded. Creen’s glowjar was already out—in an effort to lug less up the stairs, the little shit probably hadn’t completely filled it.

“Just don’t be mean to Panda,” she said. “All right?”

“No promises.”

Here she was trying to do something good for Creen, and he was already getting on her nerves. Did he realize that if he didn’t get an important job, they would probably make him do more than the mandatory five runs? Probably not—Creen thought he knew everything. He didn’t belong on the surface. He was destined for something else. She didn’t know what, but she felt in her bones that, someday, as annoying and rude as Creen was, he would do something amazing for the hold.

“My legs are tired,” he said. “So are my arms.”

So were Ahiliyah’s. Her legs were screaming, in fact. She knew she was in amazing shape—one had to be to survive on the surface—but carrying two bricks worth of water up three hundred steps? That tired one out in a hurry.

“Just keep climbing,” she said.

“So many damn steps. How can someone be fat when they have to walk this many steps?”

Maybe he’d do something amazing. The more he whined, the less sure she was.

“Creen, do you ever stop complaining?”

“I prefer the term bravely stating the obvious.”

Anyone who climbed to the signal station had to bring two buckets with them—one full of water, one full of candles and food. Two full buckets up, two empty buckets down. That gave the signalmyn water to drink, and to flush their waste down shit-shafts that led straight to the river.

“Hey,” Creen said, “we must be close—I can smell his stink.”

So could Ahiliyah, although today, at least, the stink wasn’t Panda’s. He’d obviously bathed in the river before yesterday’s training. Had to be Daneton, then, or perhaps the stench of unwashed human bodies had seeped into the stone walls. There was no way to pump water all the way up to the signal peak—considering that signalmyn stayed in their perch for weeks at a time, hand-washing only did so much.

Ahiliyah thought her legs might give out on her, but a flickering light up above told her she was close. She fought her way up the last few steps, into the candle-lit signalmyn quarters, a small stone room that stank beyond belief.

“So gross,” Creen said.

Clothes scattered everywhere. A wicker basket full of food waste. Two beds—one empty, one filled by an old, snoring Daneton Sander, who had been a signalmyn longer than Aulus had been the Margrave.

Creen set his buckets down. He bent at the waist, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. He jutted his chin toward the sleeping Daneton.

“We should wake him up. Dump some of this water on him. That would be hysterical.”

Ahiliyah glared. “Do it and I’ll kill you.”

Creen rolled his eyes, but he made no move toward Daneton.

Ahiliyah hefted her water bucket again, dumped the contents into the water trough carved into the stone wall.

“It’s so strange to see this much water just… sit there,” she said. “It doesn’t glow at all.”

Creen poured his bucket into the trough. “The bacteria that make the light need food and oxygen, just like we do. Without it, the bacteria die. We could make an agitator, I bet.” He stared into the water. “Yeah, I think it could work, especially if we made the trough bigger.”

An agitator? What he was talking about? When Creen spoke like that, about things that Ahiliyah didn’t really understand, he sounded like a different person. No whine to his voice, no arrogance… just a sense of wonder. When he talked about inventions and science, he sounded like someone else entirely—a person Ahiliyah might like to spend time with.

“I’ll tell you what would be funny,” Creen said. “If I peed in their trough, and they didn’t know and they drank it.”

Or maybe she already spent far too much time with him as it was.

“Let’s see Panda,” she said.

If he wasn’t in this room, he was out on the observation deck. At the back of the small room, opposite the stairs, was a sliding stone door. It had been built back in King Paul’s day.

Creen grabbed the metal handle and started to lean back, to slide the door open.

“Wait,” Ahiliyah said.

“You really think there’s a demon outside? Come on, Liyah, this gets so old.”

The boy needed to learn lessons, lessons he should have already internalized after his three runs. If he didn’t yet understand that one always had to be on guard, that lack of focus could put him in danger—and put her and Brandun in danger as well.

She stepped close to him. She was two inches taller than he was. He looked up at her, trying to pretend he wasn’t intimidated.

“I’ve seen people carried off, Creen. Have you?”

He tried to roll his eyes yet again—Ahiliyah grabbed his chin, forced him to look at her. They were so close their noses almost touched. Creen’s eyes flared with anger, but he didn’t push her hand away. As much of a jerk as he was, he knew her experience had kept him alive.

More important, he knew she could kick his ass.

She made a claw of her hand, put her fingertips on his chest, slowly dragged them down his shirt. “Sometimes, before they take you, demons cut you with their talons.” She raised her hand, thumb pressed up against flat fingers, a beak pointed at Creen’s face. “Sometimes, they use their toothtongues to bite you, knock you silly.” She jabbed her hand foreward—her fingers and thumb tapped Creen hard on the forehead.

He slapped at her hand, but she was too quick and had already pulled it away.

“I’ve watched two people carried off to Black Smoke Mountain,” she said. “When your crewmates get caught, you can’t help them. You can’t. I never saw them again. Once you hear a crewmate beg for you to save them, and keep begging until their voice fades away for good, you can’t un-hear it. It gets in your dreams. It stays there.”

No glare on his face now, no anger… just fear he couldn’t quite hide.

“So,” Ahiliyah said, smiling, “do I want to make sure there’s not a demon outside? You bet your tiny dick I do. If you ignore the rules, it won’t just be you who gets carried off. It will be Brandun. It will be me.” She stepped back. “Now, kind sir, would you mind following protocol?”

Creen rubbed at his face. “You can be one intense bitch. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Only the people who piss me off.”

“Which I need to stop doing.” He’d lost the attitude. It would come back. It always did.

Creen looked to the right of the door, found what he knew would be hanging there: a wooden mallet. He lifted it off its hook, gently tapped on the stone door: tap-tap, pause, tap-tap.

A few seconds later came the answer from the other side: tap-tap, pause, tap-tap, pause, tap-tap. That simple code meant that all was clear on the other side of the door.

Creen hung the mallet on the hook. “See? Told you there was nothing to worry about.”

He gripped the handle and leaned back. Ahiliyah helped him. Together, they slid open the heavy door. Bright sunlight made her squint. Cold air rushed in, chilling the sweat she’d built up climbing the stairs.

Panda leaned in, smiling, his face red from the cold, a little snot under his nose.

“Liyah! So good to see you!” He looked at Creen, frowned. “You brought your friend.”

“Don’t worry,” Creen said. “I’m not friendly at all.”

He’d gone right back to being a jerk. Of course he had.

“Come on, Creen,” she said. “Step outside and see what Panda gets to look at every day.” She grabbed Creen’s wrist, pulled him through the opening and onto the observation deck before he could say anything else.

They stood atop Lemeth Mountain. Perhaps this space had been a natural plateau, or maybe King Paul’s men had leveled it. Whatever had brought it into being, there was no other place like it.

Creen slowly turned in place, taking it all in. “This is… this is fucking amazing.”

Ahiliyah couldn’t argue with that.

The mountains stretched out to the east and the south. Somewhere farther than the eye could see, those ranges reconnected, forming a rough circle around Lake Lanee. Near the shore, she could easily make out the tree-thick ruins of Tinsella. How huge it had been. To the southwest, Lemeth Mountain angled down to green slopes and lush plains that ran to the edge of Lake Mip. A century ago and more, those plains had held several towns, the smallest of which had been significantly larger than Lemeth Hold.

That was before the Rising, before the demons came.

Ahiliyah had heard the stories, how the beasts had rushed up the river valleys, swept through the plains, killing the warriors and villagers who tried to stop them, dragging survivors to Black Smoke Mountain. Those who survived those horrible years fled to the empty mountain holds, which had been abandoned after King Paul had been assassinated.

Ahiliyah pointed down. “See that grouping of trees there? That’s the ruins of Tinsella.”

Creen leaned out slightly, squinted. “No shit?”

“No shit,” Panda said. “That big gap in the mountains is Bigsby’s Pass. From the pass to the lake, people grew food, so much food people couldn’t eat it all and some of it rotted. No one went hungry.”

Creen huffed. “Just another made-up story. Don’t believe everything you hear, Fatty.”

Ahiliyah had been down there once, with Aiko. Some fruit trees remained, but gone were the things that the very old people called wheat, potatoes, strawberries and more.

Supposedly, there had even been a fruit called a pumpkin. Olliana used to tell kids about pumpkins, although few believed that there was a giant, hard orange fruit bigger than their heads. Ahiliyah believed, though—who could make up such a thing?

“I brought Creen up here to see your mirrors,” Ahiliyah said. “He needs to understand how we communicate with the other holds.”

Panda nodded. “I’m happy to help.”

Maybe Panda wasn’t cut out for running, but he took his job very seriously—in that, he was just as good a citizen of Lemeth as anyone else.

He glanced up at the sun, then at a straight staff sticking up from a stone hole.

“Sun shadow reads fifteen hours,” he said. “You’re just in time for us to talk to Dakatera.”

Panda walked to a contraption set up at the plateau’s edge. A wooden tripod, legs scratched, chipped and dented from many years of use. Atop the tripod, a metal U-bracket holding a square of four horizontal metal slats, each about two inches tall. From the base of the U-bracket jutted a metal arm that held a smaller, round mirror.

He moved the mirror, then angled it up. Doing so cast a reflection of light on the horizontal metal slats. He looked through a small tube, squinting tightly.

“Nice face,” Creen said. “Looks like you’re trying to squeeze out a fart. Do you fart a lot? I only ask because your room smells like ten farts merged together into an immortal superfart.”

Panda keep squinting, kept making slight adjustments.

“If I do get gas,” he said, “you’re so tiny I bet I can hold you down and fart on your head.”

Creen bristled. “Just fucking try it, fatso.”

Ahiliyah whacked Creen on the arm.

“If you’re going to make fun of people,” she said, “you should be able to handle it when they make fun of you.”

Creen’s face burned red.

“This device is called a sun-signaler,” Panda said. He stood, pointed northwest. “Dakatera is signaling. See?”

From a peak in the west, Ahiliyah saw a point of light, pulsing rhythmically.

Panda again leaned closer to the device. He flicked a lever on the side of the metal square. Doing so made the horizontal slats open and close.

“He’s answering Dakatera,” Ahiliyah said. “They send flashes, Panda reads them, then—”

“Yeah, I got it,” Creen said. “The obvious doesn’t need an explanation.”

God, why did he have to be such a jerk?

Creen stepped closer to the sun signaler. “The flashes are a language?”

“Exactly,” Panda said. From a pocket, he pulled out a small notebook and a stick of charcoal wrapped in nawton fiber. “The language is called Morse Code.”

“Morse,” Creen said. “What’s a Morse?”

Panda made marks in the book, shrugged. “Someone from history, maybe.”

Creen watched the flashes from the distant mountaintop. “I wonder if we could use flashes like this on runs. Hand signals only work when we can see each other. A system like this could let us communicate over greater distances.”

A thought Liyah had had before. “Up here is one thing. On a run is another. We don’t know if the flashes might attract the demons to us.”

Creen bit his lip, thinking. “Yeah, I suppose. Maybe I can figure out a way to do an experiment, see if they react to it. Hey, fatso, show me this code.”

Panda sighed. He flipped to the back of his notebook, handed Creen a small sheet of paper. Creen took it, studied it.

“The dots are short flashes,” Panda said. “The dashes are longer flashes. You combine them to signify letters, and—”

Creen offered him the paper back. “I’ve got it.”

Panda blinked. “You’ve got what, exactly?”

“The code,” Creen said. “I memorized it.”

Panda took the paper. He looked at it as if to make sure he’d given Creen the right one.

“There are twenty-six symbols here,” Panda said. “You just memorized Morse Code?”

Creen looked to the flashes coming from Dakatera Mountain.

“We… need… silk… from… Tak,” he said “Obviously Tak is short for Takanta, so they don’t have to signal as many characters. Right?”

Panda glanced at Ahiliyah. “This is a joke, right? He already knew Morse Code?”

Sometimes, Creen’s brain amazed her.

“If he says he didn’t know it, he didn’t,” she said. “Creen, what do you think of signaling? I thought this might be a good job for you. After your fifth run is done.”

Creen sighed heavily and rolled his eyes; Liyah cringed inside. “Um, maybe I’ll find a job that requires brains,” he said. “Any idiot can count flashes of light. Stay up here in my own stink for weeks at a time? No thanks.”

Panda glared.

Ahiliyah wanted to punch Creen. He was so… damn… rude.

“Creen, let’s go,” she said. “Panda has work to do, and it’s a long way back down.”

12

Forty-four… forty-five… forty-six…

In the silence and privacy of her room, Ahiliyah focused on the push-ups, making sure her back stayed straight, letting her sternum touch the stone floor before extending her arms again.

Forty-seven… forty-eight…

Some runners could do a hundred push-ups, but not if they used the same form she used: slow and steady, five seconds for each decline, five seconds for each extension.

Fifty.

She hopped to her feet, grabbed her runner’s spear from where she’d leaned it against the wall. She worked through her forms—crouch, step, thrust, step back, crouch, step, thrust. She spun the spear, turned, went the other way, grateful for the space her room provided.

A knock on her door.

Ahiliyah ignored it, kept going through her forms.

“Ahiliyah, open up.”

She stopped. Had that been the Margrave’s voice? She stood, rushed to the door, opened it. Margrave Aulus Darby stood there, Drasko behind him.

“Hello,” the Margrave said.

Ahiliyah stared, stunned. Had she done something wrong?

Images of Mari, dying on the sand, flashed through her thoughts.

The Margrave smiled. “Now is when a polite young person would invite me in.”

“Yes… yes, of course. Please come in.” She stood aside. The Margrave entered. Drasko turned his back to the door frame, took up a position to block anyone else who might want to enter.

“Shut the door, please,” the Margrave said.

Ahiliyah did.

It hit her, suddenly, how messy her room was.

As a runner, she was in the minority in that she had a room all to herself. She’d been told that, back in King Paul’s day, rooms this size had been meant for a file leader, a soldier who commanded nine other men in the phalanx.

Nowadays only runners, councilmen, and the Margrave had individual rooms. Everyone else packed into the available spaces—husbands, wives, and children all in one room, or four warriors. Groups of orphans packed in ten at a time, five or six single people lumped together, and so on. There were only so many rooms to go around. With more than three thousand people living in a space originally meant for about thirteen hundred, space was always at a premium.

She had a pile of dirty clothes in one corner. In another corner, her laundered hidey suit was latched up on a net repair table. On her bed, sheets rumpled into a fabric mountain. A sink with running water—another luxury—and a shelf chiseled into the wall, holding her personal treasures and mementos of her runs: her mother’s bloodglass necklace; her father’s ceremonial dagger; three so-bad-they-were-cute wood carvings that Tolio had done himself; a pair of dolls dressed in the yellow and red clothing of the Dakaterans; a small pyramid carved from Bisethian salt; a hand-carved, green toy bow modeled after the famous longbows of Takanta.

“As well as you run your crew,” the Margrave said, “I would have assumed your room would be more organized.”

“Yes, Margrave. I’m sorry for the mess.”

He dismissed her apology with a wave. “May I sit?”

She grabbed the mountain of sheets and blankets, shoved them onto the floor.

“Please,” she said, gesturing to the bed.

The Margrave sat. Fortunately, he didn’t ask her if she wanted to sit next to him, so she stood there, sweating slightly from the push-ups.

“Ahiliyah, you know the importance of tomorrow’s run, yes?”

She nodded.

“There’s a reason we insist your crew makes it,” he said. “Aiko feels—and I agree—that you can not only perform this duty, you can take on even more. Are you ready for more?”

She was. So ready for more. “I am, Margrave.”

“What do you want, Ahiliyah? What do you want out of life?”

She couldn’t believe he was here, alone, asking her directly. Should she say she was happy doing her duty as a runner? Perhaps that’s what she was supposed to say, but an opportunity like this was unheard of—she had to speak her mind.

“I want to be a warrior.”

The Margrave stroked his beard. “You know that is not possible. Women can’t serve in the warriors. You simply aren’t big enough to properly use a shield and spear.”

“If I command, I don’t have to carry a shield.”

The words had rushed out before she’d even thought of them. She realized how ridiculous they sounded—she was nineteen, a woman, and had no military experience. She waited for the Margrave to laugh at her. He did not.

“Every warrior starts in the ranks,” he said. “How can you expect men to follow you into battle if you don’t know what it’s like to fight in the front row?”

“Using a spear is one thing. Knowing where to put the people using the spears is another.”

She was bordering on insolence, but she couldn’t stop herself—she might never have a chance like this again.

“I will not tell you that view is wrong,” the Margrave said. He stared off, nodded to himself, “But change takes time. I will think on this, I promise. ”

Ahiliyah felt more frustrated than she would have if it hadn’t come up at all. To keep such desires internalized was one thing—to voice them and have them rejected was another.

“For now, though, Liyah, there must be something else you want. Perhaps you wish to start a family? I could see to it that you are assigned a job that is less physically demanding, so you would have more time to spend with your children. Ginger Patrice is looking for a smart apprentice to take over for her as vintner in a few years. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Make mushroom wine and crank out babies? Was that what he thought she was good for? The Margrave’s words stirred anger, but Ahiliyah pushed that anger down—most women in Lemeth did want to have children. He was making her an offer that many women would have loved, but Ahiliyah wasn’t like most women. She never had been.

“Margrave… I don’t think I want children.”

He regarded her for a moment. Kindness in his eyes, not judgment.

“Perhaps you will change your mind when you complete your ten runs.”

Ahiliyah thought of Mari, choosing death over running. She thought of her cousin, Jane, who spent her days swimming at the bottom of a wine flask. If Ahiliyah kept running, would she wind up like either of them? Would her next encounter with a demon be her last?

No. She was destined for more. She knew it.

“Maybe I will,” she said. “Maybe I’d rather keep running. No one likes running, but I know how important it is. If I can’t serve in the warriors, I may keep at it after my ten is complete.”

“If you do, I know who the senior runner will be when Aiko retires.” He leaned closer. “Or when I retire her. She is almost forty, you know.”

Ahiliyah hadn’t known that. Aiko kept to herself. Forty? She was in such amazing shape, but forty? How much longer could she keep going up there?

Ahiliyah Cooper, senior runner… it wasn’t the warriors, but it was a position of honor, a position of great importance.

“I think I’d like that,” she said.

The Margrave smiled. He had such a kind smile.

“Superb,” he said. “Now I must ask something of you, Liyah. Your intelligence has not escaped my notice. You leave for Dakatera tomorrow. I need you to study that hold.”

Something about his tone made her nervous. “Study it? What do you mean?”

“Memorize the approach, where you see traps,” he said. “When you return, I want you to be able to sketch their wall for me, tell me where their main door is, how many men guard it. When you go inside, remember where any warriors are. And, most important, count all the warriors you see—I need to know that most of all.”

There was only one reason to need to know all of that, but that reason simply could not be.

“May I ask why, Margrave?”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment she knew he was going to say something like that is not your concern, but he did not. His expression softened.

“I could lie to you or dismiss your question, Liyah, but I will not. I believe the Margravine wants Lemeth Hold for herself. I believe she wants to make war on us.”

“War?” That made no sense. “But they’re barely surviving as it is. We all are. The demons are everywhere. Why would they go to war with us?”

“Because of their religion. There is no explaining it in logical terms. Have you not seen how they dress? Have you not seen their strange rituals?”

She glanced at the red and yellow dolls on her stone shelf. She’d got them in Dakatera, trading them for some rope.

“They don’t dress like us,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean—”

“They are zealots. Preacher Ramirus fears they will not rest until they have converted everyone to their blasphemous ways, or killed those who refuse. Demons or no demons, the Dakaterans want to rule Ataegina. Trust me when I tell you this, Ahiliyah—their hostile intentions are certain.”

Ahiliyah had been to Dakatera three times. The people there were doing better than the Keflanians, but not much—malnutrition and disease seemed more visible than hostile intentions.

But knowing the business of other holds wasn’t her job. That fell to the council. As much as she despised most of the men in that body, they knew about politics and economics. If the Margrave thought the Dakaterans were prepping for war, he must know something she did not.

She could not second-guess her hold’s leadership. She had seen with her own eyes what happened when runners did not believe in the training and the mantras. Rules and structure existed for a reason.

“I will get you the information.”

“Superb,” the Margrave said. “You’ve talked to the Margravine before?”

Ahiliyah nodded. “She insists on her people weighing our goods while she’s present.”

“I’m sending you to make a three-way deal, one that will undercut her pricing of plinton fruit to Keflan. She will not be happy about this, but if you stay the course, Ahiliyah, the Margravine will go along with it. Her hold needs the salt we can trade. We’ve learned that she has lost two runner crews that were sent directly to Biseth. Our shipment of salt is all she can get—we must press our advantage now. Do you understand?”

Like Lemeth, Dakatera’s crews consisted of three runners. Unlike Lemeth, Dakatera’s runners were volunteers. Six brave people gone, just like that.

“I understand, Margrave.”

“Superb. Be warned, Ahiliyah—once the Margravine senses what we are doing with the plinton fruit, she will try to take advantage of you. At all times, you must be wary of her conniving ways. Can you protect us against her? Can you perform these duties for your hold?”

“I will do my best.”

He smiled. “That is all we can ask. I know that your best will be exceptional indeed.”

A flush of pride. The Margrave was again singling her out. Not Brandun—her.

He stood. “Most of the hold is unaware of the threat of the Dakaterans. If war happens, our primary trade route to Keflan will be cut off. That is why it is critical you complete this run and bring back as much capertine powder as you can get, so we can not only cure the sick we have, but also lay in a supply for the future.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “I know you can do this.”

With that, Aulus Darby left her room, closing the door behind him.

Ahiliyah tried to process what had just happened. War? Between people? Could that really happen? Could people be so stupid they fought against each other when the demons had already killed so many, were still killing?

The Dakaterans were… different. Weird, even—but she’d never thought of them as warmongers. Maybe she’d missed those signs. Maybe she needed to pay more attention, not just to Dakatera, but to every hold she ran to.

Ahiliyah would not let the Margrave down.

13

Cold wind caressed the mountainside. Summer was coming to a close, and fall wouldn’t last long. In a way, Ahiliyah was glad her sixth run had come before winter set in. In winter, snow and ice made finding new routes across the mountain far more dangerous, and the only warm place to sleep was bundled up in a vootervert burrow.

“Creen, call out,” she said. “Dakatera’s signal sound is—”

“The charmed rat, I know.” He rolled his eyes. “Not like I was here a few days ago, right?”

Brandun nudged him. “Quit complaining and just do it." Creen had a gift for animal sounds. Whether it be the humped gish, the vindeedee or the charmed rat, his calls were indistinguishable from the real thing.

Creen cupped his hands to his mouth, sounded out the charmed rats’ low whaNA-whaNA .

When an answering call came down from the broken wall, it brought with it relief from long-held tension. It had taken two days to reach Dakatera. They’d seen no sign of demons, but Ahiliyah couldn’t shake the sensation that the monsters were out there, in blazing daylight, searching… hunting.

“Let’s get inside,” Brandun said. “I got a bad feeling.”

Creen laughed quietly. “So big and yet so superstitious. Did you bring a lucky gish foot to ward away the evil spirits, Dumbdun?”

“Superstitious?” Brandun shook his head. “Demons are evil spirits, Creen. You know this. Preacher Ramirus says that evil magic is everywhere.”

“Ramirus?” Creen shook his head. “You’re listening to that twat? The demons aren’t evil spirits, they’re just animals. We don’t know enough about them is all. I swear, you’d think someone your size would have a big brain, but apparently not.”

Brandun’s shoulders slumped. He seemed to shrink in on himself. He was twice Creen’s size, yet sometimes Creen’s words delivered blows more powerful than Brandun’s fists ever could.

“Just animals wiped out our civilization,” Ahiliyah said. Creen didn’t have to be so mean—she felt compelled to defend Brandun. “Is that what you’re saying? Just animals?”

Creen tilted his head at Brandun. “Don’t tell me you’re as dumb as he is. Don’t tell me you believe in God and all that religion garbage.”

She stared at him, not knowing what to say. Of course she believed in God—everyone did. This wasn’t the time to argue, though; they needed to get inside. And she knew she couldn’t win an argument against Creen, so why bother?

“Let’s go,” Ahiliyah said, shrugging off the insult. “Follow my path, and follow it carefully. Dakatera’s traps don’t care if you’re a demon or a person, they’ll—”

“—kill you just the same,” Creen said, finishing her words for her. “Did I not just mention that we were here a few days ago?”

He was maddening. Just maddening.

“I’ll take lead,” she said. “Creen, you bring up the rear. Brandun covers our tail often enough, it’s your turn for a while.”

Ahiliyah started up the approach, her eyes scanning for traps. She saw a deadfall, silently pointed it out, then remembered the Margrave’s request—she needed to memorize the defenses.

As if runners didn’t already have enough to worry about.

* * *

Ahiliyah and her crew unpacked their backpacks, carefully arranging the cloth-wrapped, fist-sized parcels into rows on the map table. Ten in each row, eleven rows; the salt that runners from Biseth had brought to Lemeth.

The table was identical to the one in the Margrave’s Chamber, showing rising mountain peaks, the lakes, the ocean, and the locations of the surviving holds. Five people sat around it, a council similar to Lemeth’s, but with one key difference—two “councilmen” were women.

One of the women—Margravine Herriet Lumos—stood.

“Bring in the scales,” she said. “Weigh ten random parcels.”

The Margravine was the most impressive woman Ahiliyah had ever met. Grey hair, wrinkled skin, she looked like she was old enough to join the weavers in Lemeth Hold, although she seemed far sharper than those root-chewing old ladies. Like most Dakateran women, the Margravine wore a high-collared yellow dress that hung to the floor, with long sleeves that ended in fingerless gloves. That was the way of things here: Dakaterans showed as little skin as possible. Women all wore yellow, men all wore red. To Ahiliyah, these traditions seemed silly and repressive. Here, the light shift she wore back home would be considered sacrilegious.

Each hold had its own way of doing things.

The Dakaterans had their own military style as well. Many of their warriors carried crossbows slung over their backs. They wore metal helmets, painted red, but their white chest and shoulder armor was made of some type of stiff, heavy fabric. Where Lemethian shields were round and solid metal, Dakateran shields were rectangular, made of thick wood painted red on one half and yellow on the other. And there were so many warriors—from what Ahiliyah had seen, they had twice as many as Lemeth. The Margrave would not be happy about that.

The chamber doors opened. Two attendants—both men, wearing long-sleeved red shirts, red pants and red shoes—rolled in a cart holding an ancient scale from before King Paul’s time. Two square silver trays, one hanging from each arm of a lever mounted atop an ornate pedestal. Small metal weights nestled in wooden rows along the side.

Creen stared at the scale as if it were magic. His eyes flicked about madly, taking in every detail. Lemeth Hold didn’t possess anything as delicate, or as accurate.

The Margravine sat back down in her high-backed chair. It was the same yellow as her dress—exactly the same. A pretty color, but Ahiliyah imagined she’d go mad if she had to look at the same color every single day.

“Welcome back, Ahiliyah Cooper. You were here so recently,” the Margravine said. “You took a rather large shipment of paper and sizzle spice with you. I can’t imagine you need more of either so quickly, so what are you looking for in return this time?”

The woman was suspicious, just as Aulus had warned.

“Plinton fruit,” Ahiliyah said.

The Margravine frowned. “Which you plan to take to Keflan, no doubt. If you do that, you’re interfering with the trade rates between Keflan and Dakatera.”

Interfering? Is that what she called keeping medicine from the sick people who needed it?

“I wouldn’t know anything about that, Margravine,” Ahiliyah said. ”I’ve brought the goods I was told to bring, and I hope to get the goods I was told to get.”

The woman let out a sound that was half hiss, half clearing of her throat. Ahiliyah couldn’t help but notice that her councilmyn winced at that noise, as if they had heard it before and knew it accompanied bad things.

“Funny,” the Margravine said, “you don’t look as stupid as you’re pretending to be. Perhaps more of your people are sick with Glynnis than you let on the last time you were here.”

Did the Margravine think she was lying?

“It’s a disease,” Ahiliyah said. “It spread.”

The Margravine waited for more. Ahiliyah said nothing.

Sinesh had taught her long ago that people used silence as a negotiating trick, trying to make the other person uncomfortable so that they would be the first to make an offer.

Silence is strength.

Ahiliyah waited.

Finally, a smile ticked the right corner of the Margravine’s mouth. “It spread, she tells us. Diseases do have a tendency to do that.” She turned to her attendant. “Weights?”

“Each parcel weighs one-point-six bricks,” an attendant said. “There are slight variations, but within acceptable tolerances.”

The Margravine drummed her fingers on the tabletop. She again stared at Ahiliyah.

“I can’t believe Aulus sent you out again, so soon after your last run. It’s as if he doesn’t care about your safety.”

Insulting the Margrave? Was this part of the manipulation effort he’d warned her against?

“Margrave Darby cares deeply about his people.” Ahiliyah tried to mask the pride in her voice, but knew she’d failed. Why shouldn’t she be proud? Lemeth was far from perfect, but it was home.

The Margravine stared. Was she trying to use silence again? Perhaps to get Ahiliyah to offer up information. Or… was it more than that? The Margravine’s silence didn’t feel like a game. It felt more like she was silent because she was thinking, analyzing.

“Ahiliyah, you will stay,” the Margravine said. “Everyone else, out.”

The councilmyn’s wooden chairs squeaked against the stone floor. Ahiliyah watched them stand and head for the door.

“You boys as well,” the Margravine said, pointing first to Brandun, then to Creen. “Out.”

Creen and Brandun exchanged a glance.

“Uh, we’ll stay,” Creen said. “One of our running tenets is always stay together. So, you know, we kind of have to.”

Brandun nodded. “We’ll stay.”

Ahiliyah felt a rush of pride—her crewmates were trying to protect her. Even Creen.

The Margravine stood. “Young men, get out before I have you thrown out.”

Ahiliyah turned to them. “Guys, it’s okay.”

The boys exchanged another glance.

“We’ll be right outside,” Creen said.

Brandun nodded. “Yeah. Right outside. Come on, Creen.”

They left the room. Some unseen person shut the door.

Ahiliyah suddenly felt very much alone. She was alone with the Dakateran Margravine, a woman that radiated a calm aura of power, of danger. In that, she was like Aulus Darby. In that, they were both a little like the demons.

“Ahiliyah, do you like Lemeth?”

“Yes, Margravine. I like it very much.”

“You have how many more runs ahead of you after this one? Four? That’s so dangerous.”

As if Ahiliyah needed to be reminded of the danger. “Four to finish my obligation. But I may continue on after that.”

The Margravine moved around the corner of the table, came closer. She sat on the table’s edge, close to Ahiliyah.

“Obligation,” the Margravine said, folding her hands in front of her. “We don’t have that here. Our runners choose to risk their lives for their hold.”

Ahiliyah didn’t know what to say. “Yes, Margravine,” was all she could manage.

The older woman glanced to the door. “Those boys are loyal to you. For now, at least. Do you think they will be loyal when their obligations are completed? Or will they treat you like breeding stock, like the rest of Lemethian men treat Lemethian women?”

Ahiliyah’s face grew hot. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” The Margravine smiled. “Well, I don’t live there, so you’d know better.”

The older woman’s fingers drummed on the tabletop. Ahiliyah suddenly wished she’d fought for her crew to stay with her.

“You must be a good leader,” the Margravine said. “Do you think so?”

“I … I try.”

“If Lemethian boys are defending you, you certainly are.”

The Margravine squinted, stared hard. Ahiliyah felt like she was standing on one side of a giant scale, and the Margravine was slowly adding weights to the other side.

“We’ve lost runners, Ahiliyah. Far more than normal. Something out there has changed. We need to change with it. I want to make you an offer. I want you to move here, to Dakatera. I want you to train our runners.”

Ahiliyah looked down, no longer able to meet the Margravine’s eyes.

“Be your senior runner, you mean?”

“No, our trainer,” the Margravine said. “You teach our volunteers how to survive the way you have survived. You stay down here—you never have to run again.”

Safety. But to have it, she had to leave everything she knew. Her friends. Would Tolio come with her? To move to another hold. Such an overwhelming thought.

“I… I’ll consider your offer, Margravine. But…”

“But what?”

“The Margrave said he will make me the senior runner of Lemeth,” Ahiliyah said. “After Aiko Laster retires. I could stay home and train.”

The Margravine’s squint deepened. Ahiliyah felt another invisible weight placed on the imaginary scale.

“Senior runner,” the Margravine said. “Something tells me that’s not really what you want. What do you really want, Ahiliyah?”

Could this woman see right through her? Ahiliyah didn’t know why she was telling this woman anything. Had not the Margrave warned her? And yet, women and men were different—could this powerful woman better understand what Ahiliyah wanted out of life?

“I want to be a warrior,” Ahiliyah said in a whisper.

The older woman raised an eyebrow. “A warrior? That’s all?”

She hadn’t laughed. “I… want to be a general. Like you. To command troops in battle.”

The silence again. More stressful this time, with no one else in the room.

“We have women warriors in Dakatera,” the Margravine said. “And Anette Tasker is the Takantan general. Did you know a woman commands the Takantan military?”

Ahiliyah hadn’t known that. She wondered why she hadn’t heard it before.

“It doesn’t matter.” The Margravine dismissed the thought with a wave. “You can’t be a warrior in Lemeth, let alone a general. That fool Aulus would never allow it.”

This judgmental woman had no right to speak poorly of the Margrave.

“The Margrave said he would consider it. He said change takes time.”

“Ah, is that what he told you? Aulus has been in charge for how long now?” She tapped her temple, pretending to think. “He’s on his fifth term. Twenty-one years. How old are you?”

Ahiliyah fought back anger. “Is this some tactic so you get a better deal for the salt?”

The Margravine’s face clouded over, and for a moment Ahiliyah understood why the councilmyn had left the room so quickly—that expression radiated power and danger. Then, the woman smiled a half-smile, and the tension was gone.

“Fair enough, Ahiliyah Cooper. Being a bitch comes with the job. I just so hate to see talent like yours wasted. Consider my offer. I know people normally only move from one hold to another for love. I couldn’t help but notice that you are not married yet. I asked you how old you were—you didn’t answer me. Are you eighteen?”

“Nineteen.”

The Margravine shook her head, as if it were somehow a sin to be nineteen and unmarried.

“It’s my choice,” Ahiliyah said.

“Of course it is. Is there someone you plan to marry back in Lemeth?”

Ahiliyah thought of Tolio, of his constant pressure to start a family.

“I’m… honestly, I’m not sure.”

Why had she said that? It was none of this woman’s business. The Margravine’s silence hadn’t moved Ahiliyah to speak, but her questions apparently did.

“Love,” the Margravine said. “You could tell your people back home that you met someone here, that you fell in love. That would eventually wind up being the truth. There are many fine young men here.” She raised an eyebrow. “And young women as well.”

Ahiliyah couldn’t deny it might be nice to see different faces, perhaps kiss different lips. She’d grown up with all the Lemethian boys her age. Most had married years earlier, at fifteen, sixteen or seventeen, as was custom. Many of the married ones still wanted to sleep with her, in secret, but that wasn’t her way. It never would be.

Maybe it would be nice to come to Dakatera, where everyone would be new to her and she’d be new to everyone. She could become a different person here. She’d be a trainer. A trainer of volunteers.

And she could stop running.

But was this really any different from what Tolio offered? An end to running. A way to stay inside—to stay safe—for the rest of her life.

She didn’t want to be safe. She didn’t want to stop running.

“I’m happy where I am, Margravine.”

The older woman forced a tight-lipped smile. “Somehow I doubt that. But we make our own choices in life, do we not? The offer will remain open to you. If you change your mind, all you have to do is come back. Come home, to Dakatera.”

The Margravine returned to her seat.

“I’ll grant you your trade request for the plinton fruit,” she said. “You can make your trade with Keflan. Good day, Ahiliyah. As I told you, things have changed around here—I hope you have better luck than our runners have had.”

14

From somewhere deep in the darkness came a man’s scream. The sound faded, then stopped. Had the man run away, or had he been caught?

Behind a fallen log, under the cover of a sparse caminus bush, Ahiliyah huddled with Creen. They stayed very still.

“We have to turn back,” he whispered. “The demons are out here. They’re hunting.”

Ahiliyah wanted nothing more than to leave, to work her way back to the safety of Lemeth, but that wasn’t an option. They’d reached the approach to Keflan—they had to get inside.

“We can’t,” she said. “We have to get that medicine.”

Creen leaned so close to her, his whisper seemed like a shout.

“If we die, how does that help the hold? We go back, wait until things die down.”

From their right, the sound of something crawling across the dirt. Ahiliyah froze, listening, analyzing—she recognized Brandun’s quiet breathing a moment before he slid next to her, on her left.

“I heard you, Creen,” he said. “My mother is sick. We’re going in there and getting the medicine. That is that.”

He wasn’t supposed to give orders—that was Ahiliyah’s role. But at the moment, she didn’t care who kept them moving, as long as they kept moving forward.

She rose up enough to look over the log. They were so close. The sloping approach was right in front of them. Fifty, maybe sixty yards up, the cloud-dampened light of the Three Sisters played off the broken wall of Keflan Hold.

Another distant scream—a girl’s, this time—tore at the night.

And from another direction, a different kind of scream.

“That was a fucking demon,” Creen said. “If we can’t leave, we have to wait. We can’t go up now, they’re out there.”

Ahiliyah fought to control her fear. She’d thought they could make it here before sunset—she’d been wrong.

Brandun reached behind Ahiliyah and put his hand on the back of Creen’s neck; whether it was a grip of comfort and support, or one of threat, Ahiliyah couldn’t tell.

“I know you’re afraid,” Brandun whispered, “but every moment we wait is another moment my mother gets worse. If you want to run, then run. Ahiliyah and I are going in.”

Ahiliyah couldn’t let Creen leave—she needed him to carry as much medicine as he could.

“The traps,” Creen said. “It’s dangerous for us to go now anyway. We have to wait. I saw vooterver burrows a few yards back. We can hide in those and wait for morning.”

He wasn’t wrong. Moving up that slope in the darkness brought with it the risk of serious injury, even death. But if they hid, if they waited for the sun to rise, that was another six or seven hours’ delay in getting the capertine powder back to Lemeth—in that time, how many would die?

“This is my third time here,” Ahiliyah said. “Just follow me, stay quiet, and we’ll be fine. You’re coming with us, Creen, so get your head around it. This is our duty.”

He sniffed, tried to choke back sudden sobs. “I don’t want to die. I’m so fucking scared.”

Brandun patted Creen on the back. “I’m scared, too. I’m scared shitless.”

There was something unique about Brandun. Other boys aspiring to be warriors were all swagger and fake bravado. They never wanted to admit they were afraid. Brandun not only admitted it, he did so openly, without jokes or artifice.

He was scared, and he was going anyway. So was Ahiliyah.

“Creen,” she said. “Call out.”

His face snapped toward her. “Call out? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

She felt the darkness closing in around her, and in it, long claws, sharp teeth, and vicious toothtongues.

“We have to let the watcher know we’re coming up,” she said.

Creen shook his head. “I’m not calling out shit, and neither are you guys. What is wrong with your heads? The demons are out there, they are hunting. Let’s get the fuck out of here!”

“My mother is sick,” Brandun said. “We are going up there. You’re coming with us.”

Malice in his voice—Creen didn’t seem to hear it. He sneered, his face a mask of arrogance.

“What good does it do our people if we die first, Dumbdun? Huh?”

“My mother—”

“Your mother will live,” Creen said. “And you know the rules—better to make it back late than not at all. Why don’t you pull your head out of your ass, Dumbdun, you—”

The bigger boy grabbed Creen by the throat, smashed him flat against the ground.

“I’ve had it with you calling me dumb!”

“Brandun, stop!” Ahiliyah grabbed his shoulder, tried to pull him away—his body didn’t move. He didn’t even seem to know she was there.

Creen gagged and choked. His face turned red. He clawed at Brandun’s hand, trying to grab a finger, to grab anything—but he wasn’t strong enough.

Brandun was killing him.

Ahiliyah threw herself on Brandun’s back.

“Let him go!”

She’d never realized how strong Brandun was—just a boy, but solid as a rock. He reached back with his free hand, grabbed Ahiliyah by her hair and yanked her off. She fell hard, dirt and rock knocking the wind from her lungs.

Stunned, she saw Creen reach to his belt. She tried to say no— she didn’t have the air.

The boy drew his little friend, drove the blade through the forearm of the hand that was choking him. Brandun cried out, fell back to his butt, stared, dumbfounded, at the knife handle sticking out of his arm, at the blood already staining his shirtsleeve, gleaming in the moonslight.

Ahiliyah stared, too, hoping she’d imagined it, hoping that the boys hadn’t actually been shouting so loud their voices echoed back from the hold wall.

Brandon blinked, looked at Creen.

“You stabbed me?”

Creen coughed, his hands clutching his throat. He rolled to his side, got to one knee. He stared at Brandun, wide-eyed and terrified.

In the strange bit of silence that followed, Ahiliyah heard a patter of liquid hitting dirt—Brandun’s blood, spilling down.

Demons smell blood.

She forced herself up, grabbed his wounded arm.

“Creen stabbed me,” Brandun said, quietly, calmly, as if he were a schoolboy tattling on a naughty classmate.

“Hold still,” Ahiliyah said. She grabbed his wrist, held his arm steady, examined the thin knife jammed through Brandun’s bleeding arm. With her free hand, she reached into a hidey-suit pocket, pulled out a bandage. “Creen, help me.”

“Fuck… him,” the smaller boy said, forcing out the words.

Ahiliyah turned and snarled, her own quiet anger matching Brandun’s violent outburst.

“Give me your fucking bandage unless you want to die.”

Creen struggled to his feet, dug in his hidey suit.

Ahiliyah focused on the knife. “Brandun, I have to pull this out.”

He stared at the handle, didn’t seem to know she was there.

“Brandun!”

His eyes snapped to hers. She saw the fear in them, the confusion.

“We have to get inside,” she said, keeping her voice quiet and calm. “The demons had to have heard us. They’re coming. I’m going to pull the blade out, then we’re going to wrap your wound as tight as we can, then we move. Do you understand?”

Brandun nodded, now looking every bit as stupid as Creen’s nickname insinuated.

“Hold still,” Ahiliyah said, “and do not scream.”

She grabbed the handle of Creen’s little friend. With one strong yank, she slid the blade free from Brandun’s arm, dropped the knife to the dirt.

Brandun hissed in a breath and his face wrinkled into a sheet of pain, but he did not cry out. She wrapped her bandage over his blood-soaked sleeve as tightly as she could, tied it off.

Creen knelt next to her, his breathing labored, raspy. He wrapped his bandage around hers, which was already soaking through with blood, then tied it off neatly and efficiently.

She took Brandun’s free hand and placed it on the bandages. “Keep up the pressure.”

Brandun nodded.

Creen stood in a crouch, searching the darkness. “I don’t see anything.”

“You won’t,” Ahiliyah said. “Not until they’re on you. We move fast but steady, we stay as quiet as we can. Brandun, follow me. Creen, bring up the rear. Do not move ahead of us. Got it?”

Creen nodded. She saw the trails of tears on his cheeks.

“Follow me.”

She started up the approach at a jog, eyes searching for linchpin rocks, trip-strings or deadfall covers. The darkness was a thick blanket cloaking the bushes and trees and logs, hiding death in its shadowy folds.

They were halfway up the steep slope when a screech echoed through the night.

Brandon stopped. Wounded arm held tight to his chest, he looked around, searching for the danger that sounded far too close.

“Oh, God,” he said. “The demons are coming.”

Creen slid off his backpack. “Lose your bags, we need to sprint for it.”

“Put that back on,” Ahiliyah said. “We need it. Keep moving.”

Creen did as he was told.

Ahiliyah continued up the approach. On the ridge, faint moonslight lit up the ruined battlements of Keflan Hold—a broken-down, ancient wall, stone overhang cracked and collapsed in many places. It was only a hundred feet or so up the slope.

They were so close.

Another demon screech—did that sound closer than the first one?

“Stay close,” she said.

Ahiliyah ran up the steep slope. No time for caution now—she had to trust her memory more than her eyes. In seconds, her legs began to burn.

That boulder… was the safe zone to its left, or its right? Left. Had to be left. She angled that way—something gripped her shoulder. Her body froze, her thoughts flooded with images of a demon tail driving toward her back before she realized the hand was Brandun’s.

“Wrong way.” He pointed to a branch, barely visible in the darkness. “Linchpin.”

The clouds broke enough for the light of the moons to shine through. She saw it—a log with many long branches spreading out in all directions. The top of the log was wedged beneath a moss-covered boulder, which itself held in place a dozen larger boulders. If she had hit one of those branches, the log would have given way to the weight above it. She and her crew would have died, or been trapped and forced to wait for the demons.

“That way,” Brandun said, pointing up the slope.

Ahiliyah didn’t question him—she ran. They followed.

The three runners reached the battlements, which themselves were laced with deadly traps. Behind them, yet another demon screech—no doubt this time, it was closer.

Ahiliyah looked at Brandun. “Which way?”

He stared at the battlements, looked left, then right. “I don’t know.”

Creen pushed past. Shaking, he stared at the broken wall, pointed to a section on the right.

“Not there,” he said. “See the chip marks on that bottom block? It’s a linchpin, we touch it and that whole area collapses on us.” He pointed farther to the right. “See?”

Ahiliyah squinted through the darkness. There, where he was pointing, a section of the wall had collapsed, revealing sheer stone behind it. Sticking out from the pile of rocks, she saw a foot—a foot as black as night, as gnarled as a tree root. The deadfall had killed a demon.

She saw something else in that pile of rock, something pale and pink… a human hand?

“Here,” Creen said.

Ahiliyah turned and saw him on hands and knees at the base of the wall.

“Less moss here, and it’s worn smooth,” he said.

He climbed, fast, fear driving him, hands and booted feet tapping, reaching, searching for the safe way up.

Ahiliyah thumped Brandun’s back. “Go. I’ll follow.”

He shook his head. “If I fall, you go with me. You go first.”

Could he climb at all with his wounded arm?

Another screech, then another, made up her mind for her.

Terror clawed at her, tried to control her, but she would not let it. Twice she’d been face to face with demons, and she hadn’t given in to the fear. She would not do so now.

She caught up to Creen, watched his every handhold and foothold, mimicked his every movement. He quickly reached the top. She followed him onto the deck, then they both leaned against the wall and reached down to grab Brandun, who was struggling to get over with only one hand working. Together, she and Creen hauled him onto the deck.

“Thank you,” Brandun said, his voice trembling. “Thank you.”

They helped him stand. Together, the three of them looked over the wall, back down the slope—they all saw it at the same time.

A demon, cutting through the darkness, coming up the slope far faster than any of them could ever hope to run. Thin black arms stretching out, thin black legs pushing hard. Moonslight gleamed off the long head, made its hideous teeth sparkle like tiny jewels.

“Creen, find a way to get the door open!” Ahiliyah shoved him toward the end of the deck—the door would be there, somewhere in the pitch-black beneath the stone overhang.

She should have helped him, but she couldn’t look away from the demon rushing toward them. It reached the boulder that had almost marked her death. It started left, then went right.

The beast’s gnarled body cracked against dried branches.

The log spun, only slightly, but it was enough; the deadfall gave way. Boulders crashed down with the sound of rolling thunder. The demon turned to flee; a smaller boulder smashed down on its foot. The beast screeched, fell to the ground. It tried to pull free—a boulder bigger than Brandun crashed down on it so hard that burning blood shot out in long jets.

Then, nothing. It was dead.

“Holy shit,” Brandun said. “Holy shit.”

But the nightmare wasn’t over. In the moonslight, down on the path, she saw two more demons sprinting up the slope. She ducked down, pulling Brandun with her.

“Come on,” Creen shouted, “it’s open!”

Ahiliyah and Brandun crawled toward his voice, staying beneath the top of the wall. In the almost total darkness beneath the overhang, she saw the patch of absolute black that marked the entryway. Creen was there, waiting for them.

“It was already open,” he said, his whisper edging toward hysteria. “Just sitting here, open. Where’s the wall watcher? Anyone see the watcher?”

The wall watcher had to be inside somewhere.

“Get inside,” Ahiliyah said.

They crawled into the darkness. No glowlight. No light at all. She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. The stairs down were close, she knew, but she couldn’t spot them.

The sound of rattling rocks echoed up from beyond the ruined wall.

“If we run down the stairs in the darkness, we’ll kill ourselves,” Creen said. “We have to get the door shut. I can’t fucking see anything in here!”

“Brandun, help him,” Ahiliyah said, shrugging off her pack. She pulled her spear staves from their holster, started screwing the staves together. She reached to draw her spearhead from its scabbard when Brandun grabbed her wrist.

“I’m a better fighter than you,” he said.

“Not wounded, you aren’t.” Ahiliyah yanked her arm free. “Help Creen with the door!”

Ahiliyah twisted the spearhead onto the staff, looked back out toward the deck. The dimmest bit of moonslight showed her the space between the stone lip and the old wall.

“Here’s the lever,” she heard Creen say. “Come on, close it!”

“I’m trying,” Brandun said, his words barely audible grunts.

Ahiliyah held her spear in both hands. She squatted into a fighting position. She knew she couldn’t win, but if she could hold off a demon long enough for Brandun and Creen to shut the door, they might still complete the mission.

In that ever-so-faint light that turned the battlement into a soup of black and dark grey, she saw movement—a skeletal black hand reaching up and over the wall.

The sound of grinding stone made her jump—to her left, a slab of stone as thick as her arm was long started to slide toward her.

Hands grabbed her, yanked her into the darkness. She fell on her butt, dropped her spear.

Out on the deck, a demon crawled over the battlement. Its long head turned toward her.

With a heavy thud, the stone door slid shut in front of her, blocking out all light.

15

Ahiliyah sat there on her ass, chest heaving. She fought to control her breathing, to make as little noise as possible.

“I can’t see dick.” In the darkness, Creen’s panicked voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. “We need light.”

“Not yet,” Ahiliyah said, her voice a harsh whisper. “And keep your voice down.”

Something smelled funny, like a broken sewage pipe, but with other scents mixed in—like millasis candy, but more powerful. From somehere below, down the stairwell, she heard the regular sound of water splashing on stone.

“I can reach the glowpipes,” Brandun whispered. “They feel solid. They must be broken farther down.”

A scratching sound almost made her scream. Talons on rock—demons outside the door.

Could they get through the thick stone?

Or… were monsters just like them already here, inside? No one had been on watch. When glowpipes broke, fixing them was a high priority. One break in the system could lead to entire sections of a hold falling into total darkness.

How long had the pipes here been broken?

The scratching grew louder.

“Liyah,” Creen whispered, “do something.”

He was about to lose it, she could hear it in his voice.

“Both of you, stay still,” she said.

Ahiliyah felt for her spear, found it. In the close confines, in the dark, she could hurt one of the others with it. She quickly broke it down, sliding the spearhead into its scabbard, putting the staves in their container. She slid her backpack on, tied it tight.

“Reach out to me,” she whispered.

She stretched both arms out into the total darkness, fighting the fear that a demon was about to bite. She managed not to flinch when she felt Brandun’s big hand, then she felt Creen’s.

“Stay quiet,” she whispered. Did the scratching grow louder when she did?

She placed Brandun’s hand on the small of her back, a silent signal that he needed to follow her, to not let go, something they’d all trained doing back in Lemeth Hold. She felt his fingers lock into her webbing. She then took Creen’s trembling hand, awkwardly fumbled around both boys to put it on the small of Brandun’s back.

Ahiliyah shuffled forward, feeling with the toe of her boot for the stairway. She hit it, lifted that foot, set it down lightly on the step below, making sure her whole foot was there before putting her weight on it.

Into the darkness they went, one slow step at a time.

One step down, the slight pull of Brandun catching up. Step after step after step. Thirty steps down, the stairwell turned to the right.

The scratching sound faded.

The water sound grew louder.

The stink was getting worse. She heard Creen choke off a cough. Brandun did the same. She’d never smelled anything quite so awful. She wanted to run away from it, but could not—down was the only way they could go.

She wanted to light a torch so badly, but if demons were close they would come so fast. They could be right in front of her for all she knew, lips curled, waiting for her, ready to sweep her in like a pouncing hookarm when she got close.

Creen wasn’t the only one on the edge of panic. The darkness seemed to press into her temples and fill her brain.

She stepped down; her boot slid on something wet.

Please let that be spent glowpipe water, oh God, please…

She gently felt with her toe, looking for a dry spot—her boot pressed against something solid and soft.

Something squishy.

A light double-tug on her hidey suit—Brandun wanted to know why she’d stopped.

Ahiliyah couldn’t stay in the dark anymore. She reached into her hidey suit, pulled out a match and a piece of kindling wrapped in oiled cloth. The match came alive on the third strike, blinding her for an instant. She lit the torch, paused for a moment to revel in the smell of the burning cloth and wood, a smell that chased away the sweet stink.

Her eyes adjusted, and she saw the squishy thing.

A bloated corpse, swelling skin stretching at shirt and pants. And on the next step down, another. A man and a woman? Too swollen to tell for sure.

“Oh, God,” Brandun said. “Oh, God.”

The awful stink hadn’t changed, yet now it seemed so much more, filling her nose and lungs and face.

The one she’d stepped on had a fist-size hole through the left temple and eye. The other one’s head was twisted at a strange angle.

Her torchlight played off the corpses, and off the stairs. Rust-colored stains on the stone. Rust-colored, but not wet—this blood was dry.

“Let’s go,” Creen said. “I don’t want to be here with those things.”

Those things. Dead people.

“Liyah,” Brandun said, “we have to keep moving.”

She knew he was right, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the bodies. They’d died long enough ago for their blood to dry, long enough for them to begin swelling with rot.

Her fear made the torch shake.

“They were in here,” she whispered. “The demons. Maybe they still are.”

She couldn’t go back up—the demons were still out there, still waiting, still scratching. She couldn’t continue down, because if the demons had got in, if they were still here, down was where they would be.

Her body shuddered so hard she almost dropped the torch. She willed herself to stop shaking—her body ignored her.

She felt Brandun’s hand on her arm, sliding up to her hand to take the torch.

“Get behind me,” he whispered. “It’s okay. I’ll take point now.”

Part of her wanted to argue with him; it was her responsibility to lead. Another part of her wanted to thank him, over and over again, because she’d hit a limit she hadn’t known existed. They were all screwed, but letting big Brandun go first might allow her to go on.

She moved behind him. She felt Creen’s hands, helping her, positioning her between the two of them. No attitude from Creen now, no fighting, no insults—the three of them were in this together. Together, they would live, or they would die.

Brandun stepped around the bodies and started down. Ahiliyah followed him. Creen followed her.

“One more flight,” she whispered. “Two at most. Then we’ll be in the main corridor.”

When they reached the next landing and turned the corner, Ahiliyah saw light—a glowpipe, bright on one side of a jagged break, dark on the other, water pouring down to the stone, coursing into narrow gutters on either side of the steps to vanish into drains carved into the stone. Keflan’s water had a bluish tint, different from Lemeth’s faint red hue.

Brandun tapped the torch out against the wall. He started down. Liyah followed, stopped suddenly as the overpowering stench of death made her stomach rebel. She swallowed hard, managed to stop herself from vomiting.

They descended the last flight, fighting against the stench of death. From there, the hold spread out in a fashion similar to Lemeth’s layout: wide stone corridors and smaller tunnels, rooms and ceilings, living quarters and common rooms. The light was dimmer than she remembered, but anything was better than the total blackness of the stairs.

Three more corpses—two people and a demon. A pair of crossbow bolts jutted up from the twisted black body.

“They got one of the fuckers,” Creen said.

A crossbow lay on the stone floor, wood etched where burning blood had scored it.

“And the fucker got them,” Brandun said.

Creen moved toward the demon’s corpse.

“Don’t touch it,” Ahiliyah whispered. “It will burn you.”

Creen paused. “It’s too old. Whatever makes the blood burn has burned out.”

He knelt next to the bodies, started poking at the demon corpse.

“Oh, God,” Brandun said. “That smell.”

He turned away, threw up into the gutter that lined the base of the wall. The smell of his vomit was just enough to push Ahiliyah over the edge; she threw up on her boots.

Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, she looked to Creen, expecting to see him throw up as well, but he seemed unfazed.

“The demon looks… deflated,” he said. He coughed, gagged, held a fist to his mouth, but didn’t throw up. “This one looks different than the ones we’ve seen on the surface, or the suit back in the training pit. Come look.”

Ahiliyah glanced at Brandun. He shook his head—he wasn’t going near the thing. She was the leader, though, and if she could get any information that might help keep her people alive, she had to push past her own fears.

Kneeling down next to Creen, she stared at the nightmare.

She never seen a demon this close up, living or dead. Gnarled ridges ran the length of the long head. The ones she’d seen on the surface had smooth heads. So did the training suit. The teeth looked the same, though—hard bits of metal that gleamed in the torchlight.

Creen poked at the corpse. “The hard parts are like armor. But they have soft parts, too. I didn’t know that from looking at them at a distance.”

Ahiliyah stood, looked up and down the corridor. The light let her see demons, but it would also let the demons see her. Hidey suit camouflage was worthless down here.

“We need to find their capertine powder,” she said, “then we’re getting out of here.”

16

The trip down terrified her. An entire hold, empty, as hollow and lifeless as a getum bug shell. Behind every corner, in every shadow, in every room, there might be a demon. Each step brought with it the promise of death, yet she kept moving—the lives of her people depended on it.

The layout of Keflan was similar enough to that of Lemeth that Ahiliyah knew roughly where to go. Some areas were lit, the glowpipes working as designed, and other areas were pitch-black. They moved quickly, quietly, sticking to the main corridors and stairs down, using torches only when absolutely necessary. They saw no one, heard nothing.

Several rooms had been barricaded with furniture, furniture now broken and splashed with human blood. After looking in the second barricaded room and finding only rotting bodies, Ahiliyah decided not to look in any more. It was just too much, and they needed to move fast.

Four levels down, they found the mold farm. The large room was dark, the corridor’s glowlight reaching only a few feet into the entrance.

Ahiliyah lit a torch. The light barely dented the darkness in front of her, let alone chase away the chamber’s deep, heavy shadows. Rows of tables stretched off into the blackness. Trays of dirt lined each table, filled with clumpy, bluish mold clusters in various stages of growth.

“Good,” Brandun said. “Let’s fill our packs and get the hell out of here.”

He knew so little.

“The mold itself is no good,” Ahiliyah said. “It gets processed and ground down into capertine powder. We have to find where the powder is stored.”

How much powder had the Keflanians made since she’d been here ten days earlier? Would it be enough to help all the sick people back in Lemeth? She lifted her torch higher, as if that might somehow light up more of the long cavern.

The glowpipes… from what she could see, none appeared to be broken.

“Creen, find the water valve,” she said. “Maybe they shut it off.”

Capertine mold, like the mushrooms that grew in Lemeth, grew best in the dark. The Lemeth mushroom farms were often left without light.

“Found it,” Creen said.

The familiar chonk of a valve lever being pulled down. Then, the sound of water running through pipes. To her right, up near the ceiling, she saw the first faint glow.

“At least something’s working,” Brandun said. The glow flowed through the pipes, down to the chamber’s far wall, then back again, looping through the glass tubes. It reached the door behind her, doubled back yet again, and then halfway down the room, water gushed out of a crack, spilled down and splashed against an unmoving, bloated man lying atop a table. In seconds, his corpse glowed like a ghastly lantern.

Brandun pointed to the gushing crack. “The gardener must have seen a demon come in. I bet he threw something at the pipe, broke it so he could hide in the darkness.”

“That was stupid,” Creen said. “Half the room would still be lit up, like it is now.”

Brandun nodded. “Maybe it’s hard to think straight when one of those things comes for you. I hope we never find out for ourselves.”

Creen grunted in agreement.

The glowpipes lit up the right half of the chamber, casting a dim glow on the left-hand side. At least they could see the whole room now. Dark alcoves lined both walls.

A demon could be hiding in any of them. In all of them.

Ahiliyah took a deep breath, trying to remember Sinesh’s training. If she let fear take her now, she would run and never, ever come back.

“Find the processing station,” she said.

She glanced over her shoulder, toward the chamber’s open entry arch. The corridor beyond glowed brightly, or at least brighter than the half-lit, spacious room.

“Creen, watch the entryway,” Ahiliyah said. “If you see anything coming, shut off the valve and hide. Brandun, search the right side, I’ll search the left.”

Both the boys were terrified, but they obeyed. They wanted to finish the job and get the hell out of there, just like she did.

There were no glowpipes in the alcoves—the inky darkness inside the arched entrances seemed to radiate evil, danger… death. She stepped into the first one, letting her torch lead the way—empty. Nothing in the second one, either. Would a demon be waiting in the third?

Ahiliyah began to tremble. She breathed deep; slow in, slow out. No time for fear.

She stepped into the fourth alcove. Her flickering torch lit up stacks of empty trays speckled with clumps of dirt.

The fifth alcove stank like shit. She stepped in, saw stuffed canvas bags stacked against the side and back walls. They looked like the sandbags her people stacked along the river during flooding season. The bags weren’t filled with sand, though—they were fertilizer. The room reeked, but she’d take the stench of human feces over the scent of death any day.

“I think I found it,” Brandun called out.

Ahiliyah winced at his volume. How did he not understand the danger they were in?

She crossed the chamber, weaving between the tables of mold clusters, giving the splashing pipe and its lantern-corpse a wide berth. Brandun stood next to an alcove entryway. Ahiliyah slipped past him, her torch leading the way. Wooden racks lined each wall. On them, small, stuffed burlap bags, stacked in orderly rows.

For the people of Lemeth, this was life itself.

“There’s so much of it,” Brandun said. “They told us they’d given us all they could spare, that they needed the rest for their own sick people. Did they make all this extra in the few days we’ve been away?”

Of course they hadn’t. They’d had a large supply all along. The Margrave had been right—Keflan had been holding out. They’d lied, claimed a shortage so they could dictate a better price.

Why were people such assholes?

“We need to bring all of it,” Ahiliyah said.

Brandun picked up one bag, tossed it up and down in his hand.

“That’ll be tough,” he said. “These weigh about half a brick each.”

He glanced at Ahiliyah’s backpack. “If you take out everything, I think we can fit thirty-five to forty of these in your pack. That’s nineteen bricks’ worth, Liyah. How much do you weigh?”

The thought of carrying that much made her heart sink. “I weigh twenty-seven bricks.”

“More than half your body weight.” Brandun said. “On a three-day hike. Four days, more like it, considering how much you’d be weighed down. You should carry thirteen, at the most.”

They didn’t have four days. They had to make it in three, even if they had to move at night.

Ahiliyah counted up the bags sitting on the shelves. “There’s one hundred and twenty-five bags. I’m taking forty.’

“Forty?” Brandun shook his head. “Liyah, you can’t—”

“We don’t have a choice. Creen is smaller than me. I need him to carry thirty-one. That means you need to carry the rest. Can you do it?”

Brandun’s eyebrows rose. He looked at the racks.

“I weigh thirty-four bricks,” he said. “You want me to carry fifty-two bags, a weight of twenty-six bricks.” He winced. “I’m strong, I know, but come on. Carry that much for four days? Through the mountains? We have to climb and descend along the way.”

She put her hand on his arm.

“We’ll make it in three days. Not four. Whatever you can’t carry, I have to take.”

He looked at her with a pained expression. Carrying that much weight might kill him. She knew it, and so did he.

“Brandun, yes or no—can you do it?”

He nodded slowly.

She slid off her backpack, handed it to him. “Start packing.”

Scowling, he took her bag and got to work.

Ahiliyah headed back to the chamber’s entrance, once again aware of the sound of water splashing down on rotting flesh and stone. She passed an alcove with a circular wooden press inside. That had to be the grinder—there was one like it Lemeth. The next alcove held long strings of mold clusters hanging down from the ceiling. Still drying? Could someone come back and grind those? Maybe, but the fact was that no one in Lemeth knew how to properly process capertine mold, and there was no one left in Keflan to show them.

Creen was crouched low, just inside the entrance, his little helper clutched in a shaking hand. He stared around the wall’s edge, out into the corridor. He looked so small.

“We found it,” she whispered. “You see anything? Any movement?”

He shook his head. “I might have heard something. Maybe it was a person. I don’t know.”

A person? The hold had seemed empty. Could someone still be alive down here? Could she take the chance to try and help a Keflanian if that meant risking a safe return of the medicine?

Ahiliyah tugged lightly at Creen’s hidey suit. She led him to the alcove where Brandun was tying off the top of her backpack. His overstuffed pack sat at his feet.

“Creen,” Ahiliyah said, “give him your pack.”

Creen did so, then watched, blank-faced, as Brandun shoved bag after bag inside. Brandun tied off the pack, handed it to Creen. Brandun let go, the backpack yanked Creen’s arms down, hit the floor with an audible whump.

Creen shook his head. “I can’t carry this. It’s too heavy.”

“You’ll carry it,” Ahiliyah said. “We don’t have a choice.”

“You don’t seem to understand what the word choice actually means, Liyah,” Creen said. “We do have a choice. We can choose not to weigh ourselves down so bad that we can’t fucking make it home. We can choose to live.”

“People are sick,” Brandun said.

Creen sneered. “Really? People are sick? Really? You big duh…” His voice trailed off, his eyes flicked to Brandun’s big hands. “Sorry. I’m losing it. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Brandun said. “It’s okay, let’s just get home.”

Creen turned to Ahiliyah. “All three of us are so burdened down I doubt we’ll make it back. We need probably half of this to help the people who are sick right now.”

“And what about the people who get sick next?” she said. “Take a look around. The Keflanians are gone. They’re either dead or they’ve been carried off to Black Smoke Mountain. There’s no one here to make more medicine. The demons killed this place—they’re out there, hunting. That means this might be the last medicine there is. We have to take all of it.”

“Even if we do take it all, it’s going to run out eventually.” No arrogance in Creen’s voice, no insult, just a low monotone of dread. “What happens to us then?”

People get sick and they die.

Was that the accurate answer to his question? Maybe, but figuring that out wasn’t her duty—it was the Council’s.

She lifted her backpack, cringing at the thought of carrying that much weight through the mountains. She tried to put it on, staggered a step as she did. Brandun had to help her. Ahiliyah tied her chest straps, wondering if it was her imagination that her legs were already starting to burn.

Favoring his injured arm, Brandun slid into the straps of his backpack, showing far more grace than Ahiliyah had. The bigger boy fastened his straps, tied them tight.

The two of them then stared at Creen. He stared back, anger written across his face.

“I fucking hate you guys,” he said, then, with a grunt, he picked up his backpack and struggled into it. He tried to tie his chest straps, almost fell backward. Brandun steadied him while Ahiliyah tied off the straps. She finished, patted Creen’s chest, took a step back.

The backpack looked bigger than Creen was. “This is gonna suck.” He shrugged his shoulders, testing out the weight. “What now? Can we get out of here?”

They had the medicine. That noise Creen had heard… a survivor, a demon, nothing at all? The choice to run or try and help was hers and hers alone—she wanted to be sick all over again.

“We leave,” she said. “If we find survivors along the way, we help them, but we need to get home as fast as possible.”

They would not look for survivors. All three of them understood the magnitude of her decision. They might be abandoning human beings to a lonely, brutal death. Or worse.

“We should head back to the deck,” Creen said. “We follow the same way we came in. I’m sure the demons have left by now.”

Ahiliyah remembered the sickening sound of talons scratching on the rock. She imagined the demons sitting just outside the door, crouched, waiting…

“If we open that door and they’re still there, we’re dead,” she said.

Brandun bent at the knees, popped up, adjusting the weight of his pack.

“Keflan has a river, just like Lemeth,” he said. “We could try floating out?”

She hadn’t seen the river here. If its current was as violent as the Bitigan River’s back home, she didn’t like their chances. The medicine bags were waxed and waterproofed against rain, but would they hold up while soaking in a roaring river for an hour or more?

“Oh, shit,” Creen said. His face looked ashen. “Keflan has a signaling station.”

Ahiliyah sagged, thinking of all those stairs.

Brandun looked from Creen to her. “What’s a signaling station go to do with it?”

“It’s our way out,” Ahiliyah said. “We go up to the station, climb down the mountain.”

Brandun blinked. “Keflan Mountain is higher than Lemeth. The climb down could kill us.”

“It’s our only choice,” she said. “If we don’t make it back, our people will die. Your mother will die.”

Brandun paused a moment, then nodded. He knew what was at stake. He accepted the responsibility, the coming pain.

Creen glanced down. He started to shake again. “I’m not made for this kind of thing.”

“I’ll help you,” Brandun said. He gripped the smaller boy’s shoulder. “We can do this.”

Tears in his eyes, Creen looked up at Brandun. “I’m sorry I stabbed you.”

“I choked you first.” Brandun shrugged. “I would have stabbed me, too.”

Ahiliyah hoped the boys would remain unified for the coming ordeal.

“We need to find the signal station stairs,” she said. “Let’s go.”

17

Her legs screamed. She was only halfway up, and that was if the Keflan steps were identical to Lemeth’s.

What if there were more?

“I need a rest.” Creen bent at the waist, hands on his knees. “Come on, we have to stop.”

Their heavy breaths sounded far too loud in the tight stairwell. If there were demons above them, there was no way they wouldn’t hear. Ahiliyah leaned against the wall, trying to draw in as much air as she could.

“Move,” Brandun said, his voice a harsh whisper. “Both of you.”

Creen glared at him. “Fuck you.”

Brandun reached out, sank the fingers of his good hand into Creen’s hidey-suit webbing. Brandun continued up the stairs, pulling Creen along.

“Asshole,” Creen hissed, stumbling up the steps. “This is fucking stone, you’re going to make me fall and hurt myself!”

“Then don’t fall,” Brandun said. “You’ll keep your balance better if you move on your own, right?” He stopped long enough for Creen to get his balance back. The smaller boy stared at the bigger one with such hate.

They were at each other’s throats again. Ahiliyah didn’t have the energy to get between them.

“Fuck you, Brandun,” Creen said, then he started up again, one heavy step after another.

Brandun’s chest heaved, but he stood straight and tall. He glared at Ahiliyah.

“Move,” he said. “Or do I have to drag you as well?”

She stared at Brandun with as much hate as Creen had… if not more.

“I’ve never liked you,” she said.

He smiled, wiped sweat from his face, then gestured up the stone stairs.

“After you, oh great leader.”

Ahiliyah pushed off the wall, tried to ignore the fact that her legs wobbled with each step. She continued up the stairs.

* * *

The signal station looked eerily similar to the one in Lemeth Hold, save for a lack of clothes tossed carelessly about. The sun signaler—wood tripod legs folded together—leaned against a corner.

No one home. No demons, no rotting bodies. She could still smell the dead—she feared that stench had sunk into her hidey suit, her backpack.

The sliding stone door that led to the outside was shut and sealed. Beyond that door, Ahiliyah and the others would begin a dangerous, grueling, desperate trip back home.

“Take a break,” she said, untying her backpack and sliding out of it. “We need to stop sweating before we go outside, it’s going to be cold out there.”

Creen didn’t bother taking his off, he just lay down in one of the room’s two beds. Brandun slid out of his pack, walked to the sliding door, put his ear against the stone.

On a table, Ahiliyah saw buckets similar to the ones she and Creen had carried to the Lemeth signaling station a few days before. Inside, some stale bread, a few broken bits of mushroom, some dried rivergrass, half a fish sausage. Broken bits of food had spilled on the table, even on the floor. The buckets looked like someone had grabbed what they could before rushing out.

“We need to eat,” she said, and started dividing up the food.

Creen pinched his nose. “I can’t get the stink of the dead out of my face. I don’t think I could hold down any food.”

Ahiliyah shoved crumbly bread and a chunk of the mushroom into his hands. “This is a brownie shroom, it will help settle your stomach.”

She took a bite of bread, another of the fish sausage. Ahiliyah hated fish sausage, but she needed the little bit of protein. She chewed as she joined Brandun at the stone door.

“Hear anything?”

He pressed his hands to the stone slab, as if he might feel vibrations in addition to hearing them.

“Nothing,” he said. “Wind. Sounds pretty strong, but no sound of a demon that I can tell.”

Which only meant that if there was one out there—one or more—they were sitting still, waiting.

Ahiliyah held out the sausage and bread. Brandun took the food. She gave the boys a few minutes to eat.

“Drink water from their cistern,” she said. “Then fill up your canteens.”

Even the thought of that little bit of extra weight made her want to scream. Her legs hurt.

“Creen, take off your pack,” she said. “You’ll open the door. Brandun, assemble your spear. I’ll be ready with a net. Once we know the way is clear, we’ll put the packs on and start down.”

Brandun screwed his spear together. Ahiliyah pulled a net free from the webbing of her overstuffed backpack, spread her hands, stretching the net wider. Her heart kicked. The net wouldn’t hold a demon for long, but hopefully long enough for Brandun to strike before it ripped free or its burning blood ate through the twine.

Brandun spun his spear—six feet long from butt-spike to spearpoint—and pointed it toward the door. He bent his knees, bounced lightly in place, maybe trying to loosen up his legs.

“Sooner started,” he said, “sooner done.”

Ahiliyah saw fear on his face. Despite it, Brandun was willing to be first in line. Only fifteen years old—was he naturally brave, or was this a result of his early warrior training?

Creen unbolted the door, winced as the mechanism made a metallic squeal. Everyone waited, listening for sounds from outside. There were none but the wind.

He gripped the handle and leaned back, little arms pulling, shaking legs pumping.

Ahiliyah held her breath.

The door slid open.

The night wind rattled papers, scattered crumbs of food. A few flakes of snow whipped around. Cold seeped in as well, instantly chilling her sweat-damp clothes.

The three of them waited—no demon.

Legs still bent, Brandun stepped forward, rear foot touching front, front leg stretching out, never crossing his feet.

Already shivering, Ahiliyah walked out behind him onto the small plateau. The cloud cover had broken. The Three Sisters gleamed down, showing the wide expanse of Lake Lanee. She looked northwest, across the water. The night was so clear that in the distance, silhouetted against the cloudy, star-speckled horizon, she saw the familiar outline of Lemeth Mountain.

So far away…

“Get out your climbing gear,” she said. She wanted to whisper, but she had to speak with volume to be heard over the wind that whipped at her hair and the bush leaves in her hidey suit.

Brandun stepped to the edge of the plateau, leaned out, looked down. “Climbing at night is suicide. Can we wait until morning? Go at first light?”

“Fuck that,” Creen said. “Demons could still be in the hold, they could be coming up for us right now. We have to get the hell out of here.”

Creen was right. If even one demon came up those stairs, there was nowhere to run. Climbing at night was extremely dangerous, true, but Ahiliyah liked her chances on the rock face better than her chances in this dead-end room.

“Get your packs,” she said. “We’re going.”

* * *

Creen was the best climber by far. He led the way down. Any child of Lemeth grew up climbing; scaling rock was second nature to them all, but not in high wind, and not in blowing snow. Ahiliyah guessed their chances of making it down alive at somewhere below fifty percent.

Normally nighttime meant hiding time. Maybe that rule didn’t apply any more. This high up, there wasn’t enough vegetation to hide behind. With the demons moving in the daylight, when the sun rose Ahiliyah and her team would be utterly exposed on the mountainside, visible and unprotected—there was no point in waiting until morning.

They moved down in stages, tying long ropes to their packs and lowering them to a boulder or crack in the rock below. If they made it to the foothills, they’d have to carry the heavy packs, but for now they let gravity do the work. Their hidey suits were heavy, too, but she and the others didn’t dare take those off. If the demons did come their way, the suits might be their only chance at survival.

The trio stayed close enough together that they could communicate with hand signals. No words were spoken. Their ears filled with the sound of the wind that drove snow against mountain walls, that roared off cliff faces, that chilled their sweating bodies.

It took them an hour—a freezing, bitter hour—to descend far enough that they left the snow behind. The vegetation was far from lush, but at least there were enough caminus bushes to provide cover.

Creen was the first to see movement.

He pointed to his eyes, pointed down and east, then tapped his right shoulder: the hide signal.

Ahiliyah scanned her surroundings, then moved toward a single caminus bush voluminous enough to hide her. Only when she was behind it, with a split boulder behind her, did she look for the threat. In the moonslight, perhaps a quarter-mile north and a few hundred yards down, she saw three demons moving in single file.

She sank down between rock face and crimson leaves. Slowly, methodically, she used her little friend to cut fresh branches from the bush. These she wove into her webbing, never taking her eyes off the black beasts.

The boys were nowhere to be seen. Good. She hoped they were well hidden. If they weren’t, she couldn’t help them.

The demons angled closer. The wind and cold didn’t bother them—they moved across the rocks with ease. She’d seen two demons working together before, moving through the night, but never three—how many more might be hunting?

Ahiliyah breathed slowly. In her mind she became part of the bush, rooted to the ground, bending with the wind. Eventually, the demons angled away, and vanished from sight. She wanted to wait, give the killers more time to move on, but there wasn’t time. She stood, gave the hand signal telling her crew to get ready to move on.

Another hour of climbing brought them to the foothills just as the sun broke above the mountains to the east. No more lowering the packs—from here they would have to be carried.

She’d never felt so drained.

Creen waved at her. He flashed the hand signals for rest and hide. Brandun, bent over at the waist with his hands on his knees, nodded in agreement.

They wanted to stop for a while.

So did Ahiliyah. But what she wanted and what had to be done were two different things. She made hand signals of her own: pack up, move out, and on me.

Ignoring their stares, she coiled her ropes and stashed her climbing gear. When she finished, she tried to slide into her backpack, but it was too heavy for her to manage on her own. Brandun had to help her put it on.

Days of hiking to go, yet every muscle already begged for her to stop.

Brandun leaned in close. “We can rest at Dakatera.”

Dakatera’s walls and warmth beckoned, but was that the right choice? Dakatera Hold was two days away, along a route frequented by runners. She’d seen a handful of bodies in Keflan—not the thousands there would have been had most of its people been killed there. The demons had carried many off to Black Smoke Mountain, but thousands?

Ahiliyah had no doubt that survivors would have fled toward Dakatera. On her way to Keflan, she and her crew hadn’t seen any of those survivors heading north, but they’d heard them, heard their screams in the night.

She waved Creen closer. The crew huddled together, their eyes constantly flicking left and right, looking for danger.

“Survivors would have headed north, to Dakatera,” she said. “The demons would have followed them. We need to go east, all the way around Lake Lanee.”

If they made good time, that route would also take four days to reach Lemeth, but the going would be much harder, much less traveled. Her team was already burned out, and she was asking for more of them than any leader should ask of anyone.

Yet it had to be done.

Creen stared at her with pure venom. Brandun stared, too, the fatigue written on his face.

“We don’t know that route,” Creen said. “You want us to go four days with no break?”

Brandun nodded; he understood. “Liyah’s right. We can’t risk going through Dakatera.”

“We need to go through Dakatera,” Creen said. “Just one night in that hold, just one night of real sleep.”

Brandun’s face hardened. “Time for you to grow the fuck up and be a man.”

He walked east.

Creen’s face wrinkled with fear, with worry.

“Please, Liyah—you’re in charge. Tell him to come back. Please.”

She should have been furious with Creen for being so weak, so cowardly, but she wasn’t. She just felt bad for him.

“You can do it,” she said. “I believe in you.”

With that, she started after Brandun.

It took only seconds for Creen to follow.

* * *

She forced them to walk all day long, deciding that they were all better off putting as much distance as they could between themselves and Keflan. Just past noon, they saw another trio of demons—moving in blazing daylight—but the beasts were far enough away that she and her team easily hid, savoring thirty minutes of rest.

Twice they had to break out climbing gear to get across steep ridges. Going down with the overstuffed packs had been hard, but nothing compared to going up. The packs slowed them significantly. When they had to ascend sheer cliff faces, Creen had to climb up, loop a rope around a rock, then she and Brandun had to pull, raising the pack until Creen could grab it and tie it off.

By dusk, they were so cold and weak they were beginning to stumble. She had to slow their pace to avoid a fall or slip that might result in a twisted ankle, or even a broken leg.

Just after sunset, things got even worse—it began to rain.

She pushed them as long as she could. Hidey suits and packs alike were waxed, able to resist the water, but only for so long. Once it started to soak in, the additional weight was too much to bear.

Near the bottom of a ravine, they found a network of abandoned vootervert burrows. A godsend, as they were the best places to hide, and the animals instinctively dug holes that stayed dry even in the worst storms. Ahiliyah chose three that were close to each other, but far enough apart that if one of her team was taken, the other two would likely be left alone.

They layered their nets with sticks, twigs, rotting leaves and even bits of stone—the same material that coated the sides of the ravine—then draped the camouflage over the burrows. The good news: the dens also blocked most of the wind. The bad news: their suits and underclothes were all soaked through, and there would be no warmth that night.

Ahiliyah stood in the rain, watched both of the boys crawl into their dens. She checked their netting, adjusting a stick here, a bit of moss there. In the darkness, the camouflage was perfect—the vootervert holes had simply ceased to exist.

Finally, she crawled into her own hole. She lowered her netting, embraced the darkness. Shivering madly, she gave in to her fatigue.

A few hours of sleep would make everything better.

18

Ahiliyah came awake with no movement, with no sound. Her body felt stiff, but she did not stretch, did not yawn. She simply opened her eyes. Even as she woke, her training taught her to be still—silence is strength.

That training, that discipline, it saved her life.

Through the netting she’d spread over the hole she’d dug, she saw it.

A demon.

Close enough to reach out and touch.

The urge to scream came and went, as did the instinct to run, for to do either was to die.

It crouched next to her, back legs folded, talon-tipped hands flat against the ravine’s muddy, sloping sides. It was listening.

No… it was feeling. Feeling for the vibrations of something moving across the ground.

Ahiliyah took in a slow breath, as slow as she could manage, her mouth open wide. It had to know she was there. It had to. It was less than an arm’s length away.

Kill herself. She had to. She could not be taken, would not be taken. If she reached for her little friend, could she draw the blade and drive it into her neck before the beast crawled in after her, before the toothtongue shot out and broke her?

Breathe in, breathe out, calm, slow, steady. Enough wind out there to mask this tiniest of sounds. If she didn’t move, it wouldn’t feel her.

But… what about her heartbeat?

She was on her back. Her heart…could the demon feel that rhythm in the ground?

Morning light gleamed from his smooth head. The skull was almost translucent. Could she see through it, or was that the play of light and shadows?

The faint odor of moss peeled back from a rock.

She smelled of wet twine and wet caminus leaves—enough to hide her own scent? The cold of her clothes and hidey suit sank into her, reached her bones, made her body start to shiver.

The long head turned, angled right, toward her.

Ahiliyah fought against her shivering, willed her body to stop, to be still.

It knew she was close. It was looking for her, listening for her, feeling for her.

Her body shivered again.

The demon’s left claw slid slightly, moving across the dirt and rock toward her.

She again controlled her shivering, battling against her own body.

The creature stood as still as she was. They were two animals trying to outwait each other.

The demon opened its mouth, let out a low, long hiss.

Ahiliyah felt the deep cold throughout her very being, knew she could hold on no longer, that her next shiver would be her last.

A rattle of a rock rolling down the ravine face. A tiny sound, one she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been trapped in the utter silence of survival. The demon’s blank face snapped left, pointing somewhere down the ravine.

Another rattle, another stone tumbling down the ravine’s side, clattering against rock.

The demon shot forward, out of her sight.

A boy’s scream—Creen.

Footsteps running past her, human footsteps, big feet moving swiftly—Brandun.

In a frozen instant, Ahiliyah knew everything was lost. Creen would die, Brandun would die trying to save Creen—and hundreds of Lemethians would die without the capertine they carried. If she lay there and did not move, if she just breathed, she might survive, she might get at least some of the medicine home.

All she had to do was lie still.

Creen screamed again.

Her crew… her friends.

Before she knew what she was doing, Ahiliyah was up, fingers sliding through the net that had hidden her, ripping it free, bringing it with her as she scrambled out of the burrow and sprinted toward the sound of Creen’s cries.

She saw Brandun’s wide back as he rushed forward, feet splashing ravine mud, his full spear assembled and in hand, and beyond him, a hissing demon reaching into the vootervert hole that hid Creen.

Brandun drove his spear into the demon’s back. The impact knocked the monster to one hip, made it screech in pain, a piercing cry that seemed to fill the ravine. Brandun leaned on the spear, trying to drive it in further, trying to pin the beast to the ground.

Burning blood squirted out in wiggling bursts.

The demon twisted, bent, angled its long head toward Brandun—its hissing mouth opened, the toothtongue lashed out. Brandun ducked left as the small teeth clacked on empty air.

From inside the burrow, Creen screamed in agony.

“Get it off! It burns!”

The demon’s black arm whipped down, snapping the wooden spear staff. The beast scrambled to its feet just as Ahiliyah threw her net—a perfect, spinning throw that spanned it wide just as it landed on the reaching monster. Twine tangled in the talons, hooked on the backsticks. The demon clawed frantically, trying to cut the slack, fibrous threads.

“It burns it burns it burns!”

Brandun spun his spear, held it with both hands. He drove off his back foot in a perfect lunge, jamming the pointed metal spear butt into the demon’s shoulder—black shell cracked.

Burning blood shot out.

Brandun cried out, spun away, left hand holding his right wrist, his right hand smoking, sizzling, bubbling.

The monster fought madly at the net. Its feet tangled and it fell. Talons cut, teeth bit—twine snapped and tore, the net started to come apart. In seconds, the demon would be free.

A bitter cold wind blew with the force of a hurricane, but it wasn’t real, it wasn’t on the surface. Ahiliyah felt this wind inside of her.

Fear vanished—anger remained.

A weapon… she needed a weapon. There it was, to her right, half-embedded in the muddy ravine wall—a jagged chunk of rock, as long as her forearm.

The demon squealed and hissed.

Net strings snapped.

Creen screamed.

Brandun whimpered.

Ahiliyah’s fingers slid into dirt and mud. On the first pull, she wrenched the jagged rock free. Feeling the weight, she turned to face the monster.

The demon ripped the net in two, casting part of it aside, fighting at the other half still hooked between hands and back spikes.

Two strides took Ahiliyah past Brandun—the third brought her to the demon.

As Ahiliyah raised the stone above her head, the demon’s long head turned toward her—black lips curled back from jagged teeth, lethal jaws opened. With all that she was, with every ounce of strength in her being, Ahiliyah Cooper drove the rock downward.

The sharp stone point punched into the top of the demon’s smooth head, penetrated the hard shell with a satisfying crunch. The skull seemed to fold in on itself, blank face still pointed up at her, curved back end angling up and away.

She felt her hands burning. She didn’t care.

“I’ll kill you,” she said, her voice a throat-ripping roar of rage that sounded strange to her own ears. “I will kill all of you.”

The demon hissed and screeched at the same time. The mouth opened wider—inside, Ahiliyah saw the toothtongue flex, jut forward, but not far enough to get beyond the curled black lips. The rock’s point must have pinned it, or broken it. The demon sagged, fell to its side, broken head thumping against the ravine wall, blood spilling out onto the dirt and rock.

It last sound was a hiss so soft it sounded like distant music.

Ahiliyah smelled her own burning flesh.

She looked at her hands. Wisps of smoke rose up from her hidey suit, from the caminus leaves, from her skin beneath. The crimson leaves… spots of grey on them, puffy and powdery. Not quite ash but… something else.

Creen’s cries of pain brought her back. She turned to him, still mostly hidden in the burrow beneath his camouflage net. Ahiliyah drew her little friend. Leaves rattled as she sliced at the twine. Spots of powdery grey where the demon’s blood had splashed against flat crimson.

Beneath the net, Creen lay flat and shaking, his hands held in front of him like clutching claws, his eyes wide with terror. Curls of smoke rose up from his hidey suit—a great gout of demon blood had splashed his chest. Tiny yellow-red spots on his face where his skin bubbled.

“Help me,” he said. “It burns!”

Ahiliyah glanced back at Brandun; he was sitting on his butt, staring at the thin smoke rising up from his hidey-suit-covered hand.

She turned back to Creen. Visions of her grandfather, slicing away Sinesh’s ruined flesh.

Ahiliyah hauled Creen out of the burrow. She pulled at the chest of his suit, used her little friend to slice through the strands. If the acid had burned through to his chest and belly, he was as good as dead. She had to cut away any bubbling flesh before it was too late.

The stench of scorched leaves and cooking skin filled her nose and mouth, sank deep into her lungs. Creen panicked, started to fight her, to claw at her.

She elbowed him in the mouth.

He sagged back, stunned.

Ahiliyah cut his suit down the middle, from his collar to his navel. She sheathed the blade, then yanked his suit apart, exposing the undershirt beneath.

She stared, confused, at a dozen small holes burned through the shirt. The way his hidey-suit had been smoking… how could there only be a few small holes?

Ahiliyah slid the shirt up Creen’s chest. A dozen yellow-red dots on his skin, some still bubbling slightly, but they were minor—none big enough to threaten his life. She’d expected to see hideous wounds, sizzling muscle, even exposed bone.

A low moan from Brandun.

Ahiliyah turned, saw him still sitting there, still staring at his hand.

The bush leaves…

She ripped free handfuls of bush leaves from the legs of Creen’s hidey suit. She stumbled to Brandun, dropped the leaves at his muddy knees, then sliced at the netting covering his hand.

“Liyah,” he said, his voice a thin, distant thing, “Liyah, I—

“Shut up.” She exposed his hand—much worse than Creen’s chest, Brandun’s skin bubbled, dripping rivulets of yellow-red to splash into the mud. Ahiliyah grabbed the handfuls of leaves and pressed them hard against his injured hand.

He came back to his senses in an instant, shoved her away so hard she fell onto Creen.

Brandun looked at her with unhidden fury, with pure hate… then that expression faded. He looked at his hand. It still smoked. Half the skin had been eaten away.

But the bubbling had stopped.

Brandun stared at it, then at Ahiliyah, his mouth open.

“How—” he glanced at his hand, then back to her “—how did you stop the burning?”

How? She didn’t know. There wasn’t time to figure it out. She had seen the demons working in packs—she had to get her crew out of there.

Ahiliyah sheathed her little friend. She grabbed Creen, shook him.

“Creen, get up.”

He blinked slowly, perhaps not really seeing her. There wasn’t time for this—Ahiliyah slapped him. He blinked faster. She slapped him again, harder.

Creen shoved at her, tried to sit up. “Fucking stop it, you psycho bitch!”

She leaned in, covered his mouth with her hand.

“Be quiet,” she said. “Get your pack on, we’re moving out.”

Ahiliyah pulled her hand from his mouth, kept it close in case he shouted again.

Tears formed in his eyes. “I’m wounded, I can’t carry—”

She drew her hand back, threatening to slap him again.

Creen winced, pushed away from her. “I’m moving, all right? I’m moving.”

She rushed to Brandun’s side. “Can you walk?”

Still staring at his mangled hand, he nodded.

“Get your pack,” Ahiliyah said. “There could be more of them.”

Without a word, he stood on wobbling legs, jogged to his hiding spot, his burned hand held close to his chest. She started toward her own burrow, to get her own pack, but something stopped her. She turned to look at the demon.

Head caved in… yellowish blood spreading across the ravine bottom, sending up tendrils of acrid smoke. It was dead.

Ahiliyah walked to the unmoving beast. She stared down at it. Had this been someone she’d known? Vanessa Peters? A runner from another hold?

This close, looking at the dead body… no, no it couldn’t be a person. The legends were wrong—Creen was right. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she knew.

She put her foot on the broken head. She reached down—careful that her backpack didn’t send her tumbling to the side—and gripped the rock still sticking out of the demon’s head. She yanked; it came free with a squelch.

A rock. Not a magic weapon. Not a blessed blade. Just a normal, everyday rock. She set it down, carefully, so as not to make more vibrations in the ground. She drew her little friend.

Foot still on the demon’s head, that dark feeling of rage swirling in her chest and belly, Ahiliyah reached into the demon’s mouth. She grabbed the toothtongue and pulled. It resisted. With her other hand, she slid in her blade, angled it as far back as she could.

She cut, back and forth, slicing like a saw.

The toothtongue resisted. Cutting through the hard skin was like trying to punch through fergle shell. Instead of sawing, she started jabbing, driving the blade tip through the toothtongue—she heard and felt the shell give way with a satisfying crunch. With the shell broken, the knife sliced away at what lay beneath. Smoke and stink rose up—Ahiliyah realized the demon blood was melting her blade.

She yanked, felt something unseen give, but only partway. She leaned harder on the head, her foot pushing the broken skull into the mud, and she yanked again—she stumbled backward, the severed toothtongue in her grip.

Demon blood spilled on the leaves of her glove. She stared, stunned, knowing the burning would begin, knowing her skin would bubble. She felt the heat rise, instant and fast.

And then, nothing.

Coming to her senses, she wiped her gloves against the ravine’s dirt wall. She stared through the leaves that had turned from crimson to grey ash, stared through the strands, examined areas of exposed skin—red welts rising up, painful, demanding.

But no smoke. No bubbling flesh. What was happening?

She realized anew what she was held in that hand—a toothtongue. She had killed a demon.

From somewhere in the mountains, a demon’s screech echoed off stone.

Ahiliyah shook the toothtongue, splashing out the last of the burning blood. She pulled leaves from her suit, packed them into the pocket where she usually carried candy, then shoved her trophy in after them.

One last look at the dead demon. It was the first one she’d killed—it would not be the last.

Creen was waiting. Brandun had his pack on, had hers leaning against his leg. With his uninjured hand, he helped her into it. She tied it tight, and they headed for home.

19

They spent the next two days marching in silence. Creen didn’t say a word, a strange development, but Ahiliyah thought she understood. She didn’t talk much, either, and on a run Brandun never started a conversation. Although, the big boy seemed gloomier than normal; perhaps the close call with death and the constant pain from his burns had got to him. Regardless, all three of them kept their focus on taking one step at a time, at making sure they got home—both to deliver the critical medicine, and to report on their strange discovery.

Hiking through the mountains, Lake Lanee to their left, they made good time. They saw no more demons. Ahiliyah drove her crew as hard as she dared, even considered marching through the night, but the weight of the packs made periodic rest imperative. They fell into their normal pattern, pushing hard through the day, sleeping at night.

Had demons learned that runners liked to hide in vootervert burrows? Maybe that was how the six Dakateran runners had been lost, so she avoided the burrows, opting instead for sleeping in thick patches of caminus bush. That made for frigid nights, but the beasts were too big to slip through the cover unheard—shivering from the cold was better than hiding in a hole, wondering when black hands would reach in to drag you out.

As sun set on the third day, they were only four or five hours from Lemeth. She thought about pushing through the night to reach home, but decided against it. Creen stumbled more than he walked. Ahiliyah fared little better—her legs either ached so badly she nearly cried, or they felt numb. Brandun, injuries and all, seemed tireless.

They found a caminus bush patch that ran right up to an overhanging ledge of stone, giving the crew shelter from a light drizzle and protecting them from one side. They’d no sooner cleared out a small area in the center and strung nets threaded with caminus leaves than Creen crawled under his net and curled up into a fetal ball.

Despite her own utter exhaustion, Ahiliyah could not sleep. Neither, apparently, could Brandun. He sat down next to her. He pulled off his hidey suit glove, kept looking at his wounded hand. Even in the moonslight, she saw the dark blood spots on his bandages.

“Can you move your fingers?”

He wiggled them, then made a fist. “Well enough, I suppose.”

“Does it hurt?”

He nodded. “Feels like it’s on fire. Has since we killed it.”

Ahiliyah reached to her neck, pulled loose a biting getum bug. “That was two days ago. You haven’t complained once.”

“It’s only pain,” Brandun said. “It won’t stop me.”

Ahiliyah thought of Letar Haines, not telling anyone how sick he was, staying at his job until he was beyond help. That was the Lemethian way—work hard, don’t stop, don’t complain.

“It’s all right if it hurts, you know,” she said. “You can tell me.”

He shrugged. “If talking about pain won’t make it go away, why talk about it?”

Brandun wiggled his fingers once more, then slid his hand back into the glove.

Ahiliyah reached into a suit pocket, pulled out the toothtongue, examined it. Had it been soft before? Flexible? She wasn’t sure. It had all happened so fast. Now it was a rigid thing, stiff as a board, far lighter than it looked.

A trophy. The greatest prize her people knew.

“You should be a warrior,” Brandun said. “I know you want to be one.”

She snapped a look at him, hating him for teasing. He wouldn’t look at her. Instead, he stared straight at the ground.

“That’s ridiculous,” Ahiliyah said. “Who told you I wanted to be a warrior?”

“I’m dumb about most things, Liya, but not all things.”

Blank-faced Brandun. Quiet Brandun. Creen called him stupid more often than not, but could a stupid person see through her so well?

“Well, I don’t want to move to Dakatera or Takanta,” she said. “So there’s no point in me wanting to be a warrior, right?”

“You killed a demon.” He couldn’t hide his mood, which seemed darker than the night. “Only three people alive in Lemeth have done that. You’re one of them.”

Sinesh, Tinat… and her.

Ahiliyah turned the toothtongue in her hands, feeling its ridges, the strange squarish shape. So light—strange to think these tiny teeth could punch through human skin and bone.

“Lemethian women can’t be warriors. Those are the rules.”

Brandun shrugged. “Then change the rules. You killed a demon.”

He made it sound so easy. He had no idea. He was fifteen—when he was older, he’d better understand how Lemeth worked.

You killed a demon.

But… had she? At first she’d thought this trophy was a symbol of her bravery. Now, holding it, she realized it was a symbol of cowardice. She wasn’t the brave one—Brandun was. If he hadn’t attacked the demon, she knew in her heart that she would have stayed in her burrow, cowering. She would have let Creen die.

That’s what the mantras and Aiko’s training dictated: a hidden runner stays hidden, even if another runner is in danger. That was why they traveled in threes, in the hopes that at least one would make it back. Ahiliyah been taught to stay quiet—that silence is strength—for so long she’d accepted it as fact. She wouldn’t have helped Creen. Leave it to a fifteen-year-old to show more bravery than she ever dreamed possible.

Ahiliyah held the toothtongue out to him. “Take it. Creen would be dead if not for you.”

Brandun’s thick head turned, slowly. He looked at the offered trophy, but didn’t take it.

“You killed it, Liyah,” He sounded… angry? “You’re the fucking hero. Not me.”

Hero. She finally understood his mood. He was bitter that she’d delivered the final blow? He could see through her, but they’d spent enough time together that she could do the same—when she actually cared enough to try.

She felt her face flush hot, felt shame overwhelm her. She glanced at Creen, who slept, unmoving, beneath his leaf-lined net.

“I wouldn’t have moved,” she said, her voice a hollow shell. “I wouldn’t have saved him.”

Brandun shrugged. “That is what Aiko trained you to do, is it not?”

“That’s what I trained you to do, too. But you didn’t hide. You were brave. You fought.”

He huffed. “Which was pretty stupid, right? A real dumbdun move.”

He was trying to be modest about it now? How infuriating.

Ahiliyah tossed the toothtongue into his lap. “Take it. If it wasn’t for you, Creen would be dead. Take it. That’s an order.”

Brandun picked it up, looked at it. A sliver of moonslight gleamed from the teeth, tiny parallel reflections winking in the night. He set the toothtongue in his lap, reached into his hidey suit, drew his little friend. With the tip, he punched holes in the sides of the toothtongue, near the ragged base where Liyah had cut it free of the beast.

“The run is more important than the runner,” he said. “You taught me that. Right?"

She said nothing.

From another pocket, Brandun drew a bit of twine. He slid one end through the holes he’d just made, his wounded hand making the movement awkward. He tied the two ends together.

“You said I was brave for trying to save Creen,” he said. “Then you saved me. So what does that make you?”

Again, she said nothing. It was bad enough that this fifteen-year-old boy had shown more courage than she ever could, and now he had to rub it in?

Brandun held up the necklace. The toothtongue swung slightly on the end of the string.

“I know I’m not smart like Creen,” he said. “But I’m good with the spear and shield. Real good. In training drills, I can already beat everyone except Drasko and Leonitos. Tinat says I’ll be able to beat them soon. I know I’m strong for my size, faster than most, but I win because I put in more practice time than anyone else. I work harder than anyone else. Do you know why I do that?”

She shook her head. The toothtongue swung out, then back, almost hypnotic in its rhythm.

“Because I want to be a hero for our people,” he said. “Ever since I can remember, that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. I want people to write poems about me. Things are so bad right now… we need heroes. When my chance came to be one, I failed. You did not.”

His words held her, made her feel like he was talking about someone else—but he wasn’t. Brandun clumsily hung the toothtongue necklace around Ahiliyah’s neck.

“You saved my life,” he said. “You killed a demon. You didn’t hit it from a distance with crossbow bolts, then wait for it to die, like Tinat did—you smashed its head in with a fucking rock. No one has ever done that before. Someday they’ll write poems about you. Not me… you.”

She lifted the toothtongue, looked at it. Black and gnarled, yes, but the regular pattern of ridges down its length spoke to a certain beauty of order. The teeth gleamed like jewels.

A toothtongue. Hers. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, yet here it was.

“Thank you,” she said.

Brandun shrugged. He looked at his gloved hand, wiggled his fingers. He winced.

Ahiliyah reached into a pocket, felt for and found the twisted, thumbnail-sized knot of Lisa’s root. She offered it to Brandun.

“For the pain,” she said.

He stiffened. “I can handle it.”

God, but he was stubborn. “For your breath, then, because it smells like vootervert ass.”

At any other time, he would have laughed. Boys loved such humor. Now, though, it seemed as if laughing were a thing he didn’t remember how to do.

He took the root, popped it into his mouth, and chewed.

They sat in silence for a moment. He again looked at his hand—his eyes were already dilated, black as demonskin.

“Liyah, how come no one told us that the bush leaves stopped the burning?”

The same question she’d thought about for the last two days. “I guess they didn’t know.”

That answer seemed obvious, but also impossible. Crews had been running for over sixty years, since shortly after the Rising when people fled to the abandoned mountain holds. Maybe warriors didn’t march out to battle demons anymore, but in Sinesh’s time, they had. How could thousands of people, battling nonstop against a deadly enemy, not discover that one of the most plentiful plants in the mountains could help that fight?

Maybe because warriors didn’t cover themselves in caminus leaves—only runners did. And maybe because no runner had survived contact with a demon before.

“This changes things,” she said. “Maybe the leaves are a weapon against the demons.”

Brandun’s head fell forward. He jerked it up, tried to open his eyes wide, but could not—the root was already taking effect.

“It’s not a weapon,” he said, slurring his words slightly. “It’s only good if we live long enough to fix our wounds in the first place. Good thing there was only one of them. If the three we saw near Keflan attacked as a team, all the bush leaves in the world wouldn’t help.”

Ahiliyah thought of Brandun’s perfect spear thrust, then the follow-up blow with the butt-spike. The demon had fought on despite wounds that would have killed any human.

Brandun crawled to his netting, stretched tight between the bushes. He slid under it, his boots sticking out slightly. He stopped moving, already asleep.

Ahiliyah crawled to him, gently pushed his feet underneath so they could not be seen.

“Sleep well,” she whispered, then crawled beneath her own net. Would death come for them in the dark, just as it had two nights ago?

Ahiliyah touched her trophy. Her fingertips explored the toothtongue’s ridges. Feeling it, holding it… it made her feel better, made her realize, truly realize, that demons could be killed.

She’d killed one. Could she kill more?

Brandun was right—the leaves weren’t a weapon. And that was what Ahiliyah’s people needed, what all people of Ataegina needed: a new weapon.

When she returned to Lemeth, she was going to find one.

20

Everything felt different.

The same Lemeth corridors, many of the same people packed in tightly, there to welcome a crew of runners who had finally returned home.

But this time, no loud cheers. No flowers. No shouted questions. Just stares.

As Ahiliyah walked past, the people of Lemeth Hold couldn’t look away from her toothtongue necklace.

“Nice fucking welcome,” Creen said. “What’s the matter, you people never seen a demon-killer before?”

It was the first time he’d spoken a word since he’d been attacked. No one answered.

People had seen demon-killers, of course—but there hadn’t been a new one in years.

Callow Winden stepped out from the crowd that packed against the wall, blocked Ahiliyah’s path with his burly fisherman’s body. He’d finished his five runs. His sons Abrams and Duvall—teenagers both due to soon start running—stood close by, watching.

“Everyone thought you were dead,” Callow said. “Dakatera signaled with news that Keflan Hold had fallen. Dakatera took in hundreds of refugees. The refugees said they were hunted all the way there. The death toll is in the hundreds.”

Ahiliyah felt Brandun’s big hand on her shoulder.

“You were right to take us the long way,” he said.

Ahiliyah had thought everyone was quiet because they were shocked by her toothtongue necklace. Maybe they were, but that wasn’t the main reason for this cold welcome—the Lemethians were scared.

Farther down the hall, big bodies pushed through the crowd. Rinik Brennus and Shalim Aniketos, flanking Doctor Talbot. The doctor came forward, threw his arms around Ahiliyah.

“Liyah! We thought you were gone.”

She hugged him back. “We made it—and we brought medicine.”

He stepped back. “How much?”

Ahiliyah shrugged off the heavy backpack, set it at the doctor’s feet. Brandun and Creen did the same. Without the constant weight, she suddenly felt like she could float away.

Talbot stared at the three overstuffed packs. “Those are full? Of capertine powder?”

“You bet your sweaty balls they are,” Creen said. “Get to work, Doc.”

Talbot opened up the top of Liyah’s pack, stared inside. “It’s a miracle.” He looked up to Rinik and Aniketos. “Bring the rest.”

Neither guardsman argued. They each took a pack. Ahiliyah felt an odd sense of satisfaction when Rinik stumbled shouldering the same pack Brandun had carried for four days.

“The Council wants to see you,” Rinik said. “All of you. Right now.”

He and Aniketos followed Talbot down the corridor.

The crowd remained frozen for a moment, then the people found their voices—the questions came like an avalanche. Ahiliyah’s pride in her achievement shattered under desperate questions about loved ones who had lived in Keflan, about the demon attack, if Lemeth was in danger… if all of Ataegina was about to fall.

People pushed closer to her, surrounded her from all sides. She wasn’t used to that kind of crowding—she turned left, then right, looking for a way out.

For an instant, a dark, horrifying instant, the packed crowed turned pitch-black, their words became hisses, and their mouths filled with metallic teeth.

“Back the fuck up!” Creen pushed in and shoved a man twice his size. He kicked another man in the shin. The man yelped, hopped on one foot than reached for Creen—Brandun stepped between them.

“Don’t touch him,” Brandun said.

The man—who was a man again, not a demon, and Ahiliyah knew it was Armando Sanyan—took a limping step back. Armando was bigger than Brandun, but the teenager’s body language left no doubt who would fight harder.

Yuzuki Xavi pushed through the crowd. “Brandun, your ma is sick. She’s in the hospital.”

Brandun strode through the crowd, roughly pushing past anyone who didn’t get out of his way fast enough. Ahiliyah started after him—Creen grabbed her wrist.

“The Council,” he said. “We’ll check in with Brandun after.”

They rushed through the crowd, following in Brandun’s wake, ignoring all the questions thrown at their backs.

21

They walked past the training pit.

There were only four warriors down on the sand: Will Pankour, Leonitos Lamech, Farid Nemensalter, and Andan Gisilfred. Four warriors, and one “demon”—Ahiliyah assumed it was the tall Benji Johnson, once again wearing the black skin.

The four men—and the demon, perhaps—stared up at Ahiliyah. She knew they were staring at her toothtongue.

Will and Leonitos looked as if they were watching a ghost stroll along the walkway, as if they couldn’t believe what they saw. Farid pressed his fist to his sternum. He smiled at her, a strange, small smile. It was an expression she’d rarely seen on a warrior’s face, at least when looking at her—an expression of respect.

Andan showed neither respect nor disbelief. He glared at her. He looked… jealous.

Ahiliyah and Creen headed for the Margrave’s Chamber, leaving the training pit behind.

* * *

When she’d first come to council meetings as one of Aiko’s new runners, the councilmen had acted as if Ahiliyah were beneath them, like she was a nuisance rather than an asset to the hold. That had improved slightly when she completed her first run as a team leader, improved even more when she became a slash, but it was nothing compared to how they looked at her now.

Now that she wore a toothtongue.

Ahiliyah stood at the table’s edge, Creen a step behind her and a step to her left. The Council wanted Brandun there as well. Ahiliyah had told them he’d gone to see his mother. They’d sent Thesil Akana to fetch him.

“We got within a few kilometers of home last night,” Ahiliyah said, finishing her report. “We didn’t want to take a chance that they might be hunting us in the dark, so we camped, then came first thing this morning. We gave Doctor Talbot the medicine, then came right here.”

She didn’t like most of the councilmen, but knew they were all smart men. It was clear they understood that things had changed. They tried to hide their fear, but she saw it plain as day.

“Keflan will recover,” Councilman Jung said. “I have faith in God. When this dies down, God will see fit to bring the surviving Keflanians back to their hold.”

When this dies down? She wanted to ask if he really understood what had happened, but this wasn’t the time to show disrespect—either intentional or accidental.

“You killed a demon,” Councilman Tinat said. He absently played with the two toothtongues hanging from his neck, still faintly glowing from river water. “That makes you part of a very”—he glanced at Poller, Balden and Jung—“very special group.”

Special indeed. Her, Tinat and Sinesh, the only living demon-killers.

“The information from Dakatera is spotty,” Councilman Poller said. “Their signaled reports have been somewhat conflicting. They say they have taken in five hundred Keflanian refugees, and they think another two hundred may have fled to Jantal. Keflan’s last census report put the hold’s population at thirteen hundred. That means some six hundred people were killed or are still on the surface, hiding.”

“Or were taken to Black Smoke Mountain,” Ahiliyah said. “We didn’t see that many bodies in Keflan Hold, but we didn’t explore it, either. We found the mold farm, got the capertine powder, and left as fast as we could.”

Thirteen hundred people. More than a third of Lemeth’s population, dead or forced to flee from their homes. Keflan was—or had been—the smallest hold on Ataegina. If the demons got inside one of the bigger holds, the horror would be far worse.

“Our brothers and sisters perished,” the Margrave said. He shook his head. “A tragic loss.”

“Tragic,” Poller said.

Balden nodded. “Tragic indeed.”

Had it been just a few days earlier that Poller and Balden had accused Keflan of holding out, of unfair bartering? They’d been right. Keflan had been lying about their stockpiles of capertine powder. If not for her crew’s run, more Lemethians would have died because of that lie.

How could people be that selfish? How could they think their own needs and wants were more important than the very lives of others?

Councilman Poller cleared his throat. “There is one other thing the Dakaterans signaled—they say they don’t have enough food. They are asking us to take some refugees.”

The Margrave raised an eyebrow. “How many is some?”

“Half,” Poller said.

Jung gasped. “Two hundred and fifty? Impossible! We can barely feed our own people as it is!”

Tinat leaned forward on the table. “Councilman Jung, Dakatera can’t shoulder the entire burden alone. How are they going to feed the refugees? Where are they going to put them?”

Jung threw a hand in the air, as if to bat away the statement. “Then Dakatera can send them elsewhere. Those blasphemers in Biseth have more than enough room.”

Tinat stood, reached out to the model of Ataegina. He tapped the flag of Dakatera, then Lemeth, then Biseth.

“Lemeth is on the way to Biseth,” he said. “The Keflanians lost their home, saw their loved ones murdered. You can’t expect them all to make the journey directly from Dakatera to Biseth.”

“That’s better than bringing them here,” Balden said. “Because we certainly can’t feed them. Besides, if we let them in here, who’s to say they’ll leave at all?”

Tinat’s face flushed red. “You bunch of sniveling, selfish—”

“Enough,” the Margrave said. “We will take the status of the refugees into consideration. It is not a decision to be made this second.”

Tinat seemed to want to argue, seemed to think the better of it. He sat down.

“Now, Ahiliyah,” the Margrave said, “did you see anything else?”

“We did.” She glanced at the mountain range on the table, her eye drawn to where Tinat had tapped his fingertip. “We found out that… that…”

Keflan. Where it sat on the map… closest to Black Smoke Mountain.

Where the Demon Mother supposedly lived.

It wasn’t a straight-line path, but the ridge of the mountains led from the tall peak of Black Smoke Mountain, to Keflan, to Dakatera…

… to Lemeth.

“Ahiliyah?”

She came back to the moment. The councilmen were staring at her, waiting.

“Um… sorry, I got distracted.”

The Margrave nodded. “You have been through much, runner. Tell us what you found.”

Keflan, then Dakatera, then Lemeth. Her stomach churned. She felt panicky, an echo of what she’d felt when she woke up with a demon just on the other side of her netting.

“The caminus leaves,” she said. “They stopped the burning blood from burning.”

Councilman Jung huffed. “That’s ridiculous. Have you been eating red moss?”

“It’s true,” Creen said. He stepped forward, stood shoulder to shoulder with Ahiliyah. He pointed to the small holes in his shirt. “See these?” He lifted the shirt, showing his wounds. “When Brandun stabbed the demon, burning blood splattered all over me. My hidey suit was covered in caminus leaves. If it hadn't been, the blood would have burned right through.”

Jung and the others still seemed doubtful. They traded glances.

Tinat stood again. “Those wounds are small, so it must have been a small splatter of blood.” He reached up, absently, held his toothtongues. “Is that right, Creen? A small amount hit you? And from a distance?”

“The demon was as close to me as Ahiliyah is right now.” Creen lowered his shirt, hiding his wounds, but the holes in the fabric were impossible to miss. “Demon blood poured down on me. I smelled my own skin cooking, I…”

He started to shake.

Ahiliyah put her arm around his shoulder. She saw Tinat, his fingertips tracing the scars on his face.

Creen looked down at the floor. He began to cry.

“Fuck this,” he said, wiping at his eyes with the backs of his hands. “Fuck all of this.”

Tinat pressed his fist against his chest. “There is no shame in crying.” He looked like he might cry himself. “Not after what you went through. You are braver than most men in this hold.” His eyes caught Ahiliyah’s. “Excuse me, most people.”

The scarred councilman’s expression hardened. He leaned forward, fists pressing against the map table, his burning gaze fixing on the other men in turn, even on the Margrave.

“None of you know what it’s like to face a demon,” he said. “I do. Ahiliyah Cooper does. Creen Dinashin does. If he says he’s alive because of the leaves, then I believe him. We must study this. We must find out why this happens.”

Jung dismissed the thought with a wave. “They are children and they got lucky.” He glanced at Ahiliyah. “Not to diminish the fact that you killed one, that is to be lauded, but to think that caminus leaves somehow counteract the burning blood? Those leaves are everywhere. How could we not have known this before?”

“Perhaps someone did know,” Tinat said. “Perhaps someone saw this during the Rising, but didn’t survive long enough to share it. Four hundred thousand people died in those two years, Jung. We lost more knowledge than we will ever understand.”

The Margrave laced his fingers together, bowed his head, either praying or pretending to pray. The room waited for him to speak.

“I agree, this needs to be studied.” He looked up. “But considering how many people are sick right now, our doctors will be very busy for some time to come. And we have to deal with Dakatera’s request to help with refugees. The study of the leaves must wait.”

“It can’t wait,” Creen said, still fighting his sobs, wiping snot from his nose. “I can do it.”

Jung regarded Creen as if he were a gish that had suddenly started reciting poetry.

“He’s a boy,” the councilman said. “What can he know—?”

The Margrave held up a hand, cutting Jung off. Aulus Darby stared at Creen. The boy didn’t look away. He wiped away the last of his tears, then puffed up his chest, jutted out his burn-dotted chin and stared right back.

“I know I’m young, Margrave, but I would be lying if I said I’m not the smartest person in the hold—and lying is a sin.”

All around the table, eyebrows rose.

“Smartest person in the hold,” the Margrave said, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “Smarter than me?”

Ahiliyah cringed at the question. She expected Creen to backpedal, to make some fawning excuse, but—as usual—the boy surprised her.

“Yes. Even you.” Not a hint of hesitation or doubt in Creen’s voice.

“So arrogant,” Balden said, frowning. “You dare to insinuate that you have more wisdom than our Margrave?”

Creen glared at Balden. “Wisdom and intelligence are not the same thing, Councilman. I would think someone in your position would be—pardon the timing of this expression—fucking smart enough to know the difference.”

The councilmen laughed. All but Balden, who was so angry he literally bit his lip to stop himself from saying something else.

Tinat slapped the table, smiled wide. “This boy is bold. If only he were big enough to be a warrior, we can always use courage like this. Margrave, why not let him try?”

“Creen is an experienced runner,” Balden said, raising a finger in objection. “With Keflan destroyed, we will need our runners to go further and more frequently than before. We need our runners to be running, now more than ever.”

The Margrave nodded.

“That is a good point,” he said. “However, we do not have anyone else who would have the intelligence and the available time to study the leaves. Let’s not be coy—we all know the boy is smart.” He smiled at Creen, warmth in his eyes. “Young man, you will have your chance to prove you’re as brilliant as you claim, but only if your crew leader allows it. You may be smarter than me, but I’ve enough wisdom not to break up a good team if doing so will cause problems.”

Creen turned to Ahiliyah, a desperate look on his burn-spotted face. The boy had come so close to dying, or to being carried away to Black Smoke Mountain. He’d made four runs. He’d done his part. She couldn’t bring herself to make him do one more.

“Creen should study the leaves,” Ahiliyah said. “I will miss him on runs, but the hold needs him in a different way now.”

Creen smiled. A genuine, heartfelt smile. It made him look like a different person.

“Very well,” the Margrave said. “Creen, can you make a list of what you might need?”

“A demon,” Creen said instantly. “I need a demon.”

Tinat slapped the table again, roared with laughter. “These are dark times, but this boy’s sense of humor is a wonderful reprieve.”

Tinat thought Creen was joking.

Ahiliyah knew better.

22

People packed into the training pit bleachers. More people even than when Mari had been executed. The Margrave had called for the assembly—he would tell the people what happened in Keflan, and what Lemeth was going to do in response.

Liyah wove through crowd, looking for her crew. She hadn’t seen Brandun since they’d got back the day before. She’d heard Cadence was recovering, though—the capertine powder they’d brought back had saved her life.

She saw Creen sitting at the rail, his feet dangling over the training pit wall. He had his hand pressed down on the empty space to his right; he glared at anyone who tried to sit there.

“Hey, Smartest Man In The Hold,” she said. “That seat taken?”

He glanced up, pulled his hand away. “Saved it for you.”

“Thanks.” She sat, appreciative of the front-row view. “Make space for Brandun, too.”

“Oh, he’s too important to sit with the likes of us.”

Creen pointed across the pit. Brandun sat in the bleachers with the warriors, fresh, clean bandages on his hand. He was almost as big as most of the warriors, even bigger than a few. The older men laughed with him, thumped him on the back, treated him like he was one of their own.

Ahiliyah felt a stab of jealousy.

“Forget him,” Creen said quietly. “You should be the next warrior, like you want.”

Ahiliyah’s head snapped toward Creen. “Did Brandun tell you that?”

“He didn’t tell me anything. He doesn’t need to. It’s obvious.”

She stared at the side of his face, at the small burn scabs that would soon become scars.

“What you do mean, it’s obvious?”

Finally, he looked at her. “You and Sinesh play those miniature war games all the time. When you’re in phalanx training, you try so hard, like it’s the real thing. I see the way you look at the warriors when they’re in the pit. And I saw the way you looked at Brandun just now.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. Creen knew her this well? She’d told her deepest desire only to Brandun and the Margrave. She hadn’t even told Tolio. Her boyfriend had no idea, yet Creen knew without her saying a word.

The pit doors opened, saving Ahiliyah any need to respond. The Margrave walked across the sand, his purple robes flaring, Rinik Brennus and Drasko at his sides. The three men stopped in the middle of the pit.

The crowed hushed.

“You’ve all heard the rumors floating through our corridors,” the Margrave said, his voice booming off the stone walls and arched ceiling. “Here is the truth—Keflan Hold has fallen.”

The large room remained eerily still. The Margrave slowly turned in place, letting everyone see his face. He looked sad, but not afraid.

“This is a tragedy,” he said. “Hundreds of our brothers and sisters are dead, or have been lost to the demons. Why did this happen? We can only guess. Perhaps they forgot the need to stay hidden. Perhaps they forgot the need to stay quiet. Perhaps too many of them wandered into the valley to collect fruit, forgetting the trials that God has put before us.”

Creen leaned close, whispered. “The fuck is he talking about? They were hiding, like us.”

Ahiliyah shushed him.

“Perhaps,” the Margrave said, “they stopped listening to their leaders, to the very people who kept them safe. Perhaps it was their strange religion, an affront to God’s clear instructions. Perhaps it was all of these things.”

He blamed the Keflanians? That didn’t make sense. Demons didn’t pick and choose, they killed whoever they saw.

The Margrave paused. He looked down at the sand. He stayed still for a few moments. The audience barely breathed. Finally, he looked up, started turning in a circle again.

“Yes, this is a tragedy, but it is also a lesson. We must stay hidden. We must obey the rules of the hold. We must follow the teachings of God. If we do not, if any of us do not, then we might well wind up like Hibernia. Like Pendaran… like Keflan.”

He gestured toward the pit doors. Preacher Tumalo Ramirus stepped out, his black robes dragging on the sand. He strode forward, stood shoulder to shoulder with the Margrave.

“Let us pray,” Tumalo said.

He dropped to one knee. So did the Margrave. A rustle from the crowd as people bowed their heads. Ahiliyah glanced at Creen—he stared straight ahead, a fierce look on his face.

She elbowed him, whispered: “Bow your head.”

He kept his head high. “He’s using this to increase his control. Unfuckinbelievable.”

“These are trying times,” Tumalo said, his voice resonating through the chamber. “God is testing us. The people of Keflan failed that test, which brought down God’s wrath.”

Tumalo also blamed the people of Keflan? If the preacher had seen the bodies—bloated and rotted and ripped part—he would know that no God would bring such a thing upon anyone.

“We must obey our rules,” Tumalo said. He gestured to the Margrave. “We must do what God asks of us. If we are to be delivered from evil, we must—we must—listen to our leaders.”

The Margrave rose first. He put a hand on Tumalo’s shoulder; the preacher stood. Together, the two men walked out of the training pit.

People stood and started filtering out of the room. Ahiliyah listened to snippets of hushed conversation. Some sounded like Creen, expressing disbelief at what they’d just seen. Some were angry at it. Others, many others, talked about how the Margrave knew best.

All of the voices, though, had one thing in common—they sounded afraid.

Ahiliyah leaned close to Creen, whispered so only he could hear. “You said the Margrave is using this to increase his control? What did you mean?”

He looked at her, his face wrinkling as if she’d spoken the dumbest words of all time.

“For someone so sharp,” he said, “you can be so blind. I’m sure you’ll see soon enough.”

Creen was wrong. Maybe the Margrave shouldn’t have blamed the Keflanians for what happened, but that didn’t mean he’d turn tragedy into a power grab. Aulus was better than that.

Creen pulled himself up. “I’m gonna go take a shit.”

He joined the crowd exiting the training pit. Ahiliyah stayed where she was, thinking about what she’d just heard, thinking about Keflan. An entire hold, gone. Yes, it had happened to Hibernia and Pendaran, but those holds had fallen before she’d been born.

To see it happen in her own lifetime… it felt unreal.

Ahiliyah heard the laughter of the warriors. They were filtering into the tunnel that led back into the hold. She looked for Brandun, didn’t see him among them.

Then she looked across the pit again—there he was, sitting in the same place. Sitting alone. Alone, and staring down into the training pit sands.

She wondered what he was thinking.

23

The weavers looked up expectantly.

“I’m sorry, ladies,” Ahiliyah said. “I didn’t bring any candy this time.”

She thought they would be disappointed, but they smiled at her, with love and appreciation.

“Next time, dear,” Maybeth Dafydd said. “We know you tried. And thank you for killing one of those rotten bastards.”

Wrinkled, grey-haired heads nodded.

They knew about the fall of Keflan, yet their disposition hadn’t changed. Maybe they were so old they didn’t care anymore. Or maybe they were just high.

Ahiliyah noticed that Lulu Bouchard wasn’t with the netmakers. Was that because she’d taken sick with Glynnis flu? Or was it because she was sick to the soul—Lulu’s daughter and three grandchildren had been in Keflan. Maybe they were in Dakatera. Maybe they were dead. Maybe they’d been carried off to Black Smoke Mountain and fed to the Demon Mother.

Ahiliyah continued on her way. General Sinesh Bishor was in his usual place, sitting by the edge of the plateau, which dropped off to the roiling water thirty feet below. A large coil of twine lay next to him. His two feet and one hand were a blur, weaving the twine into netting.

What would he say when he saw her trophy? He would be proud of her, she knew. Would he beam and smile? Or would he try to be stoic, act like he wasn’t impressed? He was like that sometimes, for reasons she could not fathom.

Ahiliyah—a girl—had killed a demon.

She had joined the rarest of groups; in this way, she was more like Sinesh than ever before.

“You have something for me?” Sinesh spoke without looking away from his weaving. The river light cast small shadows on his thick scars, making them stand out even more.

Ahiliyah had visited a slaughterhouse, had brought back critical medicine, had killed a demon, and yet still she felt guilty—red moss powder was the one thing that helped Sinesh, and she hadn’t been able to bring it back for him.

She sat in front of the twine coil. “I’m sorry. I brought nothing this time.”

He stopped weaving, stared out across the river. “That is unfortunate. The pain is… well, it is only pain. Forgive me for asking for it, Liyah. Even an old man can be selfish at times. I am told you brought back enough medicine to cure all of our people.”

“Yes, General,” she said. “Enough for now, at least.”

He kept weaving. Pull, stretch, wind, tie. The motions were rhythmic, hypnotic. She watched him for a while.

“Tell me of your run,” he said finally.

She told him everything she’d told the Margrave, and more. The bodies. The stench. The killing of the demon, the effects of the caminus leaves. She told him about the fear she’d felt… it was as if she were vomiting some deep-seated evil that had taken root inside her. When she finished, she saw that he had stopped weaving, that he was looking at her.

“You were very brave, Liyah. Most people would not have gone in.”

He began weaving again, his hand and feet working together with the steady efficiency of the waterwheel.

Pull, stretch, wind, tie. Over and over again.

“They’re coming for us,” she said quietly.

Sinesh nodded. “I know.”

Pull, stretch, wind, tie.

He didn’t seem bothered in the least.

“Everyone is very upset,” Ahiliyah said.

“I am not everyone.”

He kept weaving. What had been hypnotic moments ago now infuriated her.

“Sinesh, do you understand what I mean when I say Keflan Hold has been wiped out?”

“Burning blood took my arm and my eye,” the old man said. “It did not leak into my brain. Just because something is new to you does not mean it is new to me. Pendaran and Hibernia fell, not so long ago. Do you cry for those people?”

Pull, stretch, wind, tie.

“No,” Ahiliyah said. “They were gone before I was born.”

“If we are lucky, a child born today might think the same thing of Keflan.”

“What do you mean, if we’re lucky?”

He stopped weaving, stared at her.

“You say the demons are coming for us, Liyah. They have already come. We are the last people. It is only a matter of time until we are gone, and the evil inherits Ataegina.”

His words angered her. “We lost one hold. Just one.”

He lifted a foot, curled in his smallest two toes, leaving the bigger three extended out.

“We’ve lost three,” he said. “The others will fall eventually. Lemeth will fall eventually. It is best if you understand the realities of life.”

“What is wrong with you? You act like we should just accept that they’ll kill us all.”

Sinesh shrugged, went back to weaving. “The interesting thing about the truth is that it doesn’t matter if you accept it or not—it remains true.”

Pull, stretch, wind, tie.

She reached out, grabbed the twine, yanked it off his foot and out of his hand. She picked up the entire coil, launched it over the edge of the plateau—it slapped against the water below.

“We have to fight, you twisted old man! We have to fight!”

“Why bother? We lose every battle.”

“Brandun and Creen and I didn’t,” she said. “We killed a demon.”

“Which marks the first time in history that humans have killed a demon and suffered no casualties. With my own eyes I saw a single demon kill five warriors before it was brought down, and when we finally killed it, its splashing blood took out yet another warrior. You were lucky.”

A kill ratio of six to one. Sinesh was right—she, Brandun and Creen had been lucky. If a second demon had been there, they would all be dead. Knowing that, though, didn’t chase away her fury. Her face felt as hot as if it had been splashed with burning blood.

“You used to command thousands in battle,” Ahiliyah said. “You’ve told me all your old stories a hundred times. You fought then, why don’t you want us to fight now?”

Sinesh looked up at her, nonplussed. “I have no more twine to weave. Shall we play?”

With one foot, he gestured to the case with the wargaming pieces.

Her anger remained for a moment, then flowed out of her. He was just an old man. A crippled old man. He couldn’t fight. Why be mad at him? He hadn’t made any of this.

“No,” she said. “I have to figure out what we’re going to do.”

He pointed his big toe at the case. “Humor me. Or dive in and retrieve my twine.”

Ahiliyah glanced over the edge to the rushing water below. She shouldn’t have thrown his twine—it was valuable. This wasn’t the time for games, but an hour or so wouldn’t hurt.

She brought the case over, opened it. She took out the yellow pieces, set the shell-spearmen in front of her into tight ranks.

“Get more,” Sinesh said. “Use all of the yellow pieces as your infantry. Take fifty blue, use them as your archers.”

“What scenario are we playing?”

“Any scenario you like. Set them up as you wish.”

“Terrain?”

“Let’s say the plains. Solid footing, no significant elevation advantage.”

She laid out all the yellow shells. When she finished, she had seven yellow blocks set up, each with four rows of ten shells. Four blocks side by side on her front line, one on each end angled back at forty-five degrees, and one behind the front lines. She arranged her archers in a two-deep rank in front of her yellow blocks.

Sinesh studied her arrangement. “You don’t want to put your men in a single phalanx?”

“I like this better,” Ahiliyah said. “It’s more mobile. I can use the reserves to flank you, or to take advantage of a weakness in your lines.”

“Where did you learn this? Have you been playing with others? With Creen, perhaps?”

Ahiliyah felt offended, but at least Sinesh hadn’t asked if it had been Brandun’s idea.

“It’s been brewing in the back of my head since the last time we played,” she said.

Sinesh stared at her formation. Had she done something wrong?

“This tactic that comes naturally to you took decades of war for others to discover,” he said. “In the time when men fought men and tactics worked of course. But we are not in the time of men fighting men. You say you want to fight the demons, Ahiliyah—do you mean it?”

It was as if he suddenly didn’t know who she was.

“I do,” she said. “I told you I do.”

He stared at her, until she began to feel uncomfortable. The river’s roar seemed too loud.

“In the back of my cabinet is another drawer,” Sinesh said. “Open it.”

Ahiliyah had never noticed that drawer. She looked at the back of the box—sure enough, there it was. She opened it. Inside lay hundreds of shells—shells painted black.

The black of the demons.

“Take the pieces out,” Sinesh said.

Ahiliyah did as she was told. Sinesh used his feet to spread the black shells in a wide arc facing her position. So many. Just looking at all the black shells made her skin crawl.

“Why haven’t you shown me these pieces before?”

“There was no point. If I could not think of a way to beat the demons, who could?” He tilted his scarred head. “But perhaps you can, Liyah. You have a mind for this. Maybe the inventiveness of youth can find a strategy missed by the wisdom of age. Would you like to hear the rules for these pieces?”

Without looking up from the shells, Ahiliyah nodded.

“The black pieces move six times faster than normal pieces,” Sinesh said. “Once the battle is engaged, you cannot outrun them. The black pieces are much stronger. They use claws, teeth and tail. Their weapons do not dull, nor do they melt when they strike, as yours do. The only advantages you have are ranged weapons—bows, crossbows and thrown spears—and spear length, as a spear is longer than their arms or their tails. However, when a black piece dies in hand-to-hand combat, by sword, spear, or—” he smiled his twisted smile “—by smashing their head in with a rock, they damage any yellow pieces around them.”

So many variables. Ahiliyah tried to process them, even as Sinesh explained how to use the modified numbers in game play. The differences were stark, and overwhelming. But she had one change of her own.

“I also have a new rule. The leaves of the caminus bush stop the burning blood. Can we work that in?”

Sinesh thought for a moment. “How would that be used in an actual battle?”

Ahiliyah stared at the pieces. Leaves reduced the effect of the burning blood, but didn’t eliminate it—and leaves would do nothing against claws, teeth or tailspikes.

“Hidey suits for everyone,” she said. “And on the shields as well. And helmets. I will cover my soldiers in leaves.”

Sinesh nodded, explained how he’d modify the effects of burning blood.

Ahiliyah suddenly felt so… excited. This wasn’t just a game—this was preparation to fight the demons. She didn’t know how it would come into play, but deep down, she felt it would.

“The demons will attack in a great rush,” Sinesh said. “This, too, I have seen with my own eyes.” He arranged the black pieces in a scattered wave a good distance from her pieces. “They begin their attack. What would you do first?”

“I’d open up with missile fire, obviously.”

“Say you have your ranged weapon of choice,” Sinesh said.

“Bows, spears or crossbows?”

“Crossbows.” She knew full well that the lighter shafts of a drawn bow were all but useless against the demons. “I’ll try to get two salvos off before they close, then have my crossbowmen move to the back.”

“Two rounds would be a challenge, would you agree?”

Ahiliyah closed her eyes. She thought of all the times she’d seen the demons sprinting across the mountainside, how fast they moved.

“I agree. That would be a challenge.”

“Let’s assume no one panics, your crossbowmen stand firm, you do get off two full salvos. That will never happen on the field, but we will use it here. And let’s be generous and say that twenty-five percent of your shots stop a demon.”

That was too generous. Ahiliyah knew all the stories—both the ones Sinesh had told her and the ones she’d read in the history books. Only with a rare head-shot could one bolt take down a demon. In almost every story, the beasts absorbed two, three, even four heavy crossbow bolts and still kept coming.

With his toes, Sinesh picked up black pieces and moved them to the side, out of the game. Her yellow and blue pieces now outnumbered the active black pieces more than six to one.

He moved the rest of his pieces up to her front blocks. As he did, she moved her blue-shell archers behind her phalanxes.

“You’ve had your successful salvos,” Sinesh said. “Now, you tell me what happens next.”

She looked at her ranks, imagined the demon horde rushing in, lurching forward, their jaws wide, their gleaming teeth bared, their tailspikes arched and ready to deliver killing blows.

“Our spears would get some,” she said.

“They are heavy beasts. Many spear shafts would snap. Spearheads begin to melt. Demon blood splashes onto your men, burning them, causing panic, making your ranks lose cohesiveness.”

She shook her head. “Not with the bush leaves… and we can wrap the shields with nets, stuff those nets with leaves. The shields would catch most of the burning blood.”

“For how long? How much blood can these leaves absorb?”

She didn’t know. Absorb wasn’t the right word, but that didn’t matter—Sinesh had a point. He removed more black pieces, pushed the remaining ones into her ranks, making her ranks slide back, distort slightly.

“Your turn,” he said.

He wasn’t even checking the actual game results. He was leaving it up to her to remove the number of shells she thought was reasonable. She felt a sinking feeling—Sinesh only acted like this when he already knew what the outcome would be.

She removed two dozen yellow pieces. Maybe she wasn’t being fully honest, but her lines looked like they could hold.

“Less than generous,” Sinesh said. “But I accept your limited losses. The battle has been joined. Some of your spears are broken, or damaged, and now comes the problem—that close to your front, demons can leap.”

He began to pick up black shells, drop them in the midst of her ranks. Some of those demons would die on the spearheads of her back ranks, but demons were heavy—they would break spears, fall upon the rear ranks, raining burning blood all the way. Others might leap into the gaps created. Once past her massed spearpoints, she envisioned the remaining demons lashing out in all directions, tearing her warriors to pieces.

Men would break. Men would run. Her phalanx would collapse.

“You lose,” Sinesh said.

There had to be a way to change that outcome…

“The demons will come to me,” she said. “I could prepare the ground with more spears, three or four for each man, lying on the ground next to them.”

“Interesting. Would your warriors have time to pick up those spears? And if they did have time, would not the demons already be inside the spears’ killing zone? Your troops might as well be waving broomsticks from side to side for all the good they would do.”

He was right. If she had that many warriors, and if they had multiple spears, and if they were able to choose the terrain and the place of battle, even then the multiple spears would be useless.

“We have only looked at a frontal assault,” Sinesh said. “The demons are never so polite. They swarm.” His toes pushed a handful of demons around her left flank, and a handful around her right. “They spread out, they come from all directions. You will be dealing with a frontal assault and, simultaneously, the beasts outflanking you, far faster than you can adjust.”

She didn’t bother moving her reserve unit. If she broke it in two, moved each half to one side, they wouldn’t arrive in time to help. Even if they did, they wouldn’t be in proper formation. The demons would quickly tear through those men, hit the rest of her forces from behind.

Sinesh wasn’t tricking her. He wasn’t cheating. He was showing her things she already knew but hadn’t put together yet.

“Let’s go again,” she said.

Ahiliyah tried another strategy, taking away a block and making more reserves that could react to the demon’s fast flanking tendency. That seemed to work for a moment, but as her front lines broke she didn’t have reserves to move in to fill the gaps.

She tried leaving half her forces in reserve—her front ranks were instantly overwhelmed.

Doubling the archers? That helped, but she knew Sinesh was taking far more damage than real archers could ever hope to land. Three times the archers? She actually won that battle, but lost three-quarters of her force.

By the fourth play-through, it became clear that on open ground, even if her warriors had perfect accuracy, perfect discipline, and a huge numerical advantage, the best she could hope for was to hold the field and lose the majority of her troops. If a second battle occurred, she would stand no chance at all.

Ahiliyah had seen enough demons in real life to know they were too fast, too strong, too durable, and too deadly—there was no way to win.

“We have to lure them into one of the mountain passes,” she said. “We force them to come straight in, so they can’t flank us.”

Sinesh nodded. “I am sure we could, as they attack on sight, but what are you forgetting?”

She stared at the pieces, realized what she’d missed. “They can climb. Very fast.”

From a distance, she had seen them scale a cliff face almost as fast as she could sprint across open ground. Putting troops in any kind of walled chasm would actually help the demons, give them a way to climb high and dive straight into her ranks from above.

“You can’t beat them in the mountains,” Sinesh said. “You see this. You can’t beat them on the plains, not unless you outnumber them at least fifteen to one. While I concede that you may have a chance to choose the terrain—if you can move that many men without drawing a horde—the terrain doesn’t matter.”

“But the bush leaves—”

“Bush leaves don’t stop teeth. They don’t stop tailspikes. They don’t stop claws. The leaves can’t stem the flow of blood from a man’s slashed throat, or stuff his intestines back into his belly. The demons will drive their tailspikes over the top of your shields, or they will rip the shields away, and your men will die. Even if your bush leaves completely counter the burning blood, the demons are too strong and too fast.”

Sinesh sighed, looked longingly at the pieces.

“You are gifted, Liyah, but you have no strategies I have not already considered, or that I did not try in the Rising. Forgive an old man for being foolish, for allowing himself to hope.”

Had she really thought the leaves would make a difference? She’d been so excited at the thought they had something to use against the demons, but in the end it might help runners once in a great while—that was it. And only if the runners were attacked by a single demon. And only if the runners got lucky.

The leaves were not the weapon that would bring salvation to her people.

Her eyes traced the pieces, tried to find a formation that would work. How could she stop the demons from pouring around the flanks? She couldn’t. Unless…

“A circle!” She pointed to the pieces. “A phalanx with the ends touching! It can’t be flanked. Ranks in the middle point spears high, the demons can’t jump into our formation.”

She started to move the pieces, but quickly saw there was no point. So they couldn’t be flanked—so what? The demons were too strong. Eventually, they would get past the spearheads, reach the shields, then fight until they died.

“I’ve considered circles,” Sinesh said. “And squares to protect crossbowmen. And luring the beasts toward a cave large enough to put a phalanx at the mouth… everything. No matter the terrain or formation, they are too tenacious. A rare blow through the head can kill them instantly, but most of them fight on, even when they are mortally wounded. With their strength, their toughness, their resilience, once they reach our lines, it is already over. A phalanx can maintain cohesion for a few minutes—I have seen this with my own eyes—but nothing stops the demons, and eventually, they win.”

She realized that the paint on the black pieces was scratched, chipped, as if from long use.

Ahiliyah looked at Sinesh. Sitting there, gnarled and wrinkled, his withered limbs tucked in against his body, he really did look like the spiders from the old drawings.

“How long have you been looking for a way to beat them?”

Sinesh stared at the pieces. Ahiliyah sensed the despair inside him.

“I have been looking since the Rising,” he said. “The demons rose in the year 252. Maybe a thousand people died that year. The next year, thirty-five thousand. The legions tried to fight, but the demons were unstoppable. Savage. Merciless. We thought we knew what war was, but—” he shrugged “—we knew nothing.”

He looked off over the plateau’s edge, seemed to be listening to the river’s roar.

“The third year of the Rising was the worst,” he said. “Everything fell apart. No one knows how many people died. Some said it was a hundred thousand. Not just from the demons, although many died at their black hand, but also from starvation and disease. Another hundred thousand tried to sail across the ocean. Perhaps they drowned. Perhaps they landed and the Northerners killed them. We will never know, since they took all the ships. No one knows how to build ships anymore. People have tried, but if you stay in one place on the shores for too long, you know what happens.”

He reached out a foot, picked up a black piece, turned it in his toes.

“I used these very pieces, Liyah, to come up with a strategy to beat the demons. I was the one who convinced the holds to unite their forces. I was the one who convinced them to let me lead those troops to Black Smoke Mountain. We were five thousand strong. Experienced warriors. Well-armed. Righteous. Willing to face any danger to rid our world of the beasts.”

His foot began to tremble. His toes turned white—Ahiliyah jerked in surprise when the black shell shattered. A piece dug into the bottom of his big toe. A single rivulet of blood slowly curled down his foot.

“I was thirty-one years old. I knew I was hand-picked by God. I knew it. I marched five thousand men onto the Boiling Plains. When the demons came, all of my plans, all of my strategies, they collapsed. We held discipline for all of ten minutes. Perhaps fifteen. Then, we broke. When it was done, only five hundred men made it back.”

He flicked his foot, tossing away the bits of black-painted shell, along with a drop of blood.

“I have spent the last sixty years trying to think of a way to beat them. The truth is that there isn’t one. I wanted you to play out the game, Liyah, because I thought… I thought… ah, what does it matter? You need to understand that—in the end, we will be wiped out. Enjoy your life while you can. Be happy while you can. Now, put the pieces away and go fetch me another coil of twine. I have work to do.”

Ahiliyah stood. She gave the pieces one last look, then turned and walked away. Distantly she heard Sinesh calling after her, telling her to clean up the pieces, but his words didn’t fully register. It was as if he were speaking to a person who no longer existed.

Ahiliyah felt numb. Every ounce of her, cold and numb.

Her bed.

Sleep.

That was all she wanted.

24

Nothing mattered.

The end of the world. Ahiliyah would die. So would Creen. Brandun. Tolio. Aiko. The Margrave. Sinesh. Susannah, Brandun’s mom, Tolio’s parents, the warriors, the craftsmyn, the weavers…

Everyone.

She lay in her bed, on her back, staring up at the stone ceiling.

She’d closed her glowpipe valve to only one-quarter open, enough to give her room a bare minimum of light. The mug of caminus tea on her bedside table was growing cold.

Nothing mattered.

Sixty-seven years ago, nearly half a million people had lived on Ataegina. That number had dropped to below thirty thousand.

Humanity was being wiped out. For good. Forever.

Maybe Sinesh was right. Maybe she should learn how to enjoy herself. Stop training all the time. Stop worrying about not becoming a warrior, or Tolio wanting a family, or about the next run. What difference did any of it make? None at all. She would die. She would be forgotten. Everyone would be forgotten.

The demons would rule the land.

Fun. That was what she needed. Maybe get drunk. Maybe get laid. Hell, why not both?

A scratching sound.

Liyah rolled to one elbow, looked through the dimness to the door of her room. Had Tolio somehow read her mind? Had he sensed that she needed his body, needed him to help her forget everything, if only for a few precious moments?

“Come in, lover,” she said. “It’s open.”

The scratching grew louder. What kind of a game was he playing?

“Knock it off,” Ahiliyah said. “Get your ass in here already.”

The door began to rattle. Rattle hard.

What the fuck was Tolio…

Ahiliyah smelled wet rocks. Moss. When had she smelled that before?

Up on the surface.

Fear ripped through her, turned her guts to liquid.

The door smashed inward, split down the middle, the two halves cracking off the walls, smashing glowpipe glass. Glowing water sprayed everywhere.

In the dim light gleaming on the wet floor, she saw it…

… a demon, coming toward her.

Ahiliyah couldn’t move, she was tangled in her blankets, as trapped as if they were a net. Black jaws opened, showing silvery teeth. They opened wider.

Cold, black hands grabbed her face.

A hateful hiss—the toothtongue shot out.

* * *

Ahiliyah screamed. She tried to move, the blankets trapped her. She felt the demon’s hands on her shoulders, squeezing, shaking her.

“Liyah! Wake up, it’s all right!”

Tolio’s voice.

“It’s all right,” he said. “You had a nightmare.” His face seemed to float in the darkness, barely illuminated by a glowjar on the floor beside the bed roll.

A dream. Just a dream.

She threw her arms around him, held him tighter than she’d ever held him before.

“Take it easy,” he said. He kissed her hair, held her close. “You’re safe.”

Safe? There was no such thing.

Ahiliyah let him go, looked around. In the faint light, she could make out a rack of spears, the curve of a chestplate… she was in the armory. She’d found Tolio, brought him here, to their special place where they could be together.

“Liyah, are you all right?” He rubbed her shoulders.

She looked at him, wondered how he would die. Talons ripping into his guts? Jaws tearing out his throat in a spray of blood? A toothtongue punching through his skull?

Or perhaps he would not die at all, at least not right away. Maybe he’d be carried off to Black Smoke Mountain, where a spider would turn him into a mindless, murdering demon.

The thought made her sick to her stomach.

“Liyah, I love you.”

And she loved him. She knew it now. She felt it.

But she loved others as well—Brandun and Creen. Not in the same way she loved Tolio, of course, but after what she’d been through with the boys, her love for them ran far deeper.

“I have to go.” She slid off the bed roll, found her dress in the darkness. She expected to hear Tolio’s usual, mewling do you love me? This time, though, he surprised her.

“I can’t imagine how bad it must have been, fighting that demon,” Tolio said quietly. “But if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you.”

Ahiliyah pulled on her shift, yanked at it so hard she heard fabric rip.

Now Tolio had figured out how to be a good boyfriend. Now?

“Liyah, is there anything I can do?” Such sweetness in his voice. For once he was worried more about her than he was about him, or the life he wanted for both of them. His concern—his genuine concern—cut through the sudden anger she didn’t understand.

No… she did understand it. She was angry at the demons.

It wasn’t just the killings. Because of the beasts, people starved. People couldn’t get simple, life-saving medicine. Family members could never see each other again. Cultures were cut off from each other, breeding hate and distrust.

Demons had destroyed her world. They could not be defeated, could not be stopped.

That was the cause of her anger—they wanted to take away everything she had.

Ahiliyah knelt on the bed roll, kissed the top of Tolio’s head.

“There’s nothing you can do right now,” she said, “but thank you for asking.”

She stood, and strode out of the armory.

By the time she realized she’d left her sandals, she didn’t care.

25

Ahiliyah walked through the corridors of Lemeth Hold.

A sprawling place, but with a population far greater than it was designed to house—people were everywhere. In the common areas, they sat and talked. They ate. They drank. In rooms with open doors, families and friends gathered, happy to have a moment away from work. In the factories and the farms they toiled away, everyone doing their part for the good of the hold.

All of these people, hurting in one way or another. Walking on broken legs and toes, working with broken arms and fingers. Not enough food. Not enough medicine. In Lemeth, people worked until they could work no more.

They worked until they died.

Had it been like that for the people of Keflan? Probably.

Was Ahiliyah any different? Would she keep running, like Aiko? Aiko and her crew were on a run to Jantal—would this be the trip where Aiko’s luck ran out? Would Aiko vanish, like those Dakateran runners had, like Ahiliyah’s mother had?

Aaliyah continued on, running her fingertips along familiar stone walls, returning the nods and smiles of those who nodded and smiled at her. These people had either known her her entire life, or she had known them all of theirs.

Would they end up like the people of Keflan? Their bodies torn apart, bloated, stinking… rotting? She thought of Yuzuki, of Maybeth Dafydd and Lula Poller, of Mags Yinnish and Susannah Albrecht, of Tameika Baines and her sons, of Panda, of Crag Halden, of William Minsala.

Everyone she knew was at risk. Why wouldn’t the council do something? What if Keflan wasn’t an isolated incident? What if that hold hadn’t fallen because of their strange religion, or because they’d committed some affront to God?

What if…

A thought stabbed through Ahiliyah, so sharp and fast it almost made her whimper.

The demons had cleared out the lowlands decades ago. The coasts as well. They had hunted runners in the mountains. What if the demons had finally figured out those runners had to come from somewhere in the mountains?

What if the demons had been specifically looking for the Keflan Hold?

She thought of the map of Ataegina. Hibernia and Pendaran, closest to Black Smoke Mountain. Those holds had been lost years ago. The next closest? Keflan.

The closest after that? Dakatera… then Lemeth.

If Dakatera fell…

She had to do something.

Sinesh said there was no point in fighting. He’d shown her that a phalanx couldn’t beat the demons. He’d lived it, watch thousands of warriors die while under his command.

So it was pointless. All of it.

Ahiliyah felt that anger in her chest again, a tiny coal slowly heating up. All was lost? She refused to accept that.

If Dakatera fell, Lemeth would be next. So why were the holds so distrustful of each other? They needed each other. The warriors of each hold were a little different, brought different strengths and weaknesses.

The Dakaterans took pride in their combination of phalanx and crossbow. Bisethians supposedly didn’t fight other than to defend their hold, but their spearmen were more heavily armored and could be a centerpiece of a combined line. The Takantans—with their female general—supposedly had the best archers, more warriors than anyone else, and they were far enough away from Black Smoke Mountain that the rumor was they trained outside, practicing formations, practicing charges. The Jantalians, the Vindenians… surely they had warriors, too, surely they had people trained with the spear, just as Lemeth did.

She thought of Sinesh’s board, but with hundreds more pieces, representing thousands more warriors. If they were all covered in caminus leaves, could they defeat the demons then?

Could they march on Black Smoke Mountain itself?

Could they kill the Demon Mother?

Sinesh had failed trying to do exactly that.

And the holds had grown even further apart in the years since. Differences in religions, philosophies, military tactics… all of it caused conflicts. Holds were now more likely to go to war against one another than to unite against the common enemy—it was far easier to kill another human than to kill a demon.

But the holds had united once. They could again, they just needed a reason. Something that would stop a unified legion from being slaughtered, that would stop history from repeating itself.

A new weapon, a new strategy… whatever it was Ahiliyah was going to find that reason.

She closed her eyes. She stopped walking, rested her forehead against the corridor wall, felt the coolness of the carved stone against her skin. She was a part of this place. This place was a part of her. No matter what she had to do, she would save it.

She would find a way, or she would die trying.

26

Ahiliyah shuffled out onto the training pit sand. She felt so drained. Nightmares had kept her from getting any sleep. She glanced at the stack of shields, dreading the next two hours—phalanx reserve training seemed simultaneously pointless, and the most important thing she could be doing.

Pointless because fighting the demons head-on just didn’t work. Important because there was something about the formation and strategy that she’d missed, that Sinesh had missed, that everyone had missed. If she could find that thing, she could give hope to her people.

Tameika Baines was here again, this time with her sons Bharat and Andrey, who had fully recovered from their bouts of Glynnis flu. They—along with Doctor Monique, Barton Mason, Panda and a dozen more—were loosening up, shaft holsters on their backs, waiting for Andan Gisilfred to start the training session.

Ahiliyah saw Panda shuffling over. She cringed inside. He would ask for her help, and even though she didn’t want to help him, she would.

Who was going to help her? Didn’t she deserve it?

“Liyah, is it true? Did you… did you really kill a demon?”

This was probably the first time he’d left the signaling station since the last session.

“We killed it,” she said. “My crew and I.”

“Was it scary?”

Ahiliyah couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes. Of course it was. It almost took Creen away.”

“That’s amazing,” Panda said. “They’re going to write a poem about you someday.”

She thought of Brandun’s desire to be a warrior so famous that poets celebrated him. That might happen for Brandun—he would soon enter the warriors ranks.

Ahiliyah knew that could never happen for her.

“Line up,” Andan called out. “Four ranks of twelve. You all…”

His voice trailed off as everyone looked up to the stands, to the entrance that led to the main corridor. People were shouting—a lot of people.

Doctor Talbot rushed through the opening, followed by a line of people. Ahiliyah instantly recognized the clothes many of them wore—Keflanians.

Talbot leaned over the railing. “Clear the pit! We need the space for refugees. Hundreds of them!”

Ahiliyah and the other reservists helped Andan and Talbot arrange the refugees into rows on the training pit sand. Many of the refugees were injured, mostly with broken bones, sprains, scratches… the kind of damage sustained from slipping or falling in the mountains, bashing up against rocks, tearing skin on logs or branches or bushes. Had they run all the way, pushing themselves well past the point of exhaustion? There were more than a few wounds obviously caused by demon claws or burning blood, but those wounds looked several days old.

Talbot moved from wounded person to wounded person, figuring out who needed to be treated first. Lemethians ripped up their own shirts to make bandages. Ahiliyah and Panda busied themselves bringing water.

The refugees were oddly quiet. It was kind of spooky. Perhaps fifty were lined up on the sand, with more coming down, when the Margrave’s roaring voice made everyone freeze.

“What in the hell is going on here?”

He was up on the walkway, his hands holding the rail in a white-knuckle grip.

“Refugees from Keflan,” Talbot called up to him. “They told me the Margravine sent them, that Dakatera couldn’t feed them all.”

“And we can?” The Margrave slapped the rail. “Who let them in here?”

The question confused Ahiliyah—what did it matter who let them in?

“I don’t know,” Talbot said. “I don’t have time for this now, I have to help these people. Send someone for Doctor Monique, and for all of our assistants.”

Talbot turned his back on the Margrave, rushed to the nearest refugee.

Red-faced, the Margrave strode down the walkway and back into the main corridor.

Ahiliyah carried her water bucket to a Keflanian woman who had a bloody wound on her forehead. With a shaking hand, the woman took the water ladle and drank greedily.

“Thank you,” she said, putting the ladle back in the bucket.

“Were there demons?” Liyah gestured to the other refugees. “There’s so many of you.”

“Not as many as there were. They hunted us.”

A bolt of fear shot through Ahiliyah, and she suddenly understood the Margrave’s rage. If the demons had followed the refugees here…

“They hunted you, when? When you came here?”

The woman stared at a wall, perhaps not really seeing anything.

“We were fleeing from Keflan to Dakatera,” she said, her voice dropping to a hush. “They hunted us, killed hundreds, dragged hundreds more away. The only reason I’m here is because I was faster than some of the others. If there had been more demons, they’d have gotten us all.”

Liyah didn’t know what to do, so she hugged the woman. The woman stiffened, then relaxed. She started to sob, rested her head against Liyah’s shoulder.

More commotion up on the catwalk—Drasko leaned over the rail.

“All Lemethians out,” the big warrior yelled. “Except for Talbot. Out, now!”

Leave? But there were so many people…

“I need help,” Talbot shouted back. “Can’t you see these people need help?”

Ahiliyah saw movement through the open training pit doors. Warriors poured in, Leonitos, Masozi, Benji, Farid, Kadri and…

… and Brandun?

Drasko cupped his hands to his mouth. “All refugees, stay in the training pit. Do not try to leave or you will be dealt with. Food is coming. All Lemethians, get out and spread the word—only warriors and doctors allowed in the training pit until further notice. Those that defy the Margrave’s order will be taken to lockup. Now get out.”

Some of the reservists left immediately, some tried to keep helping the refugees.

“Warriors,” Drasko said, “remove those who are hard of hearing.”

The warriors started grabbing the people who were trying to help the refugees, pushed them toward the door. Some Lemethians pushed back—those people were knocked to the ground, shoved toward the door, even kicked until they got up and ran.

Lemethian warriors beating Lemethians? What the hell was happening?

Ahiliyah saw Brandun grab Panda, give him a light shove toward the door. Panda waddled across the sand, his hands up and his head down. Brandun turned to look for someone else to bully—his eyes met Ahiliyah’s.

He looked away, embarrassed. Then, he clenched his jaw and strode toward her.

“Liyah, I’m sorry about this, but you’ve got to go, the Margrave says so.”

“Oh, does he? What are you going to do, Brandun? Throw me out yourself, or have one of your new friends do it for you?”

He winced, and she saw the conflict in him. He glanced up at Drasko, then back to her.

“Just go, please,” he said quietly. “I’ll catch up with you in Creen’s lab.”

Did she even want to see him later? What the hell was he doing?

“Demon Killer,” Drasko called down, “please leave. Our respect for you won’t last if you disrespect us.”

Ahiliyah realized she was the last non-warrior left. She glared daggers at Brandun, then walked out of the training pit, leaving him, the refugees, Doctor Talbot, and the warriors behind.

27

The factory area lay far below river level.

Ahiliyah imagined this had been done intentionally, long ago, because of the danger of fire. With the glassworks, the bakery, the forge and the brewery all using hot ovens of one kind or another, the constant hazard of a spreading fire was countered with large pipes and large valves positioned atop the wide stone steps—in case of fire, flood the area with water.

Sure, that would result in ruined bread, beer and wine, but it was better than corridors filled with choking, lethal smoke. And everyone who worked in the factory level had been trained how to tread water, then calmly work their way to stone escape tunnels built into the ceilings of the arched corridors.

In the factory area, everyone could swim. Everyone except Creen.

Ahiliyah hadn’t seen him since their report in the Margrave’s Chamber. She was embarrassed to realize she hadn’t really thought much about him until Brandun mentioned his name. She’d had much on her mind, and she hadn’t missed his rude jokes and caustic attitude.

Forgetting about him had been a mistake. She needed a weapon, and Creen was the only person working with something new—the caminus leaves. Well, maybe the leaves weren’t a weapon, exactly, but they would be part of her plan when she went to war against the beasts.

Despite the oppressive heat, the craftsmyn were usually happy in their job—day in and day out, they directly contributed to the hold’s survival. As with the rest of Lemeth Hold, however, a dark mood had taken over the factory level. She could feel it even before she talked to anyone.

Ahiliyah’s first stop was the forge. The room was almost as big as the training pit, but the massive oven took up over half the space, while bins of coal and metal ingots filled up the rest.

Crag Halden, the master metalsmith, had once explained to her how the forge worked, from the fire to the complex chimney system that took the smoke away and merged it with the steam coming off the hot springs. They couldn’t just vent the smoke on its own, as it might draw the demons—as with everything else in hold life, staying hidden was the most important thing.

Crag was filing away on the edge of a bronze spearhead. The oven’s fire lit up the soot-spotted brown shirt he wore over his massive arms and shoulders. He saw her enter, placed his left fist over his sternum.

“Demon Killer,” he said. “I am sorry I missed your slash ceremony, but…” He gestured to the oven in a way that said the work here is never done.

“I understand,” Ahiliyah said. “What would we be without your work, Master Crag?”

“Someone would take over for me.” He shrugged. “Everyone must do their part. I heard you were there when the refugees came in yesterday.”

Ahiliyah nodded. “I was in phalanx reserve training.”

“Did they look dangerous? Like they wanted to hurt us?”

The question was as confusing as it was ridiculous—as if one of those hungry, frightened people could possibly hurt the burly metalsmith.

“Hurt us? What do you mean?”

“Well, they lost their hold, so obviously they want ours, right?

They’re already eating our food, getting help from our doctors. What about our sick and wounded? People are hungry as it is, even without a hundred and sixty new mouths to feed.”

Ahiliyah wondered if some evil spirit had possessed Crag. This wasn’t like him at all.

“They don’t want to hurt us,” she said. “They lost hundreds of their own people.”

“People can pretend to be a lot of things. You should watch out for them. They’re not us.”

She’d known this man all her life. When times had been far leaner, she’d seen him give his meager share of food to children who would have otherwise gone hungry.

“Crag, where are you getting all of this? Who told you the Keflanians want our hold?”

“Preacher Ramirus did,” Crag said. “He came by, told us to be careful, that if we see strangers, take them back to the warriors at the training pit. I don’t like this any more than you do, Liyah, but you know we’re already low on food. We’ve got to look out for our own people first. You know what it’s like when everyone is hungry.”

Ahiliyah did know what that was like. Even at her hungriest, she would have never acted like Crag was acting now. At least, she hoped she wouldn’t.

“I’m looking for Creen’s lab,” she said.

Crag sighed. “Oh. Him. He’s been asking me to make him needles and scalpels and all kinds of things. If you don’t mind me saying so, he’s a real pain in the ass.”

At least some things remained the same.

“Where is he?”

“Down one level, past the bakery, there’s a staircase,” Crag said. “You familiar with it?”

The bakery, where Tolio worked. She knew that place well enough.

“Yes, I know it.”

“Take the staircase down two more levels, to the very bottom. You’ll find Creen there.”

Ahiliyah cringed. The further down you went, the hotter it got. Combine that with Creen’s fear of water, and she knew he would be pleasant company indeed.

“Thank you,” Ahiliyah said.

Crag again put his hand on his sternum. “And thank you, Demon Killer.”

She left, upset and confused. It was Crag, good old Crag, and yet, the man she thought she’d known wouldn’t have looked at the refugees like they were a threat. And the way he’d spoken to her—Crag had never disrespected her, but now his voice carried reverence.

A toothtongue necklace was a powerful thing, it seemed.

Ahiliyah headed down to the next level, hurried past the entrance to the bakery. She hadn’t seen Tolio since her nightmare in the armory. She was embarrassed by that, and she didn’t want to have another conversation about love and kids and all that shit. There wasn’t time to worry about matters of the heart—if she didn’t find a way to defeat the demons, love wouldn’t matter.

Ahiliyah passed by more of the craftsmyn who contributed to the hold by doing the hot, smelly work that had to be done. Brandun’s uncle Solomon Barrow, who turned the ore brought up from the mines into the metal ingots that Crag and his apprentices fashioned into shields, spear parts, demon forks, nails and screws, crossbow arms, utensils, door hinges, barrel hoops and more. Cruden Poller, who used a big oven to turn sand into ceramics for dishes, glass for glowpipes, and the mirrors needed by the signalmyn. William Minsala—Tolio’s father—who ran the bakery, turning mushroom flour, rivergrass and fish bones into various kinds of bread. Barton Mason shaping stone for repairing corridors, doorways and ceilings, Mags Yinnish brewing beer, Ginger Patrice making wine, Journay Barrow making shoes… so many people down here contributed to the hold.

The lowest level of the factory area was almost as hot as Crag’s oven. By the time Ahiliyah found Creen’s lab, she was sweating buckets. She would need a dip in the river after this. For all the time she spent on the surface, sweating and filthy and stinking, she liked to stay as clean as possible when in the hold. His lab was literally the last room on the corridor—beyond it, nothing but the solid stone of Lemeth Mountain.

“Hello, Creen. I’ve come for a visit.”

He was bent over a large, beat-up wooden table in the center of the room, looking into a contraption with several small, round pieces of glass mounted on a central metal staff. It looked like the circles of glass could swing to the side, or line up one over the other. It reminded Ahiliyah of Panda’s sun-signaler.

“Fuck off and die,” Creen said without looking up.

“Love you, too.”

The room was even hotter than the corridor—so much that she could feel the hot, damp air, deep in her lungs. The stone ceiling gleamed with wetness, even dripped down in a few places from little mineral stalactites to make small, regular plunks against the floor.

His tables looked old, as if they’d been dug out of some storeroom after decades of disuse. The wood was dented and gouged, warped, splintering in places. Atop the central table were four vertical glass pipes, each about as long and wide as her forearm. Ceramic mugs dotted the table—leftovers from Creen’s tea-drinking habit, no doubt.

Next to the table, two pieces of flat white quartz on easels. The slabs were ground smooth, marked with words and numbers written in charcoal. Hanging from each easel, a string with a stick of charcoal, and a rag that was already so black from wiping away his notes that she had no idea what its original color might have been.

And everywhere, bush leaves. Stacks of caminus branches, some freshly cut with bright red leaves, others that had been there for a few days, the red faded to light brown, the edges turning crisp. A wicker basket filled with leaves. A hip-high mortar and pestle, filled with red paste. There were even three clay pots with small bushes planted in them.

“I like how you set up those pipes,” she said, pointing to the glass cylinders on the table. “Or, half-pipes, since they have a butt.”

He looked up from his circles of glass. “A butt? Seriously?”

“Do you want me to call it an ass?”

He rolled his eyes—eyes with dark rings around them, showing his lack of sleep.

“An ass. Honestly, Liyah, could you be any more immature?”

She laughed, delighted at his unexpectedly demure behavior.

“Oh, I see—when it’s science, we don’t talk nonstop about pooping, farting, and peeing?”

“For your information, Demon Killer, these tubes with a butt are called beakers. Mags Yinnish gave them to me. She said she uses them to check beer quality.”

In less than a week, Creen had made this old, mildewy, too-hot room his own. Ahiliyah saw a hammock strung in the corner, which meant Creen rarely left. He slept where he worked—just like Panda. Ahiliyah would have to tell Panda the next time she was up there. The chubby boy would get a kick out of it.

Against the far wall, she noticed a third easel holding a slab of white quartz. On it, Creen had drawn a bush leaf. She walked closer, examined it. There was little use for art in the hold, but that’s what this was—art. Such detail. It looked almost real, like she had shrunk to a tenth her size and was looking at the real thing.

“Creen… this is amazing. It’s beautiful.”

He squinted at her, suspicious.

“I’m not messing with you,” Ahiliyah said. “I didn’t know you were so good at art.”

Creen looked at the drawing. “Neither did I. I’ve never drawn anything before.”

Ahiliyah sighed. Another of Creen’s gifts? And yet the boy constantly had a chip on his shoulder, constantly felt inferior to those around him. She wondered if he would ever understand how truly talented he was.

“I’ve been down here for days,” he said. “Is it true about the refugees?”

His voice had turned soft, quiet. Maybe it was the thought of the terror they’d felt in Keflan that stilled him.

“I was in the training pit when they brought them in,” Ahiliyah said.

“How many were there?”

“A hundred and sixty. That’s the number that’s floating around, anyway. It’s not like we can go in and count. The Margrave won’t let anyone in to see them, except for the doctors.”

Creen swallowed, then bent to look through his lenses. “Yeah, that’s what I heard. Can you imagine fleeing Keflan when the demons attacked, then reaching Dakatera only to be forced to march here?”

Forced. Ahiliyah hadn’t thought of it that way at first, but of course that was what the Margravine had done to those poor people.

“Maybe she had her reasons,” Ahiliyah said. “Maybe Dakatera didn’t have enough food.”

He adjusted one of the lenses. “While you were with the refugees, did you ask them how demons got into their hold?”

“No. I didn’t have time. The Margrave showed up right away. He was pissed someone had let the refugees in. He sent Drasko and the warriors to clear everyone out. Has… has Brandun been down here to see you?”

“Him, come to see me?” Creen laughed, as if the question was beyond stupid. “No. Why?”

“Because he was with the warriors when they kicked all of us out of the training pit.”

Creen stood, stared at her. “Dumbdun was with the warriors? Like, helping them?”

Ahiliyah nodded. “He even roughed up Panda a little.”

She was exaggerating, maybe, but she still couldn’t believe Brandun had been a part of that debacle.

“So he’s a warrior now,” Creen said. “He’s not in our crew anymore?”

A question she needed to get answered. “I don’t know.”

She didn’t want to think about Brandun. She didn’t want to think about Preacher Ramirus, and she didn’t want to think about the refugees.

“Your drawing is so detailed,” she said. “What are the little lines running through the leaf?”

“Veins. Fluid gets pumped through them, like blood does with us.”

Plants had blood? Fascinating. “And what are these little spots?”

“Holes,” Creen said. “Tiny holes. They’re only on the bottom side.”

“What are they for?”

“I don’t know. Yet.”

Ahiliyah plucked a leaf from one of the planted bushes. She squinted, looked closely at the underside. Sure enough, there were tiny spots there, spaced out evenly in a regular pattern.

“That’s amazing,” she said. “I’ve handled bush leaves thousands of times, and I never noticed those. How did you see them?”

He pointed to the contraption atop the table. “With this. Cruden Poller gave it to me. Doctor Talbot has one like it, but he said he couldn’t part with it. Come look.”

She stood next to him. The device had five glass circles. Two were swung to the side, three stacked over a piece of gray slate. On that slate, an upside-down bush leaf.

“Look through here,” Creen said, pointing to the top piece of glass, a circle no bigger than Ahiliyah’s thumbnail. She did as he instructed; what she saw stunned her.

“Is this the bottom of a leaf?”

“Give the girl a ribbon for brains.”

“Go eat a fart,” she said, but she didn’t look up from the glass. How amazing—the same type of leaf she’d seen and touched more times than she could count, but now it looked… magical. Like an entirely different world. Veins branched in all directions, like tiny creeks feeding larger streams feeding rivers. And the unified red color wasn’t unified at all, but rather splotches and patterns of light and dark red, even some yellows and oranges.

“I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Me neither,” Creen said. “Not until a few days ago. Oh, I need to borrow something.”

She stood. “Really? The boy who told me to fuck off and die wants to borrow something?”

“Do you want me to figure out what the leaves do to demon blood, or not?”

He looked exhausted, yet still had that angry edge. His burning-blood pockmarks had healed somewhat. Now they were tight little scabs. Some were almost gone, flaking at the edges, while others still seemed fresh, even open and wet.

“You need to stop picking at those burns, Creen.”

“And you need to mind your own fucking business.”

He closed his eyes, rubbed at them. For such a foul-mouthed boy, he could look so adorable when he did that.

The poor kid… working so hard, doing his part, so tired…

Ahiliyah put her hand on his shoulder.

He screamed, smacked her arm away and tried to backpedal so fast he fell hard on his ass. Eyes wide and panicked, he pushed backward, heels scuffing against the stone floor. He stared at her, but he wasn’t seeing her.

“Creen, it’s all right! Calm down.”

He backed into an easel, sent the white quartz tumbling. Ahiliyah reached for it, but it was too late—the sheet hit the ground, broke into a dozen pieces that scattered across the floor.

Creen huddled against the wall, shaking. He was staring at nothing. She knelt next to him, chunks of quartz digging into her knees. She didn’t touch him.

“Creen, it’s all right.” she said in a soft voice. “It’s Liyah. You’re safe.”

His eyes snapped to her. His lips curled back in a pre-scream, then he froze, blinked madly.

“Liyah?”

He grabbed her fast, hugged her so tight. She hugged him back.

“I’ve got you,” she said. “You’re safe.”

Quietly, the boy started to cry.

She held him and waited.

This wasn’t the first time she’d seen a runner lose it. A demon had been right on top of Creen, had tried to take him away. Of course that would haunt him.

Creen let her go, stood. “Sorry.” He wiped at his nose and eyes.

Ahiliyah stood, brushed quartz dust from her dress. “No apology necessary.” She knew he was hopelessly embarrassed. Creen tried so hard to act tough, like the danger didn’t get to him. She had to let him know he wasn’t alone.

“I’ve been having nightmares,” she said.

He looked at her, water still in his eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah. I keep dreaming they’re in the hold. They get me in my room.”

Creen sniffed. “I dream about them, too. I haven’t slept for shit since we got back.” He glanced off. “Sometimes when people touch me, I… I think it’s them.”

Her heart broke for him.

“Then I’m sorry I touched you. Especially when you had your eyes closed.”

He drew in a big breath, then closed one nostril and shot a glob of snot onto the floor.

“My head is so fucked up,” he whispered. “I can’t go out there again, Liyah. I can’t.”

She thought of Mari, of all the runners who had refused their obligation over the years. Maybe Brandun was done running, but Creen wasn’t—not unless his work here produced something truly significant. He had two more runs to make, at least—if he refused, the Council would order his death.

If that happened, she didn’t think she could bear it. She didn’t want to think about it.

“You said you wanted to borrow something from me?”

Creen wiped his eyes again, cleared his other nostril—good God, that boy was gross—then he shook himself, as if ridding himself of the unfortunate moment.

“Right.” He finally met her eyes, flashed his best grin. “Can I borrow your toothtongue?”

Her hand flew to it, as if he’d tried to snatch it away. The trophy brought her respect, respect from people who’d never really given her a second thought. It was already part of her.

“I need it,” Creen said. “For my experiments.”

“Are you sure you need it?”

His eyes narrowed. “If you can get Councilman Tinat to part with one of his, then no, I don’t need yours. You want to ask him for me?”

She thought of asking Tinat for one of his toothtongues. The idea made her stomach churn—even when he was being nice, Tinat was an imposing man.

“I can’t keep going without it,” Creen said. “Please?”

Ahiliyah sighed. “Can you bring it to me as soon as you’re done with it?”

“So hard to part with it, I see.” The mischief had returned to his eyes. “Already getting used to being special?”

“That’s not it.”

But that was it. That was exactly it.

She handed him the necklace. Creen glanced at the entryway. Seeing no one, he grabbed a small bronze box from a shelf under the table. He put the toothtongue inside, shut the lid tight.

“I’ll take good care of it, Liyah. I promise.”

Creen set the box on the table. He seemed suddenly nervous… uncomfortable.

“After you and Brandun killed the demon… I guess I didn’t say thank you. You guys were supposed to let it take me. I should be dead. Or worse. I guess what I’m saying is… I owe you.”

She knew how hard it had to be for him to say that.

“You’d have done the same thing for me.”

Creen’s face flushed red. He knew that wasn’t true. So did Ahiliyah. It didn’t matter.

“You’ll be a demon-killer,” she said. “You’ll kill more than anyone ever has.”

He glanced at her, suspicious. “How, exactly, will I do that?”

“That’s what you’re here for, right?” She gestured to the room, the bushes, the branches, the beakers on the table. “With your fancy lenses and your beaker-asses?”

He sighed. “You need to temper your expectations. The leaves don’t kill the fucking beasts. I mean, I wish they did, I’ll keep working on this, but… ”

It wasn’t just the nightmares, or the flashbacks—stress was eating him up from the inside. He knew the stakes. If he didn’t produce something of use here, he would be forced back to the surface. He would run again. Or, he would refuse, and for that, he would be executed.

She had a strong feeling he would choose the latter.

“You’ll figure something out,” she said.

“No one has figured out anything for fifty years,” he said. “Demons just keep killing us.”

“You’re not no one. There’s never been anyone like you. You can do this. I know it.”

He stared at her, his disbelief slowly giving way to acceptance.

“That means a lot,” he said. He shrugged. “At least, as much as it can mean from someone half as smart as me.”

And just like that, the old Creen was back.

She tapped the bronze box holding her toothtongue. “Work on this first, okay?”

He nodded. “Want some tea?”

What she wanted to do was get out of that sweltering room, but he needed her.

“Sure, I’d love some.”

He plucked fresh bush leaves and dropped them into one of the beakers. There was a cistern on the wall, with shelves built above it that held a few ceramic mugs. With a bucket, he scooped water from the cistern, poured it into the beaker. Most people liked tea with water fresh from the river, still glowing, but Creen said it added a bitterness he didn’t like. Sliding a burner tray under the beaker, he carefully set in a chunk of coal. He used a sparker to light a twig, held the burning end to the coal until the black chunk started to glow. As it burned, he fetched two mugs from the shelf.

When the beaker water boiled, Ahiliyah and Creen watched the flame, the bubbles, the leaves churning inside the beaker. They were comfortable enough in each other’s presence that they didn’t have to talk.

When the cube burned out, crumbled and broke apart, Creen put a metal grate atop the beaker, then tipped the glass. Only then did Ahiliyah see that the beaker was mounted on a pivot. Creen filled the mugs with steaming tea, slid one of them across the table to Ahiliyah.

“You served me first,” she said, blowing away steam. “Wow, you must really like me.”

He made a pshhhh sound. “Woman, go fetch me some bread.”

She laughed. With anyone else, that joke would have been an insult, but Creen had long ago accepted her leadership and proficiency. There were plenty of people in the hold who didn’t think women and men were equal, but for all of Creen’s faults, he wasn’t one of them.

Her first sip was a delight. “It’s so good. How do you get out the bitterness of river water?”

“I filter it through crushed limestone.”

Crushed limestone? Where did he come up with such ideas?

He drank deep, lowered the mug. “We’re all gonna die. You know that, right?”

“You should hang out with Sinesh. You two could have a nice, morbid conversation.”

Creen affected a shiver. “Spend time with the Spider? No thanks.” He saw her glare. “Oh, sorry about that.” He drained his mug, set it with the other empties atop the table.

“It’s like a mug graveyard,” Ahiliyah said. “You going to clean those up?”

He glanced at the mugs, shrugged. “I’ve got more important things to do. Take yours with you, if you like. I’ve got work to do. And by I’ve got work to do, I mean get the fuck out.”

Needy one moment, a demanding ass the next. Such a piece of work, he was.

“A pleasure as always,” Ahiliyah said.

She walked to the entryway, expecting to hear another of Creen’s insults. When she didn’t hear one, she stopped, looked back into the room. He held her toothtongue necklace by its string. His eyes were wide, excited—no trace of sleeplessness now. Was that from the tea’s kick, or from something else?

He set the toothtongue on the table. From the rack of small tools, he pulled out tweezers and a small pair of pliers. Ahiliyah saw him whisper something, then he bent close to the toothtongue. She couldn’t make out exactly what he’d said, but it looked like the words more than anyone else.

He’d already forgotten she was there, probably forgotten she’d been there at all. Ahiliyah hoped the boy could find something. Find anything. Because if he could not, he—and Sinesh—might turn out to be right after all.

28

Ahiliyah walked quickly through the crowded corridor, part of the crowd heading for the stairs that led down from the deck. She carried a bag of fresh imbid flowers. Word had spread quickly—Aiko Laster’s crew had returned from Jantal.

When Ahiliyah and her crew had returned from Keflan, there had been no imbid flowers to welcome them back. People had thought she, Brandun and Creen were dead, true, and they’d been understandably frightened and upset about the fall of Keflan. But even though things were bad—so bad—that didn’t mean runners shouldn’t be celebrated upon their return. Ahiliyah would shower Aiko, Jenna and Tomas with flowers, let them know that they were appreciated, that at least one Lemethian respected them risking their lives

“Hey, Liyah, hold on.”

Brandun, coming up behind her. She stopped, turned so quickly he almost tumbled into her.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, taking a step back. “I need to talk to you.”

“Really? Because I’ve been to Creen’s lab three times. He says you haven’t been by once. Isn’t that where you said you’d catch up with us?”

He blinked, looking every bit the Dumbdun that Creen called him. “Are you mad at me?”

She crossed her arms. “Mad? Why would I be? Because we haven’t heard a word from you in days? Because you haven’t come to see us? Because you’re busy with your new friends?”

Venom in her voice, but she couldn’t help it. If he wasn’t officially a warrior already, he soon would be one. She was hurt at being so quickly forgotten.

“I’ve been doing my part for the hold,” he said. “The warriors needed my help.”

“Doing your part?” She leaned in close. “Keeping refugees locked up in the pit is doing your part?

He leaned back slightly. “I’m doing what the Margrave told me to do. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Isn’t that what you do?”

Her anger flared anew, not just at Brandun, but also at the Margrave. How could the Margrave order those people to be held like prisoners? She would never have thought him capable of such callousness.

“I’d do the right thing.” She knew full well she wasn’t being honest, that she would have obeyed the Margrave, but she said it anyway, unable to stop herself.

For the first time ever, she saw anger flare across his face—anger at her.

“You’re jealous,” he said, just as quietly as she’d spoken to him. He pointed at her chest. “You wanted to be a warrior and you’re mad because I got it first.”

He got it first? Did he not get that she couldn’t become a warrior at all?

People passed them by, heading to welcome Aiko home. She and Brandun were like a rock in the river, standing close and whispering while the others flowed around them like water.

“You’re an asshole, Brandun,” Ahiliyah said. She sounded petty and bitter, she could hear it in her own words. And yet, her weak words hurt him.

“I’m serving the hold,” he said. “You’re not the person I thought you were.”

He was going to put this on her? “You ungrateful shit. You’d be dead if it wasn’t for me.”

His lip curled—she’d never seen him truly angry before.

“You think I’m too stupid to know that, Liyah? Well, guess what—I’m not stupid. Drasko says I’m going to be the best warrior the hold has ever seen. The others say the same thing. What do you think of that?”

“I think you don’t need a brain to be a warrior, which makes it the one job you can be good at, Dumbdun.”

His lip curl relaxed. He looked at her as if she had betrayed him. She’d gone too far, instantly hated herself for her lack of control.

“Brandun, I didn’t mean that.”

“Save it,” he said. “You and I are done. You don’t talk to me, I don’t talk to you. Remember how you wanted to know how the demons got into Keflan Hold? Well, I asked some of the refugees, when the other warriors weren’t looking. The refugees said the demons just showed up in the corridors, they don’t know how. Demons started killing people, taking others away. The survivors were the ones who just ran. You wanted to know, I found out what I could for you. Now leave me alone.”

He’d sought her out to give her information she’d asked for, and this was how she’d treated him? If he wasn’t on her crew anymore, she couldn’t let their friendship end like that.

“Listen,” she said, “I got mad there, and—”

“Clear the way! Get the doctor!”

Everyone stopped walking. A hush fell over the crowd. People pressed themselves to the walls, Ahiliyah and Brandun did the same.

Was Aiko hurt? Or Jenna or Thomas?

Down the corridor, through the parting crowd, Ahiliyah saw tall Will Pankour, carrying someone in a hidey suit bristling with caminus leaves. He came closer, and Ahiliyah saw he was carrying Aiko Laster.

“Oh, God,” Brandun said. “Look at her.”

Her left arm was a stump, severed at the elbow, a mess of torn flesh and broken bone. Dirt, pebbles and bits of dry grass stuck to the wound, like seasoning spread on raw meat. Strands of her hidey suit dangled, as did ragged strands of muscle and sinew. She stared out with half-lidded eyes. Dried blood on her face, wet blood visible from a deep cut in her lower lip.

Doctor Talbot pushed past Ahiliyah and Brandun, reached Will and Aiko. Talbot lifted one of Aiko’s eyelids, hurriedly felt at her neck for her pulse.

Ahiliyah couldn’t stop herself. She rushed to them, stood next to Talbot.

“Aiko, it’s Liyah. What happened?”

Aiko’s dazed eyes blinked, came into focus for a moment.

“Jantal has fallen,” she said. “The demons… everyone is dead.”

A woman shoved her way through the crowd—Carmen Ball.

“My daughter,” Carmen said. “Where is Jenna? Where is my daughter?”

Aiko blinked slowly. “Dead. Both of them. My crew is dead.”

Carmen’s wail filled the corridor. The woman fell to her knees, slumped to her side.

“We have to get her to the hospital,” Talbot said. “Brandun, clear a path!”

Brandun gave Ahiliyah a look she would not soon forget—the look of a born killer giving a final warning.

“We’re done,” he said. “You leave me be.”

He strode down the corridor—people plastered themselves against the wall to get out of his way. Ahiliyah had never seen Brandun seems so big, so intimidating. Will Pankour followed, Talbot at his side, examining Aiko even as they walked.

In seconds, they were gone, leaving a shocked crowd, silent save for the soul-wrenching wails of Carmen Ball.

29

Ahiliyah knew what Tinat was going to say before he even opened his mouth. One look at his somber expression communicated more than words ever could. And yet, the words had to be spoken.

“Aiko Laster died in the night,” Tinat said. “Doctor Talbot couldn’t save her.”

The Margrave’s Chamber felt still, suffocating. Ahiliyah didn’t want to be there. By the looks of things, neither did the councilmen, or the Margrave.

As soon as she’d been summoned here, she’d known her hero was gone. Hell, she’d known when she’d seen her missing arm, how pale her skin had been, her glassy stare.

“Such a loss,” the Margrave said. “She will be sorely missed.

Councilman Jung nodded in a way that was more time to get down to business then yes, I agree it’s a devastating loss.

“Sad, without doubt,” Jung said. “But she said that Jantal had fallen. Did she give us information on that? Details?”

Tinat leaned back in his chair. He looked… defeated. Ahiliyah had never seen him look that way.

“Nothing,” he said. “Doctor Talbot was with her until the end. I visited her bedside as well, trying to get something out of her, but she was delirious. She didn’t give any details.”

Jung huffed and sat back, crossed his arms. He was annoyed?

“She fought to get back here,” Ahiliyah said. “Demons took her arm, killed her crew, and she fought to get back here and make sure we knew Jantal had fallen. So you uncross your arms, you piece of shit, and you show Aiko Laster some god-damned respect.”

The men stared at her, wide-eyed. Ahiliyah had crossed a line. She didn’t care. Could any of these people have done what Aiko had done?

Jung uncrossed his arms.

“Liyah, that is unacceptable,” the Margrave said, his voice soft but stern. “Apologize.”

Ahiliyah wanted to kick Jung in the throat, but she knew she’d snapped.

“I’m sorry, Councilman Jung. Aiko was… she meant a lot to me.”

“To all of us,” the Margrave said. “But she is gone, and we remain. Liyah, I am naming you senior runner.”

Only yesterday, that honor would have felt so fulfilling, an accomplishment second only to the impossibility of being named a warrior. Now, though, it felt hollow. If having Aiko back meant Ahiliyah would accomplish nothing, she would have chosen nothing.

“You will make the next run to Takanta,” Tinat said. “Three days from now. We have new hidey suits to trade with them. In return, we’re getting a shipment of hotspice.”

Ahiliyah stared at him, dumbfounded. “Hotspice? You’re worried about that now? Jantal just fell. Keflan fell. Dakatera is next, then us.”

Councilman Poller sighed. “You see? I told you this would go to her head.”

“We need to do something,” Ahiliyah said, struggling to control her rage.

Balden wagged a finger at her, as if she was a naughty five-year-old.

“Hotspice preserves meat,” he said. “We need to lay in as large a store as possible in case the demons take Takanta as well.”

Was she hearing him right?

“Wait… you are planning for Takanta to fall as well? What about fighting back?”

The Margrave spread his hands. “Fight back with what? Has Creen finally come up with something? What is the latest on his work?”

Ahiliyah felt torn in multiple directions. She wanted to fight, but the Margrave was right—fight with what?

“He’s figured out how to dry and crush the leaves into a fine powder,” she said. “He calls it a concentrate. He says it should work faster and better on burning blood.”

Poller leaned forward. “He can crumple leaves. Amazing. But no weapon. Correct?”

She nodded.

“There you are,” Poller said. “Enough of this, Margrave. The boy is shirking his obligation, and right now we need every runner to do their part.”

They were going to shut Creen down. She couldn’t let that happen.

“Margrave,” she said, “he needs more time, he—”

The Margrave held up a hand, silencing her. “Creen is needed as a runner. When you make your run to Takanta, he will go with you. Tinat? Who will be the third in her crew?”

The third? But that was… oh, no…

“Susannah Albrecht,” Tinat said. “She needs to do her first run with our lead trainer, and Brandun is needed elsewhere.”

There it was. After only three runs, Brandun never had to run again. Ahiliyah hated him.

“Do the hold proud, Liyah,” the Margrave said. “Dismissed.”

30

Ahiliyah held out her hand. “Give it back to me. It’s over.”

Creen stared at the ground. Without looking at her, he opened the bronze box, pulled out her toothtongue and handed it to her.

“I need more time, Liyah.” Creen said. “I’ll find something. I will.”

She smiled a supporting smile, even though he wasn’t looking at her. What could he find? There was only so much about a bush leaf that he could study.

“No harm in you keeping at it until the run to Takanta,” she said. “Want some tea?”

He grunted once, a sound she assumed was a yes. She brought his limestone-filtered water bucket to the table, poured the water into the beaker. She reached for the box with the coal cubes, then glanced at the shelf—no mugs there. They were scattered across the table, sitting in corners, resting on every flat surface other than the shelf where clean mugs were supposed to go.

“Creen, have you just been reusing the mugs without washing them?”

He walked to a wooden chair, sat heavily. He ignored her.

Ahiliyah set the water bucket back in its place and started gathering up the mugs, placing them on the cistern. While he kept working, she could wash the mugs for him, one small act of kindness and support in the midst of what felt like impending doom.

She quickly ran out of space at the cistern and had to stack the mugs on top of each other. They were nasty, speckled inside with bits of bush leaf, some smears of whitish paste where the leftover tea had evaporated, and rough, sandpaper-like patches where the paste had fully dried.

She turned back to the table for a fourth load of mugs when she stopped cold.

The mugs … the paste.

Slowly, Ahiliyah turned back to the cistern. With a trembling hand, she picked up a mug, stared into it. A few bits of dried-out caminus leaves stuck to the bottom, but so, too, was a crust of powder. It reminded her of something… something important.

Ahiliyah reached in one finger, scraped her fingernail against the bottom, feeling the chit-chit-chit of the dust coming loose. She held the finger up to her face. An image flared in her mind, a memory of a victory snatched from the demon-jaws of defeat.

“Creen, come look at this.”

“I’m busy sitting here awash in misery.”

“Come here, now.”

He stood, came over to join her.

She held the finger up so he could see. “What does this look like?”

“It looks like a fingernail.”

“On the fingernail, smart-ass.”

He squinted, leaned closer. “Powder. And a little bit of paste. Why, exactly, should I care about the scrapings from the bottom of a day-old mug of tea?”

“When demon blood touches bush leaves, that grey powder forms, right?”

“As I am intimately aware,” Creen said. “What’s that got to do with tea?”

He was the smartest person she knew, possibly that she would ever know, but he didn’t see the connection. She did. That thrilled her. Maybe he would shoot her idea down, but she had a feeling he would not.

“Demon blood turned to ash on the leaves,” she said. “Ash kind of like this powder.”

Creen squinted more. “Kind of, yes, but it’s not the same. The powder and paste on your fingernail is white, the ash was grey. I’m kind of busy, Liyah, can you get to the point?”

“What if this white stuff is what turns burning blood to ash?”

“It’s probably the other way around,” Creen said. “Something in the blood turns something in the leaf to ash. But for argument’s sake, let’s say the powder or the paste contains the active ingredient. Again—what is your point?”

“Blood hit the leaf and made ash. If the active ingredient, as you call it, is in this powder”—she moved her finger closer to him, so it was only fractions of an inch from his face—“what happens if we put this powder inside a demon?”

Creen laughed. “Inside of one!” He bent at the waist, left hand on left knee, the other held up, palm out. “Oh, that’s good, Liyah. That’s good!” He stood, wiped away tears. “And how, exactly, do we get the powder inside a demon? Maybe sprinkled on a cupcake baked by Tolio?”

Ahiliyah knew she was on to something, something big, so his arrogance didn’t bother her.

“No cupcakes,” she said. “How do we get it inside of them? With something pointy.”

Creen laughed again, but the laugh slowly faded.

“Something… pointy.” He blinked, eyes still wet. “You mean… like a spear. Or a crossbow bolt.”

Ahiliyah nodded.

Creen stood there for a moment. Breathing. Blinking. “Holy shit-balls, Liyah.” He held out his hand. “Gimme back the toothtongue.”

A pang of loss—she should have known that was coming. She removed the necklace, handed it to him. With his free hand, he took the mug out of her hand, then walked to his worktable. She knew him well enough to know that he’d already forgotten she was there.

Was there anything to her idea? Anything at all? If so, Creen was the one to find out.

Ahiliyah left him in the lab.

31

Ahiliyah had needed a new weapon—Creen had found one.

“The bush jizz makes demon blood clot,” Creen said, slapping his wooden pointer into an open palm. “We stick the big fuckers with an arrow coated in said jizz, then it’s bye-bye demon.”

The Margrave and the councilmen exchanged glances, frowns of disapproval.

“Creen,” the Margrave said, “it’s bad enough that we came down to this sweltering room, as Liyah asked, so could you kindly watch your language?”

“Ah, fuck,” Creen said, genuinely embarrassed. “I forgot, Margrave. Sorry.”

The Margrave sighed, nodded, apparently happy to take what he could get from the boy.

Ahiliyah could have had Creen do the presentation in the Margrave’s Chamber, but she wanted the men to experience just a few moments of what Creen went through every day down here. The Margrave, Poller, Balden, and Jung were sweating like mad. She’d always wondered if they wore anything under their bulky, official robes—now she knew they did not, otherwise they would have surely taken them off to ease the heat. Only Tinat had thought ahead; his robe hung over his forearm. He sweated, too, but not as much thanks to his thinner undershirt.

Doctor Talbot had come as well, on the Margrave’s orders. Talbot had visited the factory levels enough to expect the heat and humidity. He wore only shorts and sandals. Sweat coated his saggy body, gleamed off his grey chest hair.

“You say this substance clots demon blood,” Talbot said. “Have you seen this happen?”

Creen licked his lips, hesitated. “Not exactly. There was dried residue in Ahiliyah’s toothtongue. I was able to observe the residue’s reaction to the jizz. I’m one hundred percent confident that my caminus leaf extraction is a lethal poison to the demons. But as I told the council when I started this process, I need a demon so I can run experiments on it.”

“Ridiculous,” Jung said. “This is a waste of time. We can’t bring you a demon.”

Ahiliyah moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Creen.

“We don’t need to bring him one,” she said. “We just need to find one. I can track them. Give me a party of warriors. We’ll track a demon, hunt it, shoot it with poisoned bolts, and we’ll prove Creen right.”

The gathered men said nothing. Not even Tinat.

Ahiliyah didn’t understand. She thought they’d be elated at a chance to fight back.

On the quartz slabs, Creen had drawn beautiful, detailed pictures of caminus leaves. He’d also drawn his process for extracting the white paste, and drawn the “crystallization process,” as he called it, that he believed happened when burning blood touched caminus leaves.

“This is untested,” Poller said, wiping sweat from the fat rolls of his neck. “Can we risk sending warriors to the surface at this critical time?”

His words were like a wind made of stupid. How could they not see the opportunity?

“Of course it’s untested,” Ahiliyah said. “No one has thought of it before. We have to risk the warriors, now, before we lose another hold. If the weapon works, we can gather the holds and march on Black Smoke Mountain. We can kill the Demon Mother and take our world back.”

The men stared at her.

“You want us to attack,” Councilman Jung said. “Attack Black Smoke Mountain?”

Ahiliyah nodded. “We have to, while we still have enough numbers to take them on. If we don’t, they’ll pick us off one hold at a time.”

“Sinesh tried attacking Black Smoke Mountain,” Jung said. “Look what happened—five thousand warriors, dead.”

Ahiliyah pointed to Creen’s drawings. “General Bishor didn’t have that. We can do this. We can fight. We can win.”

The Margrave walked to the slates. He looked the drawings up and down.

“This bush-jizz, it… ” he turned to Creen. “Can you please call it something less crass?”

Creen ran to the easel. He used his sleeve to erase the words “bush-jizz” and replaced them with the word “goop.”

“Much better,” Aulus said. “This goop, is it difficult to make?”

Creen shook his head. “Easier than whacking off, Margrave. You grind the leaves into mush, add water, and boil for fifteen minutes. We let that cool, strain out all the chunks, add in some starch, boil it again until it becomes jizz… I mean… goop. It takes about six hours to make a full barrel. We just need bush leaves, and lots of them.”

The Margrave stared at the drawings. Did he understand them, Ahiliyah wondered?

“This goop,” he said, “how much is needed to kill a demon?”

Creen shrugged. “I’m not sure. We don’t know anything about demon innards.”

“If it works the way he thinks it does,” Talbot said, “it might not take much to disable or kill the demons. There’s no way of knowing.”

“I’ve talked to Tolio Minsala about this,” Ahiliyah said. “He says they have enough spare kettles in the bakery to produce as much goop as we want.”

The Margrave turned back to the councilmen. “I see no reason not to move forward and make a few barrels. We can keep them in the armory. Runners can carry vials of it. Wouldn’t that be wise, Councilman Tinat?”

Tinat sat up straighter. “I agree, Margrave. Very wise.”

“Good,” the Margrave said. “That’s settled. Well done, Creen. I think you’ve earned the right to stay down here a little while longer, see what else you can come up with.”

The boy beamed. Ahiliyah was so happy for him.

“This will change everything, Margrave, you’ll see,” she said. “Who can I take with me to hunt a demon? Will Pankour is a good choice, and Andan Gisilfred is the best shot in the hold.”

The Margrave gave Ahiliyah a stern look. “We can’t risk our warriors right now.”

“But… we have a weapon,” she said.

Poller raised a finger. “You don’t have a weapon. Not yet. Not until it’s tested.”

The other councilmen nodded, all but Tinat.

“You’ll have the Minsalas make barrels of goop,” she said, “but you won’t use it?”

The Margrave frowned, glanced at Tinat. Tinat caught the signal—he cleared his throat, moved his robe from one arm to the other.

“I think the Margrave means for runners to carry the goop,” he said. “If they are attacked by a demon, they use the goop, and that will be the test. Since the runners are already in danger by the very nature of their job, we might get our test without risking irreplaceable warriors.”

The Margrave nodded.

They wanted to wait? What was wrong with them?

“Fine,” Ahiliyah said. “Keep your precious warriors. I’ll go test it myself. Tonight. I’ll track one and shoot it. You’ll see. You’ll all see.”

Again the Margrave glanced at Tinat. Again Tinat looked uncomfortable, but he did the Margrave’s bidding.

“We can’t risk you, either,” Tinat said. “You’re our senior runner, Liyah. Our most important runs fall to you. Your job is to avoid demons, not go out and look for them.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. “Do you all want to just wait until they come for us? Until everyone is wiped out?” She looked at Tinat. “You know I can do this. Tell them.”

He glanced away, refused to meet her gaze.

“Coward,” she said. Then to all of them, “You cowards.”

She saw anger flare up in the Margrave’s eyes.

“For thirty-six years, my family has protected Lemeth Hold,” he said. “In that time, Hibernia has fallen. And Pendaran. And Keflan. And now, Jantal. Four holds, gone. Thousands dead. Yet here we are, safe, and you think I’d let you try and find a demon, possibly lead others of its kind back here?”

Ahiliyah felt her temper take off at a sprint. “You think we’re safe. I bet that’s what they thought in Keflan and Jantal. Maybe they had their heads up their asses, just like you do!”

The Margrave’s face flushed red. His nostrils flared.

Fear fluttered in Ahiliyah’s stomach. She’d gone too far, way too far.

“You will not hunt demons,” the Margrave said, his voice tight, controlled. He stepped closer to her, coming in slow like a creeping demon searching for prey, only he knew exactly where she was. “You’ve served this hold well, Ahiliyah Cooper. For that, I will forgive your insult. I will not forgive you a second time.”

He turned on one heel and strode out of the lab, his purple robe flowing out behind him. The other councilmen followed him out, each with a stern, disappointed glare at Ahiliyah—all except for Tinat, who would not look her in the eye as he left.

Talbot crossed his arms and shook his head. “Liyah, your mouth will be the death of you. Do you want Drasko to pay you a visit and drag you to lockup? Because that’s what happens to people who piss off the Margrave. You’re not a child anymore—figure out how life actually works before it’s too late.”

With that, he left.

Creen let out a long-held breath. “That was fucking heavy. But hey, at least when our runners are facing a horrifying death, they’ll be able to fight back with a completely untested weapon. Gosh, our leadership really gets it, don’t you think?”

The councilmen and the Margrave didn’t understand. Maybe Talbot didn’t either. Did Creen? Did he really understand what his discovery meant?

“I won’t stop,” Ahiliyah said. “They won’t help me. Will you?”

Creen’s jaw muscles twitched. “Can helping you involve me staying safe down here, sweating my tiny balls off?”

She shook her head.

“Fuck.” Creen started to shake. He reached out, held the table’s edge to steady himself. “I don’t know if I’ll be any good to you out there. Take Brandun with you. He wants to be a hero, not me.”

She thought of her argument with Brandun in the corridor, before Aiko’s return.

“He’s a warrior now,” she said. “He won’t help us. I need you, Creen. Lemeth needs you. The entire human race needs you.”

He was so small, so fragile. He shook. It was too much to ask of him, she knew, but if she was going to risk her life, she would not feel bad about asking others to do the same.

“I made you a present.” He held out his hand. “Give me your toothtongue.”

“Doesn’t a present mean that you give something to me?”

He waggled his fingers: gimme. She sighed, lifted the toothtongue necklace and handed it over. He lifted his bronze box out from under the table. From inside, he removed a small glass vial. It took some effort, but he jammed the vial into the hollow toothtongue, then offered the necklace back to her.

“I appreciate the effort,” Ahiliyah said, “but I’m not like Tinat. I don’t need mine to sparkle.”

He gave the necklace a shake. “I know you better than that. Open the vial.”

She took the toothtongue, saw that vial had a cork. She pulled out the cork. What filled the vial wasn’t water. She dipped in a finger—it came out glistening with goop.

“Oh, Creen,” she said, smiling, “you shouldn’t have.”

“Just what every girl needs. A vial full of bush-jizz.”

“So romantic. Tolio will be jealous.” She put the cork back in, put the necklace over her head. She held on to the toothtongue. She’d grown accustomed to the feel of it, the texture. “This either means we’re engaged, or you’re going to help me kill one.”

“You’re not my type, if that’s a clue.” He was quiet for a moment. “If my poison doesn’t work, if they get us, I don’t think I can use my little friend. Don’t let them carry me away. Understand?”

She did. “If it comes to that, I’ll take care of us both.”

He stared at her, measuring her words, then nodded. “All right. I’m in.”

32

It wasn’t the time for tea.

Ahiliyah swallowed, feeling the rivergrass booze burn its way down her throat. It didn’t burn as bad as her second drink, which hadn’t burned as bad as the first.

Creen held out his hand. “You going to keep that to yourself?”

They’d chosen his swelteringly hot lab as their prep area. Even though she could shut the door to her room, people visited her there. No one came down here unless they were asked to come. No one wanted to deal with the heat—or with Creen’s mouth.

Ahiliyah passed him her mug. He drank too fast—predictably—and coughed, spraying some of the booze across the room. Water beaded in the corners of his tightly scrunched eyes.

“Smoother than a baby’s ass,” he said, his eyes still scrunched tight.

“You drink baby ass?”

Creen opened his eyes, coughed again. “Good point. I need to find another analogy.”

Tolio had given her the bottle. He was still trying to be there for her, still didn’t know how to do that. She’d thought of asking him to go with her and Creen, but in the end knew he would try to stop her—he loved her too much to see the value of risking one life to save thousands.

Creen offered her the mug.

“You drink that one,” she said. “I’ll get another.”

She looked for a clean mug, wasn’t surprised she didn’t find any. It didn’t matter—the booze was strong enough to sterilize anything left in one of Creen’s nasty mugs. She grabbed one off the table, filled it with the booze.

Creen coughed. “Smooth as a demon fart.”

Well, that was a little better, at least.

“Let’s get to work,” she said.

He joined her at the table. They’d cleared the surface of mugs, lenses and tools. On it now were coiled ropes, bandages, nets, torches, matches, a vial of “bush-jizz,” knives, bags of caminus leaf powder, dried food, and the things that might mean the difference between life and death—a heavy crossbow, bolts, and extra spearheads taken from the armory.

“You know none of this shit will matter,” Creen said. “We’re gonna die.”

“I see you have total confidence in your own brilliance.”

He raised his eyebrows, nodded. “If only it was just the jizz. Or are you forgetting the part where one of us actually has to hit a demon with the crossbow?”

No. She hadn’t forgotten. She clinked her mug against Creen’s.

“Let’s get to work,” she said.

They started checking and double-checking everything they would need. They sharpened blades. They drank. They checked ropes, hidey suits and gloves. They drank. They made sure the bandages were tightly wrapped and the torches would stay dry. They drank.

“This is bullshit,” Creen said. “Warriors are the ones who train with bows and crossbows and spears. What the flying fuck is wrong with the Council? What good are the warriors if they aren’t used to, you know, actually defend us?”

She didn’t have an answer for him. Only a few weeks ago, she’d all but worshipped the ground that Aulus Darby walked upon. He was the Margrave, he was the selfless protector.

How had she been so naïve?

Aulus didn’t want to fight. He wanted to hide. He would ignore the obvious until the obvious came to tear Lemeth Hold to pieces. He wasn’t a leader, he was a controller, subtly using the warriors to keep him in power.

Creen wobbled slightly, eyed his half-full mug. “If I drink any more, I’ll probably puke.” He drained the mug in one pull, burped one cheek-puffing burp, then glanced to the room’s entryway. “Well tickle my balls and take me to church—look who decided to join us.”

Brandun stood in the entrance. He wore a warrior’s sleeveless white shirt. White, streaked with red. A scratch across the bridge of his nose, sweating blood. Three angry, parallel scratches on the left side of his cheek. Not from demons—from human fingernails.

“Can I come in?”

Creen shrugged. “Does a warrior need to ask permission?”

Brandun stood there, staring down. Something was wrong.

“Come in,” Liyah said. “Sit.”

Brandun walked to the table, sat heavily on a stool. He stared out at nothing. What had happened? Any thought of their fight was instantly forgotten—her friend was hurting. She’d never seen him like this.

“Brandun,” she said softly, “you’re bleeding.”

He touched the scratch on his nose. He stared at the blood on his fingertips.

The blood on his tunic… Ahiliyah realized it wasn’t his.

“Get him a drink,” she said.

Creen grabbed a dirty mug, filled it with rivergrass booze. He offered the mug to Brandun, who took it, drank it all in one pull. A slight twitch of his lip was the only indication of the booze’s horrible taste.

“Tell us what happened,” Ahiliyah said. “Whose blood is this?”

Brandun took another sip, draining the mug.

“There were more refugees,” he said quietly. “From Jantal, this time. The Margrave sent the warriors out to… to tell them we couldn’t take them, that they needed to go Biseth. The refugees wouldn’t leave. They were in bad shape, Liyah. Exhausted, thirsty, hungry, wounded. We should have helped them. They wouldn’t leave. They tried to push past us, to get in. One of them cut Will Pankour. When that happened, Drasko ordered us to… to…”

Brandun stared out. He’d always had such light in his eyes, but no more. His blank stare scared her almost as bad as a demon would.

“We hurt them. And… and worse.” Finally, he looked at her. She saw only the tears in his eyes. “I didn’t think it would be like that. I didn’t think warriors did things like that.”

He leaned into her, put his head against her shoulder, his weight making her take a step back to keep from stumbling. She didn’t know what to do, so she held him.

“It will be all right,” she said.

Ahiliyah felt his head shake. “It won’t. Not ever again.”

She tilted her head at Brandun’s mug. Creen quickly refilled it.

“I don’t know what happened out there, Brandun,” Ahiliyah said, “but whatever it was, it wasn’t you. It wasn’t the real you. Do you want another drink?”

He sat up straight, wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands. He took the mug, drained it in one pull. He stared at the empty mug.

“I heard that the Margrave told you that you couldn’t hunt demons,” he said. “Is that true?”

Ahiliyah nodded.

“But you’re going to anyway.” Brandun looked at her, red eyes burning. “Right?”

She didn’t know what to say. Here he was, wearing a warrior tunic stained with blood, because he’d been doing the Margrave’s work.

“Of course we’re not hunting demons,” Creen said, slurring his words. “I mean, we do is what Margrave tells us to do is. So you can take that message back to his and tell him Ahiliyah and I are good little workers. The besss workers, the bess.”

Brandun glanced over his shoulder, looked at Creen, who smiled a wide, drunken smile.

“You got him to go,” Brandun said, nodding. “He’s always been braver than he knows.”

Creen’s smile faded. He blinked slowly, stared at Brandun.

Brandun held his mug out to Ahiliyah. She grabbed the bottle, drained the last of it into his mug. He drank that down as well.

“If we hide away, the demons will kill us.” He hung his head. “Or we’ll kill each other.”

He sat there, shattered, and the last of her resolve drained away.

“Yes, we’re going hunting,” she said. “We’re going out to test Creen’s goop. We’re going to kill a demon, then bring it back here to show everyone. We’re going to demand the Margrave use the new weapon to go to war against the demons.”

Brandun was quiet for a moment. Finally, he looked up, looked at her. So much fear in those eyes, but also shame—and pure, blazing anger.

“Say you get your demon,” he said. “And the Margrave still won’t go to war? What then?”

The words of Sinesh flashed in her thoughts: If we are to survive, someone must lead.

The Margrave was powerful. He controlled Drasko and the other warriors. But if he stood by and refused to act while holds fell, if he refused to fight while there was still a chance, then leaving him in charge might doom more than just Lemeth Hold—it might doom all of humanity.

“If we catch a demon, and he won’t fight—” Ahiliyah breathed in sharp, aware her next words could lead to her blood spilling out on the training pit sand “—then we take him out.”

Creen’s jaw dropped. “Hold on, I muss be drank… you juss say what I thought you say?”

Brandun stood. He towered over them both.

“She did.” He put his fist on his sternum. “And if you’ll both still have me, I want in.”

He was saluting her. Saluting them both.

“Brandun, you need to be sure,” Ahiliyah said. “Creen and I won’t be missed, but you’re with the warriors, they’ll know you’re gone.”

He didn’t move his fist. “I will serve my hold. If the warriors won’t do that, I will cast my lot with someone who will. Will you have me?”

The flood of relief shocked her. She blinked away tears.

“Yes,” she said. “We’ll do it together. Creen? What do you say?”

He opened his mouth to speak, then bent over, hands on his knees.

“Yeahokay,” he said, then vomited onto the stone floor.

Brandun nodded. “Heartfelt, Creen. Very heartfelt. There’s a problem, Liyah—the Margrave gave orders that except for scheduled runners, no one is allowed to enter or leave the hold. Drasko has two warriors stationed at the stairs to the deck. If we’re going to go out hunting, how are we going get past them?”

Aaliyah smiled. “I’ve already taken care of that part. And Creen, clean up your puke. We’ve got work to do.”

33

Ahiliyah was first up the long flights of stairs. When she entered the signalmyn’s quarters, Panda was there, sitting at the table. He pressed a finger to his lips, pointed to Daneton Sander, asleep on his bed.

Ahiliyah quietly dumped her bucket of water into the cistern carved into the wall. Creen came next, silently set a bucket of bread on the table in front of Panda. Brandun came up last. He’d lagged behind from carrying an overstuffed pack nearly as big as he was.

Panda saw him, blanched, scooted backward so fast his chair tipped, dumping him onto the stone floor.

Ahiliyah quickly moved over to him.

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “Brandun’s with us, not the Margrave.”

Panda shook his head, hard. “I didn’t tell anyone, I swear!” His voice bordered on a shout. “And I didn’t see anything!”

Brandun shrugged off his backpack and shot across the room with the speed of a demon. He covered Panda’s mouth, so hard his fingers made a white line on the boy’s fat cheeks.

Panda froze—his nostrils flaring, his eyes wide with terror.

Daneton grumbled, and moved. Everyone fell silent. The old man snorted, rolled over, and began snoring.

“Panda,” Ahiliyah whispered, “will you be quiet?”

His mouth still covered, his eyes still fixed on Brandun, he nodded. Brandun removed his hand; his fingers left fading white marks on Panda’s pink skin.

“Is this a trick?” Panda looked at Ahiliyah, then at Brandun, then back again. “Because if it is, I’m loyal to the Margrave. I swear it.”

“I’m with Ahiliyah,” Brandun whispered. “I’m helping her kill a demon. This isn’t a trick.”

Panda rubbed at his mouth, stared at Brandun with wide eyes.

Ahiliyah sighed. “Panda, he knows you agreed to let us out. If it’s a trick, it’s already too late—he’ll tell the Margrave you were in on our little scheme whether you help us or not. So let us out and hope for the best, all right?”

Panda didn’t take his eyes off Brandun, but he nodded.

“It’s cold out,” Panda said. “Really cold. I hope you came prepared.”

Brandun opened his bulky bag, passed out the hidey suits and warm clothes stuffed inside.

Ahiliyah slid her warm long pants on under her shift. Long-sleeve shirt and warm socks came next. Then her winter boots. She buckled on her spear-tip scabbard and winter coat, slid into her hidey suit, made sure the spear tip handle stuck out cleanly and was easy to grab. She notched her shaft holster into her backpack netting, then put on the backpack. Finally, she donned her heavy hat, pulled the hidey-suit hood up over her head, lowered the mask.

Creen and Brandun finished dressing.

The three of them looked very fat… they looked a bit like Panda.

Panda gripped the door handle. “Good luck. I hope I see you again.”

Creen held up a hand. “Wait a second. When you saw Brandun, you said you didn’t tell anyone. You didn’t tell anyone what?”

Panda again looked at Brandun. “Do you know?”

“Know what?” Brandun glanced at Ahiliyah. “I don’t know what he’s talking about. Honest.”

Panda was afraid of Brandun, that was obvious, but he was more afraid of someone else, someone he thought Brandun represented.

“Tell us,” Ahiliyah said. “We’re risking our lives. What do we need to know?”

Panda breathed in, perhaps wondering what he should do. Ahiliyah saw him straighten up, as if he’d found some internal resolve.

“Dakatera stopped signaling,” he said.

Ahiliyah’s heart sank. Brandun closed his eyes, leaned against the wall.

“The last signal I received was yesterday morning,” Panda said. “They missed their afternoon signal, and this morning’s, as well.”

The thought of another hold falling…

“That doesn’t mean the demons got in,” Creen said. “Their signaler might be broken, right?”

Panda shook his head. “They have two signalers, the main and a backup. I’ve been talking to them for years—they have never missed a scheduled session. Not until yesterday.”

Keflan, Jantal, Dakatera… Lemeth was next.

“We have to tell the Council,” Ahiliyah said.

Creen snorted. “Why do you think Panda is afraid, Liyah? He already told them.”

“I went down myself,” Panda said quietly. “Yesterday. I told them.”

He hesitated.

Ahiliyah touched his arm. “What did they say?”

“Poller said Dakatera called the wrath of God upon themselves for their evil religion.” Panda held the sides of his head, as if talking about this might make his head explode. “Jung said they were probably careless, that they were openly gathering food from the valley.”

The same things they’d say when Keflan fell. Were they in denial, or were they ignoring this deadly pattern for some reason she couldn’t understand?

“The Margrave,” Ahiliyah said, clinging to a shred of hope that he was the man she’d once thought he was, a good man, one who did the right thing. “What did the Margrave say?”

Panda closed his eyes, moved his hands to his ears. He started to rock back and forth.

“The Margrave ordered me not to tell anyone, said it would cause a panic. He said if I spoke a word of it, to anyone, even Daneton, I’d be thrown in lockup, or… or I could wind up like Mari.”

The Council had threatened his life. Ahiliyah had been right to keep her plan secret from everyone, even Tolio. Lemeth Hold was too small, word could spread too fast.

She could trust no one—no one who wasn’t in this room.

“The Margrave told me to keep a lookout for refugees, so he could get the warriors out in time to stop them—” Panda finally opened his eyes, looked at Brandun “—like they stopped the refugees from Jantal.”

Brandun turned away suddenly, stared down at the floor, the wall, anywhere but at Panda.

“We should be taking the refugees in,” Creen said. “They’re going to die out there, either from demons or winter or starvation. Why won’t he let more in?”

Panda finally looked away from Brandun’s back. He was still afraid, but now there was an air of anger to his words, a trace of disgust.

“The Margrave thinks demons will follow the refugees,” Panda said. “He thinks that if we take in any more, we’ll all die.”

Creen glanced at Brandun, then back to Panda.

“When you first saw Brandun, you said you hadn’t told anyone,” Creen said. “You also said you didn’t see anything. What didn’t you see, Panda?”

Panda said nothing. He stared at Brandun’s back.

Ahiliyah thought of Brandun’s white tunic, streaked with blood…

“It doesn’t matter what he saw,” she said. “We need to go.”

Creen gestured to Brandun. “But he was—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ahiliyah snapped. “If we don’t prove the goop works to kill demons, the Margrave won’t let anyone in, and all those people could die. Panda, open the door.”

Panda gripped the handle and leaned back, sliding the door open. Winter’s angry hand reached in and slapped everyone. Despite her thick clothes, Ahiliyah shivered—it was going to be a brutal climb down.

“Creen, lead the way,” Ahiliyah said.

The boy stared at Brandun for a moment, then shouldered his pack and stepped out onto the observation deck.

“Brandun,” Ahiliyah said. “Move it.”

Never taking his eyes off the floor, Brandun did as he was told.

Ahiliyah followed.

* * *

Ahiliyah stood at the edge of a shallow crevasse that ran through Bigsby’s Pass, looking down one end, then the other. To make this work, to stay alive, she had to choose the perfect terrain. Winter winds cut through the crevasse, made the mountain’s bushes and trees rattle. No snow yet, but it wouldn’t be long.

“This is crazy,” Creen said. “And I mean this is we ate the wrong mushrooms and ran naked through the common room, dipping our balls in the stew and then naming our cocks Claudius the Great crazy. Are we really doing this?”

Ahiliyah glanced behind her. Brandun was sharpening spear blades, while Creen sat there, staring off into nothing. Leaf-packed hidey suits obscured their dimensions.

“Well,” Ahiliyah said, “for starters, I don’t have a—”

“You don’t have a cock.” Creen nodded. “You get what I mean. This is crazy.”

Brandun tested the blade’s edge with his thumb. “If what we’ve been doing as a people all these years is sane, look where it got us.”

Creen grinned. “That sounded pretty smart. For a Dumbdun, I mean.”

“I do my best,” Brandun said, then went back to sharpening.

Creen tried to hide behind his jokes. He trembled—Ahiliyah suspected it wasn’t from the cold. He was trying hard to face his fears, to be brave, but lives were on the line.

“I need to know you can do this, Creen,” she said. “If you can’t, you can either go back, or find a place to hide and we’ll get you when it’s over.”

To his credit, he didn’t answer right away. Brandun stopped sharpening, lowered the spear blade, and waited patiently.

“Trust me, I don’t want to be out here,” Creen said. “The demons almost got me. If I don’t help with this, sooner or later they will get me. Do I want to hide? Yeah. More than anything. Keflan showed me there is no place to hide. I’m sticking with you both.”

Brandun reached out a gloved hand, squeezed Creen’s shoulder. The two boys argued more often than not, but not now. Their lives depended on each other.

“You’re braver than all the warriors,” Brandun said. “Not one of them would do what you’re willing to do.”

Creen reached up, put his gloved hand over Brandun’s. “Just don’t miss, all right?”

Brandun nodded, went back to sharpening.

Ahiliyah again examined the crevasse. Only about fifteen feet deep at its deepest. Hopefully that would be deep enough. It hadn’t rained in a while, otherwise it would have been flowing fast with mountain runoff.

It wasn’t perfect. She didn’t have time for perfect.

“Let’s get ready,” she said. “We’ve got to move some rocks.”

* * *

The sun crawled toward the horizon, turning the sky orange and yellow. Ahiliyah had chosen the time carefully—late enough to be sure demons were out hunting, yet early enough that she could see them coming in the dwindling daylight. She, Brandun and Creen had made the afternoon count, quietly doing the work needed to set the trap.

Not even five miles from Lemeth Mountain, she had found demon tracks. A day old, at most, maybe even more recent than that. She had to hope the beast that made them was close enough for her plan to work.

Was she really going to do this?

Ahiliyah would be first. She was faster than Creen. Brandun was faster than both of them, but he was the best shot.

She crawled across the cold ground, across rocks and dirt, wanting to make sure she was in the right spot before any demons spotted her. While the crevasse had steep sides, she’d found a spot where runoff had carved a sloping approach down into it.

What happened next was a gamble. Bigsby’s Pass ran northwest from Lake Mip to the northeast shore of Lake Lanee. If the demons came from the Lake Mip side, this might work. If they came from the Lake Lanee side, she was screwed.

Ahiliyah felt for her little friend. Her hand wrapped around the cool wooden handle. It wasn’t just for herself. Not anymore. Creen’s goop in the scabbard, coating the blade. If it came down to it, she would try to stab the thing, giving up her own life to test the poison, to hopefully give life to thousands of others.

She reached the runoff that angled down into the crevasse. It was time.

Ahiliyah breathed in deep through her nose, taking in the scents of the mountains—the smell of dirt, of damp rock, of trees and—of course—the caminus bushes. If this went wrong, she wanted to treasure this moment, because it might be her last. Such beauty here. What other sights did Ataegina hold? She would never know, not unless this worked.

She stood, picked up a round rock. Another big breath, a moment to fight the urge to abandon this idiocy, to run and hide, then she knelt and banged the rock against a boulder: once, twice, a third time.

Ahiliyah stared southeast through the pass. Mountains rose up on either side. No movement. She watched. She waited.

Decades ago, Sinesh had won a key battle somewhere around here, phalanx versus phalanx, men fighting, screaming, bleeding, dying. Even before the Rising, life on Ataegina had been about death.

Ahiliyah banged the rock again. On the third hit, it split down the middle, half of it tumbling from her hand. She picked up the fallen half, stood, looked—

—and saw it.

A black shape in the distance, moving toward her, faster than any person could ever run.

Ahiliyah rushed down the runoff channel, her feet kicking up clumps of dirt and rock that tumbled down alongside her.

* * *

She came around a bend in the crevasse, heard the beast racing along behind her, big feet and clawed hands crunching across dirt and gravel. Its hissing grew louder. Weathered stone walls rose up on either side—there was no escape, nothing to do but keep running, keep praying. One wrong step on a loose bit of rock or a soft spot of wet dirt could be her death.

Up ahead, a sharp bend to the right, her only chance at survival. Did she have enough of a lead? Ahiliyah sprinted harder, putting everything she had into her rush for life. She reached the bend, was going so fast she had to lean right to make the turn—her shoulder scraped against the rough wall, making her stumble. She waved her hands, trying to get control. For just a moment, she saw Creen, fifty yards further down the crevasse, standing right in the middle, then Ahiliyah skidded to a stop and dove into the oval of stones she and the others had set up hours earlier. She curled up and wedged herself in, feeling rock against her knees, her feet, her back, her head. She reached up, yanked the stick- and leaf-lined webbing over herself and the edge of the rock ring.

She shut her eyes, held her breath. She heard the demon skid to a stop—had it seen her?

“Hey, fuckface!” Creen’s voice echoed off the crevasse walls. “Come and get me!”

Ahiliyah heard big feet dig in and gravel skitter as the demon rushed after the boy, heard Creen cry out in surprise even though he’d known exactly what was coming.

She counted to five before she lifted the netting just enough to look out. Down the walled crevasse, she saw the demon’s long black tail swishing as the beast closed in on a fleeing Creen. Ahiliyah shoved the netting aside, was up and after the demon, moving as quietly as she could.

Creen stopped at a pile of stones thicker and taller than hers had been, a pile built into a spot where rushing water had carved out an undercut in the crevasse wall. His thin body squeezed into a slot barely big enough for him—his hidey suit caught on a rock.

The demon closed in, a blur of black trailed by a cloud of dust.

Creen’s foot stuck out, wiggled as he tried to free himself. The monster reached for him just as the foot vanished into the hastily built mini-fortress.

Up on the edge of the crevasse, Ahiliyah saw Brandun rise from his hiding spot, looking more like a moving bush than a human being—a moving bush holding a crossbow.

The demon screeched as it pulled at the rocks that were hiding Creen. Rocks that Ahiliyah and Brandun and Creen had been forced to lift together were thrown aside. Beneath them, Creen screamed, a high-pitched siren of terror.

Brandun stood tall. What was he waiting for?

“Shoot,” Ahiliyah whispered. “Shoot.”

The demon flung head-sized rocks aside as if they were dried chunks of wood. Stone smashed into the far wall, spun off to thud against the dirt.

“Liyah, help me! Help me, please!”

Ahiliyah felt the rage flow through her. She drew her little friend, started toward the monster, when the metallic thrum of a crossbow string stopped her.

The crossbow bolt punched into the demon’s back, just below the backsticks, just left of the spine. The monster turned sharply, long head searching for its attacker.

Brandun put the crossbow stirrup on the ground, put his foot through it, grabbed the string with both hands and yanked it back, locking it into the latch.

The demon rushed away from Creen’s pile of stones. Spindly legs carried it to the gulley wall and up it went, long arms fast and reaching.

Brandun scooped up the crossbow. As the demon rushed toward him, he tried to nock a new bolt—it tipped off the side, fell to the ground.

Ahiliyah’s feet carried her forward, knowing it was already too late, knowing that she couldn’t rescue him, that she would die along with him, knowing she should have stayed in the hold, that she should have never tried this idiotic stunt.

Brandun reached down for the dropped bolt; the demon’s skeletal hand reached up over the edge of the gulley, grabbed Brandun’s wrist.

The crossbow tumbled away as Brandun was yanked out into open air. He fell hard, bringing his arms up to shield his face just as he slammed into the dirt and stones.

The demon sprang off the rock wall, a picture of violent grace. Arms and legs both bent as it landed, absorbed the fall. The curved tail rose high.

Brandun rolled onto his back; blood streamed down his forehead, sheeting his face.

Creen kept screaming.

Crossbow bolt still jutting from its back, the demon crawled toward Brandun.

Ahiliyah shifted her little friend to her left hand. With her right, she drew her spearhead.

She didn’t speak—she roared, bellowing a guttural cry that tore at the flesh of her throat.

The demon spun in place, crouched low. Black lips wrinkled back from metal teeth, teeth that opened to let out a low hiss.

“Come on,” Ahiliyah screamed. “Come on and get me, you fuck!”

The beast crawled toward her, long black tail coiled and quivering.

Ahiliyah lowered into a fighting stance, wishing she’d taken the time to assemble her spear. Too late for that. Ten yards away, crawling toward her. Teeth and claws and tail… she didn’t stand a chance. She would die here, in the dirt and the cold.

Ten yards away, death crawled toward her.

Run… just run, it will get Brandun…

Eight yards…

Creen, screaming… Brandun, weakly calling for help…

Six yards…

What are you doing? RUN!

The mouth opened, the toothtongue slid out.

Ahiliyah felt an icy tingle blossom in her chest. The feeling spread, washed through her body. Fear thinned, faded. In its place, something far more powerful, far more pure.

Hate.

She flipped the little friend in her left hand, held it tight to her palm with three fingers and a thumb as she used her pointer finger to lift her face net, flip it over her head. The demon hissed. Ahiliyah hooked her finger around the chain of her necklace, then pulled, lifting the toothtongue free of her hidey suit. She raised it, showed the dangling trophy to the beast.

“You see this?” She tugged on the necklace, making the toothtongue dance. “I killed your friend, I’m going to kill you, then I’m going to kill every single fucking one of your kind.”

The demon reached out, came closer, just four yards away…

Ahiliyah let the necklace drop. She flipped her knife again, crouched, held both blades toward the beast. The hate inside her, so powerful. She would try to stab with the spearhead, make it go for that, then she’d lunge with the little friend. Maybe the goop worked, maybe the crossbow bolt just hadn’t delivered enough.

She would die. If Brandun and Creen lived, it was worth it.

“Come on,” Ahiliyah said through clenched teeth. “Come and get it.”

The demon scurried forward, stopped only three feet away. Ahiliyah flinched at the sudden movement, felt her back hit the jagged stone wall—the beast had maneuvered her so she could only go left or right, where it would instantly catch her.

It didn’t matter—this was the end, and she would do Lemeth Hold proud. She crouched low, her heart threatening to launch itself out of her chest.

The demon leaned forward, stretched out a hand… the long-fingered hand was trembling.

The beast leaned back, weight on its bent legs. It held the trembling hand up in front of its long head. The demon twitched sharply, as if stabbed by some invisible spear. The curled tail began to thrash spasmodically. Its body began to shake. Black jaws opened and closed, opened and closed, a rapid clack-clack-clack of metallic teeth that echoed off the crevasse walls.

A sharp, short screech, then the demon lurched away from her, scurrying backward. It tripped over Brandun, fell on its backsticks and quivering tail. The monster rolled to its side, arms thrashing at nothing, long legs kicking out in random directions.

Ahiliyah forgot her pain, her terror. She sheathed her spearhead as she ran to Brandun, grabbed him under his armpits and dragged him clear of the lurching beast.

“Liyah,” he said. “What’s… what’s happening?”

Her heel caught a rock and she fell backward, falling to her ass just as the demon had. She scrambled to her knees, saw her little friend. She snatched it up, squatted next to Brandun, the blade tip pointed at the demon.

Creen’s hidey-suit-covered head popped up from the ruined pile of rocks.

“It’s dying,” he said. He sounded different, and not just because he’d screamed himself hoarse. He sounded like a person who had endured something that would change him forever.

The demon jerked, rolled from its left side to its right. The toothtongue shot out and clamped down on empty air. The beast’s back arched, its arms reaching out toward nothing.

“I hope it hurts,” Creen said. “That’s your blood coagulating, you piece of shit. That’s chunks of ash clogging in whatever passes for your heart.”

The demon’s arms dropped, limp. Its chest rose and fell.

Creen stood, carefully stepped over the pile of rocks.

“Don’t,” Liyah said. “Don’t go near it.”

Creen ignored her, stepped past her. The boy who had been begging for his life now stood in front of the beast that had been trying to kill him. With one foot, Creen reached out, kicked the demon’s leg—there was no reaction. The demon twitched slightly—almost dead, but not quite.

Creen fumbled at his hidey suit; Ahiliyah couldn’t see what he was doing.

“Before you die, I got something for you,” the boy said. “Enjoy.”

A stream of piss rained down on the demon, splashing off the long, round head to splatter on dirt and rocks.

34

Darkness fell. There was no time to hide until morning, they had to get back as fast as possible, no matter what the risks of moving at night.

They’d stayed at the kill site only long enough for Ahiliyah to stitch up the cuts on Brandon’s face and arms. She used all the thread she had, and most of Brandun’s as well. The stitches looked terrible, but Brandun didn’t seem to mind—he sat there, still as could be, trying to deal with the dull pain in his head.

While she had stitched and bandaged his wounds, Creen had used his spearhead to make small, careful cuts to drain what was left of the demon’s blood onto the crevasse floor. There was enough left to turn the dirt into a smoking, stinking, bubbling mess that would soon cool to form bloodglass. After draining the corpse, Creen had used his half-melted blade to saw off the demon’s head. He’d emptied out his backpack—the demon’s dead face poked out the top.

They marched single file, with Liyah in the lead and Creen bringing up the rear. They weren’t far from home. They knew this terrain well and made good time. Bigsby’s Pass behind them, they started up the foothills of Lemeth Mountain. Against the backdrop of a cloudless, starry sky, the Three Sisters high above it, Ahiliyah saw the peak of her mountain home.

“Hey, Creen,” Brandun whispered, his words slowed by his pain, “you smell like piss.”

Ahiliyah heard Creen stifling a laugh.

“Yeah,” he said, “I should have thought about that before whizzing on the thing.”

All three of them had come close to death—they had survived. Ahiliyah could barely contain her feelings of satisfaction, of elation. Now they had hope. Everyone did.

From far up ahead, a faint noise. She raised a fist—Brandun and Creen stopped behind her.

Ahiliyah slowly turned her head, searching for the sound. It came again. Distant, faint, but regular. Was that… people?

“Marching,” Brandun whispered. “Unorganized, but sounds like a lot of people.”

His ears were better than hers. In seconds, she heard what he’d heard, the soft, steady tread of hundreds of feet. It was close, coming from the northwest, just around the next foothill.

Too much noise—it might draw the demons.

Ahiliyah waved her hand forward and moved toward the sound, knowing her crewmates would follow. She heard the soft sound of a spearhead being drawn from a scabbard.

She reached the crest of the foothill, stopped, stared down. There, in the light of the Three Sisters, only a few hundred yards from the final approach of Lemeth Hold, was a column of people working their way up the rocky slope. Hundreds of them—most dressed in red or yellow.

“Dakaterans,” Ahiliyah said. “Refugees.”

Brandun stepped forward, stood shoulder to shoulder with her.

“The Margrave won’t let them in,” he said. “We have to help them. Drop your packs, they’ll slow us down. Liyah, assemble your spear.”

She did as he asked. Standing side by side, their hands moved in a blur of well-practiced motions.

“Oh, shit,” Creen said. “The refugees aren’t alone.”

He pointed southwest. There, far away, racing along the shore of Lake Lanee, Ahiliyah saw the light of the Three Sisters gleaming off the heads of a horde of demons.

“Fifty, at least,” Creen said, his voice wavering. “Hard to tell from this far.”

Brandun finished assembling his spear. “How long until they reach the refugees?”

Ahiliyah finished hers. She stood, fought down her rising anxiety, forced herself to look, to think.

“Fifteen minutes. Maybe less.”

“Creen, get to the wall and drop ropes,” Brandun said. “Keep the head with you—the hold has to know your poison works. Liyah, you and I are helping the refugees.”

Creen grabbed ropes from all three packs, then dug in his pack for the jar of poison. He handed it to Ahiliyah, who shoved it inside her hidey suit. She felt its cold through the belly of her shirt.

“If we don’t make it, show people the head,” she said. “Tell everyone what you did before you tell anyone in the Council. Scream it if you have to.”

Creen yanked his little friend scabbard out of his suit, pressed it into Ahiliyah’s hand.

“You can count on me,” he said. “I’m good at being loud. Please don’t get killed. That goes for both of you.”

With that, he sprinted toward the approach to the hold, while Liyah sprinted after Brandun.

* * *

The refugees saw them coming; five warriors in dirty, blood-streaked white cloth armor spread out, three with spears and battered wooden shields painted yellow and red, two behind them with crossbows. Brandun waved his free hand over his head, signaling to them.

“Demons are coming, fast,” he said. “Keep moving, come on.”

The warriors craned their heads to look back, quietly urged the others to move faster.

“They’ve been after us the whole way,” one of the warriors said. “They keep grabbing our people and taking them away. We have to get inside.”

Someone stepped out of from the crowd of red and yellow—it was the Margravine.

Ahiliyah flipped her face netting back, rushed to her. “Margravine, we’ll guide you up the approach.”

“Will you?” The old woman shook her head. “Your leader sent a signal we got before we were attacked, told us Lemeth Hold would take no more refugees. I hope you can do something about that, otherwise—” she gestured to the long line of exhausted, shivering, bedraggled people “—we’re all as good as dead.”

Ahiliyah would not let that happen. “We’ll get you in, I promise. Come on.”

She took the Margravine by the elbow, urged her toward the approach. All around, people bordered on panic. Men and women looked over their shoulders, stumbled on loose rocks and dirt. Some carried babies. Some dragged exhausted children stumbling along. Ahiliyah saw few old people in the column—if the elderly had escaped, they hadn’t made it here.

“Fall in behind us,” Brandun said. “Liyah, take the left.”

She did, and Brandun took the right. Together, they set the outer boundaries for where the refugees could walk. That helped the column of shuffling, sniffling, scared people move quickly.

Behind them came the distant screech of a demon.

Time was running out.

They reached the base of the ruined wall. Ropes dropped down, one, two, three. Some people sent their children up the ropes, other people began climbing the wall, fumbling their way for footholds and handholds in the moonslight. The Dakateran warriors stayed at the base, helping people up.

Ahiliyah looked down the approach—the first demons were almost to the base. Some must have been faster than others, causing the pack to stretch out.

“We fought them all the way,” the Margravine said, “but for every one we kill, they got ten of ours. It’s hopeless.”

As a tight pack, there was no chance to beat the demons, but they’d thinned into a long line. Killing the first few would come at a cost, but it would buy time.

Ahiliyah again felt that coldness blossom in her chest. Everything seemed… calm. She felt the hate rise up, and she did nothing to stop it.

“It’s not hopeless,” she said. “Tell your men to do exactly what I say.”

The Margravine looked at her, tired, wrinkled eyes narrowing with doubt.

Liyah pulled out her toothtongue necklace, held it up. “I know how to kill them.”

“I hope so,” the Margravine said softly, then she waved at her warriors. “Get over here! Do whatever this woman tells you to do.”

More ropes came flying down from above. People scrambled up. Even with the ropes, Ahiliyah saw that she couldn’t save everyone. She had to get the warriors to higher ground—the longer they lived, the more people would survive.

“Get up the wall,” Ahiliyah said. “Now, use the ropes.”

The warriors glanced backward at the oncoming demons, then at their people. They saw what Ahiliyah saw, that not everyone would make it up in time. They wanted to stay and fight to the last—these were real soldiers, not the polished shields that bossed people around Lemeth.

“Climb!” Ahiliyah grabbed a warrior, pushed him toward a rope. “Help the Margravine!”

That got them moving. The five warriors slung shields and bows. They helped tie a rope under the Margravine’s arms, then climbed along with her as someone above pulled her up.

A demon screamed. She took one last look back down the approach, saw a demon impaled on the spikes of a tree-branch trap, saw a second demon rushing past. The second demon caught the last refugee in the column. A reach, a grab, a stifled scream, and the demon took off in the other direction, a doomed woman in its black hands.

Ahiliyah scrambled up the wall, the memory of all her climbs guiding her hands and feet to the safe spots. In seconds, she climbed over the top and into the darkness below the overhang. She looked back in time to see a demon trigger one of the traps just as it grabbed a terrified man—a boulder smashed down, crushing them both. Burning blood squirted out, sprayed across a little boy who had either become separated from his parents or had made the journey alone. His high-pitched scream ate at the night. He fell to his back, kicking and thrashing, moonslight reflecting off the blood of his melting face.

More demons closed in.

Ahiliyah glanced right, to the door that led to the stairs down—the door wasn’t open. Creen was slapping his hands on the stone, screaming as refugees packed in around him.

“Creen, get the damn door open!”

“I’m trying,” he shouted back. “People inside are just getting to it now!”

Brandun and other refugees were pulling at the ropes, hauling up the last of those that would make it. The screams of those that would not tore at Ahiliyah’s heart.

The Margravine’s men gathered around her. She had to trust Creen would get the door open. She reached into her suit, pulled out Creen’s jar and held it so the warriors could see it.

“This is demon poison. Hold out crossbow bolts and spear blades.”

The men obeyed. She talked quickly as she dipped her fingers into the jar and slathered the bronze weapons with the goop.

“This kills them, but not right away. If they get on the deck, stick them once and try to keep them at a distance until it works. Archers, take out the front runners.”

She glanced at the door—through the mass of yellow- and red-clad people, she could see it was open. Creen, Brandun and the Margravine stood there, waving people in a few at a time, trying to keep them calm and avoid a stampede down the stone steps.

The thrum of a crossbow brought Ahiliyah back to the task at hand. She saw the bolt sail through the air, land just wide of the leading demon. A second bolt buried itself in the beast’s shoulder—it kept coming.

Behind it, several demons carrying people away, and two dozen or more rushing in—the pack had arrived.

Ahiliyah glanced at the opening—half the people were still working their way inside.

“Keep firing,” she said. “Spearmen, wait for me here.”

She sprinted along the deck, away from the opening, careful to give a linchpin stone a wide berth. One step on that stone would drop the whole overhang down on her head. Twenty yards from the door, she stopped—she was directly above one of the traps built into the wall below. She stood tall, waved both arms above her head.

“Come and get me, you cocksuckers!”

The wounded demon and one other continued on toward the archers, but the three right behind them angled her way. So fast, so deadly… death itself, black as night, coming to take her.

Ahiliyah ducked down. Out of sight behind the wall, she quickly crawled back to the spearmen. There were only about twenty people left at the stone door, filtering in two at a time. As she reached the spearmen, a demon scurried over the wall—two spearmen impaled it, then both shoved forward, flinging the dying beast out into the open air to crash to the rocks below.

“Lock shields,” Ahiliyah said. “On me, backward to the door, crossbowmen behind us.”

The three spearmen overlapped their shields instantly, as if they had trained with Ahiliyah all their lives. They leveled their spears over the top—smoke rose from two of the blades.

On the deck where she’d waved, a cloud of dust puffed up from below, catching the moonslight. Two demons crawled through that dust and over the wall—the trap had only got one of the three.

“Liyah,” Brandun bellowed from behind her, “move!”

Ahiliyah tugged at the red tunics of the spearmen.

“Back steady,” she said. “Come on, move!”

The spearmen shuffled backward. The two demons on the deck rushed in. One hit the linchpin stone—the overhang collapsed like the flat grey hand of a giant, smashing them flat. Burning blood sprayed out. The spearmen and Ahiliyah ducked reactively—burning blood sprayed against the shields and over the top of them, catching one of the crossbowmen behind her. The man screamed, dropped his cocked crossbow. Ahiliyah reached for it, realized she couldn’t operate it and hold the jar of goop. She kicked the weapon aside so it wouldn’t trip the spearmen.

“Keep moving,” she said. “Back, back, come on.”

Demons crested the wall and dropped onto the deck, started crawling toward the warriors and their smoking shields. One of the spearmen cried out, shook his shield off his arm, let it clang to the stone. One glance in the darkness told Ahiliyah why—demon blood had eaten through the metal. The other two spearmen closed ranks.

They were almost to the door when black hands reached in from the overhang, grabbed the screaming crossbowman and yanked him clean off his feet. In an instant, the crossbowman was gone, hauled up above the overhang, out of sight.

A hand on her shoulder, then Brandun’s voice: “Get in here!”

She rushed through the door. Inside, she found both Creen and the Margravine urging people down the packed stairs, yelling for them to make space for the warriors. Ahiliyah saw Lemethian men at the door’s edge, waiting for the order to slam it shut.

She looked back outside, as the remaining Dakateran bowman rushed in. The spearmen turned to move in, and when they did a demon shot forward, hissing, claws reaching and mouth open—Brandun drove his spear deep into its throat. Burning blood sprayed out, splashing against a spearman’s leg. He screamed, fell on his chest, his body half in and half out of the door.

Ahiliyah and Creen grabbed him, hauled him in.

Brandun snatched up the man’s smoking spear. “Close it, now!”

As the door slid, Ahiliyah saw more of the beasts—dozens of them—pouring over the wall like boiling black pudding.

The stone door slammed shut.

Ahiliyah dropped to her knees. She heard the pounding footsteps of refugees running down the stone steps, the heavy breaths of the Dakateran warriors, of Brandun and Creen and the Margravine, the screaming of the wounded spearman and the sizzling of his flesh.

Creen grabbed the jar of goop out of her hand.

“Brandun, hold him,” he said, then dug two fingers into the jar.

Brandun all but sat on the struggling, screaming man.

Creen smeared the goop on the sizzling, smoking wound. The burning blood instantly foamed, turned to grey ash. The man stopped screaming. Blinking rapidly, he looked at Creen, then fell to his back.

The Margravine snatched the jar from Creen’s hands.

“What is this?” She held it up to Ahiliyah. “It stops burning blood? You kept it from us?”

“And the poison,” the last archer said through heavy breaths. “I took one down with a single bolt, Margravine. I hit him twenty yards out. By the time it reached the wall, it fell dead. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

Fury danced in the Margravine’s eyes. “You have a weapon against the beasts, and you didn’t tell us. How long have you known?”

Ahiliyah tried to count the days, wondered if it was wise to say anything right then.

“Two weeks,” Creen said. “We’ve known for two weeks. Don’t blame Liyah. Want to know why you weren’t told? Ask the Margrave.”

The Margravine’s fury faded. From her face, at least—it still burned brightly in her eyes.

“Oh, I will ask the bastard,” she said. “You bet I will.”

Brandun leaned in, whispered fiercely. “Be quiet! Can’t you hear them out there?”

In the silence that followed, they all heard it—claws scratching against the rock door.

“They’re looking for a way in,” the Margravine whispered. “Let’s get our wounded to the hospital. Ahiliyah, you lead the way.”

The hate was gone. So was the cold feeling, and the focus. Now she only felt tired, drained of all energy. Ahiliyah pushed herself to her feet, and—quietly—led the others down the stairs.

35

The hospital whirred with activity. Ahiliyah stood just inside the entrance. The Margravine held her elbow, quietly commanding her to stay put.

Two Dakateran warriors flanked them; both were exhausted, spotted with raw sores brought on by tiny drops of burning blood, the same blood that had scored their helmets, eaten through small spots on the red and yellow shields they’d rested against the wall. They’d broken down their spears; their fingers flexed on the handles of their sheathed spearheads. They glanced around nervously, as if they expected demons to tear through the walls.

The men had quietly thanked Ahiliyah for what she’d done, and introduced themselves—Greg Lindeman and Nicholas Malmsteen. Nicholas was a distant cousin of Britt Malmsteen. Small world.

The Dakateran warrior wounded up on the deck—Ahiliyah didn’t know his name—lay face-down on a hospital bed, chewing madly on Lisa’s root, grimacing as Doctor Talbot bandaged his horrid wounds.

The warrior wasn’t the only casualty. Lemethians helped crying, moaning Dakaterans into the hospital, put them on beds at the direction of Doctor Monique. Most wounds were from burning blood. A few refugees had torn clothes soaked with blood, the result of claws or tails or teeth. There were other injuries as well, incurred during the long, cold march from Dakatera or from the mad climb up Lemeth’s old walls.

“I’m sorry your people died out there,” Ahiliyah said. “I wish I’d got to you sooner.”

The Margravine turned to face her. Ahiliyah stared into the woman’s riveting blue eyes.

“You owe no apology,” the Margravine said. “The evil beasts hunted us, like we were animals. If not for you and the other one… what is the big boy’s name?”

“Brandun.”

“If not for you and Brandun, there would be no survivors. Up on the deck, I watched you take command. You have a brilliant mind.”

Ahiliyah glanced at the wounded people, thought of the screaming Dakaterans carried off by demons, thought of the warrior who had been snatched right off the deck.

“But I lost so many.”

“That’s what happens in war,” the Margravine said. She smiled sadly. “When you lead people into battle, don’t think of the ones you lost.” She gestured to the beds, now full of crying, tired, bleeding Dakaterans. “Think of the ones you saved.”

Shouts came from down the corridor—the booming voice of the Margrave.

The Margravine stiffened, stood straight. Ahiliyah saw the look in her eyes, recognized an emotion now familiar and powerful. In her eyes, Ahiliyah saw pure hate.

Aulus Darby stormed into the hospital, flanked by Drasko Lamech, Rinik Brennus, and Shalim Aniketos. Rinik and Shalim each held a runner-length spear, while Drasko carried only his billy club.

The Margrave saw the Margravine, strode toward her. The two Dakateran warriors bristled at the sight of Drasko and the others, started forward to intercept, but a flick of the Margravine’s hand stopped them.

Drasko pointed at the Dakateran warriors. “Put those weapons down.”

“Do no such thing,” the Margravine said.

Aulus strode up to her as if the two Dakateran warriors weren’t even worth his notice.

“Herriet,” he said, growling out the word. “You and your people need to leave.”

She sneered. “The demons attacked Dakatera. Drove us out. There may be more of us nearby, hiding until daylight—come morning, you will let them in. My people need shelter.”

“There is no shelter for you here,” Aulus said. “We’ve already got refugees from Keflan, and we can’t even feed them. At first light, you will take your people to Biseth.”

The hospital had been buzzing with the moans of the wounded and injured, the calls of the doctors, the scurrying of assistants and other Lemethians who scrambled to help in any way they could. Now, all were silent—everyone watched the two leaders square off.

“You will help us,” the Margravine said, staring up defiantly at the taller man. “What are you going to do, Aulus? Force us to leave while your people stand by and watch?”

The Margrave thumped his fist against his chest. “These people do what I tell them to do. Lemeth Hold is mine, Herriet. If you push me further, you’ll be lucky to leave here alive.”

Ahiliyah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He would cast out these wounded, exhausted people? He was threatening the Margravine’s life?

“Luck?” The Margravine pointed her finger in the Margrave’s face. “We wouldn’t have needed luck if you’d told us about the demon poison! You selfish bastard—where is your humanity? You’re just as much a monster as the demons are.”

The Margrave’s face flushed red. “Drasko, put this bitch in lockup.”

Drasko stepped forward, reached for the Margravine.

Her warriors reached for their spearheads. Greg Lindeman’s blade barely cleared its scabbard before Rinik Brennus thrust his spear—the blade drove deep into Greg’s neck.

Blood sprayed, hitting the Margrave and the Margravine.

People screamed, Talbot shouted stop—the sounds seemed distant, seemed to come from some other place, some other time.

Nicholas Malmsteen’s blade flashed, slicing a deep gash across Rinik’s cheek. Rinik cried out, dropped his weapons, his hands flying to his bloody face. Nicholas stepped forward to plunge his blade into Rinik’s chest, but Drasko’s club cracked down on Nicholas’s forearm; Ahiliyah heard bones crack. The spearhead fell free, bronze clattering against stone. Drasko twisted his hips, whipped his club in a blurring backhand that caught Nicholas in the forehead. Nicholas fell backward like a rock, unconscious before his back hit the floor.

A moment of utter stillness, then Talbot rushed to Greg, tried to stem the flow of blood pouring out of the Dakateran’s neck. Greg’s mouth opened and closed—Ahiliyah had seen enough death to know there was nothing Talbot could do to save the man.

Drasko turned on Rinik. “You idiot! Why did you stab him?”

Rinik pressed his blood-sheeted hand against his blood-sheeted cheek.

“They drew first,” he said. “We had to protect the—” Drasko’s club smashed Rinik’s mouth, sending a tooth skittering across the floor. Rinik wobbled, fell to his knees. Drasko whipped the club down again, the wood cracking against Rinik’s head. Rinik sagged, fell to his side.

Drasko raised the club to strike a third time—but before he could, Talbot shoved him hard enough to make the big man stumble.

“Get out,” the doctor screamed. “You fucking animals! Get out of my hospital!”

Talbot knelt next to Rinik, fingers probing the man’s wound as if Rinik was just another patient, as if he hadn’t just killed a man, as if Drasko wasn’t standing right there.

The shock of the sudden fight held a moment more, then broke.

“You murdering bastards,” the Margravine said. “My man survived the demons, he fought to keep his people alive, and in the safety of your hold, you murdered him.”

The Margrave no longer looked confident. He looked like a man who had lost control. Red blood splattered across his white beard. He glanced at Talbot and Rinik, at the unconscious Nicholas, at Greg, who had stopped moving, who stared up at the ceiling with dead eyes.

“We must control the Dakaterans,” he said. “Drasko… take the Margravine to lockup.”

Drasko grabbed the Margravine by the hair, yanked the old woman toward the door. Her feet caught; she fell hard on her knees. She cried out, curled into a shaking ball.

“Leave her alone,” Ahiliyah said. “What’s wrong with everyone? The demons are right outside and we’re killing each other!”

The Margrave slowly turned his head. He stared at Ahiliyah. As he did, he seemed to gather strength, become his old self again.

“And take our senior runner to lockup as well,” he said. “She let them in.”

Drasko let go of the Margravine’s hair, took one step toward Ahiliyah, the club held out in front of him. Embedded in the bloody wood, she saw a bit of white—one of Rinik’s broken teeth.

“You’ve got weapons stashed in your hidey suit, Liyah,” Drasko said. “Take them all out. Nice and slow. If you conveniently forget any, I promise I will make you hurt.”

Ahiliyah had just witnessed the man’s speed, seen how hard he could hit. Drasko weighed more than twice what she did. No one moved to help her. If she tried anything, it would be her teeth flying across the room.

One man on the floor, dead. Another knocked out cold. Another bleeding all over the place. She’d survived a wave of demons only to face this?

The world had gone mad.

She slowly reached to her back, drew her spearhead from its scabbard and dropped it on the floor. She reached into her netting, did the same with her little friend.

Drasko raised an eyebrow. “Nothing else stashed in that hidey suit?”

“Just the normal stuff I need for a run,” Ahiliyah said. “No weapons.”

Drasko pointed his bloody halfstaff at the Margravine. “Help her up.”

Ahiliyah stepped to the Margravine, took her gently by the shoulders. The Margravine stood on wobbly legs, leaned heavily on Ahiliyah—she had never seemed so old.

“Murderers,” the old woman said. “Are you going to murder me as well?”

The Margrave scowled. “You were told not to come here, yet you did, and the evil came with you. Murder you? You may have murdered this entire hold. I’ll see you put in lockup myself. You as well, runner.” He pointed at the unconscious Nicholas. “Shalim, tie him up, then bring him to lockup. Drasko, if they disobey, kill them.”

Drasko pointed his club toward the entryway. “Move it, Liyah. You know the way.”

Ahiliyah didn’t know what had just happened, didn’t know what to do, but she knew that if she didn’t move, Drasko wouldn’t hesitate to obey the Margrave’s orders.

“Come on, Margravine,” she said. “I’ll help you.”

Ahiliyah helped the woman out of the hospital and into the corridor.

36

“Everyone clear the way,” Drasko called out. “The Margrave is coming through.”

Lemethians pressed against the corridor walls, peered out from doorways. Word had quickly spread about the demons attacking, almost getting inside. Ahiliyah could feel their fear.

“Don’t be a fool, Aulus,” the Margravine said. “Stand and fight, before it’s too late.”

Ahiliyah felt a hard poke in the back—Drasko prodding her with the billy club.

“Keep moving,” he said. “Both of you.”

Ahiliyah half-supported, half-pulled the woman along.

“Not much further,” Ahiliyah said. “The armory is up ahead, the lockup is just after that.”

On the ceiling, the glowpipe lights flickered.

“Stop,” Drasko said.

Ahiliyah and the Margravine did.

Drasko’s glance flicked between the glowpipes and Ahiliyah. She supposed she should have been flattered—she was unarmed, yet the toughest man in the hold still considered her a threat. Demon Killer, he called her. For all the good that did her now.

“Keep moving,” the Margrave said. “I want this woman behind bars.”

The glowpipes again gleamed bright.

Before Drasko could poke her again, Ahiliyah urged the Margravine along.

They left the residential rooms behind, entered the long corridor that led to the armory and the lockup.

The glowpipes dimmed again—dimmed to almost nothing, to only a film of water coating the glass that gave off almost no light at all. That, too, faded, and all went black.

“This is how it started in Dakatera.” The Margravine’s voice, eerily disembodied in the absolute darkness. “They take out the pipes. They don’t need light.”

From far back in the residential section, the haunting echo of a woman’s scream. Goosebumps rippled across Ahiliyah’s skin. So dark—she could see nothing.

“I have a torch,” she said. “Hold on.”

She reached into her hidey suit pockets, hoping Drasko wouldn’t think she was trying to find a hidden weapon and smash her over the head for it. Even in the absolute darkness, the corridor was so small he could grab her and hit her in an instant.

“Hurry up,” the Margrave said.

Ahiliyah heard the fear in his voice. She felt that same fear—had the lords of the night found a way in? Through the darkness, another distant scream echoed through the corridor. A man’s scream this time, and the faint hint of shouts… of calls for help.

Ahiliyah struck a match against the floor. The flame flared up, briefly blinding. She held her torch over it, watched the dry wood catch fire, bringing light back to the corridor.

In the flickering torch’s glow, the Margravine smiled.

“Now you will see what it’s like, Aulus,” she said. “You’ll watch your people die.”

Aulus Darby stepped past Drasko, grabbed the Margravine and threw her hard against the corridor wall. The old woman grunted on impact, crumpled into a yellow pile.

“This is your fault, you stupid bitch!” He leaned over her, the torchlight playing off his wrinkled face and blood-streaked beard. “They followed you here!”

He stepped back, kicked her in the ribs. The Margravine cried out and tucked into a ball.

Ahiliyah dropped the torch, threw herself down, covered the older woman with her own body. She closed her eyes and waited for the next kick.

It never landed—the echoing, soul-shriveling screech of a demon froze everyone in place.

In the silence that followed, the torch’s soft crackle seemed impossibly loud.

“They’re inside,” the Margrave whispered. “How could they get inside?”

Drasko took him by the arm. “Margrave, we need to move.”

From the corridor’s darkness came a new sound… the sound of falling rock?

Aulus reached down, yanked at the netting of Ahiliyah’s hidey suit.

“Liyah, your Margrave needs your service,” he said, his words coming far faster than normal. “We may have to get to the surface, you know the surface better than anyone.”

Now he wanted her help? “You’ll get no assistance from me.”

The Margrave grabbed her wrist, yanked her to her feet. “I said, your Margrave needs your service! Leave that old bitch where she lies, she will buy us time!”

Ahiliyah yanked her arm free, stepped forward and smashed her fist into the Margrave’s nose, rocking his head back. Blood gushed, reflecting like molten metal in the torchlight.

Her head exploded with pain. She fell in a heap on the corridor floor. A hand grabbed her hair, yanked her head back—she stared up into the too-close face of Drasko Lamech.

“Kill her,” the Margrave said, his words nasal, muted. “Kill that little cunt.”

Drasko let her go, stepped back. “No, you were right, we need her. I haven’t been on the surface in ten years, and you’ve never been up there.”

The Margrave snarled. Fluttering torchlight reflected off the whites of his too-wide eyes, played off the white of his blood-streaked beard. He looked like a madman.

“I am your Margrave, you will do what I say. I gave you an order. She hit me. Kill her!”

If it had been any other time, any other place, Ahiliyah might have laughed—Drasko could break Aulus Darby in half with one hand, yet the big warrior shrank at the older man’s words.

Ahiliyah’s head throbbed. She felt a trickle of blood rolling down the back of her neck, realized that Drasko had hit her with his billy club.

She heard a muffled noise, distant, barely audible over the torch’s crackle. A scraping sound, intermittent, coming in fast bursts, then nothing at all. She’d heard something like it before…

“We’ll find another runner,” Aulus said. He pointed at Ahiliyah. “Kill her, Drasko. Now!”

Drasko shrank further. His hand flexed on the billy club’s handle. He looked at her from under his eyebrows, and she knew he would obey the Margrave’s order.

“I’m sorry, Liyah,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

If Ahiliyah was to die at the hands of this spineless, mewling worm, then she would make him earn it. She bent into a fighting stance and raised her fists.

“Don’t call me Liyah, you coward—call me Demon Killer.”

The Margrave’s scream of pain made them both jump.

Aulus Darby fell to the floor, his hands clutching at the back of his right knee. He cried out in agony, rolled to his side.

The Margravine slowly stood, that mad smile wide on her wrinkled face. Her dress, torn and bloody. Her dry hair, wild and tangled.

In her hand, a little friend—the blood on the blade gleamed in the torchlight.

“Should have had your thug search me, Aulus.” She knelt next to the Margrave, examined him the way a cook might examine a gulping fish. “I sliced your hamstring. I’d kill you, but I’d like to know you died at their hands. Maybe you’ll buy us time. Who is the bitch, now, eh?”

The leader of Lemeth Hold clutched at his knee, his hands red with blood.

Back down the corridor, not even five yards away, the ceiling collapsed, filling the corridor with tumbling stones and spilling dirt. Ahiliyah squinted her eyes against billowing dust, saw something fall through and land hard on the rubble-strewn floor.

Something black.

Ahiliyah saw her torch on the floor, flickering flame lighting up the floating dust. She snatched it up, held it toward the black thing. It was a demon, yes, but different from the ones she’d seen on the surface. Thin, lethal, but … small, only a bit bigger than she was. The long black head looked thin, pointy. No backsticks. The tail was a squat black stub.

The beast slowly rose to all fours. Arched back, narrow hips and shoulders. Its hands—no, its paws—were larger and thicker than any Ahiliyah had seen before, and the talons looked less like claws and more like a shovel blade sliced lengthwise into four parts.

One of the claws was missing from its left paw; burning blood oozed out onto the tunnel floor, not just from that wound but from a dozen cuts and tears on both hands.

“God help us,” the Margravine whispered.

Ahiliyah final realized what she was looking at—a demonic vootervert. In that instant, she understood how the beasts had got into Keflan, into Jantal, into Dakatera. And, now, into Lemeth.

They had dug their way in.

The hunchbacked demon opened its metal-toothed mouth. A toothtongue slipped out, tasted the air. It squealed a squeal that Aaliyah had never heard before.

“Margravine, come to me, slowly,” Liyah whispered. “We are leaving.”

Aulus coughed from the dust. He was still on the floor, between the vootervert demon and Ahiliyah. He saw the beast, rolled to his hands and knees, tried to stand. He could not.

“Liyah, help me,” he said, far too loud. He reached toward Drasko. “Help me!”

Drasko stayed motionless, billy club in his hand.

The Margravine backed toward Ahiliyah. Drasko did the same.

The vootervert demon squealed again, louder this time. From the hole above it came an answering, deep hiss—that sound Ahiliyah recognized.

“Come on,” she whispered. “Faster!”

Drasko and the Margravine reached her. Ahiliyah wanted to run, but found she couldn’t make herself move. No matter what the Margrave had done, did he deserve this?

From the hole in the corridor ceiling above him, a black, spiny tail curled out, a sharp black tailspike reflecting the torchlight.

The Margravine pulled at Ahiliyah’s arm. “Come, girl—we have to run.”

From the hole, long black legs stretched down. With a shivering, echoing hiss, a demon—the kind she had seen dozens of times, the kind she’d smashed with a jagged rock, the kind she’d trapped in the crevasse, the kind she’d fought on the deck—dropped down to the floor.

The vootervert demon looked up at it, let out a soft squeal that sounded almost… loving.

The Margrave rolled to his back, looked up, and saw his death.

“No… not me,” he said, in a voice that was far, far too quiet for someone’s last words.

The demon snatched him, tucked him in one sinewy arm, then leapt up into the ragged ceiling hole. In an instant, the demon—and the Margrave—were gone.

Aulus Darby didn’t even scream.

The vootervert demon turned, started digging mindlessly at the wall, its entire body contracting and convulsing with the effort. Another shovel-claw snapped off as rocks tore free. Burning blood sizzled on stone and dirt.

Whatever force had held Ahiliyah in place, that force vanished.

“Come on,” she said. “We’re going to the armory.”

She turned and ran, leaving the monster to dig in the darkness. She only made it twenty or thirty yards before she realized the Margravine couldn’t keep up. Ahiliyah stopped, fished another torch out of her suit and lit it while she waited.

Drasko ran ahead of the Margravine, then ran back to her. He scooped the old woman into his arms. Even with her weight, he was almost as fast as Ahiliyah. He caught up, and together they jogged down the hall.

“The beasts can dig,” Drasko said. “We need to get out of here, not go to the armory.”

“There are weapons and poison in the armory,” Ahiliyah said. “Just keep moving!”

At least the poison would give them a fighting chance. After she had it? She had no idea what to do next—hopefully someone else could figure that out.

37

When they reached the armory, Ahiliyah saw men rushing into the room—the Windens, Callow and his sons Abrams and Duvall. They entered, then Solomon Barrow, the foundryman, leaned out, torch in hand, looked up and down the hall. He saw Ahiliyah, waved her forward.

“Come on, girl!”

She rushed in; Drasko—still carrying the Margravine—came in right behind. Solomon again leaned out the door, quickly looked up and down the corridor, then slammed the wooden door shut.

At least fifty people stood in the armory, a dozen of them holding torches that filled the air with the smell of smoke. Some people held weapons, and more than a few—including Councilman Poller—held bronze shields. Leonitos Lamech, a warrior, wore full armor.

Word had spread about Creen’s goop. An open barrel stood a few yards inside the door. Poison paste gleamed wetly from spearheads, demon forks, knives and arrowheads.

Everyone, including Leonitos, looked terrified, unsure of what to do next.

Martin Yates, the man who had accidentally bonked Liyah in the head in phalanx reserve training, stepped out from the crowd. He looked like he might shit himself at any moment.

“The demons are in the hold,” Martin said. “Councilman Poller, what do we do?”

Everyone looked to Poller. It was his moment to lead—a moment he did not seize.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I don’t know.”

Callow Winden’s chest heaved, more with panic than fatigue. “Drasko, where’s the Margrave? He’ll get us out of here, he’ll lead us!”

The Margravine whispered something in Drasko’s ear. He gently set her on her feet.

“I am Herriet Lumos, Margravine of Dakatera Hold,” she said. “Your Margrave is dead. Demons are running wild through the hold. Together, we will figure out a way to save as many people as we can and escape this place. Does anyone doubt my authority to lead?”

People exchanged glances. No one contradicted her, not even Poller. The Margravine’s air of command really left no choice—especially not with Drasko standing right behind her.

“Good,” the Margravine said. “Ahiliyah, we’ll start with you—what do you suggest?”

She took a step back. The Margravine wanted her to decide?

“I’m just a runner,” Aaliyah said.

“Senior runner,” Drasko said. “And a demon-killer.”

That made her qualified? She’d done well up on the surface, yes, but that was up there, in the open spaces, not down here in the tight corridors.

“Our choice is obvious,” Callow Winden said. “We stay here, with the weapons.’

His son Abrams grabbed his arm. “Dad, our people are dying. We have to fight!”

“The demons will slaughter us if we leave,” Leonitos said. “They’re too fast, too strong.”

People began to shout, to argue. The Margravine held up a hand, a simple gesture that, somehow, instantly silenced everyone.

“Liyah, this is your home,” she said. “You have more experience against the demons than anyone here. Think. You can come up with something, I know it.”

She looked around the armory. Racks and racks of armor and weapons… spears and bows and crossbows… barrels full of arrows and bolts… demon forks and armor… chestplates, helmets and shields… three more sealed barrels of Creen’s goop.

The demon-vert. Had it dug randomly, or had the sound of the Margrave’s yelling drawn it? Maybe both—the creature had likely burrowed into the mountain, stopping to listen, dug some more, repeated the process until it heard something and moved toward it.

“Stay as quiet as you can,” she said. “Vootervert demons dug holes, letting the monsters in. We can’t hide here, they’ll find us eventually. We need to fight, to drive the demons out. We have Creen’s goop, and…”

The goop. It made clots in the demons’ burning blood.

Clots.

Ahiliyah glanced at the armory door, envisioning the corridor beyond. The confined, narrow corridor, not all that different from a vein or an artery. Just wide enough for three overlapping shields.

She thought of her wargames with Sinesh, how the demons’ speed always allowed them to outflank any phalanx. But in the narrow corridors, there were no flanks.

Clots… they could clot the corridor, block access from in front and behind.

Ahiliyah knew what needed to be done.

She reached into her hidey suit, pulled out her toothtongue, let it drop against her chest.

“We will form two shield walls, back to back.” Her words poured out, sounded strange to her, as if she was someone else listening to an other-Liyah speak. “Each wall will have two ranks each of three shields, with spearmen behind to stab through the gaps. Our most vulnerable will stay between the walls, keep coating weapons and shields with Creen’s goop. Those holding shields, stay behind them, do not look around them—you must protect yourself from demon tails. Once we’re in the corridor, we will make as much noise as we can, draw the demons to us.”

“Draw them to us?” Poller blanched. “Are you mad? How will that help us escape?”

Moments earlier. Ahiliyah had thought someone else should figure out what to do. Now, looking at Poller, she realized she was the one. These people needed someone to take command.

“We’re not going to escape, Councilman—we’re going to drive the beasts from our home.”

All around her, faces blank with disbelief, with fear and confusion, but also faces hard with anger, with determination.

Solomon Barrow smiled and nodded. “Fucking hell. Liyah’s right. Let’s kill the bastards.”

More nods. These people were afraid—Ahiliyah was, too, no denying that—but now they had a simple objective. They could take control of the situation, take control of their fate.

“This is ridiculous,” Poller said. “We’re not taking orders from this Dakateran blasphemer and this, this girl. I’ve changed my mind. I’m a Councilman, and I’m taking charge. We stay, right here, we stay and defend this room and wait for help.”

The Margravine glanced at Drasko, tilted her head toward Poller.

Drasko’s fingers flexed on his bloody billy club. “Councilman, you’re going to want to shut the fuck up and do what you’re told. The demon-killer says fight, so we fight. Understand?”

Ahiliyah realized how quickly power had changed hands. Aulus was gone. Drasko had quickly aligned himself with the person he thought would wind up in charge—Herriet Lumos.

Poller stared at Drasko, then at the billy club. He looked around, just as Ahiliyah had done in the hospital, hoping someone would help him—no one did.

“Enough talk,” Ahiliyah said. “Open another barrel, quickly. Everyone, cover yourself in goop. It’s time to fight.”

* * *

Ahiliyah worked the goop into her hair, smeared it on her skin, rubbed it into her clothes, quietly giving orders as she did. She arranged people by skill, size and strength, placing Poller at the center-front of one shield wall, Martin Yates at the center-front of the other. Some people would hold shields, some spears, some bows. Those that could do none of those things would carry arrows, extra spears and barrels of Creen’s goop.

People worked together to coat themselves in the goop. They grabbed shields, quickly donned chestplates and helmets, piled weapons on the floor. She told them to use runner spears—in the tight corridors, the longer warrior spears would be far less maneuverable.

A demonic screech sounded from just outside the door, freezing everyone. An instant later, the wooden door rattled violently.

Ahiliyah pointed her spear as she called out orders. “Wall one, left, wall two, right!”

Terrified people rushed to their assigned positions. Reservist training came into play—the two walls formed with little confusion. Each wall had three ranks; three overlapped shields in front, their bearers crouched down; a second rank behind, their shields just above those in front; and a third rank with goop-smeared spears and demon forks pointing out through the gaps.

The door hammered again, a booming drum of death, then the thick wood split down the middle. Through the crack, Ahiliyah saw a writhing blackness and flashes of metal teeth reflected the light of the armory’s torches.

“Shield walls, move closer,” Ahiliyah said. “Angle in from the sides of the door, don’t leave space for it to get through! Archers, with me, fire only when I command. Margravine and the other non-fighters, get behind the archers.”

The two shield walls touched, forming a V. When the demon came through, there was nowhere for it to go. Ahiliyah stood behind the point of that V. Behind her and to her sides, the creak of bowstrings being drawn.

Gnarled black fingers reached through the crack, grabbed the wood and yanked, ripping away fat, splintering chunks.

“Archers, loose!”

Bowstrings thrummed. Two arrows stuck in the wooden door, and two went through—a squeal of pain answered. The black hands vanished for a moment, then reached in again, furiously ripped free huge chunks of wood. The shield walls wavered. Poller, in the front-center spot on the left wall, stood, his skin white as an imbid flower.

“Front ranks,” Liyah screamed. “Hold your positions!”

Poller squatted down—bronze clanged as the shields slammed back into place.

A black body rammed through the ravaged door. The demon rushed, a blur of claws and glittering teeth. It slammed into Poller’s shield—the beast bounced off even as Poller rocked back. The Councilman screamed in terror, but he leaned forward, holding his place in the line.

The demon coiled to spring again—spears impaled it, punching into belly and head and shoulder. A demon fork plunged deep in the black chest. The beast screeched and writhed, batted at the fork. The spears withdrew and drove in again. Burning blood splashed, filling the air with an acrid stench that overpowered the smell of torch smoke.

A second demon rushed through the door, angled right, slammed into the shield wall. Its claws raked across bronze. Spears jabbed out, puncturing the hard black shell. The demon grabbed the center shield, yanked it away, pulled it right off Martin Yates’s arm—the black tail whipped in, the tailspike punched into Martin’s chest.

“Fill the gap,” Liyah called out. “Now!”

Someone from the second row stepped over Martin to take his place. Drasko leaned out from the back row, jammed his spear forward—the blade slid into the left side of the demon’s head, crunched out the right. The beast stiffened, then fell, quivering.

The first demon stumbled backward, leaving a trail of burning blood sizzling on the floor. It reached the doorway and fell back, arms sticking up stiff and twitching. Blood loss, poison or both… it was dying.

“Hold your positions,” Ahiliyah said.

Her people did as she said. She heard their heavy breathing. Some cried. Some muttered prayers. Someone said Martin was dead.

Ahiliyah smelled the beast now, that scent of wet rocks and moss combined with the acrid stink of burning blood.

She waited. No more demons entered.

A hand, gentle on her back.

“It’s not enough,” the Margravine whispered. “Look at them, Liyah—they need more.”

Ahiliyah glanced around, saw that the Margravine was right. The cobbled-together unit had won this tiny battle, yet they focused more on Martin Yates then they did on the demon that Drasko had put down, or on the beast still twitching in the doorway—none of them would go near it. Despite the victory, Ahiliyah could tell, somehow, that these people would not yet follow her into the corridors, would not yet go on the offensive with her.

“Show them,” the Margravine said. “Show them that you are the one.”

Ahiliyah pushed past the shields. People stared at her as if she were mad. She stood over the twitching demon. Even in its death throes, it tried to reach out for her.

She raised her spear, drove the thick butt-spike down through the demon’s curved head. A splash of burning blood hit her goop-smeared leg, sizzled into grey ash. She wiggled the spear, trying to scramble the beast’s brains—if it had brains there at all.

It stiffened, and finally fell limp.

She turned her back to the door, faced her people, let them see her naked rage. Maybe another demon would grab her from behind, but she didn’t care—this was the moment where she would make her people follow her into war.

Ahiliyah Cooper had never felt so alive.

“Do not cry for Martin Yates,” she said. “He died protecting his hold, against the demons that have tried to destroy our world.”

She pointed down at the demon she’d finished off, at its broken black head, at the greenish meat inside the hole and the burning blood sizzling up from the stone floor beneath it. Her people stared at the dead creature. Ahiliyah saw their faces change, saw the courage build, saw them hunger to—at long last—fight back.

“They can be killed,” she said. “The demons are bigger, faster, stronger, but we are smarter. We fight as one. Are you ready to take back your hold?”

The shout came back, powerful, instant, undeniable. Even Poller roared in agreement. These people were no longer impotent, left to the mercy of fate.

The Margravine grinned her mad grin.

“Poller,” Ahiliyah said, “your wall leads, form up ten yards down the corridor. Archers and non-fighters behind them, with me. Wall two, form up behind us, facing the other way. Don’t let even one of them past your shields. Let’s go!”

People scrambled into the corridor, their reservist training keeping them orderly and efficient. Ahiliyah could feel the difference in these people. Yes, they were afraid, but they had reached their limit and would hide no more.

In the corridor, her clot formed—shield walls on either side, spearmen and archers in the middle. Torches mounted on poles stuck out through the shields, offering shaky light, but it was better than facing the beasts in the dark. Shields touched the wall on the right, and on the left, reached up almost to the ceiling. There was no way around, no way under, no way over.

Ahiliyah found herself standing next to the Margravine. The woman held a small torch in one hand, a quiver of crossbow bolts in the other.

“Kill the bastards, Ahiliyah,” she said. “Kill them all.”

Ahiliyah nodded. “Drasko! March us forward.”

The former enforcer for the Margrave—now, apparently, the enforcer for the Margravine—barked out a cadence, left, left, left-right-left. The wall moved forward, a thick, bronze plug sliding through the corridor.

* * *

Demons thrashed against the front wall. In the jittering torchlight, glimpses of black talons raking against shields, peeling paint and scratching bronze. The shield bearers had learned from Martin’s death—they tucked in tight behind the metal discs, held on with all their strength, leaned forward with all their weight, the weight of those behind them helping anchor them against the savage onslaught. Spears thrust out and back, points sliding through the small gaps, punching into black-armored bodies.

Burning blood flowed, sizzling against stone as it ran to the gutters on either side. Screeches and grunts filled the air, reverberated off the walls and ceiling. Ahiliyah heard frustration in the beasts’ screams—claws, teeth and tails rarely found a soft target.

Councilman Poller cried out, stumbled back, blood flowing from his left shoulder—he did not let go of his shield.

Ahiliyah shoved Duvall Winden forward.

“Duvall, fill the gap!”

The teenager roared in rage and fear as he ducked behind his shield and stepped into the center of the wall. Ahiliyah grabbed Ruslan Porter, who was in the last rank, shoved him into Duvall’s former position an instant before two more demons slammed against the shield wall.

Poller snarled, tore his robe to expose the wound. “Someone tie this off!”

The Margravine moved to him, her small body jostled by bodies in front and behind. She used her little friend to cut strips from her own dress. She put the blade between her teeth to free both hands, wrapped the strips around Poller’s wound and tied them tight.

“Poller,” Ahiliyah said, bracing herself against the jostling bodies, “can you fight?”

He winced as another knot cinched down, then smiled a madman’s smile. “It’s only pain, General.” He hefted his shield and leaned forward, adding his weight to the wall.

The demon screeches thinned, suddenly, then stopped.

“Clear behind,” Leonitos called out.

“Front as well,” Drasko answered. “Ahiliyah?”

She reached out, thumped Drasko on the back. “Move us forward. Fresh torches!”

People lashed torches to spear shafts, lit them, slid them forward to light the way.

The wall wavered for a moment as people stepped around and over the broken bodies of demons. The monsters bore many wounds, but the finishing damage was always the same—black heads smashed to pulp by heavy butt-spikes.

Men dropped spears that had melted to slag, called for replacements. Weapon-bearers slathered goop on fresh blades, handed them up. Archers nocked new arrows, crossbowmyn cranked back crossbow strings.

How many demons had they killed? Eleven? Twelve? Two more Lemethians had died, but the clot strategy was working. They were winning.

“Light ahead,” Drasko called out. “It’s the common room, demons are trying to get in!”

Ahiliyah leaned forward, peered between the shields. Up ahead, she saw two black beasts ripping at wooden furniture stacked in an entryway. Spears thrust through the furniture, jabbing the demons, keeping them at bay more than killing them.

A spearman leaned out, fearless and snarling, thrusting his spear—it was Brandun.

“Archers,” she said, “loose!”

Poisoned arrows and bolts flew down the corridor; some bounced off hard black skin, some punched through. The beasts turned to face the new threat.

Whatever the cost, Ahiliyah would save her friend,

“Wall one, move forward. Kill them all!”

* * *

Two hundred people, including Brandun and Creen, had barricaded themselves in the common room. They fought to stay alive, using a handful of spears and clubs made from broken furniture. At least a dozen people lay dead, their bodies torn to pieces by demon claws, teeth and tails.

The shield wall hit the demons hard, pinned them against the barricades. The beasts had nowhere to maneuver. In seconds, they were all down, their evil lives ended by butt-spikes driven through their black skulls.

The common-room survivors added numbers, and with those numbers Ahiliyah quickly turned the tide of battle. She formed new shield walls, sent them with Brandun back to the armory for more weapons, more demon poison. She kept Creen and the Margravine at her side.

Her strategy spread like wildfire. Throughout the hold, shields slowly moved through the corridors, rescuing people who had barricaded themselves in their rooms. Small battles raged. People died, but so, too, did demons—far more demons than people.

At some point, Ahiliyah couldn’t say when, she couldn’t say why, the surviving demons fled Lemeth hold. They crawled into the holes they had dug to get in, and were gone, leaving death in their wake.

No one cheered.

“There are dozens of holes,” the Margravine said. “This hold is not safe. The glowpipes are broken, and the torches won’t last long. We’ll soon be in the dark if we stay here.”

“The river won’t be dark,” Creen said. “We can get everyone down there.”

The river… Sinesh.

“Get everyone to the river,” Ahiliyah said. “I’m going there now.”

Poller grabbed her arm. “I’m going with you, Liyah. Wall one, to the river!”

Shields rattled as people formed up in front of her. They were all exhausted, all wounded, and all ready to keep going.

“I’m with you, Liyah,” Creen said. “Lead the way.”

She glanced at the Margravine, for some reason feeling the need to get the woman’s approval. The Margravine nodded.

“Councilman Poller,” Ahiliyah said, “let’s go get our people. Move them out.”

38

Ahiliyah stared down at what was left of General Sinesh Bishor.

“I’m so sorry, Liyah,” Creen said.

The hold had been ripped apart. The dead and missing were still being counted, yet Creen was with her. He understood what Sinesh had meant to her.

A demon had driven a toothtongue through the old man’s face, out the back of his head. If not for his withered body, missing arm and mass of scars, he would have been unrecognizable.

“They didn’t take him,” she said. “Why not?”

Creen glanced back to the spot where the weavers sat all day, every day, chewing Lisa’s root and reminiscing about their good old days. Half of the women were gone—the other half were dead, brutalized by the monsters.

“They take people to Black Smoke Mountain so the Demon Mother can turn them into new demons,” he said. “Maybe they don’t take people they sense won’t survive the journey, or the process of being converted.”

Ahiliyah couldn’t look away from Sinesh’s body. He’d gone to war against the demons and paid a horrible price. A life of constant pain. Spurned by the very people he’d fought for. Treated like a joke, his legacy of victory and service dismissed.

A curl of rope lay next to his body. Burning blood had eaten through it, leaving blackened ends. Had Sinesh fought to the end? Maybe, with no other weapons at hand, he’d tried to strangle the very beast that killed him. The scorched rope showed one thing—Sinesh had drawn blood.

No suicide for him.

“Liyah, the Margravine is calling you,” Creen said.

“But his body… ”

“Someone will take care of it,” Creen said. “The smart thing to do is put the bodies in the foundry oven. They’ll start rotting soon, which will only add to our problems when we rebuild.”

Ahiliyah looked up at the cavern roof, at the hole there. Far below it, a vootervert-demon that had fallen to its death, black body smashing on the rocks at the river’s edge. Demons had entered here, and in at least two other places in the hold.

“We’re not rebuilding,” she said.

Creen’s face wrinkled in confusion. “We’re not?”

Ahiliyah stepped around Sinesh’s body, picked up his small box of wargaming miniatures. She headed back toward the footbridge. Creen said something, asked a question maybe, but his words didn’t register. She crossed the bridge, trying not to think of all the days spent wargaming with Sinesh, listening to his stories, learning from him. If not for him, she would have never been born. Now he was gone.

Gone, because of them.

The survivors of Lemeth crowded the river’s plateau. Two thousand, maybe more, covering every surface. Men, women, children, old and young. Mostly Lemethians, but also many Keflan refugees and Dakateran survivors. She heard the moans of the wounded, and the wails of those who had lost loved ones. Men and women with spears and shields—the same moving shield walls that had fought off the beasts—clustered near the stairway, tending to their wounds, drinking water from bottles, ready to fight if the demons poured down the stairs.

The Margravine waved her over.

Ahiliyah walked through the crowd of frightened, exhausted people. When she passed by, they stopped talking, stopped crying. People she’d known all her life reached out to touch her. Their hard expressions wordlessly told her they knew they were alive because of her.

Near the walkway’s edge, twelve demon corpses lay in a neat row. Ahiliyah had ordered it. She wanted everyone to see that the demons could be killed.

The Margravine stood in a small circle with other important people: stonesmiths, glassmiths, and head craftsmyn; Councilman Kanya Poller, still sweaty, bloody, slathered in caminus goop; Preacher Ramirus, who looked unharmed; Panda; Councilman Tinat, a bloody bandage around his head, a third toothtongue added to his necklace.

Drasko stood behind the Margravine, just as he’d once stood behind the Margrave. Perhaps some objected to her taking charge, but if so they were too tired—or too intimidated—to argue.

All of them, including the Margravine, held spears.

Councilman Jung and Balden were nowhere to be seen. They were dead, or carried off.

“We’re deciding what to do next,” the Margravine said. “We can’t make that decision without you, Liyah.”

Ahiliyah set the box down. “Has anyone seen Brandun?”

No one answered.

“Let us begin,” the Margravine said. “Who here is the head glassmith?”

Cruden Poller stepped forward. “I am, Margravine.”

He resembled his cousin, Councilman Kanya Poller, or he had before the day’s fighting began. Kanya was as fat as ever, but he stood taller, seemed… dangerous. Kanya almost looked like a different person.

“We have to repair the hold and get ready for the next attack,” the Margravine said. “The hold is in the dark. How long to fix the broken pipes?”

Cruden sighed, shook his head. “Half of my workers are dead or gone. I’d have to train help, and glassmaking ain’t something you can learn overnight. There’s so many busted pipes. I’d have to start getting water flowing to the factory area, obviously, then if you wanted the main areas lit—common room, training pit, the bigger rooms—that’s four days. Maybe three.”

“We can stay by the river until then,” the Margravine said.

Solomon Barrow took a step forward, his blacksmith’s hammer in his hand, the thick iron head scarred with deep lines caused by burning blood.

“The foundry forge makes its own light,” he said. “Most of my people survived. We’ll work nonstop, make whatever tools Cruden needs and that Barton Mason needs to fill the holes.”

“Barton Mason?” The Margravine glanced around. “What does he do? Is he here?”

Nicole Mason stepped forward. Her eyes were red and swollen from tears.

“The demons took him,” she said. “He was the master stonemason, but now I guess I am.”

The Margravine bowed. “I am sorry for your loss. Have you looked at the hole near the armory? Can it be repaired?”

Nicole sniffed, wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “That one and the one in Tamara Jacobson’s quarters. If I get all the help I need, I can fill those holes in two days, maybe three. The beasts dug though solid rock. We’ll have to cut new stone to fill the holes. It won’t be easy.”

Ahiliyah pointed to the hole in the cavern ceiling. “How long to fix that one?”

“We’d have to build scaffolding to reach it,” Nicole said. “At least four days for that, maybe five. Then we’d have to haul rock up the scaffolding, cement it in place. If we worked day and night, two weeks.”

“We won’t have that long,” the Margravine said. “They came in waves. The first wave was like what we just endured, a few dozen demons. At the time, we didn’t know they’d dug their way in. When the beasts appeared in the corridors and smashed the glowpipes, everyone fled to the surface. Up there, we tried to organize, to figure out how to go back in and kill them. A few hours later, the second wave hit. We think the first wave were some kind of large scouting force—they found us, then went back to Black Smoke Mountain to get more. ”

The woman shivered once, the memory of that horror gripping her.

Brandun pushed through the crowd, entered the circle. His eyes were swollen and red, tears still trickling from them. He shook with anger.

Ahiliyah stepped to him, took his arm. “What happened?”

“I found my mother,” Brandun said. “She’s dead.”

With so many deaths, one more shouldn’t have hit hard, but it did. Ahiliyah had known that woman well. It hurt that she was gone, but hurt far more to see the anguish on Brandun’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” Ahiliyah said.

Brandun sniffed, moved to the spot in the circle where Ahiliyah had just stood. He turned, faced in, left space for her. She understood in an instant—he wanted to stand behind her the same way Drasko stood behind the Margravine.

Ahilyah took her place, feeling strangely comforted that Brandun had her back.

“The second wave of demons,” Tinat said, “how many?”

The Margravine shrugged. “I couldn’t say. Two hundred? Three hundred? My people ran in all directions. I ran, too. I gathered up as many as I could, and we marched here.”

“And brought the demons with you,” Preacher Ramirus said. “The blood of our dead stains your hands. Because of you, our Margrave is gone. God will punish you.”

Suspicious eyes shifted toward the Margravine.

Ahiliyah had had enough. “Ramirus, God doesn’t give a fuck about any of this.”

“Why are you even speaking?” The preacher glared at her. “You’re just a runner.”

Ahiliyah curled one finger inward. “Come find out what I am, you worthless shit.”

Ramirus took a step toward her. Only one, because the moment he did, Brandun, Councilman Tinat, Councilman Poller and Drasko all took a step toward him.

“We’re alive because of her,” Brandun said. “And you all know it.”

Ramirus glanced at the men, then he took a step back.

“Ahiliyah Cooper is not just a runner anymore,” the Margravine said. “For the first time in history, humans battled demons, and won. Without her, a thousand more would be dead, the rest of us scattered, hunted as we marched to Biseth and begged to be let in. As of this moment, Ahiliyah Cooper is in command of our army, whatever that army may be.”

Solomon Barrow stepped forward again. “Hold on there, Margravine. Our Margrave is gone, and no one elected you to take his place, you… you…”

The Margravine crossed her arms. “Go on, man. Say what you feel.”

“You blasphemer,” Solomon said. “The Margrave warned us about you, about your people and your religion, and look what happened. You showed up, brought the evil with you, and now you think you can seize power here?”

Drasko took a step toward Solomon, but Solomon was not the type to back down—he raised his hammer, shook it.

“I killed a demon with this, Drasko—don’t think I won’t use it on you.”

Councilman Poller stepped between the men, held up his hands.

“Enough,” he said. “We are in a crisis. Someone has to make decisions, important decisions. Tinat and I are the remaining councilmen. We need to appoint two more, and someone has to replace the Margrave until we can hold proper elections.”

Tinat puffed up his chest. “I am the most qualified to take over. I am not only a councilman, I’m also a warrior, and we are at war.”

Several heads nodded.

Creen stepped forward. “Tinat, you’ve been on the council for, what… three months?”

Tinat’s face flushed red. “Why is this boy speaking? Sit your ass down, Dinashin, or—”

“You’ll do nothing,” Ahiliyah said. She hadn’t meant to shout the words, but she had. All eyes turned to her. No one spoke.

“You all think I saved you?” She shook her head. “Without Creen’s discovery, all of you would be dead. Or worse. When he talks, you pay him the damned respect he deserves.”

She waited for someone to argue with her. No one did.

Creen gave a theatrical bow. “Thank you, General Cooper. As I was saying, while Councilman Tinat’s experience is vital to our survival, he’s only been in governance for a short time. We need him in the fight to come, which he can’t do if he’s hiding away in the rear of the lines, being protected like a fragile imbid flower.” Creen raised an eyebrow at Tinat. “Or am I wrong, Councilman? Do you need to be protected like an imbid flower?”

Everyone stared at Tinat. Tinat stared at Creen. The big man’s fists shook.

“I do not need to be protected,” he said through clenched teeth.

Creen raised his hands. “You see? We need Tinat as a councilman and the great fighter that he is. Which means someone else must lead the hold, and there is only one person here who has that experience.” He pointed at the Margravine. “Her.”

Preacher Ramirus stepped forward. “A woman? That’s against the law. And she’s not even one of us!”

Many heads nodded, Solomon Barrow’s among them.

“Fuck that law,” Councilman Poller said. “I suppose it’s against the law for a humped gish to rule, but if a humped gish had the experience we need I would nominate it as our leader. Liyah is a woman, and without her we would be gone. I no longer give a damn what’s between a person’s legs, I want someone who will keep us alive. The Margravine was smart enough to put General Cooper in charge, and that’s good enough for me.”

That word, General, used twice in fast succession. Poller had used it, too. Ahiliyah could barely process that. It wasn’t right—only Sinesh Bishor deserved to be called that name.

“Laws are laws,” Preacher Ramirus said. “I won’t stand for this.”

Solomon stepped forward. “Nor will I!”

“Yes, you will,” Poller said. “Because the two of you will fill the empty council seats. The very fact that you don’t trust her will give us balance. What do you say? Will you both serve Lemeth Hold in the capacity until this crisis has passed, and we can hold elections?”

Ahiliyah knew little of statecraft, but Poller’s move impressed her. Ramirus could say no, but would he pass up a chance to actually be on the council, instead of advising it?

Ramirus and Solomon exchanged a glance.

“I will shoulder this burden,” Ramirus said. “As Poller says, for now, until we can have elections. Solomon, will you join me in this honor?”

Poller smiled a small smile—he’d known exactly what he was doing.

Solomon’s face reddened, from embarrassment rather than rage. “Well, I mean, I’m just a foundryman. What do I know of running things?”

“You knew enough to question an outsider taking over,” the Margravine said. “Or were you wrong about that?”

So subtle, so easy. If he argued with her, he would go back on his prior outrage. A sharper wit could have easily argued with her, but anyone talking to Solomon knew his strength—like his nephew Brandun—lay not with words.

“Solomon was right in that,” Ramirus said. “However, Creen and Poller are also both right. Right now we need experience, and we need dedicated Lemethians to make sure the Margravine’s rule lasts only as long as this crisis does.”

It was amazing to see. In the midst of the corridors running red with blood, in the midst of a living nightmare, Ramirus let himself be manipulated by his naked ambition. But was Ahiliyah acting any different? She was willing to back anyone who would put her in command, because that was the only way she could make sure the demons paid for their evil. At that moment, her words had power, and she would use that power to do what needed to be done.

“Preacher Ramirus is right,” Ahiliyah said. “Don’t you agree, Solomon?”

Solomon looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there, but to his credit, he nodded.

“Yes, Liyah. He’s right. I accept.”

The Margravine bowed. “It is settled. Thank you for your trust in me. Now, let us prioritize our repairs, because the demons aren’t finished. If they act like they did in Dakatera, in Keflan, there are more of them coming. We should first fix—”

“You made me the military commander,” Ahiliyah said. “As such, I need to speak. Now.”

The Margravine looked more surprised than upset at the interruption.

“Go ahead, General Cooper. Say your piece.”

General. It didn’t sound real. What would Sinesh have thought of this? It didn’t matter what he would have thought—he was gone. Ahiliyah would fulfill his destiny.

“We should not waste time fixing anything,” she said. “If we plug the holes, they will dig new ones. My strategy worked because of the corridors. The demons had to come right at our shields, they couldn’t flank us.” She gestured to the wide-open river cavern. “There are no corridors here. If they come here in numbers, we must go back to the corridors, where we can defend ourselves. But they’ll be in there with us as well. Sooner or later, our torches will run out—we’ll be trapped in the darkness with them. Sooner or later, they will get past our shields.”

She took a breath, realized that everyone was looking at her. Not just the circle of important people, everyone along the river. Fifty years ago, Sinesh had shown the world what needed to be done. He had failed, but that didn’t mean his idea was wrong.

He’d failed because he hadn’t had the right weapon—a weapon Ahiliyah now possessed.

“If we wait here, we die,” she said. “There is only one way for us to survive. We march to Black Smoke Mountain, and we kill the Demon Mother.”

“They slaughtered us,” Ramirus said. “You want us to go to them?”

Ahiliyah met his gaze, stared at him until he looked down. She’d saved the hold, not him, and everyone knew it.

“Tinat,” she said, “you did a head count of our losses and how many can still fight?”

All eyes turned to the big councilman, his face still red from Creen’s comments.

“The count is not yet finalized,” Tinat said. “So far, we have five hundred and sixteen dead or missing. Not counting our old, our young, and those badly wounded, we have perhaps a thousand of us that can fight. That includes the Dakateran and Keflanian refugees.”

Over five hundred people, dead or gone. From just a few dozen demons?

“The demons are coming back,” Ahiliyah said. “Eventually, we won’t have enough people to form an army. We must go to the surface and meet them on the ground of our choosing. We must fight now, before we don’t have enough people to fight at all.”

Up and down the plateau, all along the river, she saw heads nodding, saw faces harden. Many people were with her—they had tasted victory over their nightmares, and they wanted more.

“That goes against what you just told us, Liyah,” Tinat said, “you—”

“It’s General Cooper,” Councilman Poller said.

Tinat looked annoyed, but he nodded. “Fine. General, you said we won because we had walls around us. There are no walls on the surface. They’ll flank us and tear us to pieces.”

The same problem Sinesh had faced, the same problem she had faced when she’d played Sinesh’s wargames, but the battles in the corridors had given her the solution.

“They won’t flank us,” Ahiliyah said.

She picked up Sinesh’s box, set it down in the center of the circle. Fighting back a sudden, crushing wave of grief for both Sinesh and Brandun’s mother, Ahiliyah took out the game pieces and started setting them up.

“We need everything from the armory,” she said. “All weapons, all armor… everything. We need to move fast, as we don’t know when they will attack next. Gather around, I will show you how we will win. We’ll make a phalanx that can’t be flanked, because it has no flank.”

* * *

Maybe God did give a shit—four hours later, the demons had not yet attacked.

Ahiliyah had given orders. Lemethians, Keflanians and Dakaterans had all rushed to do as she said. They believed in her, believed she was the one who could finally deliver them from the evil that plagued their world. Whether that was true or not, she didn’t know, but she wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip away. If they didn’t fight now, it would be too late.

The Margravine and Tinat worked together to organize the wounded, the old, and the young, sent them—twelve hundred strong—marching north toward Biseth. If the demons attacked them on the way, there was nothing to be done for it, as Ahiliyah needed every fighter she could get.

The best way to protect the helpless was to make a stand on the plains near Lemeth Mountain and defeat the demons on open ground. Fighting on the mountainside wouldn’t work—with the rocks and boulders and the slope, her phalanx would be jumbled and broken before the battle even began. The demons’ delay had given her the opportunity to choose her terrain, and she was taking advantage of that.

Councilman Poller had overseen the emptying of the armory.

Craftsmyn were hard at work building flat-topped carts to carry the kettles, weapons, bolts, arrows and other supplies.

Creen and Tolio—with the help of many from the factory level—had prepared portable kettles in which they could make more poison. Both of Tolio’s parents were missing, taken by the demons along with Chloe Jakobsen, Thomas Picayne, little Debbany, and so many more. Tolio poured his grief into his work. Ahiliyah would have liked to have comforted him, but there was simply too much to do to prepare for the demons.

Ahiliyah had led everyone who wasn’t working on those projects down to the foothills. She’d picked her spot—a small hill with steep sides—and told everyone what she needed. They’d cleared trees and bushes, filled in divots to provide for more sure footing, and quickly built a ring of rocks near the hill’s crest.

She’d sent runners to scout for the enemy. Jeanna Bouchard, Susannah Albrecht and Brenda Dafydd, all women—girls, really—because every man, even small men, were needed in the ranks. Ahiliyah hoped the scouts would all make it back, but doubted that would happen. The demons were fast, and coming in numbers—some of her fellow runners would die.

Atop the hill, in the early afternoon sun, Ahiliyah looked out over her forces. Everyone who hadn’t fled, marched to Biseth, or gone out scouting stood in a thick circle around her. Her “army”—barely more than a thousand people.

Even Panda factored into her plan. She’d sent him back up to his observation deck, along with a shield team to protect him in case there were demons up there. Panda’s job was to signal Biseth with a request for troops, and with the simple recipe for Creen’s goop. Biseth would send that same request on to Takanta, and the Takantans would, hopefully, relay the message to Vinden. The Margravine had also given Panda a message to send, along with a code that proved the message came directly from her. Her message: Send troops. This is our last chance, our only chance, to beat the demons. Act now, or face eternal night.

Would any of those holds send troops? Ahiliyah had no idea. Biseth, Takanta and Vinden were about to learn that no hold was safe. Their only chance for survival was to join her in her quest. She had to pray all three holds would answer her call.

It was hard to think of anything they faced as “lucky,” but she didn’t have another word for the fact that the demons had stayed away long enough for her to choose her terrain and prepare for battle. If they’d attacked en masse while people were coming in and out of the hold, there would have been no chance.

Her people gathered on the hill. So many. And Dakaterans and Keflanians. In all her life, she’d seen two people on the surface at any given time. Now there were over a thousand.

If the Margravine was right, if the demons came in numbers, this was the place that the battle would happen. Not even ten warriors had survived—the fight would be won or lost by the citizens of Lemeth. Cooks, miners, metalsmiths, farmers, craftsmyn, the very people who had who had kept the hold alive for fifty years, would now be asked to give everything.

Tinat and Brandun came through the crowd, carrying something. A wooden stepladder?

They opened it, set it up at the very crest of the hill, next to the three barrels of caminus bush goop that would sit at the center of their position. It was more a portable platform than a ladder, with a square-yard top. The wood looked freshly sawn.

“Everyone is here,” Tinat said. “Lemeth Hold is empty. All non-combat supplies are set up in a cache near here, as you requested. Hopefully you’re right and they won’t touch it.”

She knew she was right. The demons didn’t give a damn about carts, kettles and barrels of food and water. Everything the demons wanted was atop this hill.

Ahiliyah put a hand on the stepladder. “What is this for?”

“You’re short,” Tinat said. “This will let you see the battle, so you can make adjustments. I suggested Brandun here let you sit on his shoulders, but he insists on being in the front rank.”

Ahiliyah didn’t want him there—the people there were going to die.

“Brandun,” she said, “I would like you to stay back with me. To protect me.”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “No. I need to fight.”

He had already done so, and valiantly. Yet there was something off about him. She couldn’t worry about that—after the battle in the hold, there was something off about everyone.

“As you wish,” she said. “Go tell Creen to head up to the signaling station. I want him to help Panda, we have to get word to the other holds. Then come right back.”

Brandun nodded, jogged toward the carts.

Tinat looked around at the mass of gathered people, then back to her.

“You need to talk to them, Liyah,” he said, quietly. “They’re terrified of what’s to come.”

And she wasn’t? “You do it. I’m not much for words. You’re a councilman and a warrior.”

The way he smiled at her, so sweetly… it melted what was left of her heart.

“That’s not how it works,” Tinat said. “If you want these people to fight for you, you need to talk to them. Many of them won’t see the sun set. And you are far better at words than you think. Talk to them.” He glanced to the horizon. “And do it fast. I feel we don’t have long.”

Ahiliyah saw Creen jogging up the slope toward the hold. Panda didn’t need help, but she had a bad feeling Creen wouldn’t survive this battle—she needed his brain far more than she needed him to fight.

Brandun came running back. Would he be one of those who wouldn’t see the sun set?

Ahiliyah climbed the ladder, stood atop it, pleased it felt so stable.

“Everyone, listen up,” Tinat bellowed. “General Cooper speaks.”

More than a thousand faces turned to look at her. They held shields, spears, crossbows, demon forks. Fear on those faces. Fighting in the corridors was one thing—a battle in the open was another. It had to be done. They wanted her to lead? Then lead she would.

“Demons are coming for us.” Her words came out too quiet. She paused, louder. “The demons that ruined our world, that slaughtered our people, they are coming to slaughter us. But this time, we are not victims hiding in the dirt. When they come, we will kill them.”

The words had sounded good in her head. She’d half expected a roar of agreement, like in the storybooks—she didn’t get one.

“Look around you,” she said. Everyone did. “The faces you see are the faces of the people who will fight by your side. They need you to be strong and steady, to keep them alive, just as you need them to be strong and steady, to keep you alive. Your place in the phalanx isn’t about you, it is about them. We all fight as one. Listen to the commands of the warriors near you. As they stand firm, so will you.”

They were hearing her. The fear on their faces didn’t vanish—only an insane person would not be afraid—but it changed, became something she knew they would use.

“They can dig now. There is no longer any place for us to hide. If we run, they will come for us. If we stand firm, I promise you, this is only the beginning. When we win—and we will win—we march south, through Bigsby’s Pass, across the Boiling Plains, straight to Black Smoke Mountain. We will kill them in their home just as they have killed us in ours. And we will kill the Demon Mother. We will end this threat, forever. Ataegina is ours, not theirs.”

In the quiet, a distant voice echoed out. Ahiliyah looked up to Lemeth Mountain, saw a small, lone figure standing on a ridge. The figure waved a spear, pointed it south. Ahiliyah could just make out the words.

“They… are… coming!”

She recognized the voice… Jeanna Bouchard, one of the scouts.

“They… are… com—”

Her final word echoed across the mountain as a black shape pulled her back, out of sight.

“Phalanx, form up,” Ahiliyah bellowed. “The time has come to fight!”

39

General Ahiliyah Cooper stood atop her stepladder, staring out over the curved wall of shields and spears. Five ranks deep, she had formed her force into a circle—a phalanx with no flank.

Inside those five ranks, a double circle of archers and crossbowmyn, two hundred strong. The hill’s slope allowed them to shoot easily over the spearmen. The archers all had a half-spear at their feet. Once the demons reached the ring, the archers and crossbowmyn would be responsible for killing any demons that somehow made it through—or came over—the five ranks of spearmen.

Behind the archers and crossbowmyn, support personnel, those who would hand out replacement spears, arrows and crossbow bolts, who would pull the wounded out of the ranks, and who, if things went disastrously wrong, would step into the ranks themselves. The Margravine commanded the support personnel, freeing everyone who could hold a shield and spear to fight, freeing Ahiliyah to focus on the battle itself.

“Prepare yourselves,” Ahiliyah said. “It won’t be long now.”

The demons came from the west. Perhaps fifty of them, spiny black shadows of death racing across the foothills, tearing past bushes, ripping through pokey plants, scrambling over rocks. Maybe they had gone up to the hold, found nothing there, and had come running.

Only fifty? Could she be so lucky?

“To the southeast!” The unmistakable, deep voice of Takwan Baines. “More of them!”

Ahiliyah turned, looked—another hundred, at least, ripping down the middle of Bigsby’s Pass. Her circle would be tested early, and from two sides.

“Archers,” Liyah yelled, “loose at will!”

Arrows and crossbow bolts flew. She realized, while the shafts were still airborne, that she hadn’t assigned enough archers or crossbowmyn. The missiles rained down on the oncoming demons—most fell far short or went wide. A few landed amidst the streaking black, but only a few.

“There are too many,” Takwan said. “This won’t work. We have to run!”

He dropped his shield. He turned, tried to push through the ranks behind him. All around him, people shifted out of position, looked around as if searching for a place to run, to hide. Half of the archers stared at him, unsure if they should fight or flee.

Ahiliyah didn’t know what to do. She’d named Takwan a section leader, counting on his experience gathered in commanding reserve troops. There were more sections than warriors, she’d had to assign the civilians she thought could do the job.

Takwan looked out, saw the demons closing in. He again tried to push through those behind him. His panic was infecting the others—the circle was going to break before the demons even arrived.

A fist the size of Ahiliyah’s head slammed into Takwan’s face. The man sagged, fell to one knee, his left hand flat on the ground.

Tinat stood over him. The councilman lowered his spear, held the blade inches from Takwan’s throat.

“Get back to your position!” Tinat’s voice was a roar, so loud it made Ahiliyah flinch. “Get to your position or I’ll kill you here and now!” Tinat snapped out a foot, kicking Takwan in the ribs. Takwan whimpered and fell to his side. He covered up, hands in front of his face, knees to his chest, but Tinat wasn’t done—the councilman kicked him again.

“Get up! Get back in line!”

Ahiliyah observed many things at once: the demons, now so close she saw their gleaming teeth; Takwan’s face, smeared with blood; Tinat’s wide back as he landed a second kick on the fat man; people looking at Tinat and not the oncoming enemy; Callow Winden, also panicking, trying to push his way back through the ranks, his sons Abrams and Duvall trying to stop him, to shove him back into place; the black streaks of intermittent arrows and bolts flying toward the oncoming enemy.

Everything was happening so fast, so much faster than it ever had in drill.

Tinat kicked Takwan again, in the head this time. The fat man fell limp—Tinat pushed through the ranks, picked up Takwan’s dropped shield. The councilman knelt, held the shield in front of him atop the ring of stone, angled his spear over his shield.

“All right, you black bastards,” he bellowed. “Come and get it! Lock and raise shields!”

Before the battle, it had been Ahiliyah’s words that resonated. Now, with the demons seconds away, the people of Ataegina responded to Councilman Tinat, to demon-killer Tinat.

A fast cacophony of bronze on bronze sounded as the front rank’s shields overlapped. Then the second rank clanked their shields down over the front. The third rank followed, their shields angled back. Finally, the fourth rank raised their shields high, almost parallel to the ground.

Through every tiny space in the shields, long spears jutted out—a ring of poison death waiting for its victims.

The first demon reached the circle, jaws open wide, black hands reaching out. It impaled itself on Tinat’s spear, making the wood shaft vibrate. The beast let out an ear-splitting screech, tried to pull away, but the one trailing it slammed into its back, driving the first further onto the blade. The second one slid off, tried to come around fast.

Someone angled a demon fork, thrust the center tine into the beast’s gut. The monster came on anyway, hands reaching out, but the shaft held—talons slashed at empty air.

The rest of the demons hit like a wave of midnight splashing against a shore of painted bronze. Black talons slashed at shields, tried to yank them away. Tailspikes slammed against metal. Spears thrust out, pulled back, thrust out again.

Spear shafts snapped. People screamed. Bodies tumbled backward.

The other demon wave crashed into the ring on the opposite side. Ahiliyah watched as the demons spread out, just as Sinesh had said they would. But there was no edge for them to find, no corner to turn.

A demon leapt through the air, trying to launch itself over the front ranks, only to impale itself on angled spears. The beast seemed to hover in midair, legs kicking, tail whipping, claws slashing at the wood, tearing free splinters until the shafts snapped. The beast fell. Wounded, spilling burning blood, it tried to rise, but met its end when the half-spears of a dozen archers sliced through it, pinning it to the ground.

All around her, over a thousand human beings fought for their lives.

“Hold strong,” she called out. “The poison will cut them down soon!”

She turned in place, watching the battle, saw a spot where the circle had bent inward, demons clawing at metal and flesh alike. Abrams Winden fell back, his stomach torn apart, his hands clutching pinkish curls of intestine. A demon stood over him, two spear blades jammed into its side, some people trying to stab it, other flailing to get away from it. The rear ranks behind Abrams backed away instead of surging forward.

If the ring broke…

Ahiliyah drew her spearhead from its scabbard. She leapt off her stepladder.

“Fill the gaps!” She rushed the demon. It saw her coming, swung a claw at her. She stopped short, raised her blade—the demon’s wrist hit the edge, and the black hand spun away. The severed stump gushed burning blood, on her, on Abrams, on the men around him.

Ahiliyah felt her skin burning even as the blood sizzled into ash.

The beast lashed out with its tailspike, plunging into the forehead of another man.

A spear jammed through the demon’s neck. It stiffened, momentarily frozen. Ahiliyah lunged toward the nightmare, drove her spearhead straight into its open mouth, saw the blade-tip crack through the top of its black head. The demon sagged, fell on top of Abrams, whose face smoked with streaks of burning blood.

At a glance, Ahiliyah saw two more demons barreling toward the hole in the circle. The men on Abrams’s left were pinned down by swinging, biting, whipping demons—they couldn’t step sideways to fill the open space.

Ahiliyah dropped her spearhead, scrambled over the smoking Abrams and the twitching demon. A spear… she grabbed it, planted her foot behind the butt-spike, angled the point up.

For an instant, there was only her single spear, wooden shaft and sizzling metal point aimed out, aimed straight at the two demons already reaching for her, their jaws wide, so close that she could see their toothtongues in the back of their open mouths.

Then, like strands of rivergrass waving in the current, a half-dozen spears swung into place alongside hers as her people packed in around her—she was no longer one, single person. She was a single claw in a wall of longer-taloned fingers.

The first demon sprang high.

Ahiliyah saw it arc up, front and rear claws both extended—it landed on the spearpoints that angled up from behind her, three blades punching deep into the cracking black shell. The beast shuddered, making the wooden shafts wobble—a claw lashed out, snapping a shaft in half.

Burning blood spilled down on her, but shoulder to shoulder with her people she could not move. As the second demon rushed in, Ahiliyah squeezed tight the wooden shaft and roared, her lips curling back like those of the demons.

At the last instant, the demon tried to twist its way through, but there were too many spearpoints angled to meet it. One caught it in the shoulder, a glancing blow that tore through black shell and green flesh, then the full force of the beast drove home as Ahiliyah’s spear point punched into its chest, so hard that she saw the spear shaft bend upward in the center, warping the coupling—wood shattered, leaving her with half a weapon.

The beast fell to the ground, jagged shaft sticking out of its chest, but still it tried to attack, trying to rip the spear out of its chest with one hand as it dug its toes into the soft earth and came toward her, sliding on its own blood across sizzling, smoking grass.

“Shields,” a voice roared—Brandun’s voice. “Fill the gap!”

Suddenly, he was there, stepping in front of her, kneeling, his shield filling the gap. Someone grabbed Ahiliyah, pushed her stumbling backward, away from the front rank, even as shields clanged home around Brandun’s anchoring presence. Ahiliyah tripped, fell backward over the bodies of Abrams and the demon that had killed him. The leaves on her hands and knees sizzled against dirt soaked with burning blood.

A frozen moment—sitting on her butt, she saw the backs of her people, the ring of smoking bronze that back reflected back screams of pain, of rage, of hate, of death. The dull gongs of claws and tails and teeth slamming against bronze, the squeals and screeches of the demons trying to force their way in.

All through the ring, smoke rose up like a fog, carrying with it the stench of scorched dirt, burning flesh, and her own singed hair.

Ahiliyah scrambled to her feet. She rushed to the top of the hill, skirting the screaming wounded, moving around the dead demons that had gotten through only to be finished off by the archers, past the support personnel who slathered fresh goop on bleeding wounds, who handed forward fresh spears and shields.

Ahiliyah reached her stepladder—up she went, quickly turning to survey the battle.

All around the phalanx, the twitching bodies and still husks of demons, a black ring surrounding a jewel of battered bronze. She was shocked to see that most of the demons were dead or dying, their twitching convulsions ended by butt-spikes driven through their black skulls.

The ring had held.

A few demons fought on, their movements so slow that they quickly fell to the thrusts of multiple spears. Others staggered around, seeming almost drunk.

Ahiliyah looked down the hill, searched for bending grass, hoping there were no fresh demons rushing toward her and her people. She saw only one… and it was running away, a good fifty yards off, staggering through the tall grass.

“Brandun! Tinat! We have to catch that one!”

She again jumped off the stepladder. She grabbed the first weapon she saw—a halfspear, and sprinted toward the phalanx ring. Brandun was faster than she was, stepping in front of her with a hand up to slow her, stop her.

“You can’t go out there, General,” he said. “It’s not safe. I’ll catch it. It’s got three bolts in it—why didn’t it die as fast as the one I shot in the crevasse?”

Ahiliyah shook her head. “I don’t know. We’ll have to ask Creen about that.”

The demon moved in a herky-jerky fashion, stumbling left, pausing, then moving forward and to the right. It paused again. The long black head angled up, as if it was looking to the sky for help.

“I’ve had my problems with Creen,” Brandun said, “but right now, I want to kiss him.”

“Go make sure it’s dead first.” Ahiliyah glanced around to see who was still standing. “Will Pankour, Ruslan Porter, go with Brandun, then all three of you get back here right away.”

Brandun jogged out from the circle, waited for the two men to catch up with him, then closed in on the still-twitching beast.

Ahiliyah slowly turned in place, unable to believe that it was over. There had to be more demons. But if so, where were they? The sun shone overhead, leaving no deep shadows in which to hide. As far as she could see, from the mountains to the trees… no movement.

Tinat walked up to her, a bandage wet with gleaming caminus goop pressed to his left cheek. He held a similar bandage in his hand, pressed it to her head. She hadn’t realized her skin was still burning there, not until she felt the instant cooling, until she heard the slight hiss of thinned acid turning to ash.

“You did it, General,” Tinat said. “We beat the bastards! I have something for you.” He reached into his webbing, pulled out a toothtongue. It was scored down the middle, a long, angled gash that had cracked the shell. “It’s from the one you stabbed in the fucking face. Be careful with it, I don’t think all the blood is out of it yet.”

She took it from him, stared at it as if it wasn’t real. Her third toothtongue.

Only a day ago, there had been but three toothtongue trophies in all of Lemeth Hold. Now there were well over a hundred. She and Tinat wouldn’t be the only ones wearing the enemy around their necks.

“That was… horrible,” she said. “Is it over?”

Tinat shook his head. “The fighting is, at least for the moment, but we have more to do.”

He gestured to the people lying on the bloodstained ground—some moaning, some screaming. More than Ahiliyah could count. Had Creen survived? Had Tolio? She found she couldn’t bear the thought of losing either of them. She focused, instead, on Tinat.

“We have wounded,” he said. “And those who aren’t dead yet, but will be before the sun sets. Gisilfred is getting me a tally of the demon dead.” The big man put his left fist to his sternum. “By your leave, General, I’ll see to preparing for a possible counter-attack.”

He wasn’t telling her what to do—he was asking for her permission.

“All right,” she said.

Tinat strode away, barking orders to the others.

A hammer of fatigue slammed into her. She wobbled, had to adjust her feet to keep from falling. Her head throbbed, her skin felt hot. How close had she come to death? She’d been right on the front line, facing a wall of nightmares, yet she’d stood strong—she hadn’t run.

Ahiliyah saw men and women staring at her. They’d seen Tinat’s show of respect. The expressions on their faces—if any of them had doubted her leadership before the battle began, they doubted no more.

Her gaze fell upon the body of Abrams Winden. Duvall stood over him, spear in his hand, blade pointing straight up, butt-spike on the ground. And, kneeling over Abrams, shoulders shaking with sobs, his father, Callow Winden. Ahiliyah walked to them, knelt down on the other side of the body. Someone had dragged the dead demon away.

Abrams’s face was a stinking mess of melted flesh. He’d been hit by far more burning blood than his thick coat of caminus leaves and smear of goop could stop. Parts of his guts clung to the frayed rope of his torn hidey suit.

“I’m sorry your son is gone,” Ahiliyah said. “He died defending the hold.”

Had those words sounded good in her head? Spoken out loud, they sounded idiotic.

Callow looked at her, his red eyes streaming tears. “It’s my fault,” he said. “He tried to stop me from running… because of that he wasn’t ready, he… ”

Deep, chest-wracking sobs cut off Callow’s words. He fell atop his son, and wailed.

Ahiliyah felt herself crying. For Abrams? For Duvall and Callow? Maybe for all three. Callow had tried to run. Abrams had stopped him, yet Abrams was dead while Callow didn’t have a scratch on him.

It wasn’t fair. None of it was. And yet there was no time for forgiveness. She reached up, cupped the back of Callow’s head.

“Next time, don’t run,” she said. “Or it will be Duvall crying over your death.”

Her words brought fresh howls from the man. Ahiliyah hoped he’d learned his lesson, because the next time he broke ranks and tried to run, she would follow Tinat’s example—she would kill Callow herself.

She would not let cowards stop her.

Nothing would stop her from getting to the Demon Mother.

40

“He’ll survive,” the Margravine said. “He is strong.”

Ahiliyah watched her wipe a goop-covered cloth over Tolio’s horrid wounds, neutralizing the last of the burning blood. He had served the hold and paid a powerful price. A tail or a claw had sliced through his right bicep. There was no way he could again hold a spear or draw a bowstring. As if that wasn’t enough, a thick gout of burning blood had hit him in the face, enough of it splashing through caminus leaves and hidey-suit rope to overwhelm the goop smeared on his face. His eyeball had burst. The socket was a mess of burned, swollen flesh. Through the worst burns, she could see a spot of his skull, and another of his cheekbone.

“I’m sorry,” Tolio said. “I fought as hard as I could.”

Ahiliyah kissed his lips. “I know. Don’t apologize. Margravine, give us a moment?”

The old woman looked as spent as Ahiliyah felt, but, like Ahiliyah, she would not stop. She stood, her knees cracking audibly as she did, and walked away without a word.

Ahiliyah stroked Tolio’s hair, gently sweeping it from his sweat-soaked forehead.

She felt drained. Tinat, Brandun and the other warriors had given her this quiet moment, organizing the removal of the dead and forming the surviving forces into a tighter circle formation atop the hill. Shields and spears were close at hand. Some people lay on their backs, recovering. Others shook uncontrollably, some alone, some held by friends or family.

People with minor wounds were tended to where they were. For major wounds, though—both those who might survive, and those who clearly would not—Ahiliyah had ordered them carried on stretchers back to the Bitigan River inside the hold. Their constant screams had been demoralizing to the others—removing them was critical to keeping order, to stop people from running away.

A few had run, slipping off in the confusion that followed the battle, or carrying wounded into the hold only to run when they had a chance to flee. Those people were damned. Ahiliyah felt shame for wishing that demons found them. To run wasn’t just individual cowardice, it cheated her out of another fighter. Every spear mattered.

“I can still fight,” Tolio said, forcing his words through the pain. “I’ll fight to avenge my parents. I will fight for you, my love. I will die for you.”

Wounded, almost mortally so, and yet he refused to stop. While others ran and thought only of themselves, Tolio was willing to give everything for his hold. How had she ever doubted her feelings for this man? Seeing him hurt so badly, with injuries that he would carry for the rest of his life… something inside of her changed. In that instant, she knew what she wanted, and knew it wasn’t some temporary thing.

“I’m afraid your fighting is done,” she said. “You’ll go to Biseth with the other wounded.”

He started to protest, she put a finger to his lips.

“Tolio, my love, I need you to recover. Because when this is over, when we’ve won, I’m ready to have a family with you.”

His one good eye stared up at her. His pain seemed to fade for a moment.

“If I’d known all it would take was an eye, I would have cut it out myself ages ago,” he said. “I love you, Liyah.”

This time, her response came instantly, effortlessly. “And I love you, Tolio.”

He reached up, cupped her cheek. “Fight on. Kill the Demon Mother. Come home to me.”

His pain returned all at once, scrunching his face into a mask of agony.

Ahiliyah kissed him again, quickly, once on the mouth, once on the forehead, then she left him there. Would he make it to Biseth? She didn’t know. He might die on his own, or demons might get him on the way. She could not worry about him, not now.

She had a war to win.

Gisilfred and Tinat came jogging toward her. Ahiliyah tried to center herself. She had to appear strong, unbroken. People were looking at her differently now, like she was a hero. No one needed to explain it to her—she was the army, and the army was her. If she showed weakness, if she showed doubt, all could be lost before the next battle even began.

Tinat was no longer smiling. “Tell the General the count.”

“General,” Gisilfred said, “we killed one hundred and sixty-seven demons.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, shut it. He didn’t want to say what came next.

“Tell her all of it,” Tinat said. “Liyah is no wilting flower. Tell her.”

Gisilfred swallowed. “We have seventy-four dead. One hundred and eight injured to the point where they can no longer fight. And… twenty-seven missing in action.”

Missing in action. A nice, polite phrase for those who had run away.

“We won, but at such a cost,” Tinat said. “Do we still march on Black Smoke Mountain?”

Ahiliyah glanced around the hill. Most of those remaining were able and willing to fight, but she’d lost twenty percent of her forces. Only a handful of her remaining forces were trained warriors. The rest were smiths and farmers, cooks and craftsmyn—how long until they realized that anew?

“Maybe this was all the demons there were,” Gisilfred said. “As far as we know, we just wiped them out.”

Ahiliyah knew she had been lucky so far—or blessed—but there were limits to both things.

“Keflan, Jantal, Dakatera and Lemeth,” Tinat said. “Many were carried off. If the Demon Mother magicked them all into black beasts, there could be thousands of them waiting for us just past the Boiling Plains.”

If so, her people would die soon. If they waited, they would die later.

“We march,” she said. “We won’t stop until the Demon Mother is dead.”

Tinat shook his head. “You can’t make that decision alone. Not now, not with the losses we took. Gisilfred, gather the council, now.”

Gisilfred ran off before Ahiliyah could say a word. Her anger flared.

“Tinat, don’t be stupid. Ramirus and Solomon are on the council now. What if they sway the Margravine to say no?”

Tinat smiled. “You didn’t mind when your little friend Creen started the power play that made you the commander. And I didn’t hear you object when adding Ramirus and Solomon to the Council sealed the deal. I respect you, Liyah, but your ability to understand what’s happening on a battlefield is far better than your ability to understand politics.” He glanced to the afternoon sky. “So much has happened this day, and we still have hours before sunset. Come to the Council, General, and make your case. We will see what happens.”

* * *

While Ahiliyah had played a part in it, she still wasn’t sure how the Margravine had seized power. It seemed obvious that the woman intended to keep it. At the top of the hill, the Margravine was seated on a severed demon head, as if the hated enemy that had killed thousands was to her nothing more than a convenient stool. Those around her—Poller, Tinat, Preacher Ramirus and Solomon Barrow, still in their hidey suits with hoods down, sat on stones. Drasko stood behind the Margravine, his arms crossed. One empty rock was obviously meant for Liyah.

Poller ran a whetstone over a spearhead; as Liyah sat, he didn’t bother to look up from that work, continued on with the steady snick, snick, snick of stone on bronze

“Congratulations, General,” the Margravine said. “Now we must decide what comes next.”

Ahiliyah couldn’t miss the irony—in a hold where women weren’t allowed to hold power or serve as warriors, women had become the political and military leaders. How long would that last? She didn’t know, and it didn’t matter—she needed to lead only long enough to kill the Demon Mother and end her evil grip on Ataegina.

“We know what must come next,” Ahiliyah said. “We march through Bigsby’s Pass, to the Boiling Plains, and across them to Black Smoke Mountain. We will kill the Demon Mother.”

Solomon Barrow fidgeted uncomfortably. “Liyah, we know we are alive because of you, but we have lost so many. Our people are hurt, they are tired, they are frightened. How much more can you ask of them?”

Ahiliyah glanced to the Margravine; she said nothing. No expression on her face. Would the woman back what needed to be done?

“We should march with our wounded back to Biseth,” Preacher Ramirus said. “We could catch up to the young and old and those wounded in the initial attack, provide them protection. There could be more demons hunting them, we just don’t know. Once we all reach Biseth, perhaps we can rally them to join our cause.”

By rally what he meant was find walls to hide behind. The man was a disgrace to humanity. Ahiliyah never should have gone along with putting him on the Council.

“We march on Black Smoke Mountain,” Ahiliyah said. “We kill the Demon Mother.”

She would repeat it as many times as it took. The time for cowardice, for self-protection, had passed. People would die, of that there was no doubt. The question was, would anyone survive? With Ahiliyah’s way, at least there was a chance.

“We need support from the other holds,” Tinat said. “We can’t do this alone. No word from our signalmyn yet.”

Poller stopped sharpening. “Can we send runners? Most of our scouts made it back alive.”

Did these people know nothing of the realities of running?

“We’re looking at five days, minimum, to get word to and back from Takanta,” Ahiliyah said. “Add another three or four days on top of that for word from Vinden. We can’t wait here for days on end. If we are to win, we must move now.”

Drasko stepped forward. “May I speak?”

The Margravine nodded.

“In my youth, I fought on the plains with the Bisethians and the Takantans against Northern raiders,” he said. “The Bisethians are worthless, but Takantans are highly trained and well equipped. Better than us by far, I’ll admit. Their archers and crossbowmyn are fast and accurate, the best in the world. If General Tasker is still there, they are well led. If we can wait for them, we should.”

Ahiliyah felt embarrassed that she hadn’t thought to ask about the quality of the troops from other holds. “And the Vindenians?”

“Their forces are comparable to ours,” Tinat said. “If they send anyone at all.”

“I believe they will, if we can reach them,” the Margravine said. “Decades ago, they sent troops to join Sinesh. It’s been many years since I visited either of those holds, but from what I know of them, once they learn of Creen’s poison, they will realize this is their last opportunity to be rid of the demons.”

Solomon tilted his head. “Margravine, you have been to those holds? Personally?”

“I have not always been in this wrinkled body.” The Margravine reached her left hand inside her hidey suit. She grabbed the right shoulder of her dress, and with one yank, ripped the tattered fabric down, exposing her skin—and the sixteen faded slashes there. “In my youth, I was the best runner on the planet.”

How different she was from the Margrave.

“If we wait, the demons can attack us again,” Ahiliyah said. “If we lose another two hundred people, what we have left won’t be worth marching at all. We must go now.”

Ramirus shook his head. “Madness. If we wait, some of our wounded will recover enough to fight. We can see if the other holds will join, and have more of our own.”

The councilmen traded glances—they thought Ramirus made sense.

Ahiliyah tried to control her anger. “You must listen to me. The demons—”

A shout rose up from the base of the hill. There, she saw Panda and Creen, rushing up the slope toward her. When they reached her, they could barely breathe.

“General Cooper,” Creen said, chest heaving, “we have good news! Panda, tell her.”

Panda sucked in air. His face made him seem more pained than the people on the hill nursing actual wounds.

“We got word… from Biseth, they… they aren’t sending troops, but they got word from Takanta. The Takantans are already on their way to help! Fifteen… fifteen hundred troops. And a thousand from Vinden as well!”

Hope surged through Ahiliyah, and vindication. “Where are they to meet us?”

“North of the Great Geyser,” Panda said. “On the Boiling Plains.”

She would march on Black Smoke Mountain with an army of three thousand.

“We will leave immediately,” she said. “If we push hard, we can set up a defensive ring for the night, then march at first light and be at the Boiling Plains by mid-afternoon.”

Ramirus held up his hands. “Hold on, we haven’t decided anything yet, we—”

“Our allies are marching,” Ahiliyah said. “Marching to join us, at our request. The decision is already made, Preacher. Run along to Biseth if you are afraid, but the rest of us are going to war. Councilman Tinat, gather the unit leaders. Creen, come with me.”

She turned, walked down the hill. She didn’t need to wait to hear the Council’s decision. Now they had no choice—Ahiliyah was taking the battle to the demons.

Creen jogged to her side.

“Some of the demons lived a long time after getting cut,” Ahiliyah said. “Why?”

He glanced around, took in the piles of dead—demon and human alike. “We’re making the stuff as fast as we can. Out here I don’t have the same level of control I did in my lab. Maybe the poison quality isn’t as consistent. They’ll all still die. It might take some longer than others.”

“And while they live, they attack. We’re marching immediately. Can you fix the problem?”

He rubbed his face. “We’ll be brewing batches on the back of moving carts, Liyah. More variables. I don’t know if I can fix it.”

She stopped, grabbed his shoulder.

“Figure it out,” she said. “Every minute a wounded demon keeps going is another minute where our people die. Our strategy depends on the poison working perfectly.”

He stared at her, wide-eyed. “You won’t get perfection out here. I’ll do my best.”

Frustration mounted, but she would not wait. She had to press her advantage.

“Don’t let me down, Creen,” she said. “You and Panda now make poison full-time.”

She pushed him away, then stormed off to get her troops ready to march.

41

It had been fifty years since so many people had walked along the shores of Lake Mip. Fifty years since so many people had walked anywhere on the surface of Ataegina. For all that time humanity had been hiding away from a superior killer; from a stronger, faster, deadlier enemy.

Ahiliyah marched at the head of a column of crimson, a column eight hundred people strong. Mostly Lemethians, but Dakaterans and Keflanians as well. Every fighter wore a hidey suit thick with caminus leaves. Each spearman wore a bronze chestplate over a padded shirt. Along with bronze helmets and shields, the spearmen were as well-equipped as any army that had ever marched on Ataegina. They each carried a warrior spear and two spearheads, knowing the spearheads would sizzle away to nothing if there was more burning blood than a smear of Creen’s goop could neutralize.

Plenty of weapons, plenty of armor. Ahiliyah wondered what kind of war King Paul had envisioned to store away so much.

She wore a chestplate as well, one that Crag Halden had modified for her, hammering it down to her smaller size. It was heavier than she liked, the leather shoulder straps that connected the front and back pieces digging into her shoulders, but considering what was to come, she would bear the weight and not complain. She hadn’t decided about the helmet yet—after years of surviving because she could see everything around her, cutting off most of her vision seemed stupid, despite the protection she was giving up.

As for the shield… well, fuck the heavy thing. She would command the battle from her stepladder, not be in the ranks. The breastplate slowed her enough as it was.

There was a battle coming. Would it take place on the Boiling Plains? Closer to Black Smoke Mountain? Or in the tunnels below the mountain itself?

She would soon find out.

The column was ten people wide, eighty ranks deep. The first person in each rank acted as a unit leader. Most unit leaders were trained warriors but, as there weren’t enough of them left alive, Ahiliyah had promoted those who had fought well in the hilltop battle, in the corridors of Lemeth Hold, or both—Councilman Poller, Councilman Barrow, and Nicole Mason among them.

People took turns pulling the three carts, one with the last of the replacement spears, shields and armor from the armory, one with barrels of food and water, and one topped with bronze shields turned into portable fire pits, boiling kettles above them in which Creen and Panda worked tirelessly to turn caminus leaves into demon poison.

As the column marched, they trained, constantly reviewing the signals that would be given, talking about the order of ranks, how to shrink the circle if too many people died, and who was responsible for what. There was no yelling, no screaming, no threats… there wasn’t time for that. Nor was there a need. After Hilltop, no one had any illusions about what was to come. Everyone knew the stakes—victory or extinction.

The march along the shore of Lake Mip and into the pass that led to the Boiling Plains was so much easier than the hazardous mountain treks she’d become accustomed to as a runner. Every step fell on flat, solid ground… even at a steady march, it felt like she was sprinting.

Could this army of bakers, brewers, foundrymyn, cobblers, mushroom farmers, this army of young and old… could they win again? But they weren’t civilians anymore, not really. Regardless of their past, they were all fighters now.

The strength of the phalanx is the spearman, the strength of the spearman is the phalanx.

She’d sent runners out ahead to scout. Just as with the Battle of Hilltop, she knew some of them would not make it back. She tried not to focus on that, instead centering her thoughts around the Margravine’s words: don’t think of the ones you lost, think of the ones you saved.

All the countless wargames with Sinesh. Training for the inevitable, perhaps. Anyone else could have led this war, a dozen leaders at a dozen times could have realized there was no hope in hiding away. But none did. Only Ahiliyah, backed by the Margravine.

And it had taken a slaughter to make this happen.

If only someone had realized this inevitability sooner, when thousands more people were alive, when hundreds of warriors hadn’t already been killed.

None of that mattered now.

This was the army she had, and she was marching it to battle.

One way or another, everything would change.

42

Say one thing for her ancestors—when it came to naming things, they had been quite literal.

In the distance, Black Smoke Mountain belched a long, thin column of black smoke into the sky. All around Ahiliyah, the Boiling Plains bubbled with mud and intermittently spurted jets of steaming water. Some surged only to knee height before dying down, while others gushed up liquid pillars taller than three men standing on each other’s shoulders.

The air had grown hot, and not just from the noonday sun—here, like in the depths of Lemeth Hold, the ground itself kicked out heat. While she had never seen the Great Geyser for herself—her one run to Takanta had followed the northern range above Lake Mip—others, including the Margravine, had, and assured her that when it let loose, there was no missing it.

Her column of eight hundred fighters marched across mostly dead ground, ground as black and rough as the demons themselves. Creen had taken a break from his cart, come to the head of the column and told her the cracked black surface was lava flows, which he described as rivers of fire. She asked if they would see any such rivers before reaching Black Smoke Mountain. Creen had said he hoped not, then returned to his poison-making duties.

The small geysers were a sight to behold. She was grateful for the chance to see such beauty before she died. Some geysers were nothing more than muddy holes in the ground that bubbled like soup. The larger ones spouted from ragged cones of various sizes—the bigger the geyser, the bigger the cone. All of them, cones and mud alike, sparkled, both from thick mineral deposits laid down over centuries, and from the water itself, which seemed to glow like the water of the Bitigan River. She found herself wishing she had arrived at night—in the darkness, what a sight these glowing plains would be.

The ground began to rumble.

Ahiliyah halted the column. She heard murmurs of fear from her fighters.

The Margravine—and her ever-present shadow, Drasko—came quickly to the front. She was smiling, her old face as cracked as the volcanic ground on which they stood.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said, waving her arms to the column to get everyone’s attention. “Look south, toward Black Smoke Mountain, and you will see why it is called the Great Geyser.”

Seconds later, Ahiliyah understood.

Perhaps half a mile away, the ground spit forth an impossibly tall jet of boiling water. Clouds of steam billowed from it, catching the afternoon sun. The water itself glowed with a bluish hue—a color that quickly faded. After only a minute, perhaps, the column of water died down. As the cloud it had birthed settled, Ahiliyah saw the gorgeous glow of a rainbow.

“I guess we’re in the right place,” she said.

The Margravine nodded. “Flat for miles. The Takantans will see us, to be sure.”

If they came. Ahiliyah remained prepared to continue the fight without them. There was no going back, not now, not when she was this close.

She scanned the horizon, looking for any sign of forces from the other holds. Black Smoke Mountain was an hour’s march away. Perhaps a little more, perhaps a little less.

Tinat and Brandun jogged up to meet her.

“The troops need rest and water,” Tinat said. “If we’re stopping, it’s a good time for both.”

Ahiliyah knew she should have thought of that. People were exhausted from the hot march.

“Get everyone into our circle formation,” she said. “Spears and shields ready to be picked up at a moment’s notice. One unit at a time can go to the water and food cart. We’re close enough that demons could be on us fast.”

Tinat nodded. “Each unit should post a lookout. Maybe fifteen yards out from the ring?”

“Do it,” Ahiliyah said.

Brandun and Tinat jogged away, both like thick, moving caminus bushes, calling out orders that were quickly picked up and repeated by unit leaders. The ring formation formed, clumsily but quickly. Ahiliyah saw her people taking off helmets, resting shields on the cracked black ground, then sitting down. There were a few minor gaps—no one wanted to sit in mud.

Creen ran to her, a wooden mug of water in one hand, a hunk of bread in the other.

“A general has to eat,” he said.

She took a big bite of bread, washed it down with water. She didn’t know if Creen had any idea of what was coming next.

“There’s nowhere to put you and Panda this time,” she said. “You’ll have to fight.”

He glanced down. “I told you, I can’t.”

Sweat sheened his face. His hidey suit hung on him, caminus leaves limp and rope heavy from water absorbed from standing over the boiling pots. She loved him. She loved a lot of people who weren’t around anymore.

“If you don’t fight, you’ll die,” she said.

He shrugged. “We’re all going to die anyway.”

Ahiliyah cupped a hand under his chin, forced him to look at her.

“If I can do it, so can you,” she said. “Don’t disappoint me. And don’t you dare run. You understand? I’ll have to kill you myself if you do.”

He forced a smile. “You can be one intense bitch. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Only the people who won’t stand and fight.”

Creen huffed, shook his head.

Excited shouts rose up from behind them.

“Ahiliyah,” Tinat called, “to the west!”

She looked west, and her heart surged. Across the shimmering heat of the black plain came a long column of people, spears raised high. Their polished, unpainted shields and helmets blazed in the afternoon sun. At the front, a man carrying a pole bearing the flapping standard of a green bow atop a field of caminus-leaf crimson.

The Takantans.

Cheers rose up from the circle formation.

Ahiliyah turned on them, furious. “Shut up! Be silent, you idiots!”

Unit leaders picked up her orders, understood her fear. They shushed their people. In an instant, the cheers died down, but the hopeful smiles did not. Ahiliyah couldn’t blame them—fifteen hundred Takantans. And soon, another thousand Vindenians.

They were going to win. The Demon Mother would die. Humanity would be free.

Ahiliyah waved for Brandun and Tinat to join her. Both men came at a jog.

“Brandun, get some people and carry three barrels of poison to the Takantans, fast,” she said. Brandun jogged back to the troops.

“That leaves us with only one barrel,” Tinat said. “That’s not much of a reserve.”

Ahiliyah nodded. “Our troops have their personal ration. Creen is making more. We need the Takantans provisioned with poison in case the demons attack. Let’s welcome our new ally.”

They jogged toward the Takantans. Her chestplate felt heavier than ever. As they jogged, she glanced toward the smoking mountain. On the plain of black rock and steam, all seemed still.

“The Takantans are noisy bastards,” Tinat said. “They sound like a thousand-legged beast.”

Their in-step marching was loud, nerve-wrackingly so. It filled Ahiliyah with anxiety. This close to Black Smoke Mountain, if there were demons, they couldn’t miss the sound.

The Takantans wore caminus-leaf-lined hidey suits, but as she approached, she saw the suits were of poor quality, cobbled together on short notice. Some weren’t hidey suits at all, just normal clothes with bush branches jammed through cut holes. Ahiliyah’s initial thrill at seeing so many warriors ebbed, slightly—those suits would provide little protection, and there were no caminus bushes on the Boiling Plains.

As a whole, though, the Takantans looked far more capable than her own force did. Almost all of the soldiers were good-sized men, armed with bronze shields, helmets and long pikes, even longer than the warrior’s spears her people carried.

“Those have to be six meters long,” she said. “Can they even use those effectively?”

“They can,” Tinat said. “I’ve seen Takantans in action. They know what they’re doing.”

Ahiliyah and Tinat reached the column. A thickly built soldier stepped forward. Ahiliyah didn’t realize the soldier was a woman until she bellowed out an order. The order echoed back through the ranks. Three unified steps later, fifteen hundred troops stopped as one.

In the wake of their footsteps, Ahiliyah heard a light wind whistle across the desolate Boiling Plains, heard the faint puff of a distant geyser.

“That’s Tasker,” Tinat said. “Older than I remember, but aren’t we all?”

The woman strode forward, alone. She was thick with muscle beneath a coat of chain mail thickly threaded with crimson caminus leaves. She had a bow and a quiver slung across her back, a sword scabbard at her side. Her metal helmet had bush-leaf net pulled taut over the top and the sides—jutting from the helmet forehead, a bronzed toothtongue.

“I’m Anette Tasker, commander of the Takantan forces.” She squinted her bright blue eyes, making the pronounced wrinkles at the corners furrow deeply. “I recognize you, from the campaign against the Northerners. Vinus Tinat, is it?”

Tinat smiled. “Good to see you again, General. And this—” Tinat gestured to Ahiliyah “—is General Ahiliyah Cooper, leader of the Lemethian garrison.”

Tasker’s gaze flicked from Ahiliyah’s eyes to the three toothtongues resting on the netting over Ahiliyah’s chestplate.

“So it’s true,” Tasker said. “A girl in command. No wonder your hold fell.”

Why would Tasker, of all people, be so dismissive of another woman commander? Ahiliyah then understood—Tasker was judging on age, not gender.

“This girl drove the demons out of our hold,” Ahiliyah said. “Then led the force that defeated over a hundred and fifty demons. How many have you defeated, General Tasker?”

Ahiliyah had faced down demons—she would not flinch at the bigger woman’s glare.

“Hard to believe,” Tasker said. She sighed. “But if Herriet validates it, I suppose it’s true.”

Ahiliyah glanced back to her people. The Margravine stood there, watching but not interfering, Drasko right behind her.

“The Margravine,” Ahiliyah said. “You know her?”

Tasker nodded, her expression solemn. “Forty years ago, Takanta suffered a crippling outbreak of forgetter’s syndrome. Hundreds died. Thousands were sick. We didn’t have enough labor to farm, to maintain the hold. My mother was ill, and pregnant with me.”

The woman took off her helmet, revealing sweat-matted, gray-streaked black hair. She stared over Ahiliyah, stared at the Margravine.

“It was only a decade after the Rising—demons were everywhere, all around Lake Mip. Takanta was cut off from Keflan, which meant it was also cut off from Dakatera, from Dakatera’s plinton fruit. Our runners tried to get there, to save our hold, but they all vanished. My father was one of them. He died trying to save my mother and me. When Herriet found out what was happening, she demanded her hold send runners. The Dakateran leaders refused, so she made the run herself—six times—carrying half her weight in plinton fruit each time. The best part is, Herriet had already completed her obligatory ten runs. She volunteered because she knew the route better than anyone else, because she knew she could save lives.”

Running had once been mandatory in Dakatera, as it had been in Lemeth? When had that changed? Ahiliyah suspected it had ended when the Margravine came into power. Herriet Lumos had volunteered for extra runs, just as Ahiliyah had planned to do. Was it any wonder, then, that the Margravine had tried to lure Ahiliyah away from Lemeth?

“Takanta has not forgotten,” Tasker said. “Our current Margrave, and our entire council, is alive because of her. As am I. Keflan, Jantal, Dakatera and Lemeth have fallen. The demons will come for us next. If Herriet Lumos says you have demon poison, that attacking now is the only way to save our hold, we believe her. We came because of her message.”

Brandun and some of the other men walked past, set three barrels down before the Takantan column.

“That’s the poison,” Ahiliyah said. “Distribute it as quickly as you can. Make sure your people have enough to apply a thin coat to every blade, arrowheads included.”

Tasker turned, pointed to the barrels. Takantan unit leaders barked orders. Soldiers quickly formed three fast-moving lines, one for each barrel. Each passing soldier dipped a small cup to scoop out a portion of goop. Fifteen hundred troops, and it would take only a few minutes for all of them to pass by the barrels. Ahiliyah couldn’t help but be impressed by their organization.

Tasker stared at the barrels, doubt on her face. “I’ve seen a demon bristling with twenty arrows, and it kept coming. Is it true that, with the poison, a single arrow can kill one?”

Ahiliyah quickly told her of killing the demon in the crevasse, how Brandun’s bolt had eventually killed it, of the Keflanian crossbowmen on Lemeth’s deck, and how she’d learned from misusing her own archers and crossbowmen at the Battle of Hilltop.

“I hope your archers are more accurate,” Ahiliyah said. “How many in your force?”

Tasker snorted out a laugh. “Takantans are born with a bow in their hands. Every warrior with me carries one, and every one of us can fire twelve shafts a minute.”

“So fast,” Tinat said. “Fifteen hundred of you, that’s… that’s…”

Tasker nodded. “Eighteen thousand shafts in a single minute.”

Ahiliyah felt a surprising surge of hope that she might not only win, but also live to tell of it. As the Takantans passed by the barrels, armor and weapons creating a uniform, soft metallic rattle, their unit leaders spread them out in a long line six ranks deep.

“Form your phalanx into a circle,” Ahiliyah said. “The poison doesn’t work instantly, as I told you. If the demons come out to fight, some of them will reach us.”

Tasker gave her a sidelong glance. “Girl, if my men are in a circle, then only half of them can see their targets. I don’t think you understand what our concentrated fire can do. As we like to say, when the real fighting begins, why burden yourself with the weight of an unused arrow?”

Deep in her chest, Ahiliyah felt a sinking sensation. She glanced at Tinat, and it was clear he felt the same thing. He took a half-step closer to Tasker, drawing her attention.

“That works with people,” Tinat said, “but the demons are far faster. You haven’t seen demons attack in large numbers like we have. Ahiliyah’s formation is proven, it will…”

His words trailed off as shouts of alarm rose from the Lemethian formation. People there were quickly getting to their feet, grabbing spears and shields—and pointing south.

Ahiliyah looked toward Black Smoke Mountain. For a moment, she couldn’t process what she saw—the black plains, shimmering from the heat… were they… moving?

The image crystalized, and her belly turned to ice. In the distance, demons streaked across the plain. Hundreds of them, far more than she’d faced at Hilltop Battle, pouring forth toward her like a sheet of black water, sunlight gleaming off long heads and hard bodies.

Ahiliyah grabbed Tasker’s arm. “Make a circle, or die,” she said, then she sprinted for her troops, Tinat at her side.

Behind them, Tasker shouted commands.

Ahead, Brandun and the other warriors were screaming orders, calling the Lemethian archers and crossbowmyn into ranks in front of the quickly forming ring. Arrows nocked, crossbows cocked, sunlight reflected off scratches in bronze helmets and shields.

“Archers, coordinated fire,” Ahiliyah called out. As she sprinted, she again looked south, saw that the demons had halved the distance, a moving puddle of black on black. Not hundreds of them, thousands.

She and Tinat reached the front circle as her archers let loose the first volley. A thin stream of arrows arced up into the air, flying toward the oncoming horde.

Ahiliyah heard Tasker’s bellowing order, then her single-word command echoed by the deep voices of her unit leaders.

“Loose!”

A thousand Takantan bowstrings let go at once. A storm of arrows raced out from the long phalanx, like a hunting cloud that darkened the blue sky. The first volley hadn’t even reached the demons before the Takantans sent a second volley arcing after it.

The crashing wave of missiles rained on the onrushing sea of gleaming black, a demon horde so thick that if any of them fell, Ahiliyah couldn’t see them drop.

So fast—thirty seconds until they arrived, maybe less.

“Archers,” Tinat called out, “loose, then to the center!”

The Lemethian bowstrings snapped, sending up another cluster of arrows that seemed pitiful compared to the continuing blizzard of Takantan shafts. The archers didn’t wait to see the results—they turned and sprinted to the circle. Shields turned sideways as the ranks made space for the sprinting archers. Ahiliyah, Tinat and Brandun followed them in.

Brandun and Tinat banked away, ran to their units. Ahiliyah ran past an inner ring of spears that lay on the ground, spearheads pointed out, placed there in case she had to contract the circle during battle. The food cart, equipment cart and goop-making cart sat in the center of the formation, lined up side by side. Creen and Panda were atop the goop cart, positioning Ahiliyah’s stepladder. Nowhere for the boys to hide away, this time—if the circle collapsed, they’d be in the same shit as everyone else.

Ahiliyah ran for the cart, saw Susannah Albrecht there, in her hidey suit like everyone else, nocking an arrow onto a bowstring.

“Susannah, to me,” Ahiliyah said as she scrambled onto the cart and up the stepladder. She quickly turned in place, looking for problem areas, and realized how much smaller this circle looked compared to the last fight.

“Yes, General?” Susannah looked up, face blanched with fear. Ahiliyah knelt on her small platform. “Run northwest, get clear of this battle, then track west. Find the Vindenians. Tell them to hurry.”

Susannah glanced north. “Run… alone, General? With the demons coming?”

“You can do it,” Ahiliyah said. “You’re fast, aren’t you?”

Susannah’s expression hardened. “The fastest.”

Ahiliyah slapped her shoulder. “Go, now!”

The girl dropped the bow and arrow, took off like an arrow herself. She wove through the ranks and headed northwest.

Ahiliyah stood, looked southeast, looked at the approaching horror.

“They’re coming to us,” she shouted. “Shields, up!”

A deafening clang of bronze on bronze. Section commanders called for the ranks to lower. All around the circle, terrified but determined Lemethians, Dakaterans, and Keflanians readied their weapons. The spears of the first two ranks pointed straight out, horizontal to the broken black ground. The third rank’s angled up at fifteen degrees, the fourth’s at forty-five degrees. In an instant, her troops became an armored ring bristling with poisoned points.

The demon horde rushed closer.

Another dense volley of Takantan arrows landed. This time, Ahiliyah did see demons fall. Trailing behind the flowing black wave, she saw hundreds of stragglers limping or crawling along, hundreds more flat on the volcanic plain, thrashing in agony.

Ahiliyah realized she hadn’t grabbed her helmet. Too late now. She looked east, to the horizon, hoping beyond hope that she might see a cloud of dust, the waving banners of a thousand Vindenians, arriving just in time.

Nothing—if they were coming, this fight would be over long before they got here.

The demon wave split, half flowing toward the circle, half flowing toward the long Takantan phalanx. They would reach the Takantans first. Ahiliyah could only watch.

“Liyah!” She looked down, saw Panda, eyes wide with fear, offering up an assembled spear. Creen was in front of him, cowering behind a shield that seemed bigger than he was. Instead of drawing her spearhead from her back scabbard, Liyah took the weapon Panda offered. Panda then ducked behind Creen’s shield, his shaking hands starting to assemble another spear.

Ahiliyah rested the butt-spike on the stepladder’s platform, then looked to the Takantans.

Like a single, living creature, fifteen hundred archers slung their bows. In a great, coordinated dance, they reached down, grabbed shields and spears. The spears pointed straight up as a wall of metal formed. Ahiliyah heard the distant shouts of orders—the entire line angled so that it would be perpendicular to the point of the demon wave.

Another muted command: spears lowered, first row, then second, pointing straight out, then the increasing angles of the third, fourth and fifth. Maybe Tasker knew what she was doing. Maybe it would work.

The black wave crashed against the Takantan phalanx, the first demons impaling themselves. Some wooden shafts snapped, but most held. The beasts behind the frontrunners crashed in as well, some trying to push through their brethren, some climbing up over them, most spreading out along the phalanx’s length. Some leapt high, trying and failing to arc over the top. All along the line, claws, tails and teeth punished hard bronze, while spears in the second and third rows thrust forward and back through the wall of shields.

“Here they come!” Brandun, tearing Ahiliyah’s attention away from the Takantans. The other half of the demons closed in on the Lemethian circle. She had a moment to see that many of the ebony monsters bristled with feathered arrow shafts, then the flood smashed against her ring, flowed up the angled shields, around the circumference.

So many… at least three times the number they had faced at the Battle of Hilltop.

At the initial point of impact, she saw the ring start to bend inward.

She pointed her spear to the spot. “Archer groups one through four, reinforce!”

Perhaps her people had become more seasoned by a pair of clashes, or knew the that smallest error could kill them all, but either way, eighty archers rushed toward the besieged spot, leaned against the backs of their comrades, legs pushing hard against the black surface. Their weight made an instant difference—the ring un-dented, moved back to its original range.

A single turn told her that the demons had completely encircled her circular phalanx. She shook a fist in morbid satisfaction. Instead of hammering on one spot, the demons had thinned their strength by surrounding the circle.

Spears thrust, talons clawed, spearheads stabbed, tailspikes slashed, shields slammed, teeth bit. All around the circumference, humans roared in rage or screamed in pain and panic, demons screeched and squealed, metal clanged. Blood—bright red and burning green—flew. The stench of scorched rope and flesh rose. People and demons died.

She saw her ring thinning in spots, and saw that the remaining reserve of archers were furiously trying to finish off wounded demons that had made it over the top. There was no one left to bolster the weak areas.

Ahiliyah drew in a deep breath, let it out with all that she had.

“On my mark, push out, then backward to second position!”

The warriors and unit leaders echoed the command even as they fought for their lives, for the lives of their family and friends, for the future of their hold.

“Three! Two! One! MARK!”

A combined human roar as hundreds of battered, smoking shields pushed out, knocking the demons back. As unit leaders screamed, the spearmen quickly shuffled backward, greatly contracting the circle. In an instant, hands dropped battered, broken and melted spears, picked up the fresh ones that had been laid down earlier. Ahiliyah had a moment to see dozens—possibly hundreds—of her people lying where they had fallen, some still twitching or crying out, then the demons closed the gap. Shields locked down and spears leveled a moment before the black wave again slammed into the ring of bronze.

Those that hadn’t been able to step back were lost. Their screams didn’t last long.

Movement on her right. She turned in time to see a demon launch itself high off the back of another with two spears driven through its chest. The beast arced toward her, clawed hands extended, silver teeth open wide. A spear thrust up into its chest as someone below caught it in mid-flight. The demon screeched. It shivered, stuck there for a moment, up in the air, then it lashed against the shaft, snapping the wood—the black body smashed onto the cart, rattling her stepladder.

The wounded demon scrambled to rise, but Panda was there, both hands on a short spear, driving the butt-spike into the long head. Bronze cracked through the black shell. The beast stiffened, and its tailspike flashed in, driving through Panda’s throat.

Panda’s hands spasmed. He let go of the spear, which tilted to the side. Blood sprayed from his wound. Ahiliyah heard Creen cry out. Panda fell—Ahiliyah forced herself back to the battle.

Death and chaos all around… but the circle was holding. The demons were thinning, their corpses stacking up before the wall of sizzling, melting shields. She blocked out all thoughts of friends and future, focused on what she saw—victory, or defeat, would be a close thing.

From her high position, she looked over the wall to the Takantan phalanx. It had thinned but still held strong, fighting up and down the length of a line of stacked, broken bodies, human and demon alike. The Takantans battled bravely, shield to shield, giving as good as they got, but the true threat wasn’t the enemy bashing away at their shields.

Then, sickened, unable to do anything about it, she saw several dozen demons peel away from her circle. The group rushed toward the phalanx’s right flank, barely twenty-five yards away. The Takantan commanders there saw the demons coming, screamed a command that made the end of the line pivot backward, making an “L” shape to try and fend off the onslaught. Against a human enemy, it would have worked, but while a dozen demons crashed headlong into that new front, the rest simply sprinted around it. Some curled inward, slashing at the back of the L, while others sprinted past and attacked the rear of the thinning main line.

The Takantan right collapsed almost instantly. What had been an orderly, disciplined wall of fighters disintegrated. Spears designed to hit the enemy from a long distance were hard to turn, and by the time they did demons were already well past the spearheads. Murderous beasts raged, claws and tails rending flesh down to the bone. The phalanx seemed to hold for one last, desperate moment, then it broke, and the rout was on. Takantans panicked—many dropped their spears and ran. Ahiliyah saw Tasker, standing there bravely, her face a warrior’s mask of fury as she shouted at her men to fall in around her.

She went down under a leaping demon.

Some demons gave chase, slashing at backs and legs, cutting men down before pouncing on them to finish them off. Most of the demons, though, ignored the fleeing Takantans—instead, they merged into a tight pack and came straight back toward the Lemethian circle. A few of the beasts slowed, wobbled, Creen’s poison finally catching up to them.

Some fell, but not enough.

Liyah looked around her circle, knowing all was lost, searching for a way to save her people. Her phalanx had thinned, almost broken in spots. Around the cart, broken spears, dead archers next to demons in spreading puddles of burning blood that sizzled when it expanded against puddles of red blood, the few remaining archers desperately fighting wounded, twitching beasts. So many screams, people crying out, gurgling, begging.

Maybe three hundred of her people were still fighting. She had to tighten the circle. If she did, she could make a dome of shields, try and hold on until the wounded demons died, then kill those that remained. It could work, it had to work.

“On my mark!” Her throat ached from screaming, from inhaling the fumes of burning blood. “Push out, then backward five steps!”

She waited for the warriors and unit leaders to echo the call—none did. She saw Tinat, using the edge of his shield to bash in a demon’s head. Brandun, hole-ridden shield high on his shoulder, a screeching demon perched atop it. Will Pankour, on his back, dead eyes staring up.

Ahiliyah had to make her people listen, had to contract the circle. She started to scream the order again—then saw the demons that had slaughtered the Takantan line crash into her withering ranks. The few spears still angled up wavered this way and that. Ahiliyah watched, horrified and helpless, as demons leapt high, and there were no spears left to catch them. The beasts landed on their feet, instantly cut down screaming archers, turned and tore into the backs of the spearmen holding the line. Tumalo Ramirus went down.

Journay Barrow fell back, blood spraying from the cobbler’s severed leg, and the first gap appeared. In the blink of an eye, a demon rushed through, brought down the tall warrior Galen Yates. The gap widened.

Spear in hand, Ahiliyah jumped from the stepladder to the cart bed, and saw Creen, tucked up under the stepladder, shaking madly. She leapt off the cart, rushed the gap, drove her spear into the back of a demon that was tearing Shalim Aniketos’s blond-haired head from his body. The demon screeched, tried to turn toward her.

“Close the line,” she screamed. “Close the—”

A demon slammed into her, knocking her into the center of the collapsing circle. She landed on a body—human or demon, she didn’t know—and rolled, tried to get to her feet. As she did, she saw the circle collapse. Andrey Baines fell, his legs slashed out from under him. Benji Johnson dropped his spear and ran, as did others.

Ahiliyah looked for a weapon. She saw a demon fork smeared with red blood, the shaft broken in the middle. She reached for it—something hit her from behind, driving her face-first onto the hard black ground. Dazed, blinking, she rolled to her back.

A demon landed on her chest. She knew she was dead.

A scream—more pure terror than battle cry—that Ahiliyah wasn’t sure came from a man or a woman. The tines of the demon fork jammed into the demon’s midsection, the blade penetrating, but not deep enough to do any real damage. Burning blood sputtered out, some sizzling on the bronze, some splashing against Ahiliyah. The demon’s long head snapped up, looked away from Ahiliyah. A long arm lashed out. Ahiliyah glanced up and back just in time to see the black talons slash Creen’s face.

The boy cried out—no question that this one was a scream, one of agony—and Creen dropped the demon fork, fell back, his hands at his face.

Ahiliyah had a selfish moment to think go after him, take him not me then the moment was gone. She tried to twist away. The demon reacted, long hands grabbing her shoulders, slamming her into the ground so forcefully her head smacked off the hard surface.

The beast’s lips curled back, a gleeful smile of death. Jaws opened. The demon hissed, metal teeth glinting in the sun.

A shield flashed in the sun—the edge drove halfway through the side of the demon’s head, knocking the beast to the side amidst a wild spray of yellow blood. A gout landed on Ahiliyah, some sizzling against her hidey suit, some against the goop still smeared on her face, some landing on spots of unprotected skin.

The shield yanked back, the leading edge already dripping, melting, smoking. Ahiliyah looked up to see Brandun, spots on his face sizzling, a snarl on his mouth just as primitive as those of the demons. Fifteen years old, and a boy no more—this day, he would die as a man.

Brandun kept the dripping shield, reached down with his right hand, grabbed the chest of Ahiliyah’s still-burning hidey suit and hauled her to her feet. He turned, backed up against her, the shield protecting them both. Ahiliyah turned, back to back with him, saw Creen on the ground, rolling slightly, his face a sheet of blood. She grabbed his feet, dragged him closer. He scrambled to rise, managed to get to one knee.

Brandun pulled the demon fork from the still-twitching beast. He stood back to back with Ahiliyah and Creen. Smoke rose from them all, blood dripped from them all. The three of them had started this war. How fitting they would be together when it was lost.

The circle had shattered. She saw people dying, people running, demons dragging away the unconscious, the wounded. Every demon was wounded in one way or another, some with cuts from spears, most with arrows sticking out of them. Some tried to give chase to fleeing people, but the demons were slowed, seemed to understand their human prey was now too fast for them.

In the near distance, Ahiliyah saw the back of Drasko, the Margravine held in his arms. She hoped they would both get away.

An arrow-riddled demon crept closer. Brandun rotated to face it, but another rose up from the still-twitching body of Rinik Brennus, crouched low and crept closer.

Death all around. Piles of crumpled and twitching black mixed in among the ravaged, smoking human corpses. There were perhaps ten demons remaining—the heads of all of them turned toward Ahiliyah, Brandun and Creen.

“So close,” Brandun said, grunting out the words. “We came so close.”

Ahiliyah felt at her hip—inside her suit, her little friend remained in its sheath.

“They’re all wounded, but there’s too many of them,” she said. “We need to kill ourselves before—”

Screeching, squealing and hissing, the demons flooded in. Ahiliyah reached into her suit to draw her knife. Creen’s high-pitched scream. Brandun’s growl of rage. Something slammed her backward. She landed hard, tried to scramble to her hands and knees only to be hit from the side so hard it knocked the breath out of her.

She had failed. Failed her friends, failed her people, failed Sinesh.

Ahiliyah opened her eyes to see the blur of a snapping toothtongue. She heard more than felt the impact.

Blackness swarmed—was everything black here?—then dragged her down into nothing.

43

Falling. Falling over rough ground. No… sliding across it.

Ahiliyah woke slowly. She woke to pain. Darkness. Something pulling on her left wrist. She wasn’t sliding—she was being dragged.

Everything hurt. Her skin felt raw and ripped, hot in places as if someone held burning coals against it. Her muscles ached, every bit of her bruised and beaten. Rocks digging into her legs, her feet, her right shoulder. The hiss of dirt grinding against the bronze of her chestplate. So weak… she couldn’t move, couldn’t react.

Ahiliyah tried to opening her eyes. Her right eye refused. It throbbed, felt swollen shut. The left eye half opened, lids thick and dry and sticking to each other. Through the half-open slit, she saw heavy shadow dotted with strange bits of faintly glowing dark blue.

Night had fallen. The sound of her body being dragged reflected back to her, told her she was in a corridor. The blue light… glowjars? Broken glowpipes? Lemeth Hold didn’t have blue light… which hold did? Humid here. And hot, as hot as Creen’s lab.

The ground beneath her seemed to change, slightly. Parts of it seemed smoother, she slid faster. The sound of metal grinding lightly on metal.

Her shoulder screamed like her arm might rip out of the socket. Whoever held her wrist held it too tightly. Brandun? His grip felt hard, as if he was wearing an armored glove.

The stink hit her. Shit and piss. Wet rocks and moss. And something else, something thick—the stench of death, like she’d smelled in Keflan Hold.

Moaning sounds. Cries of pain. Coming closer. She was hurt, Brandun was dragging her to lie with the rest of the wounded. More of the blue haze. Not quite enough to see. The moans sounded closer, the smell of death grew worse, then both faded away, slightly, as if Brandun had dragged her past the wounded, leaving them behind.

The low groan of a man in pain, right next to her. Barely visible in the faint blue glow, she saw a man. Solomon Barrow? Limp, like her, his body sliding along.

Between Solomon and her, the feet of the person dragging them both. Not feet… not human feet… black, bony, claws for toenails…

Fractured pieces of the battle came back to her. The ring collapsing, demons swarming in.

Her body lurched to the left. That stench again, and the pained moans, lost groans of people battered just like her. More impressions of that faint blue glow, bits of it on the floor she was dragged across, soft hints of it in the air above her, in a mist that swirled with movement.

In a room of some kind. Black walls, gnarled and bumpy, some parts glowing that soft, deep blue. In the darkness, she saw the dim outlines of people leaning against the chamber wall. No, not against the walls—in them. Black growths across their arms, their legs, their chests, plastering them to the walls, holding them in place.

Her demon dragged her toward something sticking up from the floor, something… egg-shaped that lit the mist around it like a faded glowjar, a bit brighter blue than the wet walls or puddle-strewn floor. The glow came from within the egg-shape, showed the thinness of the opaque, leathery surface. As Ahiliyah slid past, she thought she saw a shadow inside it move.

Strong, hard hands lifted her like the limp ragdoll that she was. Ahiliyah pulled against the hands, found that some of her strength had returned. She tried to turn, to kick—her head smashed against the wall, making her already dark world spin with globs of fuzzy black and dark grey.

The demon roughly raised her right hand high, pressed her against the wall. The wall felt oddly lumpy, and the stink… even worse than her fractured memories of Keflan.

“The leaves.” The voice, weak but familiar—Creen. “Liyah, Brandun … eat the leaves.”

She blinked, tried to get her wits. The voice had come from her right. Her head throbbing, she turned to look. Next to her, dead eyes staring out from an emaciated face. Faint blue light gleamed from droplets condensed on a white beard.

Margrave Aulus Darby.

His chest… ripped open, as if something inside of him had popped. Chunks of sagging, rotting flesh, stubs of hard, broken bone.

“The leaves.” Creen, weakly calling through the dim light. “Eat… the leaves.”

Something cold and wet on her right arm, the one held against the wall.

Ahiliyah fought against the thudding agony in her head, looked through the darkness, past the corpse of the Margrave—two demons there, tall and dangerous, both part of the shadows rather than in them. The demons held someone against the wall.

Creen. Dim blue light played off his pale, small face. He was… chewing?

One of the demons holding Creen bent down, started doing something to the boy’s feet. Creen didn’t struggle, didn’t fight back… he turned his head, raised his shoulder, bit at the caminus bush branches woven into his hidey suit. He twisted his head, pulled leaves free, kept chewing as he bit down again to get more.

He’d gone mad. She wished she was mad, wished she was dead, that this wasn’t happening to her. Where had Solomon gone? Was Brandun dead?

Ahiliyah felt her left arm yanked high. Through her hidey suit, she felt that same cold wetness there, like the demon was slathering it with clay or mud. The beast was right on top of her, so close to her face the scent of moss and stone almost overpowered the reek of decay. She couldn’t look at it—she turned her head, looked left.

Someone there, encased in the wall. A Takantan. His chest armor lay in a battered pile on the chamber’s wet, black floor. How strange. His undershirt remained, sweat-stained and dotted with blood. Something on his face, covering his eyes and mouth, something that reminded her of Sinesh’s gnarled, withered body…

A spider. Eight long legs—four on each side—wrapped around the back of his head, a long tail coiled around his neck. The spider’s sides swelled and receded.

Eat the leaves. The spiders. The Margrave’s chest. Creen, the smartest person in the world. The caminus bush poison. Eat the leaves.

Ahiliyah craned her head, ignoring the pain in her neck and shoulder. Her face brushed against the leaves of her hidey suit. She opened her mouth, felt the leaves on her lips and tongue. She bit some off, chewed, tasted how bitter they were. The smell of them reminded her of home, of Lemeth, of steaming cups of tea, of Tolio.

Cold wetness on her thighs. Ahiliyah couldn’t bring herself look at the nightmare in front of her. She did the only thing she could do: bite off leaves, chew, swallow.

Darkness, swarming over her, engulfing her, dragging her under. Ahiliyah fought against it, thought of how the Margrave must have felt when his chest exploded.

Hard hands cinched down on her ankles. Ahiliyah couldn’t stop the moan of fear, couldn’t stop her bladder from letting go. Tears came, unstoppable. Deep sobs shook her. She kept biting, kept chewing, kept swallowing.

She heard the ripping of twine, felt long fingers sliding between her chestplate and her body. Another hard tug, and another, the sound of leather straps breaking, then a rush of cool air against her sweat-soaked padding. A clang of metal. She waited for the talons to slice through her.

The cut never came.

Ahiliyah opened her eye. The demons were gone. If they were still in the chamber, she couldn’t see them through the darkness and hanging mist. Her hands remained above her head. She tried to move them, found they barely moved at all. The clay or mud was like thick leather. She could feel it hardening. She redoubled her efforts. The material at her left wrist seemed to stretch, slightly, then her muscles gave out.

A man’s voice, softly begging for God to save him—Preacher Ramirus, somewhere past the spider eggs on the far side of the chamber.

Ahiliyah felt a rumbling beneath her feet, in the walls around her. A tremor of some kind, perhaps. The tremor faded, then vanished, leaving her in blue-tinged darkness.

Fatigue hung on her, pulling her head down. She had nothing left with which to fight. She would die here, in the darkness and stink. The faint blue light dimmed, and all went dark.

* * *

She snapped awake, lost for an instant before pain pounded her from the inside out. She couldn’t move. Hands and legs, bound. Panic clawed at her—she pulled hard, harder, felt the mud on her left wrist crack, giving ever so slightly. She tried to reposition herself, to shift her weight and pull harder still, when a strange sound froze her in place.

A brief, hollow, muffled rattling sound, like something moving inside a drum.

The sound came from a faintly luminous egg, only a yard away from her. Notches on top, two lines crossing, like four slices of pie meeting at the peak, crusts pursing like pouting lips. The egg’s pale glow lit up the mist around it. Roots of some kind, stretching out from the bottom of the egg, stretching across the flat floor. Those roots crossed others, some leading to another egg, on her left, in front of the man who’d had the spider on his face. The four pie slices of that egg were peeled back—the egg was hollow inside. Water gathered in the bottom, glowing blue.

The spider had fallen off the man. It lay on the floor, near the man’s mud-encased feet. The spider didn’t move. It looked dead.

The hollow drum sound again. In front of her, in the glow of the egg, something quivered. Pie-flaps curled back, snot strings stretching from edge to edge. In the blue glow, the flaps’ now-exposed undersides looked like raw vootervert steak, lined with white gristle.

A choking sound to her right. Creen, pinned to the wall, jerking and thrashing, a spider on his face, its legs wrapped around his head. Creen’s fingers stretched out, closed. His left foot, the only part of him not bound, twisted left and right, toe pointed up, then kicked down.

In front of Creen, an open, hollow egg.

Ahiliyah shook in fear. She stared at the open egg in front of her, helpless, waiting.

From inside, a single, wet, bone-thin limb reached up. The trembling limb’s tip tapped at the disgusting, meaty pie-flap, testing, exploring. It slid back, out of sight, then more delicate legs wiggled out, slick with blue wetness, a hand of evil pushing forth from a fleshy sleeve.

“God, please,” someone whispered.

That someone was her.

Newborn legs twitching, the spider crawled out of the egg, pale skin glowing wet-blue.

The spider sprang. Ahiliyah saw thin skin stretched taut between reaching legs, then all went dark as cold flesh slapped against her face. The legs stretched around her head, pulled the wet beast tight against her closed eyes, her cheeks, her forehead, her mouth.

The Margrave’s chest… the spider wanted to put a demon inside her. Ahiliyah clamped her teeth tight. Something shoved her lips apart, until she felt that cold flesh against her gums. She thrashed, pulled at the bonds pinning her wrists, felt them cracking again, stretching…

The spider’s cold tail wrapped around her neck.

Blind, bound, terrified beyond any sanity, Ahiliyah started to scream, stopped herself, kept her teeth clamped shut. The tail tightened. She thrashed harder, pulled harder, felt her own muscles tearing from the effort. No air. Her lungs began to burn. She saw black spots even though her eyes were covered, heard a roaring sound that came from inside her head.

She almost blacked out, fought her way back.

Ahiliyah fought against the urge to breathe, tried to yank feet and hands free. The cold noose cinched tighter. Her mouth betrayed her, opened to draw a breath—something hooked under her upper teeth, over her lower teeth, cranked her mouth open so wide she thought her jaw would snap. Something cold and firm pushed across her tongue to the back of her mouth. Ahiliyah gagged as it forced its way down her throat.

The noose constricted again.

As darkness finally took her, Ahiliyah Cooper thought she felt that cold something sliding all the way down into her chest…

44

Her chest burned.

Ahiliyah woke. Her eyes felt dry. Sticky. She lifted her head, blinked. Her right eye opened halfway, ached like she’d been punched. Exhaustion and sleep clung to her, clouded her, but she knew where she was—and she knew she was fucked.

Her throat, so sore she could barely swallow. A rancid taste in her mouth.

Across the dark room, someone cried out, a clipped, staccato scream of deep agony.

She looked toward the sound, was surprised she could see through the blue fog to the other side of the dark chamber. Her eyes had fully adjusted. Men and women were glued to the walls, encased in that semi-translucent demon mud. Just like she was.

A man lifted his head—Preacher Ramirus. He was crying, tears reflecting the faint blue light coming off the walls, ceiling and floor. His head was the only thing he could move. One hand glued by his hip, the other up above his head as if he were waving hello, dry mud holding him in place. Like her, his chestplate had been torn away, dropped in a useless pile on the chamber floor. Atop the chestplate, limp and flat against the bronze, an unmoving spider.

Ahiliyah looked down—at her feet, another spider, on its back, legs curled upward. It was dead. It had served its purpose.

A loud cracking sound drew her attention back to Ramirus. He shuddered, lurched against his unforgiving bonds. His head thrashed this way and that. He froze, stared out, wide-eyed, his body shivering. Another crack—his padded shirt tented out at the sternum, sank back, as if someone had rammed a spear through his spine then jerked it free.

In that spot, a black stain of blood began to spread.

Ahiliyah had an instant to tell herself this wasn’t happening, that she was imagining this, that it was a bad dream and she was in her room in Lemeth Hold, that it wouldn’t happen to her, couldn’t happen to her.

The preacher’s chest tented out again with a sound like breaking branches. The bloody padded shirt tore. Something stuck out of him, a pale worm streaked with dark wetness. Preacher Tumalo Ramirus made one final sound, a small cough with almost no air behind it.

The worm—abhorrent, repulsive, smooth head unmistakably like those of the demons—slid from the blood-soaked fabric. It fell to the ground, vanished among the faintly glowing eggs.

The preacher’s left eye twitched. His head dropped. He did not move.

The sound of something small sliding through a thin puddle, then silence.

Ahiliyah trembled. Trapped, with a demon inside her. The spider, the worm… she was going to die, horribly, just like Ramirus had, like the Margrave had.

She would never see Tolio again.

Why had God allowed this to happen? Hundreds of thousands of deaths, each day a struggle against starvation, disease, her people hiding away in the dirt like insects, watching the last of civilization fade away… hadn’t there been enough suffering?

Ahiliyah had done nothing but serve her hold, risk her life over and over again to make a difference. What had she done to deserve this? Nothing. She’d done nothing.

She could pray for salvation, for deliverance. Would her prayers be answered when even the preacher’s were ignored? No, she would not beg to a deity that didn’t give a damn.

Ahiliyah felt the flutter of an old friend—hatred blossomed, fought for space against the fear that consumed her. Hatred for the demons. Hatred for the god that had let this happen.

“God, if you’re listening… go fuck yourself.”

From her right, a weak but familiar voice.

“Not… helpful,” Creen said.

Something about knowing he was there, knowing that a spider had violated him just as one had violated her, that he would soon die like Ramirus had, like she would… it broke the last splinters of Ahiliyah’s will. Tears came, then sobs.

“Liyah, I’m so sorry.” No snotty tone this time. None of the defiance that defined him. “I thought the leaves might… I don’t know. I don’t know.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, whispering even though there was no point in staying quiet. “It’s not—”

She gagged, couldn’t breathe. That burning in her chest… so bad. Not just in her chest, in her stomach as well, like a smoldering ember scorching her from the inside out.

“Liyah? Liyah?”

Bile in her abused throat, a throat locked as tight as if the spider’s tail was still cinching tight around it. Her stomach clenched. Her mouth hung open, spit dangling.

Her belly convulsed—she was about to throw up. Her body lurched, hard, pulling her against the unforgiving mud. Something at her right wrist crackled, gave… she could move her arm a little more, but not enough to pull free.

Ahiliyah managed a fraction of a ragged breath, until a tickle at the base of her throat brought another constricting gag. That tickle rose, a fist pushing up, blocking any air.

Inside her neck, down her chest, something started to wriggle.

Tears in her scrunched eyes, she had to swallow but could not. She heard her heart in her ears, felt her pulse slamming through her neck and face and brain. Her stomach contracted again, driving the thing squirming inside her up through her throat to press down against her tongue, up against the roof of her mouth. It burned oh god it burned she couldn’t breathe…

The fist pushed past her teeth, dangled there while still all the way down her throat. She gagged again, vomited, and felt the horrid thing slide up and out of her.

Ahiliyah sucked in a lungful of air. She coughed. The world spun. Another gasping breath, then another. Bile in her mouth. She blinked tears, tried to spit only to have strands of saliva and thick, burning fluid hang from her quivering lips.

Chest heaving, she looked down—there, by her trapped feet, a white worm, thinner than the one that had killed Preacher Ramirus. The worm looked misshapen… melted, like a candle burned from all sides at once. The creature twitched, quivered, then fell still.

This room of horrors… it was closing in on her. Maybe she was already dead. Maybe she’d died out on the battlefield, and this was hell. She was trapped here with the rotting dead, forever.

“Creen,” she said, wincing at the pain in her throat. “What just happened to me?”

He didn’t answer.

Ahiliyah leaned her head forward, looked past the Margrave’s corpse. She saw Creen, lurching, his one free foot kicking. His jaw opened wide, too wide—a white thing slid forth…

…it stopped, filling his mouth. He was suffocating.

The hate and rage inside her rose up, possessed her—she would not let her friend die.

Ahiliyah pulled with her arms, her chest, her stomach, tried to bring her thighs up, anything to fight the mud pinning her wrists. She had to get to Creen. She yanked harder, relaxed, yanked again, over and over in a violent, stop-start motion that made muscle tear, that made bones feel like they were about to break.

The mud holding her right wrist crackled again… it started to give. She pulled, pushed, harder and harder, twisted and yanked, flexed and thrashed.

Creen made a choking sound; the motionless thing remained lodged in his open mouth.

Ahiliyah’s muscles screamed at her to stop. She pulled harder and harder and harder, heard the mud crackle—her right hand ripped free.

Her little friend…

Ahiliyah reached to her hip, knowing it wouldn’t be there, knowing she’d be too late to save Creen—her hand wrapped around the handle.

She drew the blade, jabbed the point at the black material holding her left wrist in place. She poked furiously, twisting the blade each time, breaking off thick bits of the mud, pulling hard with her wrist at the same time. She missed once, the point driving into the base of her thumb, but she did not slow.

Her left hand slid free.

Creen’s choking sounds drove her. She jabbed at the mud covering her legs, kicked and pulled and thrashed. Left leg free, then the right. The last bits of mud mashed into her hidey suit twine snapped and split as she lurched away from the wall.

She rushed past the Margrave’s encased corpse, saw the white thing crowning in Creen’s strained mouth. Creen’s face was a slashed, bloody ruin. Ahiliyah hooked a finger in the corner of Creen’s mouth, pulled back to expose more of the white thing, then slid her blade in, turned it so the flat faced outward, and pulled. Enough of it came out for her to grab it with her left hand. Ahiliyah squeezed, leaned back—the nasty thing seemed to resist, then slid out of Creen’s mouth all at once. It was as long as her forearm… and still moving.

Ahiliyah threw it to the floor. It landed across a black root. She stomped it, so hard her foot squashed the worm against the root—the white thing split, squirting out a long glob of thick fluid.

Creen heaved in a breath, let it out in a ragged whisper. “Brandun! Over there.”

The boy tilted his head. Ahiliyah looked, and in the darkness, saw big Brandun, just as encased and helpless as Creen had been. Brandun’s head hung down, but a convulsing gag brought him awake in an instant. He lurched, vomited, and chunks of quivering white fell from his mouth like half-chewed crelfish.

He blinked, drew in a breath as if to scream, and Ahiliyah was on him in an instant, covering his mouth with splayed fingers, her body pressed against his. Brandun did not scream. She felt his heart hammering against hers. He breathed deep, somehow controlling his fear.

Ahiliyah looked through the darkness, searching for a demon. Seeing none, she worked quickly to quietly cut Brandun and Creen loose. The three of them knelt at the wall, huddling together in a shivering, terrified trio.

Brandun saw Ahiliyah holding the knife. He seemed surprised, drew his own. He had a horrid gash across his right thigh, blood staining the pants beneath his hidey suit. And Creen’s face—two parallel talon slashes ran from where his right ear had been down to just left of the point of his chin, slicing through cheek and lips, had torn away part of his nose. Blood, both dry and wet, caked his face.

“Creen,” she said, “do you have your knife?”

He fumbled at his hip, shook his head. When he did, blood dripped down.

Ahiliyah glanced around the dark, misty chamber. Scattered bits of armor. Glowing eggs, some peeled back and hollow. Some still closed, and inside those she saw fluttering movement—spiders getting ready to leap out and find a victim.

“We have to get out of this room,” she whispered.

Who knew what lay outside, but in here there was only death.

“Help me,” Creen said. “Please.”

Brandun reached for him; Ahiliyah pushed Brandun’s hand away. With that leg wound, it would be all Brandun could do to walk on his own.

Ahiliyah slid under Creen’s shoulder, helped him stand.

She looked around the dark chamber, repelled by seeing her people stuck to the strange, rippling walls, bloody holes in their chests. Steffan Andersson. Cruden Poller. Callow Winden. Theora Denisander. Solomon Barrow.

“All dead,” Brandun said. “All except us. Creen, how did you know about the leaves?”

“They dragged us past other rooms,” Creen said. He sounded as injured as he looked, and his lips didn’t quite make the full b or p sounds. “People in them, just like here. I saw a spider jump on Leonitos. In here I saw the eggs, the Margrave’s chest. It was obvious the spiders put something inside you, something that grew and ripped out of your chest. I thought if I had the leaves in my system, that might mess up whatever that something was.”

And he’d been right. Creen’s brilliance had kept them alive, at least a few minutes more.

The little friend in her hand. The demons hadn’t taken it. Had they not known it was there, or just not cared? What else could they have missed?

She put her hand to her chest, felt what lay beneath her padded shirt. She lifted the toothtongue free. She sheathed her knife, pulled the cork—the goop inside reflected the chamber’s faint blue light.

Brandun leaned in. “Is that what I think it is?”

Ahiliyah nodded.

“It’s a small dose,” Creen said. “It will kill one, two at the most.”

Ahiliyah knew which one she wanted to use it on. “We have to search everyone, quickly see if anyone has weapons, or more goop.”

Creen didn’t argue, just shuffled to the first body. Ahiliyah did the same.

The walls… so strange. Furrowed black mud all over, making repetitive, curved patterns, but where the mud was not, the walls looked flat. She’d thought this a cave, but maybe not.

She focused on searching the bodies, her hands exploring around waists, feeling legs, sliding between corpses and walls to see if they had anything on their backs. The second time she reached behind a body and her hand hit something, cold, soft and putrid, she realized there was another corpse back there, one old and rotten—the demons had stacked the dead atop the dead.

Ahiliyah was oddly grateful there was nothing left in her stomach to vomit up.

She kept searching, tried to not look at the dead faces of her people, but she couldn’t help it. Her friends. Her holdmates. She had failed them all.

Brandun limped to her, his face ashen. “Nothing. I found nothing.”

Creen shuffled in, his wounds wet and horrid. He held up a spear case crusted with mud.

“Two halfstaffs and a coupler in here,” he said. “No butt-spike.”

Pain in his voice, pain he fought against. His face, a ruin… he had to hurt, so bad, yet he wouldn’t give in to it. How long could he keep that up?

Creen pulled the halfstaff from the case. “Listen to this.” He knelt, tapped the halfstaff against a flat spot on the floor—it made the unmistakable sound of wood clanking on metal.

“I don’t understand,” Brandun said. “They put metal floors in their burrow?”

Creen gestured to the walls, the ceiling. “I don’t think this is a burrow. Or it didn’t used to be. Either the demons are a lot smarter than we thought, or we’re in an ancient lost hold. Maybe it was abandoned like the rest, or maybe the demons must have killed everyone, took it over.”

King Paul’s Ring of War holds had been abandoned for decades and had fallen into disrepair. The histories said Takanta Hold had been forgotten altogether, found only after the Rising, when people scattered into the mountains looking for shelter. Could this place be like that, only far older, from long before even King Paul’s time?

“It doesn’t matter,” Ahiliyah said. “We need to get out of this room.”

“Hold on.” Brandun limped to where he’d been encased in the wall. He picked something up, came back holding his thick chestplate. “They ripped the straps. Maybe I can tie it, though.”

As if a chestplate would do any good at this point.

“It’s bent.” Ahiliyah tapped the right shoulder arch, which had been bent forward.

Brandun gripped it, tried to bend it. The metal wobbled, but didn’t give. His chestplate was thicker than most—he had no problem with the heavier weight—but that made it far harder to fix without a forge or tools. He tried harder, snarling with the effort, yet still the metal resisted. Finally, he gave up.

“Leave it,” Ahiliyah said. “Or get another.”

“No. This one is mine. The others won’t fit. I’ll find a hammer or something.”

“Please,” Creen said. “Tell me you won’t hammer it. Might as well ring a dinner bell.”

“Shut up, both of you,” Ahiliyah said. “Bring it if you want, but keep quiet. Let’s go.”

All that mattered was finding the Demon Mother and putting her down, once and for all.

Ahiliyah led her crew to the entryway.

45

In the chamber, dead people. In the passageway, dead demons.

The passageway was just wide enough for Ahiliyah and Brandun to walk side by side. Dozens of demons lay along its length, their black husks and metal teeth glinting slightly in the dim blue glow that came from wetness on the walls and puddles on the floor. Most of the monsters were dead, as rigid as the strange structure around them. Others weren’t quite dead, but soon would be—limbs twitched, taloned hands clutched at nothing, jaws slowly opened and closed.

Some of the demons had visible wounds—spear punctures and scratches on their long heads, broken arrow shafts jutting from arms, chest, abdomen, or legs. More than a few showed gaping, raw holes, as if they had dug arrowheads out with their own talons. Others showed no overt damage, their wounds either hidden by their positions on the floor, or hard to see on black bodies bathed in low blue light.

“They lived long enough to drag us back here,” Brandun whispered. “They were all dying. If we could have held on a little longer, we would have won.”

Ahiliyah didn’t want to think of the battle. She had failed. So much blood. Had Ramirus been right? Should she have taken everyone to Biseth?

No. Running would have only prolonged the inevitable. They had fought. They had killed hundreds of demons, maybe thousands, with more dying every minute. Maybe this was humanity’s last gasp, but if so, she and her people had not gone quietly.

If only the Vindenians had arrived in time. With another thousand soldiers, could they have flanked the demons? Would the Vindenians have listened, formed a ring, drawn enough of the demons away that the Lemethian ring would have held? She would never know. Maybe the Vindenians were dead. Maybe Vinden had decided not to send anyone at all.

The ground vibrated under her feet. The vibration grew in intensity. She bent her knees to keep her balance, not wanting to touch the black walls. The shaking subsided, then faded away.

“The vibration is probably from a geyser,” Creen said, his words a dry croak. “I felt roughly the same thing twice earlier, when I was… on the wall. The intervals are consistent.”

Ahiliyah thought of the geysers up on the surface. “Is that what’s making all this mist?”

“Most likely,” Creen said. “I think we’re under Black Smoke Mountain.”

Under Black Smoke Mountain—the home of the Demon Mother. This was where she had wanted to come, with thousands of fighters at her back. Now it was just her, Brandun and Creen.

“If this was a hold,” Brandun said, “they were really bad at carving tunnels.”

The passage seemed relatively uniform—roughly the same space from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall—but it rose, fell and banked at odd angles, like an arrow shaft cracked and bent at several spots along its length.

“I don’t remember which way they dragged me,” Ahiliyah said. “Do you?”

Creen shook his head. Brandun pulled twine from his suit, tried to run it through the torn leather shoulder strap riveted to his chestplate.

“Fucking give that up,” Creen said.

Brandun ignored him, glanced up. “It’s a little brighter to the right. At the far end.”

He was right. It was brighter, just a bit. Maybe it was an opening to the surface, or maybe a place where more water flowed, generating more light, like the Bitigan River back home. Whatever the reason, staying still did no good, so Ahiliyah led them down the passage toward it.

They moved carefully, cautious of their footing on the wet metal floor, along the passage’s up-and-down angles, past dead and dying demons. Halfway down, the footing changed—it was the same black rock they’d seen on the Boiling Plains.

“Lava flow,” Creen said. “No telling how old it is. Looks like it flowed through the wall.”

If he hadn’t pointed it out, she might have missed it. In the dim light, the fissure of rough black rock flowing down from the left-hand side didn’t seem that different from the bizarre, curving, rippling patterns that the demons had made on the ancient hold’s flat walls. Ahiliyah could imagine the rivers of fire from the legends pouring through a crack in the wall, dripping down, puddling on the floor, glowing orange until they cooled forever.

“Not much got in,” Brandun said, pointing down the passage. “Flat floors up there.”

They continued on, still moving toward the slightly brighter light. The dead demons were fewer and fewer, as if only a handful of them had made it this far after the battle.

The glow gradually changed, the faint blue on the walls and floor joined by irregular spots of pale yellow and faint green. Further on, those spots grew larger, overlapped each other, became brighter, merged with the blue until all surfaces glowed a pale, almost unified white—just like the Bitigan River. Still dark, darker than moonslight, by far, but brighter than the way they’d come. Even the mist seemed to glow.

“It’s getting hotter,” Creen whispered. “This environment is better suited to different kinds of bacteria, maybe.”

Ahiliyah wiped sweat from her forehead. The humid air seemed to pull it from her.

Up ahead, a brighter patch of light, on the passage’s right-hand side. It looked like an opening. Ahiliyah crept closer, her crewmates moving silently behind her. Yes, it was an opening, metal edges crusted with mud. She slowly leaned out, looked in—three yards past it, mud-encrusted handrails leading left and right. Beyond the handrails, what looked like a large, open, mist-filled space.

She dropped to a crouch. Brandun and Creen did the same. She gave them hand signals to remain silent, to follow her, to keep their eyes open.

Ahiliyah crawled through the opening. This floor was similar to the passageway in that it had odd angles yet seemed mostly flat, but the surface was different, almost… woven, like a metal net thickly crusted with mud and sparkling mineral deposits.

Up above, half hidden in the darkness, Ahiliyah had impressions of parallel beams, mineral-glimmering stalactites stretching down through them. One cluster of stalactites, off to her left, was much longer than the rest, a long, rough tooth biting into the mist.

She crawled to the rail, looked over. The deck was some fifteen feet or so above an uneven metal floor that swirled with mist, gleamed with pale white light anywhere water collected—wide puddles, small depressions, even trickling areas where condensed liquid flowed down from the wall. Large, strange shapes down there, boxy, like big carts encrusted with demon mud. Rust. Broken things. Jutting clumps of rock that had torn up through the floor.

Dotting the floor, sparse in some places, thickly clustered in others, Ahiliyah saw dozens of the horrifying spider eggs, glowing from within with the same pale light that luminesced off the standing water, that gleamed from the black walls. And among the eggs, demons. Most of the black beasts were dead or dying, victims of Creen’s poison, but two of them—the biggest she’d ever seen—walked erect, seemingly uninjured in any way.

One spot on the floor glowed brighter than any other. A small pool, ringed with a thick crust of minerals, lying directly below the big stalactite. The gleaming water looked clear, enough for her to see a mineral-caked opening leading down like a narrowing funnel.

Creen nudged her, pointed to the walls, whispered: “This room is hex-shaped.”

It took her a moment, but when she saw it she couldn’t unsee it. The deck went all the way around the large chamber—the chamber had six tall walls, not four. The walls were bent and warped, but not so much she couldn’t make out what Creen was saying. It was almost like the room, and the passageways they’d traversed to get here, had been… smashed, in some way. Like a shield dented by many, many blows.

Ahiliyah again looked down to the floor. To the right, near the ground, not quite under the curving deck, something moved. Something big. She fought an instant and powerful urge to run.

A demon. A massive one, so large it seemed beyond imagining. Backsticks as big and long as tree trunks. The body, heavy and huge, with a ridged, gnarled texture, like piles of blackened human bones laid out in a perfect pattern. And… was that its head? Flat and long, like a giant, heavy, decorative war shield, deeply notched on the sides, two curves on top that ended in points in the middle and at the corners. Long legs, bent at the knee, tucked up almost out of sight.

“It’s her,” Ahiliyah whispered.

The Demon Mother. Black, like the others, but she shimmered slightly, her hard surfaces gleaming with the faintest iridescence, as if her black contained all the colors that were. The iridescence reminded Ahiliyah of the rough rims around the larger geysers on the Boiling Plains.

“Those backsticks,” Brandun said, his voice as thin as the mist, “there’s some kind of… rope coming off them. They’re… are they holding her up?”

With his words, Ahiliyah saw what the mist had partially obscured, what her own eyes didn’t know how to process. Thick, yellowish bands—impossibly long animal skins, or tendons of some kind, perhaps—stretching down from the ceiling high above. The skins were wrapped around the backsticks, or maybe part of the backsticks: it was impossible to tell through the haze. And the backsticks weren’t actually on her back, more near her narrow hips… and there was something leading away from her hips, something long, like an oversized grub or a fat snake, something that had to be full of water or fluid, because it glowed from within. Roundish things inside that snake, hard to make out through the mist, through the translucent surface…

Ahiliyah realized what it was. Icy disgust washed through her. “Eggs. She’s full of eggs.”

Creen squinted at the monstrosity. “Part of it is hanging under the deck. See?”

The same kind of yellowish skins that held the Demon Mother aloft ran beneath the egg sac as well. Some of the skins stretched to the ceiling beams. Other skins hung from the bottom of the deck, holding up a portion of the sac that was just below it.

Fear and frustration. Rage. Hatred. All the death, the loss, the pain, all her people had faced, it was all because of that thing down there.

Ahiliyah tugged on what was left of Creen and Brandun’s hidey suits, guiding them back into the passageway. Brandun immediately started threading twine through his chestplate. “We came here to kill the Demon Mother,” she said. “We can still do that.”

Creen started to talk, stopped, gently put his hand to the wounds on his face, perhaps to check if the damage was as bad as it felt. Ahiliyah could only imagine how much pain he was in.

“I want to go home,” he said. “We lost. It’s over.”

There was no home left to go to.

Brandun tied a knot, started on another. “Liyah’s right. We’ve lost everything. My mom is gone. We can kill the Demon Mother and free our people.”

Creen sagged to his butt. He looked like he might not take another step.

“She’s so big,” he said. “I don’t know if Ahiliyah’s one dose will work.”

Brandun slid on the chestplate. The bent shoulder arch made it hang at an odd angle.

“We can make more poison,” he said. “There’s still leaves on our suits, and leaves on the suits of all the others. Would it be enough?”

Creen shook his head. “I need a cauldron. And a fire. And time. We didn’t kill all the demons—they’re going to find us eventually.”

Beneath them, the deck began to tremble. From the large room came a cacophony of demon screeches, including one louder and deeper than any she’d heard before—the voice of the Demon Mother.

As the ground shuddered, Ahiliyah crawled back onto the deck. Within seconds, the tremor seemed far worse than the one Ahiliyah had felt in the passage, which itself had been worse than the one she felt while encased against the wall. She had to grab the mud-encrusted rail to keep from being tossed about. Brandun grabbed the rail to her right, Creen to her left.

Down on the warped floor, the pool bubbled once, sloshing water across the crater-like ridge of minerals that surrounded it—a ridge just like the ones she’d seen on the Boiling Plains.

The pool… it was a geyser.

It erupted, water and steam roaring forth with the light of day. What had been a wonder to see out on the black plains was godlike in the chamber’s closed confines. The column splashed against a cluster of stalactites, sprayed water all across the large room.

Glowing water rained down, searing Ahiliyah’s head, her face, her hands, anywhere her skin was exposed. Creen whimpered. Ahiliyah ignored the pain. She wrapped an arm around the rail, put her hand above her eyes, and stared at her enemy.

Almost obscured by the swirling mist, she saw the giant beast waving four arms, saw the long head tilt back, and for the first time saw its mouth, easily large enough to bite a man in half. The Demon Mother let out a deafening screech—not of pain or fear, but of… pleasure.

The trembling slowed, ceased. The column of water died down, then stopped, as if some giant, hidden hand had turned a giant, hidden valve. Glowing water dripped from the ceiling, trickled down from stalactites. The rippling puddles on the ground were briefly brighter, making the eggs that rested in them look dark in comparison.

The ground’s glow lit the Demon Mother from beneath, making her look even more ominous, even more unreal. Slowly, the light faded, returning the hexagonal room to an ethereal half-darkness. In the light that remained, Ahiliyah looked at her hand, at the red marks there growing to small welts.

“She liked it,” Brandun whispered. Hate in his voice. And bloodlust. “That’s why she’s here. She likes the heat, the wet.”

Ahiliyah let go of the rail, again crawled a few yards back into the passageway, well out of sight of the Demon Mother or the two large demons—her protectors?—down there with her.

“Creen, the geyser,” Ahiliyah said, “was that water boiling?”

The boy sniffed, looked at the welts forming on the back of his hand. “It was damn near boiling when it hit us, after splashing off the ceiling. So even hotter than boiling when it came out of the ground. Had to be for that much water pressure.”

She didn’t ask him what he meant. After eating the leaves had saved her life, Ahiliyah was ready to take anything Creen said as gospel.

“We could lure her on top of the geyser,” she said. “Would that cook her?”

Creen’s one eye squinted. “Lure the Demon Mother. Over a geyser. Cook her.”

Brandun nodded. “Boil her like a furgle.”

Creen sagged. He shook from silent tears.

From the passage, past the entryway, a whisper in the dimness: “Don’t scream.”

Ahiliyah whirled, as did Brandun, who pointed the knife toward a man, a man on the floor, on his hands, legs behind him like he was just rising after a push-up. He wore strange clothes. No armor. No hidey suit.

“They are coming,” he said. “Quickly, follow me.”

Using only his hands, the man turned and crawled down the passage, his limp legs dragging behind him.

Brandun looked at Ahiliyah, confused, unsure what to do. She was confused, too, but in a hold full of murdering demons, she didn’t have to ask who they were.

Ahiliyah hauled Creen to his feet. Pulling him along, she followed the crawling man. Brandun trailed behind, shield on his arm, casting fast glances over his shoulder.

From far back down the passageway came a low, long hiss.

The crawling man stopped, turned. Resting his weight on one arm, he reached up, slid his hand into an unseen hole in the demon mud. Ahiliyah heard a click, then a waist-high section of wall swung inward with a slight metallic screech, revealing a dark space beyond.

“In there,” he said. “Quickly.”

Ahiliyah hesitated. Who was this man? What waited in the darkness that lay through that space?

“Liyah,” Brandun whispered, “I can see two demons, they’re coming.”

Creen pushed past Ahiliyah, vanished in the darkness. If something bad waited for them in there, it was too late to worry about it. She ducked down and followed him in. No light, not even the faint blue glow. She felt along the floor, moved toward open space. A bump from behind made her heart leap to her throat.

“Sorry,” Brandun said. “But get out of the way!”

Ahiliyah crawled further forward, waiting for a bony demon hand to grab her, or metal teeth to bite off her searching fingers.

She heard the metallic screech again, then that metallic click.

The man’s whisper in the darkness: “Be quiet.”

Ahiliyah didn’t move. No noise in here, so quiet she heard her own breathing, heard Brandun and Creen’s as well. She turned, tried to look back the way she’d come.

The man had closed the weird wall-door. From beyond it, in the passageway, the sounds of clawed toes clicking against metal as a demon—or maybe two of them—scampered past.

She waited in silence, her hand on the handle of her little friend.

Then, a soft squeaking sound, a familiar sound—the sound of a spigot.

In the darkness, a soft white light. Water flowed into a clear glass jar held by the strange man, illuminating Brandun’s wide eyes, Creen’s awful wounds. The man turned off the spigot. He held up the jar.

“My name is Zachariah,” he said. “Who are you?”

46

Ahiliyah’s eyes quickly adjusted. The man was on his left hip, left hand flat on the ground, glowjar held in his right. The blue fabric of his shirt and pants, while threadbare in places, was a tighter weave than anything she’d ever seen. Clean-shaven. Red hair short, recently combed.

She quickly looked around the small room. Drawings all over the walls, pictures of demons, of people she didn’t know, people also wearing strange clothes. Metal objects she didn’t recognize. One small table, with a chair tucked under it, both made of a material she’d never seen before. Boxes all over, made of metal, perhaps. Some were open, most were closed. For some reason, the room reminded her of the factories in Lemeth’s lower level.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” the man said. “I will not harm you. Did your ship land nearby?” The man waited. No one responded. He glanced at Brandun’s chestplate, at Creen’s face, then at Ahiliyah. “Do you understand English? Tu loquerisne Latine? Nī hui shuõ?”

“I got the first part,” Creen said. “The do you understand. Don’t know the other words.”

The man nodded. He set the glowjar on the floor, next to an empty one. He picked that up, held it under a tap sticking out of the metal wall, started filling it.

“I see that you are injured.” He reached out, set the second glowjar on the floor in the middle of the room. “May I have permission to attend to your wounds?”

With the additional light, Ahiliyah saw that the right side of Zachariah’s mouth didn’t move when he spoke, yet his voice seemed unmuffled.

Brandun clutched at his thigh above his bloody cut. “Are you a doctor?”

“I have medical knowledge.” Hand over hand, the man slid to a rectangular box. “It is one of the few areas of knowledge I still possess. It would be helpful if I knew your names.”

“I’m Brandun Barrow,” Brandun said. “He’s Creen Dinashin, she’s Ahiliyah Cooper.”

“Cooper.” Zachariah stared at Ahiliyah. “Are you a descendant of Samuel Cooper?”

Ahiliyah said nothing.

“Her father’s first name was Vance,” Brandun said. “We don’t know a Samuel Cooper.”

Zachariah looked at Creen, at Brandun. “Barrow. Cooper. Dinashin. Astonishing. To clarify, the three of you did not come here on a ship?”

Ahiliyah finally found her tongue. “The nearest shore is five miles away.”

Zachariah sat silent for a moment. No expression. When he blinked, only his left eye closed. The whole right side of his face seemed oddly still, like it was… dead.

He dragged the box with him as he slid next to Brandun. Brandun’s hand went to the handle of his little friend.

The man paused. “I can help you.”

Brandun glanced at Ahiliyah. She didn’t know what to tell him, this was all so strange.

“Let him,” Creen said. “If he wanted to hurt us, he wouldn’t have saved us.”

Brandun considered this, looked warily at the man, then nodded.

“I will be as gentle as I can.” Zachariah tore open packages, revealing thin white cloth inside. “You are in pain. On a scale of one to ten, how bad would you say it is?”

Brandun winced. “A… a five?”

Zachariah pulled something out of the box—a glass vial.

“These supplies are very old,” he said. “I do not know how effective this will be. It will sting, but should help with the pain.”

Zachariah pressed the vial to Brandun’s leg. Ahiliyah heard a tiny clink of metal. Brandun hissed, snarled, swung a fist at Zachariah—the man caught Brandun’s wrist.

“My apologies,” Zachariah said. “It should only take a few seconds to work.”

Brandun gawked at the man for a moment, then looked at his leg. Brandun’s fist opened.

“That… that feels better. Is it magic?”

Zachariah let Brandun go. “It’s medicine. Let me bandage you up.”

The man took another vial out of the box, held it near Brandun’s leg. A bit of mist came out, coated the raw wound. Zachariah started wrapping the white cloth around it.

Brandun looked at his own wrist, where Zachariah had grabbed him, then at Ahiliyah.

“He’s strong,” Brandun said. “Stronger than… than anyone.”

Zachariah finished wrapping the bandage around Brandun’s leg, then slid to Creen, dragging his box with him.

“And you, Mister Dinashin. On a scale of—”

“A fucking twelve,” Creen said. He was shaking. “Get to it.”

Zachariah started pulling things out of the box. “I’m pleased to meet you all. Three hundred and nineteen years is a long time to wait, even for a synthetic.”

He had saved them, but he was also clearly insane. Ahiliyah and her crew were trapped in this strange room with a crazy cripple.

“Three hundred and eighteen years,” Creen said, speaking the words slowly. “You’ve been waiting that long. Are you saying you’ve been alive that long?”

Zachariah placed a glass vial against several spots of Creen’s wounds. Each time he did, Ahiliyah heard that clink, and saw Creen wince.

“Technically, I’m not alive,” Zachariah said as he worked. “I have very little memory of events prior to my being activated to land this ship, but I do know that my assembly date was three hundred and thirty-four years ago. I am the Zachariah synthetic companion, registration number WY2100023, manufactured by Weyland-Yutani in the Tokyo factory.” He put the vial back in the box. “Does that feel better?”

Creen reached up, gently touched his wounds. “That’s… amazing.”

“I am glad,” Zachariah said. “May I suture the lacerations? It will take a few minutes.”

Creen’s shaking stopped. He touched his face once more. He seemed awed.

“Sure,” he said. “Tokyo factory. Where is Tokyo?”

Zachariah pulled more equipment out of the box. Ahiliyah watched him pinch Creen’s sliced cheek together, hold a device against it. The device made a click sound—a tiny line of metal held that part of the cut together.

“I do not know where Tokyo is,” Zachariah said. He slowly, methodically, stitched Creen’s wound with the bits of metal. “The Nan-Shan’s external cameras are long since lost, but three internals remain. I saw such a commotion among the Xenomorphs that I had to come out and see what all the fuss was about.”

He spoke words that made no sense.

“Zee-no… what?” Ahiliyah’s eyes narrowed. “Morph?”

“Xenomorph,” Zachariah said. “I do not know why, but some limited information regarding the species remains in my memory. Scientific name, Internecivus raptus, although the term Linguafoeda acheronsi is also used. Are you familiar with either term?”

No one answered.

“Perhaps you’ve heard the term plagiarus praepotens,” he said. “Or, perhaps, snatchers?”

Ahiliyah stared, dumbfounded.

“I think he means the demons,” Brandun said.

Zachariah paused in his clipping. “Demons. I will use that name.”

He finished stitching the two long gashes on Creen’s cheek, then examined Creen’s ruined nose. No matter what this strange man did, Creen would have horrible scars—if Creen even lived out the day, which Ahiliyah doubted. She didn’t think any of them would.

“You said this ship,” Creen said. “Do you think we are in a ship now?”

“We are. The Nan-Shan.”

“We’re on solid ground,” Creen said, wincing when Zachariah touched a spot on his nose. “Like Liyah told you, the nearest water is five miles south. We’re nowhere near a coast.”

“The Nan-Shan is an interstellar colony ship,” Zachariah said.

Creen reached up, grabbed Zachariah’s hand, looked into the strange man’s eyes.

“Interstellar,” Creen said. “Stellar, as in, stars?”

Zachariah nodded. “I assume that is what a colony ship is designed to do.”

Ahiliyah felt lost. Once glance at Brandun showed he felt the same.

“Other stars,” Creen said, his pain seemingly forgotten for the moment. “Does that mean… other planets? There are worlds other than Ataegina?”

Zachariah gently turned Creen’s head to face forward, went back to work on the nose.

“I assume so, but I cannot say for certain. Most of the ship’s records were erased prior to my reactivation. When I was brought online, the Nan-Shan was in orbital decay. I was loaded with medical knowledge, the ability to pilot this ship, and little else.”

The strange man pulled a small jar from the box. He opened it, started applying some kind of clay to Creen’s nose, talked as he worked.

“I was reactivated by the captain and tasked with first landing this ship, then evacuating everyone I could. The Nan-Shan had suffered several acts of sabotage. All colonists aged eleven and up died while still in cryosleep. The crew was also dead, with the exception of the captain. There appears to have been in-fighting among the crew, resulting in casualties, and at least four crewmembers were killed by a demon.”

Ahiliyah knew the Northerners’ sailing ships had crews, but the word still had special meaning to her. To think that crewmates would fight among themselves, kill each other… in a way, that was even more hideous than what the demons did.

“Due to cascading system failures brought on by sabotage and internal use of firearms, I had very little flight control,” Zachariah said. “The ship suffered extensive additional damage upon impact. I was able to awaken one hundred and nineteen children, all ten years old or younger. I got them off the ship immediately, as I knew that the demons on board might have survived the impact. The children left with nothing but the clothes on their backs and some seed kits I gave them. No tools, no weapons, no reference material, no computers. It was very rushed, very chaotic. I instructed them to get as far away from the ship as they could, as fast as they could, and to never return.”

Zachariah closed the jar. He started wrapping white cloth around Creen’s head.

“I have no personal memories from before my reactivation, but I retain all that happened since. Among the children who evacuated the ship were Kyle Barrow, Samuel Cooper, and Amy Dinashin. Those are, most likely, your ancestors.”

“Told you that volcano story was bullshit,” Creen said.

“Don’t blaspheme,” Brandun said, fumbling with his bent armor. “Not now.”

Zachariah finished wrapping the bandage. He pulled another roll of white out of the box, started wrapping that around the bandage.

“The children had no idea what had transpired, nor did they have any knowledge of the demons or the dangers posed by the various phases of the demon life cycle,” Zachariah said. “I wanted to protect them, so I had to paraphrase. The last things I told them—other than to never return, for any reason—was to hide if they saw a tall, skinny, black creature with no eyes and to stay away from large, egg-shaped objects. They had no idea what a face-hugger looked like, of course, so I told them that if they saw something that looked like a large spider with a tail, to run away as fast as possible until they could run no more.”

He paused, glanced off. “I retain some information about other life-forms. Spiders. Elephants. Eels.” He continued wrapping Creen’s head.

Ahiliyah hadn’t been sure what to believe, if she could believe any of what the crippled man said. Until he used the word spider. That resonated. She didn’t know if what Zachariah said was real, but she knew that he believed it. All of it.

Zachariah tore the white wrap, pressed the end against Creen’s head.

“That is the best I can do, Mister Dinashin.”

Creen felt at the bandages around his head. His fingertips left spots of blood.

“You seem like a person,” he said, “but you’re not, are you?”

Zacharia nodded. “I am a synthetic companion. I was the property of the colonists. Considering that you are descendants of the colonists, I am now your property. I will assist you in any way I can.”

Property? People weren’t property.

“I don’t know what that means,” Ahiliyah said.

“It means I will do what you ask, as long as you do not order me to harm a human being.”

Creen and Brandun both seemed much better. Whatever was in that vial had helped them. They needed a plan to kill the Demon Mother, but this man… so odd, so interesting.

“I have many questions,” Creen said. “So many. If you’ve been here for over three centuries, what have you done with all that time?”

“Very little, I’m afraid. Ahiliyah? Are you injured?”

Her head throbbed. Her throat felt like she’d drunk boiling water. Muscles and bones ached. But she wasn’t bleeding. At least, not anymore. She didn’t want this man to touch her.

“I’m fine. Continue with your story.”

“I spent the first few years trying to repair parts of the ship,” Zachariah said. “Communications equipment, in particular, but what hadn’t been destroyed before I was reactivated was damaged in the crash. I’ve spent most of my time since trying to keep myself functional. That, and studying this planet’s native phosphorescent extremophile microbes—which are quite fascinating—and the demons. There really isn’t anything else onboard.”

Listening to him felt surreal. He spoke English, but some of his words made no sense.

Ahiliyah glanced at the drawings stuck to the walls. “You know a lot about the demons?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Zachariah said. “I have the ability to make detailed drawings, and to record data about their life cycle and habits, but I could not say if I know a lot about them. I have nothing against which to compare my knowledge base.”

Brandun stood, tested his weight on his wounded leg. “If you’ve been in this hold with the demons all this time, how are you still alive?” He took another tentative step; his twine spun loose, he caught his falling chestplate before it hit the floor.

“I can fix that for you, if you like.” Zachariah held out one hand toward him.

Cautiously, Brandun handed over the thick piece of metal. “And why are you still here?”

Zachariah took the chestplate, turned it in his hands, examining it. “When the captain reactivated me, he included in my programming that I am not allowed to leave this ship. I suspect the reason for that is I may have been involved in the sabotage.”

Creen, his head and half his face covered by white bandages, looked around the small room. “That doesn’t explain how you’re still alive, or whatever the fuck you are. How have the demons not got you in over three centuries? You have to leave here to eat, shit and piss, right?”

“As a synthetic, I need to do none of those things.” Zachariah said. He set the chestplate on the floor. “However, I frequently move about the Nan-Shan. Aside from a longer life span, I suppose, the one advantage to being a synthetic is that demons aren’t that interested in me. As long as I don’t present a threat to them, they don’t attack. That has allowed me extensive access to study the hive’s behavior. I have even been in the Queen’s chamber, although I don’t dare get close to her.” He touched his legs. “I tried once. Her guards did not take kindly to the effort.”

He put a knee on the chestplate, then gripped the bent tang and leaned on it. Ahiliyah, Brandun and Creen watched, stunned, as the bronze creaked and bent.

“He’s strong, all right,” Creen said.

Zachariah slid the chestplate across the floor to a stunned Brandun.

“It’s somewhat better,” Zachariah said. “May I ask a question?”

He wanted permission to speak? He was acting like they were in charge. If he was their property, maybe they were.

“Go ahead,” Ahiliyah said.

“After the commotion began, I walked all through the ship. For the first time in fifty years, every single demon had left, except for the queen and her two guards. Even the demons that had been hibernating woke up. Well over a thousand demons marched out of the ship. Only an estimated twenty-four percent of those returned. Are the others dead?”

Ahiliyah nodded.

“Of the demons that returned, most were wounded,” Zachariah said. “I saw arrow shafts and crossbow bolts in many. Others had deep lacerations. Am I correct in assuming those were caused by handheld weapons such as swords?”

“Spears,” Brandun said. “We fought hard.”

“Apparently,” Zachariah said. “From what I have learned, it seems unlikely that you killed so many with basic weaponry. Did you also use firearms of some kind? Muskets, perhaps?”

Firearms. Muskets. More nonsense words.

“Our arms are not made of fire,” Brandun said. “We used a phalanx, and Creen’s poison.”

Zachariah scooted to the wall, leaned against it. “Poison. May I ask how you made it?”

Creen glanced at Ahiliyah, waiting for her lead. This man, if that’s what he was, lived down here with the beasts. She was hesitant to tell him anything. And yet, if he hadn’t come up to the deck, she and Brandun and Creen would be dead, or again plastered to a wall in a room of rotting corpses, waiting for a spider.

She nodded at Creen.

“Caminus leaves,” he said. “Something in them turns burning blood to harmless grey ash. I made an extract that protects our skin somewhat, but also coats our weapons. When a coated weapon penetrates the demon shell, I think the extract forms blood clots that kill the fuckers.”

Zachariah considered this for a long moment.

“Native flora counteracts the acid,” he said, finally. “Astonishing. The red leaves on your camouflage suits, are those caminus leaves?”

Creen nodded. “They are. When the demons took us, we ate the leaves and it fucked up the worms the spiders put in us. We puked them up. Everyone else died but us.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Zachariah said. “But that reminds me that hatchlings—the worms, as you call them—will be fully grown demons in a few hours. Your evacuation will be easier if I get you off the ship before they begin hunting.”

Ahiliyah’s head hurt, and she’d never been so tired, so sore or so scared. Those things made it hard to focus.

“I must have heard you wrong,” she said. “They’ll be fully grown in a few hours?”

Zachariah nodded. “It’s quite amazing. Their growth rate is exponentially higher than that of humans. Unfortunately, I don’t know other species for a further comparative analysis, I—”

“Shut up!” Liyah felt the dread of both the battlefield and the fear of the egg room combine to clutch at her guts. “There were twenty people in that room with us, all with holes in their chests. That’s seventeen worms—which means soon we’ll have seventeen more demons to deal with if we’re going to kill the Demon Mother.”

“More than that,” Zachariah said. “I have limited visual with the internal cameras, but I counted one hundred and thirty-seven human hosts brought back to the ship. The three of you apparently escaped, so I assume that at least one hundred and thirty-four hatchlings now roam the ship. I estimate the first of these will reach the predatory adult stage in the next two hours.”

Ahiliyah’s head swam. Just her, Brandun and Creen left, against over a hundred demons? Plus those two big ones in the Mother’s chamber? Plus the Demon Mother herself?

“We need to kill her,” Ahiliyah said. “Before it’s too late.”

Creen shook his head. “Fuck that. Let’s leave. We get more people, we come back.”

“No, we strike now,” Brandun said. “She’ll get more people, make more demons. We saw her. She’s right here, we have to kill her.”

Zachariah raised a finger. “Excuse me, but who is the her you’re talking about?”

“The Demon Mother,” Ahiliyah said.

His left eyebrow went up. “Ah. I see.”

“Hold on,” Brandun said. “You’ve been here all this time, watching them. Why haven’t you tried to kill them?”

Zachariah blinked his one good eye. “Because no one has asked me to do that.”

“I’m asking you now,” Ahiliyah said. “Will you help us?”

“Of course, Ahiliyah. As I said, I am your property.”

“We need to work fast,” she said. “Do you have more paper? Can we sketch her chamber?”

“I can do better than that.” Zachariah crawled to the wall, tugged off a piece of paper. He set the paper flat in the center of the small room, pinned it down with a glowjar. It was a top-down drawing of the Mother’s chamber.

“It’s to scale, of course,” he said. “I had quite a lot of time on my hands.” He pointed to a spot. “That’s where the three of you were, on the catwalk overlooking her chamber.”

Ahiliyah studied the drawing. “How can we get to her?”

Zachariah pointed to another spot. “That’s the entrance at the lower level. It is hard to see from where you were. I’ll tell you how to get there when we leave this container.”

“We need weapons,” Brandun said. “Do you have any?”

Zachariah shook his head. “There are no weapons. No guns, no knives, no explosives. Even fire axes were removed. I believe everything was confiscated during the crew’s in-fighting. I assume all weapons were jettisoned. There is no fuel, nothing we can use to make incendiaries or explosives. I assure you, I have looked everywhere, and there is nothing you can use.”

Zachariah took another piece of paper off the wall. It was a drawing of the demon queen, showing her in profile. He set it next to the room drawing. It reminded Ahiliyah of Creen’s leaf drawings—exquisitely detailed, obviously the work of a genius. She might have liked more time to learn about Zachariah, but time was something she did not have.

“We’ve only got this much poison.” She took off the toothtongue necklace, set it next to the drawing. “Creen, can we make more?”

He shook his head. “Not inside of two hours, we can’t. And she’s so big. I don’t even know if the little bit we have will be enough.”

It had to be enough. Ahiliyah refused to accept anything else. “We need a spearhead,” Brandun said.

Ahiliyah drew her little friend. “Can we use this as one?”

“Too small,” Zachariah said. “A blade that size will not penetrate her armor.”

Ahiliyah sheathed it, tapped the drawing. “Her egg sac, then. That’s skin, not armor.”

“Yes, but the skin there isn’t thin,” Zachariah said. “With all the fluid inside, it has to be thick to stand up to that pressure. I haven’t been up close, but I would guess the egg sac skin is tough, like leather. You could stab through that, but with all that fluid your poison could become diluted. In addition, I don’t know if her circulatory system will carry the poison to her.”

Ahiliyah looked at Creen.

“He means the clots won’t reach her heart,” Creen said. “We got to stick her in the body to have a real chance.”

Brandun glanced around. “There’s metal all over, right? Can we make a spearhead?”

“I have no cutting tools,” Zachariah said. “I am strong enough to tear off a piece of metal, but I have nothing that could grind a sufficient edge in the next hour.”

He had bent Brandun’s chestplate back into shape. Yes, Zachariah was strong, so strong, apparently, he could rip metal with his bare hands. There would be some edge to that piece of metal, but enough to break through the Mother’s thick armor?

Creen adjusted the drawing. He traced his finger around the Demon Mother.

“Zachariah, do the demons ever fight each other?”

“Rarely,” Zachariah said. “Ninety-two years ago there was another queen. I am not sure how that came to be. The hive split into warring factions. There were many deaths.”

“They killed each other.” Creen slid his finger along the Mother’s tail. “When they fought, did they use their tails on each other?”

Zachariah nodded. “Yes, I see your point. It is possible a tail blade, with enough force behind it, could penetrate her armor.”

“Then there are spearheads all over the place,” Creen said. “If our knives are enough to cut those free. But we still have only enough poison for one shot. Someone has to get close.”

“Me,” Brandun said. “I’m the best fighter, I have the best chance.”

“Against three of them?” Creen shook his head. “No chance.”

“More than three if you don’t move quickly,” Zachariah said. “I now estimate you have less than sixty minutes before the first of the new generation reaches adulthood.”

Ahiliyah had to make a decision. What gave them the best chance? Creen was right—Brandun wouldn’t get close, not with the protectors there.

“Brandun,” she said, “could you throw the spear from the catwalk?”

He scratched at the back of his head. “If the spearhead is a tailspike, it won’t be balanced. We only get the one chance, so I wouldn’t risk it. I need to go in there, Liyah.”

“Fuck that,” Creen said. “Let the synthetic do it! Why should you die, Dumbdun? He said he’s been in the chamber. He can get closer than you can!”

Zachariah gestured to his legs. “I am strong, but not fast, I’m afraid. Yes, I can enter the chamber, or at least I could before you killed the entire population of demons. There’s no telling how agitated the queen will be. And even if I can enter the chamber, as I’ve done before, I know from hard-earned experience that I can’t get close to her. Not even close enough to try and throw a poorly balanced spear.”

“We could distract the guards,” Ahiliyah said. “They could chase Creen and me while Brandun slips in.”

“Double-fuck that,” Creen said. “I didn’t live this long so I could get eaten.”

Brandun turned on him. “We’re out of time! We have to be heroes. We have to!”

“They can’t be distracted,” Zachariah said. “I’ve been watching them for centuries. The guards never leave the queen’s chamber. If you want to get to her, you have to go through them.”

Ahiliyah wished the pounding in her head would go away, just for a moment. Running out of time, no options but to go in on a suicide run, which she would do in an instant if it had any chance of working.

She had to think. Ahiliyah closed her eyes, and when she did, she heard Sinesh’s voice.

When death comes, see the beauty in life.

She breathed in, slowly, fighting against the stress, the panic. Beauty. No mountains to look at here, she knew she would never see those again. Think. Every second mattered. Beauty. The Mother’s chamber. The hanging mist, that was beautiful. She imagined the mist inside her, soothing her soul, calming her. The Demon Mother. Beautiful in her own way, when one thought about it. Far more beautiful if she was dead. The geyser, spectacular in its eruption…

“The geyser,” she said. “Could we lure the Demon Mother over it? Would that kill her?”

Creen rolled his eyes. “Here we go with this again.”

Unlike Creen, Zachariah didn’t immediately dismiss her question. “I don’t know if it would kill her. I’ve never boiled a demon before. But I would think so, yes. As for luring her over it, she’s immobile. If she separates from the egg sac and can shed the secretions that keep her aloft, I think she can move, but why would she? Her guards will deal with any threat.”

Ahiliyah stared at the drawings. Brandun and Creen stared at her. They were out of ideas.

But she had one more. “Immobile,” she said. “Mother is stuck right where she is. Zachariah, you said you can enter the Mother’s chamber.”

“I can, but as I told you, I won’t get near her. Her protectors will tear me apart.”

Ahiliyah glanced at Brandun’s chestplate. Zachariah had bent it. He could bend it again. He could probably bend it almost flat.

She pointed to a spot on the drawing. “Can you get there?”

Zachariah leaned closer. “Yes, I believe I can.”

It could work. It could work, and Brandun didn’t need to die for nothing. Neither did Creen. Neither did Ahiliyah.

“Creen, how long until the next geyser eruption?”

“Between seventeen and nineteen minutes,” Zachariah said. “I’ve become rather familiar with the intervals over the years.”

Zachariah’s little room was so close to the Mother’s chamber. There was enough time.

“Listen carefully,” Ahiliyah said. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

47

Ahiliyah, Creen and Brandun hunched down at the edge of the deck. No, not a deck—Zachariah had called it a catwalk.

Slowly, carefully, Ahiliyah and her crewmates looked over the rail. She peered through the darkness and the mist, to the lower entrance Zachariah had told her about. Just a patch of black in a dark, black room. No wonder she’d missed it. But in that spot of black, she saw him, saw Zachariah, slowly pulling himself along with his right arm. On his left arm and shoulder, he carried Brandun’s chestplate.

A few agonizing inches at a time, Zachariah slid across the rough, wet floor, through puddles, past glowing eggs—toward the geyser pool.

One of the two big protector demons saw him, raced at him, going from a standstill to a sprint in a heartbeat. The speed stunned Ahiliyah—this one was faster than any demon she had seen as a runner, faster than any she’d fought against on the Boiling Plains.

“He’s fucked,” Creen whispered.

Ahiliyah thought Zachariah might panic, try to crawl away, but he simply stopped moving.

The demon reached him, slowed to a halt. The long head tilted, left, then right. Zachariah started crawling again, even slower than before. The demon walked beside him for a few steps, then it stalked back to the massive Demon Mother.

“Maybe he ain’t got legs,” Creen whispered, “but he’s sure got balls.”

Brandun turned to Creen. “He should be dead. What is he?”

“I don’t know,” Creen said. “But he’s not like us.”

Zachariah reached the geyser pool. Slowly, quietly, he set the flattened chestplate down edge-first into the glowing pool, just behind the spot where the water ran far deeper. He gripped the same piece he’d fixed, then bent it backward to make a handle. He adjusted himself, putting his weight behind the chestplate. With his free hand, he felt behind him, searching the lip of the steaming pool for a good handhold.

The deck began to vibrate.

“He made it,” Creen said. “I hope he cooks that bitch to a crisp.”

Ahiliyah looked to the Demon Queen. Her head angled to the side, tipped up… she seemed to be looking at Zachariah. No… she was looking at the chestplate.

“She just figured it out,” Ahiliyah whispered.

The deck vibration increased. Ahiliyah held tight to the rails.

The geyser’s surface stretched up in a swelling bubble.

“She can’t know,” Creen said. “It’s impos—”

The Demon Mother screeched. The two protectors shot toward Zachariah.

The glowing bubble popped, splattering Zachariah with glimmering water.

The two protectors closed in—then the world erupted.

The geyser’s column of brightly glowing water and steam hit the chestplate, slamming it against Zachariah. Scalding water spraying all over him, he leaned against the bronze, angling it over the erupting geyser—water sprayed wide at a sharp, shallow angle. Part of the jet caught one of the oncoming protectors, lifting it up off the ground, and throwing it backward to smash hard against a wall.

Steam billowed, and Zachariah vanished inside a cloud. Water sprayed madly in all directions, splashed against the other protector, seemed to confuse it, drive it off its direct line toward Zachariah.

Creen ducked his head, but Brandun and Ahiliyah squinted and held on tight. Brandun kept one arm on the rail—with the other, he reached across Ahiliyah’s back, grabbed a handful of Creen’s suit. Ahiliyah leaned into Brandun, desperately thankful for his weight, his solidity. She held tight to the rail with one hand, her other reaching out to Creen’s hand, fumbling like a desperate fish until their fingers locked together.

Huddled as one, the three of them held on.

The cloud of steam thinned, the smallest bit, and in that fuzzy space Ahiliyah saw Zachariah squat down, lean the shield over the geyser like a lid touching one side of a pot and lowering over the opening. The jet of water angled down, down—the water and steam blasted into the Demon Mother’s face and chest.

The great beast flailed as glowing water pounded against her arms, her chest, her giant head. Ahiliyah knew the bitch was screaming, but her death-cries couldn’t be heard over the geyser’s roar. The deck rattled Ahiliyah, threatened to throw her and Brandun and Creen all into the air, but she held on, and let out a scream of her own.

“Die, you bitch—die!”

Seven decades of hell, hundreds of thousands dead, civilization destroyed, and it was almost over. Even as the heat swirled around her, the steam soaking her, Ahiliyah embraced the hate in her soul, and embraced something else as well—victory. Sinesh had shown her the way, and now she had honored his memory, the memory of her mother, Brandun’s mother… every person who had perished because of these foul vermin.

This monster had killed her people, had nearly wiped out humanity.

She would breed no more evil. First the Demon Mother, then the rest of the monsters, then the eggs—hard battles ahead, impossible odds, but Ahiliyah would win. Humanity would win.

The Demon Mother’s screams faded. Moments later, so, too, did the vibration.

The plume of water died down to a burble, then cut off altogether.

Clouds of swirling steam hid the Demon Mother.

At the geyser’s mouth, Zachariah crouched there, soaked from head to toe, steam rising up from him and the pool alike. He wasn’t even breathing hard. He smiled his half-smile. He glanced at the chestplate, which gleamed like it had just been sand-polished at Solomon Barrow’s factory.

All across the room, the water’s glow began to die down.

Ahiliyah saw a protector demon slowly rise—rise, and move toward Zachariah.

She felt Creen draw a breath, knew he was going to scream a warning. She wrapped her arm around his head, covered his mouth with her hand. It was too late.

Zachariah saw the demon coming. He let go of the chestplate. It tipped over, fell into the pool, casting a shadow over the shaft’s brighter light.

He didn’t try to run. Maybe he knew it was too late. The protector’s tail lashed out, the tailspike plunging through Zachariah’s stomach. Ahiliyah expected red blood, but instead, white fluid sprayed. She didn’t have time to think about it before the protector grabbed Zachariah’s shoulders. The long head leaned in. The toothtongue shot out, crushing Zachariah’s head. White fluid sprayed.

Zachariah’s arms twitched, then hung limp. The protector released him. Zachariah’s body splashed face-first into the steaming geyser pool.

“It doesn’t matter,” Creen whispered. “We got her.”

Ahiliyah didn’t know if she should feel bad for Zachariah. His bravery had delivered the final blow, and for that, she was grateful, but he’d also been a part of birthing this nightmare across Ataegina. And at any rate, he’d lived for at least three centuries—even trapped in this place for most of them, he’d enjoyed far more life than anyone on the planet he’d almost killed.

Ahiliyah squeezed Creen’s hand. She leaned into Brandun, felt him lean back. They had done it. They still had to get out—and fast, if Zachariah had been right—but even if they died in the next few minutes, they all knew they would have given their lives for something far greater than themselves.

“Let’s go,” Creen whispered.

“Not yet,” Brandun whispered back. “I want to see her dead. For my mom.”

On the Demon Mother’s side of the chamber, the steam finally thinned.

In the mist, Ahiliyah saw… movement?

“No,” she said. “No, she’s dead.”

A waft of unseen wind carried away the steam, just for a moment, long enough for Ahiliyah to see, long enough for her heart to drop, for the taste of their hard-won victory to turn to bile in her mouth.

The Demon Mother wasn’t dead. She gleamed under a coating of iridescent minerals, waves of color dancing across her shell. She was a living jewel—a massive, evil, living jewel.

“No,” Creen said. “It’s not possible.”

The massive creature lifted one bent arm; chunks of drying mineral coating splintered, dropped away. She tried to extend that arm—it trembled, as if she was under great strain. Then, with a loud crack, the arm extended, more chunks spinning off to land on the glowing-wet floor among the eggs.

“All it did was slow her down,” Creen said. “It’s not possible. It’s not possible.”

Brandun reached behind him, grabbed his assembled spear shaft. He stood, stood tall, not even trying to hide. He turned the spear once—the severed, pointed, curved tailspikes lashed to each end glimmered in the pale light.

“Liyah,” he said, “do it now.”

Ahiliyah grabbed his wrist, tried to pull him back to kneeling. He was far too strong.

“Now, Liyah.”

The deepness of his voice—the same tone he’d used on the battlefield while relaying her orders to his section. Before she could question herself, she pulled out the toothtongue.

He held one tailspike in front of her. “All of it.”

She poured out the thick poison, smeared it across the black blade.

“We can run,” Creen said. “All of us. If we get to the mountains, we can survive.”

Brandun stared down. He seemed so tall. He smiled at her.

“Liyah, you showed me what it really means to be a warrior.” Brandun turned his smile on Creen. “You’re my hero, Creen. You always have been. I love you both.”

With that, he turned and raced to the right along the warped catwalk as fast as his limping leg would allow. He raced toward the Demon Mother.

“Tell him to stop,” Creen said. “Liyah, order him to stop!”

If she did, it would only slow him down. This was it—this was their final chance.

“Run if you want,” she said, then she stood, cupped her hands to her mouth. “Hey, you ugly motherfucker! Come and get me!”

The protector’s long head angled up toward her. Black lips curled back.

Creen stood next to her. “You can be one intense bitch, Liyah. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Only my friends,” she said.

Creen slapped his hands on the rail, screamed as loud as his ragged throat would let him. “Suck a sack of demon dicks!” He stomped his foot on the catwalk. “Oh, that’s right, demons don’t have dicks!”

The protector raced toward them, long legs pumping, tail swinging behind it, Zachariah’s white blood still smeared on its black face.

“Oh, fuck,” Creen said.

Liyah drew her little friend.

The protector leapt to the top of a rock outcropping and was about to leap when the Demon Mother let out an ear-piercing screech—the protector turned around in an instant.

Brandun banked around the catwalk. When he was above the Demon Mother’s egg sac, he didn’t even break stride—he held the spear with his right hand, used his left to vault over the rail. He dropped through the air, landed on the skin that glowed from within. The sac bent under his feet, the impact sending a glowing ripple through the thick fluid beneath, but it did not break.

The protector scrambled down the rock.

Brandun’s foot slipped out from under him. He dropped to one knee. Ahiliyah’s breath caught as he started to fall over the side, but he grabbed one of the hanging skins and yanked himself back to his feet.

“You gotta be shitting me,” Creen said.

Ahiliyah watched, stunned, as Brandun Barrow—the boy she had trained as a runner, the man who had backed her up when she had given him no reason to, the friend she had fought shoulder to shoulder with, had bled with, had almost died with—walked along the top of the Demon Mother’s egg sac, moving toward her glimmering body and head.

The Demon Mother screeched and squealed, tried to twist, her movements slowed by the hardened coating of iridescent minerals. Her two larger arms flailed slowly, awkwardly behind her—she couldn’t turn to face her attacker.

The protector scrambled to the Demon Mother. She bent her long head—the protector grabbed the notches on her crest, scrambled onto the flat, hard surface as she tilted her head back, making a ramp for her progeny. The protector rushed off her crest, squirmed past the tree-trunk-like black growths on her hips, and—grabbing stretched skins as it went—raced across the egg sac to meet the oncoming Brandun.

Brandun held the spear with his right hand. With his left, he gripped a hanging skin. He crouched, waited.

“Come on, Dumbdun,” Creen hissed, “stick him.”

The protector closed the distance.

Brandun spun the spear, bringing the uncoated tailspike forward. As the protector reached for him, Brandun simultaneously backed up and rammed the black blade into the egg sac. A spurt of thick, glowing fluid burbled up and out.

The protector’s foot landed near that slash, and tore through, black leg sinking in up to its bony hip. The beast lurched sideways, ripping more membrane—a great gout of gel splashed out, raining down on the eggs and floor below.

The protector started to roll off the side, but reached up taloned hands and grabbed a hanging skin. Black legs—one wet, one dry—swung free as it started to scramble back up.

Brandun leaned out over it, one hand holding tight to a hanging skin, the other hand holding the spear. With one perfect, downward overhand thrust, he drove the tailspike deep into the demon’s upturned, eyeless face. Burning blood sprayed out, arced away, fell to the floor below. The beast shuddered, then dropped. It landed hard, crumpling, limbs twitching, smoke and steam rising up from the puddles around it.

Brandun pulled himself back atop the egg sac. He reached far forward, grabbed a hanging skin, tucked his knees to his chest and swung past the still dripping tear. He kicked out, came down just a few yards from the Demon Mother’s tree-trunk hip growths. Brandun spun the spear so the poisoned tailspike faced forward, then continued forward, his feet pushing against the soft membrane. The sac had deflated some, slowing his progress.

Such balance, such strength.

The Demon Mother screeched and lurched, trying to twist around, her wild movements shaking the egg sac, making Brandun grab a hanging skin and hold on tight. Mother flung her long arms, only to have them bounce off the hanging skins that held her aloft, the impacts making the strands thrum like the strings of a deep-voiced musical instrument.

Then there was a new sound.

A sickening, ripping sound, like an animal being torn in two.

The Mother’s body… pulling away from the egg sac, strands of membrane stretching, thinning, snapping.

Brandun rose up, taller, sprinted toward her before his footing could disappear entirely. The Demon Mother took a step forward, leaving the black tree trunks and her yet-to-be-laid eggs behind, glowing fluid spilling from her hips, chunks of mineral falling away from her joints in a shower of sparkling color.

The beast turned.

Brandun switched his spear grip to overhand, his right arm cocked and under the coupling, his left hand near the black tailspike tip. With the scream of a half-million hate-filled victims, he planted his right foot on a notch of the hanging black tree trunks, and leapt into the air.

The Demon Mother’s huge arms reached up to meet him. Brandun drove his spear forward. The beast’s massive hands and splayed, glimmering fingers caught him in midair just as his tailspike blade crashed through her chest armor and plunged into the softer flesh beneath.

The Demon Mother let loose an ear-piercing squeal.

Her two huge, black hands held Brandun by his chest and waist, lifted him higher. He tried to grab the spear, but he could no longer reach it. He screamed, snarled, beat his hands against hers.

His head snapped backward—his legs kicked, his arms flew out, fingers splayed wide.

Blood sprayed from his mouth.

Her hands trembled for a moment, then Brandun’s chest and hips caved in beneath her grip.

Ahiliyah shook her head; she couldn’t believe what she had just seen. Brandun was dead. The Demon Mother had squeezed him to death, smashed him like a mushroom.

The beast tossed Brandun’s corpse aside. The crushed body landed against a rock outcropping, a wet rag hitting solid stone, then sliding down to a pile that was only vaguely recognizable as human.

The Demon Mother’s smaller arms reached up to her chest, gripped the spear shaft, and yanked. The shaft came free—but the tailspike was no longer on it.

The beast stiffened.

“It’s in her,” Creen said, sobs wetting his words. “The poison is in her.”

The Mother’s triangular head tilted back. Her huge mouth opened—it screamed, a piercing wail even louder than before, so loud Ahiliyah’s hands went to her ears.

The monster’s long legs extended. She stood, her head well over fifteen feet above the floor. Four arms flailed. Crusty minerals fell off her in a multicolored rain. Her gleaming head angled this way and that. Then the head turned toward Ahiliyah… and stopped.

Roaring in pain and anger, the Demon Mother lunged forward, huge legs covering five yards a step.

Ahiliyah and Creen turned and ran for the passage entrance. Footsteps thudding behind them, as loud as a geyser tremor. She shoved Creen through ahead of her, felt the catwalk shudder, heard the screech of metal bending and twisting. Ahiliyah leapt into the passageway, landed hard, felt the very floor vibrating beneath her; momentum rolled her, landed her on her butt facing back toward the chamber.

The Demon Mother’s massive head filled the entrance, broken deck and twisted rails jutting out around her. Her mouth gaped open.

Ahiliyah scrambled backward. The toothtongue shot out, locked down on Ahiliyah’s left foot, piercing flesh and breaking bone. Ahiliyah screamed, planted her right foot, tried to pull free—searing pain ripped through her foot, her leg.

Ahiliyah started to slide across the floor, toward the monstrous Mother.

Creen ran forward, leapt, landed on the Demon Mother’s head, slammed his tiny fists against her crest. The toothtongue opened, freeing Ahiliyah’s foot, and the beast’s massive head twisted to the side, smashing Creen against the wall. Jaws snapped, trying to get him, but he grabbed the crest and held on. She angled her head, trying to shake Creen loose. The jaws snapped again, clacking on empty air.

The Demon Mother spasmed, her whole head shook. Her jaws clattered together as if she was freezing to death. She started to move back, taking Creen with her—his head lolled, he didn’t know what was happening.

Ahiliyah lurched to one hip, then—like Zachariah—planted her left hand and lunged forward with her right. She reached… her fingers sank into the hidey-suit netting on Creen’s leg.

The monstrous head slowly slid back out of the passage.

Tears in her eyes, searing agony coursing through her body, Ahiliyah heard the massive beast crash hard against the floor fifteen feet below.

Ahiliyah pulled her friend close.

“Creen? Are you all right?”

His eyes fluttered open. “Did we get the bitch?”

Ahiliyah listened, heard the faintest squeal of pain, and another chatter of teeth.

“I think so,” she said. “Help me walk, let’s go take a look.

48

If the baby demons weren’t fully grown already, they would be soon, and there was nothing Ahiliyah could do about that. She could barely walk, and even then only with Creen’s help. She realized, far too late, that she hadn’t asked Zachariah how to get out of the hold, or ship, or whatever this place was. The new demons were coming. Before they came for her, she would see her hated enemy dead.

The Demon Mother lay on her side, her dying twitches sending ripples across the shallow water of the geyser pool. She’d fallen half across the pool, half on several eggs, smashing them flat. They lay broken, torn, the twisted legs of spiders sticking out in places.

The Demon Mother would lay no more of the eggs. A living god laid low.

Ahiliyah saw Brandun’s crushed, bloody body, more bones broken than whole. His arms, shoulders and head remained mostly intact, the rest of him turned to pulp. His eyes were closed.

“He wanted poems written about him,” Creen said. “Too bad we’ll die here, or I’d write so many about him he’d never be forgotten.”

What Brandun had done… could words even express it? The bravery, the skill, the strength—the intelligence. Never had there been a warrior like him. Never would there be one, either. He had wanted to be a hero. And so he was.

Ahiliyah leaned heavily on Creen. Her foot was a shattered, bloody mess. She needed to bandage it, and soon, but was there any point? Maybe it was better this way. She could bleed out, be dead before the new demons came for her.

As if she’d wished it into existence, a demon’s distant squeal came from the dark opening.

“Well, fuck,” Creen said.

Ahiliyah couldn’t stop a dark, morbid laugh. “My sentiments exactly.”

Creen had his right arm around her waist. He held out his left in front of her, palm up.

“We won’t make it out of here,” he said. “I know I told you I couldn’t do it, Liyah, but that was before. I’m not going to let them take me. If you want, I’ll end it for both of us.”

She felt tears welling up, and not ones of pain.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m really tired. It would be better if it came at your hands, I guess.”

She drew her little friend, placed the handle in Creen’s palm. His fingers closed around it.

Another demon scream, from a different direction, this one louder than the first. There was no point in fighting. She had no strength left. She knew it, Creen knew it.

“Let me set you down,” he said, his words cracking with sobs.

He lowered her, gently. She decided on her knees would give Creen the best access to her throat. At least Ahiliyah could go facing the enemy she’d helped to defeat.

“We did it,” she said. “Brandun really killed her.”

Creen’s hand on her shoulder. “We all killed her. The three of us. Together.”

The tears came now, and there was no stopping them. It would have been nice to see Tolio again, to have his baby, to live on the surface in a world free of demons. Yes, there were more, a few hundred, perhaps, but without the Mother… perhaps people could band together and kill those few hundred demons.

But that fight was not hers.

She, Brandun and Creen had done the impossible. What came next would be decided by others.

“I am your friend, Ahiliyah,” Creen said. “Thank you for being mine. Are you ready?”

She reached a hand up to grasp his. His left hand. His right had a task ahead of it.

“Almost,” she said.

Ahiliyah almost closed her eyes, but she kept them open, kept them fixed on the monstrous, dead body before her. She wanted the dead Mother to be the last thing she saw.

Somewhere inside, Ahiliyah felt her hatred finally let go.

“All right,” she said. “I’m ready.”

She felt Creen’s hand squeeze down on her shoulder, knew it would be over in seconds.

Then, he let go. “Liyah… do you hear that?”

She listened, heard a demon screech… but also something else.

The yells of men?

“Maybe you should stand up,” Creen said.

She reached up a hand. “Help me.”

He did, putting an arm around her waist, grunting as she leaned on him.

The sounds—squeals and yells alike—were coming from the lower tunnel entrance.

Creen started laughing, a dark laugh full of pain, loss and bitterness, but also full of life.

“Amazing,” he said. “I think the Vindenians finally made it.”

A demon stumbled out of the tunnel, two thick gashes in its long head. It fell, started to twitch. Another demon rushed out of the tunnel, crouched to a stop, turned and sprinted back to the opening. Before it leapt, a wall of dented, smoking, heavily scored bronze shields came out of the tunnel, three across the bottom overlapped by three across the top. Jutting from between the small spaces, a hedgerow of warped blades, some still smoking. The men behind the shields were so thickly covered with crimson leaves they looked like walking bushes.

Ahiliyah recognized the symbol painted on the ravaged shields—the bright green V of Vinden Hold.

The demon leapt, squealing in rage as it flew, then in pain as three spear blades impaled it. It twitched and kicked, its tail lashed against the shields. Shields lowered, the spearmen put their weight on the spear shafts, pinning the beast down. One man stepped forward, a squat man nearly as wide as he was tall. Even covered head to toe in caminus leaves, Ahiliyah recognized his shape.

“Drasko Lemech,” she said. “Who would have thought it?”

Drasko drove his butt-spike into the demon’s head, once, twice. On the third blow, the beast fell limp.

“Wow,” Creen said. “Good thing I didn’t kill you.”

Ahiliyah nodded. “Good thing.”

More warriors came out of the tunnel, spread out with their shields in front of them. Wounded men limping in at the rear, helping each other along. Spearmen saw the Demon Mother. They re-formed their mini-phalanx and crept toward her.

Drasko pulled back his hidey-suit hood, revealing his helmet and sweat-covered face. Even from twenty away, Ahiliyah saw the burn marks on his skin.

He saw Ahiliyah and Creen. He looked from them to the dead Demon Mother, then back, his jaw hanging open.

Creen held up a hand. “Hey, Drasko. Yeah, we killed the bitch. Can you come help get Liyah out of here? I got to do something real quick.”

Drasko ran over, big boots splashing through glowing puddles. Other Vindenians came running as well. Drasko scooped Liyah into his arms.

“I hope there are more of you,” she said. “There’s a bunch of demons yet to kill.”

“Shield units are working through the tunnels now,” Drasko said. “We have a thousand warriors. We’ll kill every demon left in this place.”

Ahiliyah nodded slowly. She felt so tired.

“That’s good,” she said. “I think I need a doctor.”

Drasko laughed. “The Margravine assured me you were still alive! I thought she was mad, but here you are. You did it, General.”

The Margravine had made it? That was nice.

“Smash all the eggs,” Ahiliyah said. “Tell the men to be careful, there are spiders inside.”

“I’ll tell them, General, but I’m getting you out of here. The Margravine is out on the Boiling Plains. Vindenian doctors are with us, they’ll see to your wounds.”

She rested her head against his chest, closed her eyes. War made for interesting allies.

“Hey, Liyah!”

Her eyes fluttered open to see Creen, his head bandaged in blood-spotted white, the chest of his hidey suit torn open, standing atop the Demon Mother’s head, his hands down at his crotch.

“Here’s what we think of your kind,” he said.

Creen Dinashin—the demon-killer—pissed on the Demon Mother’s huge head.

EPILOGUE

“The strength of the phalanx is the spearman,” Ahiliyah shouted across the plain.

“The strength of the spearman is the phalanx,” her troops shouted back.

“Again,” she said, “on my command.”

In her right hand, General Ahiliyah Cooper held a spear, the heavy butt-spike on the ground, the business end pointed toward the blue sky above.

In her left arm, she held her baby.

She stared out at a scene she once could have only dreamt about. In the distance, men and women toiled away on large squares of farmland. Different colors for different crops—wheat, barley, and the glorious feathered tufts that were ears of corn, ready to harvest.

Closer in front of her, in the first group, stood men—and more than a few women—with shields and six-foot-long spears. Sixteen people across, three ranks deep. The warriors gleamed with sweat generated from the day’s heat and from their constant drilling. Sunlight played off chestplates, mostly bronze, but a few new ones of the hard-iron variety as well.

The shields, however, were all new, all made from hard-iron, hammered out in the forges of Vinden, Jantal, Keflan, and Lemeth. Made in four different places, but they no longer bore the crests of individual holds—now each shield was painted with a sun rising above a stylized mountain range—the symbol for the unified nation of Ataegina.

Ahiliyah drew in a breath, barked out a command. “Front rank, lower!”

The front rank lowered their spears level with the ground.

“Second rank, lower!”

The second rank obeyed.

“Third rank, angle!”

The third rank lowered, their spears angling up at fifteen degrees.

Forty-eight people had just transformed into an armored wall of death. She had another three groups of forty-eight, and could have made her front line longer, but along with shortening the spears and utilizing the new hard-iron shields, she’d changed tactics. She gave orders to those groups, moving one to the left flank, one to the right, and keeping one in the center.

Some of these warriors had survived the battle against the demons. Some were Vindenians. Some were Takantans and Lemethians who had run—but no one cared about that. They were alive, and their experience was proving invaluable. For anyone who had survived that hellish day, their cowardice was understandable, and forgiven.

Most of the fighters, however, consisted of younger Bisethians, Takantans and Vindenians who were new to arms and combat. They all wanted to learn from the General, the one who had rid their world of the great evil.

“Slow march,” Ahiliyah shouted.

The groups moved forward, counting off every second step, a marching hedge with two-hundred and fifty-six feet stepping in perfect unison. Were they ready? Ahiliyah hoped so. She would continue to drill them until they were.

She wondered if Sinesh would have been proud of what she was building. She felt that he would. She missed him, missed Panda, Brandun’s mother… so many others.

Ahiliyah saw people approaching down the long trail that led up to Lemeth Hold—Susannah, running fast, her hideysuit leaves rippling. Farther back, Tolio and two young baker’s assistants, each laboring to carrying a large wooden crate.

“Formation, halt,” Ahiliyah called out.

As one, the groups stopped.

“At rest!” Spears rose up. Shields lowered to the ground.

Despite nearly sprinting at least a mile, Susannah was barely breathing hard. Her face net was flipped back, exposing her blonde hair and deeply tanned skin.

“General Cooper,” she said, “there’s been a sighting of Northerner ships off the coast.”

The words chilled Ahiliyah’s blood. “How many ships?”

“Three,” Susannah said, “but the scouts said they were a ways off. There could be more.”

Susannah wore a hidey suit, but she wasn’t a runner. Those positions had been done away with. She was a scout—one of the new warrior types Ahiliyah had implemented in her updated military structure. Susannah would never be big enough to fight in a phalanx, but she could run like the mountain wind, she never seemed to tire, and in her suit, she could hide so well you might miss her even if she were only a few yards away.

“Any sign of where the ships might land?”

“No, but Biseth garrison is alerted. Little Spider is on his way there now with a new device. He said he’ll be able to see all the way to the coast and miles beyond.”

Ahiliyah said nothing, let her glare communicate for her.

Susannah’s smile vanished. “I’m sorry, General… I shouldn’t have used that name.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Ahiliyah said. “When you speak of the man who saved the world, you use his fucking name. Understand?”

Susannah nodded furiously.

“Good,” Ahiliyah said. “What does he call this invention?”

“A farglass, General.”

Yet another Creen invention. In the two years that had passed since the death of the Demon Queen, the boy—no, the man—had created a new kind of mortar that allowed for fast fixes to the ravaged mountain holds, had found a way to make iron harder and more durable than bronze, and able to hold a sharp edge for far longer, had designed the new city of Hellan with a grid structure of roads that made much more sense than the ancient city (which had gradually expanded with winding paths), had created a new style of plow that made farming far more efficient, and now, apparently, had a way to see enemies from far, far off.

Ahiliyah had led the army against the demons. Brandun had killed the Demon Mother. Together, they had given Ataegina a future, but Creen? Hideous scars and all, Creen Dinashin was the future. He continued to learn much from the wreck of the Nan-Shan, bringing that new knowledge to bear for all Ataeginians.

“Take word up to Keflan,” Ahiliyah said. “Have them signal Dakatera, Jantal, Hibernia and Pendaran. I need the Dakateran regiment ready to march immediately.”

“Yes, General,” Susannah said. She tilted her head toward the baby. “May I?”

“Make it quick.” Ahiliyah adjusted her position, careful not to put too much weight on her foot. It had healed, if one could call the twisted, scarred club of flesh healed, but these days her spear was more crutch than weapon.

Susannah took the baby boy. Her face lit up as she held him, making Ahiliyah realize anew how beautiful the girl had become. No, not a girl—a woman.

Soon, perhaps, Susannah would have a child of her own. Ahiliyah would lose a talented scout—for a few months, anyway—but Ataegina would have another citizen, and citizens were needed now more than anything else, even Creen’s new iron.

Tolio arrived, flashing his twisted smile. He always seemed to smile. His light blue eyepatch was a perfect shade for the summer afternoon. Unlike Creen, Tolio didn’t care about the scars he’d earned in battle. He held a food skin in his hand.

“Hello, Susannah,” he said. “I’ll take little Brandun.”

Susannah handed the baby to Tolio.

“Go deliver my message, Susannah,” Ahiliyah said. “You have done well.”

The young woman put her left fist on her sternum. “Thank you, General,” she said, and then she was gone, sprinting across the lowlands toward Mount Lemeth.

Tolio cradled the baby. “And good afternoon to you, General. I brought your unit lunch. Your favorite—pumpkin fritters with vindeedee stuffing.”

Ahiliyah kissed him, then opened the skin and inhaled the scent. She loved anything pumpkin, a flavor she’d never known until a few weeks ago, when the first harvest had come in.

She turned, called to her warriors. “Meal break. Approach in an orderly fashion, rear rank first, get your meal, return to your position, eat there. Spears and shields, down.”

The warriors carefully lowered their equipment to the ground, then the rear rank quickly lined up to take food from Tolio’s assistants.

“They look good,” Tolio said. “Why aren’t they all in a long line?”

“I’ve been working on new tactics,” Ahiliyah said, talking through a mouthful of the delicious fritter. “The smaller groups let me react faster to changes, and when one has fought for too long, I can drop it back and move in another. I call the groups modules.”

“Modules,” Tolio said, trying out the word. “Are your people ready to fight?”

“I think they will be soon.”

“Hopefully soon enough.”

He was right about that. The Northerners. If peace could not be made, soon Ahiliyah’s troops would live out the old ways—men fighting against men. She could say what she would about the demons, but at least they’d never slaughtered each other over a piece of land.

“I’m proud of you, General,” Tolio said. “Will you be home tonight?”

Every single day, he told her he was proud of her, and when he did, he always used her title. She never grew tired of hearing those words from his mouth.

“No,” she said. “Ships have been spotted off the shores of the Northern Plains.”

Tolio’s smile faded. “I wish we could send a demon or two to the North. Keep them busy.”

“Even if I could, I would never use demons as a weapon,” she said. “Only truly insane people could do such a thing.”

Tolio leaned in, kissed her cheek. “If you come home tonight, I will be waiting. If not, I will come see you tomorrow. And I’ll bring cupcakes.”

He turned and walked away, jostling little Brandun in his arm.

Ahiliyah loved them both so much that it hurt. To keep them alive—to keep as many people as she could alive—she needed her troops to be ready. If the Northerners continued to focus on one long phalanx or shield wall, Ahiliyah was confident her modular system would defeat them. But only if her troops were drilled, disciplined, motivated and ready.

She waited a few minutes more, let her troops return to their positions, eat their meal, and have a moment to laugh with each other. Or to complain with each other—either way was a soldier’s prerogative.

They had their prerogatives, and she had hers.

“Enough stuffing your mouths,” she called out. “The enemy has been sighted near our shores, and we have much work yet to do. Shields, up!”

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The author would like to thank the following Colonial Marines for their service in the creation of this novel.

Dr. Joseph Albietz

Clara Fei-Fei Čarija

Scott Middlebrook

Alex White

If the author has forgotten any brave soldiers who contributed to this book, the slight is not intentional. Stay frosty.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

New York Times best-selling author Scott Sigler is the creator of seventeen novels, six novellas and dozens of short stories. He gives away his stories as weekly serialized audiobooks, with over 40 million episodes downloaded.

Scott launched his career by releasing his novels as author-read podcasts. His rabid fans were so hungry for each week’s episode that they dubbed themselves the “Junkies.” The first hit is always free…

He is also is a co-founder of Empty Set Entertainment, which publishes his Galactic Football League series. He lives in San Diego, CA, with his wee little dogs Reesie and Squeaky.