Ba’an slept soundly. If she had had any nightmares, she did not remember them, which suited her just fine. She lay awake in her nest of blankets and listened to the wind and Lukios’ breathing. Sunlight dappled the floor; she had gone to bed around dawn, and it was nearly mid-afternoon now.

It was obvious from the tidy kitchen and--Ba’an glanced at his sleeping form—his clean hair that he had gone to bed much later. For once, Lukios had not gone to chop wood from the akaikai grove.

Soon, he would be gone too.

Nothing lasts forever. Everything ends. Why had she allowed herself to get so comfortable?

Surely she was too old to be this foolish now.

They were supposed to leave for Kyros in the next…what, two days now? There was no reason to delay. Ba’an knew that on foot, the journey would be long. A week, if they were quick, but likely longer. It would be more accurate to say ten days, then perhaps three days in the city to see to her own needs. Another ten days to walk back alone. That was twenty-three days.

She wasn’t sure if Salu’ka had twenty-three days left. When Ba’an had placed her hand over her belly, she had felt it: the twisting coil of a geas, pulling the life from the babe, just as the babe struggled to stay alive by pulling the life from its mother.

It was not wise to travel when the sun was hottest, but Ba’an was not sure she had a choice.

The desert basin where the spirit walked was far away. On foot it would take days.

Ba’an had wings. She could go today and be back tomorrow. Faster, even, if she killed the thing quickly. Perhaps it would even bargain with her, though Ba’an did not think it would.

She would have to leave before Lukios woke. There was nothing he could do against a malevolent spirit, and even if he could do anything, it was not his problem. He had just finished recovering from nearly hemorrhaging to death.

She would have to leave now.

Ba’an turned her head to look at him. He was sleeping soundly—or at least it looked like it—with an arm flung over his eyes and his legs dangling over the edge of the bed. He was simply too big to fit in it, and Ba’an could not imagine he had been very comfortable here.

Very quietly, she got up, keeping an eye on him in case he stirred. She took a ladleful of water from the clay pot in the kitchen and drank it, knowing it was all the water she would get until she returned.

She retrieved her coat and went outside. She changed in the privy, tucking her clothes and Thu’rin’s necklace into a corner to keep the sand—well, most of it—out.

Ba’an took one step out onto the courtyard. Crows took flight and soared into the sky.

There was nothing like flying, especially if one was a flock of birds. If Ba’an had been asked, she doubted she would be able to explain even the first thing about it. Everything made sense when she was made of birds; they only started to not make sense once she became human again, her mind struggling against the memories of seeing in separate directions simultaneously, of moving in more than one direction at a time.

The view was always spectacular.

The desert basin was called so because it resembled a basin, though sometimes the K’Avaari called it “The Eye”. Long ago, something had fallen from the sky and scarred the ground, creating a crater with a deep, rounded center radiating into an oblong pan.

The Eye was a dangerous place. She could feel her skin tingling as she approached, her animal bodies sensing danger and frantically eager to turn around. Animals did not travel to this place voluntarily.

The thing that lived there was old, and always hungry.

Well, perhaps not hungry. It was a greedy thing. It simply wanted what it did not have, and simply wished to destroy what it could not take. Perhaps, once upon a time, it had known its own name and purpose, but that time had long passed.

The K’Avaari had a name for it. It was called Tik-tak Mal’uk. Hungry Mouth Devourer. Those who were either brave enough or stupid enough to explore the place in person inevitably disappeared. Witches who approached the spirit sometimes returned from their spirit-walk broken, breathing but dead inside. A few did not return at all, becoming one of the preba, the walking dead. Those had to be…put down. Extinguished.

Salu’ka must have been desperate to deal with it. What had happened? Truly?

Well, it was too late to ask now. Ba’an was here, and she would do as she had promised.

Ba’an circled the Eye, reaching out with her senses for the tingle of danger that would announce the thing’s approach.

Nothing.

Perhaps it was not interested in birds.

The crows descended. Ba’an stood up.

The place even looked ominous. There was no grass or vegetation of any kind. There was only dirt, sand, and rocks, a place of thirsty desolation surrounded on all sides by curving rock cliffs. She could see striations of different colours across the rock face of each cliff. Sometimes, it looked like the bones of some ancient creature was stuck inside the wall. She could see the imprint of curling shells along some sections. Other sections had other things—one even had a long, ivory line that very much resembled a balutra tusk, except it was far too big to belong to any balutra she’d ever seen.

It was fascinating, but unnerving. The rock walls recorded several millennia of deaths.

There was nothing here.

“Tik-tak Mal’uk!” Ba’an’s voice echoed eerily in the basin. “I am Ba’an. I wish to bargain.”

If it knew what was good for it.

If not, she would kill it.

Nothing. Only the wind, whistling above the lip of the Eye and the soft sound of shifting sand and dirt.

Thu’rin said, “Ba’an.”

She turned.

It was him. Ba’an felt her eyes widen as she took in his face, his body, the way he stood—it was him, from his dark, curly hair and broad shoulders to the way he leaned ever-so-slightly to the left to favour his right side—

“Thu’rin.” Her legs gave out and she sat abruptly. “Thu’rin.”

“Ba’an.” His strides were long, and he was in front of her in four quick steps. “Don’t cry, love.”

He was right. Ba’an wiped her cheeks with her hands. Her fingers came away wet. Don’t waste water. He knelt so he could hold her. “I’ve been waiting and waiting. Where have you been?”

“I was—“ Ba’an frowned. Where had she been? “I—”

Was she forgetting something?

It wasn’t important. She had missed him very much. Ba’an reached out to touch his face, fingers trembling.

“Never mind,” he said, “You’re here now.” He kissed her gently, and when she opened her mouth for him, he deepened the kiss, drinking her in as though he were parched. Ba’an tangled her fingers in his hair and he brought them down to the ground.

“Mmm?”

Wetness flooded her mouth. It tasted of iron.

Ba’an tried to jerk away, but Thu’rin held her down. She gagged on his blood as it poured down her throat.

She struggled, finally shoving him away so he landed on his back. Gagging, Ba’an spat onto the ground, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Her hand came away clean.

Her mouth tasted bloody.

Thu’rin was still.

“Thu’rin.” Nothing.

Ba’an flung herself beside him. “Thu’rin!”

A pool of blood spread slowly under him. His throat gaped open and his eyes stared sightlessly into the sky.

“Thu’rin! Thu’rin!” She raised her hands to press them against the wound, crying out with horror when she saw they were already bloody. In her right hand she held her knife, the edge red and glistening with blood. She dropped it. “No! I didn’t—this isn’t—”

“Ba’an,” he said, and she stared as his mouth moved in a sick parody of life. He was like a puppet made of meat. “Why? I loved you. Why?” His head moved in a way no living person’s could as he stared at her with his dead, sightless eyes. “All I ever did was love you. Why did you kill me?”

“I—”

That’s not right.

That wasn’t a question he would have asked her. This wasn’t right.

This was her guilt given voice. Her shame.

It was as though something that had been misaligned inside her snapped back into place.

Ba’an picked her knife up from the ground. She put her hand over his face and slammed him back into the dirt. “You’re already dead, Thu’rin. Stay that way.” She raised her knife and brought it down—

“--then that stupid stit-tat tripped over his own feet and stuck me with the arrow! How can anyone be so bad with a bow? I’m telling you, it’s a talent. Anyway, he’s a menace and he needs to be kept off hunts, otherwise I’m going to end up a pin-cush--- Ba’an, are you listening? I’m trying to complain about my terrible day and begging you to pull some strings. Don’t tell me I have to complain to the wall. You should at least let me pretend you like me--Ba’an? Are you alright, love?”

Ba’an blinked. She looked down. Her hands were bandaging Thu’rin’s thigh, where it had been stuck by an arrow. It had been dangerous, just barely missing the artery. He was right, Dul’kor was a menace. Thu’rin made it sound funny, but it had actually been awful. If he’d struck the artery Thu’rin would have died before she could help him.

This wasn’t even his first time making a mistake like this. Dul’kor had to be kept away from sharp things, because he had a terrible habit of sticking people with the pointy end while drunk, and he was always drunk. He had been a good hunter once, but those days were long gone.

“Ba’an?” Thu’rin’s hand was warm as he brushed the hair off her forehead. He cupped her cheek in his palm and rubbed his thumb over her cheekbone. “I’m fine. I was exaggerating. Don’t look so worried.”

She scowled. “I’m not. You should have jumped out of the way. Who stands in the way of a pointy object?”

He grinned. “There you are! Back to normal. You had me worried for a moment there.”

She gave a delicate sniff. “You’re right about Dul’kor, though. I’ll speak with Ul’ma. You should speak to your father. This is a bigger problem than we thought. You nearly--”

Blood bloomed against the bandage, and Thu’rin paled.

No. This was impossible. She had already checked the wound. The arrow had missed his artery. It had missed the artery!

Ba’an scrambled, pressing her hands against the blood pouring out of him. It was too much, too fast.

“Vaa’ti! Salu’ka! Get in here! NOW! NOW!”

Thu’rin had gone white. He was shaking, going into shock. No!

He slumped backwards, lying against the bed of the shi-vuti with his throat exposed. His necklace of cliff-cat teeth flopped onto the underside of his chin.

“Thu’rin!” Chief Tsu’kos cried out when he saw his son lying on the bed. His expression was heart-wrenching, the grooves on his face all the more obvious for the way his face was twisted, as though holding in a scream. “Ba’an! Save him! Save him!”

When did he get here? The thought surfaced through the buzzing in her head even as she frantically tried to stem the bleeding. Where were Vaa’ti and Salu’ka? What good were apprentices if they weren’t around when you needed them?

Salu’ka. I came here for Salu’ka.

What? The thought rattled through her skull, but she ignored it. Thu’rin—she had to save Thu’rin.

Thu’rin stopped shaking and lay still. Chief Tsu’kos let out a wail that was more animal than man.

“No! Ba’an!” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her so hard her head snapped back and forth as her teeth clicked. “What have you done? What have you done?”

“I--”

The feathers of her coat rustled where he gripped her.

Her coat.

She was wearing her coat.

She could hear a song like rain, whispering in her ears, cutting through the buzzing in her skull. Hungry. Yes. Hungry. She was...

That’s not how this happened. Ba’an blinked.

That’s right. She remembered. The arrow had missed his artery. Dul’kor had been banned from hunting, and he had drunk himself to death within the year.

Ba’an shoved Tsu’kos away. He was much bigger than her, so it should not have been possible, but he fell away as though he weighed nothing. “Thu’rin’s dead,” she said. “I killed him, but not like this.” He turned his face full of anguish toward her.

“Ba’an, how could you? He was my son. My only son. He loved you. Was it worth it? Look at yourself! You’re an abomination now.”

“I am,” she agreed. She stalked toward him, and his eyes widened.

The thing was afraid of her. Good.

She reached out to grab its face, but her hands met only air.

She turned, looking for it.

Ba’an was no longer inside the shi-vuti.

She was outside, high up on the Ashe-ballan. The Ancient Place. The mountain was dizzyingly high up, to the point that the air was thin and cold. Small, hardy shrubs had grown at the base, but at this height there was nothing. No living thing could survive at this altitude for long.

There was blood all over the ground.

Ah. This. Of course it would be this.

The first was Lu’kir. He had fallen first. Ba’an walked to his crumpled body, his hand clenched around his spear even in death. He had fought until the very end, luring away the beasts the mountain god had called until one of them had torn his throat out. His face had always had a sly, secretive look, his mouth quirking into a little half-smile that most people found off-putting. It couldn’t be helped; that was just how he’d smiled.

He’d followed her up Ashe-ballan and died to keep them alive.

Ba’an knelt by his body and shut his eyes. She arranged him the best she could. She hadn’t been able to do this for real; they had been too busy running. I’m sorry, Lu’kir. We could not honour your body. Goodbye my friend.

Ba’an walked up the mountain.

The second to fall had been Ash’a. She had been a big woman, the same size and look as Lu’kir, which should have surprised no one as they had been twins. For a fraternal pair, they had been remarkably alike. She had been a fast runner, much stronger than Ba’an, but with more gentleness than anyone could have guessed. Ash’a had liked playing with Ba’an’s hair, even though Ba’an had hated it.

She missed it now.

Ash’a lay crumpled against the rocky cliff that had formed when a piece of the mountain had, at some point, fallen off. Her body was bent at an unnatural angle. She had been tossed into the cliff hard enough to snap her spine in two places.

Her quiver was still strapped to her thigh. Her bow had gone flying when she did.

Ba’an shut her eyes too, silently apologizing for her failures. May your soul run free with the strifa. She brushed Ash’a’s hair off her forehead, then straightened her body so she lay as though she were only sleeping. Goodbye. I love you.

She continued up the path, then slowed. Ba’an swallowed.

This would be difficult.

Ul’ma’s body was sitting. She had been old, her hair just wisps of white against her skull, her face more wrinkles than smooth skin. Even so, Ul’ma had come. “My last journey,” she had said, and then she had cackled as though delighted.

Ul’ma had come knowing she would die.

Her body sat in the path, slumped over. She had a wizened, dried-up look, as though all of her water had been squeezed out of her.

Ul’ma had done that to herself. She had been a powerful witch in her youth, and she had burned herself up shielding Ba’an and Thu’rin from the mountain’s wrath. Spirit after spirit and contract after contract had failed and fallen in the face of Enha-naus-hasa-en’s fury until only Ul’ma was left—but Ul’ma had not run.

Ul’ma had stayed behind, so Ba’an and Thu’rin could live.

Ba’an had not even realized she had died until she had run nearly to the top, until Ul’ma’s song had frayed and drifted away at long last, whispering in Ba’an’s ear one last time.

Ba’an approached Ul’ma’s withered, empty shell. The old witch’s eyes were already shut, expression peaceful. Ba’an gently stroked her hair, remembering a time when Ul’ma had done the same for her. It had been a long, long time ago. Thank you. I will never forget anything you taught me. I love you.

Ba’an kissed her forehead, her closed eyes. She was careful not to disturb her too much, afraid her body would simply crumble to dust. She did not think she could take it if it did. Ba’an stood looking at her mentor who had been more her mother than the one who had birthed her, heart squeezing painfully in her chest.

It was time to move on.

Ba’an already knew who she would find at the top.

Her heart was drumming against her ribs. Even so, there was no help for it. It was getting easier—not just the visions, but the magic. She could feel the warp and weft of it now, the way its song tried to mimic Ba’an’s own to twist her.

This creature was very, very good at what it did.

She could feel the threads of it now, though. She knew where it was hiding.

The altar was really just a large slab of stone. It was old, stained from sacrifices stretching back past even her tribe’s long memory. It was not common for witches to come here, because the mountain was as treacherous as it was powerful. Some witches who came up never made it back down, and so it was only in times of great need that one came to petition Enha-naus-hasa-en.

She had been an old god, small as she was. Old and capricious—and full of power.

Even her name had been full of magic, full of fury. Singing it had torn Ba’an’s throat raw until she had swallowed blood with every breath. It had not mattered.

Ba’an had not come to ask.

Ba’an had not come to bargain.

Ba’an had come to take.

She had reached the top. Thunder boomed, and rain came down in torrents. It was unnatural, and lightning nearly struck her more than once. Each time, Ba’an forced it to strike elsewhere.

This was her domain. Her dream. Her memories.

Ba’an walked forward beneath the pounding rain, her heart steady as a drum. She knew this spirit’s game. It would not shake her, not anymore.

Lightning streaked from the sky, striking the ground. In its flash she saw the naked stones of the mountainside, the rock pillars that cradled the stained and bloody altar and the unmistakable shape of a man lying there, still and silent with his head thrown back, throat exposed.

Something was wrong.

Ba’an stopped, a sick feeling welling up from just beneath her ribs.

His legs were too long. She recognized the way they dangled, lean and rangy.

Her breath stuttered in her chest.

No.

Her feet moved on their own, propelling her forward as her heart hammered at her ribs.

No.

The rain made everything wet and dark, but she could still see his hair was the wrong colour. It was too fair.

In the sun she knew it would gleam like gold, throwing back the light.

Ba’an stopped at the altar and looked down.

Lukios’ dead face stared up at her, his throat gaping open. It was a bloody mockery of his usual smile—cruel and deliberate. She could see down to the bone. His skin was covered in fresh blood, as was the stone under him.

Ba’an stared in silence for a long time.

“Tik-tak Mal’uk,” she said finally. “I am going to eat you.”

Lukios’ dead face twisted into a sneer. It was disconcerting; Lukios had never sneered at her before. She had not known he could make such an ugly expression—but of course this was not Lukios.

“Abomination,” it greeted her in Lukios’ voice and her stomach twisted even as the rage that had been building inside her flared. “Your body will fail before then,” the thing promised, and Ba’an abruptly realized that more time had passed than she had thought. She was sitting alone in the desert, under the sun. That had been the entire point. “Then I will eat you.”

She had to end this. Now.

The thing struck. Ba’an jumped back, and she felt the creature’s magic rise, finally discordant against her own. She plucked at it, then tore at the seams keeping the illusion in place.

The Ancient Place fell away. Ba’an was standing in the Eye.

She had to hurry. Now that she was herself again, she could feel her own thirst. It was night. She had baked beneath the sun all day and she could feel the weakness in her limbs, the fatigue. Sunstroke.

Not all of the magic had been stripped away. The thing still wore Lukios’ face, though the wound was gone. Did it think that would stop her from killing it? The sight of it only enraged her further.

Ba’an was sluggish. When it struck, she was too slow to avoid it. Pain burst in her shoulder, and she fell back with a hoarse cry. Her dry throat spasmed and she doubled over coughing, toppling over backward as she tried to avoid the thing that was determined to kill her.

It came after her, and she tried to scoot backward on her bottom—but of course it was useless.

The thing grabbed her around the throat with one hand and lifted her off her feet, laughing. Ba’an choked, hands going around it reflexively as her feet kicked in the air. Her fingers dug into its skin but it only continued laughing merrily, Lukios’ handsome face twisting into something horrible and repulsive.

It wasn’t only a spirit. The thing had a physical body too.

Just what was it? Could it be…one of basa'an?

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all what this thing was.

It was dinner.

Ba’an reached with her magic and yanked, viciously, trying to rip its soul out of its body. She would eat it, exactly as she promised, and lucky for her it was stupid enough to touch her, skin-to-skin.

Ba'an was hungry.

With a sharp, furious cry it tossed her aside. Ba’an tumbled through the air, shocked by how strong the thing was—it was far, far stronger than a man of Lukios’ size ought to be—and exploded into a flurry of crows before she hit the ground and broke something.

Cawing, she fluttered into the air, circling. The thing wearing Lukios’ face looked up at her, and she could feel the gentle tug of its magic as it began to weave another enchantment.

It would never finish.

Ba’an spun her fury into her coat then pulled the magic, now raging like a storm, through herself. Enha-naus-hasa-en had been a god of rain and thunder, though she had made her home up a mountain. It had been a favorite trick of hers to swoop down onto her enemies as a flock of crows, dragging the deadliest of thunderstorms behind her.

Enha-naus-hasa-en was dead. Her power was Ba’an’s now.

Ba’an circled tightly, spilling magic into the air until it grew heavy and electric. She streaked back down, and lightning followed. Thunder boomed in her wake.

The creature bolted. The threads of whatever it had been weaving released, dissipating into nothing.

It was fast, even on two legs.

Lightning struck where it had been standing, scorching the sand into glass. It zig-zagged over the flat ground, keeping just ahead of each lightning strike. It was as though the creature somehow knew where the next strike would come, as though it was simply reading Ba’an’s magic even as she wove it.

It was very clever, this Tik-Tak Mal’uk. She would have to finish this quickly, before it came up with a new trick.

Ba’an pulled at the wind, forcing it to rise. Sand sprayed up from the ground in a localized sandstorm, dropping visibility and choking whatever unfortunate thing was caught in its rage.

The thing had lungs. Let it drown.

Ba’an had known it was unlikely to be blinded—physically, yes, but the thing had magic, whatever it was; it was tracking her the way she tracked souls. Still, it irritated her when it dodged her yet again, as though the sandstorm did nothing to impede its mobility.

It might have looked like Lukios, but it didn’t move like him. It didn’t move like it was human.

Never mind. Just kill it. Now.

She missed again. Furious, Ba’an gave chase, but the creature was simply too fast; even with her wings, it was outrunning her.

Ba’an swooped down lower, cawing in its face but it dropped into a roll, tilting away at an angle that should have been impossible.

It skittered away on all fours, limbs elongating like a spider’s. Its human face only made it more disturbing.

Enough.

Ba’an focused. Crows rose into the sky in perfect synchronicity, then began to fly in a tight cluster overhead, following the not-man thing running along the ground.

Now. They swooped, one by one, bringing lightning from the sky. The bolts struck around the thing in a rapid-fire circle of electric death, caging it. The last bolt struck directly from above.

It hit.

The thing jerked with a scream. It shook it off to keep going, but a crow swooped into its face and lightning struck it again.

And again.

And again.

The air smelled like burning meat. Lukios’ handsome visage was a ruin now, the skin melting off like wax from a candle. Within its shell was a mess of bloody, moving bits; nothing about its insides resembled a human, or even an animal.

The crows cawed, diving; just before they struck, they coalesced into a woman. Ba’an landed on the thing, her hand over its face.

It screamed, its voice a bizarre overlay of sounds.

Her coat shimmered, moving like a living thing around her as she pulled--

It took a long time to pull the thing’s soul—if it could be called that—into herself. The coat shimmied over her skin, hungry and excited.

She couldn’t call the thing tasty. It wasn’t. It was--

--disgusting, actually.

Revolting.

The thing’s body collapsed like an empty waterskin. Ba’an stared down at the meat, which now seemed to resemble a kind of thick, bloody jelly. It seemed to be half-decomposed already.

It was dead.

Ba’an swayed. Something was wrong. Usually she felt full—blessedly full—after taking a sizeable soul. But now she felt--

--like she had swallowed something bad. It felt like a stone covered in spines inside her belly.

She pressed her hands against her stomach. Something was crawling up her throat. She couldn’t--

Ba’an vomited. There was only water and acid when she retched.

Ba’an blinked and stared up at the sky. When had she gotten on her back? She couldn’t remember. She was dizzy.

Her stomach seized again and she turned her head to the side. Moaning, she vomited again.

And again.

And again.

Distantly, she could feel raindrops falling. She had only had a ladleful of water all day. She’d sweated and vomited, had wept tears.

She tried to catch raindrops in her mouth, but she only gagged. She turned her face as she vomited again, though there was nothing left to bring up. She coughed, choking.

Ba’an began to laugh, gagging and gasping.

What a stupid way to die.

Arrogance. That had always been her problem. Arrogance.

She’d eaten the thing, just as she’d promised, but it looked like it would have the last laugh instead.

Stupid.

She wondered if she would see them again once she died. Did Abominations get to come back, too? Would she recognize them if she did? She didn’t know.

At least Salu’ka and her baby would live.

They had better name it after me.

It was the least they could do.

She hoped Lukios would go to Kyros on his own instead of waiting for a dead woman.

Ba’an shut her eyes and let go.