44

ARAK’JUR

Approaching Nanek’Hai’Tyat

Nanerat Land

Bones. He lifted a blackened femur with a delicate touch. He’d feared the worst when they’d glimpsed the charred remains of some creature here among the permanent snowfall atop the Nanerat peaks. No fear needed now: He knew it for a certainty. These were bones from a man.

“Asseena’s work?” he asked.

“It may be so,” Corenna replied. “Perhaps they tracked the last of Arak’Atan’s warriors here, into the peaks.”

He frowned, setting the bone back down amid the scorched earth. A dignified end, if it were true; whatever scavengers lived here, so high up the mountainside, had been at the corpse. Some Jintani warrior, feeding the circle of Nanerat life, left to stand where he died.

That, or a lightning storm. It was not beyond possibility, and had been his first thought when they saw the blackened earth that had melted away the snow. Only the bones made him think twice. But if there had been pursuit here, on the very peak leading to their sacred place, would Asseena not have revealed it when he asked after Arak’Atan? Searching here had been his notion. A troubling thought, if there was more to her tribe’s conflict with the Jintani than she had let on. Perhaps it was only a storm after all.

The peaks of the Nanerat towered above the foothills. On an overcast day, the summits pierced the heart of the sky, extending past the cover of the clouds. According to the Nanerat tribesmen, those were places for the spirits, certain death to any who attempted to scale their heights. Some few of the others could be scaled, and this was one such. One of the sacred mountains, set aside for the Nanerat by the spirits themselves. Having made the ascent he could well believe it. The twisting paths and switchbacks that covered the peak seemed to have been crafted to allow for the frailties of men. Treacherous, yes, and demanding of respect, but always under the protective gaze of the spirits. One could not help but feel their presence in this place. He and Corenna climbed higher, watched the world below dwindle, and he found himself overcome with its beauty. This was a place of peace and meditation, a place to let oneself be awed by the land, humbled before the power of the natural world. Even as a hunter, here to shed blood, the majesty of the peaks had a magic unto itself, older and deeper than any gift of the spirits.

Trees grew thin as they climbed, until they were replaced by sparse brush, clawing for survival through a layer of permanent snow. Even the air seemed thinner, a sensation he had not expected. The guardian’s gift made him strong, but he felt the need to breathe deep and often, and Corenna fared somewhat worse. From the beginning she’d requested they take stops to allow her to rest, to conserve her strength for the climb. He trusted to her knowledge—she had made the climb before—and did so without complaint. She’d wrapped herself in a Nanerat design of thick hides and furs she insisted left her surprisingly nimble, though he remained skeptical of the protection it offered from the cold. For himself, simple leggings, bare skin, and the blessings of the spirits sufficed, and if he would never claim Corenna was weak, still it could be said the strength of her gifts lay elsewhere. The winds were cruel and sharp here, and he was sure she felt every tooth of their bite.

Four days. And every one, he rebuked himself for allowing Corenna to join this hunt. She’d never hear it, if he gave voice to his concerns, and he kept silent. Yet for all the power she brought to bear through the women’s gifts, she risked her life making this ascent. The spirits of the Nanerat had been cruel indeed to force such trials on their women, keeping their sacred place high atop these peaks. Yet Asseena and her ilk had made this journey in reverence, knowing wisdom and power awaited them at the summit. Corenna expected only blood, and still pushed on.

“Arak’Jur,” she called, pointing up ahead.

“Another path?” he asked. Then he saw it.

A boulder, near the size of a man, lay ahead. Only instead of resting along the steep mountainside, threatening to cascade down to cause an avalanche or worse, it hovered a handspan or more above the snow, suspended in air. He looked again to confirm it, and it was so: No part of the stone touched the ground.

A moment of silence passed between them.

“Nanek’Hai’Tyat,” Corenna whispered.

“Yes,” he said. “We draw near.”

They exchanged a look, and he saw grim determination in Corenna’s eyes. No more needed be said. Whatever fatigue might have settled in as they made the day’s climb was gone in an instant.

They pressed on, winding their way around the slopes on paths just wide enough, as if they’d been cut to allow their passage. And everywhere they saw the signs. Stones and clumps of earth floated around them, gliding through the air as if it were water. Always the land was altered near a place of the spirits, but he had never seen such a display as this. As they curved around the face of the mountain, more earth and snow seemed to be suspended in the air than lay beneath their feet. No sign of such had been visible from below, yet here it was. They spiraled around the path, moving upward until, at last, they crested the final rise.

At the far side of a field of floating stone and snow, one last spire rose to the sky, with a black cave opening etched into its side. The entrance to Nanek’Hai’Tyat.

They’d arrived.

And they’d found their quarry.

Arak’Atan stood, waiting, in the middle of the field, flanked by a pair of full-grown ipek’a. Arak’Jur stepped forward, placing himself between Corenna and the deadly beasts.

“Be welcome, friends from the South,” Arak’Atan called. “The spirits have whispered to me of your coming, and so long as you mean to join yourself to their cause, you have nothing to fear here.”

He eyed the man warily, darting glances back and forth between the Jintani guardian and the ipek’a at his sides. The sight exposed a raw nerve. Great beasts could not be tamed; they lived to kill, the manifestation of the raw destructive power of the wild. And yet here they stood, long necks twisted to focus their hawkish eyes on the newcomers, seemingly content to be still and observe. Their feathers were white, which meant neither had made a kill in some time. By rights they should have slain Arak’Atan on the spot and trumpeted the news of their victory as a warning to any creatures lurking nearby. Arak’Jur knew the ways of ipek’a; he had worn that skin himself, by the grace of the spirits. Yet neither beast moved, only watched and waited.

“How have you done this, Arak’Atan?” he called, still warding Corenna behind him. “Ipek’a is no companion to men.”

“Much has changed for our people, and our gifts. The ipek’a and I serve the same cause. If you serve it as well, you will find us welcome allies.”

The unspoken threat hung in the air, bolstered by the reserved posture of the Jintani guardian.

“You make war on the Nanerat,” Corenna called back to him, managing to keep her voice neutral.

“I do.”

Even from a distance, he could feel Arak’Atan’s gaze studying them, weighing them against some hidden expectation. The ipek’a seemed to do the same, mimicking the guardian’s posture. Ipek’a was a fierce predator, but they were little more than that. When he had worn its skin, the ipek’a spirit had never revealed the curious, burning intelligence he saw now, lurking behind these creatures’ eyes. Was this in their nature? Had some part of it been kept from him? He couldn’t believe it. Something else was at work here.

He looked again, and whatever was behind those eyes dawned with understanding at the same moment he saw it for what it was. Evil. Madness.

The ipek’a trumpeted a warning blast that echoed across the mountaintop, scattering floating motes of snow and earth before the sheer force of its call.

Arak’Atan made an exaggerated sigh.

“It seems you do not share our cause, brother. I take it our honored sister stands with you as well.”

“We stand against war and madness, Arak’Atan,” Corenna called back.

The Jintani guardian nodded as if he had expected no less.

Without warning, one of the ipek’a launched itself into the air, crashing through the floating stones as if they were no more than nettling thistle. Arak’Jur sprang away from where it would land, keeping watch on Arak’Atan and the first ipek’a, still gnashing its jaws after letting loose its thundering cry. Corenna remained where she was. In the moment his heart surged with a desire to call upon lakiri’in, to race back and defend her. Just as quick he reminded himself she was more than capable of seeing to her own protection. His calling was as guardian, but to be overmindful of Corenna was to hamstring them both. He knew it, and cordoned off the portion of his mind that worried for her safety. Time now to look to his own gifts, and trust that she could handle her part.

The ipek’a landed, crashing full force into a barrier of stone Corenna conjured above her head at the last instant. A sickening screech as it swiped its scything claw across the stone, then a crunch as the rest of its massive body collided into her shield. Yes, Corenna could manage.

He shifted his focus back to Arak’Atan. The other guardian made a wordless snarl as the first of his beast companions rolled to the ground, dazed. A nimbus of cat surrounded the Jintani guardian. Mareh’et. A powerful gift, one that Arak’Jur preferred to save until need was dire. It seemed Arak’Atan had no such predilections. Even so, it could be countered with speed.

The Jintani guardian, joined by the other great beast, lowered his head and charged at Corenna. Arak’Jur called upon lakiri’in, and his limbs surged with energy. He raced across the field, taking Arak’Atan with a shoulder charge at full speed.

The two men collided, rolling together into a puff of snow floating at chest height. No time to consider what the other ipek’a was doing; Corenna would see it coming, and be on guard. He slammed a fist into Arak’Atan’s jaw before the other man could react, his limbs still surging with speed. Before they hit the ground he rained a succession of blows on Arak’Atan, with time enough to set himself for the counterattack he knew would come. And come it did. What mareh’et lacked in pure speed he made up for in the gift of his ethereal claws. Arak’Atan landed one savage cut across his left torso, with a second strike missing his head only for their crashing together into the dirt.

A lance of pain tore through him as blood sprayed into the snow, and another arcing cut went for his shoulder as they tangled together on the ground. He twisted inside the other man’s guard, landing another rain of blows to deflect the striking arm. Arak’Atan returned a backhanded slash, enough to send him sailing into the air with another rip across the chest. He sprang to his feet the moment he landed, still surging with lakiri’in’s gift, and raced forward before Arak’Atan had risen to his knees.

An instant before he crashed into the Jintani guardian, he called upon una’re, the Great Bear. This time there was no rain of blows, only a single, savage strike connecting with Arak’Atan’s left eye socket.

Hissing and popping accompanied the blow as electricity surged into Arak’Atan. Pockmarks scored the side of his face, and his eye split into pulp around Arak’Jur’s fist. A full-strength hit carrying una’re’s blessing would end a fight with any lesser man, but Arak’Atan carried the guardian’s gift. No sooner had the first sparks crackled over his skin than the Jintani guardian blinked out of existence, like a fire snuffed by sand. One moment he was there, on the receiving end of Arak’Jur’s strike, and the next he had vanished. Arak’Jur struck again for surety, to verify the man had not employed the gift of juna’ren to camouflage himself in plain sight, and met only air and snow.

“Astahg!” he cried out, for Corenna’s benefit. “The gift of astahg is to vanish and reappear. Stay on your guard.”

He sprang to his feet, turning to survey the rest of the fight. Corenna had held off the charge of the second ipek’a with another shield of stone, and switched now to her gift of ice to go on the attack. The great birdlike creatures howled as she peppered them with massive shards of deadly ice, enough to forestall any instinct they might have had to spring toward her.

Scanning the field, he saw no sign of Arak’Atan. He needed to get close to Corenna, to guard her back against an unseen strike. Maintaining una’re’s gift meant he would be too slow to cover the distance. With lakiri’in spent, that meant mareh’et.

He raced toward her, channeling the cat spirit. A gamble, if Arak’Atan could wait out mareh’et’s blessing, but one he had to take.

He closed the distance, still without sign of Arak’Atan. Just as well. If the other man thought to recover himself it meant Arak’Jur could field his gifts against the ipek’a. He took one of them from behind, tearing through its feathery hide even as Corenna provided distracting shots of ice to hold the beast’s attention. It went down into the snow, a desperate bleating cry stilling in the creature’s throat as it died.

“Down!” he shouted. Too late.

Arak’Atan had reappeared behind Corenna and caught her with a swift kick that took her legs out from beneath her, sending her into the snow. Shoving one of the floating stones out of his way, Arak’Jur sped toward them, forcing the other man to back away before he could land a killing strike. He watched as Arak’Atan’s form shifted colors, blending into the haze of white and red, snow and blood. Juna’ren’s blessing. He would have to stay near Corenna until she recovered her footing; a second unseen strike could well be fatal, especially while she was down.

By now the second ipek’a realized the shards of ice had ceased, and recovered enough to make another trumpet blast, this time less steady, less sure without the backing of its fallen pack mate. Arak’Jur called upon the juna’ren’s gift as well, feeling his form blend into the landscape behind him. Two could play at hiding.

The remaining ipek’a bobbed its head around the floating motes of snow, peering toward where he stood at Corenna’s side. But the great beast would see only the fallen form of the woman who had just pelted it with a dozen icy spears. She’d risen to her knees, propping herself up in the heartbeats it took for him to close the gap. Enough time for the ipek’a to push off with its powerful hind legs, propelling itself upward, aiming to fall atop her with deadly precision.

He moved aside, on full alert for Arak’Atan. With only juna’ren’s blessing he couldn’t withstand the force of an ipek’a’s leap.

Corenna seemed to sense the danger, rolling onto her side and filming her eyes over with pale blue. A concentrated gale of wind whipped into the ipek’a even as it crashed toward her, and he saw its innards torn open, entrails spilling down onto Corenna where she lay, pinning her to the ground. As opportune a moment as Arak’Atan was like to get. Sure enough, the Jintani guardian appeared in midair sailing toward her, having called upon the blessing of ipek’a himself.

Without thinking, Arak’Jur did the same, invoking ipek’a’s gift and launching himself into the sky.

The two men collided at full force, grappling each other as they plummeted to the ground. They struck the snow and bounced apart, each man rolling to his feet. Arak’Jur leaned back on his legs, trusting the blessing of ipek’a to hold for another flying leap. He pushed off, sailing toward Arak’Atan, expecting the other man to do the same.

Instead, the Jintani guardian held his ground, locking his remaining good eye on Arak’Jur. His pupil went red, bright red. The color of fire.

Women’s magic. Impossible.

A spear of flame seared the air around him, and he felt his skin crack and burn as he crashed into the ground, skidding helplessly to land at Arak’Atan’s feet. Pain enveloped him, a desperate stabbing pain coming from every inch of his body, salved only by the gentle cooling of the snow.

Arak’Atan stepped toward him, his left eye a mash of bloody flesh, his right eye filmed over with a red glow. Hatred twisted Arak’Atan’s gaze, and the Jintani guardian raised a hand, invoking another torrent of fire to scour the ground before him. When the flames cleared, Arak’Jur had fallen still.

Arak’Atan exhaled sharply, dropping to a knee beside his body.

A long moment passed, and Arak’Jur did not stir.

“You see, honored guardian,” Arak’Atan said, “much has changed, by the will of the spirits.”

Arak’Jur released the gift of anahret, setting aside their perfect semblance of death, and took up the gift of the valak’ar. His joints screamed pain as the serpent granted its blessing, his skin flaking and cracked from the fire. But he found strength enough to reach upward, striking through the Jintani guardian’s skin to inject the wraith-snake’s deadly poison into his heart.

He saw Arak’Atan’s one working eye widen, the red glow replaced by an empty, far-off look. And then his own vision blurred, the world seeming to fall away as he slipped back into the snow.

He awoke to the sweet smell of cooked meat, and a haze of burning pain.

A mumble died in his throat, formless words choked off by a searing fire. The slightest tremble ignited sparks hidden beneath his skin, and he fell still, followed by the dull echo of the pain. His eyes wouldn’t open.

“Arak’Jur?” Corenna’s voice. Even the vibrations of her words were spear points in his side, though there was warmth there as well. The succor of his mother, and of Rhealla, his onetime wife. Comfort.

He heard Corenna’s voice again, a muted wind that rolled over him in a wave of pain.

Once more the world faded away. At the edge of consciousness, he heard another voice, barely above a whisper.

It is time, guardian of the Sinari.

Come to us.

His eyes slid open, and he felt himself choke and sputter.

Corenna withdrew a cloth from his mouth with a gasp, leaning over where he lay.

“Arak’Jur,” she said. “Are you awake?”

This time the pain was a distant companion, though his senses felt snared down by mud.

He managed a nod, and a murmur of assent, feeling the taste of meat and broth in his throat.

Corenna replaced her cloth by the side of the fire, atop the small clay bowl she had used to cook meals on their journey. Distantly he wondered where she had managed to scrounge enough brush to light the fire, here atop the Nanerat sacred mountain. No mistaking where they were; she did not have the strength to have carried him elsewhere, and the floating motes of earth and snow made it clear enough by themselves.

“I’ve done what I can for your wounds,” she said in a soft voice, kneeling once more at his side. “Don’t exert yourself.”

He drew in a deep breath, letting the pain ripple through him, testing its limits. Bearable.

“The guardians heal quickly,” he said, forcing himself to lift his head, and look down.

“Don’t—” she began, trailing off as she watched his reaction.

She’d kept his body exposed to the cold. Certain death for another man, but a salve against the stinging burns for him. Thank the spirits she’d had the sense not to waste her furs on him; she wouldn’t have survived without them. She knew his body could handle the elements.

As for his skin, well.

It was a ruin. Hairless, cracked, and crossed with seams as if he’d been stitched together by needles. Still swollen red where the cuts ran deepest, and a tender, flushed shade of bronze even at its best.

He managed a weak laugh. “It seems I’ve seen better days.”

“Arak’Jur—”

“Thank you, Corenna. Without your aid I would be dead.”

She turned away, trying to hide a stifled sob.

He sat up, and she snapped back to face him. “No, you must rest.”

“I will recover,” he said, feeling his muscles cry out in protest. Even so, they obeyed. “How long have I slept?”

“Two days.”

He nodded. A good length of time, where the guardians’ healing gift was concerned.

“Arak’Jur, I was afraid you would not wake, that you had fallen, that I had failed you.”

“You fought well, Corenna. You did honor to your tribe.”

This time she didn’t hide her tears. He reached for her, drawing her close. She stiffened, like as not worried she would do him some injury. He held her tighter, and she softened, sobbing against his chest.

“Thank you,” she said when they separated. “I haven’t hurt you, have I?”

“I’ll survive,” he said.

She smiled, and he straightened where he sat, stretching his back. Spirits, but it burned, even now.

“Do you mean to stand?” she asked.

In reply, he curled his legs beneath him, ignoring the pain, and rose to his knees. She rose, offering him an arm. He took it, rising to his feet.

“Ah, but that feels good.” It did. The icy rush of pain washed out by the vigor of blood coursing through his body.

She let go his hand, making a show of inspecting him from all angles. “A surprising thing, the guardian’s gift,” she said. “You’ll be descending the mountain before nightfall.”

He gave a weak smile as he drew another deep breath, like drinking from a spring of pure water laced with flame, and swept a look across the field. An otherworldly place. By now clumps of blood mixed with snow and earth had joined the other motes floating above the ground, giving a crimson cast to the sunlight piercing down from the cloudless sky. And there, at the far edge of the mountaintop, the last spire, and the cave entrance to the sacred place of the Nanerat.

“Did you …?” he asked, glancing between her, the cave entrance, and the fire burning beside them.

She gave him a questioning look. “Did I what?”

“Did you enter Nanek’Hai’Tyat? Did you receive its blessing? Is that how you came to make the cookfire?”

She frowned. “No. I gathered brush for half a day to make the fire. And I see no means of entering Nanek’Hai’Tyat. It must be as the Ranasi, and Sinari sacred places: sealed shut by the spirits.”

“Sealed?” he asked, furrowing his brow. “You attempted to enter the cave, and were rebuked?”

“What cave, Arak’Jur?”

He looked once more, checking to make certain his eyes had not deceived him. It was there, a black opening in the side of the crag rising up at the far edge of the field.

“There,” he said, pointing. “You cannot see it?”

“No. Are you certain?”

“I see it now,” he said. And at once, his memory sparked. “At Ka’Ana’Tyat, you said it was sealed as well. Could you see an opening there, when we made the journey with Ilek’Inari?”

She shook her head slowly. “No. Our sacred places have been sealed shut since the spirits began their whispering madness.”

“Corenna, no. Arak’Atan bore the gift of this place, the fire he used to scourge my skin. And I can see a cave there, leading into the heart of the mountain.”

Her mouth fell open. “By the spirits,” she whispered.

They shared a long look.

“Go,” she said.

Come, a voice echoed, at the far edge of his hearing, like a whisper on the wind.

“Corenna—”

“Go,” she repeated, more firm.

“This is women’s magic, or a shaman’s. It is not my place to—”

“Would you turn your back on such a gift, Arak’Jur? Would you ignore its promise, the power to defend our peoples? If the spirits will you to receive their blessing, I would sooner it pass to you than to men like Arak’Atan.”

“It is forbidden.”

“The spirits will speak for themselves of what is forbidden. Go, Arak’Jur.”

He held her eyes.

“Go, spirits curse you.” She wore a smile, laced with bitterness. “Before you see me overcome with envy that they chose you and not me.”

“Corenna …”

“Go.”

He went.

ARAK’JUR.

The voice thundered through him, though he felt no pain. His body was distant, a memory of a memory. Had he been hurt? Here, he was whole. Here, he was aware.

BE WELCOME IN NANEK’HAI’TYAT, SON OF THE SINARI. BE WELCOME IN THE BIRTHPLACE OF PEACE.

It was the same sensation as with the great beasts, yet different as well. Softer. Older. Wiser.

My thanks for your welcome, spirits of peace.

IT IS AN OLD THING, FOR A GUARDIAN TO COME TO US. ONE WE HAD ALMOST FORGOTTEN. BUT THE TIME IS SOON UPON US. THE GODDESS WILL SOON HAVE NEED OF YOUR STRENGTH. ARE YOU CHOSEN?

Always they asked this, when he slew the great beasts. Almost he replied as he always had. Yet this time, it was not the same.

You chose me to enter here, though it is no place for a guardian.

YES. A GUARDIAN WHO WIELDS THE MAGIC OF WAR. A CHAMPION OF THE WILD.

A light washed over him, bathing him in blue radiance. He could see a face, silhouetted by the light. A woman, but none he knew.

WALK HER PATH. BECOME HER CHAMPION. SEEK ASCENSION TO THE SEAT OF THE GODS.

She is not known to me, he thought. Nor is the calling or place of which you speak.

A silence echoed between them, and then he had a sensation of twisting, shifting, as if the ground he stood on bent beneath his feet. Mist gathered around him, and he had a vision.

Death. Corrosion and decay, plague and fire. All the lands of the world crushed by the weight of torment and suffering.

THIS IS HIS WAY. THE ENEMY.

He saw his son broken, pierced by the fangs of the valak’ar. His wife, who had cast herself before the creature with a wail of agony.

Stop this, he pleaded in his mind.

THIS IS THE HOMAGE HE REQUIRES. THE REGNANT. THE ANCIENT ENEMY.

Please.

WALK HER PATH. STAND AGAINST HIS CHAMPIONS.

I stand against evil, and madness. Why do you show me these things?

Another silence, and still the images played on. Death. Suffering.

You are spirits of peace. Stop.

Torment. Anguish.

Why would you grant your gift to one such as Arak’Atan?

A reckless demand, bordering on insult to the spirits themselves. As soon as he made it, the mist faded away, leaving behind only emptiness, a vast void surrounding him on all sides.

Fear crept in. Had he overstepped?

EVEN THE POWER OF THE GODDESS CANNOT STOP AN ASCENSION. WE HAD ALMOST FORGOTTEN OUR WAYS. BUT WE FOUND YOU, FOUND YOUR PEOPLE. WE CALLED TO YOU, SUMMONED YOU TO LIVE AMONG US, TO HELP US REMEMBER. YOU CAME. AND NOW THE TIME DRAWS NEAR.

A relief to hear them speak again. Even so, the meaning behind the spirits’ words eluded him. He thought as much to them. Spirits, I do not understand.

ALL WILL BECOME CLEAR. WE WILL REMEMBER, TOGETHER. WALK HER PATH.

I will stand against evil, no matter its source.

IT WILL SERVE.

Once more the blue light shone around him, a face masked in shadow looking down on him from afar. He heard a faint sound, a melody carried on the whisper of a breath, hidden behind the light. A songbird’s greeting, in the morning after a storm. A requiem, sung for the fallen after a great hunt.

It held for a long moment before fading away. A dim whisper echoed in his mind as the song fell silent, but he could not make out the words.

WOULD YOU HAVE OUR BOON, SON OF THE SINARI?

Great spirits, I would.

Energy pulsed through him, and he felt the weight of roots sunk deep within the earth. He was the great mountain, stoic and ageless. He felt the stirring wind, beginning as the clouds themselves broke against his peak, rushing down his slopes in a gale of biting cold. Spring water bubbled beneath his surface, and the rains poured down on him, the cleansing draught of life flowing down to the creatures below. He stood against the turning of the sun, lifetimes upon lifetimes coming and going in his shade. He felt what it was for the mountains to be born, the slow crushing of one land into another, jutting great spires of rock up into the dome of the sky. He felt the liquid secret at the mountain’s heart, the price paid for tranquil serenity. Flame given form, simmering deep within. A promise, delivered in vengeful fury. He felt himself torn apart under the weight of violence, billowing smoke and ash that blackened the sky. He was the mountain, the earth given form, and his blood was fire.

The vision faded.

REMEMBER US.

The voice echoed through his head, and he expected the blackness to fade, returning him to the mountaintop. Instead he lingered, on the precipice of nothing.

Was this part of the women’s secrets? Had he missed some part of their sending?

Another whisper formed at the edge of his mind, then again. Too faint to understand, but growing in strength, as if each repetition added voices to its chorus.

At last, he understood their words.

“Let us speak.”

Again.

“Let him see.”

Now he heard a mix of voices. “He is ours.” “He belongs to us.” “He must see.”

Let them speak, he thought into the void.

At once the voice of the mountain, the voice of the spirits of Nanek’Hai’Tyat, returned. YOU WOULD HEAR THEM?

Who are they?

THE SPIRITS OF KA’ANA’TYAT. THE SPIRITS OF YOUR PEOPLE.

Yes, he thought at once. Let them speak!

The whispers coalesced as one.

“Arak’Jur,” they whispered. “We are dying. Save us.”

What? he thought. What has happened?

“War,” the voices whispered together. “War has come to the Sinari.”