Blades of grass scratched at Po’s face. He lifted his head and chest from the ground and peered over the swell of the hill. Below, the Sisters stood in a tight knot—Thruss, Rehal, and Kiva. Their lips moved, but Po was too far away to make out what they were saying, couldn’t even hear their voices as a murmur carried on the wind.
Off to the left, some distance away from where Kiva and her friends clumped on the grass, stood what looked to Po like a huge bird made of gleaming black stone. Kiva said it carried the Strangers in its belly.
“Nothing’s happening,” Quint said, crouched a few paces behind Po.
“I can see that,” Po muttered.
“Then get back down,” Quint said. “Wait for the signal.”
Po lowered himself back to the ground and looked to his right and left, where the other Forsaken men lay on the ground as well, poised to react to Kiva’s signal as it was relayed to Quint. Kiva had told them what to look for before she’d gone down with Thruss and Rehal: when she understood the situation, understood whether the Strangers meant them harm or not, she’d raise her arm in the air. Then, if she dropped it back to her side, that meant all was safe; raising a single finger meant that Po should fire a harmless warning shot; and a clenched fist meant that the Forsaken should use their weapons to kill every last one of the Strangers.
Po rolled onto his side, reached over his shoulder to take an arrow from the quiver on his back, then eyed the point of the arrowhead as he notched the fletched end in the taut string of his bow.
“Hold on,” Quint said suddenly.
“What is it?” Po glanced back.
Quint was craning her neck from her crouch, eyes narrowed as she tried to get a better look.
“Something’s happening,” Quint said.
A low-pitched whirring sound sliced through the air, a thrum of mechanical parts moving and scraping against each other. Part of the bird’s black shell was peeling away from its body and lowering on a hinge toward the ground. Kiva’s pulse quickened. She could feel the fear of Thruss and Rehal rising, and she reached out to grab each of her friends by the hand. She looked first to Thruss, then to Rehal, forcing a smile she was pleased to see each girl return.
She closed her eyes and reached out with her mind into the empty space where the Ancestors dwelled, hoping for some final echo to confirm that she was doing the right thing. She saw and heard nothing—but she felt a sense of peace wash over her, a feeling of resignation, a feeling that whatever happened next was unstoppable and had been ordained long ago, a feeling that was almost hopeful as it came from the Ancestors and coursed through her body.
Kiva let out a slow breath and opened her eyes. She nodded to herself, nodded at the wisdom of the feeling that had come to her from the Ancestors. Then she spoke.
“Don’t be afraid, Sisters,” she said. “Whatever happens next, we are in the care of the Ancestors. Whatever happens next, we must let it come and meet it without fear.”
The door touched the ground as she finished speaking, and the loud thrum ceased.
There came a silence in which nothing could be heard but the breeze whispering in Kiva’s ears.
Then a figure stepped into the opening in the bird’s side.
The light of the Great Mother didn’t reach the figure where it stood. Its face was shrouded in darkness.
For a moment, nothing moved. Even the wind, the grasses were still.
Then the figure stepped forward, and the breath left Kiva’s body as she saw the broad shoulders and long, lanky limbs, the dark hair, the smooth cheeks, and the blue eyes of a boy—the same boy she’d seen in her visions.
“Matthew,” she said aloud.