32

Pirra had been in the Hall of Whispers forever, whirling and chanting in a cloud of incense. Words of power streamed behind her like smoke, cutting her off from the mortal world.

Against her thigh lay the silver knife that would soon sever her spirit. Before her rose the sacred horns and between them like a dark Moon hung the obsidian mirror that would reveal the face of the Goddess.

Incense, wine, and poppy juice had blunted her terror, but deep inside, the fierce bright kernel that remained Pirra fought to make out Hylas’ voice from the distant clamor of fighting.

Still chanting, she uncovered the basket and drew out a snake in either hand. Heavy coils entwined her arms. She felt the tiny pinch of scales gripping her flesh, and narrow black tongues flicking out to taste her skin.

Still chanting, she grasped the sacrificial vessel of green serpentine shaped like a bull’s head, and from its gilded muzzle poured a stream of wine in a vast dark spiral on the floor, moving inward until she stood at the heart of the vortex.

With a ringing shout, she uttered the final word of power, and shattered the bull’s head on the stones. Even now, her spirit fluttered in a desperate bid for freedom—but the dark spiral sucked her down, then lifted her high in a blinding flash that scorched away terror, doubt, humanity. She stared into the obsidian mirror . . .

. . . and the Goddess stared back.

The girl named Pirra is gone. The face in the mirror is the Shining One: She Who Has Power.

Shards of serpentine are sharp beneath Her feet, but She feels no pain, for She is immortal. She will descend into the Underworld and release Her Brother the Earthshaker. She will ascend and summon Her Brother the Lord of the Sky, and together They will bring back the Sun. Then with the silver blade She will cut Her deathless spirit free from its mortal flesh . . .

Down, down She goes, and opens the doors of the Underworld. She calls to Her Brother the Earthshaker, who bows His mighty head and walks toward Her. She holds out Her hand, and His moist breath heats Her palm. With Her other hand on the matted hair between His horns, She bids Him go, and rid Keftiu of evil.

A bat flickered past Hylas as he limped down the passage. His calf throbbed where the arrow had grazed it, and he’d dropped his axe in the attack; he felt horribly vulnerable.

And he was worried about Havoc. He would never have escaped if she hadn’t attacked that archer—but had she gotten away unhurt? Where was she now?

And where was Pirra? A while back, he’d heard her chanting in the distance, then a shout—and silence. Was that part of the Mystery, or was she in trouble?

By his reckoning, there couldn’t be many Crows left in Kunisu. The archer had fled with his companions, convinced that the place was full of man-eating beasts—but this still left Telamon and Kreon. What if they’d found Pirra? And how was he, Hylas, to find her, when he had no idea where he was?

Another bat flickered past, and he glimpsed a whipsnake disappearing down a drain. Turning a corner, he found himself in a passage with doors stretching ahead, each marked with a handprint, except one. Hylas’ spirit shrank. He was back where he’d sprung his final trap and the Crows had fought each other.

As he limped closer, he smelled blood and saw dead warriors slumped in the doorway. Waxy fists clutched bloodied weapons and he caught a snaky gleam of entrails.

He fled, not caring where he went, and from the tail of his eye he saw a ghostly warrior sit up and stare with hollow eyes.

Hylas lurched around a corner, careening into a huge jar that toppled with a crash.

Ghostly footsteps echoed. It was coming after him.

He blundered into a screen, clawed his way through a silk hanging, then another that rattled like bones.

Still the footsteps came on.

At last he had to pause, bent double and gasping for air. The thing was still following—but now he heard breath. What stalked him was no ghost; it was a living man, pursuing him with the steady tread of a warrior intent on his prey.

In panic, Hylas shouldered open the nearest door—and burst out into the shocking daylight of the Great Court.

He saw the sacred olive tree at its heart and the giant double axe at the north end that guarded the ramp to the understory. On all sides, painted crowds stared back at him with silent scorn. Wherever he turned, the doors were barred. With a sensation of falling, he knew he was trapped in this naked space where there was nowhere to hide.

From the doorway he’d just fled walked a warrior. With unhurried ease he shut the doors behind him, and turned to face Hylas.

“At last,” said Kreon.