temple and ask for what they sought, find it, then leave and move on to their next task. But nothing about their journey had been simple.
“Who built an altar in a volcano?” Rosalia asked. “It sounds counterproductive to visiting and communing with your god.”
Isabis chuckled. “My ancestors did. Long ago, our people dwelled in the caldera itself. We built our home on the ridges and steppes. We carved out the interior and mined magma, volcanic rock, and glass for our crafts. All could withstand the great heat with the gift of Moritan and his eternal love.”
“And now you cannot?”
Fleeting sadness touched ancient eyes. “Only the eldest among us can walk in the flames, and some of our young when truly focused. The magic is dying. It faded first from our lands, and with each new generation, we see less of it. Our gift has diminished in recent years.”
Her brows furrowed. Then understanding dawned.
Moritan had weakened. Like the ocean goddess, he could no longer sustain miracles and magical gifts. Xavier met Rosalia’s gaze and saw the same understanding in her eyes.
“Can anyone guide us to the volcano to retrieve it?” Rosalia asked.
“Certainly. At least, we can lead you a portion of the way. No one has walked the Trial of Fire in quite some time. Not since our gifts first began to flicker out.”
“Trial of Fire?”
“The base of the mountain is quite unstable. Too unstable for anyone except the strongest and most determined of my people to cross. And even then…” Isabis’s sad smile told the story. “It is now forbidden to make the pilgrimage.”
“Then it seems to me that we need do nothing,” Xavier said. “There is no safer place for the stone than in the arms of Moritan. The king can never acquire it. All the mages and wizards in the world couldn’t safely retrieve the Legacy without perishing in the attempt. It’s safe there for all eternity.”
Rosalia shook her head. “No. It’s safe from mortals for all eternity. They have a fire wraith at their disposal.”
“We haven’t seen it yet. It’s wholly possible the spymaster only created the ice wraith.”
“Do you really think that? That he’d miss a golden opportunity like that?”
A moment of silence passed, followed by the whoosh of his exhaling breath. “No. He wouldn’t. I wouldn’t if I were him.”
“My mother and Lacherra were as close as sisters. We have to assume she knows the general location of the Heart of Moritan and that one of those creatures is en route right this very moment. We can’t afford to wait and leave it up to chance. There’s no other way forward. We have to walk the Trial of Fire if we want the stone. If we don’t, it’s as good as in the spymaster and king’s hands.”
“Then I’ll do it alongside you. Together.”
“You are both very brave,” Isabis said in a grave tone, rising from her seat at the table. “It will not be easy for you, but we will outfit you as one of our people, in the raiment of our ancestors.”
“We can fly to the top,” Xavier protested. “I’m a weredragon. My wings will carry us with greater speed than we could ever travel by land.”
“No,” Isabis said. “I am afraid you cannot fly. The way will only open for those who submit to Moritan’s judgment. For all others, the mountain will be obscured and you will never find the Traveler’s Path.”
A team of three guides led Rosalia and Xavier from the tribe’s village under the safety of night, otherwise she imagined the journey would have been intolerable with the sun bearing down on them.
Xavier’s prediction proved true when it came to her djinn heritage. It didn’t protect her entirely from the unforgiving heat.
Gradually, the scent of ash filled the air. The clouds above the approaching mountain range rolled with thunder and occasional flashes of lightning. Desert oasis bled away to a rocky landscape speckled by intermittent trees and patches of fertile ground. Where the fires had burned out, lush foliage grew, only to be scorched once more as lava burst to the surface in a never-ending cycle of consumption and growth.
In a way, it was almost pretty, and Rosalia thought it symbolic of all things as new life rose from the ashes.
“These fields once protected my people from outsiders and those who would do us harm,” Hyraj explained as they forged past a bubbling orange pit created by a river of magma.
“I don’t get it,” Rosalia muttered as she picked her way