WE MARCH ALONG THE well-worn trade route between Logos and Fiori, one of the few paths in the Vapid left alone by the Rippers—at least most of the time. It took a bit of time to convince Faruq to come with me and make contact with the resistance. His reservations were understandable, but the resistance may be the only way to find his sister—and besides, Fiori is one of the few enclaves where Musuls seem to be free of Baqir and Kapka, not to mention the criminal warlords in Kahanga.

Without warning, Faruq stops and surveys the horizon. He pulls a small prayer mat from I don’t know where, lays it out, and kneels on it, facing east.

“What are you doing?”

He glances at me. “It is time for me to pray.”

“It most certainly is not. Get up, we have to keep moving.”

“No. This is my duty.”

Faruq touches his forehead to the mat, offering prayers to Ilāh.

“You’re going to do this right now, in the middle of the Vapid, while we stand exposed?”

Faruq does not answer.

No point arguing. Just let him get it over with. Who am I to judge him for being true to his ways? His faith is valuable to him. It’s all he’s ever known. Just like the rest of us, he is trying to make sense of the madness in his life.

Mere minutes later, he stands and collects his mat.

“We ready?”

“Of course.”

One tired foot in front of the other and without speaking, we move at a painfully fast pace down the snow-covered Vapid road. Every step brings us closer to Fiori and our destination: the Forgotten Jewel.

The silence is too loud, even for me. “When we get to the Forgotten Jewel, you’ll need to tell them everything you know about Kapka and your sister, so they can help find her. Think of it as a trade. When was the last time you saw her?”

“We got separated after I came back to Kapka’s palace for you. She was hiding, but when I returned, she was gone. One of the street merchants told me he thought he saw her hide in a trader’s cart. If this is true, she could be anywhere.”

“And you figured she may have come to Logos?” I keep walking, head down, chin tucked into the rat stink of my furry collar.

“Partly, though when I saw Logos destroyed, I knew she would have fled already. She’s resourceful.”

“Why all the effort to get past the guards?”

“I was looking for you.”

“Oh?”

“I know it seems strange, but I felt I knew too much. I had to come and tell you, and ...”

“Yeah?”

“I thought you might help me find my sister in return. You know how to get around better than I do.”

“You said you knew something. That it was bad. Are you going to tell me before we get to Fiori? Probably best if I’m aware, so we’re singing from the same hymn sheet.”

“Hymn sheet?”

“Forget it.”

Faruq shrugs and sinks his hands deep into his pockets, his breath steaming from his lips. “I saw it. The Creed ships dropping from the clouds. Logos burning. I came to find you and instead, I watched it all. Your home, destroyed. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah. I appreciate that. Sorry won’t bring them back, though. It won’t bring Clief back.”

“Your friend?” he asks.

“He was.”

“That’s not the worst of it, Mila.”

“Go on.”

“While looking for my sister, I overheard a few of Kapka’s guards talking. He’s planning on blowing up the lillipad supports over all but the Musul enclaves, wiping out the non-Musuls above and below all at once. He has the men and the resources to do it. With nearly all who might oppose him out of the picture, his rise to the top of the ash heap would be swift. There would be no one who could effectively oppose his rule.”

“He’s insane. Or he already believes the Leader will double-cross him. Maybe both.”

“The Leader?”

“Of the Graciles.”

“Double-crossing? I don’t understand.”

“They’re in league with each other, or at least they were. Joined forces to keep Robusts at bay. I saw it with my own eyes. Though I think the Leader is deceiving him.”

“That’s a terrifying thought.”

“Tell me about it. Hang on a second, Faruq.” I stop along the path, watching a trader’s small convoy with a security contingent approaching us along the frozen road. “Help me understand something.”

Faruq turns expectantly.

“You believe your god is the one true god, just as I do. Correct?”

Faruq nods and raises his hands. “Yes. Ilah is great and merciful.”

“What I experienced as a child was not great or merciful.”

He studies me intently.

“Okay, answer me this: Why are you against Kapka if he is promoting your god, your people, and their ways?”

Faruq sucks in a breath. “When I was young, Kapka murdered my father out of jealousy and took my mother as a wife.”

“What’s that got to do with—ˮ

“Let me finish. The story of my father is for another day—what’s important is I lived in Kapka’s fortress with my mother for years. He tolerated me at best, treating me with indifference. I hated him. I knew what he had done. When my mother became ill, I was old enough to know things were changing for the worst. Kapka offered me a place in his ranks, but I had seen the things those men do. I refused. I was beaten and, along with my sick mother and half sister, cast into the frozen streets. We were told we should be grateful for our lives. The cold was too much. My mother died in my arms.”

“We all have a story, Faruq. But does that mean you disagree with his religious beliefs and his agenda?”

“My god’s message is one of peace and unity. Do you think what Kapka did to my family, his own people, reflects that message?”

“I guess not, no.”

“He has manipulated my people through fear, bribery, and the worst types of deception. Many stay silent for fear of retaliation against their families if they speak out. Others are confused, brainwashed into believing that the murder of unbelievers in the name of our god is honorable.”

“I see.”

“Okay, now it is my turn,” Faruq says.

“Oh.”

“Yes. My turn to ask you something.”

I don’t like this reversal, but it’s only fair. “Okay, Faruq. What do you want to know?”

The trader’s cart approaches, and we step off the path to let them pass.

“Why do you hate us so?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“For most Logosians, yes. But for you, it’s personal. You said what you experienced wasn’t great or merciful. Explain it to me.”

I don’t want to talk about this. “Some other time, okay?”

“No. I answered your question. You should do the same for me.” Faruq stares expectantly.

A moment passes, the bitter wind biting through my clothes. “You want to know why? Here it is. It was evening, and I was on my way to meet my mother in the markets of Zopat.” My chest is tight, and I’m unable to hold his gaze. “Mother always said to stick to the crowded streets. I decided to take a shortcut through an alleyway. It was a game. I was racing my brother. It was stupid, but I ... I was just a girl—like your sister.”

Faruq shifts uncomfortably.

“I was surrounded by a group of savag—uh ... men. They were Musuls.” I’ve never said this to anyone. Why this man? Why now? I can’t stop my hands from shaking. “They cut my face.” I motion to my scar. “And um ... they, uh ... they ...”

“It’s okay. That’s enough.” Faruq holds up his hand.

“No, it’s not okay. I need to say it. They dragged me into an abandoned building and raped me. They took advantage of a child who couldn’t fight back.” The words stick in my throat. “After that, I guess ... I wasn’t sure how I could ever be a whole person again.”

Faruq stands in silence, head bowed, eyes closed. The traveler’s cart with its piles of silks and wares passes us and continues on its way.

“The teachings of Yeos say I should forgive them ...” Zevry would tell me to forgive them.

“But you can’t. I understand.”

“I’m trying, okay?” I let out a loaded sigh and flick the hair from my face. “This is a part of me.”

Faruq nods and graciously says nothing, turning back toward the path.

The awkward silence doesn’t last. Ragged sounds like wounded animals trapped in the metal teeth of a snare pierce the air. A mass of Rippers rises from behind a rocky outcropping and descends upon the nearby trader’s caravan.

Faruq shoves me from the path and drags me to the ground. “Be silent,” he whispers.

We watch as the maddened Rippers surround the caravan, flooding the road, howling and yelping and swinging their primitive weapons fashioned from scrap and junk. The security contingent is paralyzed with fear, and one by one they’re viciously murdered. An antique single-shot rifle pops and echoes across the frozen landscape, sending one Ripper to the ground. The trigger man, the last surviving member of the security contingent, tries to fight them off with his now-empty rifle. He has no time to reload. In moments, he’s overwhelmed and speared through the chest. Another Ripper cleaves the man’s head from his body with what I can describe only as an old pirate cutlass. Pulling it free, the Ripper hoots and parades the gore-covered head for the others to see.

For a while, they scavenge—stealing everything they can lay hands on from the cart—fighting over every little perceived valuable. Then they start to eat, pulling on the uncooked flesh of their victims with their bare teeth. Above, on the rocky outcropping, a large Ripper stands watching over the group. He howls, and all movement stops. The chieftain grunts and motions with a heavy spear, prompting the Rippers one by one to come forward and leave something at his feet—a portion of their spoils, a trinket, a hunk of meat. When they’re finished, he screams again and thrusts his spear into the air. The rest of the Rippers erupt into a squall of screaming and yelping and jumping.

They were people like us once, criminals maybe, but people nonetheless. Before they were cast out into the Vapid. Forced to live like animals, to kill or be killed. My eyes widen at the unbridled carnage. The horror stories about them are real.

Faruq nudges me sharply in the ribs, and I follow his lead, slinking away from the road. They won’t be preoccupied forever, and if we’re seen, we’ll undoubtedly share the same fate as those unfortunate travelers. Easing back down the slope, Faruq and I exchange worried glances as we slip out of sight. I’d like to keep my head on my shoulders for just a while longer.