Renica stumbled as Ionat’s hand vanished from hers, his weight no longer countering her movement. She managed to avoid crashing into the wall opposite the door to their room – her room, now, she guessed – but she still had to scramble to keep from falling on her ass. She turned and looked back at the open door, sorrow welling up inside her as the empty room gaped before her. She went back inside and sat on the bed, lowered her head into her hands, and wept. Grief swept through her, grief at everything she’d lost. She mourned Borava, picturing the faces of its people in her mind. She mourned Vikarik, her companion for so many years. And she mourned Ionat, the first man she felt she truly loved, taken from her by an uncaring universe.

She’d held the grief in as long as she could. She and Ionat had a job to do, to avenge Borava and fix what was wrong in their world, and they’d done it. Well, he’d done it, but she’d helped. Now, that was over, and everything she’d bottled up within her stormed out, overwhelming her with its power and fury. Her body shook with sobs; tears streamed from her face; her stomach clenched with the force of her sorrow. She let it run its course, let everything she’d kept inside finally tear its way free of her wounded, battered heart.

Renica had lost before, of course, but before, she’d had others to depend on, to carry her through her pain. Vasily and Viora helped her to understand that her parents died and deal with that grief. All of Borava came together when her mentor, the old hunter Claudu was killed by the leurik in the Darkwood. And when she lost Borava, Ionat had been there to help her, giving her a purpose to push through her pain. Now, she was alone, truly alone for the first time in her life, and the thought of the vast emptiness of her future stretching out before her terrified her. That fear paralyzed her and made her grief all the sharper.

As she wept, though, a memory flashed in her head, a memory of her hunting training with Claudu. She’d been tracking a pisik that attacked one of the farmers and wounded them. Any animal that was either starved, sick, or mad enough to attack an omeni had to be hunted down immediately before it could strike again, and she was doing that when a somke stooped on her from above, stunning her with its cry and tearing a slash in her arm before Claudu drove it off. She’d bandaged the wound as best she could, but it ached and burned, and with her head pounding from the powerful screech that struck her and her arm on fire, she’d wanted to return to the village to be healed.

“Why?” Claudu demanded in his quiet voice. “Because it hurts? You want to give up because of a little pain?” He shook his head. “You have a job to do, girl, and it didn’t go away just because you’re hurt.” He leaned closer to her. “Or are you going to let that crazed pisik kill someone next time just because you can’t handle a little pain?”

It was a hard lesson but a necessary one. As the village’s hunter, she wasn’t just responsible for feeding the people of Borava. She was their protector, too, their shield against the beasts of the forest. She hunted the things that would otherwise hunt her people, and if she gave up because it was hard or painful, people would have died – and it would be her fault.

She sniffed and lifted her head, forcing herself to take deep, calming breaths. Her grief still squeezed her heart in its fist. Her fear still layered the base of her skull in ice. Neither had gone away, and they wouldn’t, not for years – if ever. That didn’t mean she didn’t still have a job to do. There were still monsters out there – not just moon-cursed, but omeni like Ilinca and that Maresal – and someone had to hunt them down. Ionat was gone, which left her as the only possible choice.

She took a few minutes to clean herself up, repairing the damage of her grief storm as much as she could. She couldn’t really fix her puffy eyes, but she brushed her hair back into some semblance of order, tying her curls back behind her head as she usually did when hunting, and replaced her sodden shirt with a new one. She took a few more deep breaths before she strode out of the room to meet the Celmaraji, who had probably been expecting her for some time now.

An acolyte waited for her at the end of the hall and guided her through the labyrinth of the Grand Cathedral to Viora’s office, the one that had until recently belonged to Pretmaraji Nandru. The older woman took one look at Renica as she entered and rose to her feet, coming around her desk toward the hunter.

“He’s gone, then?” she asked simply. Renica nodded as her grief swelled in her again, but she pushed it ruthlessly down. It wouldn’t do any good to let it out once more, at least not so soon after the last time. Viora said nothing but wrapped her arms around the hunter, pulling her close, and for a moment, Renica basked in the feeling of warmth and comfort before pulling herself away.

“Will the Celmaraji still want to see just me?” she asked quietly, her voice hoarse and ragged.

“I believe so, yes.” Viora stepped back, giving Renica an appraising look but thankfully not commenting further on her obvious loss. Renica was grateful for that; she barely held herself together, and too much comfort would shatter her all over again. “However, let’s go find out. Come with me if you would.”

The pair walked deeper into the Cathedral, stopping at last before an ornate wooden door. Viora knocked, and the door opened to reveal an older man dressed in a Sorvaraji’s robe.

“Yes?” the Sorvarai asked a bit curtly.

“I’m Pretmaraji Viora,” the woman said easily in response. “And this is Renica. We’re here at the Celmaraji’s orders.”

The man’s eyes widened as he actually looked at Viora and saw her Pretamarji’s robe, and he stepped back, bowing his head deeply. “Forgive me, Pretmaraji,” he stammered. “Of course, please, come in. The Celmaraji’s in her office; give me a moment to make sure she’s ready to see you.”

Renica scanned the room as they entered, not really taking in details but quickly looking in every direction for possible threats. It was a habit she’d learned the hard way after moons’ worth of ambushes and attacks. It probably wasn’t necessary in the depths of the Cathedral, the center of the Church’s power in Vutana, but she saw no need to break that habit. She kept one eye on the Sorvaraji as the man opened a door across the room and spoke quietly to the person beyond and kept that eye on him as she followed Viora through that door a moment later. Her hand never strayed far from the long hunting knife on her belt; once, she’d have been shocked at the idea of using her knife on a Sorvaraji, but now, she knew that if she had to, she’d take him down in a second without a bit of hesitation. Fortunately, she sensed only wariness and a touch of fear from the man. If she’d felt even a hint of aggression or anger, her reflexes might have reacted before she did.

“Pretmaraji, Daughter of Borava.” The Celmaraji stood as the pair entered the room, and Renica turned back to face the woman. The leader of the Church of Vutana looked – tired. No, exhausted. Her skin was gray, and dark circles lined her eyes so deeply they looked blackened. Her hands trembled as she placed them on the desk, and her shoulders slumped despite the forced cheer she projected through her false smile. Renica felt surges of panic and despair rippling strongly from the woman, the emotions so powerful they practically curled the air around her. Renica had seen omeni on the edge of collapse before, and she recognized the signs. The Celmaraji was one such.

“Please, sit,” the woman said in a tired but friendly voice. She looked at Viora. “The Inqisitor?”

“Gone from our world, Celmaraji,” Viora said simply.

“Ah,” the Celmaraji sighed, sitting down heavily and slumping in her seat. “It’s as the Head Archivist said, then. He resolved what he’d come here for, and he moved on.” She shook her head. “I think he might have left too soon, personally.”

“Perhaps what remains are problems we can solve ourselves, Celmaraji,” Viora suggested gently.

The leader of the Church barked a brief burst of laughter. “You think so, Pretmaraji?” she asked. “I wonder if anyone can handle what we’re facing. I wonder if any Celmaraji before me has ever faced these sorts of problems – or disasters, I suppose is a better term.”

“Disasters?” Renica asked without thinking. “I thought Ionat stopped Ilinca from finishing her Spell?”

“Oh, he did,” the Celmaraji laughed. “However, I wonder if it might not have been better to let the Spell run its course. While the Inquisitor stopped the heretic, the moons are left shattered in the skies above, and that’s causing its own problems. Without the moons to stabilize it, the Depthless Sea has been surging against the land. There’s flooding in Jimreni and Mileni to the south, and the sea walls of the town of Busteja far to the east are already reporting damage.

“Ilinca’s Spell tore chunks of rock from the ground,” she continued. “This has left many of our roads in some disrepair to say the least. The Brightwater Bridge connecting Mihabag to Origija to the east collapsed, and a landslide has almost completely blocked Sunclaw Pass east of Origija, leaving that city totally cut off. The earthquakes drove the beasts mad, and there are reports of omeni being attacked by everything from tame vasaks to cairniks to tiny parakes.”

Renica frowned at that. Parakes were tiny birds no bigger than her fist that ate a diet of seeds and berries. They were utterly harmless, lacking sharp talons or beaks that could do more than crush seeds, and even during a close brown moon, they never attacked omeni. There was more going on than just being maddened.

“The damage was far worse in the north. The walls of Cerbija are rubble, as are half of the buildings in the city. Reports are still trickling in from the villages near the city, but they seem to be even worse off, and the roads leading there are devastated.”

The woman sighed, shaking her head. “And, of course, to make fixing all this even harder, all of our altars are corrupted with lunar raju and may take moons or even years to purify. And not just ours; every Altar of the Sun on Soluminos was linked to the True Altar, so they’re all corrupted, everywhere. There are already threats from the other nations to declare war on Vutana and reclaim the True Altar by force, and if the other nations carry through on that threat, I don’t know what we can do.”

She took a deep breath, seeming to steel herself. “Which brings us to the most recent problem – and the one that’s most within your purview, Pretmaraji. The Vanatori have broken free of the Church and declared themselves independent of it.”

“They’ve what?” Viora gasped, her eyes wide.

“You heard me.” The Celmaraji rose to her feet and paced over to stand before a painting that Renica recognized as Celmaraji Tavian pacifying the moon-cursed. “After leaving the Chancel last night, Maresal Mardu gathered all the Vanatori in Mihabag and left the city, heading north toward Cerbija. He left a note that the Vanatori of Vutana will no longer serve…” She took a deep breath. “Serve a ‘moon-touched traitor’. I assume that means me, of course.”

“But – their oaths!” Viora protested.

“They’ve renounced them, apparently.” The Celmaraji sighed and leaned her head against the painting. “The Cathedral will have to respond, of course. I’ll declare the Vanatori outlaws and heretics. It means civil war, Pretmaraji, civil war at a time when we’re already facing threats from without.” She straightened, and Renica felt the panic surging within the woman. “I fear this means the end of Vutana – perhaps the end of the Church of the Sun.”

“No.” Renica was as shocked as anyone to realize that she’d spoken, but the word rolled out of her before she had a chance to restrain it.

“Renica,” Viora placed a warning hand on the hunter’s arm, but Renica shook it off and rose to her feet. She hadn’t intended to speak, but now that she had, a sense of certainty filled her. Her future no longer hovered before her, a mystery she might never solve, filled with longing and despair. The beasts threatened her people again, and she knew what she had to do.

“No, Celmaraji,” she repeated. “That’s not going to happen. I won’t let it.”

“Child, while I appreciate your passion, this is a matter far beyond the hands of a simple hunter,” the Celmaraji sighed.

“Simple hunter?” Anger flared in Renica, banishing the last of her doubts. “Celmaraji, who do you think fought at Ionat’s side these past moons? Who do you think helped him kill not one but two Vanatori?” She straightened, and her hand gripped the hilt of her knife. “I’ll bet that I’ve killed more moon-cursed in the past moon than your Razvarajis have in years, Celmaraji. I’m not a simple anything anymore.”

“Child, I meant no offense, but…”

“I’ve spent the past moons learning how to hunt omeni, Celmaraji,” Renica cut her off, “and that’s what you need. Not an army. Not a war. You need someone to hunt the Vanatori and bring them down.”

“Renica, you can’t fight a Vanator alone,” Viora pointed out gently.

“Not yet, no. But I can learn.” She looked the Celmaraji squarely in the eye. “I need to learn the kind of magic Ilinca taught you, Celmaraji. Twilight magic. With it, I can take down a Vanator.”

“No,” the Celmaraji shook her head. “No, I can’t permit that. You saw what it did to Ilinca, child. I can’t let that happen to anyone else.”

“Did it drive you mad?” Renica asked quietly. “Do you feel like it was?”

“No, but…”

“Ionat said it wouldn’t, and he’s been right about everything else about raju so far, Celmaraji. He said that it was the right way to use magic, the most balanced way, and I believe him.” She looked at Viora. “I’m going to learn it one way or the other, Pretmaraji. I’ll use Ionat’s books if I have to, but I’ll learn faster if I have a teacher, someone who knows how it works already.”

“Books?” the Celmaraji asked. “What books?”

“Manuals on twilight magic written by Emperor Florin himself,” Viora sighed. “The Inquisitor gifted them to me before he left. I was going to tell you about them, Celmaraji…” She gave Renica a hard glare. “After I’d had a chance to look through them to make sure they were safe, that is.”

“There’s no need,” Renica shook her head. “Ionat said they were, and that’s good enough for me.” She looked at the Celmaraji. “It should be enough for both of you. He used that magic to save both of your lives – and to free you from Ilinca, Celmaraji.”

She straightened, her hand still on her knife. “Ionat and I started a hunt, Celmaraji. I intend to finish it. One way or another, I’m going to bring down the Vanatori. After that, I’ll go after the people threatening Vutana, whoever they are. Ionat set me on this path, and I’m going to walk it as far as I can. I’m asking for the Church’s help, but if you won’t grant it, I’ll do it without you.” She turned toward the door, fully intending to walk out, but the Celmaraji’s voice halted her and caused her to turn back.

“Wait,” the woman spoke, her voice tired and brittle. “Pretmaraji, this woman – this hunter – can she do what she’s promising?”

“Yes, Celmaraji,” Viora replied without hesitation. “If Renica says she can hunt them down, she can.”

“And is she suitable to learn magic?”

“Very. She’s the most naturally talented raji I’ve met in decades.” The woman smiled sadly. “Except for the Inquisitor, of course.”

The Celmaraji sighed. “I don’t like this,” she admitted. “I feel like I’m trading one problem for another – but it’s a problem I’ll have to face years down the road while the other is a blade at my throat. If I had any other options…” She straightened. “But I don’t. Very well, Hunter. I’ll give you the training and tools you’ll need to hunt down your enemies. I’ll forge you into a weapon that cuts in the name of the Church and hope that your edge never turns against me.”

Renica smiled as a sense of purpose pushed aside her grief and loneliness. She would finish what she and Ionat had started. She would be the hunter in the wilds, tracking the Vanatori and slaughtering them one at a time, keeping her people safe from the crazed animals they’d become. Ionat had given her that, the strength and ruthlessness she needed to hunt the deadliest of prey, and she wouldn’t let his gifts go to waste.

And while she hunted, she’d hunt for knowledge, as well, knowledge of the Inquisitors and how they moved from world to world. She’d learn all the magic she could, master every skill possible, and learn all there was to know about other worlds. And when finally, her hunt on Soluminos was done…

She’d track Ionat to the distant reaches of the universe, as well.