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  Viera looks for a moment like a rabid animal, caged and snarling, but as the ropes tighten the attitude fades. Her mouth soothes into a straight line. Her eyes are embers, and she directs their heat at Malo, who ignores it.

  “If you’re bringing them into the city, then she’s your charge,” the lead guard says. He holds forth the end of the rope to Malo, who takes it.

  “I accept. She’ll be taken care of and watched,” Malo replies.

  Then he turns to me, and motions me forward through those arched, yellow stone gates and into the city.

  I want to argue. To say that Viera, now that she’s unarmed, can be let free. Ignos stops me. Tells me that it’s more important now to gain the trust of the city. Of these people. One Lunare isn’t worth risking our dream.

  Our dream. Not sure I ever wanted this, but now I’m too far in to back out, and I can’t deny a growing part of me loves the adventure.

  So I walk forward. Into the most bustling city I’ve ever seen. It’s streets are packed with people shuffling back and forth. Many carrying baskets and bags loaded down with fruits and meats, cloth and clay urns. Stands are set up all along every corner and open space, connected right to the small houses behind them where the owners can wake up and start selling until they pass out at the end of the night.

  The sounds of bargains being driven, coins being exchanged fill my ears, along with the smells of a thousand cooking scents and spices.

  There’s an undertone beneath it all that I pick up too. Of refuse and waste. Still, Damantum feels alive. As if the city is awake and has a spirit far more vigorous than my village ever did.

  “This is my home,” Malo says as he leads me through the streets. “It is everything to me, as it is everything to the Charre What do you think of it?”

  Do not insult it.

  Like I need the reminder.

  “It’s overwhelming,” I say. “I’ve never seen so much in one place before.”

  In truth, I notice, it is missing one thing: trees. There are so few. Damantum is all brown and sandy. Light-bleached and hot. What shade there is comes from the sharp corners of buildings, and not the leafy shadows of the jungle I love. So even as I take it in, I realize that Damantum is not, and maybe never will be, my home.

  “You’ll get used it in time,” Malo says. “Everyone does. The treasures that are here, the experiences, the people. It all is a lot, I know. Eventually you’ll start to see why this is wonderful. You’ll fall in love, like I have.”

  Viera stays silent during our walk. Every time I think to ask her a question, or even look at her, Ignos yells at me to stop. At first I argue, but then begin to think Ignos’ advice is right; Viera’s not the only captive I see in the streets. Many are led about in groups with ropes chaining between all of the them in a line. Nobody looks at them. Nobody acknowledges their bowed heads and scuffing bare feet.

  Would a priestess?

  No, Ignos says, and I agree. I won’t be able to help Viera if I join her in the ropes.

  We reach the Vaos. It is gigantic. Tall and monstrous and beautiful and horrendous at the same time. As I saw from the volcano, the whole temple is gilded in gold. It shines and shimmers at dusk, a flickering multitude. Halfway up the giant stone slabs that make up the Vaos’ steps, there’s a wide square door. One haloed by a set of four burning braziers.

  “That’s where you belong,” Malo says to me. “Go in there, and you will meet our high priest, Jakkan. He will help you. He will teach you what you need to know so that you can give us what the Ignos needs us to hear.”

  “Are you coming with me?” I ask.

  “I’m not a priest, therefore I’m not allowed on the steps of the Vaos without permission.”

  I notice that Malo is right; despite the teeming masses of people moving through the courtyard around the great temple, many of whom stop to pray up to its altars, there are no bodies on the steps.

  No one taking a careful walk up to the top. But at Malo’s urging, I do.

  I have to raise my knees high to get up, because the steps are not small. There are twenty of them to get to where the doorway begins.

  Look at where you are. Already climbing above the mess. Keep moving, Kaishi, and we will make it.

  When I reach the doorway, I turn to see if Malo and Viera are watching, but they’re gone. Only crowds of people funneling by, a few casting curious glances up at me.

  I’m alone.

  There’s only one way to go, though, so I look inside. It’s a dark tunnel. Not a long one. Every meter, set into the stone walls, are small basins with candles flickering away.

  I take hesitant steps.

  The sound of the city dies away as I go inside, and a cool breeze carries burning incense. The Vaos opens up to a central chamber, and I can see at least four doors off of either side. Standing in the middle, his back tight and frail, is a man. A design inked on his back, in various dyes so as to create a beautiful rainbow collage, is of Ignos at dawn.

  The golden orb and the multicolored bands of his blessings radiating out. As I watch, the man turns, unfolding his hands, which had been clasped for prayer, and grins at me. His right eye is milky white and there are gaps in his teeth, most of which are gold.

  “Welcome,” the man says, and his voice is strong and firm. Iron. “I’ve been waiting for you, Kaishi, supposed speaker for our god.”

  20 The Deal

  When Stim wears off, it’s like coming out of a leap - everything speeds up and seems, at first, too real. Actions happen too fast. There’s no time to think. Sax’s body twitches in the room, one of the black ones, so that it seems like he’s lying in the middle of blank space. The windows are closed, so there’s really nothing other than Sax, the Sevora-stolen Oratus, and a quartet of watching Flaum.

  “Yes, that must be painful for you,” the Oratus says as it watches Sax breath hard, heavy. “Stim, I take it?”

  Three Flaum stand in the corners of the room, each one pointing a two-pawed miner at Sax. He’s fairly sure that, if he had the Stim and a moment’s surprise, Sax could move fast enough to take out at least two before the third vaporized him. That would still leave the Oratus, though, and that’s the most important target.

  “Can you speak at all, or is the prospect of me existing so terrible that you can’t even form words?” the Oratus continues.

  In a situation where sacrifice is not possible and attack is ill-advised, gather intelligence. Sax knows his training, so he lifts his head, ignores the pulsing headaches leftover from the Stim, and talks, “You are an abomination.”

  It’s a strong opening, and Sax feels better for having said it. At least, until the Oratus laughs.

  “Am I?” the Oratus replies, then considers for a moment. “Do you know what? I might agree with you. Look at me, in this armor? And look at you, in that mask, all pure.”

  Sax isn’t sure what to say to this, so he stays quiet. Lets his eyes drift to the Flaum and checks their attention. Right now, they’re still riveted. That’s the Sevora control, though, not the Flaum themselves. Through the mask, Sax listens for the sounds of the others, but there’s no pick-up. These buildings are thick, likely jammed with electronics. Their signal might not get through.

  “You’re probably wondering why we haven’t shot you yet.” The Oratus paces now, circling Sax like a predator, those talons clicking on the black floor. “It’s a tricky thing, getting a working mask. We don’t have a single one. All of the Sevora. Not one. Can you believe it?”

  Sax can. The mask is a second skin. It’ll only come off if Sax forces it to. Every other way would break it, and when the mask is broken, it takes care of its own elimination. Now Sax knows what the Oratus wants, and when you know what your prey desires, you can set a trap.

  “Are you offering a deal?”

  “Yes,” the Oratus pauses, stares hard at Sax. “Take off the mask, and I’ll let you live.”

  “You’ll just give me to a Sevora. I’ll be like you.”

  “Lik
e me?” the Oratus resumes his circling. “You’ll never be like me. You live once, while I live a thousand times, in many bodies. But you, this one life of yours, will last longer.”

  “I only need to tear you apart a single time.” Sax opens his mouth wide, shows all of his teeth. They gleam in the low light, razor weapons waiting for their chance to strike.

  21 The Task

  Every child has nightmares. They see ghosts. Figments of stories that whirl in front of their eyes in the dead of night or, sometimes, when they’re alone in the jungle in the middle of the day. The man in front of me comes from those nightmares.

  His eyes, wrinkled and bordered with dark ink, stare at me. His face, etched in deep lines, appears to have seen a century, and holds all of the wisdom that went with it. His head is clear. Shaved. His body, in front of me, is thin and wrapped in a fine cloth that he pulls idly up over his left shoulder.

  Here at last I see some evidence of Jakkan’s position: his robe has many colors, and dyes are rare in both Solare and Charre. Reds and greens interspersed with dashes of blue. It makes me think of running by colorful trees. Yet, the idea strikes me as wrong. The painting isn’t quite right, the streaks not where they should be. Not natural.

  I get the idea that Jakkan rarely leaves the city. The jungle, if he’s ever seen it, is a memory and not a core of his heart like mine.

  “You see me,” Jakkan says. “Tell me, what do I look like?”

  Be careful. This one lays traps with his words.

  I hear Ignos, but there’s something in the way Jakkan speaks that compels me to answer. It might be the fact that he seems to be holding me as the center of his focus. As if I am the most important thing in his universe.

  “You look nothing like the warriors that brought me here,” I say.

  I adopt, without realizing it, the language Father uses to speak with the elders. Respectful, honest. “Yet I don’t think your strength comes from your arms and legs, but from your mind.”

  I’m about to go on, when Jakkan holds up a hand. Palm towards me. “My strength comes from Ignos,” Jakkan says, and I hear a hint of reproach in his voice. “All strength does. What he chooses to grant us is what we have. You, as a priestess, should know this.”

  I’m not sure if this is a question or not, but Jakkan doesn’t let me answer anyway. He turns away from me, walks over, in short easy steps, to a mottled black pot which seems to be boiling tea over hot coals. The small alcove bears the black-ash stains of many fires. All this leads me to believe Vaos is not only Jakkan’s temple, but his home.

  “Tell me your story,” Jakkan says as he pours himself a cup.

  My story is pretty simple. A young girl happens upon a god who crashed down from the sky. I can’t tell Jakkan that. This is the Charre high priest. I have to come up with something better.

  Ignos is ready for me. His words come streaming through my mind and I find myself spinning a tale I wouldn’t have believed if I’d heard it myself.

  “I began the same as you,” I say, stating the words as Ignos presents them. “Chosen, not by any man, but by those greater. In the middle of a fast and crowded world, where disease, wildlife, or the spirit of your enemy could make for a swift end, I survived. I grew. I began to learn what it means to serve Ignos. This, for the Solare, means placing your tribe before yourself. Your people before your own life. It’s simple, but important, and it’s what keeps our village strong.

  “However, my tribe did not let me hunt, because I am not a man. Impossible walls kept me out. So I did what I could and wished for more. I assisted in the rites, I learned to craft the clothes we wear, I practiced making the food that would feed my family. In time, Ignos recognized my devotion and my wish, which led me to you.”

  After I finish, Jakkan hands me some tea and I take a sip. Warm with a fruit-filled aftertaste. Pleasant, after a day of walking in the heat.

  “Kaishi, if I am to let you stand in front of our glorious people and preach, I must make sure you do indeed hear the words of Ignos.” Jakkan, sipping his tea between words, turns and vanishes into one of the side rooms.

  I hear a clanking clatter of things moving around. I stay still. Finish my own tea.

  “You will take this medal,” Jakkan says as he comes back into the room, a stained bronze circle hanging from a thick ribbon around his hand. “You will wear it, then you will go to the Pits, on the west side of the city. You will be found there, and you will be shown to a juar, which you will tame in the name of Ignos. Should you succeed, they will give you a different medal, which you will bring back to me.”

  “Tame a juar?” the request is so strange that I don’t understand it at first.

  Jakkan nods again.

  Ignos senses my sudden fear, but I don’t have time for his questions right now. Jakkan’s still talking, and if I’m going to get out of this, I have to listen to every word.

  “You may think you are the first one to come to me,” Jakkan continues. “The first one of our people, or any people, to come and demand to stand on this great temple and say they hear from Ignos. So I’ve devised a test. If you are truly favored, then Ignos will intervene. The task will prove as nothing to you, and you will be back here before long, ready to show us all how wrong we are.”

  22 An Attempt

  If the Oratus is intimidated by Sax’s display, he doesn’t show it. “This one said much the same.” The Oratus taps the metal plate on his chest. “He made threats. Tried to hurt himself, to hurt me.” He leans closer to Sax, who could swipe at him now, but that wouldn’t guarantee the kill. So Sax feels hot breath on him and does nothing. “Do you know what happens when we take over your mind?

  “You watch every moment. See out of your own eyes as you slaughter your friends. As you betray everything you are. This one is still here now. He is begging for you to leap at me and tear apart my throat.”

  Sax tires of listening. Tires of waiting for traps. Death comes for all Oratus at some time, and now it is his turn. So he bunches his legs and leaps. Sax knows he’ll only have one strike, so he swings, in the air, and swipes right where the Oratus asked him to: at the vulnerable slit between the armor in the neck.

  The Flaum don’t fire. The Oratus doesn’t flinch. Sax doesn’t realize his mistake until he makes contact, his midclaws catching hold of the armor so his foreclaws can do the blood work. It feels like his every nerve comes ablaze with hot fire. The Oratus lifts Sax away, and Sax does nothing; all Sax can think, all he can do, is burn.

  The Oratus throws Sax to the ground, and the mask, at least, blunts this force. It dulls the Oratus’ kick a moment later too, sprawling Sax over onto his back. With a normal shock, Sax wouldn’t be shaking now. Twisting and turning. The Oratus’ armor seems to have melted away Sax’s nerves. Left his body numb and unresponsive.

  He watches the Oratus step over him. Sees the claws spread. There’s a precise way to remove a mask, meant to be done only by the one wearing it. This Oratus knows what it is, no doubt he’s ripped it from his captive’s mind, and Sax is helpless as the creature leans down and pokes the claws on his four hands into Sax’s palms. In the exact spots where, if Sax were to clench his own claws into his own hands, they would strike.

  The mask peels away like a falling cloak; a brush of cool fabric along his skin, and it folds into a silvery pile at his feet.

  “I didn’t think that would actually work,” the Oratus says as he bends over to pick up the mask. “A theory, stolen from this one’s mind, and look at this. We have one, finally.”

  The Oratus runs a look at the Flaum in the room. “Carry him out, now. Let’s take him before he gets his function back.”

  The three Flaum struggle to lift Sax and resort to dragging him across the metal floor, and then out into the open, down one of the pathways. Sax traces the lights on the ceiling. He knows exactly where they’re taking him, and if he could snap his own neck, he would.

  Some things are far worse than death.

  23 Shopping For Survi
val

  The streets of Damantum flicker in the light of a thousand torches. Dancing shadows parade off of gold-glinted statues and homes as the city shifts into revelries. I walk down the the front of the Vaos, playing with the medallion.

  So these are giant, murderous creatures? Kaishi, I say we leave the city. Find a small village and grow our legend there. Then, when we have an army of the faithful equipped with my miracles, they’ll all come groveling to your feet.

  I reach the courtyard and look to the West. The roads leading that way dim, though the noises coming from that quarter ring over those coming from the rest of the city. Taming a juar. A jungle cat, though not many remain in Solare territory; hunted and driven away. I run my fingers along my mosswrap, cool and dry around my shoulders. It wouldn’t do me any good against such a creature.

  Exactly my point.

  So instead of heading west, towards the Pits, I go straight. Walk by merchants pulling their carts in the opposite direction; heading home. More than a few people catch my eyes as I move, drawn to the moss, or my roving glances as I try to take in all I can of the city.

  I feel their eyes on my face and its Solare features. When they notice the medallion, however, all of them look away and never turn back.

  Jakkan’s task is known throughout the city, apparently.

  Yes, go towards the gates. Though I might suggest hiding that medallion, or throwing it in some dark alley. It’s conspicuous.

  I reach the main road, which, during the day, had been crowded with stands selling everything I could imagine. Now there are fewer, but the number still gives me a moment of panic. So many people, so many options. My hands find the medallion, hanging around my neck, and grip it tight. The firm metal calms my nerves. One foot after another. I slide between the crush of people, focusing on what I’m here for than the multitude of things around me.