Corten fell from Servala’s ship and plunged into the rolling, icy waves below. He gasped, kicking and flailing at water that felt somehow thick as mud. Clumps of grass sprouted from the crests of the waves and brushed against his fingers as his perception of the shadow world struggled against Servala’s. He could feel her will in the waves rising higher around him, seeking to slam him against the hull of the ship. He didn’t know if he could drown in death, but he had no intention of finding out.

Trying to swim only made the water feel more real around him. Instead Corten forced his fear aside and closed his eyes. He tried to dismiss the icy press of the water. He imagined fields of tall grass blowing in the wind and solid ground beneath his feet. The water flickered, becoming thick and slow like sucking mud. Corten clenched his jaw and concentrated harder. A sharp ache blossomed between his eyes, and for an instant he felt the grasses drifting around his legs twist into thick ropes like the one that had sought to bind him on Servala’s ship.

Corten kicked hard and wrenched his legs free. Servala screamed in frustration from somewhere above him. Then the water vanished and Corten stumbled, landing on his hands and knees in a field of tall grass. His clothes were perfectly dry. When he looked back, he saw only a faint shimmer where Servala’s ship had been.

“Not bad,” the shadow man said. He stood nearby, and though Corten couldn’t see his face, he thought he sensed grudging respect in the shadow’s tone.

“Why didn’t you warn me about her?” Corten asked as he got to his feet.

“I warned you not to linger,” the shadow man said. “There are more scavengers here than those who hunt the deeper dark.”

“Are you saying those monsters out there were once human souls?” Corten asked, his anger turning to horror at the thought.

The shadow man didn’t answer, and Corten threw up his hands in frustration. “Fine, don’t tell me.” He started walking away from the door and Servala’s ship.

“Where are you going?” the shadow man asked, keeping pace with Corten though his legs didn’t seem to move.

“I’m not going to stand around here and wait for her to try something else, that’s for sure,” Corten said.

“Then you must go through the door,” the shadow man said.

Corten turned to face the shadow man. “Why do you care? You keep hanging around, giving me vague warnings, but you didn’t look interested in stopping what Servala was doing. And what about all the others here?” He waved a hand at the long procession of souls drifting toward the doorway. They were fainter, barely visible outside the radius of the door’s light. “Shouldn’t you be helping some of them?”

“I am not the only guide, and most of those who come through the fringe don’t need our help. They pass on willingly and do not attract the attention of the scavengers.”

“That still doesn’t answer my first question,” Corten said. “Why are you trying so hard to get me to go through the door?”

The shadow man didn’t answer for a long moment. Finally he said, “We protect all those we can from the scavengers. We guard the fringe and the door to death.”

That still didn’t tell Corten anything more than he already knew. He considered the shadow man, trying to put together what he’d learned to form a picture that made sense. “When I fell into my own memories before, was that you trying to protect me?”

The shadow man shifted, and Corten got the impression that he was somehow uneasy. “Memories hold strength here. Strong memories, and strong wills, can shape this place. The strongest can act as a barrier to hide you from the scavengers’ sights.”

“And you can see my memories?” Corten asked.

The shadow man didn’t answer. Corten tried not to shudder at the way that dark face stared down at him, invisible eyes seeming to bore into him. Whatever the shadow man was, Corten didn’t think he was human. Though he said his job was to guide souls to the door, he didn’t seem able to intervene directly in any way other than forcing people to relive their old memories.

Everything here seemed to come back to the question of will. Maybe that was the key to fighting his way back into life. He had to harden his will, make it both armor and weapon, and carve a way out of the fringe. Corten smiled as a plan began to take shape in his mind. Servala’s ship had been a false refuge, but the idea behind it had been sound.

“What do you intend to do?” the shadow man asked.

Instead of answering, Corten turned and stared out at the darkened landscape of death. He closed his eyes and imagined the front of Matius’s shop—worn cobblestones under his feet and windows full of glass plates and bowls that glimmered in the sun. He’d been a mediocre glassworker at best, but that shop had been a refuge to him after his first resurrection. Matius had given him work and kindness, and a place where he could sit alone to come to terms with the future he’d lost.

He called to mind the feeling of quiet peace, the heat of the furnaces, and the beautiful, twisting shapes of Matius’s statues. He remembered his own small room, the dusty smell of books, and the way the morning sunlight slanted across the polished wood floors. His throat tightened. Creator, he wanted so badly to be back there, to be alive again. He wanted to kiss Naya again. He wanted to fix the chasm that had grown between him and Lucia. He even missed his parents—and Bernel, for all that he could be an annoying brat. He’d been meaning to go home and visit them for ages. Now if he couldn’t find a way out, he might never see any of them again, not on this side of the door anyway.

Bright pain flashed between Corten’s eyes, growing by the second. He didn’t let the pain distract him. He drew together all his need and pain and frustration. When it felt like his chest would explode from it, he let it out in a wordless shout of command.

His shout echoed as though bouncing off hard walls. The tinkle of rattling glass sounded around him. Corten stood perfectly still, barely daring to breathe for fear of having his hope shattered. When he finally got up the courage to open his eyes, a grin spread across his face. He was standing back in the shop. The walls were hazy, not quite as solid as Servala’s ship, but still they were there. He’d done it.

Outside, the shadow man stood on the threshold of the open doorway. Corten crossed the shop’s floor and peered into the swirling darkness of the creature’s face. Before, he had entered freely into Corten’s memories. But now Corten was the one in control. The shadow man leaned forward, and Corten felt something pushing against his will.

“Sorry,” Corten said. “But we’re done talking. I’ve got work to do.”

Then he slammed the door shut.