Water roared in her ears. She screamed, or thought she did, before all sound tore away, leaving her floating in a silent, murky pool. She gasped for breath, but no air reached her lungs. She began to sink, as if trapped in quicksand, struggling against the sudden heaviness of her limbs.

Shadows lurked at the edges of her vision, coalescing into colorless, nebulous shapes and forms before dispersing once more into darkness.

Above her she saw Kasa looming again, shining beacon upon a distant hill, waterways tracing patterns in the clouds. Fish and sinuous creatures flitted overhead; a kammrae dove past, curved horns rippling through the waves. Tall trees waved in the wind, branches reaching downward, roots curling toward the heavens.

Then came the drowned men, one after another, dancing across her vision in a susurrus, shuffling line of shredded arms: eyes hollow, bones gleaming like pearls, hair tangling like weeds.

After them came a parade of beings, monsters for which she had no name. Headless monkeys with tiny crawling things running skitter-skitter beneath translucent skin, undulating worms with gaping mouths embedded in their backs, an eight-eyed horse with hairy human legs, a dolphin with a noblewoman’s soft pliant arms, a crabman with alligator’s jaws, a giant fleshy sphere that twisted and contorted and shivered with every move.

She dared not watch; she dared not close her eyes.

There was a whisper of laughter, a distant chittering sound, real or imagined. Once more, the rush of water. And then silence and mist again, sudden and overwhelming.

Her feet found solid purchase. Mud sucked greedily at her bare soles. Before her a river materialized from the gloom, winding and stretching into the distance: darkness flowing ever forward, emptying, perhaps, into some vast false sea, while she stood waiting at its banks.

She felt for her sword, but it was no longer at her side. She felt naked and alone. A thousand gazes trained upon her from above and below. And all around her, the rancid scent of fetid swamp.

A pale pinprick of light glowed against the flow of shadows, bobbing up and down as if borne by some invisible current.

She took one step. Another.

She began to walk.

* * *

Hey, Ashne. You scared?

She shakes her head. Their bellies are hollow, their bodies little more than skin and sharp bones, here in this plentiful land where fruit grows year-round and the fields are flooded with rice. Her breath rattles whenever she tries to speak: so she remains silent.

Nothin’ scary about this, I guess. Just some dumb old mountain after all.

She clutches the other girl’s hand. The girl squeezes back.

The sun shines pale and distant overhead. Winter’s sun: little comfort in these high cold slopes.

Are you sure they won’t come after us, she whispers.

Course not. They wouldn’t dare.

But it is wrong, all wrong. The birds and frogs do not sing in this place, and the beasts do not run.

Perhaps they are all dead. Dead of hunger, like they will be soon. Or dead from some wild battle in the thickets. The clansmen spoke of war and vengeance. Of the rivers running red with blood. She cannot imagine it. Not even all the rats she could eat in a lifetime could dirty the great waters so.

Stupid, though. The Speaker is a weakling, everyone says so. They say he debased himself as a slave before his enemies! His father can’t have been much better.

There is nothing to fear from the dead.

Guess that’s our luck, though. If we just wait it out a little longer, I’m sure...

Little swamp thieves. Accursed brats. Good-for-nothing whelps. She knows very well what they are. What they will remain until they die, no matter how long they wait. The mountain take them! the hunter had shouted, moments before they stumbled into the forest, swallowed by morning mists.

It does not matter. It will not be long, now. And she will not be alone.

And that is enough. More than enough, here, in this cold silent place where not even the wind stirs. Where even the shadows seem faint and lost.

They circle past trees and rocks, past a gurgling brook, then back again. The path leads nowhere; the path leads everywhere. One moment the sun shines from their left; the next it is on their right, and then it trails them from behind.

Shhh! says the other girl suddenly, though neither has spoken in some time.

She stills, heart fluttering.

Did you hear that?

There is no wind, no water, here. She has not seen a single living creature in days. Hear what?

Shh, the girl says again, head cocked. Then she closes her eyes.

Hours pass, or perhaps only moments.

Zsaran, she croaks. Zsaran, what’s wrong? Zsaran!

The girl blinks awake. Her eyes are bright. Bright as molten gold.

Zsa— Her tongue fails her.

Come, says the girl, her voice a deep ageless tremor in the stillness.

And so come she does. They pass through sunlight and shadow, through fire and water, hands linked, feet flying across pebbles and shrubbery. Until, at last, they come to a stop atop the peak of the great mountain.

Before them lies a tomb carved into the rock, sealed with wood and clay. Behind them the blue land rolls and thrusts towards the sky past a sea of clouds and the green rivers twist round and round the pillars of the earth.

The girl opens her mouth, and sings.

Not the high clear call of birds in spring, nor the insistent hum of cicadas in late summer, nor the low warble of frogs at night. But a great and terrible vow, sworn not in words but sound. On and on the verses echo, weaving a net of light around then. The net tightens, sinks into skin and bone, startlingly cool to the touch.

When the song finishes, the girl looks back, eyes no longer shining with the brilliance of the sun.

Ashne?

Zsaran... Still she cannot finish her sentence.

What’s wrong?

The words come tumbling out. Don’t leave me. Don’t ever leave me again.

A smile. A shrug. But eyes dark, solemn. I promise.

If we die here...

It’s not our time yet. They told me so.

She does not ask who “they” are. But what if...

I promise. I’ll stay with you until the end.

Really?

Really. The girl turns her head to the skies. Cups her hands to her mouth and shouts. Y’hear that?

But as for herself, she slumps to the ground, suddenly exhausted.

Ashne?

I’m glad...

Everything fades.

* * *

“No,” said Ashne. “That memory is false.”

But no sound left her lips.

We’re going to die, aren’t we? she had whispered, that first cold night in the mountains. And Zsaran had replied fiercely, Of course we’re not.

But what if they come after us? What if...

They wouldn’t dare.

But...

I won’t leave you. I promise.

Really?

You are my sister, and I yours. Though we were not born on the same day, in the same month, or in the same year... This I swear: I will never leave you. Though we began apart, we shall be together at the end.

Then this I swear as well. Because I am your sister, and you are mine.

The river wrapped dark tendrils around her ankles, dragging her away from the bank.

You can’t take me, she said. I won’t let you.

As if she could disperse these mad visions with little more than a word.

She pulled and tugged against the force of the river, but it was no use. Once more she began to sink. Shadows rushed past her eyes.

Why was she fighting? Why was she struggling so hard against the inevitable?

Her body went limp. The currents carried her, shadows swirling around and under her. She began to hear disembodied voices through the haze.

“My lady, you must make haste. The enemy is here.” A woman’s voice. Shranai?

“But the baby, my baby—”

Another voice, lower, masculine. Also familiar, but not in the solid, comforting registers of Muntong, nor Aorang’s sharper tones. “Lady Consort, I am sorry, but it must be done. We are surrounded. Our men will not last much longer. When they learn of this child, they will not hesitate to—”

“But a girl. She is just a girl. Surely she is no threat to them?”

“My lady,” said Shranai, voice cracking with desperation. “Please—”

Promise me.

Ashne jerked. Kitzon’s voice, warmer and more vibrant than any sound that had passed through her ears in this strange place.

The sword must have dragged him in as well.

But where? She struggled against the darkness, trying to see, trying to find footing.

“I know it is hard to believe. But it is the truth. The spirits told me so, and they do not lie.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. But how...”

Zsaran?

Zsaran!

Zsaran, please...

“Think about it. It all adds up, doesn’t it? You realize it too, don’t you? With this, everything falls into place.”

“I...”

“What will you do?”

Zsaran’s face flashed across her vision, sad and troubled and distorted.

She screamed. The currents buoyed her upward, breaking through the filmy surface and into a luminous dark night studded with stars. The beauty of it all took her breath away, choked her. Hot tears ran down her face, blurring her view.

Let me die then, she whispered. Let me join her, let me take her place, anything—

In the field of starflowers, a fierce wind blew, scattering blossoms and blades of grass through the sky.

Within the storm stood a single figure, dark hair flying wild behind her.

“Zsaran!”

The figure turned.

“You,” said Zsaran, face twisted with barely suppressed anger.

Ashne froze, shocked.

But it was not Ashne whom Zsaran addressed.

“Damn you. The lady promised!”

“The lady promised nothing,” said Shranai.

You know too much.

Ten thousand stars glittered. Ten thousand stars fell, streaking through the darkness like ten thousand blades slicing across the heavens.

Ashne’s tattoos began to glow with a searing cold light. Even the scar in her belly blazed, an explosion of pain and ice and furious noise.

I ask only this.

Zsaran’s voice came to her then, a gentle whisper in her ear.

“Let us be free.”

Your secret lies safe with me.

The shadows tore away like shredded silk. And Ashne found that she could move freely again.

In the silver mists that remained, Ashne saw her again, watching from afar, surrounded by the drowned men.

“Zsaran...”

The woman’s face was still and cold as stone, showing no sign of regret or recognition. Her robes were a bright filmy white, more vivid than the amorphous rags of the others. They billowed and clung to her form.

Ashne walked, and the mists parted before her, closing behind her as she passed. Ten thousand eyes followed her slow progress, until at last she came upon a gray bridge arching into the distance. Only then did she realize that she had been following the winding curves of the shadow river once more.

Zsaran and her drowned company stood waiting at the opposite bank. The light Ashne had seen in what seemed like ages past bobbed up and down at the foot of the bridge.

Ashne placed her foot on the bridge. Instantly, her tattoos began to glow once more, forcing her back with an unfathomable repelling force.

The light seemed to catch the attention of the horde. The drowned ones began to howl and dance. Bridge and river alike began to disappear. Everything began to disappear.

Leaving only Zsaran, who slowly turned her gaze on Ashne.

“We swore an oath!” she cried, trying to run to her. But no matter how far she ran, the distance between them did not close.

Zsaran watched her sadly, eyes unexpectedly clear. Shook her head. Held a hand to her heart, then let it fall.

“Please. Please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me, Zsaran —”

This time, a soft, secret smile curved Zsaran’s lips. She touched her hand to her heart once more.

Then began retreating into the mist.

“ZSARAN!”

Kitzon. Even without turning, she knew. His voice was unmistakable.

Zsaran’s form continued to fade.

“ZSARAN!” he roared again, accompanied by a great wind that thrust her aside even as she tried to run forward.

The massive lithe form of the Tiger bounded past, Kitzon clutching to its back as if it were only natural, as if the beast were always meant to be ridden, by him and him alone. He cried out Zsaran’s name again and again, as if through that alone he could stop her. Ashne fell to her knees. Watched the Tiger wheel around as they neared Zsaran, as Kitzon reached out, fingers brushing against hers, grasping nothing but air.

And then she was gone.

* * *

A terrible wordless cry erupted from Kitzon’s throat. Ashne watched him tumble from the Tiger’s back, brought to his knees at last. Tears streamed down his handsome face, his despair intruding upon her own private grief.

She stumbled to her feet, reaching blindly for support, remembering too late that her sword was not with her.

The Tiger turned to regard her. It padded forward, jaws stretching wide in what might have been mistaken as a yawn.

She could not weep. Not anymore. Her eyes were dry, her heart shriveled as a prune. To meet her end here, at this creature’s claws, no longer seemed a horrifying prospect.

But the Tiger did not pounce. It stood waiting, observing, until Kitzon rose behind it. Hazsam gleamed in his hands as if it had been there all along, like a cold and distant star.

Before Ashne could move or call out, he flipped the blade downwards and stabbed.

The ground shattered, splintering into shards of white iron. Kitzon stabbed again, and this time water surged in a great cresting wave above them all, sweeping everything away. As Ashne flailed and gasped for air, she saw the nameless monsters whirling past, some giggling, some wailing — their forms more solid than before, more tangible. Some she thought she recognized — a plump river dolphin, a giant blind catfish, a stingray with a vicious barb. Others resembled nothing she had ever seen in life. A few of them snapped hungrily at her; her hands brushed against scales and oily fur and slime. Far ahead, she could see Kitzon riding atop the Tiger once more, Hazsam raised like a beacon in the darkness: the beast paddling lazily toward a filmy hole hovering at the horizon, the man singing verses in his own tongue, a thousand inhuman voices joining him in a keening refrain.

For a moment the edges of their forms blurred and it seemed as if man and blade and tiger were one. One single force, one single entity of pure power, transcending the very boundaries of existence. Fragile and numinous and relentless all at once.

Then Ashne blinked, and the moment passed. Their forms fell apart once more.

She, too, began to swim, fighting current and creature alike, keeping her eyes trained on Kitzon and the distant hole to which all were gathering.

The hole led nowhere, so far as she could see, as if an invisible veil were draped over it. But the closer she got, the clearer the view beyond the veil grew. Stars, and fire leaping and snapping.

And a man, hair white as clouds, robes the deep blue of indigo, staff held horizontally before him in a warding gesture.

In his other hand he held Hazsam’s scabbard.

“Braksya!” she cried, but he gave no sign of hearing her. She saw his little snake slithering through the veil, a barely perceptible ripple of light in the gloom.

To her surprise, the water began to recede, revealing what seemed to be solid land at the edge of the hole. And as the water receded, the snake lengthened and grew in size, until it was nearly a match for the Tiger itself. With a hiss, it slipped into the remaining water, silent and swift, heading straight for Kitzon and the Tiger.

The Tiger roared, or perhaps Kitzon did. The waves surged again, blocking Ashne’s view. When she surfaced again, the snake was coiled around the furious, struggling Tiger, and Kitzon and Hazsam were nowhere to be seen.

At the shore, Braksya seemed engaged in his own strange struggle, his face furrowed as he strained against the veil, pounding against it with both staff and scabbard.

At last the staff broke through; in that moment, he looked up, and their gazes met.

He grinned, almost apologetically.

“Braksya!” she yelled again, overcome with a sudden, profound certainty. “The gate! Close the gate!”

“Trying!” he shouted back. His voice sounded muffled and distorted, as if he were trapped in a bubble. He lifted a foot, straddling both sides of the gate, half of his body emerging into the shadows. With another wry grin he began to whack awkwardly at the first arrivals. But it was no use: once knocked back, the monsters only continued to crawl and leap and wriggle ashore.

Ashne, too, reached the shore and struggled to her feet for what seemed like the thousandth time that night. “Hurry!” she urged, even as she raced to help him, though how she intended to help, she did not know, nor did she have any idea what they could do to close the space between worlds — only that they must. She thought of Nanue the Restorer, who had patched the rupture in the wall of heaven and separated the skies from the earth after the second breaking of the world.

But she was no Nanue, and before she could reach him, she saw that she was not the only one who had made it safely to land.

“No,” said Kitzon, standing cool and motionless amid the chaos he had unleashed. “You cannot. I won’t let you.”

His hand thrust forward, ramming through Ashne’s torso like an oar through muddy water.

She screamed.