Great Anu . . . I stop my prayer. Is there any point? The gods have not answered any of my entreaties. Why answer them now?
But just in case the gods are listening, I send up a plea. Protect Deven.
My small effort at faith drains me. I hunker down into my fur cloak, and the clouds clear below us, revealing scorched land and trees. We have reached Samiya.
Piles of rubble fan out from the remains of the Sisterhood temple. Under the snowbanks, the last of the stone structure is nearly unrecognizable. My longing for Jaya has steadily lessened, like a wound puckering to a scar, but near our home again, my memories of our simple life cause me to ache. Before the Claiming, I knew little of the world of men. Jaya and the Sisterhood were everything. I felt certain they were my intended future.
Chare banks west and soars over the alpine lake. The frozen surface shimmers in the low light, deceiving the mortal eye. Beneath that sheen of ice lies the gate to the Void.
Burn marks stripe the lakeshore, remnants of our battle against Kur. Tinley circles the wreckage of two Paljorian airships, skeletons of their once graceful glory. Chare banks away from the lake. I twist around to prolong my view and tuck my prosthesis close. Our war was won, the cost mighty.
“Cala . . . ,” the sky whistles.
That is an odd thing for the wind to say.
We glide toward Wolf’s Peak, snow dusting the steep ridges. I blink fast to stave off the wind and search for a glimpse of the gods’ temple.
“Cala . . .”
Upon hearing the name a second time, I listen closer.
“Cala . . .”
The voice’s anguish scratches at me—this is the sound I would label my own grief.
I scour the snowcapped peaks for the source as we climb higher into the flurries and the presumed site of Ekur disappears behind a wall of white.
The northern wind must have tricked me. Nothing lives up here. No one could survive this lonely cold.
We dip into a land of ice and snow. The entirety of the valley has been drained of color. Even the sun is insipid, diffused by the reflection of its greatness upon the ivory and charcoal landscape.
Chare glides lower over the tundra and kicks up swirls of powder. The falcon’s feathers soon bear a fine coat of soft crystals. Every so often we fly over ancient arches that rise from the flatlands like empty doorways to nowhere.
“What are those?” I call over the wind.
“Gates to the Beyond.” Tinley’s silver hair is pinned under her fur cloak to prevent it from whipping at me. “Our ancestors erected them centuries ago. We believe the souls of our loved ones pass through them when they die.”