Aoh had been right. It was worse than the painworks. Worse than anything Tusk had ever felt. Nerves only ran so deep. Samkra reached deeper. The pain was so strong it blinded him with a brilliant white light. He understood why the sandmen believed this experience was to touch the very face of Xul. The concoction burned into his being and pinched every fiber of the fabric that composed his form. All of existence was an inferno that broke Tusk's soul into a million slivers of glass and somehow, minute by minute and hour by hour, the soulfire grew ever stronger and more agonizing. If Tusk could see or move he would have found a knife and ended it all. Stopping this pain now would be worth all of his remaining days.

Aoh had been right in other ways as well. To come out on the other side was to be stronger, to know life better. And although Tusk was not convinced he had been touched by god he sure as stars felt like a god himself when he finally snapped out of the maelstrom and after the pain subsided like a throbbing tide. When the Reaper finally walked out of that tent the next day he found he had not been bodily harmed in any way. There were no lingering aches, there was no loss of motor control. Tusk was light of step, buoyant, alert. The mere absence of the pain he had not long ago been steeped in made him feel like a new man.

He was also seen as a new man by the Kashto. They honored him in the next night's ceremony with a horn fashioned from the tusk of a long-dead elder. Fitting, given his Reaper name. The elders told him that in the case of last distress he should sound the horn. Any member of the Kashto or their allies that heard its call would come to his aid, and if all who heard the sound were enemies or predators they would at least soon come put him out of his misery.

The Kashto taught Tusk to throw a spear with an atlatl and took him on excursions to hunt. Though the animalist felt more welcome and accepted into the tribe now he was always aware of the distrustful eyes of a few. Chief among the aloof and cold, still, was Aoh's brother Uata. The buck was emerging as a leader, someone who might be groomed to be an elder if he ever saw such an age, and he gave Tusk every disadvantage he could whether it be in sport or labor or his cut of the kill. Tusk knew this was Uata's way of making the Reaper earn his place at their side, to pay his dues, and that the sandman was being protective of his sister and people. It was the role of the younger men to distrust outsiders for the protection of their tribe. If Tusk planned to stay long, he would perhaps say something, challenge Uata on his misgivings during one of their ritualistic airing of grievances and settle the matter. The Reaper had taken his samkra and proven himself in front of Uata again and again. But Tusk would be leaving soon and he saw no reason to cause a stir among the Kashto. He would miss these folk, he thought, as he sat and ate the thretch that had died that morning at the tip of Uata's spear. His eyes went to Aoh, whom he would miss most of all. A cauldron of emotion suddenly took him by the gut, feelings that had been locked up from even before his capture, before even Scratch's death and the horrors of Edsohonet and Marrow. Those things were terrible indeed, but they could coexist with the heady stirrings of hope and love that still clung to life in Tusk's breast and even threatened to overtake his being. He watched these people, who would be spit on and jeered at and even murdered by the masses of his own Nation, and saw they truly loved one another.

Tusk also learned that the Kashto would rather die than join the Zhjaki, the empire thriving in the southern deadlands that embraced a more fervent and popular denomination of their faith. The Reaper had heard accounts of human villages raiding their neighbors over some slight disagreement regarding particular interpretations of the stars and it seemed the hobgoblins shared the same divisions that pitted tribe against tribe. Tusk sensed a fear in these people's hearts, particularly through his spiritual link to Aoh... they knew the Zhjaki Empire was growing at an alarming pace and becoming ever more fanatical in its drive to bring the world to utmost holocaust and awaken their cosmic god. It was only a matter of time before the fascist zealots came to annex these long-forgotten territories into their dominion—or the Nation sought to make it a stronghold.

In preparation for the journey to come Aoh's tribe told Tusk what they could about the hard life of the desert. They instructed him how to use a mineral spice they scraped from the inner walls of steep caves to purify water and urine (and combat the latter's bitterness). They taught him how to fish sandworms from the Dry Sea to eat and warned him of other things that would make a meal of him if he did not avoid the subtle signs of their movement below the surface of the sands.

The nomads helped Tusk craft a sailing raft on skids that he could take across the Dry Sea, the most direct path back to the heart of his Nation. Tusk spent hours with the skiff making circles in the silt body to rebuild his strength and gain practice in handling the craft's bone and hide-lashed workings. He took a thrill of the wind in his hair. To think that not long ago he had been quetching in those terrible painworks. He thought of Risper and though there was still a lingering guilt about taking the man's life he would never fully shake, Tusk knew it had been the right and humane choice to end his suffering. There was no way Risper would have been able to escape with them. The killing had been the merciful thing.

— • —

"How many years do you think you have left in you, Ogerius?"

General Grattus and Ogerius sat alone in the humid sauna of an elite bathhouse. Their bare chests, pallid and sagging. Water rhythmically dripped and steam shrouded the air. "The Diluvians will drag this out for longer," Grattus continued. "Minster Drach and his army are fond of their pet Reapers. They are a dream to the brass, despite their occasional bungle that is to be expected in such unpredictable and deadly work. The Reapers are secret and effective. The indiscretions you want to crucify the program for are connected to the very same things that give it value. They need to be allowed to work outside our normal constraints and rules."

"There are reasons," said Ogerius, "that we have constitutions and rules of engagement and protocols and chains of command—"

"This is a struggle for our survival, brother," said Grattus. "You saw what we are facing out there. We can't be fighting ourselves at the same time. When this war is over, if you still live, have your day then. Until that time arrives, I urge you to stand down."

"Is that an order, General?"

"You know I can't order that a fellow officer relent in matters of court. So, no, it is not an order. Call it a request from an old comrade. And his powerful friends."

"I'll consider it," said Ogerius. He stood, bold in his aging nakedness. "I had hoped to find an ally in you but I see that is not in the stars. I should be going. Many preparations to make before our next session."

"Before you go, one more thing," said Grattus. "You should know there are others who won't bother with friendly requests or even orders to stop your crusade against the Reapers. Your status and influence will only give you so much rope. Consider the professions these men are already engaged in."

"Is that the most veiled of threats?" Ogerius asked. "Or are you offering me protection?"

"Just a warning."

Ogerius snorted and left the room. Grattus sat in the steam and pondered.

— • —

Mulia fulfilled her promise and secured Dimia a tutor. He was a learned man and an old friend of the family. The obese educator Yulis had been a former merchant who had traveled far and wide on a trading ship. He told her much about the world. Dimia learned of the rakshasa, also known as djinn, who lived across the sea. And the fafnir and the ylfs and the ancient empires gone to dust. Yulis told of the old monarchy that had been overthrown by the Diluvians here in the Nation and of the Ministers who rose up to replace them, governing today from the Triad in Camshire. He explained the three branches of rule: the Shield, the Coin, and the State (the last of which was previously called the Star, but that arm of jurisprudence had in recent times adopted a more secular role and title; they preferred that their people worship the state itself rather than some far off twinkling nothings). Yulis was impressed by the quickness of Dimia's learning and gave her strong encouragement. He told her that he might be able to get her into a good school if she tried hard. "I know the right strings to play." There were ways for a woman to serve the Nation other than as mothers of future soldiers, he said. There are nurses and Senator's aides and many other noble things.

"I want to be a Reaper," Dimia said.

Yulis laughed. She did not. "All Reapers started as students," said Yulis. "So let's begin there and see where your aptitudes take you."

Dimia's new home was crumbling but beautiful. Fresh flowers in cracked vases. Laundered linen on sinking beds. All those who lived in the house were musical. They would play together by the hearth. Mulia entrusted an old lute the twins did not play to Dimia. Astrid and Amelie complained about the loss of the plaything, even though their fingers had not touched its strings in a long while. Dimia fumbled through some of the patterns she had discerned from the golem's hide and though Mulia did not recognize them to be sorcerous she did proclaim some of the notes she played as 'forbidden.'

"Forbidden?" asked Dimia. "By whom?"

"The Diluvians, I suppose, officially," answered Mulia. "But the ban has been around forever." Mulia felt caught defending an abolition she knew little about. It never seemed a bother to avoid those 'witch-notes,' dancing around them by half-steps. No songs she ever learned or heard included them. But she did know that people had been arrested for playing them and so never did so or allowed it in her home.

"Promise me," Mulia said, "you won't play those witch-notes if I let you have this lute."

Dimia agreed to the bargain and took the thing. She spent many hours at her bedroom window playing. Eventually the twins saw she loved the instrument far more than they. "You can have it," proclaimed Amelie, as if her blessing now made official what her mother had already decreed.

— • —

On his last night before setting out for Nation lands, Tusk walked with Aoh to a distant and private cove where they made love in the sand and held each other under a jewelled sky. The twin moons and the galactic cloud of stars reflected in the shimmering Dry Sea. The view struck Tusk deeply. He had no idea that the wastes could hold such beauty.

"You can stay with us," said Aoh, herself of celestial beauty in the pale light. "It is a hard life, but a good life."

"I would love nothing more," said Tusk. "But I am a Reaper, and my Nation needs me. I can help more from there than I can here, and I need to tell them what I've seen. The Painworks. The people suffering in Thajh. Tribes like your own who are not our enemies—and perhaps even our allies. Maybe I can help both sides advance toward an end to this war. I will tell them of you and your people and convince them that, just as not all men are the same, there are sandfolk who are good and peaceful. I can seek protection for your tribe and others who might resist the Zhjaki advance. Your elders are right, the empire will come and it is unstoppable." Tusk had been devising a strategy that he would take to his superiors that involved training and arming these nomads. He loathed further adding instruments of destruction to this world but this was a choice of lesser evils. The alternative was to allow the Zhjaki Empire to grow unchecked and destroy or assimilate these people who were peaceful and potentially even friends of the Nation.

Tusk saw black tears break from the corners of Aoh's inky eyes that cupped the mirrored heavens. "Soon I will return for you," said the Reaper, "and from that day forward I will never leave your side." He took Aoh's hand in his and put it to his chest. "Feel my heart and tell me if I lie." Their heartbeats pounded together like a thousand hofru. Their pulses were now synchronized, literally thrumming in lockstep, so deep was their mystical bond.

— • —

Reaper Team 3 studied the hobgoblin fortification and planned their raid. The majority of the sandmen were in the fort's main courtyard. The complex had been built by the wasters and their slaves. The commandos sat out the day studying their patrols' movements and listening to the patterns of their signaling horns. Watched and timed the openings and closings of the gates. The sun scorched itself across the earth and the Reapers waited more. Based on Merek's intel, the time to strike would be as usual, when most of the zealots were caught up in their hysterical rituals at nightfall as Xul departed and his acolytes were full of pain and spirit. This encampment, however, was more steeply armed than some tribe of wandering nomads. The hobgoblins had learned compromise for the sake of security and thus some honorable few postponed their own flagellations each night so they might guard the others. These were fierce monsters brimming with arms stolen from their enemies. Many had discarded their primitive bone weapons for those taken from slain Nation soldiers. These wasters walking the perimeter of the night and standing atop watchtowers of bone and wood and pacing at the gates were all fearsome and terrifying—but they were not Reapers. They should be easy work if all went as planned. The soldiers had their route plotted based on Merek's descriptions and sketches. The wounded man had come alive as he debriefed Team 3 on the fort and its occupants willing and otherwise. Seemed to enjoy helping his Nation even if he was not up for the task of physically fighting. Though he was never made a Reaper, perhaps Merek could still find a way to put his mind to work for his country, if not his body. He was a rune man. He could work in the Triad as Jinx now did, thought Nail, dismantling enemy codes and such things.

"Blacwin, I want you to take point when we go in," Nail said. And now it was time. The goal was to infiltrate, release the prisoner, and get out. Blacwin remembered Risper's lessons during training and hoped his friend and trainer was doing well. He had been disappointed to hear it was Addison of all people held in this remote bastion. Why could it not have been Risper or Adamore whose thumbs once were absurdly in Blacwin's own mouth as he inspected him for signs of addiction to godwater. Or Halo, or Tusk, whom Team 3's senior members missed so fondly. Instead it had to be the man who led Blacwin and Merek and Barnibus to slaughter a trio of innocent hobgoblin nomads. The man who had a special hate for Blacwin himself. Now they would have to kill more wasters and put their own lives on the line to save the bastard. The circumstances this profession put a soldier in were strange indeed. Here Blacwin was saving a person he liked not at all and who very well might accuse the half-ylf of deserting his fellow trainees once he was rescued. But freeing Addison and saving his life would hopefully be enough for the man to forget past grievances. Blacwin would soon find out.

Blacwin cleared his mind and remembered the mantras Risper had taught him. Treat the raid as one constant flow, an unfolding performance, a deadly dance, a mercurial thread. Move with fluidity. Keep alert. Kill with no thought other than how best to murder quickly and silently. Think not of your life or theirs. Only their death. Keep your objectives in the forefront of your mind. Always be conscious of where your teammates are. Maintain situational awareness. He could almost hear Risper saying the words.

The Reapers moved from one guard to the next, eliminating them quickly. Vulture chopped sentries in the backs of their necks with his hatchet, severing their spines and dropping them instantly. He had painted his face as a skull in Thirteen's tradition to honor his fallen brother. It reminded Blacwin of the man he murdered but he ignored the mocking skull of ash and reducted black blood. Jasha fired from his perch on many of the guards before the Reapers ever reached them. The Reapers took the guards' horns and sounded them at the proper moments to keep the monsters thinking all was in order. Finally the commandos reached the pit Addison was kept in.

It was Blacwin's job to pick the lock and so he set to it. He brought out his tools and frantically worked to the backdrop of the hobgoblins' screams and supplications. The Reapers thanked the stars for those nightly rituals and the cover they provided. Finally Blacwin solved the puzzle of pins and hammers and had the lock undone. They pulled the grate open and set the astonished man within free.

Jasha switched to bolts of fire and shot them into the fort's main tower. It took to flame. A welcome diversion. The men inside ushered Addison out they way they had come in. They cleared the fort's walls just as the leaders came rushing out barking orders and words of sorcery. Two of the sentries' bodies still lay there where the Reapers had slain them.

Addison asked for a weapon. Vulture gave him one of his swords. Addison went to a slain waster and quickly hacked off its head. The Reapers indulged him without a word and it took little time for him to complete the severing. Let him have his revenge or trophy or whatever this was. When Addison was done they left the fort under cover of night as the madcap wasters swarmed around their flaming tower in panic.

— • —