82

Ash

I open my eyes, blinking against the bright light and wince at my aching head. Where am I?

Icy air burns the inside of my nose and with it comes the scent of snow, pine sap, and wet bark. Not indoors, that’s for sure. A horse whinnies in the distance and is answered by two others. More sounds waft into my awareness: crows, a braying donkey, whispering voices. I try to lift my hands but find them weighed down with chains. The links clank together, the metal burning my wrists. “Who’s there?”

The whispering stops. “Come on, Initiate. You can do it this time.”

“Do what?”

I shift my legs. They are folded under me, on the cold, hard ground. Several savants, all brown-robes, stand around me. Brown-robes? Not young initiates, that’s certain. These are adult savants, men and women both. “Who are you? What do you want?” I can’t remember a b’lark’n thing about how I got here. My head swims as I try to recall where I was last.

One of the brown-robes chants from an open book while others tap wooden drums. What language are they speaking? Both the music and the chanting hovers on the edge of my memory, just out of reach. I startle when one of them kneels by my side. He unlocks the chains, and my hands feel so light I think they’ll float away. There are runes carved into the metal. A stab of pain hits me, but not from the manacles.

“Do you want to remember?” My inner voice is suddenly back and not making much sense.

Remember what?

“Where you were last?”

I open the door in my mind a crack and in comes a wave of unbearable grief. I slam the door shut before it reaches me.

As the chains snake away, I lift my head, taking in the surroundings. Anything to divert me from the sorrow in my soul. No wonder I’m freezing. I’m in the middle of a field of hardpacked ice banked with drifts of snow. The cold creeps up from the ground and sucks all the warmth from my limbs, along with the strength. Pines fringe the field. They block the wind as it tosses about in their treetops. Above them, there is no sign of the second sun but the yellow one shines in the west.

I swallow a bittersweet taste in the back of my throat. I recognize it. Piper mixes something like this to warm the body and bring on a restful sleep. I promise, it’s not working on either count. I’m dressed in a quilted white-robe and sheepskin boots but still shiver. All I can think is how in the First Bone Thrower’s path to An’awntia did I end up here? My mind is gruel down the drain.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, Initiate,” a female says to me, then turns to the crowd. And there is a crowd, watching from the sidelines and packed into a stand of tiered seating. They’re bundled in long coats and plain, brown robes, faces hidden inside large, pointy cowls. Cheers rise and I feel their expectations, but for what?

“Silence. Let her focus,” she says and then to me she whispers, “Initiate, raise your phantom.”

“Pardon?” They are about to be badly disappointed if this is what they are waiting for. “Sorry. You have this all wrong. I’m non-savant.” But as I think about it, I don’t know why I should be apologizing to them. I lift my chin and repeat. “I am non-savant!” It’s not like it’s an infirmity.

“Raise your phantom!” she says, her voice booming.

I press my palms over my eyes, hoping that when I take them away, the nightmare will end, and I’ll be awake, journeying along the road with Marcus, Kaylin, and—

My gut twists. “No,” I whisper to myself, but it’s too late. The memory floods in with all its cut glass and knives slicing every nerve. Please. Not this.

Because, truth be, I don’t know where Marcus and the others are, but for Kaylin, I do. He’s gone, dead on the road to Asyleen. Peace be his path.

My heart pounds, my chest so tight I can’t breathe. My limbs go numb and I search the field, looking for some way to escape. I spot a pair of young, sad eyes. A boy’s, maybe eleven. He’s in a white robe. His hair is golden, like Marcus’s when he was the same age.

“Marcus!” I cry out for him. My throat vibrates but the scream never leaves my lips. I bow forward in a heap. Help me, Marcus. Please. I’m so lost.