they crouch-crawled through the brush till they reached the edge of the woods.
Now Xinai began to sense something, a creeping sense of wrong that she hadn’t felt at the markers. The nape of her neck prickled and she felt Shaiyung’s icy discontent, but her mother kept quiet as they crept on.
The ground sloped into a valley, and a broad, lazy river unwound below them. One of the many veins of Sivahra that flowed to meet the great artery of the Mir. She didn’t know its name, but all lesser rivers were Gai—the mother’s daughter.
Buildings lined the shore, solid enough to have stood for years. Locks of wood and stone enclosed stretches of river perhaps a hundred yards long, the water between them brown and silty. People stood in the river, a dozen for every stretch, scooping mud into loosely woven baskets. Every so often one would pull something out of the mud, rinse it clean, and tuck it into a bag. For a moment Xinai thought they were fishing, but what fish or crab was so valuable it needed armed guards lining the shore?
The men and women on the shore wore forest garb, the mismatched styles that had become common among the people of the lowland jungles. Mostly Assari, but not all, skin ranging from teak to honeyed cream. No uniforms, no badges or colors, but she recognized the way they moved, their circuits and posts, the watchful ease with which they stood. Mercenaries. Or soldiers.
The diamond throbbed against Xinai’s chest, and slowly she realized what she was watching. The taste of blood filled her mouth; she’d bitten her lip. Her jaw ached from clenching it.
She’d expected something worse. Scars carved in rock, caverns full of glittering stones, chained prisoners with picks and shovels. From above these looked like children, searching streambeds for polished pebbles or blue crabs for stew. But these must be the missing prisoners—they’d gone to the mines after all, just not the mine the Khas claimed.
“There are ghosts down there,” Shaiyung whispered in her ear. “On the far side of the river. A lot of them, all unsung.” Her face was grim and ghastly as ever, but her voice cracked with anger and sorrow.
The air chilled and the shadows deepened around them; the sun had moved behind the mountain, casting the valley in a false twilight. Beside her, Riuh’s face was ashen, his shoulders stiff.
“We should go,” Xinai whispered, touching his arm; his muscles trembled with tension.
“This is where they all go. My father might be down there.”
She glanced at her mother.
“I don’t know,” Shaiyung said in answer to the unspoken question. “And the ghosts are in no shape to help us—they’re trapped, weak and faded.”
Xinai shook her head sadly. “We could never take them, and you know it. Come on—we have to tell Selei.”
A guard whistled and she flinched, but it was only the sign for the prisoners to come in. One by one they trudged out of the river, revealing rope hobbles barely long enough for a short woman’s pace. The guards took their bags away and frisked them thoroughly, checking under their tongues.
One of the prisoners closest to the lock dawdled as the others left the water, leaning down as if to scoop more mud. From her vantage, Xinai saw he wasn’t using his basket at all, but reaching for his ankles.
An escape attempt. Her breath caught; Riuh stiffened.
The lock below was empty. After that, the river flowed free. If he could only make it…
If he made it, could they help him? Should they? He’d only slow them down. Her hand tightened on her knife hilt.
The prisoner bolted. Xinai winced at the sound of splashing feet, at the shout of the guard. One, two, three, four strides and he was nearly at the lock. A guard drew his bow—the sound of a pistol shot would carry too far over the water.
He reached the lock. Riuh crouched on the balls of his feet, ready to run. The twang of a bowstring carried through the air. The prisoner arched into a dive.
And fell gracelessly as the arrow pierced his back. If he cried out, Xinai couldn’t hear it. He surfaced, clawing the water, then sank again. Riuh let out a painful breath, as if he’d been struck.
Below them, the body drifted gently toward the last lock. Scarlet ribbons spooled into the current, dissolved into mud and brown as the guards ambled down to retrieve the corpse.