Refuge

We filled our mouths and waterskins, but the rain did not stop. In fact, the storm rose to epic levels. Raindrops became stinging projectiles. Wind screamed across the dunes. Clothes drenched, I clutched my pack close to my chest, hoping the waterproof container within was protecting my writings.

“What do we do?” shouted the Singer, shivering.

The Knight looked helpless. “I haven’t exactly dealt with this before.”

“We need shelter,” I said, pointing at the buildings before us. “We can always—”

“No,” said the Knight. “Absolutely not.”

A bolt of lightning shattered the night. It struck the crest of a nearby dune, scorching a jagged streak onto my eyes.

No time to argue. The Hunter was already going in. I slid down the sandy slope, landing on a flat stone roof behind the Hunter. It was slick, but I managed to follow her from the roof to a lower roof, and from there, I descended to the ancient street below. The city embraced me. The rain already seemed quieter at the street level of the ghost town, where the white stone walls shielded me from the wind.

Asuana turned a door knob on a door with a strange symbol on it. I thought nothing of it except that I noticed that the door across the street bore the same symbol. I wondered if all of the doors did.

Only after I followed Asuana in did I realize the rest of the pilgrims had followed. “Be careful,” said Lilly behind me. Just then, wind whipped down the city street, pushing her through the door into my arms. She clung to me for a moment then pushed herself away. Like a welcoming mat, sand flowed from the door into the street. After the rest of the pilgrims had crunched their way into the building, I pulled the door shut, shutting out the sound of the storm. We found ourselves in the foyer of a house that looked much bigger than it had from the outside.

Set in the walls like torches, there were crystals that began to glow the moment the door shut. It gave the whole scene a soft blue light. “What strange magic!” said the Wizard. “I’m surprised it works after all these years…”

A carpet of dry sand covered the floor. Here and there, alien furniture stuck out at odd angles. A table carved like a hand leaned against a window, as if holding it shut. Shattered pottery painted in pastels sat crooked in one corner. All items were partially submerged in sand and shadow. Lightning flashed through the windows.

The other pilgrims joined us when Asuana and I sat on the carpet of sand. None of them—even the Wizard—showed any scholarly desire to explore. My own dream was fresh in my mind. What would it be like to look out your window as streets fill with sand, to watch it seep into your house as you slowly suffocate? I wondered if, beneath the sand, there lay skeletons of ancient citizens. I wondered if their remains were perfectly preserved…

This made me glance at the Mourner, who was settling into a corner, next to where the Hunter was settling in. With her veil and dark clothing, nothing really seemed amiss. I didn’t buy the Hunter’s story, that she had simply stumbled upon a reanimated corpse and made friends with it. There had to be more to it.

The Knight was unrolling a sleeping bag near the table that looked like a hand. “Try to get some sleep,” he said. “The moment the rain stops, we’re moving.” The Wizard wordlessly followed suit, as did the Fool, who had taken to watching the Wizard and copying his every move.

“Stop it,” said the Wizard, unrolling his bag. “I can see you watching me out of the corner of my eye.” But the Fool just grinned and unrolled his own sleeping bag.

I found a spot beside what had once, perhaps, been a fireplace or cooking hearth. The Singer sat down next to me, leaving Lilly to decide which group to join. Instead of joining anyone, though, she sat in the middle of the room, slightly elevated, atop the small sand dune that had been lying in this living room for who knew how long. She was in the center of the room, beneath a skylight that occasionally flashed with lightning.

When I felt the Singer put her head on my shoulder, I groaned inwardly. All I really wanted to do was get the Hunter alone so I could ask more questions. But this business with the Singer and Lilly was making things complicated. To make matters worse, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the Singer’s affections weren’t really about me, that there was something going on beneath the surface.

A restless silence persisted for a few minutes until Lilly broke it by saying suddenly, “Tell me, do you attract lots of men?”

The Singer acted affronted, but I guessed that she was probably pleased at the opportunity to talk about herself. “Some,” she said, feigning modesty. Modesty looked odd on her, like clothes that didn’t fit.

“And do you sleep with all of them?” said Lilly. “No seriously. I’m genuinely curious.” The mood in the room was suddenly tense. “Enlighten us.”

“You’re young,” said the Singer. “No need to rush enlightenment.”

“I’m the same age as Nial,” Lilly pointed out, still feigning friendliness. I couldn’t tell what she was trying to accomplish. When the Singer blinked, Lilly went on: “Maybe you could enlighten both of us? What is it like to be in love? We are both so very curious!”

“You’ve heard my voice…” said the Singer, grudgingly playing along. “So I suspect you already know.” She ran a hand through her hair, which somehow was beautiful even though she had just walked in from the rain.

“Ah, yes,” said Lilly, “No one could take their eyes off of you. Including me! But…” Lilly stopped and pretended to think. I could tell she was pretending because she made a show of rubbing her chin, as if she had a beard like the Wizard. “Don’t you think it’s a bit unethical? Being a walking love-spell, I mean.”

This, the Singer was ready for, retorting immediately: “I almost never use it. I prefer to do things the old fashioned way.” She leaned close, and I got the feeling she was going to try to kiss my cheek while looking Lilly directly in the eye. The idea made me nauseous, so I pulled away before that could happen.

“And yet,” said Lilly, “even if you don’t use it, you always know that you could. What will you do, if…” Lilly paused and swallowed pretending to be anxious about what she was about to say, “if…” Lilly took a deep breath and said, “Sorry. This is hard. I’ll just spit it out real fast. Here goes. What-will-you-do-if-Nial-doesn’t…” She interrupted herself with a gasp, as if she had needed to come up for air mid-sentence. “Wow. You’re right! Being young does make it hard to have big thoughts!” More exaggerated deep breaths, then: “Okay, let me try once more. I’ll go slowly this time. What if… Nial decides… for some crazy reason… that he just… I don’t know… doesn’t… like you?” Then, pretending to be exhausted from the effort, she feigned collapsing onto the sand. Panting and looking up at the skylight above her, she said: “You talk now, Gwen. My young brain is simply exhausted from all these old people thoughts you’re making me have!”

The Singer said coldly, “You’re not the first person to be jealous of me. I don’t have to apologize for being wanted.”

“Help a young girl out here,” said Lilly. “I want to learn the ‘mysteries of love.’ Practically yesterday, you were sneaking into the night with Sir Mau. Today, you’re trying to kiss Nial’s cheek while you look me in the eye. And Sir Mau is literally right there.” She pointed at where Sir Mau was pretending to take inventory of the things in his backpack. He glanced up and mumbled something that no one heard over the rain hitting the skylight.

“We discussed it,” said the Singer, looking at Sir Mau. “That’s the thing about love that you’ll only understand when you’re older. It doesn’t last forever.” Then she did kiss me while looking Lilly right in the eye, “Life.” She snapped her fingers with the hand that wasn’t around my arm. “It’s over like that.”

No one spoke. Even Lilly. Death was already on everyone’s minds.

The Singer went on: “Underneath that sand you’re sitting on,” she said, “I’d be willing to bet you’ll find bodies embracing each other, frozen in time. They knew their world was ending, so they held onto each other for just a few more seconds before the end. And now their bones embrace for eternity.”

Again, no one spoke. Perhaps it was out of reverence for the dead whose house they were sitting in. Perhaps it was because they had all seen plenty of death in the last few days, making the brevity of life a particularly resonant idea. So the Singer concluded: “That’s what you’ll understand when you’re older. You want to know the ‘mysteries of love?’ Better get started. And don’t stop. Because our lives are….” She trailed off. Then she shrugged and simply snapped her fingers to conclude her argument. “Just like Madam Bela.”

The way she said Madam Bela’s name, never taking her eyes off of Lilly helped me put together what might be going on. Maybe I hadn’t been the only one to see those bruises. And if the Knight and Singer had seen them, then they had probably discussed the matter. They might even have a theory about who’d done it. Maybe their entire breakup had been a sham, and the Singer was on a mission to swoop in and suss out if Lilly or I were the killers. I was simultaneously proud of myself for looking beneath the surface, and also barely able to hold back the torrent of other “beneath the surface” possibilities: What if the Singer was the killer, and what if I was her next target? What if the Singer and Knight were in league with each other?

Lilly nodded slowly from her reclining position, seeming to really digest what the Singer was saying, slowly coming to a seated position. Then she chuckled. “It’s funny you should mention death. You’d be surprised, actually, how much this young, naive, silly girl here happens to know about the topic. I wasn’t going to bring it up but…” She said this in a way that made it quite clear that she had meant to bring it up all along: “I think you killed Madam Bela.”

Suddenly everyone sat very still. I saw the Hunter’s hand settle on her knife. The Knight straightened up and started to mumble something, but the Wizard cut him off:

“Young lady,” said the Wizard. “That is a dubious and (I must add) very impolite accusation. We were all watching Gwen while Madam Bela suffered what we at the Academy might call a ‘stress-induced heart failure.’ Gwen Florence could not have killed her. And to be honest, I don’t think it’s healthy to be considering the possibility that anyone killed her. If you ask me—”

Lilly cut him off: “You’re right. We were all watching. We all watched… and listened… as she used one of the most powerful spells I have ever seen. Or, heard, I should say.” She looked over her shoulder at the Wizard. “I mean, be honest,” she said. “Have you seen a spell like that before? She opens her mouth and suddenly everyone can’t take their eyes off of her.” Then, meeting my gaze: “But I know a thing or two about magic, and I believe there’s more to that love spell than, shall we say… ‘meets the ear’. Don’t you, Professor?”

The Wizard pondered the matter silently, which is what convinced me that Lilly was not crazy. I confess that I felt my heart sink: I had thought that Lilly was making a big deal about the Singer’s behavior because she loved me and was jealous. But now it seemed that she had been bating the Singer into this conversation in order to accuse her of murder. I tried to pull away, and the Singer allowed it.

“Tell us again,” said Lilly, “how lives are over…” She snapped her fingers. “Like that.”

“You think,” said the Singer, very softly, very coldly, as if her entire facade of warmth had been wiped away, revealing the cold and calculating thing beneath the surface, “that my voice is more than a mere love spell?” She smirked. “And you think that I simultaneously used it to make twenty-five nomads fall in love with me, while I also… what? Sang Madam Bela to death? That’s what you think?”

It did sound pretty silly when the Singer phrased it like that. I was just pondering whether I should mention the bruises I had thought I’d seen on Madam Bela’s neck, when to my surprise the Hunter brought it up: “I saw distinct bruising on Madam Bela’s neck. I didn’t want to mention it, but it is possible someone may have killed her. I don’t think it was magic, though.”

To my surprise, Lilly didn’t take her eyes off the Singer. “My father used to tell me that nine tenths of what we think we know about magic is wrong.” She let this hang in the air. The Singer did not contradict her. “He had a book that he said he had stolen from a morl. It was about this thick.” She opened her thumb and pointer finger as wide as they could go. “I read the first chapter a dozen times. It was called ‘The Five.’ That’s the morlish term for the five most powerfully gifted humans currently living. The book was a compilation of field notes from morlish operatives who have been watching families of magic users for generations.” Her eyes flicked to mine, and I realized that her father must have been under morlish observation, which perhaps explained how he had stumbled upon a morl in possession of such a book.

“Imagine my surprise,” Lilly went on, “when I found myself on a pilgrimage with someone whose name was in that chapter, one of The Five! There was an entire subsection devoted to a woman named Gwen Florence. There were several pages of analysis of your ‘Gift’, as they call it.” Lilly let all of this sink in. “So I know, Madam Florence, that your voice is not a simple love spell. I know that you’re not just sleeping with people because ‘life is short’. I know it’s not just because you’re slutty either. I mean… maybe that’s an additional reason. But it’s not the only one. And I happen to know that if what I read is true, you certainly could have killed Madam Bela while we were all watching you kill those nomads.”

“Well, well, well,” said the Singer, cutting in before anyone could ponder Lilly’s words for too long. “You certainly put on quite a convincing clueless aristocrat act. I really believed you didn’t know better when you refused to cover your shoulders. What I think is that if someone did kill Madam Bela, then maybe it’s the person who just revealed to us that she’s been hiding something the whole time. Someone whose father just happens to have a morlish book about magic users. Maybe—”

Before the Singer could gather too much momentum, the Hunter cut in: “That’s enough. If we’re going to start accusing people of murder, we’re going to do it in a more organized way.” She speared Lilly and the Singer then each of the pilgrims in turn with her eyes. No one contradicted her. “The first thing we need to do is get some facts straight. Gwen, I want you to know that I personally do not believe you killed Madam Bela. I trust that you too deny it, yes?”

The Singer just rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

The Hunter turned to Lilly, “But from what I understand, you believe otherwise.”

Lilly nodded, eyes never leaving the Singer, as if she was searching for even the smallest trace of evidence in the woman’s body language.

“In that case,” said the Hunter, “I want you to state your theory. But first: Nial, take out your paper. You’re going to take notes.”

I happily obliged, surprised one of my few skills was actually about to come in handy.

When I was ready, the Hunter said, “Let the record show that Lilly Overlai believes that Gwen Florence is responsible for the recent death of one Madam Bela. Let the record also show that all parties present in this meeting concur that Gwen Florence was under direct observation at the time of Madam Bela’s death. Let any who disagree with my previous statement say so now.” When no one spoke, she continued, “Let the record state that Lilly Overlai believes Gwen Florence may have used magic. Do you have that, Nial? Hurry up. Good. Okay, Lilly. Please take a moment to explain.”

“My father’s book,” said Lilly, “said that Madam Florence had been given her gift relatively recently by a morlish ‘gift crafter.’ Whatever that means. It went on to say that morlish operatives had observed Madam Florence using her voice to make the captain of a ship jump overboard in the middle of the high seas. It also mentioned a politician in Drymar that she compelled to jump from the cathedral bell tower. There were several more such stories. I was fourteen when I read this, and I didn’t really believe it. But then, when I heard her voice myself, I realized how much it messes with your mind.”

The Singer rolled her eyes.

“Madam Florence,” said the Hunter, “do you have any comments?”

“As a matter of fact…” began the Singer.

At this, the Wizard cut in: “I can’t listen to this nonsense anymore. This book’s… ‘theory.’” He used air-quotes as he sneered. “It’s preposterous. Our magic does not come from morls. Academy research has several generations worth of data confirming that magic travels quite predictably down family lines. We can even predict which abilities a child will have based on the abilities of the parents and grandparents.”

“Interesting,” said the Hunter, “and have you ever observed anyone with the kind of magical abilities that Madam Florence clearly possesses?”

“Not the same kind of gift,” said the Wizard. “But the same magnitude, yes. It’s rare, but I’ve observed remarkable power in one or two other individuals.”

“Then,” said the Hunter, “can we conclude that perhaps we are dealing with a kind of magic to which the known rules may not apply?”

“But morlish involvement?” protested the Wizard. “It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not,” said the Singer. “I did get my powers from a morl. I’ve told the story to Nial and Sir Mau already. It’s not a secret. I even wrote the idea into Only on Summer Nights, although everyone thinks it’s fiction.”

The Wizard smiled gently at her, “I’m sure you are mistaken.”

The Singer ignored him: “And yes. Since everyone is so interested: the answer is yes. It is more than a love spell. For the duration of the song, I can make people feel whatever I wish. I can make those emotions so strong that people take action. I can make them angry enough to kill or sad enough to jump overboard. It works best on those who have…” She seemed to be searching carefully for the right words and decided on, “those who have fallen for me.”

“Slept with you,” said Lilly. “It was in the book. There are pages and pages of notes on your sexual exploits. Everyone you have ever slept with has a line in a table that goes on for pages and pages. One column has the names. Another has the dates. Another has notes about how long the unlucky man or woman survived after that date.”

Gwen was looking at Lilly with slitted eyes, perhaps having finally realized that Lilly could not be making this up. “You’re saying your father had a book full of everyone I’ve ever slept with? I thought your father was a tobacco salesman.”

“Salesman!” Lilly scoffed. “He owns several thousand miles of farmland. It’s practically half of Lopesa!”

“Owned?” corrected the Singer. “I thought he was dead.”

“He’s missing,” snapped Lilly.

The Singer stood up and began to pace around, clearly agitated. “Look, I didn’t kill Madam Bela. I’ll admit, though, that Tobacco Girl is right about one thing. I certainly could have.” She looked out the window at the sheets of rain falling in the streets. Lightning lit her face. There were tears on it, I realized. “Sorry,” she said, sniffing. “I just… I’m trying to process the fact that morls have been watching me for… for almost a decade now, it seems. How long did you say that table was?”

Lilly said, “At least six pages. With small font.”

“I mean how would you feel?” snapped the Singer, sweeping the room with her finger. “If you found out that every time you’d shared an intimate moment with someone over the last ten years… someone was watching you through the window, taking notes.”

Dear Human, I cannot resist mentioning that I was standing just outside the window at that exact moment, watching all of this play out. Sometimes dramatic irony is truly exquisite. I would have appreciated it more if not for the fact that standing in the streets of that city was making me feel mounting dizziness and nausea. I was feeling a growing pain in my bones too, as if the city did not want me to be there and was trying to get rid of me. Still, I forced myself to stay and watch as long as I could.

“My theory…” said Lilly. “Nial, write this down. My theory is that Gwen made Sir Mau kill Madam Bela while none of us could take our eyes off her. There was plenty of time for someone to turn around and…” She mimed grabbing her own throat and giving it a fatal squeeze.

At this, Sir Mau said, “Errr, I don’t suppose it would help if I told you I didn’t do that?”

Lilly looked at him sadly. “You wouldn’t remember doing it. You’ve slept with her, she basically owns your soul now.”

The Singer smiled faintly and didn’t say otherwise.

The Knight started, “That’s ridiculous. No one ‘owns my soul.’ No one can…”

The Singer shut him up with a soft “shhhhhh.” He looked around incredulously, but seemed unable to speak. He opened his mouth once but no sound came out. When he tried again, the Singer said, “You seem like you’re getting tired.” And his open mouth converted to a yawn that, when deflated, seemed to take all the energy in his body with it. He sagged against the wall, eyes half closed.

To the rest of the pilgrims, the Singer said softly, “The Tobacco Girl is right. I could have killed Madam Bela. The thing is… I didn’t. For one thing, I had no reason to. She seemed nice enough.”

As I watched the Knight falling asleep, a husk of his former self, I realized that Lilly was perhaps trying to save me from a similar fate. There was no way I was going to let the Singer seduce me now. For some reason this realization made me self-conscious about the fact that I couldn’t take my eyes off Gwen’s slender figure silhouetted against the window whenever the lightning flashed. There was no harm in looking, right? Had she already, somehow, gotten into my head? I forced my eyes back to Lilly.

“Lilly, why come forward now?” said the Hunter. “I suspect you’ve had this theory since the nomad attack.”

Lilly’s eyes flicked to me, reaffirming my silly theory that Lilly had come forward because she had feelings for me, in spite of the fact that she claimed she could feel nothing. “I was scared,” she said. “She can control all of our minds. If you’re not scared, you should be. Even now, she could start singing and we’d all be at her mercy until she ran out of breath.”

Again the Singer contradicted nothing, simply smiling as she looked out the window.

Dear Human, I cannot tell you how surreal it was to look into that window and see the pilgrims so efficiently accomplishing one of the main phases of my mission: to confirm the magnitude of the morlish gifts possessed by Gwen Florence, Professor Octavius, Lilly Overlai, and Jonny. Nausea not withstanding, seeing Nial furiously scribbling notes about Madam Florence lifted my heart and again made me feel that divine forces were truly on my side.

“Tempting,” said the Singer. Then, she began to sing. When she was finished, I was surprised to find myself on the other side of the room. Lilly was in my arms with her lips on mine. When silence fell and we came to our senses, we pulled away. The Singer was in the middle of the room, standing on the dune where Lilly had been. She had the Hunter’s knife and my pad of paper in her hand. The Knight was asleep in the corner. The Wizard was spooning him, and the Hunter was spooning the Wizard. Only the Fool and the Mourner were unmoved: The Fool was grinning at everyone’s antics; and the Mourner was sitting still as a corpse in her corner.

Lilly, the Hunter, the Wizard, and I all regained control and untangled ourselves simultaneously. The Wizard and the Hunter were both shouting. I realized Lilly was too. The Singer made everyone quiet down with a single soft “shhhhh.” When she had silence, she said, “As you can see, I don’t really need to sit here and be put on trial.” She tossed the knife back to the Hunter. It landed on the sand with a thud. “But because I happen to be innocent, I will allow it.”

Everyone watched the Hunter calmly retrieve her knife. Then she got to her feet and dusted herself off. “Well, I certainly don’t know how we can proceed in an orderly fashion when you have such clear power over everyone’s minds.” The Knight gave a loud snore at that moment, seeming to underscore the point. “If she says she didn’t kill Madam Bela, perhaps we should simply take her word for it.”

“But,” protested Lilly, “she’s killed loads of people! Six pages worth!”

“They didn’t all die,” said the Singer, rolling her eyes. “You’re exaggerating. And the ones that did die deserved it, trust me. At least three pages of that table are all from one incident. That ship whose crew jumped overboard? I trust you read about that, Tobacco Girl? They were pirates. Hey do you want to hear a pirate joke?” She paused. “Well? Anyone? Nial? You’ve been on a ship. What do you call it when pirates murder a whole crew?”

I knew the joke. It wasn’t a good one, but sailors frequently told bad jokes. “Tuesday,” I murmured.

“Tuesday!” said the Singer. “That’s the joke. Get it? Because they do it all the time. At least once a week. But don’t worry: thanks to me, everyone on that ship who used to tell that joke drowned a long time ago. You want to put me on trial for Madam Bela’s murder? Fine. But when it comes to my life before this pilgrimage, well… I don’t have to subject myself to a witch trial if I don’t want to.”

The Hunter nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “Our sins before the pilgrimage are in the past. I’ve plenty myself. Gwen, would you kindly give Nial his paper back?”

The paper thudded into the sand near me. By the time I had picked it up, I realized that the Singer had fallen unconscious in the sand. The Hunter was picking up her knife again, but this time from near the Singer’s body, where it had apparently somehow knocked her unconscious.

Lilly breathed a sigh of relief. The Knight suddenly woke up and demanded to know what was going on, looking back and forth between the Hunter and the unconscious Singer.

“Help me tie her up,” said the Hunter. “Sir Mau, you have ropes in your pack, yes?”

I expected the Knight to protest, but when he saw the serious faces looking back, he fished out some rope. Together, we tied up the Singer. The Hunter fashioned a gag out of a piece of black cloth that I was pretty sure was the black face mask with eyeholes I had recently seen fall from the Hunter’s pocket. It was hard to tell once it was torn into strips and inserted into the Singer’s mouth. “Well, well, well,” mused the Hunter, “I certainly didn’t see this coming. If I’d known how powerful she was, we wouldn’t have had to bother with the snakes! She could have just made the nomads kill each other.” Then more seriously, “Okay, I think it’s safe to say that several of us here are… how to put it… not what we seem. Don’t worry, I’m not here to chastise anyone for keeping some cards up your sleeve. I’m guilty of it myself. And I can’t say that I blame Gwen for not telling us she had such a powerful gift.” To Lilly, “Before she wakes up, I need you to tell me everything you know about her.”

“I…”

“No,” said the Hunter. “I’ll ask the questions. Did the morlish field notes suggest that Gwen was evil or sociopathic?”

Lilly shrugged, “If you read between the lines.”

“So that’s a no?” asked the Hunter. “Did the notes contain any conjectures or data regarding her state of mind or motivations for killing? Did the writers draw any moral conclusions about her activities?”

Lilly said that it didn’t. “It was very dry writing.”

“And based on what you read, is there anything to lead you to believe Gwen killed Madam Bela?” asked the Hunter. “Other than the fact that it was within her power to do so?”

“That,” said Lilly, “and the fact that she was making the rounds from Sir Mau to Nial, like a spider spinning a web. There were charts in the book, a bit like the ones my father used to measure the efficacy of certain fertilizers. Like if you add six barrels, you get this much yield,” she said putting her hand at shoulder height, “and if you use twelve barrels, you get this much.” She put her hand higher in the air.

“A line graph, obviously,” said the Wizard. “We teach it in year one at the academy.”

“Whatever,” said Lilly. “The chart seemed to indicate that the better she knows you, the more control she has. Talk to her for a few minutes and her power over you is here…” She put her hand at waist level. “Spend a few days with her, and it’s up here.” She put her hand at head level. “Sleep with her, and it’s through the roof somewhere.”

Sir Mau swallowed. “So… What does that mean exactly?”

“It means the effects last longer after she stops singing,” said Lilly. “She may not even need to sing. She can get in your head with just a whisper. She can make you do more drastic things. It all comes down to the fact that she can force you to feel emotions with greater and greater magnitude but with less and less effort on her part.” I realized that Lilly was choking up and tears were in her eyes. “I should have said something in the beginning. But I honestly didn’t believe it was true. I didn’t believe anyone could make me do things like that against my will…” I found myself wondering if Lilly’s tears were part of another act. The more I started thinking about these “beneath the surface” kinds of things, the harder it was to stop.

“And,” said the Hunter softly, “I imagine that you didn’t want to reveal how you knew. Don’t worry. I don’t blame you.” She put a tender arm around Lilly’s shoulder. They looked down at the unconscious body of the Singer. “I want to personally thank you for coming forward. It was truly brave.” To the rest of us, the Hunter announced, “From now on, no more secrets. We can’t afford them.”

Dear Human, I would have given anything to be able to hear what they were talking about. But I feared that if I put my ear to the glass window, someone would notice the strange absence of raindrops. As a morl, that’s how you get caught: by your side-effects. Your footprints. Your shadows. Your morl-shaped absence of raindrops. Furthermore, I had to vomit onto the rain-drenched sidewalk beneath the eaves. I did so as quietly as I could. Yes, this city did not want me here.

The Singer moaned and began to struggle against her bonds. The Hunter knelt down. “Listen to me Gwen,” she said. “I don’t want to keep you like this. I recognize that you could have killed everyone here any time you wanted. I’m glad you didn’t. I think we’re on the same side. I don’t think you killed Madam Bela, either, and I might even be able to prove it. But I have to keep you tied up for a bit longer because… well, I need everyone to feel safe while I convince them you didn’t do it.” She put a friendly hand on the Singer’s shoulder. She stopped struggling, eyes still furious, but seeming to understand.

The Hunter began pacing as she made a speech to the rest of us, “I have reason to believe that several of us are not here by coincidence. I have reason to believe that Father Ori and his operatives have been pulling strings for several years now, arranging for several of you to be on this pilgrimage at the same time.”

My heart leapt. Could it be possible that I was here because of some mysterious morlish plan?

“Lilly,” said the Hunter, “do you recall the names of the other Five?”

Lilly took a deep breath and nodded.

“Tell us,” said the Hunter.

“Gwen Florence was the third name mentioned in the book,” Lilly said. “The fourth of the Five was a necromancer named Torin Thanata.” The way her eyes lighted on mine for a moment told me that this was her father’s name, before he had become an Overlai. “Fifth,” she looked at the Wizard, “was an Academy headmaster named Otto Octavius.”

The Wizard smirked. “So I’m one of the five most powerful magic users known to the morls?” He pondered the matter for a moment. “Yes. No doubt the list is in reverse order of power-level.”

“No,” said Lilly. “It wasn’t.”

“Who were the first and second?” I asked. Everyone looked at me, having forgotten I was even there. “So I can write it down,” I said. “You know… for the records…”

“The second,” she said, “is a man named Jonny, a deaf manservant of a local sorceress named Lady Catherine in a small town called Davenport.” Everyone looked at the Fool who clapped his hands and began pinching his cheeks. “The notes conjectured that he may be quite intelligent but pretends not to be.”

The Fool seemed to sense the change in mood even if he couldn’t hear what people were actually saying. He stopped grinning and pinching his cheeks. He made a few hand gestures in the air.

“He is fluent in a language of hand signs,” said Lilly. “And his gift is largely undocumented. Apparently he managed to explode an entire building one time, just by describing it with his hands. He almost never uses his magic, so there haven’t been many witnessed events, but after the explosion, they put him in the Five.”

“What about the first of the Five?” I asked, pencil trembling.

Lilly looked at me sadly, as if sensing my desperate need to be special. “The pages were mostly blank,” she said. “Just one sentence followed by twenty blank pages. My father said the book was like that when he found it. He believed that the identity of the first of the Five was either unknown or was classified information, even among morl operatives. All the book said was: ‘These pages are reserved for the one we search for.’”

The Hunter absorbed this information in silence. “I suppose it could have been Madam Bela,” she said, but not with much confidence. “Sir Mau, I don’t suppose you are the most powerful magic user in all the land.”

“I wish,” said Sir Mau.

“Nial?” said the Hunter. “Have you been holding out on us?”

“Is it possible that I am but don’t know it?” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

The Hunter didn’t even bother answering. “Madam Du Vreil, come here.” The Mourner rose from her corner and floated like a wraith across the dune.

“Yes?” said the cold voice beneath the veil.

“Do you have any magic powers?”

“No,” said the Mourner.

“I didn’t think so,” said the Hunter. “I did notice, however, that Gwen’s powers don’t have any effect on you.”

“I felt nothing,” said the Mourner, “Just as I feel nothing when you cut my throat.” This made me wonder how many times Asuana had done it.

“Yes,” said the Hunter. “Here’s what I want you to do. Gwen, you listen carefully too.” The Hunter took a small knife from her boot. (How many knives did she have?) Giving it to the Mourner, she said, “I want you to stay close to Gwen, very close. In fact, I’m going to tie the two of you together at the wrist. If you hear Gwen sing, I want you to stab her in the neck, okay? Just keep stabbing until she shuts up, okay?”

“Okay,” said the Mourner.

“Gwen,” said the Hunter, “as you are now aware, if you begin to sing, you are going to get stabbed in the neck. I want to make sure you understand that. Do you?”

The Singer nodded. A moment later, the Hunter had rearranged the ropes such that Mourner and Singer were bound together at one wrist. The Mourner held the Hunter’s knife in one hand. Finally, the Hunter removed the Singer’s gag.

“Thank you,” said the Singer, grudgingly. She seemed to realize that the Hunter was perhaps her only ally at the moment.

To the Mourner, the Hunter said, “Other than the neck-stabbing thing, feel free to go where the Singer wishes to go. We don’t want her feeling uncomfortable.”

“Okay,” said the Mourner.

The Singer led her undead guardian to a corner and sat down sullenly.

“Now that I have everyone’s attention,” said the Hunter. “I suppose I should tell you why I am here. And I am hoping we can all make a fresh start with fewer secrets. I’m beginning to feel like our lives depend on it.” She sat cross legged at the apex of the dune, a spot that both Lilly and the Singer had occupied within the last few minutes. It served to underscore, at least for me, that the Hunter was clearly in charge here, magic or not. I wondered if perhaps she was the first of the Five.

Seeming to read my mind, the Hunter said, “I am sadly not one of the Five, either. But I do belong to a network of humans that attempts to keep track of morl operations in the South Sea Nations. I guess you could say that we watch the watchers. Our own operatives became convinced that something big was brewing when we discovered that a high-ranking morl general that you know as Father Ori was embarking on the pilgrimage to the shrine.” I glanced around to gauge reactions and found that everyone else was doing the same.

The Hunter waited to see if anyone had anything to say about this. But when no one did, she said, “The shrine is commonly thought of as a religious site. But it also has deep tactical significance. Its location in the mountains is a closely guarded secret and supposedly has been for thousands of years, longer than the South Sea Nations have existed. Prior to this very pilgrimage, the church had not allowed morls to visit it. But Father Ori has been infiltrating the church ranks for almost a decade now and has been lobbying for alterations to these rules. Nial, what are you doing?”

My pencil froze. “I thought I was supposed to write things down…”

“When we’re putting members of our group on trial, yes, take notes. But when I’m giving you closely guarded secrets regarding the security of the South Sea Nations, maybe… don’t?” She looked at me like I was an idiot.

“Sorry,” I said, miffed, pocketing my writing instruments. “Let me know when my services are necessary.”

Dear Human, I owe quite a lot to Nial. If he hadn’t woken up later and written this all down, we’d all know quite a bit less about the mysterious Asuana. Yes, he has certainly earned all of the statues that have been built in his honor.

“This intel about Father Ori prompted my organization to send me along to keep an eye on things. We might not have bothered if it weren’t for the fact that we’ve been getting scraps of intel about the morls mobilizing their military on the other side of the mountains. If our intel was correct, they’ve launched their invasion already. I don’t suppose you can scry it, can you, Professor?” she asked.

The Wizard, for once, was speechless. Finally, he managed: “An invasion? They wouldn’t… And, no, we’re way out of range.”

“For now,” said the Hunter. “The shrine is supposedly a magical amplifier. So if we manage to reach it, I suspect you’ll be able to scry anywhere in the South Sea Nations.” Her eyes landed on the Singer. “I have no idea what you’ll be able to do.” To Jonny, “Or you.” To Lilly, “Or you.”

“Oh, I…” said Lilly, “don’t do magic… you must be mistaken.”

“See?” said the Hunter. “This is what I’m talking about. No one here is being honest with each other, and it matters more than ever now.” She rubbed her temples. “This is giving me a headache. If I can’t wrangle you all into something that at least vaguely resembles a team, I’m going to give up and put Nial in charge.”

I was not entirely pleased to see that this threat prompted Lilly to say, “Fine! Okay. I have some abilities. My father was teaching me. But I’m not really very good at it.”

“What are your skills?” asked the Wizard, suddenly interested. “I could give you the Academy’s routine assessments if you wish. I have them memorized, of course.”

“Never mind that now,” said the Hunter. “Imagine my surprise as I begin to realize that there isn’t just a high-ranking morl heading to the shrine, but also several very gifted human magic users, some of whom might even be the most powerful magic users in the South Sea Nations. And somehow we’ve uncovered an ancient lost city from a civilization that pre-dates morls and humans both. I have no idea how that fits in. But I would say it’s of the highest importance that we get across the desert without killing each other. The monastery on the other side of the desert will give us refuge and food. Perhaps they’ve received news from carrier pigeons about the state of the nations.” She took a breath, “Lastly, I think Father Ori is still out there somewhere. In fact, I think it was him who killed Madam Bela.”

“But he’s a priest,” I said.

“Nial,” said the Hunter, “for your own sake, I need to inform you that you are extremely gullible. Father Ori is several centuries old. Even in the few decades that we’ve been watching him, we’ve documented him killing at least a dozen people, or I should say, getting people to kill for him. That’s the morlish way. They are master manipulators. I mean, look how he and his operatives managed to get three of the Five to come on this pilgrimage and think it was their idea the whole time. I suspect that there are pieces of this puzzle that we’ll never be able to put together unless we all start being honest.”

I was about to say something, but the Hunter waved me into silence. “Not you,” she said, “some things are just coincidence. Professor, we’ll start with you. Why are you here?”

It was a full minute before the Wizard gathered his thoughts and said gravely, “I meant to come last year, after my daughter died. Necromancy is forbidden in the academy. But the shrine, I believe, will let me speak to her. I have some things I never got the chance to say.”

“How did she die?” asked the Hunter gently.

The Wizard’s eyes flashed. “She wasn’t killed by the morls, if that’s what you mean.”

“How do you know?” said the Hunter.

“She was found…” but the Wizard choked up and could not continue.

“You don’t have to say,” said the Hunter. “But let me ask you one very important question. Is it absolutely impossible that she was murdered?”

“But why?” whispered the Wizard. “Why would they?”

“To leave you with some things you wish to say to her,” said the Hunter, “badly enough to take the very journey you’re on.”

“It’s preposterous,” said the Wizard. But he said it softly.

“And you,” said the Hunter to the Singer. “Why did you decide to come?”

“I was told,” said the Singer, “that I must come, or that my gift would be taken away.”

“By the morls?” said the Hunter. “Need I say more? And you, Lilly? You’re here because your father is missing, I assume.”

Lilly nodded.

“Tell me,” said the Hunter to the Knight. “What is the most common reason that people make this trip?”

“To speak to lost loved ones,” he said.

“The morls are have been manipulating our kind for centuries,” said the Hunter. “Their network of operatives is wide and well-funded. If we could talk to Jonny, I am certain we would find the same kind of story. Someone close to him died recently. That, plus some artful maneuverings of paperwork, and now he’s here, along with the rest of us. Right on time.”

The Fool did not grin this time when everyone looked at him. Indeed, he seemed to have dropped the act of being foolish. He made several hand signs, one of which looked very much like he was miming the cutting of his own neck. Perhaps he was trying to tell his story.

“But why?” said the Knight. “I see why the shrine might be a tactical advantage in a struggle. I see why the morls might want to control it. But why bring members of the Five with him?”

“There are many questions,” said the Hunter, “that I am here to find answers to. With Madam Bela, perhaps her murder was symbolic. She is not well liked amongst the morls. But the rest of you? If Father Ori wanted you dead, his operatives could have done it years ago. So, I suspect that their plan is more complex than we can currently guess. We have only two hopes of answering that question. Firstly, we must reach the shrine and ask. Secondly, we must capture Father Ori and make him tell us.”

My jaw dropped. “You think he survived?”

The Hunter seemed to be trying to discover something in my face. “Nial, he’s several centuries old. Of course he survived. I believe he has been quietly watching us ever since he vanished.” She walked to the window and peered out into the rain. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was watching us right now…”

Dear Human, Asuana may not be one of the Five, but my operatives clearly should have been watching her and her organization. She was proof that the humans were more well-informed and well-organized than we ever gave them credit for. I felt like I was looking into the eyes of my rival on the other side of the war. She looked so fiercely through the glass that I felt a small tremor of fear in my stomach. Could she see me? I considered shoving my hand through the glass and grabbing her neck. Theoretically, I could have ended her life as swiftly as I did Madam Bela’s. But I have a feeling that the glass would have resisted me, just as I am convinced that the doorknob would not have turned if I had tried. No, this city did not want me to be here. My knees were shaking so badly it was hard to stand. Furthermore, as I have already said, I had begun to suspect that divine forces were guiding my mission. And I knew that when it comes to divine forces, you must let them do as they wish. So I allowed her to look through me, as I tried to peer into her soul.

“My mission,” said Asuana, “is to find out what Father Ori’s mission is. My first attempt was to stab him and kidnap him at the inn. I had planned to interrogate him. If not for Nial, I might have succeeded.”

I breathed, “It was you.”

“Yeah,” she said, a touch of fatigue in her voice. “I’ve come clean. I hope the rest of you will do the same. Whether we wish it or not, we are on a mission of the utmost importance, for so is Father Ori. Because of that, some of you are safe. Father Ori needs you to reach the shrine. The rest of us are not so lucky. Either way, we need to help each other out.”

She breathed onto the glass, fogging it up. Then she drew two eyes and a frowning mouth. Turning to the Singer: “I don’t think you killed Madam Bela. You had the opportunity, but no motive.” She pointed at the face. “There’s someone else who had both.”

I shivered as the rain battered the other side of the frowning face.

***

I now sit beneath one of the glowing crystals on the walls of this strange house. I have finally caught up on my writing. Everyone is asleep or pretending to be. I have dozed off several times while trying to write, and each time, strange dreams take me. At one time, I had the Knight’s dream, in which the city lay bare, all the sand gone, stretching across the entirety of what had once been desert. Humans manned the battlements, shooting arrows at morlish warriors who attempted to scale giant stone walls that bore carvings of strange glowing symbols. Cries of triumph went up as the shimmering tide retreated, beaten back by human arrows and by a city that (I could feel) did not want them there. Other times, I dreamed of the city being covered in sand, drowned in it, turning human homes into tombs. I know it sounds silly, but from each dream, I woke feeling that I had seen something real, either the past or from the future. However, I could never determine which was which.