09



They left at dawn. They went west, down off the heights, into the teeth of a wind that stole the warmth from the sun.

Mikah was riding the Semnian horse, which was living up to its new name by bearing him as carefully as if he were a crate of eggs. They had borrowed a saddle from Kastor’s uncle. It had been clear from Gedthenoc’s expression that he didn’t expect it to ever be returned. Distant relatives had appeared in surprising numbers to help them on their way. Some had come bearing gifts. Mikah was wearing a jacket of gray quilted silk over his bandages, a colorful felt hat, and a pair of red felt mittens, and was wrapped in a checked blanket. He looked like a child, bundled up like that, perched atop the big plowhorse.

All of them had new lambswool scarves, courtesy of an unrelated woman who apparently made the things by the gross. The mule’s pack and Luwedd’s saddlebags were full of gifts of food, several weeks’ worth. Most important, at least to Kastor, had been the promises that they would work on getting the Gethanein to allow him to return someday. Perhaps for a certain number of days every year, in order to visit his relatives. He didn’t think it was going to happen, but it mattered a lot that they were willing to try. They had promised that if he sent a message to a certain Yhehan clan trader, it would be forwarded by relay to Nhedra. He suspected they were hoping he’d send money. That branch of the family was poor, as Auberlanes went.

Neither Alys nor Charis had come to say goodbye. He hadn’t expected them to. It was all right. The simple fact that his son knew him was enough for now.

The three Semnians dissected the events of the past few days in minute detail. Kastor absorbed the long horizon of the Sei, since it might be his last chance to do so. This occupied the morning. They stopped at noon to rest the animals and let Mikah get down for a while; he claimed his legs were stiff and he’d rather walk, but it was clear he didn’t have the strength to stand up for long, let alone make a full day’s travel on foot. When Magda checked his bandages, she found that they were no longer needed anywhere but his forearms. All the other cuts looked a week healed, and the bruises that had been deep black the previous day were at the yellow-green stage now. His forearms, though, which Alys’s swords had butchered, were still a mess, and bled freely when Magda changed the bandages.

“You’re holding up pretty well,” Kastor told him, “for someone who claims to be a big baby about pain.”

“And you’re a patronizing jackass.”

Kastor smiled to himself. So Mikah was feeling as rotten as he looked, after all. He considered whether it would be cruel to turn the tables by teasing him now, and decided there was an even chance it would be taken as a kind of tribute. When they were underway again, he said, “Idle hands do evil work, so you should probably get started repairing my armor.”

The shreds of Kastor’s leathers resided in one of the saddlebags. Mikah had indicated that he could make them remember their previous form once he could spare strength from healing. Obviously he couldn’t now; he looked aghast. “You’d have your armor whole and me in pieces?”

“Or you could buy me a new suit. Not sure where, though. No, you’ll just have to fix what you broke.”

“What I broke?”

“When you borrow something, you can’t return it damaged. Didn’t anyone teach you any manners?”

“What happened to your gratitude? I was nearly dismembered for you, and --” Mikah broke off. He snorted. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I was wondering when you’d catch on.”

“It isn’t fair, you know. My wits are dull right now.”

“That’s the only time I’ve got a chance to get the upper hand.”

The corner of Mikah’s mouth curled up. “Enjoy it while you can, my cruelty. I’ll have my revenge when I’m well.”

“Which will be different from usual how, exactly?”

“Oh, you’ll find out. I’m going to mock you until you cry like a little girl.”

“That should be entertaining.”

“Why are you so sanguine, suddenly? Am I still too pitiful for you to hate me?”

“Yep.” Kastor glanced sidelong at him, and added deadpan, “And you look so adorable in that little hat.”

“Shut up.”

“Like a baby in a bonnet.”

“Shut your hole before I stuff a saddlebag in it.”

“Awww, izzums angry?” He ducked the swat Mikah aimed at his head, laughing. Luwedd snorted protest at these antics, and this was what made Mikah laugh, as if he could understand what the horse was saying. Possibly he could.

Magda broke up the mock-fight with the exasperated air of a schoolteacher. Which, as he recalled, she was. “Don’t tire him out, Kastor. He might be tougher than a mortal, but it’s taking a lot of energy for his body to repair itself. Mikah, you should be drinking milk. We agreed about that.”

“Pfeh.”

“Mikah.”

“Oh, all right.” Mikah hunted up the skin of mare’s milk that had been sent along as medicine. It was a traditional remedy for blood loss and general weakness. Kastor, having gotten himself into plenty of bloody scrapes over the course of his youth, could attest to its effectiveness. The Mara didn’t like the taste, though; he grimaced with every drink he took. “Agh. It’s warm.”

“If you want it cold,” Kastor told him, “Don’t hang it behind your leg there. Put it on top of the pack. I don’t see why you want it cold.”

“I can’t taste it as much when it’s cold. Why couldn’t I have fallen in with a lot of Nestrians, who believe in red wine for building the blood?”

“Because their medicine would have killed you,” Lucien answered with uncharacteristic tartness. “Immortal or not. Do you know they give phosphor pills for wasting diseases? Phosphor! Any alchemist could tell you it’s poisonous. And mercury for hysterical complaints, which will drive you insane before it kills you. They take arsenic for their complexions! It’s a wonder there are any of them left.”

Tanner laughed, clapping the wizard on his shoulder. “We’ve found something Luce has an opinion about. Finally. Go on, hold forth. Lecture.”

Lucien shook his head, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“I’m not mocking you, Luce. Well, not much. I really want to hear. You don’t talk enough.”

“I don’t? Sorry.” Now he looked a bit alarmed.

Tanner rolled her eyes. “I’m botching this conversation, aren’t I? All I’m saying is, you can talk. We’re all friends here. You don’t have to look so horrified at yourself when you open your mouth and something interesting escapes.”

Lucien avioded her gaze for a moment by scratching a knot out of his flaming mane. Kastor was amused, not for the first time, that someone so dramatic-looking could be so shy. Weren’t redheads supposed to have a temper? The wizard really did look leonine, and now that regular food and exertion were putting some meat back on his bones the impression of frailty was fading from him. He was the sort of man who should stride about roaring at people, or at least look down his nose at everyone like a king of beasts. All this ducking and blushing just didn’t look right.

Magda stepped into the conversational opening: “It sounds as if you studied alchemy as well as wizardry.”

“Well, yes, some. Toward the end of my apprenticeship. Purely chemical work didn’t seem to trigger my curse. They’re related fields, you know. Astrology and mathematics are essential for both.”

“I’ve always had difficulty understanding alchemical writings. So much of it seems to be in code.”

“It’s not a code so much as a jargon, a trade language. Terms had to be invented because new substances and processes were being discovered, for which there were no preexisting terms.”

“But some terms seem to mean more than one thing. ‘Prime matter’, for instance; in some cases it means clay, in some cases flesh, in some it seems to refer to a state of mind or a stage of mental development.”

“Ah, that’s because it’s a term for a stage in a process, not for a physical object. The prime matter in any transformation is the first stage of the working, something which hasn’t yet been transformed in any way. If you were to begin a fresh working with your primary ingredient being, say, cinnabar, which is a compound of suphur and mercury, it wouldn’t be called prime matter because it’s already undergone transformation. Even though that transformation wasn’t part of the present working, it has to be taken into account.”

“Oh! That makes sense. But hasn’t everything on earth been transformed?”

“Not by will. The element of will is why alchemy is a sorcerous science, you see, not merely a matter for artisans.”

Still talking, they wandered a little distance from the others, walking shoulder to shoulder and making points with their hands. Kastor nudged Tanner, smiling. “Birds of a feather.”

Instead of smiling back, she sighed. “I guess so.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m just tired.”

“Bullshit, Tanner. After all the prying you’ve done into my affairs, don’t you start sighing like a schoolgirl and then tell me ‘nothing’.”

She gave him a rueful grin. “I’m jealous. Isn’t that the stupidest thing?”

Perplexed, he made a vague gesture. “Wait. You and Luce --?”

“Nah. He doesn’t know what to do with me. I can tell he’s sort of interested, in a barnyard kind of way, but that’s not enough for him. He probably thinks those feelings are dirty. I can’t tell if the age difference bothers him or not. But I do know I can’t talk like that. I’m the enlisted officer who can read and write -- whoopee.” She sighed again. “You think he’d wait around while I educate myself?”

“You like him that much?”

“I can’t tell.” She shrugged helplessly. “Held myself back from overcommitting for so long I don’t know how it goes anymore. But maybe. I think so. Yeah.”

“Have you told him?”

She looked at him as if he were insane. “Shit, no!”

“Well, he’s not going to fall for Magda, or if he does it won’t do him any good.”

“That’s not the problem, Kas. The problem is I just can’t keep up with him. Well, and of course the old problems are still there. The thing where people would like the option of spawning, and those sprats aren’t going to come from me. I’ve been fine with a meaningless fuck now and then, and I could make myself be fine with it now, but then he’d wander off when we were done and I wouldn’t get to pick through that gorgeous brain anymore. Not to mention, I think he’s a virgin and I think he believes in True Love. So if you tell him what I just said I’ll have to rip your head off and stuff it up your ass.”

Kastor understood the discomfort her vulgarity was attempting to conceal. He nodded. “You can’t keep that up forever, Tanner. He’s going to pick up on it. He may be introverted, but he’s not blind.”

“I’m not trying to act like I don’t give a damn. That would be stupid. Give him enough rope to hang himself, that’s the strategy. So far he hasn’t picked up on the hints, though.”

“You didn’t see him blushing the other night when you snuggled up to him.” He mocked her casual voice: “Oh, Magda, come over here and make a puppy pile, we’re cold.”

“Obvious, huh?”

“Yep.”

She was looking at the ground, but a wicked grin spread across her face. “I woke up with his hand up my shirt. Think he did that in his sleep?”

“Well, it’s warmer in there.”

“You’re no help.”

“Was I supposed to be helping?”

She cheerfully punched him in the shoulder. “Jackass.”

“Again with the jackass. Can’t anyone think of a more accurate comparison?”

“Ferret,” Mikah supplied.

“Ferret’s good,” Tanner agreed.

“The hybrid offspring of a ferret and a boning knife.”

“A newt, maybe.”

“Or some kind of primitive fish.”

“Three-legged tomcat.”

“We’re ignoring the nose. A crane or a heron, perhaps.”

Kastor tried to scowl through his laughter, and failed. “Enough already.”

Mikah ignored him, assuming a pedantic posture. “But we’re forgetting the vegetable world entirely. There are many kinds of fungus which --”

“Ooh, but what about shellfish? Have you considered the lobster?”

“I’m not speaking to you people anymore,” Kastor said.

Lucien and Magda had wandered close enough to hear a bit of this. Lucien said, “Are we picking on Kastor? Can I play too?”

Kastor threw up his hands. “I give up. Jackass was fine. Let’s go back to jackass.”

Mikah put a hand on his shoulder in an avuncular gesture that was somewhat ruined by the red mittens. “You see where arguing gets you, son. You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.”

Kastor tried to fight back, but he was laughing too hard to produce a word.



They were still in high spirits when they camped for the night. They’d reached the foothills that afternoon, and had been gathering deadfall at every knot of wind-twisted scrub they passed. Their fire was high and hot. Magda discovered that patka, jerked buffalo, of which Kastor’s relatives had given them an enormous volume, and which the Semnians found too tooth-punishing for their taste, tasted pretty decent when softened in a stew. She simmered it for a while, added a handful of barley and some noodles, and somehow turned this simple thing into a feast. There were rice cakes, pickled radish, and dried apricots as well.

With full stomachs, they settled for the night. Weary as he was, Kastor found their sleeping arrangements interesting. The negotiations were hidden just well enough that no one had to admit to their intentions. Magda claimed a desire to sleep against Luwedd’s side, saying the horse was warmer than a blanket, but she did this in such a way that it seemed obvious that Tanner and Lucien would have to keep each other warm. The wizard and the soldier made a careful science of overlapping their cloaks, deliberating on the most comfortable placement of arms, and somehow managed to end up embracing like newlyweds. Kastor had offered to keep watch, and sat with his back to a boulder to keep the wind off; but of course Mikah couldn’t be allowed to waste his energy on being cold, so the Mara wrapped himself up like a parcel in jacket and cloak and blanket, and set himself between Kastor’s knees, scratchy felt cap burrowed into the hollow of Kastor’s throat. Kastor wrapped his cloak around them both, and tried not to read anything into it.

Long after he’d thought Mikah was asleep -- and was certain everyone else was -- the Mara rearranged himself so he was sitting a little higher, wriggling under his wrappings.

“What’re you doing?” Kastor murmured.

“Mittens,” Mikah whispered back. He went on squirming until there were no more coverings between himself and Kastor. One of his hands crawled like a spider under the hem of Kastor’s shirt and up his side.

“Hey. That tickles.”

“Does it?” He tickled on purpose.

“Hst! Quit it. You’ll make me wake the others.”

“Can’t have that.” He settled his head on Kastor’s shoulder, cheek pressing against the side of his neck. After a moment, he turned his face and deliberately kissed Kastor behind the ear.

Kastor went very still. “Seriously, Mikah. What are you doing?”

The answer was another deliberate kiss, under the hinge of the jaw, like a challenge. Kastor pulled away the few inches their posture allowed, ears filled with the rushing of his pulse.

“It doesn’t work that way,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Mikah, stop. This is not a good thing to be doing.”

“I know.” With a sigh, Mikah laid his head down again. “I made myself forget for a moment.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have been sorry later, but I would.”

“And you think that doesn’t matter to me? Why do you suppose I stopped?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

Kastor rolled his head against the rock behind him, making the stars spin. Suddenly he was miserable. “Are we being stupid, Mikah? Are we making mountains out of molehills?”

“Maybe I am. You aren’t. Fear not, my wretched. I’ll sleep now, and attempt no more improprieties. Unless this disappoints you?”

After a long moment, Kastor answered with a small smile. “Maybe one more impropriety.”

Mikah kissed him carefully, almost chastely, but it was still enough to start a furnace in his chest, heat rolling into his fingertips and over his scalp, so that he was sure he flushed scarlet. They made sure not to meet each other’s eyes afterwards. Mikah returned to his childlike, cuddled posture and went to sleep.

Kastor reminded himself of his reasons not to trust Mikah. If I care at all, I care too much. I can’t handle being thrown aside, I get all self-destructive, and if it happens again now I’ll be no use to anyone. He’s proven himself a faker and he’s not even human and he doesn’t really care for me, he’s just taking what he can get. Letting myself fall for him again would be a very, very bad idea.

But it didn’t seem like it, tonight. It seemed like it had already happened and no harm had come. Not speaking of it out loud didn’t keep it from hanging between them like a flame, throwing strange shadows on everything.

It’s only love. Aw, hell, I’m in so much trouble.

Kastor allowed himself a rueful grin, as he watched the stars creep past.



In the morning, after breakfast, Magda took off Mikah’s bandages. His arms still looked terrible, but the wounds had closed. The muscle looked lumpy under the skin. The scabbed cuts were red, puckered, swollen. The skin was too hot. Nevertheless Mikah opened and closed his hands and pronounced himself healed.

“It will take time for the flesh to rebuild itself, but you needn’t coddle me anymore. Not that I didn’t enjoy the attention.”

“Nonsense,” Magda said primly. “You’ll finish the mare’s milk and wrap up warm -- and don’t bother arguing with me.”

Mikah rolled his eyes. “I’m immortal, woman. Do you think I’ll catch a chill?”

“I just said not to bother.” She thrust his mittens at him. With a long-suffering sigh, he put them on.

He alternated walking and riding. Clearly, he preferred to walk, but couldn’t keep it up long. Magda had been right to insist that he still needed to be cared for. The way was steep, and Mikah still tired easily.

The hills grew sharp and rock-crowned. He directed them with a great show of confidence toward what looked to be an impassable wall of stone. Kastor could see clearly that the mountain’s rippled flank offered no passage. By this time, though, no one argued with Mikah. Even when the way grew difficult enough that Luwedd could no longer carry him, and he had to climb in short bursts followed by long pauses of leaning against the nearest surface, no one told him he was leading them wrong.

I guess we trust him. I wonder why? Kastor found he was watching Mikah very carefully today. Last night’s impulsive affection was right in character, but the gentle -- even tender -- way he’d surrendered to Kastor’s refusal was new. What was going through his head? His expressions looked more real now; he was impatient with his weakness, grateful for their patience, eager to reach his goal, and all this showed on his face. When he rubbed his arms with narrowed eyes, clearly in pain, and Kastor offered him a drink from the little flask of brandy that was his uncle’s least useful gift, Mikah gave him a strange, private smile. It was as if the two of them shared some joke that the rest of the world would never get.

But I don’t know what the joke is. I don’t know if he’s changed. He doesn’t seem to realize how necessary words are. Kastor’s answering smile was a faltering thing, and he found he wanted a bit of the brandy himself.

When they came near enough to the almost vertical face of the mountain that there could be no mistaking that the way was blocked, Lucien suddenly jammed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets with a startled cry.

“What is it?” Tanner was at his side instantly, hands steadying his shoulders. “Luce, what’s wrong with you?”

“Ow -- gods -- it hurts --”

“Lucien Farach.” Mikah was suddenly authoritative. “Let the river flow. Let the wind protect you.”

“I can’t -- concentrate --”

“Don’t concentrate. Just ease your grip. A little, and a little more.”

Lucien gave another cry. His knees buckled. Tanner caught him. She yelled, “Mikah, can’t you help him?”

“He has to help us. Lucien Farach, you were born to this. Stop fighting it.”

“But -- ah! -- what if it -- all -- goes --”

“It won’t. Trust me. Trust yourself. This pain is your doing, and it will end if you only open your hands.”

Lucien shook his head furiously, moaning. But the next moment he dropped his hands from his eyes, and the moment after that his face relaxed into wonder.

A ripple spread outward from him, a wave that passed through skin with a queasy sensation and rolled pebbles away in a widening circle. Grass waved, dust puffed across the ground, and where the growing ripple met the mountainside, the mountain changed. Illusion shattered like a reflection in water. Where there had been an impassable wall, there was now a steep path winding around the mountain’s flank, shaded by twisted pines and brush.

Magda squeaked and pressed her hand to her heart in startlement. Tanner said, “Whoa. Luce, did you do that?”

Mikah said, “You may want to stop referring to it as a curse, at this point.”

“I feel sick,” said Lucien, and the next moment he was.

From some distance up the path, a voice called out strange words in an indignant tone. Mikah chuckled. He called back in the same language. Then he added in Semnian, “Come meet my friends, kitten. Assure yourself they’re no threat.”

Brush stirred. Movement flickered, resolving itself into a human figure bounding down the path in long leaps. A teenaged boy, ocher-skinned, black hair cut to fuzz on his head, stark naked. He ran with deer-like grace and great speed, stopped suddenly right in front of them, and stared as if his nakedness were normal and the rest of them were strange. His eyes were an unbelievable leaf-green, tilted and feral. He absently rubbed his knuckles up and down his cheek as he watched them.

Mikah tossed him the checked blanket. The naked boy threw it around himself like a cape, not bothering to make sure it covered his privates. “What’s all this stuff?” the boy said with a lilting accent. He gestured imperiously to everything.

“Visitors, kitten. Would you like introductions?”

“No. Which one made me change?” His strange eyes focused on Lucien, as if he’d answered his own question. His lips drew back in a snarl, showing a mouthful of pointed, carnivore teeth, and he hissed.

“Settle down,” Mikah said sharply. “You can change back if you get far enough ahead of us. Just tell Mathonwy we’re coming, and not to brain us with half the mountain, all right?”

“What’ll you give me if I do?”

“All sorts of things. You know I never forget to bring you presents.”

The boy went abruptly from hostility to pleasure. “That’s true!” He dropped the blanket and sprinted away again.

Mikah collected the blanket with a sigh. “Silly creature. He’s going to get cold long before he can put his fur back on.”

“Um. Mikah?” Tanner was staring after the leaping child with an expression of intense bewilderment. “What was that?”

“That was Yakov. He’s a werecat; the last one in existence, as far as I know. Math found him somewhere, and is trying to raise him to be civilized, but as you can see the effort is wasted.”

“I see,” she said, though she clearly didn’t. “Yakov. Funny name for a cat. You’d think his name would be, I don’t know, Meeyaa, or something.”

“Math named him. He’s a strange enough fellow himself.”

“That’s your friend we’re going to visit?”

“Yes. I think we’ve given Yakov enough of a head start. Shall we?”

As they began the climb, she continued questioning him. “This friend of yours, is he a Mara too?”

“No. He’s a wizard.”

“Human, then.”

“Three quarters. His grandfather was an incubus. He seems quite proud of the fact, but he also makes an incredible effort to be good, so I think he’s afraid of some evil taint in his blood. It makes him an interesting person. His hospitality would be famous, if he allowed anyone to talk about it. He’ll ask you to promise not to describe his valley to anyone -- and be sure he’ll know if you’re lying.”

“I see. And why are we visiting him?”

“He knows where to find something I’m looking for. Well, I hope he does. You’ll see a number of strange people up there, I don’t doubt, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you not to gawk or pry.”

“Of course.”

Kastor said, “What kind of strange people?”

“Inhumans, for the most part. Weres, the transformed, those with the blood of immortals in them -- he had a vampire up there once, but the fellow was so gloomy no one wanted to talk to him, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“So are we going to be unwelcome? For being human?”

Mikah turned to give him a wry look. “I thought we went through this with your family, Kastor.”

“Not me, I mean the others.” Though the thought of being welcomed into such a bizarre company, some hidden valley of monsters claiming him as kin, left him somewhere between laughing and vomiting.

“No. There won’t be any trouble. Math keeps good order. He could destroy me with a word, if he wished. Spells that the greatest archmages of the civilized world have struggled to master for centuries, he has at the flick of his fingers. But his greatest skill is as a diviner. He specializes in discovering that which can’t be discovered. There is nothing, be it ever so hidden, that he can’t sniff out, if not the thing itself then the shape of its absence. I’m sure he was very interested to see this knot of emptiness creeping toward his valley, and then flowering into a great sphere of nothing right at the foot of the path. Possibly it even frightened him.”

Lucien cleared his throat. “You’re referring to what I did. What did I do, Mikah?”

“In theoretical terms, I can’t possibly explain it to you. Maybe Mathonwy can. You’ve been shielding us all along, you know. Remember when your hand started to burn again? You sensed someone scrying us. You sent them away stinging.”

“I don’t understand this at all. It seems very dangerous. Can we be sure this Mathonwy person won’t decide I’m too strange a thing to be left at large?”

“But you’re not at large, my wizardling. You’re with me.”

“Ah,” Lucien said blandly. “That’s very comforting.”

They climbed. It would have been a much shorter journey if Mikah hadn’t been so weary. Finally, Kastor convinced him to allow himself to be carried pick-a-back. His variable weight was in favor of this, for instead of being oddly heavy he was oddly light today, and they made better progress. The Mara chattered cheerfully as he rode Kastor’s back, pointing out plants and veins of rock as if he’d never seen such things before. That was a little tedious, but when he remarked on the incredible blue of the sky, Kastor had to agree.

There came a time when, though they went ever higher, the air began to warm. Soon it was as balmy as the same day must have been in the lowlands, mid-spring as it was there instead of newly broken winter. The trees that lined the path were straighter, taller, the rocks mossy instead of crusted with lichen. Flowers appeared. Berry brambles clung to the mountainside, knotted with tiny buds.

At last the path flattened, and the rock slopes beside them opened out to show them the wizard’s valley.

It was, at Kastor’s best guess, a dozen miles long, maybe as much as twenty, its far end visible only by the height of the mountains that ringed it. The valley’s floor was occupied by a lake of still, sapphire-blue water. In the lake, a bit off center, was a flat green island with a rounded hill at its middle, from which many threads of smoke rose. Tiny figures were just visible moving there, and a pale jumble that could only be clustered houses. Little white chips floated in the water, which must have been boats. On the shores of the lake were more houses, widely spread; Kastor could see only a handful of them in the cleared area that was nearest, before the ground gave way to thick forest. Oak forest, it looked like; impossible at this altitude, but who was to say what was impossible in a wizard’s private monster preserve?

And this had been here, a day’s walk from the edge of the Sei, all along. Mathonwy must be powerful indeed, to have kept it so hidden.

“Lucien,” said Mikah, “I’d like you to try pulling in your aura now. It wouldn’t do to go disrupting Math’s garden as we walk through it.”

“I keep telling you, I don’t know how.”

“You tell me this, and then you do it beautifully. So this time, let’s skip the complaining stage.”

Lucien sighed. He stopped, closing his eyes. He stayed like that until he was red from effort, then abruptly relaxed.

“Ha,” said Mikah smugly. Then, “Ow!” as Kastor gave him a little hitch. “That hurt!”

“Sorry. You were slipping.”

Mikah’s arm pointed past his ear. “There, take that path.”

They left the main path, the one that wound to the valley floor, and followed the one Mikah had pointed out. It led along the rim of the heights, into a region that could only be called a garden. It was wild-looking, a jumble of color and shape, but there was a kind of harmony in it that soothed the spirit. There were open fields carpeted with fading crocus and daffodils just opening, splashes of blue scylla and yellow dandelion. There were stands of fruit trees in flower, trees that should not have blossomed together -- cherry and apple and pear and plum all shedding petals at once. There were also the plants that Magda called cryptoflora, vegetation which required magic to flourish. A stream, which they crossed on an arched stone bridge, was lined with hundreds of beesbane orchids, glimmering as they vibrated outside the range of human hearing. Bloodvines twined the oaks, the plant that had given Magda’s order its name, bred by generations of healers into a medicine of great efficacy -- and so magic-greedy that no one could afford it. Here it grew wild. Magda was in ecstacy.

“Do you think there will be time for me to study this place?” she said breathlessly.

“Depends on how efficiently Math can answer my question. But I’m sure he’d let you come back someday.”

“Oh, I hope so! This is wonderful!”

Mikah pressed his cheek against Kastor’s so that his smile was tangible. “It is, rather, isn’t it? Let me down now, my distraction. I’d rather not be dropped at the door like a parcel.”

Kastor set him gently down. Mikah brushed the worst wrinkles and dust from his trousers -- borrowed from Shehan, since his own were shredded. He twitched his jacket straight, settled his gaudy cap more firmly atop his bright hair, and discarded the hated mittens with great pleasure. Lucien and Magda took this as a cue to neaten themselves as well. Kastor couldn’t do more than rake his hair out of his eyes. There was really no help for the rest of him. Tanner didn’t seem to notice the sudden urge to tidiness; she was examining a beetle on a tree trunk.

When they were as neat as they were going to get, Mikah led them down the last stretch of the path, into a broad, sloping open space carpeted with bee-buzzing flowers. Its central feature was a tall stone house, rambling and disjointed, busy with gables and towers and little scraps of green slate roof. Most of the windows were open, and the door stood wide. It looked like a nobleman’s country manor gone feral. Carpets and mattresses hung out of the larger windows and over the railings of little afterthought balconies. A small, brown figure scurried onto one of these balconies as they approached, waving a rug beater at them before setting to work raising clouds of dust.

A black shape streaked out of the door. It rocketed straight at them, veering aside at the last moment with a playful, chortling yowl. It was a panther, Kastor saw, wondering if he ought to be worried. A young panther, not fully grown into its menace, but leggy and large-eared like a yearling housecat. As it butted its flat head against Mikah’s thigh, nearly overbalancing him, Kastor took a guess:

“Hello, Yakov.”

The panther looked up at him, and the leaf-green eyes were the same as those of the boy who’d met them on the path. The panther yawned wide, curling its tongue. It licked its nose. It ran back into the house.

“He says hello,” Mikah translated. “He likes you. Of course, with him, that means he thinks he can extort food and trinkets from you.”

“He probably can. I’m a sucker for animals.”

Tanner chuckled. “Especially animals that turn into naked boys, right?”

“Tanner!” Kastor looked at her aghast. “He’s a child!”

“Not to mention he might turn all cat on you at inconvenient moments.”

“Oh, for -- stop.”

“Though you strike me as the yowling and scratching type. Is he, Mikah?”

“Stop now.”

“Would a rough tongue be a bonus, I wonder?”

He aimed a slap at the back of her head, slow enough for her to duck, and she obligingly ducked it, giving over to laughter. This embarrassing moment was the one the wizard chose for his appearance.

Mathonwy had to duck under the doorway, but this wasn’t because he was especially tall; it was because he had a gray kitten perched on his head. This odd circumstance made his posture stiff as he approached them, and robbed the entire scene of any seriousness. The wizard looked to be in his middle forties, but any friend of Mikah’s could be counted upon to be far older than he seemed. He radiated good health, burlier than Kastor’s mental image of a great mage would allow; he had broad cheekbones, broad shoulders, tanned hands, and enormous booted feet. His eyes were blue and sparkling with silent laughter. His hair was loose in unruly chestnut curls, pointed up with the occasional thread of silver; he had a short, tidy beard. He wore a narrow circlet of silver, many silver rings, and a belt of silver links over his blue wool robe. At his throat was a chain of pure white metal, fine as a hair, incongruously delicate on his sturdy frame; pendant on it was a tiny diamond that threw miniature rainbows in the sunlight.

“I see you’ve got your diamond white again,” Mikah greeted him.

“Maybe it’ll stay this time,” Mathonwy returned, “though when is life ever like that? Come in, come in, greetings in the garden are for people who aren’t about to fall over like scarecrows. Once I get you all stuffed into chairs and topped up with tea we can start being formal if you like. Are your friends formal, Mikah?”

“Not at all.”

“Good, good.” The wizard led them into the house. At the threshold, as he ducked, the kitten suddenly decided to migrate down the back of his neck, so Mathonwy bent double and proceeded that way, with the cat riding his back like a king in a procession.

Kastor glanced at the others. Lucien and Magda seemed to be wandering in a daze, staring around them, but Tanner caught his bemused smile and returned it.

The house was as jumbled inside as outside. They were led by a twisting route past a room full of clocks, a room full of weapons, a room full of glittering treasures, a room full of paintings and rolled carpets, several rooms full of books, a handful of rooms completely empty down to their gleaming floors, one tiny bedroom with an even tinier bed in it, at least four stairways, and more cats than Kastor could count. At one point, a yellow comet of a frightened cat streaked across their path, followed by Yakov at top speed. As they passed that hallway, he saw the panther crouched at the end of it, tail lashing. Yakov pounced, and the yellow cat came yowling back the other way. The panther made a sound that suspiciously resembled a laugh.

“Pick a new victim, son,” the wizard called without straightening up. “The poor critter’s exhausted.”

Yakov strutted past behind them, tail high, with an expression that exclaimed he’d been bored anyway.

Mathonwy led them finally into a room much larger than any they’d passed. It looked older as well. Its floors were stone instead of polished wood, the blocks of its walls were larger, and one end of it was inhabited by a giant hearth, big enough to roast a whole ox. The roof beams were blackened; the stones of the floor were dished in the doorways. It looked like a castle keep, except for the way one wall was entirely made up of doors, all thrown open to the courtyard beyond. Possibly this room was the seed of the house, around which all that other crazy construction had accrued like a clump of mushrooms.

There was a fire in the hearth, but it was dwarfed by its circumstances. Over it, several kettles hung on a tree of hooks. Arranged around the hearth end of the room were a pair of deep, high-backed benches of ancient wood, as blackened with age as the ceiling, and a chair of the same substance, all paved with mismatched cushions. The wizard gestured them into the benches in an absent way while extracting the kitten from his back. He hunted in a cupboard above the mantel. He produced two cups and blew the dust out of them. He bent and shouted up the flue: “Uki! Where are all the cups?”

A moment later, an extraordinary creature bustled into the room under a tray stacked with cups and tins. It -- she, it was definitely female -- was perhaps four feet tall, brown of skin and hair and eyes, with a broad, squashed-looking face that was as far from human as a bear’s. Her ears were pointed and had tufts at the points. Her fingers were stubby, and there were six of them on each hand.

Mathonwy took the tray from her. “Thank you. Are we hungry?”

The creature gave him a stern look. “Of course you’re hungry,” she said in a voice like burrs and sand. She scurried away.

Magda had to be restrained from following. “What sort of creature was that? I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“Uki’s a pisgi, vulgarly known as a pixie or a brownie, though those terms have since come to mean entirely mythical creatures that don’t resemble her in any way. She’s very tired of being a curiosity, so I suggest you simply address her as Uki, if you don’t want salt in your tea and bugs in your bed.” He shook his finger sternly. “Never upset the housekeeper.”

Magda smiled. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

The wizard lifted the lids on all the tins, peering inside and sniffing. He selected one, dumped a quantity into a pot, and filled the pot with boiling water. He thumped down next to Tanner with the air of a man who had accomplished a great thing.

“While we wait for that,” he said, “Introductions. I’m Mathonwy an Arneth. Call me Math. We all know Mikah, he’s very popular. Let me begin with you, mistress of swords, salt of the earth, a farmer’s daughter? Very elemental.”

“Jennet Tanner. I doubt I’m a farmer’s daughter. Farmers usually keep all the children they produce.”

“Foundling, eh? How romantic. And you, whose very presence threatens to blow all my set-spells to smithereens -- something out of the Semnian royal line, I’d guess.”

“Very distantly,” Lucien said like an apology. “Lucien Farach. At your service.”

“Charmed. And you, mistress, are most definitely Sister Magda Verity of the Order of the Vine.” At her surprise, he added, “I knew it by pure chance. Hunting for a book, came across your name. Waited until you were done reading it before I stole it. I look forward to reading your work on thaumatopoeisis, if you ever manage to finish it. Now, you, young man, you’re a mystery. I have a good idea who you might be -- exiled prince of the Kyri, if I don’t miss my guess.”

Kastor gave him half a smile. “No longer. She finally got around to divorcing me. Call me Kastor. So what’s the mystery?”

“The only element left for you to represent is air, and you’re about the least airy individual I’ve ever met.”

Mikah looked obscurely offended. “Are you going senile, Math? He’s a poet.”

“Well, that might suffice, I suppose.”

Kastor shook his head in bemusement. “I hope I’m not expected to understand any of this.”

“Not at all,” Math said lightly. “You can serve your purpose in perfect ignorance. Who would like honey?”

The rest of the conversation was equally baffling. As they drank sweet tea and ate the rolls and fruit that Uki brought out, Mikah asked after the health of people whose definitions of health, by Math’s replies, were exceedingly strange. Some woman named Nemet had given up causing trouble and gone back to being a stone. A pair of boys named Cad and Rys had been training ravens to talk and fetch, and it was high time someone came up with something to occupy them, but Mikah couldn’t be persuaded to take them along, as they would probably make Kastor kill them; he refused to explain this. The boggles were mostly keeping to themselves, whatever boggles were. This sort of talk went on until Uki brought out an enormous feast. Dish after dish appeared, mostly fish and fowl and fresh vegetables that should have been out of season. The only four-legged animal featured was a roast of lamb.

“We don’t have room for many quadrupeds,” Mathonwy explained, though no one had asked. “Cyneth is only eighteen miles long and nine wide. Plenty of land to support a few hundred people and some sheep, but cattle -- no. The fishing’s marvelous, though. Try some of the pike, Uki has a fine touch with fish. You know, I just realized I ought to be serving wine. Isn’t wine required for this sort of thing? Uki! Do we have any wine?”

“Of course we have wine,” Uki rasped, appearing with an armful of bottles.

Tanner nudged Lucien. “Is it your birthday yet, Luce? You been keeping track?”

“Oh, yes, I suppose it is.”

“It’s Lucien’s birthday,” she announced loudly, in case they hadn’t been paying attention. “And if I had my druthers, I’d declare a great big party, but it’s not my house.”

“Happy birthday to you,” Math said solemnly. He offered Lucien a glass tumbler of wine.

“Thank you.” Lucien accepted the wine just as seriously.

Math said, “We can’t begin the party until after I know why you’re here, though. It might be something terrible, and then we’d all be depressed and feel bad for celebrating. So tell me, Mikah, what sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into now?”

“I thought you knew everything,” Mikah said archly.

“No you didn’t. Spill.”

“It’s Stiaan. Have you been paying attention to him at all?”

The wizard’s solemnity was revealed to have been false, as real seriousness settled over him, a far different thing. The room seemed just a little darker, suddenly. Mathonwy seemed as massive as a mountain, and as old. “What has he done, Mikah?”

“He’s made a hedzaii’ha.”

“Has he now.”

“And of course wearing it has turned him a bit strange.”

“It would. What did he go and do a thing like that for?”

“I don’t know. I should have known.” Mikah looked honestly distressed. “I wasn’t paying enough attention to him, Math. I could’ve kept this all from happening. But I got too busy with forgettings, and I forgot how long I’d left him alone.”

“All what from happening?”

“I’m not sure, but I suspect -- I have evidence -- well, I guess he doesn’t think there are enough of us.”

Mathonwy considered this, scratching at his beard. At length he said, with deep deliberation, “Shit.”

“I have to get to him before he poisons himself completely.”

“You mean to save him? Even if you take his bauble away from him, the damage is done.”

“But it can be repaired. If the hedzaii’ha were remade. Into something like a -- what would the word be? A samaei’ha? It should be possible.”

“You’d need a volunteer.”

“I’m volunteering.”

The wizard’s blue eyes lost the last of their sparkle. “Oh, Mikah.”

“He’s my brother,” Mikah said, as if this explained everything.

Kastor traded a look with Magda. He said, “Are you getting any of this?”

“Almost. Well, no.”

Math spared them a glance, but it was an odd look of pity that didn’t offer any explanation. The longest dose of sorrow was offered to Kastor. He turned back to Mikah. “I won’t insult you by asking whether you’ve thought this through. But, friend, much as it pains me to say this about someone you love so much, you’re worth ten of him. The world can spare him.”

“I hope it does,” said Mikah, deliberately mistaking the meaning.

“Excuse me,” Kastor said. “Sorry to interrupt, but -- why are you suddenly looking like a wagon ran over your favorite dog? Are we all going to die? Because if Mikah’s scheme involves human sacrifice or something, I’d like to know beforehand.”

A hint of Math’s customary humor returned. “Well said, Revered Lord.”

“Don’t. I told you, she divorced me.”

“You’re in no danger. Well, no more than is customary for you. Only the ordinary threats apply -- difficult terrain, death in battle, and so forth. Mikah isn’t plotting against you.” The ghost-smile fled. “He’s plotting against himself.”

“I’m doing no such thing. Look, I’ve been thinking this through since before these people were born. I know I have other options. I know I could, in theory, kill him, or ignore him, or even assist his schemes. But I won’t. He’s my brother. I know it’s rude to pull rank, but -- four thousand years, Math. I can’t hurt him. I can’t.”

“I understand,” Math said.

“I don’t,” said Tanner. “I would just love it if someone would explain.”

“May I?” Math looked to Mikah, but the Mara shook his head sharply.

“I will, a little,” Mikah said. “But only a little. It will have to do. I told you Stiaan is making more Mara. He’s releasing them without instruction, abandoning them. He’s releasing demons, unbound, in the material plane. I believe we’ve agreed that this is a bad thing. The reason he’s willing to do such wild things is because he’s made himself an artifact of power, a thing called a hedzaii’ha -- a devil-trap. It’s an object, usually a piece of jewelry, which binds a greater demon and drains its power. This grants the wearer incredible strength, but the demon’s evil seeps in with it as well. It drives the wearer mad. He becomes unable to imagine consequences, to distinguish between his will and the will of the world. It exaggerates anger and envy, makes pleasure impossible. It was an unbelievably stupid thing to do!” Mikah nearly wailed these last words. Kastor unconsciously reached out to him, aware he was offering his hand only after Mikah gratefully clasped it. The Mara went on, “Should his devil-trap be taken away from him, the warping of his mind won’t progress, but it won’t heal either. But I believe there’s a way to heal it. If I were to get the hedzaii’ha away from him and remake it, reforge it, into a home for a benevolent spirit -- it would have to be returned to him somehow, but I’m sure he’d take it, even knowing it was changed. He’d think he could conquer it and use its power. And it would slowly but inevitably teach him the right way again.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Kastor said. “So why the long faces?”

Magda set down her wine cup slowly, looking worried. “I think I can answer that. The only place such a thing could be done is in the Forge of Dawn.”

“But that’s --” Lucien blushed. “I was going to say that’s just a myth, but it occurs to me that possibly I should just keep my mouth shut.”

“It exists,” said Mathonwy.

“Um...” Kastor frowned. “Excuse me. Foreigner. Duality religion. Don’t know your myths.”

“The Forge of Dawn,” Magda explained, “Is the place, or power, where the gods made all the beings of the earth. It shapes matter into spirit, spirit into matter. And it also has the power to remake a wrong thing into a right thing. To make a broken soul whole, as in the story of Hela and Amethis. If it can create mankind from clay, it can certainly remake this demon-trap thing.”

“Oh. Our creation story is a bit different.”

“Yours may also be true,” Mathonwy said. “These things are always tangled. Imagine trying to explain your life clearly to a stranger in a handful of minutes, and if you think that’s difficult, then imagine what it would take to fully understand the creation of the world. Can’t be done. But the Forge is definitely real. It’s more a place than an object. Rather, it’s a state, which can be entered by various means -- explaining’s just not going to be any use, is it? Anyway, it’s never the same twice, and what I’m guessing, Mikah, is that you want me to discover how you can find and use it.”

“Exactly.”

“Wait. Wait.” Kastor was beginning to be concerned now. “I still don’t get it. What is there about that to make you all mopey?”

It was Tanner who answered. “Don’t you see, Kas? We’re just here to help him get the thing away from his brother -- and that’s going to be hard enough. But then Mikah’s going to have to walk into the Forge and convince the gods to do him a favor. I don’t know about you, but the concept scares the shit out of me.”