Dull white light suffused the whole of the landscape—the strange blue-stemmed bushes on her right, the gold sand, the black stones—but Elenai saw no sun. It was easy to doubt they traveled beyond the stable terrain of Erymyr for, apart from the odd scrub, the land features resembled country about its capital, Darassus. Even the wind-clawed clouds in the gray sky looked normal, but there really was no sun. It wasn’t hidden behind clouds, or sinking, or rising, it simply wasn’t there. And that meant, bright as things were, that there were no shadows. How, she wondered, did someone moving through the Shifting Lands gauge the passage of time?
Out in the wild areas between the five realms fashioned by the Gods, there was no knowing when a sun would rise, what characteristics it would have, or even if it would rise at all. The landscape might lie unchanged for a month, or a day, then transform entirely. She’d never traveled the Shifting Lands without a dedicated guide and had never glimpsed the horrors that were standard story fare on such journeys. Nothing moved out here besides herself, Kyrkenall, and their mounts, but Elenai kept constant watch for monsters, things born of madness that defied the rules of ordinary reality.
Kyrkenall rode ahead, seemingly untroubled, though his ring glittered at full strength.
At the thought of it, Elenai looked down to the band about her own finger, the back side of the ring that brightened her blue khalat where its light escaped her palm. Kyrkenall had taken both Cargen’s and K’narr’s, pocketing one and bestowing the other upon her. Too many had been lost through the years, he’d said, and he wasn’t about to leave these in the hands of their enemies.
While Elenai could scarce remember a time when she hadn’t craved the badges of Altenerai office, she’d expected to earn them, not to have them handed to her freshly looted from a murderer’s corpse. She thought it inappropriate to wear a ring with the stone showing, so she’d turned its face. Regrettably there was no way to disguise the iconic khalat. Cargen’s garment was broader and shorter than ideal, but still far lighter and more flexible than her squire’s armor. Kyrkenall had insisted she wear it, bloodstains or no. She would, he had told her last night, need its protection when they were followed, just as she would need the magical shield of the ring.
Elenai had noted even then his assurance that they would be followed. He apparently had no doubt.
Kyrkenall had said the tower lay along Erymyr’s lonely, mountainous northern edge, so she’d been puzzled when they rode more westerly.
“We’ve got to confuse them,” he’d explained. “So long as we’re in Erymyr they can send message birds ahead and requisition fresh mounts from staging posts. It’s harder to track people through the shifts. We’ll divert into them and ride just outside the border before we angle back in for the northern peninsula. With any luck that will slow the pursuit so we get to the tower first.”
She supposed that made sense, though Kyrkenall seemed to take travel in the wilds a lot more casually than anyone else she’d ever met. They had to ride hard, well into the night, before they exited into the Shifting Lands, a shorter journey than during his youth, Kyrkenall had commented. They’d continued to trek into an unrelenting “day,” with no breaks for rest, and weariness weighed on her. Elenai had no idea how used she was to regular meals and sleep until she was without them. She ached in unfamiliar parts of her back and legs, and her thoughts meandered sluggishly in fruitless circles of unanswered questions. Kyrkenall remained silent here, so Elenai imitated his example. She expected he was concentrating on unseen dangers, or calculating their next moves.
Some several hours on, or so it seemed, they halted. Kyrkenall led them to a high dry spot, poured water into an eelskin bowl, and offered it to his horse. While the animal drank greedily, the archer sipped from a worn looking wineskin.
Elenai slipped stiffly down from Aron, arranged water for him in the metal helm they’d pulled off Alten K’narr’s body, and joined Kyrkenall in the consideration of the horizon. She resisted the urge to collapse to the invitingly verdant ground, hopeful that she’d rest easier knowing more of his plans.
“Do you feel that?” he asked.
He wasn’t touching her or even looking at her, so she supposed he meant using her other senses. Was there some danger here? Wary, she exerted more effort than usual to reach out through the inner world. Everything in the Shifting Lands felt … tenuous. It looked real, like a carefully crafted stage backdrop, but she was worried that if she probed too hard she might accidentally puncture a hole through the simulated reality. Was that even possible? But she detected no imminent threat.
“Do you mean the Shifting Lands?” she asked him.
“Yes.”
“I’ve felt their energies before, but I’ve never journeyed as deep. Not without a guide.” Was he trying to introduce her to elementary sciences? Why weren’t they discussing more urgent matters, like how close he thought the pursuers were and what conspiracy might really be under way and what they were going to do when they reached the tower?
“Try again.” He stamped his right foot, twice, upon the ground. “We’re on a splinter. A tiny one, no more than a half mile wide. It’s real. Feel without weaving. You’ve got to be able to sense these things.”
Elenai did as she was bade, and swiftly grew frustrated. It was difficult not to use her inborn connection to the inner world, and draining whenever she inadvertently did. She cleared her throat and ventured a thought. “Alten, maybe you’re using sorcery and just don’t know it.”
He shot her a weary look. “Maybe you should take orders and not question them.” Kyrkenall gestured back to the landscape and took another swig.
She was too exasperated to try again. “Are we going to make stop for the day? And how do you even know when a day is over?”
Infuriatingly, he ignored her query and inserted one of his own. “Why are you so angry all of a sudden?”
“Why am I…” She spluttered in disbelief. She hadn’t meant to sound angry, but now that he mentioned it … “I pledged my life to the Altenerai and now I’m on the run and probably hunted by them, an enemy to the crown!” His derisive snort angered her even further. “But you’re just talking to me about the Shifting Lands! How are we going to clear our names?”
Kyrkenall replaced the container at his side, frowning. “Things didn’t quite work out the way you wanted. I do sympathize. Really. They didn’t work out the way Asrahn wanted, either.” His mocking tone stung her. “How nice it would be if you could simply close your eyes and live in that placid little bubble where you thought everything was perfectly fine. Here’s the thing, Squire. It wasn’t. It hasn’t been ‘fine’ for a very, very long time. You just didn’t know.”
Kyrkenall barely paused for a breath, sounding angry himself.
“Shift storms raging all the damn time somewhere and belching out monsters to rampage the fringe. The Naor raiding with near impunity. And not only does our queen do nothing to protect the people of the outer realms, she actually weakens us futher by having her pet Denaven siphon off our best mages and equipment to that auxiliary of hers.” He’d grown more agitated as he spoke, as if he lectured an invisible audience rather than her alone. “Why do you think so many of the old guard stay away? Only Tretton, Varama, and Asrahn, the ‘duty first’ diehards, station themselves in the center—and Tretton’s off on patrol as much as he can be.”
“But Commander Denaven—”
Kyrkenall cut her off. “Why do you think Decrin and Cerai and Enada are usually off on the frontier? Why do you think Belahn’s in The Fragments, and Aradel resigned?”
Almost she retorted it was because Belahn was old and Enada was battle hungry. While Elenai was still struggling with an answer, he spoke on, sounding a little more conciliatory.
“You’ve been dealt some surprises. But then so have our opponents. And we’re making good time. Now…” He raised his other hand and opened his palm to reveal a little gray rock.
“What’s that?”
“What do you think it is?”
She was worn out and annoyed, but she forced calm and resisted the impulse to consider the rock through the inner world. He seemed to want her to study it with her eyes, so she did. It was rounded and plain save for a line of white through its center. “I don’t know.”
“They not teach you much about traveling the shifts?”
“No, sir.” She resisted the impulse to vent her frustration again.
“It’s a rock from Erymyr, pulled from the Idris itself, near the edge of the city of Darassus. As long as I’m holding this, I have a sense of where Erymyr lies in relation to me. You could probably sense it better, being a magic wielder and not having to rely on a ring.”
“Oh,” she said. Almost she added that she knew about focusing agents, but she guessed she sounded ignorant enough already. Her necklace talismans were focusing agents of a different sort.
Kyrkenall lowered his hand and patted a small black pouch on his belt. “We all carry a collection of rocks or other things to make travel easier.”
“Isn’t it hard to tell the focus agents apart?”
“That’s why you pick distinctive items. N’lahr used to carve little letters on his.” Kyrkenall snorted. “He was terrible at this. But Kalandra—she didn’t need any objects for focusing agents.” He looked off into the distance and fell silent.
“Do you really think someone’s following us?”
“If not, they will, eventually. I’m hoping the rain will obscure our tracks and complicate things. But I’m not counting on it. If they’ve recruited Tretton to follow us, he won’t be slowed in the slightest. And a talented mage might be able to follow the passage we carve through the shifts. We leave a tiny echo of order until those lands change over substantially.”
“Oh.” Elenai was starting to suspect there was a vast amount of information out there she wasn’t aware of. She was just about to ask another question when he continued.
“And we’ve got another problem. The hearthstone I’m carting around is still active. A weaver who knows how to look for them can hone in on it with another hearthstone and follow us practically anywhere.”
She’d had no idea about that particular problem, but then she’d never heard about hearthstones until yesterday. “How easy are they to make inactive?”
“Not easy at all,” Kyrkenall said grimly. “It takes great skill.”
That probably explained why he hadn’t brought the matter up with her. She tried not to let her disappointment show. “Why don’t we just drop it?”
“Tempting.” She saw his lip curl, briefly. “But I’ll be damned if I’m turning it back over to them. What I wouldn’t give to have a pair of ko’aye. We could fly to the tower far ahead of anyone else without much trace. But that wagon lost its wheels when the queen broke the treaty.”
At her raised eyebrows, he sighed. “I suppose they’re teaching some crap in the academy about the ‘primitive’ ko’aye carrying on their blood feud with the Naor after we ‘chose the path of peace.’ They wouldn’t bother to mention the queen broke a pact with our ko’aye allies when she declared her ‘peace.’ We promised we’d protect their lands if they helped us, and instead she left them to be burned from their homes and hunted like animals by any Naor mini-king wanting to make a name for himself.”
Elenai had heard that the ko’aye had been incapable of understanding complex ideas and that they’d abandoned civilized lands when confused by the cessation of conflict, but she didn’t interrupt to say as much.
“That was the end of our alliance. I think all the ko’aye hate us at this point, except for Lelanc. Can’t say as I blame them.”
Elenai knew the name Lelanc. She was the feathered serpent Alten Aradel had ridden in the war. Was he suggesting the current governor of The Fragments still held the loyalty of a winged ko’aye? That was news. But, then no squires had been posted to The Fragments since Aradel resigned her commission as alten. Elenai had been told Aradel refused contact with her former comrades but a different scenario now seemed more likely. “Have you seen Aradel since the war?”
“Sure. Just last year. Why wouldn’t I?” Kyrkenall fixed her with a penetrating gaze from those weird black eyes.
“We were told that Governor Aradel wanted no reminder of her former service to the Altenerai, but I suppose Commander Denaven just wanted to keep us away from her.”
Kyrkenall replied more warmly, as if pleased with her insight. “Aye. We’ve had a good laugh or two over that particular half-truth. Aradel certainly wants nothing to do with Denaven.”
He lifted an arm and pointed off toward their left. “We’ll be riding that way. I want to head out a little farther until we veer back toward the Chasm Tower. If they focus in on the hearthstone and see us heading that way, they’ll assume we’re riding on for Kanesh, if they haven’t already decided that from our tracks.”
“This tower—why is it out in the middle of nowhere?”
He considered her for a moment. “You ask a lot of questions.”
She wondered if he meant she was being impertinent.
But Kyrkenall’s answering tone was light. “It was built generations ago, back when the Shifting Lands were less chaotic, and dangerous stuff only crawled up out of a few spots around the realms. They erected the tower near one of those places. Nowadays the currents have changed and not much happens there. Maybe,” he added, “because the storms are happening everywhere else.”
She nodded.
“Here’s the important thing. Until now we’ve been close to the realm of Erymyr. That’s meant that the terrain in the shifts tends to resemble the secure land nearby. As we head farther out, things might get a little strange, especially with the way the shifts have been lately. Did anyone teach you how to anchor?”
“Anchor?” She recalled reading about the term, so she wished her voice hadn’t sounded so naive.
“Don’t they show you anything? Look. Your core is real.” He paused to tap her diaphragm, completely oblivious to, or uncaring about, the sudden invasion of her private space. “Almost nothing else around here is.”
She struggled to pay attention to his words and not the flush she felt at his proximity.
“When we go into the shifting deeps you’ve got to hold onto your own reality. And the ring. You may even need to use the hearthstone, if things get really bad. But don’t get too close to the hearthstone when you drop into the inner world.”
He’d already warned her about reaching for the hearthstone. He’d yet to explain. “Why not?”
“It might grab hold and never let you go.”
She felt her eyes widen. “It’s alive?”
He shrugged. “Not really. But when you lean too heavily on any tool, it’s a crutch. And if you get used to having a crutch, you fall over when someone yanks it away. Don’t get comfortable with a hearthstone, Squire. It’s seductive.”
“I’ll be careful,” she said without knowing exactly what she guarded against. Her skin still tingled where he’d pressed her khalat to her body, and that troubled her. This was the wrong time and place for an infatuation, no matter how handsome or capable the man was.
Kyrkenall didn’t seem to have noticed her reaction. “See that you are. You’ve also got to start trusting your other senses. Sure, employ your sorcery, but there’re things out here that detect weaving. Things you don’t want to meet.”
Almost she asked him for details, but she decided against it.
“Now our rest time’s over, so check your horse, check your gear, and answer any needs you have. Things might start getting real interesting.”
This was a rest?
Kyrkenall walked a little way down slope. As Elenai turned away to inspect Aron’s horseshoes, she heard Kyrkenall whistling faintly while relieving himself.
This was not what she’d expected when she’d dreamed of riding with Altenerai champions. Somehow the plays of Selana never depicted these details. She stretched her aching muscles quickly and splashed a little water on her face.
Once they were back in the saddle, Kyrkenall struck off in the direction he’d indicated, and she tried at first to “feel,” as he’d said, finding nothing at all without using sorcery. The Alten rode on, seemingly tireless, back straight, content with silence.
Elenai chewed some jerky he’d passed her and tried imagining what would be happening in Darassus. Were the squires exercising in the yard, or were they enjoying the festival? Were there funeral preparations underway for Asrahn?
How simple and beautiful that boring, steady existence had been. And she hadn’t seen it. She wondered if given the opportunity to unlearn what she now knew, she would.
Asrahn would still be dead. And Altenerai had killed him. Had it just been those few, or were there other traitors among them? How and why, precisely, had it happened, and who had ordered it?
On they rode, and Aron’s steady gait grew monotonous, a hypnotic lure. She longed to lie down, and she had to fight against drifting into dreams. Two things had been stressed to her about travel through the Shifting Lands. Stay alert, and spend as little time there as possible. The alten was deliberately disregarding the latter admonition, and she was struggling with the former.
Kyrkenall halted his horse and turned, looking beyond her.
She stopped and followed his gaze. The hazy blue on the horizon to their rear had darkened to indigo.
“Tell me you felt that,” he said.
“No,” she was forced to admit.
He studied the horizon.
“Is that a storm?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Is it going to hit us?”
“Probably.” His voice was tense. “We’re at least three hours out. Come on.”
With a light tap he urged his mare into a canter and Elenai followed.
Her own mount began to tire only a few miles later, and Kyrkenall realized it. He cursed, slid down from his saddle, and inspected Aron’s hooves and fetlocks.
Elenai watched him from her saddle as he moved around. She was too tired to think of climbing back in the saddle if she left it. “Is there something wrong with him?”
Kyrkenall shook his dark locks as he stepped back. “He’s just not as seasoned as Lyria.” He glanced up, his eerie black eyes unreadable. “We’d better not press. We may have to tap their reserves if that’s a bad storm. Are you a praying person, Elenai?”
“Yes.”
“Then offer one up.” He smiled faintly. “It can’t hurt anything.”
This was such a peculiar sentiment that she couldn’t help blurting out a question. “Don’t you believe in prayer?”
Kyrkenall paused in the act of lifting his boot to his stirrup. “What just god would be moved to aid you only because you ask for it? Isn’t that a little egotistical? If I were on high and saw you were in dire straits, should I hold off helping until you told me how great I was?” He climbed into the saddle.
She was stunned by his tone even as his words invited some agreement. “Prayer shows your respect,” she managed.
“Sure. Well, prayer’s good for those who believe in it. Helps them get focused. Makes them feel better. And people fight better when they feel better.”
She noted that in a few short words Kyrkenall had managed to be both casually blasphemous and condescending.
The character of the land grew more rugged. They had to detour around a deep canyon too wide to jump. Elenai was sure a more experienced mage could have shaped a land bridge for them. The Shifting Lands were supposed to be easy to manipulate, but she didn’t feel comfortable attempting anything so complex, and Kyrkenall didn’t ask her to try.
A short while later the sky behind them was dusky gray and the wind whipped little bits of grit at their backs.
Kyrkenall looked less and less happy. The glances over his shoulder had grown more frequent. At least the prospect of peril made it easier for her to stay awake.
Finally he halted and motioned her to ride up. They sat saddle side by side, staring at the wall of black sweeping behind them.
“There’s no way we’ll make it to solid land before it hits us. It’ll be on us in about a half hour.”
That storm front looked downright frightening. A maelstom in the Shifting Lands could remake the reality around it, destroying any solid bits of ordered matter it struck in the process. “That sounds bad.”
“It is. On the brighter side, it’ll completely obliterate signs of our passage.” He let out a little breath and swung down without touching the stirrup, motioning for her to join him. Her dismount was far stiffer and clumsier than his. “I want you to start working with the hearthstone.” He dug through his saddlebag and handed over the cloth-wrapped bundle.
She hadn’t expected that, and wryly supposed she should be getting used to surprise by now. She felt a ripple of energy as her hands closed on the cloth, despite not being remotely connected to the inner world. If the magical energies had been water, her hands would have been thoroughly wetted the moment she touched the object.
Aron flicked his ears back, snorting uncomfortably as she pulled the cloth aside and confronted the glittering brilliance of the … strange rock. Is that what this great magical instrument was, really, an overgrown shining mineral? She felt her heart race, and her fatigue didn’t so much fall away as diminish to insignificance. Nothing mattered but the mystery of the hearthstone.
“It’s already drawing you, isn’t it?” Kyrkenall asked. “I’m told the trick is to not completely submerge yourself, no matter how good it feels. Don’t get lost. Stay rooted in your self. That’s even more important right now, for us. You’ve got to make this landscape real.”
He was asking a lot. She tried not to betray the alarm she felt in her expression.
“How?” she asked.
He frowned. His gaze shifted to the storm and back to her, then he spoke quickly. “With magical sight, you can see how the things around you are put together, right?”
“Through the inner world. Yes.”
“And unless you’re standing on a fragment or a splinter, the structure of everything is weaker out here in the shifts, right?” He went on without waiting for an answer. “So you just strengthen it. Bring in new supports to add to the existing ones.”
But how? she wanted to scream.
“I’m not sure exactly how,” he answered the unspoken query, “but you can use the hearthstone to increase the energy of spells. You can use that energy to enhance how inanimate things are held together, like adding more timbers to a house. Kalandra told me as much.”
Elenai thought quickly. “So if I add similar looking energy lines to the ground around us, I can keep it from shifting when the storm hits?”
“Exactly. Can you do that?”
“I’ll try.” Elenai strove to sound confident.
“You’d damned well better try, Squire, or we’re liable to end up breathing sand or swimming in a lake of lava. There aren’t many mistakes allowed out here.”
She sought to make a joke of it. “So no pressure, then.”
He didn’t laugh. “Just do whatever the mages have told you. Focus your energies, see into the—”
“I can do it,” she said, surprised at the cutting sound in her voice. She swiftly added: “Alten.”
“Prove it.”
The key to looking deeply into the inner world without getting lost in it was to center one’s self, and that was a little more challenging under the circumstances. But she closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath, then counted down from ten as she imagined becoming light as a cloud.
Elenai had never been as interested in magery as martial training, despite her natural affinity, but had long since learned to find her center. Opening her eyes, she looked upon the inner world. Unlike the intricate, well-harmonized assemblies of energies she was accustomed to, objects viewed this way in the Shifting Lands appeared unfinished at a basic structural level, like homes built with far too few upright beams. Even the living matrices of the nearby plants looked slapdash, unsustainable, and she realized that just a casual adjustment might reorder them. She could never accomplish that with real creatures from one of the realms.
“What do you think?” Kyrkenall asked.
“I’m still getting used to it,” she said shortly. His intrusion was an irritant. She turned her full attention to the hearthstone glowing gently, warmly, like a comfortable blaze in a country cottage. She saw that its own structure was too dense to study, the rich filaments that composed it so thickly twisted she grew confused trying to follow one of them even a little way to its source. They softly insinuated themselves into whatever lay nearby. She wasn’t alarmed by that until she tentatively touched one with her life force and let out a gasp as they intertwined with the threads of her own existence, imbuing her with coruscating power. Her fatigue slipped away completely.
“You all right?”
She was glorious, but she only managed a nod. If he’d served so closely with mages, why was he constantly interrupting?
“We’ve only got a few minutes before the storm hits,” Kyrkenall told her.
Either the storm had closed much faster, or it had taken longer to align her energies with the stone than had been apparent. She licked her lips. The hearthstone energy was now twisted about the surface of her own life force, as if she had pushed into a tangle of vines and withdrawn her hand to find some gently wrapped about her arm. By manipulating tendrils of her will through the hearthstone, she saw how easy it was to add energy to the surrounding material.
She swept her threads through the terrain around them in a circle ten foot in diameter. The fragile underlayment took on solidity before her eyes. It no longer magically felt as if they were standing upon thin roof shingles. This, she thought with a thrill, must be what it’s like to be a goddess.
She released her hold on the inner world to better gauge what was happening in the distance and gaped at what she saw.
The sky all about them was howling black. How had she missed that? Kyrkenall, ring glowing bright, held tight to both animals as his garments whipped in the wind. The horses whinnied repeatedly in fright.
She sent a little pulse of energy through the hearthstone and with careless ease calmed both animals. Altering emotional energy had never been so simple.
The storm rolled into them and the substance of the land rolled with it. First everything but the tiny circle of dark soil she’d reinforced blew away, leaving only a landscape of undulating red rock. A searing eruption of white lightning filled the heavens.
Elenai had never struggled so fiercely with her weaving. A wave of water rolled over that red rock, tower high, and she threw out her hands to generate the magical energy to ward it with a gust of wind. Astonishingly, it worked. The torrent rolled past their pocket of safety.
And then the water receded and strange land features popped into view one after another before swirling away. One moment she looked upon black forested valleys, the next upon a dunescape with a tortuous blue sun that burned away the moisture in the soil beneath their feet and scorched their exposed skin. It vanished to be replaced by a cool, temperate night of looming purple stones. Kyrkenall’s blue light set the nearest of them sparkling.
Still the wind blew, and with her inner sight she knew it for a physical manifestation of the magical currents.
Of a sudden, everything around them spun away to a gray blankness, like a canvas ready for painting. She gulped in panic for the sheer force of the energies striving to invade their little island of calm. There was no ground, and that around them was desperate to fall away into nothingness. Again and again she sent forth threads of her will to fortify the soil they stood upon. So great was her concentration that she temporarily lost hold of the horses, and Aron whinnied, wildly tossing his head as he backed away.
She couldn’t have him distracting her while she weaved! She lashed out with her will to calm him, and the poor animal shuddered as he froze in place behind her. She noticed that in her exertions the Altenerai ring she wore had somehow twisted around with gem-side out. It glittered at full strength.
Lightning slashed the sky as the wind whistled up, and a strange creature large as a wagon undulated out of the darkness, borne on a thousand buzzing, glowing little wings, like a finned eel carried by hornets. Kyrkenall fitted arrow to bow as the monster moved closer and longingly extended a trio of proboscises toward them. In only a few more moments one of those things would be close enough to touch, and she could just about guarantee she didn’t want that to happen.
She tried sending a gust of wind its way and saw the monster fighting to maintain course even as Kyrkenall launched an arrow. The shaft imbedded in the base of one waving proboscis, and its body contorted in fury just as the darkness was shattered by glowing rain that struck their skin without moistening them. The creature was lost to sight in the blinding deluge, and for a few tense moments Elenai braced for renewed attack from every direction.
But then the rain ceased and sun-blasted salt flats wavered into view. A pinkish orb hung low on the horizon and wind trailed little whirls of red dust in its wake. Nearer at hand lay the vast skeleton of a long-dead fish, its spines soaring like temple arches from the withered ground.
The storm had run its course, and she relaxed, only realizing as she sucked in breaths that she’d been winded from the exertions.
Kyrkenall nodded at her, a tight smile on his handsome features. “Not bad, Squire. Not bad at all.”
“Not bad, sir?” She grinned at him, surprised by how weak she sounded. Small wonder—she’d wielded greater power in a single half hour than she would have been capable of in an entire month of spell casting. Maybe an entire year.
“You’d best pull away from the hearthstone.”
“I think,” she admitted, “it’s the only thing keeping me upright.”
“All the more reason to relinquish it. You risk losing yourself if you’re still attached when you go under.”
She had read about the inherent dangers of peering too long or too intently through the inner world. Death was one of the less nasty side effects. She didn’t feel that much in danger. The hearthstone was a comforting presence. But she decided to humor him and withdraw.
It was the last thing she remembered for many hours.